Lit Challenge 03: Slow Beginning

[You and your crew have been assigned to a reconnaissance mission in the Tau Dewa Sector Block. A probe in the vicinity of one of the systems (of your choosing) there has reported activity that is out of the norm and you must investigate.]

Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding, USS Sita NCC-92871

The mission of Starfleet is not primarily military. In troubled times, it's too easy to forget that. But Starfleet, above all, is a force for exploration - to seek out and unveil the unknown. And, for once, we have a chance to be part of that. Sita is on course for the unmapped fringes of the Azure Nebula; no longer a sword of vengeance, but a spear aimed at the heart of a mystery.

Chief Science Officer Zazaru's dark eyes are abstract, unfocused; she has been poring over the data from the long-range astrometrics probes all the way from Sirius sector to Tau Dewa. There is no sign of strain on her face, though. Zazaru has always been frighteningly efficient; sometimes I wonder how much more efficient she might be if she were joined, like so many Trills in Starfleet - but the joining is something she's never sought after, it seems. Now, as we approach the coordinates where the probes inexplicably glitched, she looks up from her console to watch the starfield on the screen.

"Coming out of warp," my exec, Anthi Vihl, reports unemotionally.

Sita barely shudders as she drops below lightspeed and reenters the conventional universe. Before us, the Azure Nebula lives up to its name, a glorious tangle of gas clouds and plasma streamers glowing with celestial light.

"Skipper, I'm reading something." There is an unaccustomed frown on F'hon Tlaxx's good-natured Bolian face as he looks up from the comms console. "Transponder code - not Federation, but I know the format -"

"I confirm," says Anthi in that same businesslike voice. "I'm reading.... one large vessel and some auxiliaries. D'deridex class."

Romulans. I lean back wearily in my command chair. So much for the unknown.

---

The Romulan commander's face fills my screen; a hard, bony face, with hooded eyes glinting beneath a heavy, ridged brow. "I am Commander Tarkhal, of the IRW Maestor," he says. "We are engaged in a scientific survey. Starfleet... supervision... is neither requested nor required."

"Vice-Admiral Tylha Shohl, USS Sita," I reply. "We are on a science mission of our own - frankly, Commander, we did not expect to find you here."

Tarkhal's face, already sour, works with repressed emotion. "The USS Sita," he says. "A heavy battlecruiser using mirror universe technology and your experimental phased-tetryon weaponry - yes, we are familiar with you, Vice Admiral. A strange choice for a peaceful science mission."

"Your own - science vessel - is fairly substantially armed," I remark.

"We live in difficult times, Vice Admiral," Tarkhal replies.

"As do we."

Tarkhal grimaces slightly. His eyes flash. It's an expression I recognize - because I've done the same thing so often myself. He's responding to an off-screen message from one of his bridge crew. Whatever it is, it doesn't do anything to improve his mood.

"In fact," he says, slowly and reluctantly, "your arrival here may be more opportune than I had thought. We must be here for the same reason - a data anomaly reported by remote probes. It would only be sensible to pool our resources."

I nod. "Of course, Commander."

---

"So far," Zazaru says, "what we know is this: a sequence of four probes, sent into this volume, reported back with data anomalies - timing glitches. Data transmissions dropped out, or were duplicated, or appeared out of sequence, only to resume normal functioning as soon as the probes cleared this approximate region of space."

In the briefing room, a hologram of the nebula hangs, ghostly, before her; she marks out the paths of the probes with quick, precise gestures.

"So the Romulans have encountered similar unusual readings," says Anthi.

Security Commander Yulan snorts. "Most likely, they've encountered the same ones," she says. "Our long-range data transmissions aren't that well secured - they're probably piggy-backing the probes' scans. And with the Romulans' operations in Tau Dewa already under way, it's no surprise they got here before us."

"Well," I say, "however they found out, they're here now. How far have they progressed?"

Zazaru taps her PADD; the holo display changes. "Nebular material; random gasses and proto-star material, some asteroidal debris. The Romulans have a network of short-range probes out, and what looks like an away base on one of the larger asteroid fragments. How much data they've already gathered - well, we have no way of knowing."

