White Rabbit - Part 2

Nerva Beacon, Level 5 – Chief Administrator's Office:

The room was cluttered, but it had a comfortable, lived-in feel, a sense of history behind the pictures and trophies and souvenirs that filled the walls and shelves, but still dominated by the wide observation window behind the desk, one that overlooked the ebon eye of the Rabbit Hole, and part of the station’s electromagnetic catapult framework aimed in its general direction, like a weapon.

Malik Kramer was a short but active, dynamic man in his late fifties, with rangy fair hair, a hangdog face that carried a lifetime of hard work, and eyes that carried… desperation. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Captain, it’s most appreciated. I want to get this transaction concluded so you can get that thing off my station.” He moved to his drinks cabinet… which looked rather sparse now. “Would you care for some callapas? It’s a type of brandy the Arkarians prefer; it has a flavour like sharp blackberry… and a kick like a faulty shuttlepod.” He stopped and looked to her expectantly.

Mistry folded her hands behind her, hearing in his voice a foundation accent of North American, Eastern Seaboard with a strong Irish parentage, and tempered from more recent association with an unfamiliar patois she guessed was from the Arkarian ship crews who frequented the station. “Thank you, no. And I should remind you that the transaction is not guaranteed, but subject to our own assessment of the object from the Rabbit Hole.”

He poured himself a glass and returned to her, smirking humourlessly, with a strange look in his eyes. “‘Rabbit Hole’. Such a cute name for that… monstrosity out there. The Arkarians have a different name for it: ‘Inalosi’; it means ‘Devourer’. They’d known of its existence for centuries, studied it by telescope before they developed the means of sending probes and ships out to it… and quickly learning to their cost just how powerful and unpredictable it could be. They learned to live with the knowledge of its proximity, like a large beast that dwelt in a neighbouring jungle.

But you know what, Captain? Even with all their advancements and knowledge… they still retain an almost primal fear of it. Their waste export vessel crews have superstitions about not looking at it directly, and treating its infrequent gravimetric surges as bad omens, and I half-suspect they still ship their waste off-world to here, because they treat it like it was some sort of regular sacrificial offering to the Devourer. They couldn’t even manage to keep any of their own people here to run Nerva for long, hence my own success in the role these last eight years. My crew and I have done well.”

“Sounds like an ideal arrangement,” she offered neutrally.

He looked at her. “It was… and then that thing was spat out of the maw of the singularity. Defying the laws of physics. Defying our attempts to scan it. And the writing on it...”

She studied him, his vocal and body expressions, the words he used and the words he left out, treating him the way she would a new language, gauging the rhythm, the ebb and flow, the context and commonalities. It was an expansion of the gifts that had made her a linguistics prodigy from an early age, allowing her to go beyond being the insular Little British Bookworm she had been labelled long ago, to someone who can understand people better. Usually. “What about the writing, Mr Kramer? Are you aware of its source?”

A shudder ran through him. “No.”

“You’ve not heard of the Iconians, then?”

He grunted. “No. And if they’re responsible for that thing, then if I never meet one, it’ll be too soon. Just pay me what I’ve asked for and take it away.”

She frowned. “Why the hurry?”

“Because-” Then he stopped himself, emptying his glass. “Never mind, Captain.”

Mistry let her arms curl out from behind her to cross her chest. “Mr Kramer, I’ve travelled a considerable distance to get here… too far to piss about now, so you’d better start telling me more than you already have. Is this a stolen object? Something you took from the Arkarians, or maybe someone else? Hence your need for a quick sale, before they catch up with you?”

“No!” he snapped, his face reddening with agitation, he finished his drink, and immediately went for a refill. “Yes, I might have wanted a quick sale before the Arkarians found out and just took it from me! But the way I’m feeling now, either you or them are welcome to it! The Hell with the money!” Then he looked at her again, a look of self-deprecation present. “You don’t know what it takes for someone like me to say something like that.”

Oh, I can guess, she thought. She had reviewed his public record: over the decades, Malik Kramer had been involved in an eclectic series of various business enterprises across the Quadrant: pergium mining on Rigel XII, shipping on the Vega Line, Deneva colony shares, Ktarian game concessions, tribble breeding, tourist packages to Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet… it was a colourful history, if nothing else, most based on what the old movies used to call ‘Get Rich Quick Schemes’.

