White Rabbit - Part 1

USS Harken, Stardate 2320.50

Deck 2 – Crew Quarters:

Crewman Nola Brice stood in the bathroom, applying moisturiser and hair suppressant to her limbs and under her arms, quietly watching her friend and bunkmate in front of the mirror before finally announcing, “He’ll prefer mauve.”

Crewman T’Shak stopped applying eyeshadow to look back. “I beg your pardon?”

Nola smiled and drew closer, drying her hands before examining T’Shak’s efforts. “Not bad, but you should know that Haluk prefers mauve colours: plum, lilac, lavender...”

T’Shak raised her eyebrow. “You are mired in multiple levels of mistaken belief.”

Nola grinned, unoffended, reaching for her clothes, aware of the time when their shift starts, but not prepared to let the matter lie. “Oh really? You’d better be ready to explain that.”

T’Shak looked away, facing the mirror again. “I am. You mistakenly believe that I apply make-up for the benefit of others rather than my own aesthetic fulfilment. You mistakenly believe that I have an interest in attracting anyone’s attention. You mistakenly believe that I have a particular interest in Mr Haluk, presumably because he is the only other Vulcan of a comparable age onboard, and because he is physically and intellectually appealing. You mistakenly believe that he would have any interest in me. And you mistakenly believe that you would have the perception to recognise his personal preferences.

You are a quintessentially mistaken individual.”

Nola just caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled.

T’Shak faced her again. “How can you be aware that he prefers mauve colours? Unless you are pursuing his attention as well?”

Nola picked up the removal pen from the kit, drawing in once more and undoing T’Shak’s work. “Or… as I’ve been taking on more Captain’s Yeoman duties lately, and as a result have been working with the Shack Pack more. So I’ve been in his presence a lot, and have noticed how many of his clothes have colours in the mauve range.”

T’Shak regarded her words, finally admitting. “That is... very logical. I am not accustomed to that from you.”

“Sorry, I’ll try not to let this happen again.” She selected an appropriate shade for her friend’s eyes, bringing the applicator up to the Vulcan’s eyes. “So… ‘he is physically and intellectually appealing’? ‘Pursuing his attention as well’, huh? Those statements of yours suggest-”

“You will distract yourself from your work by continuing to speak.”

*

Deck 1 – Conference Room:

Captain Audea Mistry’s walnut-coloured face looked fairly animated as she addressed the assembled group. “We have a new assignment: we’re currently moving through Open Space towards the Arkaria system, home of the Arkarians, a non-aligned, warp-capable humanoid race.”

Professor Rmolo S’Li, the elderly Caitian specialist in Exolinguistics and Phonology, leaned in his chair closer to Nola, stroking his furred, greying muzzle and looking at her over his round spectacles as he whispered, “I find it very suspicious that a race would just happen to evolve in a system with an almost-identical name to their own. That can’t be a coincidence. Look into it, Dear Cub, would you?”

Nola frowned, leaning back to whisper to him, “Professor, I think the name might just have originated from-”

“Really, Brice?” Mistry interrupted, shaking her head in a gently chiding manner.

Nola stared back, before comprehending with an embarrassed flush of her face, and giving S’Li’s shoulder a playful smack, while he chuckled to himself and pretended to finish his tea.

“To continue,” the Captain resumed, bringing up star maps on the screen behind her. “We are not actually going to Arkaria, but rather to a facility outside its system.” She changed the image, to that of a small, squat, old-fashioned looking space station, with docking ports, maintenance pods, radiator fins, antennae, and a long lattice framework next to it. “This is Nerva Beacon, built by the Arkarians nearly a century ago as both a waystation, and a navigational aid for ships to avoid… this hungry bugger.”

The image now had additions, of a funnel-like fold in space, deep and ebon, its outline computer-enhanced to help with visibility. “A large spatial vortex, formed aeons ago when a quantum filament bisected a dwarf star and collapsed it into a singularity. When the USS Copernicus first charted it prior to making First Contact with the Arkarians 77 years ago, they designated it ‘The Rabbit’s Hole’.”

Dr Ruth Leavitt, the Terran Astrophysics and Stellar Cartography specialist, examined the telemetry data appearing beside the images, grunting. “‘Rabbit’s Hole’. I’ve heard worse names; you wouldn’t believe some of them.”

Colossale, the diminutive Fesarian Propulsion and Warp Dynamics specialist, leaned forward, his smooth, hairless, infant-like face belying his age and experience as he focused on the station. “Is that an electromagnetic catapult next to it? How very quaint!”