"But they can't be too far along," I say thoughtfully, "or they wouldn't need any help from us...."

"There's something else," my engineering chief, Shrin Izini, speaks up. "I'm spotting some odd power fluctuations from that battlewagon of theirs. It looks to me as if they've got some sort of maintenance problems. Equipment degrading, SIF defects, that sort of thing. Nothing major, but it's odd. It looks as if that ship's not seen proper maintenance in months."

"Romulans aren't normally so careless," Anthi says.

"Their resources are probably stretched thin, with everything that's going on in this sector," I say. "Still - it's unusual. Shrin, keep as close an eye on them as you can. Zazaru, are we fully equipped?"

Zazaru nods. "Besides our normal complement of science personnel and material, we are carrying specially modified chroniton probes. If there is a temporal anomaly out there, we should be able to deploy those to map it exactly."

"Sounds good," I say. "But, if we use them, we'd better make sure their data channels are fully encrypted. I don't want to share anything with the Romulans that I don't have to."

"I imagine Commander Tarkhal feels the same way," says Anthi.

"Very likely. He doesn't look the type to share his toys." I stand up. "Well, he's issued an invitation to visit their facilities - I suppose that must mean their away base. So, let's get things moving."

---

The Romulan base is little more than a force-field bubble clinging to the ravaged surface of an asteroid. I can see the flaring gases of the nebula through the field's mesh. Inside the bubble, the environmental settings are unfamiliar; gravity, air, temperature all set to the standards for vanished Romulus. My boots crunch on regolith as I look around. Shield generators, a small AG plant, food replicators, various tents and awnings... the typical impedimenta of a hastily assembled science expedition, anywhere in the galaxy.

"Ah, the representatives of the human empire!" Tarkhal is striding towards us, in full dress uniform, his chest positively resplendent with decorations. Behind him trails an elderly centurion with science insignia, and a hulking, scar-faced uhlan.

I've beamed over with four senior officers. Bulpli Yulan could pass for a human - any Betazoid can - and Zazaru, if you ignored her spots. Shrin and his assistant Dyssa, though, are as obviously Andorian as I am myself. We're being baited, then, and not subtly. "You've been busy, Commander," I say.

"We are nothing if not efficient, Vice Admiral," Tarkhal says with a thin smile. "Already, we have a provisional map of the local anomalies. Your science officer may confer with mine." He waves an imperious hand at the centurion. "And, in the meantime, let me show you our most interesting discovery to date." He steps forward, takes my elbow in a polite but firm grip, and steers me away from the group. Bulpli Yulan looks worried; I flash her a quelling glance. I don't see the Romulan Commander assassinating me just yet... maybe once he's got to know me better.

"I would welcome the opportunity," Tarkhal says in a low voice, "for a confidential discussion, Vice Admiral. We should come to an understanding with one another. I have no wish to impede your scientific mission - if that's what it is - but I must absolutely insist that you do not interfere with mine."

"Of course not," I say. "If that's what it is," I add, dryly.

Tarkhal doesn't laugh. He is leading me along a marked path, little metal pointers planted in the asteroidal regolith. "I have a duty," he says, "a duty to my race, my people. We have suffered such losses... and yet, Vice Admiral, we endure. Through all the vicissitudes of fate and treachery, we endure. Do you know why?"

"Because you do your duty?"

"Because we are fit to do our duty," Tarkhal says, and his tone is loud and strident. "Because we are Romulans, and - no matter what the dogma of your human masters says - we are a superior species." His hard dark eyes are fixed on mine. "It is a pity, Andorian, that your race has chosen the service of the humans. You would be far more useful in service to us. Because we endure, we survive, and we will prosper. And we will not brook interference."

His eyes dare me to disagree. I say nothing. I have Tarkhal's measure, now; he is a fanatic. There is no arguing with fanatics.

After a moment, he takes a breath; his voice drops back to a conversational tone. "I had something to show you." He points. "There it is."

