TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 7 continued)
Chapter 7 <cont'd>
I caught sight of my reflection
I caught it in the window
I saw the darkness in my heart
I saw the signs of my undoing
They had been there from the start
And the darkness still has work to do
The knotted chord's untying
They're heated and they're holy
Oh they're sitting there on high
So secure with everything they're buying
Blood of Eden ~ Peter Gabriel
Sandhurst heard the distant call of birds as he floated up towards consciousness from the cool depths of blissful oblivion. Even his persistent dreams of the great cube and the dark forest had not troubled him here, so deeply had he plunged into the abyss.
When the hell did Taiee get songbirds? he wondered in the midst his calm detachment. Perhaps I’m not in Sickbay, he considered. He couldn’t really recall with any certainty what his last memory was. Borg? He thought he remembered something about the Borg, but as he performed a self-check of his body he felt utterly comfortable, lying atop a soft, body-conforming surface of some kind. He was in no pain. He felt no anxiety or fear. Certainly not what one would expect to feel if he’d just encountered the Collective.
Maybe I finally took a vacation and I’m waking up in a Risan hotel suite? It was a wonderful thought, especially given what he’d been through recently… Wait… I’m in the Delta Quadrant… not too many luxury hotels out here…
He cracked an eyelid and his eye immediately focused on a rather lovely vase holding an assortment of exotically beautiful flowers, none of which he recognized. The fragrance of the bouquet permeated the room, at least he assumed he was in a room. He opened both eyes experimentally, blinking for a moment against the white sunlight that spilled forth from the great bay window opposite his bed.
The room he found himself in could well belong to a luxury hotel of some kind. Rounded doorways, gently curved ceilings and the large, irregularly shaped window gave the suite a strikingly unconventional appearance. Sandhurst experienced his first thrill of discomfort as he realized his environs were not something someone would encounter in a Federation-designed structure. They were too distinct, not bland enough for the decidedly inoffensive pan-species sensibilities of the UFP.
A couch-like daybed and a knee-high table with elaborate pillowed seating areas were the only readily identifiable furnishings, but various pieces of what Sandhurst surmised to be artwork filled the suite. He sat up and found himself atop a low bed, dressed in a light tunic and pants, someone’s idea of sleepwear.
He first approached the window, looking out from a great height above… Oh, hell, he murmured internally. Sandhurst stared openly at the great forest far below him. The coniferous trees were bathed in sunlight and created zones of swaying shadows in the sun-speckled grassland from whence they sprung. It’s the dark forest in daylight, he realized with wonder, inside the great cube. Memories of the stark terror on Europa’s bridge that gripped the crew upon the Borg’s arrival flooded back to him. He pressed a hand against the glass-analogue substance forming the window, gazing through it as his eyes searched to confirm his suspicions. Sandhurst could barely make out the opposite wall of the enormous interior space, perhaps a half a kilometer distant. It rose to meet the presumably holographic light-green sky overhead.
Sandhurst turned back to look at the painstakingly decorated compartment. Not exactly the amenities I would have expected from a Borg vessel, he thought sardonically. Perhaps the Collective assimilated a particularly stylish species?
For the next few minutes Sandhurst walked around the room, examining the furnishings and artwork, most notably a sculpture of two figures which at first he took to be locked in combat. Upon further inspection, he decided that it represented something else, an amorphous creature transmuting into a humanoid form, not unlike a Changeling.
He had never possessed a refined taste in art, despite the best efforts of his artist father. And yet, Sandhurst found himself inexplicably drawn to the sculpture. It wasn’t particularly compelling, as its aesthetic and cultural significance were lost on him, but the piece nevertheless evoked something within him, radiating an aura of… he didn’t know quite what.
Sandhurst was still studying the object when the door opened with a soft pneumatic sigh. A humanoid female wearing a gently flowing shift in earth tones entered. Her dark hair was cut nearly stubble-short on the left side, while the right side extruded up in a feathered pattern evocative of nihilistic youth on a hundred different worlds. Her eyes were a bright green, shades lighter and more striking than any human bore through biology alone. Her skin tone was a light mocha, and aside from the unconventional hairstyle, Sandhurst found her quite beautiful.