“Yes,” Mistry confirmed. “Though advancements in starship sensor technology have made Nerva’s original role as a beacon obsolete, the Arkarian industrial complex has another use for it.

They produce tens of millions of isotons of antimatter waste residue annually on their planet, with theta radiation as a hazardous by-product; they transport it in waste export vessels to Nerva, where the station’s current leaseholder, a Terran businessman named Malik Kramer, has a contract with the Arkarians to receive the waste, and use the catapult to safely propel the waste modules into the Rabbit Hole. Nerva can also provide limited repair, medical and recreational facilities for the vessels and crews.”

Haluk, the young bearded Vulcan Intelligence and Cryptoanalysis Specialist, steepled his long fingers on the table, the room lights reflecting the purple in his jacket as he pondered the information. “As I understand it, the technology already exists to safely recycle such waste locally, without the expense and risk of off-world export. It is not logical for them to continue their present practice.”

“It’s not about logic,” Mistry explained. “But politics. The Arkarian waste export industry has a powerful lobby in their government, and receives huge subsidies to help keep their world clean.”

“How very fascinating,” Dr Thizheris, the Andorian Navigation and Signal Intelligence Specialist noted acidly as he crossed his arms, his antennae dropping in disapproval. “But as appealing as it sounds to visit a waste disposal site, may one ask why we’re really going there?”

“Patience is a virtue, Itath.” Mistry reminded him as she summoned a new image: a bone-white object that looked like nothing more than a statue of a tall, slim, humanoid figure on a pedestal, the figure topped with twin elongated protrusions jutting straight upwards, like the dorsal fins on an aquatic creature. The accompanying data beside the image indicated the object was just under three metres in height and weighed twelve metric tonnes; all the other readings ended with UNKNOWN or INCONCLUSIVE. “The briefing sent to us from Starfleet Command has code-named this object ‘White Rabbit’.

And, according to that report, this object emerged from the Rabbit Hole.”

The group looked to each other, Thizheris responding first with, “‘From’, Captain?”

“That’s what Mr Kramer claimed in the report sent to Starbase 96 last week. Apparently it emerged without any apparent means of propulsion, drew up to Nerva, and just... stopped, letting Kramer’s people tractor it into one of the station’s shuttle maintenance bays and secure it.”

Leavitt looked up at it and shook her head. “Uh uh. No, no way that happened. Nothing can escape the gravimetric forces of a Class 4 singularity like that. That’s why they’re using the damn thing as a cosmic trash compactor in the first place.”

“I must agree with my learned colleague, Captain,” Colossale noted. “Not even one of the First Federation worldships would have the power to resist the crushing forces at the heart of one of those monsters, let alone escape.”

“There’s nothing at the heart of them to escape from,” Leavitt concluded.

“It seems impossible,” Mistry allowed. “But that’s what’s in the report. The object seemingly can’t be cut or even have its interior scanned, and possesses writing on its base that defeats standard Universal Translators.”

“A morphological mystery!” S’Li declared brightly, his tail swishing through the hole in the back of his chair.

“Why must it be impossible?” Dr Kisdi Dzenabe, the Wakandan Sensor and Subspace Field specialist for the team, glared up accusingly at the screen. “Wormhole conduits allow for-”

“This isn’t a wormhole, it’s a singularity,” Leavitt corrected. “Wormholes connect points in space/time. There is no end point to a singularity, unless you’re counting Oblivion.”

Dzenabe looked across the table at her. “Elway’s Theorem would allow the use of interdimensional-”

Leavitt blew a raspberry. “Elway’s a hack! A discredited hack!”

Dzenabe’s face tightened. “Perhaps to conventional minds such as yours, but to others, he was far ahead of his time!”

“He’s been discredited for over half a century, and anyone who buys into his guff is an idiot.”

“Doctors...” Mistry started, but was ignored.

Nola’s eyes darted between the two scientists, seeing and feeling the tension shoot up dramatically in the air, and she glanced at S’Li… who kept watch on the argument, but subtly raised a furred hand towards the crewman, as if warning her not to get involved, or even move.

Dzenabe was rising to her feet, looking ready to leap across the table. “Take care, old woman...”

Leavitt rose and made mocking, beckoning gestures. “Bring it on, sweetie-”

Then Mistry slammed her hand down on the table. “Enough! You want to fight, go sign up onto a bloody Klingon ship! Here, I expect everyone to behave in a professional, mature manner! Is that understood?”