In the surface of the asteroid, a rectangular strip is embedded; perhaps a meter long, perhaps twenty centimeters wide, made of some white substance, and carved, intricately, with glyphs. I kneel to study it. "D'Arsay pictograms?"

"Yes. They must have visited this region of space... and left a message."

The glyphs are crisp, their lines barely eroded by uncounted millennia of nebular radiation and micrometeorite dust. I frown, puzzling over them. "'A new self-governing system takes in material'," I translate, doubtfully.

"You can read ancient D'Arsay? I am impressed, Vice Admiral. We understood you to be merely a moderately competent soldier." Tarkhal doesn't sound impressed. He sounds displeased, as if I'm a pet who's done a trick at the wrong time. I stand up. "I minored in palaeolinguistics at the Academy. What do you think it means?"

"I... am not sure. Possibly, the D'Arsay attempted to found a colony nearby, and this is some comment regarding that emerging nation."

I shake my head. "I'm not so sure about that. 'Self-governing'... Did you know that in human language, 'governing' and 'cybernetic' have the same root? And there is a parallel in ancient Tellarite, too -"

"Well, we may speculate," Tarkhal cuts me off. "What matters, I think, is that there is something here to investigate. Of course, Starfleet has a good record when it comes to scientific investigation - and my own ship has been plagued with minor difficulties, of late. I do not go so far as to say I need your help, Vice Admiral... but it would not be unwelcome."

"Well, then," I begin, "let's discuss -" And then I stop. "Did you hear that?"

"I heard nothing."

I listen, hard - and there the noise is again, a high tinny chittering sound. I look around. There is no one in sight; there is nothing but the dead surface of the asteroid, the inscription at my feet, the nebula glowing through the forcefield overhead. Again, something chitters at me. With a sudden shock of recognition, I realise it's coming from my combadge.

"Something is wrong," I say to Tarkhal, but he does not reply. He just stands there, frozen. I look closely. He is frozen; his eyes don't blink, his breathing is imperceptible. Sudden fear grips me. I know what the sound is, now.

I turn, and grab at Tarkhal's sleeve, dragging him with me as I hurry back down the path. He seems heavy, impossibly heavy and hard to move, and I know why that is, now. As I move, the noise from my combadge drops in tone, and it becomes possible to make out words -

" - Admiral, respond, please. Sita to Admiral Shohl, respond - "

"Shohl here," I gasp; all at once, I am short of breath. "Contact the Romulans, get medical attention. We've been caught in a temporal anomaly."

---

"All fine now," Dr. Beresford says. "The chroniton field merely affected your perception of time - the three hours you were gone must have felt only like a few minutes. Commander Tarkhal was more badly affected, but even so, he doesn't have anything worse than mild hypoxia."

Because, in the chroniton field, we were both forgetting to breathe... "Have the Romulans confirmed that?"

Samantha Beresford nods. "I've spoken to their field medic - Commander Tarkhal has a thundering headache, he says, but he's fine otherwise."

"Commander Tarkhal is a thundering headache," I mutter. I swing my legs off the medical bed and stand up. "They're dealing with him at the away base, then? He didn't beam back to his ship?"

"Apparently not."

"Odd," I mutter. "He was worse affected than me - do we have any idea why?" So much for the Romulan master race, I think to myself.

"Oh, I think we have an explanation," says Dr. Beresford. "The field affected both your brains equally, but in your case, there was partial shielding from a dense mass of metal nearby. Specifically, the titanium rod at the centre of your zygomatic implant."

I raise one hand, self-consciously, to my scarred right cheek. "Well," I say, "I'm glad it's got some use besides holding my head together."

---

Something is glittering in the holo-display in front of Zazaru; an abstract shape, a complex skeleton of coloured lights.

"It's my preliminary map of the anomalies out there," my science officer explains. "Based on the Romulans' observations and our own sensors, I've identified a - a sort of web of quantum singularities, chroniton fields, and spatial distortions. There are power flows between them... it's fascinating...."

"How has this not been spotted before?" I ask. Time distortions are one thing, but a quantum singularity is a highly energetic object - the long-range probes should have seen those half a parsec away.