“Good morning, Donald,” she said in a foreign tongue that he nevertheless understood immediately. It wasn’t the delayed translation of a UT device, rather he apparently and unexpectedly spoke her language despite never having heard it before.
“What is it you want from me?” he inquired brusquely in this new linguistic matrix.
She cocked her head to one side, a graceful smile blossoming across her features. “That was to be my question to you, Zeischt.”
He nearly recoiled from her use of the name that had plagued his dreams for many months. “What… who is Zeischt?” he barked more heatedly than he’d intended.
“You are,” she replied calmly, apparently unfazed by his brief fit of pique. “It is your given name,” she paused, trying to articulate a complex thought, “or rather, it will be.”
“Given by whom?”
“Your Amon family,” she answered.
“You are Amon,” he repeated numbly.
Her smile widened. “Yes.”
“Where is my ship? What have you done with my crew?”
“We’ve done nothing with your ship,” she answered plainly. “Some of your crew were injured when our training cadre recovered you from your command center, but nothing that could not be easily healed. Since then, your ship has taken your ally in tow and is moving out of the system.”
“Training cadre?” he probed.
“Yes, our apprentice warrior-recruits,” she explained. "We thought recovering you while employing non-lethal force would be a challenging learning experience for them. Withholding the killing strike takes far more discipline in the heat of battle than delivering it.”
“What do the Amon want with me?” he asked, his words taking on a hard edge in response to the revelation of his capture.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her face assuming the appropriate expression of confusion. “It is you who called to us.”
“No!” he practically yelled. He turned away from her, raising his hands and gesturing at his head. “You’ve been haunting me for months! Rattling around inside my head with vague portents and mysterious double-talk.”
“My name is Nestrala, I am the High Soothsayer of our tribe,” she gestured towards the sitting area and moved to take a seat. “Because of my gifts, I am the one with who you’ve been in communication.”
“How? Why?” He had so very many questions.
She gestured again for him to sit and after a moment he reluctantly settled onto an ottoman-like structure that suddenly morphed into a chair around him. To his credit, he managed to keep from leaping to his feet, but only barely.
“You are Amon,” Nestrala said simply.
“No, I’m not,” he shot back heatedly. “Why do you keep saying that?”
She leaned forward toward him, fixing her hauntingly green eyes to his own. “To become one of us is to have always been one of us.”
“I’m not going to become one of you, so the point is moot,” Sandhurst retorted.
“You will. If not, we could never have come into communion with one another as we have.”
“So you’ll force me to join you?” He laughed without humor. “Why not? You already fly around in a Borg cube, why wouldn’t you assimilate people too?”
She remained steadfastly serene in the face of his outrage. “That’s not how it works. You must join us of your own free will.”
“And what could possibly compel me to do that?” Sandhurst asked derisively.
Nestrala’s response was immediate, and was offered not as conjecture but as an accepted matter of fact. “When the dark lord that pursues you has hurt you so badly that you cannot suffer any further loss, you will come to us. When you are broken and bowed and he has taken every shred of your dignity, you’ll ask for the protection of your Amon brethren. When that day comes, we will be there for you, Zeischt.”
Sandhurst sat transfixed. “How can you know about him?” he asked in a weak voice.
“You told us about him through your dreams. You cried out to us in terror.”
“It won’t come to that,” he said with conviction.
“At some future point,” she countered, “it already has.”
*****
First Officer's log, USS Europa, supplemental – “As the crew endeavors to repair our modest battle damage, we’ve taken Vexam in tow and are departing for the edge of the system to regroup. Shortly after our contact with the Borg cube and the abduction of Captain Sandhurst, the cube vanished into the same spatial rupture that it used to drop in on top of us.