But admittedly, he had no major criminal charges against him, just a couple of fines on Deneb relating to licence renewals. He was hardly a criminal mastermind worthy of the Orion Syndicate. “So what is it about the White Rabbit that’s made you change your tune, Mr Kramer?”

He looked at her, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

Mistry unfolded her arms, reaching for her wrist communicator. “I thought I made myself clear about wasting my time-”

“No, wait!” He nearly spilled his second round, before setting it aside, drawing closer, clearly conflicted about what he wanted to say. “Look, Captain... it was unnerving enough seeing that thing appear from the Rabbit Hole and stop outside of Nerva, and not get any readings from it on our scanners or be able to cut it. But what the Hell, the thought of the money we could make from it was overwhelming! And why not? It’s salvage! We have a right to make a living!

But the longer we kept it here, and the more I saw it… the more I didn’t want to see it. It doesn’t have eyes or ears, but… I can feel it watching me. Listening to me.”

“You mean, you think it has monitoring devices in it?”

“I mean I think it’s alive!” He paused, as if fully expecting her to scoff, before continuing. “Have you ever heard the stories of the Golem, Captain?”

She nodded. “A statue from Terran Jewish mythology, made from clay or stone and animated by incantations. From the Hebrew word ‘Gōlem’, meaning embryo, larva or cocoon-” She frowned. “You’re not trying to tell me-”

“This thing feels like it’s about to start moving!” he exclaimed. “At any time! And the writing on the pedestal… it moves, too!”

“Moves?” she echoed.

“Yes… if you try to read too many of them at once, they begin to… crawl!” He turned away, turning back again just as quickly, visibly trying to compose himself. “Yes, I know exactly how that sounds, Captain. I was never the brightest star in the constellation, Captain, but I’m no child! I’m a self-assured, sophisticated Twenty-Fourth Century man, who knows how the Universe works! But when I’m in the presence of that thing, I become that child I was again, hearing scary stories about the Golem from his Grandmama!”

Mistry studied him, not sure where he was going with this. If he was delusional, or if this was part of some deception to help make the sale, then all it had done was raise her suspicions. “When is the next Arkarian vessel due here?”

The question seemed to shake Kramer from his thoughts. “Two days. We were lucky the object appeared when there were none of their vessels docked or nearby.” He made a sound. “‘Lucky’-”

“And no one in your crew here will have contacted them?”

He shook his head. “There’s only twelve of us, none of us are Arkarians, and we were all going to get an equal share of the Federation payment. There’d be no reason for them to break silence and risk losing it.” He looked at her again. “You’re still intending to pay us?”

Mistry tilted her head. “I told you before, Mr Kramer, the transaction is not guaranteed, but subject to our own assessment of the object. And since we’re here already...”

Now he brightened, just a little. “Great! Do it! Get on with it!”

She straightened up, containing her own eagerness to see the Rabbit for herself, despite the man’s irrational ghost stories. “My ship will be examining the singularity, and I’ll want access to your station’s logs, to see what you saw when it appeared.”

Kramer nodded again. “Of course, Captain, of course. You’ll have our full cooperation.” He looked a little more embarrassed now. “I know I sounded crazy before, Captain. But you have to see that thing for yourself, to be in its presence, to understand-”

She raised a hand to cut him off. “Then the sooner, the better. Shall we?”

He nodded again, breathed in deeply and started for the door, motioning for her to follow. She continued to study him, wishing people were as straightforward as languages. Not counting Stroyerian, Tamarian or Sheliak, of course. Now, those were buggers.

*

Nola stood in the background of the Radio Shack, feeling the glare from Dr Dzenabe on her, remembering the old phrase If Looks Could Kill…

Or she was imagining it. She couldn’t remember saying or doing anything that would have provoked the Wakandan scientist into reacting in this way.

But she didn’t have any time to ponder it further, as Commander Gallop addressed the two remaining members of the Shack Pack, and the Harken crewmembers who would be assisting them on the substations. “You’ll have full access to the ship’s sensor pallets, and full control of the probes. Is that clear?”

Leavitt nodded amiably. Dzenabe grunted.

Gallop lifted up his dimpled chin, his rugged face assessing the two scientists. “And to avoid confusion, you will relay any instructions that you might have to the Bridge via Crewman Brice.”

“I want someone else,” Dzenabe announced.

Nola swallowed, feeling herself catch fire as eyes moved to her as she stood beside Gallop. Oh God, the woman was really out to get her, wasn’t she? And making it as public as possible, too?