"The power flows," Zazaru says, abstractedly. "The energy from the singularities isn't dissipating at random... it's almost as if it's being diverted to fuel the other anomalies." She blinks, her dark eyes coming back into focus. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't have all the answers yet. Just some speculations... we need more data."

"Are the Romulans cooperating?"

"Mostly." Zazaru frowns. "I don't think they're being deliberately obstructive, sir, but a lot of the data they've sent over has been corrupted, one way or another. I think they must have some serious computer problems aboard that battleship. The data we've been getting directly from their base camp is more reliable...."

"Well," I say, "I think it's time we gathered some more of our own. Are those chroniton probes ready?"

Zazaru nods. "In the launch tubes now, sir."

"Then let's go." I stand up, and lead the way out of the ready room, onto the bridge. Zazaru moves to her console as I settle myself in the centre seat. "Prepare to launch probes," I say. "F'hon, contact the Maestor, tell them we're sending out survey probes - I don't want any misunderstandings."

"Yes, sir." A pause, as F'hon taps on his console. "The Romulans acknowledge our message, sir," he reports.

"All right, then. Launch."

Zazaru's fingers move briskly on her controls. "Launching. Probes deployed. Search pattern theta-two, centering on course two-eleven mark one-four." Then she starts, her eyes widening in shock. "Enemy contacts!"

"Confirmed!" Anthi snaps. "Scorpion fighters inbound with disruptors hot!"

I turn to F'hon. "Get me Tarkhal!" Then the situation claims my attention. The Romulan fighters are bracketing the probes, moving with tight efficiency. I could order the Sita to fire - a volley of isometric charges, and a follow-up from the forward phased-tet banks, and those Scorpions would be space dust. But then we would have to face the Maestor....

Disruptors flash. Zazaru curses. The probes vanish from the screen. I grit my teeth. If Tarkhal wants a shooting match -

"I have Commander Tarkhal," F'hon says. The Romulan's face appears on the main viewer. He looks - harassed.

"Explanation, Commander," I snap.

"My apologies," Tarkhal says; the words seem forced out of him. "We have - we have a situation -" He takes a deep breath. "Your signal was received, and understood... I ordered my fighters to stand down... but the officer who transmitted the order has been... affected, as you and I were. A temporal anomaly." He looks at something outside my field of vision, and nods. "I see the officer involved will finish pressing the send key on his console - as soon as the chroniton field dissipates." He looks offscreen again. "Possibly another twelve hours from now."

"Recall those fighters."

Something flickers in Tarkhal's eyes at that, but he knows he's in the wrong, here. "At once," he says. "Vice Admiral, all I can do is - offer my apologies."

"At least no lives were lost," I say. This time, I add, silently, to myself.

"But we can't replace those chroniton probes," Zazaru cuts in, tight-lipped with anger.

"I know." I lean back and give Tarkhal my best disapproving look. "We'll need to figure out some replacements. And we need to make sure there are no further... misunderstandings."

---

Even without the specialised probes, the Sita has her resources. And Zazaru works like a demon when something captures her imagination. Forty-eight hours after the misadventure with the probes, a new hologram is glowing in the briefing room, and Zazaru is tired, but triumphant.

Tarkhal has beamed over to join us, his Romulan finery looking oddly out of place aboard my ship. He stares at the holo-image and says nothing.

"It truly is something remarkable," Zazaru says. "The quantum singularities and the time anomalies work in synergy - part of a homeostatic system, self-contained, self-repairing - even growing."

Shrin Izini is normally stolid and unflappable, but his jaw drops at that one. "Are you saying that energy network is alive?" he asks.

Zazaru shakes her head. "No, not exactly," she says, "or at least not yet. Imagine the origins of life on a terrestrial world - chemicals in a primordial sea, combining randomly until, at last, amino acids form, chemicals with the potential for self-organization and self-replication. Now, imagine a system where the atoms of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen and so forth are replaced by the various energy anomalies we see out there...."