I still don’t know what to make of the attack that precipitated the captain’s kidnapping. The visual recorders show that our attackers had every advantage, and yet they demonstrated significant restraint in their actions, notably producing not a single fatality in their assault. That fact gives me some hope that Captain Sandhurst might be recovered alive from their clutches as soon as we can discover who and where they are.”
Repairs continue aboard both our ships, and for the time being the En-Il-Que have continued to give us a wide berth, though they’ve finally sent a relief force to rescue those of their ships we’d previously disabled.
I’m scheduled for a conference with Admiral Jellico in a few moments to discuss our circumstances, and what if anything can be done to locate and retrieve our captain.”
*****
Jellico inclined his head towards his display terminal. “Morning, Commander.”
T’Ser returned the gesture. “It is that, sir.”
“In light of recent events, and owing to the fact that we have no idea as to the whereabouts of Captain Sandhurst, I’ve come to a difficult decision.”
T’Ser remained mute, awaiting the admiral’s verdict.
“I’m detaching Europa for a period of one week to chase down any leads as to Sandhurst’s whereabouts, but given the critical nature of our mission, that’s all the longer I can spare you. In the meantime, it’s vitally important that the chain-of-command be preserved in order to shore up the confidence and operational effectiveness of your personnel. For that reason, I am granting you the field commission of captain, effective immediately.”
T’Ser held up a hand. “Sir, that really isn’t nec—“
“The decision’s been made, Captain T’Ser, and as we haven’t worked together for long I’m going to excuse your failure to realize that I’m not given to repeating myself. A crew needs a captain, and you’re it. Who’s your first choice for Europa’s XO billet?”
“Lt. Commander Pell, Admiral,” T’Ser said reflexively, still processing her superior’s neutronium-girded rebuke.
“Good, I’ll make that official.” Jellico’s expression softened slightly. “Make no mistake, Captain, I haven’t given up hope on our finding Sandhurst. Heaven knows the man’s bucked the odds before, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he does so again. Nevertheless, this taskforce’s mission is too important to be sidelined by the abduction or death of any one officer. Are we clear?”
“As crystal, Admiral,” she replied promptly.
“Good to hear,” he answered. “What’s the status of our new Romulan friends?”
“Vexam’s repairs continue, and we estimate we’ll have her warp-capable again in a little over seventy-two hours.”
“Any indications that Vexam’s commander has any interest in a cooperative effort out here to our mutual benefit?”
“I haven’t broached that subject just yet, sir,” T’Ser responded. “I will when the appropriate moment presents itself.”
“Understood. Carry on and keep me apprised of any significant developments. Your week’s grace to look for Sandhurst will begin when you’ve cleared Vexam and she’s underway on her own power. Good hunting, Captain. Galaxy, out.”
T’Ser released a long sigh she’d been holding back for minutes as the comms-link terminated. Captain, she thought dazedly. Gods, I’d give anything to be able to talk to Joseph Akinola right now in realtime, he’d have all kinds of advice for me.
After a minute’s consideration, T’Ser realized that the years spent under Akinola’s tutelage were just as good as being able to bend the man’s ear in the here and now. He taught me how to command, she said to herself. Now it’s time to put it to use.
*****
They moved through the great ship, walking along broad boulevards which had once formed arterials of Borg conduit and housed hundreds of thousands of drones. Now he would have been hard pressed to believe he was aboard a Borg vessel, if he had not already known the truth. The interior had been opened up into cavernous spaces that were resplendent with bone white bulkheads decorated with mimetic murals and grand tapestries. Everywhere he looked Sandhurst saw trees, flowers, sculpture gardens, and galleries containing all manner of artistic expression.
Sandhurst couldn’t hide his surprise at the transformation from a cybernetic house of horrors into a beacon of light and life. “It’s beautiful here,” he admitted, “which strikes me as strange, as others have described the Amon as death eaters.”
“We are, in a sense,” Nestrala confessed. “We create life and beauty from death.”
He glanced at her, his skepticism evident. “You’re sure that’s not something you tell less developed species to keep them in line?”