Gallop, however, kept focused on the scientist. “Excuse me, Doctor?”

Dzenabe nodded towards Nola. “I want another functionary to liaise with the Bridge. Lieutenant al-Rad will suffice.”

Leavitt looked exasperated. “Jeez, Kisdi, don’t take it out on that poor kid just ’coz you’ve got your panties in a bunch!”

Gallop let his thumbs slip under the wide black belt around his brick-red jacket as he regarded the Wakandan coolly. “Would you care to explain why you want someone other than Crewman Brice, Doctor?”

Dzenabe fixed her gaze on Gallop, deliberately ignoring the young woman standing beside him. “No disrespect intended to your underling, Commander, but our work here is often very highly classified, involving very sensitive security matters, and each of us has been thoroughly vetted and cleared by Starfleet Intelligence.

The Captain, however, presumably in the grip of some maternal conceit, chooses to allow an immature child barely out of Enlisted School to not only participate, but to take on levels of responsibility she is clearly ill-equipped to manage.”

No disrespect intended? Nola thought.

Gallop nodded at all of that. “I see. Well, I understand completely now. Request denied.”

Dzenabe bristled. “Your decision is regrettable, Commander.”

“To you, perhaps, Doctor; not to the Captain or myself… you will have to trust us that we know what we’re doing. Is that understood?”

She stiffened, and then shot another look at Nola, as if the younger woman had been responsible for Gallop’s threat. Then she relaxed again. A little. “I will shelve my objections for now.”

“Excellent. Then you and Dr Leavitt can now divvy up the available crew, while I provide Crewman Brice a brief… brief.” He motioned for Nola to follow him to the door, and the corridor outside. Once there, alone with her, he folded his hands behind him as he regarded the young woman. “Comments, Crewman?”

She swallowed. “Comments, Sir?”

“On the way Dr Dzenabe treated you in there?”

She flushed. “I’m- I’m sorry, Sir-”

He frowned slightly. “Sorry? Why? What did you do?”

She blinked. “Do?” She glanced down either side of the corridor, as if hoping for someone to come along and interrupt them. “Truthfully, Sir?”

“Well, it could be untruthfully, but that won’t be of much use to either of us.”

Nola breathed in. Like the Captain said, a lack of communication was a cardinal sin on this ship… “Commander, I honestly don’t know what I might have done to offend or upset Dr Dzenabe. But I must have done something...”

“Why?”

“Sir?”

He offered her a supportive smile. “If there is no fault on your part, then don’t look for any. Sometimes, we end up on the receiving end of another’s anger without any due cause. And Wakandans, for all their famed scientific and technical expertise, can be just as aggressive as Klingons or Capellans… especially those with Royal lineage, as with Dr Dzenabe.”

Nola blinked, surprised. Royalty? Dzenabe was some sort of royalty? She knew that among Terrans, there were still people who could go back through their lineage and claim kinship with various minor kings and queens in different countries, and that something similar could be found in cultures on other worlds. But she never thought that would be a factor that still mattered to people.

“As it happens,” Gallop continued. “I have a suspicion about the reason for her bad humour… and I can assure you that it has nothing to do with you or anything you might have done. So, I want you to go back in there, man the Primary Console, and relay any additional instructions... but only if they both agree to it; if they don’t, they have to fight it out themselves. I’m not interested in refereeing any hair-pulling matches.

And throughout, remember that you are Starfleet. You, me – all of us – are all part of something greater. And you have the right to be treated with respect. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do.” He paused and raised a finger, smiling. “Unless they outrank you, of course. Understood?”

Bolstered by his words of encouragement, Nola straightened up, unable to stop smiling. “Yes, Sir!”

*

Mistry was near rocking on her heels as she waited, forcing herself not to ask for the tenth time for an update. Beside her, S’Li was proving to remain more still… except for his tail. But nevertheless, he chuckled at the Captain’s more visible impatience as they waited in the corridor beside their colleagues.

Thizheris and Colossale stood closer to the door, focused on the control PADDs in their hands, before the Fesarian looked up. “Remote scans complete, Captain. No unusual chemical or biological agents detected.”

Nearby, Kramer was standing next to one of his people, talking to him, but now looked over at the visitors. “See? I told you already! We sterilise the shuttlebays regularly!”

Mistry looked over to him. “No offence intended, Mr Kramer, but we needed to see this for ourselves.”