"That's what the D'Arsay message meant!" I exclaim, and Tarkhal's gaze snaps towards me. "Nothing to do with political systems at all - they discovered the self-organizing system among the anomalies. But why leave a message at all?"

"Who knows?" Tarkhal says wearily. "Perhaps it is simply a - a note, to future expeditions of their own kind."

"One thing, though," says Zazaru. "They were right about the energy network incorporating new material. Some of the temporal anomalies in the network now date from the time of the Suliban conflict. I think it accretes fresh material whenever the opportunity presents itself... incorporating new anomalies when they're generated. Somewhere between a crystal growing in solution... and a protoplasmic entity seeking out food."

"It's not alive, you say." I think for a moment. "Is there a possibility it might develop into life?"

"A remote one, sir," says Zazaru. "It takes a billion years or so for true life to develop out of the chemical soup of a primordial world - and that thing out there is operating at a rate a billion times slower than chemical reactions. The universe itself might not last long enough for it to become a true life form."

She is probably right. But that night, creatures walk in my dreams, creatures taller than galaxies and made of force and fire.

---

"Something's happening on the Romulan." Shrin's voice is louder and more urgent than usual. I stand and go over to the engineering station. Shrin has set up remote monitoring of the D'deridex with his normal efficiency - and, right now, the readings are fluctuating wildly.

"F'hon, contact Tarkhal, offer assistance," I order. Something is very wrong on that ship. Shrin is already hitting his control board, signalling his emergency engineering teams to readiness.

"Commander Tarkhal," F'hon calls out. The Romulan's face appears on the viewer. Behind him, his raptor banners flutter, caught in some breeze on his bridge. Gusts of wind on a spaceship; never a good sign.

"Vice Admiral," Tarkhal says. "Be brief. I am... somewhat occupied at present."

"We can beam over help right now," I tell him.

"That will not be necessary." Tarkhal actually smiles, glacially. "We are experiencing some difficulties with our ship's structural integrity field. A subsection has - gone out of phase. No doubt another of those temporal anomalies which have been plaguing us. We expect to have the situation rectified momentarily."

I look at Shrin. He nods; Tarkhal is telling the truth. "Commander, if you need help, we're ready at any time," I say.

"Thank you, Vice Admiral, but that will not be necessary." Tarkhal cuts the connection.

"He's right," Shrin says, "at least, this time. His SI field is starting to stabilize. But I'm reading a fair amount of damage, still - and we've no way of knowing what else is going to hit him."

"Or us." I think for a moment. "Shrin, have we had any maintenance problems reported? Any temporal anomalies on the Sita, or - well, anything at all?"

Shrin shakes his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he says. "Wear and tear is a little above normal, maybe - because of the radiation and the local material in the nebula. All within our standard working parameters, though. And we've not had any time distortions, apart from your own misadventure on the Romulan base."

I scratch my head. "I'm concerned," I say. "I'm starting to wonder if there's something in the nebula affecting the Romulan ship... but, if so, why is it not affecting us?"

"They were here before us," Shrin points out. "Maybe it simply takes a while for - whatever it is - to start happening."

I was frowning to start with, and my frown deepens. "Stay on top of things," I tell Shrin. "If something does start affecting us... I want it stopped. Fast."

Shrin nods. I turn away from him, then turn back. "Can you fake a problem?" I ask him.

"Sir?"

"Something... anything. Some little thing that will stop us having the next progress review here. So we'll have to hold it on the Maestor instead." I grin. "I want a close up look at that ship."

---

The meeting does not go well. Tarkhal has been reluctant to hold it at all, and when we beam over to the Romulan ship, I can see why. Everywhere, there are signs of repairs: makeshift patches, jury-rigged consoles, burn marks on walls and ceilings. There is a stale smell in the air, and the crewmen all look hangdog and exhausted.

Tarkhal's science team are a silent and cowed group, and Zazaru does most of the talking, as she points out the new discoveries and new data on what she has taken to calling the emergent entity. Tarkhal wears a permanent scowl as he listens; perhaps most of what Zazaru's saying is going over his head. Frankly, it's going over mine.