Nestrala’s smile was patient and only a touch condescending. “The Amon hold no territory, Donald. We fight no wars to acquire or defend worlds or resources. We have no need keep others ‘in line’ as you say.”
Sandhurst nearly asked about the Habertaem and their Amon-controlled weapons systems, but kept his peace for fear of repercussions against that already horrifically scarred people.
“So, what constitutes creating life from death?” he asked instead as they stepped into a wide translucent travel tube through which other Amon rose or descended on invisible energies.
“Sentient lifeforms shed an energy field at the moment of death that gradually disperses into the background radiation of the universe. Our creators discovered that this energy can be captured, harnessed and used to enhance longevity and physical prowess, eradicate disease, and even accelerate a species’ evolution should they choose.”
“Your creators?” His eyes drifted across level after level of parks, residential areas, markets and other signs of a bustling, energetic society as they traveled upwards in the tube.
“Yes,” she said. “We are an artificially engineered people, created to serve the whims of our masters many eons ago. The Amon were sent out into the universe to collect life-essence that was stored and eventually employed by our masters to transform them from their amorphous corporeal bodies into a pure energy state. When they suddenly ‘sublimed’ they took an entire star system and billions of Amon with them. The remaining tribes were left without guidance or purpose, fated to wander the stars for eternity searching for some higher purpose.”
Sandhurst filed that fact away as he pressed for more information about the mythical energy that supposedly fueled their civilization. “So, you’re telling me that your species uses the souls of sentient dead to power your vessels?”
“Of course not, Donald. We shunt energy from an interstitial field barrier between dimensions to power our craft. Limitless energy for the machines that we employ, that nonetheless pales in comparison to the life-essence that underpins all aspects of our society.”
The stepped out of the travel tube and into a large hydroponics bay where Amon tended to a wide variety of plants and were harvesting various fruit and vegetable-analogues.
“How can you subsist on a form of energy that no species I know of has ever even detected?” he asked pointedly.
“The peoples of this part of your galaxy are far too primitive to have developed the requisite technology necessary to detect the energy, let alone capture it.” Nestrala said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “The other species we’ve encountered who possess such technology have stringent moral reservations against utilizing the energy in any capacity, usually due to residual primitive superstitions.”
“You mean they have religious or moral objections to using what might well be the departed souls of their own dead as an energy source?” The scorn in Sandhurst’s tone was unmistakable.
“The energy fields ultimately dissipate into nothingness,” Nestrala pointed out, apparently immune to Sandhurst’s evident disapproval. “What benefit is to be gained by allowing that resource to go to waste?”
“You might feel differently if it were the souls of your own people, Nestrala.”
She turned to face him, all earnestness. “The life-essence of our own dead are captured just the same, and infused into our works of art and our weaponry. Each of the deshouri battle staffs used by our warriors who boarded your ship contain the life-energy of one of our fallen warriors. It creates a spiritual and psychic bond between weapon and wielder, allowing both to react to threats more quickly than any one individual might.”
Sandhurst thought that he must have looked as shocked as he felt, for Nestrala’s reaction was one of concern. “I understand that this is a great deal for you to absorb all at once. Give yourself time to grasp the truth in what I say. We have nothing to hide, and no question is forbidden.”
He nodded slowly, his mind racing with the implications of what he’d learned. “You said your people use the energy to sustain yourselves. How, exactly?”
She reached into a nearby harvesting bin to withdraw a brown-hued fruit of some kind. “The energy is infused into the food and drink that we consume, and so nourishes our spiritual selves as the food does our physical bodies.”
Ah, he said to himself as his mind grappled with the predatory nature of that transaction. Death eaters, indeed.
*****
Very interesting who the real life inhabitants of Sandhurst's dream turned out to be, and I love the concept that it was HE who was somehow calling out to them. The Amon foretelling of Sandhurst's future is both chilling and intriguing. I can't help wondering if, by knowing the future, he will in some way be empowered to avoid it (I doubt it, but it's an interesting possibility.) As always, you've hooked me, and I'm very much looking forward to learning more about
