Vectors 14

Rrueo

Brathana drifts among the dead comets at the rim of the Kadir Secundus system, her drive at minimum power, her weapons and shields offline, her sensors ceaselessly probing and searching.

"We have something on scan. Extreme range," says Toriash. There is fatigue in the big Gorn's rumbling voice.

"Details?"

"Power emissions... a small spacecraft." Toriash peers at his display. "Consistent with a Kadirian patrol vessel."

I nod. "Cloak."

Light shifts and deepens on the bridge as Brathana shimmers into invisibility. K'Rokok scowls. "One Kadirian patrol ship is no challenge," he mutters.

"Rrueo knows this. They are not worthy prey. And Rrueo has no need or desire to provoke a diplomatic incident today. Let us follow this one, and observe its... errand." I shift uneasily in the command chair. "Rrueo, too, chafes at this war with an unknown enemy... but shooting the Kadirians is not the answer."

"Reading active sensor pulses from the Kadirian ship," Toriash reports.

"Cloak is stable," Oschmann adds from her station.

"They have not seen us... so, what are they probing?" I muse.

"I am registering back-scatter and reflections," says Toriash. "High albedo materials. My assessment is, they have found metallic debris."

"Ah," I say, and lean forwards. "This may prove interesting, then. Rrueo imagines they have found wreckage from one of their missing ships."

"Probably the patrol craft," Oschmann comments.

"Why do you think so?" K'Rokok demands. I may have to do something about these two.

"Because this vessel is following the same patrol pattern," Oschmann says, apparently unruffled. "Even allowing for the gradual movement of bodies in the Oort Cloud, they would pass within sensor range of - whatever remains."

"This has possibilities," I say. "We will watch, while the Kadirians perform their scans... and then, once they move on, we will take readings ourselves. Our superior equipment should be able to gather much more information."

So, we wait. K'Rokok hunches over his console and glowers, his fingers itching to take the gunnery controls and release destruction. Oschmann holds herself in a pose of utter aloofness. I groom my whiskers with one claw. I am thinking.... I call up the navigation screen on my command console, start to plot courses.

"Kadirian ship is moving," Toriash reports.

"Departure vector?" I ask.

"Three eight two mark three seven four."

I look at my screen, consider more deeply. "Rrueo thinks that is an error on his part. Never mind. Bring us closer to the wreckage, and prepare for in-depth sensor analysis. After which -" I sketch in a course on the nav console "- Rrueo wants this."

Puzzled frowns from everyone on the bridge. I repress a purr of contentment. It is always good to out-think one's crew, from time to time. "That is where the inbound vector of the Temur comes closest to the route of the patrol ship," I explain. "Whoever ambushed these ships obviously took the patroller first, then mimicked a friendly contact to get close to the Temur."

"So you expect to find more traces there, sir?" K'Rokok asks.

"It seems reasonable. How far away is the Kadirian ship now?"

"Four thousand kellicams and receding rapidly," Toriash replies.

"Far enough. Their sensors seem limited. Move us over to the debris, and commence active scans." We will need to decloak for that - a risk, but a small one. The Kadirians' sensors do not seem to be very good.

Brathana slides closer to the vague cloud of gases and fragments that engaged the Kadirian ship's attention. I feel a brief moment of anxiety as we drop our cloak, but the patrol ship, dwindling in the distance, does not react. Brathana edges up to the cloud - a dim thing, barely visible to the naked eye in the distant light of the sun - and begins work.

"Whatever it was," Toriash says, "it was comprehesively destroyed. Warp core breach, obviously... the residual radiation leaves no doubt of that. But there are other traces... the high-density alloys, those that were not completely destroyed, show definite signs of polaric ionization. Very definite. A sustained polaron barrage, I suspect, sir."

"Polaron weapons. Hmm." I consider. "Suggestive, but not conclusive. Let us continue our search, then - at the locus Rrueo has indicated. Maximum sensitivity on the scans - if there is debris, it will be hard to locate." I permit myself a small purr. "Rrueo does not believe she is quite talented enough to pin-point the spot where the Temur was ambushed... not from this little information, at least."