The one thing that makes the Romulan brighten up and take an interest is the references to the Suliban conflict. I'm none too sure what went on during those years - possibly, nobody is, given all the interference in the timelines. But some of the temporal anomalies formed in that time period are now part of Zazaru's emergent entity, and Tarkhal asks some direct questions about how she knows that, and how she found them.

The meeting drags on, until finally it is over, and Tarkhal sends a security detail to escort us to his ship's transporter room. We are trooping dutifully down one dimly-lit corridor when it happens.

One of the Romulan security people seems to shimmer, somehow... and then he screams, a shriek of sudden agony and fear, and crashes to the deck. Another shouts an oath, then calls for a medic on his combadge. Zazaru and I are at the fallen man's side in seconds - and it becomes clear that something is terribly, horribly wrong.

I look down, and four dead eyes stare up at me from a misshapen skull; a mouth, twisted in an impossible snarl, is showing too many teeth; two hands protrude from one uniform sleeve. The man's whole body is massive, ungainly, misshapen... and then, as we watch, it shimmers again. Now, there is only a normal Romulan lying on the deck; two eyes and two hands... but still broken and dead.

Zazaru's spots stand out against the sudden pallor of her skin. "Another temporal anomaly," she whispers. "His body... his body was displaced in time, just a few seconds... just so that, for a moment, there were two of him... occupying the same space."

"Quite so." Tarkhal's voice; I never heard him approach. "In the circumstances, I will have to report in my log that he killed himself." I hadn't thought Tarkhal had a sense of humour; I think I preferred him without one. I stand up slowly, trying to hide the sickness and the shaking inside me. I thought I'd seen every way a man could die....

---

When I ask Tarkhal for a private meeting, he agrees reluctantly. We set it up on the surface of the asteroid, again, near the D'Arsay relic. The Romulan commander is edgy, prickly, clearly unhappy.

I come straight to the point. "Commander, your ship needs urgent attention. I don't know what's causing all the damage, but I do know you can't carry on much longer like this. You've lost one man -"

"Six, at the last count," Tarkhal interrupts me. "They died for the Romulan cause, Vice Admiral, just as surely as if they had died in battle. There is not one of us - myself included - who would not give his life for that cause."

"But it's not necessary," I say. "We can surely arrange for your ship to be relieved - a fresh crew, on a dedicated science vessel -"

"And in the meantime," Tarkhal breaks in again, "you and your ship would have free reign in the region of the anomaly. Suliban temporal technology! D'Arsay relics, and who knows what else! Yes, Vice Admiral, I understand the motives behind your - solicitude."

"If it comes to that," I say, trying to keep my tone reasonable, "we can withdraw the Sita at the same time you pull out. Starfleet would probably benefit from sending a pure science vessel in any case. Commander, there's no reason for us to come into conflict over this. Starfleet doesn't want conflict, you must realize that."

"You do not have seniority enough to set policy, Andorian. That is for your human masters."

Fanatics. There is no reasoning with fanatics. I decide to try another tack. "When did you discover that?" I ask, pointing to the D'Arsay inscription.

"Practically as soon as we entered the region. The ultradense ceramic of which it is made was immediately obvious to our sensors."

"It was meant to be, I think," I say. I stoop down to examine the relic again. "It's been here millions of years - probably, it will be covered up once more material accretes on the asteroid's surface, but I'd give it a few million more, at least. And the inscription is laser-carved, at least a centimeter deep. This thing was made to last, Commander, and it was made to be easily spotted. Why would the D'Arsay do that? The only reason I can think of... is that it's some kind of a warning."

"Speculation," he sneers. "You do not understand the motives of a long-dead race, Vice Admiral. Do not pretend that you do."

I look at him; I can make no reply that will reach him. I understand his motives well enough; dogmatic pride, and resentment, and desperation as his ship falls apart while mine isn't touched. And I am afraid, truly afraid, for where those motives may lead him.

---

The next day, I have barely taken my seat on the bridge when Anthi reports, "The Maestor is leaving station."

"Course?"

"Not sure yet, sir. She's on maneuvering thrusters... Impulse drive coming online now." Anthi looks up. "Sir, she's on a course directly into the emergent entity."