Both scientists sat down and made a show of relaxing their posture, but still glared at each other.

Then Nola had a thought, one that impelled her to speak up and break the tense silence in the room. “Maybe... Maybe something’s happened to the Rabbit Hole since it was last surveyed, that might make it possible for something to escape? Or, maybe the Copernicus’ sensors misread it, and there’s more to it than we might expect?”

Leavitt smirked as she kept staring over at Dzenabe. “Sounds like you have at least one supporter here, Kisdi.”

The Wakandan glared sourly at Nola. “I neither require nor desire the support of an underling.”

The younger woman drew back, feeling like she might wither under the look, though she was grateful for S’Li reaching out and patting her forearm reassuringly.

Fortunately Haluk spoke up now. “Captain, ignoring the argument about the phenomenon, this… White Rabbit… is at best a scientific curiosity. But the orders from Starfleet Command, and our rapid journey to Nerva, suggests a high level of urgency. Is there a reason for it?”

Mistry had been regarding Dzenabe, but now offered a slight, more relaxed smile. “Yes, Mr Haluk. Because Mr Kramer supplied us with only a small sample of the inscriptions on the base of the object, and while it’s currently indecipherable, it’s been recognised.” She called up a new image, of a series of intricate symbols in horizontal rows, looking like arrows that had been bent and twisted into random shapes by some bored child-god.

S’Li gasped. “Iconian script!”

Mistry’s smile was promoted to a grin. “That’s right, Professor. The White Rabbit appears to be an artefact of the Iconian Empire.”

The Caitian rubbed his paws together, chuckling. “Ooh, you certainly know how to give an old cat Happy Tail, Dear Captain!”

Nola frowned to herself, unfamiliar with the name… but secretly thankful that she was apparently not the only ignorant one here among these geniuses, based on some of their expressions, leaving Haluk to admit first, “I am not familiar with Iconians.”

“Unsurprising, young Vulcan,” Colossale responded, sounding impressed. “Given that they died out over 200,000 years ago. The First Federation never managed to collect more than a few anecdotes about them, but they were apparently a major interstellar power in our Quadrant.”

“Archaeologists can’t even agree that they ever existed,” Mistry noted, looking, at least to Nola, as excited as S’Li. “And no direct settlements or relics have ever been found. There are some writings, and references to the Iconians in numerous related texts among the Dewan, Dinasian, and Iccobar ruins.”

“I accept that very little hard evidence might currently exist for them,” Haluk continued. “But I still fail to comprehend the urgency.”

Mistry looked down at him at the other end of the table. “Because the Iconians were said to be able to jump across the Galaxy instantly, and move planets or even stars. Any clues that might lead us to one of their settlements, where that knowledge or even technology might still be accessible, is considered of the highest priority.

And think about this: if the White Rabbit did emerge from the Rabbit Hole-”

“It didn’t,” Leavitt groused under her breath.

Mistry focused on her. “But what if it did? Then maybe someone sent it to us deliberately, as a greeting?

What if the Iconians still exist somewhere?”

The group went momentarily silent over that question. Nola could barely grasp the concept of a people from that far back. To her, history began just a few hundred years ago with the founding of the Federation, or maybe a few thousand years ago, with her ancestors living on Earth, creating language and looking up at the stars in wonder. The time involved in conceiving of the Iconians was as vast and ineffable to her as was the distance from one end of the Galaxy to the other.

“But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Mistry warned, leaning back. “We need to run some thorough scans of the object… and the singularity as well, as Crewman Brice was quite correct about the dangers of our relying on the old Copernicus logs. And we have to be as quick as we can.”

“And why is that?” Thizheris asked accusingly.

“Because… Mr Kramer has yet to report it to the Arkarians. He wants to hear our offer for it first.”

Nola frowned in confusion, prompting S’Li to lean in and explain, “The White Rabbit is not a gift to Science, Dear Cub. He’s selling it to us.”

“Then why not put out a general call?” Leavitt asked. “Have an open auction? More bidders, push up the price? What makes us special?”

“Speed and discretion,” Mistry responded, “This is a remote sector of space. Long before any interested parties arrived to examine the Rabbit and make a bid on it, the Arkarians would show up and just take it, arguing they had a legitimate claim to it.” She noticed Nola’s continued bemused expression. “What is it, Brice?”

Nola blinked, not expecting to be addressed, and not wanting to put herself out there again after somehow upsetting Dzenabe before. “Oh, uh, nothing, Ma’am, sorry.”