So, we move off once more. The Kadirian ship is beyond the reach of even our sensors, now.... It is strange how alone one feels, in the outer reaches of a star system. Logically, we know that we are only light-hours from civilization, not light-years as we would be if we were at warp... but the sight of a sun, shrunken to a mere dot by distance, gives more of an impression of solitude than the stars themselves. It is unreasonable, but it is nonetheless a fact.

In my mind's eye, I picture the dim glinting of the sunlight on my ship's charcoal-grey hull.

"Coming up on the projected location," Oschmann reports.

"Scans register...." Toriash raises his head. "Something...." The Gorn's mind-tone is normally solid and reliable, an architectural mass of concrete blocks. Now, uncertainty spreads over them like graffiti.

"Debris from a battle?" I ask.

"There are metal fragments and gas traces yes, sir," says Toriash. "But there is also.... Sir, I do not recognize these energy readings. I have never seen anything like them." In many people that would be hyperbole. Not so, with Toriash.

So, there is no point asking him what his readings most closely resemble. "Patch your data feed through to Rrueo's command console," I say. "And, if possible, let us have a visual."

"Range is extreme," mutters Toriash, "and I am not even sure if this - thing - has a visible light component. But I will try -"

While the Gorn hunches over his workstation, muttering to himself, I watch the data feed on my own screen. It means nothing to me. Raw data, with no computer post-processing to embed it into context - fluctuations in space-time that could be purely random, for all I know. It is not, really, my area of expertise. Perhaps the Caitian - I feel a flash of anger at the thought of the Caitian. I will share this data, but I hope nothing comes of the sharing. I will not be beholden to that primitive.

"I have a visual of -" Toriash stops abruptly, raises his head, stiffens. Tremors run across the concrete of his mind.

"On screen," I say. Toriash makes no move. "On screen," I repeat. Toriash's hand moves, jerkily, on the console, and the image appears on the viewer.

Debris, yes - fragments of metal, wisps of vapours not yet dissipated into the void. But, among them, shapes move, capering, twisted, humanoid shapes, blurred and distorted and deformed. They flicker at the edge of visibility, allowing only glimpses - of wet, red surfaces, of limbs bent at impossible angles, of contortions of bodies and faces that defy description. My fur bristles all over at the mere sight.

"Shadows of Gre'thor!" K'Rokok says in an awestruck voice. Oschmann's face has turned paper-white.

Somehow, that brings my mind back into focus. "We need more details," I snap. "Increase scan resolution."

"Sir -" I can sense the superstitious terror lurking in the back of my first officer's mind. I know it is there. It is in my mind too.

But I will not admit to that. "Rrueo does not believe in ghosts," I snarl. "Whatever that is, it is a real phenomenon. Scan it. Analyze it. Tell me what it is."

"Commencing level one sensor sweep," Toriash says. His voice is husky, but under control.

On the screen, the images continue their macabre dance for a moment or two - then they flare with brief light, and shatter into fragments, which disperse and are gone.

"I think we Heisenberged them," says Oschmann.

I turn in her direction with a forbidding frown. "Explain."

"Whatever was going on, our active scans were enough to disrupt it," the human says. "Like the Uncertainty Principle - established by Heisenberg, on my world. The mere act of looking at them was enough to - dispel them."

"She may be right, sir," says Toriash. "Still, I have recorded all the data - we may be able to reconstruct the quantum signatures, and establish the nature of the... energies... at work here."

Suddenly, he leans forward, fingers tapping briskly at the console. "Something else, sir. Our scans show more evidence of polaron weapons on the debris... and an incomplete warp signature. Probably not enough to identify a particular ship, but the type of warp drive is - quite distinctive."

More data flashes up on my screen, and this time the computer can match profiles, can create a meaningful context for identification. The polaron barrage was indicative, but this - this profile of a warp drive, perfectly functional, but centuries old, an antique even by Delta Quadrant standards - this is conclusive.

Vaadwaur.