"F'hon, get me a channel to Tarkhal. We need to know what he's doing," I order.

"Sir." Zazaru speaks up from the science station. "I'm reading energy surges throughout the entity... it's starting to emit polarized graviton waves." A frown is etched on her brow. "I haven't seen this behaviour before -"

It's something to do with the Romulan ship. It must be. But what? I rack my brains. Why is the Maestor so different from us? The quantum singularities in the emergent entity are generating enough power to smash the Sita a dozen times over -

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. "F'hon! Where's that channel? I need it now!"

"Coming through, sir." And, indeed, Tarkhal's face is forming on the main viewer. He looks intent, triumphant.

"Commander," I say, "your ship is in danger. You need to back away from the entity, now."

"Oh," Tarkhal says, "I knew you would say that. I knew already that you want the secrets of this phenomenon for yourself. Well, you will not have them! I have the maps and the data your pet scientist so kindly provided; now, I will use them and seek out the treasures hidden here for myself. For myself, and the cause of the Romulan people!"

"Tarkhal!" I'm shouting, now; I can't help myself. "The entity grows by assimilating energy anomalies - and your ship is powered by an artificial quantum singularity! That's why you've been so badly hit! That's why the D'Arsay left their message - they must have used anomaly technology themselves. It was a warning!"

"I will not listen to Federation lies!" Tarkhal screams back at me - except his voice is lower, slower, than a scream. A chroniton field is already forming, stretching time into slow motion. "You... will... not... prevent... me...."

"Tarkhal, eject your warp core! We can go in safely and tractor you out! Eject your warp core!!"

Tarkhal is still speaking, but his words are drawn out, now, into an unintelligible basso-profundo rumble. On my console screen, I can see the Romulan ship's course, see it arrowing into the heart of the emergent entity - and see flares of energy as the entity reacts. Eagerly. Hungrily.

Then, everything changes.

---

There is no chance of long-range probes missing the entity now. An intricate braid of mirror-bright, fluidly curved shapes stretches across a full three light-minutes of space. The reflective surface is not made of any material; it is a field of pure force, a condition of space itself. It can reflect any and all energy sent into it. So far, it has reflected aceton beams, tachyon beams, the blast of a tricobalt warhead, and the full force of Sita's phased-tetryon beams, firing continuously until the coolant overheated and the automatic safeties tripped.

The emergent entity is somewhere inside... and so is the Romulan ship.

"It may be a defensive reaction," Zazaru says, "while the entity is... assimilating... the Maestor's warp core. Or maybe that quantum singularity was enough to let it, umm, evolve into a new stage in its development...." She shakes her head. "I'm just speculating, sir. We don't have enough data."

"What about the Romulan ship?" I ask.

She shakes her head again. "Unknown, sir."

In my mind's eye, I see the Maestor explode, metal and air and people broken apart like the shell of a nut, as the mindless forces of the entity feed on the quantum singularity inside. And, awful as it is, it's still not as terrible as the other possibility that haunts my imagination....

"We can't do any more, here," I decide, finally. "I need to prepare a report for the Federation Science Council... and the Romulan Senate. And -" I look at the twisting thing on the screen. "I don't think we want to be near that any more."

---

Later, in my quarters, I play back the recording of Tarkhal's last message, speeded up so that it becomes intelligible. It is a rant, an ugly re-statement of his belief in Romulan glory, Romulan power, Romulan destiny.

I look out of my window at the stars speeding by, and I shiver as that other image comes back into my mind.

The image of the quantum singularity falling into its new place inside the emergent entity... and the time fields adjusting to keep it there, safe, forever. Of the Maestor and its crew trapped, unchanging, in a static bubble of frozen time. Trapped until the heat death of the universe itself... or maybe longer, until something finally happens to break that stasis. Until that entity, with its potential lifespan of trillions of years, finally dies.

Perhaps, in the end, they will break free, I tell myself. Perhaps Tarkhal and his Romulans really will, one day, rule the universe. Whatever is left of it.