Dzenabe made an impatient grunting sound at that. The Captain ignored her and folded her hands on the conference room table. “Crewman, I believe I told you once that a lack of communication was a cardinal sin on my ship, and that you’re here to learn as much as work. And the first step in the learning process is asking the questions that need answers. So... what is it?”

The young girl steeled herself, knowing that she had already leapt off the proverbial precipice, so she might as well dive straight in. “Um… don’t the Arkarians have a legitimate claim to the object? I mean, it appeared in their region of space, in territory not claimed by the Federation or anyone else, the Nerva Beacon was built by them, Mr Kramer’s only has a lease on it, and-” She felt herself turn colours she never thought possible. “Sorry, Ma’am, that’s probably a stupid idea.”

Dzenabe folded her arms and grunted again. “Well, consider the source...”

Mistry shot the Wakandan a dirty look. “Do yourself a favour, and don’t ever speak to any member of my crew like that again. Is that clear?” She leaned forward slightly. “I asked you if that was clear, Doctor.”

Dzenabe glared back, never blinking as she replied, “Crystal, Captain.”

“Good.” Mistry settled down again and addressed Nola once more. “Those are all legitimate points, Crewman, and well considered. But the Arkarians have no formal diplomatic or legal agreements with the Federation. And there are higher consideration: if this is an Iconian relic, and it offered clues to find one of their colonies or vessels, and with that working knowledge or technology, I’d rather it be us that finds ti, than a non-aligned power… or a hostile one...”

She left it at that. Nola nodded in understanding. “I see, Ma’am, thank you. Sorry for interrupting.”

“I did ask you to speak up, Brice, and we’ve had worse interruptions this morning.” She looked to the rest again. “We’ll divide up into four teams: Professor S’Li and myself will record and study all of the writing on the object; Colossale, you and Dr Thizheris will run a full spectrum of tests on the object itself; Mr Haluk, I want you and Crewman Brice to discreetly examine the Nerva logs, and confirm their story about the White Rabbit appearing.” She looked to Leavitt and Dzenabe. “I was going to assign you both to remain onboard the Harken and use her sensor packages to study the singularity. But if that’s going to be too arduous a task for two apparent professionals to manage-”

“No problem from me, Captain,” Leavitt assured her with an affected insouciance, shooting a challenging look in Dzenabe’s direction.

“Nor I,” the Wakandan replied, looking away to face Mistry. “Who will command our… team?”

“Good question. The answer is my First Officer. Mr Gallop has two teenage daughters, so he should be able to manage the pair of you. Anyone have anything to add?”

Nola raised a hand. “Ma’am, may I make a suggestion?”

Dzenabe made a sound like the grinding of teeth.

Mistry shot another look at her, before looking back to Nola. “What is it, Brice?”

“May I suggest that… that Crewman T’Shak be assigned instead to assist Mr Haluk?”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow.

Mistry looked bemused now. “Any particular reason you don’t want to work with Mr Haluk, Crewman?”

Thizheris tilted his antennae in Haluk’s direction. “Perhaps she objects to his secret association with Vulcan Security Directorate?”

“I am not associated with the V’Shar,” Haluk denied, sounding as if he was replying by rote.

Colossale cackled with amusement. “Perhaps it’s more personal? Does he smell?”

S’Li made a show of sniffing the air. “No more than usual.”

“It’s not that, honest!” Nola assured them hurriedly, looking to the Vulcan male. “Nothing personal, Sir! But I know that prior to signing up for Starfleet Enlisted Training, T’Shak had a job helping run security and operational audits on the Vulcan Spacedock orbiting Weytahn, so she’ll be more familiar with space facilities, procedures and… stuff.”

“‘Stuff’?” he echoed.

“Don’t get too technical on him, Crewman,” Mistry advised dryly. “It’s a sound suggestion, though, so if you don’t mind, Mr Haluk-”

“It is a logical proposal, Captain,” he confirmed mildly. “And Crewman T’Shak has indeed proven to be both intelligent and useful.”

“Good. Then, Brice, you can take her duties onboard the Harken, working with Commander Gallop. We’ll be arriving at Nerva in three hours’ time; you have that long to collect your intelligence, prepare your equipment and ready your individual plans of action. Dismissed.”

They all rose at varying speeds and departed the room, S’Li the last, struggling to rise, until Nola helped him to lean on his cane. As she assisted him out of the room, he was chuckling, prompting her to ask, “Something wrong, Professor?”

He reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “You little matchmaker...”