He cursed and turned away. His companion, a slight Rigelian male with yellow-green segmented skin and braided hair swept back, drew up to Mistry, hands clasped together, eyes open and voice low. “I am Bunol, Malik’s partner. Forgive his response, Captain. He has been disturbed by the presence of the object since its arrival. He has not slept, not eaten-”

“He’s had no problem drinking,” Thizheris muttered nearby.

Mistry shot the Andorian a look, but Bunol nodded, unoffended. “You are correct, Sir, for which I apologise. He’s been working far too hard, I can never get him to even take a short break on Arkaria. Captain, Malik mentioned you have crew who wish to examine our station logs?”

She nodded, raising her wrist communicator. “Mistry to Harken: beam over Crewman T’Shak and Mr Haluk to these coordinates.” She ended the transmission. “You don’t need to apologise for your partner, Mr Bunol. The Unexpected can be disturbing.” She paused, and then noted, “He mentioned feeling a… living presence in the object, and something… unusual with regards to the lettering on it. Can you corroborate that?”

Bunol’s hair beads rattled as he shook his head. “Others in our crew have, however: humans, and an Andorian.” He shrugged, a hint of humour in the lime-green eyes. “Perhaps the thing doesn’t like Rigelians?”

Nearby, twin columns of transport energy revealed a Vulcan couple, Haluk and T’Shak, carrying Security tricorders and nodding to Mistry, as the Captain replied, “Please follow Mr Bunol here to the station’s Operations Centre.”

“Yes, please,” Bunol invited, looking to Mistry once more. “We have an internal communications network running throughout Nerva, Captain; should you require anything, just ask the computer to connect you to Mr Kramer or myself.”

“Thank you.” She looked to the others, smiling. “Shall we?”

“Yes, please, Dear Captain!” S’Li chuckled. “I am as eager as a cub in his first Season!”

*

The Rabbit Hole dominated Nola’s display screen, as she checked and rechecked the open communications between her station and the Bridge, as Gallop reported, “Harken has reached the recommended coordinates, Brice. Launching the probes.”

“Yes, Sir.” Pressing her hand on the receiver in her ear, she turned to see the two scientists and their assistants at the Radio Shack’s main display. “Bridge reports we’re at the recommended coordinates, Doctors, and they’re launching the probes.”

“We can see that for ourselves,” Dzenabe responded, never looking up from her station.

Leavitt looked up now at Nola, smiling politely. “Thank you, Crewman.”

Nola smiled back thankful for the other woman’s presence, and contented to listen to the background chatter, between the scientists and the crew, and the sounds through her receiver from the Bridge, using the techniques Captain Mistry had taught her, to filter out the overlapping voices, moving from one to another, all building up a picture of the situation around her-

“Gravimetric interference is strong,” Leavitt was noting. “Erratic.”

“Obviously,” Dzenabe cursed. “Compensate!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do? A tighter spread with the probes can provide more confident data through redundancies.”

“But at the cost of overall data quality! Something that won’t be a problem if we move in closer ourselves for direct readings-”

“Uh uh. No, no way. Too dangerous.”

Nola turned to face the two women now, watching as Dzenabe glowered. “Nonsense! Our shields can manage the stresses!”

“Only to a certain degree. Are you looking at the same gravimetric spike levels that I’m seeing? We’ve almost lost one probe already from them!”

“We are no probe! And by focusing on the neutrino surges that precede the spikes, we can anticipate any imminent danger and draw back!”

Leavitt crossed her arms. “Assuming they don’t overwhelm us before we can draw back!”

“You’re just too cowardly to want to take an assumed risk!”

“It’s not assumed, Sweetie, it’s fricking real. And there are better alternatives to killing ourselves. Like, say, not killing ourselves.”

Dzenabe made a snarling sound – and then turned in place and strode up to Nola. “Tell the Bridge to take us in, another one million kilometres, just outside the event horizon.”

“Don’t,” Leavitt urged.

“Ignore her,” Dzenabe ordered, stepping closer to Nola, gaze fixed like a predator. “The data we can uncover will be phenomenal, and no great achievements are made without some element of risk. Now, do it.”

Nola’s pulse was racing, and she felt everyone’s eyes on her. How the Hell did she manage to get herself stuck in this position? She breathed in and replied, “No, Doctor.”

Dzenabe blinked. “What did you say?”

In for a penny… She steeled herself. “I said No, Doctor. I will only forward to the Bridge any requests or decisions agreed upon by both of you. Those are my orders.”

All eyes in the room were on her now. The Wakandan stepped forward, accentuating the head’s height advantage she had over the younger woman as she practically snarled, “If this is because you feel insulted by my earlier objection... suck it up. The data we could obtain could lead to the most revolutionary advances since warp drive! Even an ignorant little mongrel like you should be able to appreciate that!”

Leavitt stepped up now. “Hey! That is way out of line, Kisdi!”

Dzenabe ignored her colleague, practically breathing onto Nola’s face, eyes wide. “Now, do as you’re told, or I’ll-”

“You’ll do nothing,” Nola stammered.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’ll do nothing, Doctor.” Nola raised her voice, the words evacuating quickly from her, as if propelled by the torrent of stress she felt under the intimidation. “I’m here to assist you and Dr Leavitt to the best of my abilities... not to be bullied. And if you stand there and continue to make threats of either a verbal or physical nature to me, I will contact Security and I will have you removed and detained. And if you’re as smart as you seem to be, you’ll know I can do it. Is that clear?”

Nola almost gasped at the end of it, wondering where all of that had come from.

Dzenabe stuck out a defiant chin… but then Leavitt appeared once more at her side. “Kisdi, come on, we can come up with compensatory algorithms based on what we’ve gotten so far. Show some Wakandan grace and walk away; you’re not going to win this.”

“No,” Dzenabe finally concurred. “I guess not.”

And she did, Leavitt following... after giving Nola a Thumbs Up.

Some of the other crewmen present gave her looks of support and encouragement. Nola offered nods of confidence back… but inwardly found herself twisted into knots. Where the Hell did that come from? And can she bottle it and sell it?

*

Mistry stood in the cool, stark shuttle maintenance bay, gazing up at what was definitely a statue: a slim, elongated figure, a gleaming, almost shimmering white, bipedal, with fin-like projections rising up from an almond-shaped, faceless head, and arms that hung down over its narrow hips and ended in extra-long digits. It was mounted on a six-sided pedestal, every square centimetre of each side heavily-inscribed.

“Resplendent,” S’Li remarked, resting his paws on his cane as he gazed up at it. “Do you think that’s an accurate representation of an Iconian, Dear Captain?”

“I don’t know, Professor,” she admitted faintly. She was recalling the old Terran poem by Shelley, about the ruins of a mighty statue, a ‘colossal wreck’ representing an ancient ruler named Ozymandias, of which only the statue pieces remained of a vast empire. This statue wasn’t ruined, but there was something obvious about its immense age.

On her other side, Colossale appeared similarly awestruck, though he couldn’t help but offer a little typical facetiousness. “I’m rather disappointed. Yet another freakishly tall race.”

Nearby, Thizheris was controlling the four floating sensor drones that were now circling the object, but never looked up from his PADD as he remarked, “That’s it, just let me do all the work here.”

Mistry looked to him, smiling. “You’ve been at it for a total of thirty seconds, Thizzy, and you’ve yet to find anything useful. I’m sending you back to the University of Laikan.”

“On the contrary, Captain. I’ve found that this White Rabbit of yours is made of neutronium.”

The others looked to him now, Colossale making a sound of appreciation. “Yes, that’s promising! The Iconians were said to have found a way of fabricating neutronium, and it would explain both its mass and our inability to scan the interior.”

“It’s not all neutronium,” Thizheris added. “The plates mounted on the six sides of the pedestal are ordinary tritanium, though the presence of the neutronium is making more exact scans difficult.” He grunted, his antennae dipping. “Especially as I am forced to labour alone...”

Colossale cracked the knuckles in his tiny digits and approached. “Allow me to assist, my blue friend.”

The reminder of the pedestal made Mistry drop to one knee before the Rabbit, reaching out and touching the plates, examining the dense lettering closely, opening her mind. “Definitely Iconian, Professor.”

The Caitian was moving around the object, tapping his cane on the cold bay floor. “The same with these others, Dear Captain. Do you think it might be enough to help begin formulating an explication matrix?”

“With luck,” she replied absently, her heart racing. “Or a linking language. This could be another Rosetta Stone, or Kurlian Shard.” She picked up the tricorder Colossale had been holding for her, and began scanning the lettering. This was incredible! There had only ever been fragments of Iconian script until today! And now there was-

She glanced up.

The statue had moved…