Second Officer's Log

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Second Officer’s Log, Stardate….

Cmdr JFarrington, MD

USS Manticore NCC 5852-A

 

 

There's music in the sighing of a reed;

There's music in the gushing of a rill;

There's music in all things, if men had ears:

Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

~Lord Byron

 

 

Jami Farrington was many things, but she was no telepath. Furthermore, though she had always felt the normal human empathy that a mother has for her child or a doctor for her patient, she was certainly no empath. And yet, as the planet Qin-a rolled silently beneath them, it seemed to have a life of its own and was waiting to do their bidding. The events of the last few days seemed to have bound her inextricably to it and to its inhabitants, especially Vai. But how? That she could not fathom. Something had happened to her deep within the mountain, something beyond the healing from their perfected song.

 

Half an hour ago she had been standing at the viewport in her quarters, mesmerized as the planet’s harmonics and the rhythm of the ship blended into a strange symphony. The deep thrum of engines, the soft pad of regulation boots in the corridor, and the cadence of voices blended with and enhanced the resonance of what she heard from below. Dense forest greens melted into easier tones of meadow and tawny grassland. Rich obsidian and brilliant crystalline sands crisped the continents along the edges. Here and there rivers cut their paths to the sea, some cascading in endless haste, some listlessly wandering, not caring if or when they arrived. Always, from everywhere, the lilting song reached Jami’s mind. It was a song of life, of renewal, of endless becoming – an ancient song she’d heard somewhere before, if she could but remember.

 

The symphony had given her a sense of exhilaration and of loss. She knew Manticore’s orbital trajectory had been calculated to approach the crystal mountain at a precise moment, where hopefully, by emitting a certain frequency, the twin stars Ama’a and Mi’i would resume their celestial dance, stretch forth their arms, and give Manticore a path to their home galaxy.

 

Such was the explanation of the Qin. Even their scientific language was tinged with lore. With their superior scientific knowledge they knew full well that the arms of which they spoke were actually inter-galactic conduits, and that the twin stars were a binary system that interacted with the harmonic resonance of the crystalline mountain on their home planet every thousand years. Only then were the conduits produced, lacing their way towards distant galaxies until Qin-a angled out of range and the conduit production ceased.

 

As the mountain breached the horizon she had wondered why our scientists could not accept such a blend of dry, practical science and lore. Why could they not choose the more imaginative, the more creative, and in so doing fuse the creation with the creator and the very source of life.

 

We are the stuff of stars. We are the universe making sense of itself. Our substance and theirs is the same. It was a philosophical discussion for another time, another place. Forsaking the conversation, she had gone to the bridge, feeling the need to witness the instant of her transition from one life to another, and to witness the passing of Vai, the Qin, Qin-a, and Andromeda galaxy. She also wondered if the gift of hearing that Vai had given her would endure the passage.

 

Their journey through the conduit was anything but smooth. As if in vengeance for trespassing, or perhaps for disrupting her creation cycle, Ama’a spewed the Manticore like an unwanted birth out of her galaxy and into its own, tossing it about like flotsam, tearing apart crucial systems, severely injuring some and knocking others senseless. Then, while they were helpless, they were delivered into the hands of their most ardent foe, Adrian Wolfe of the Black Ops ship Babylon.

 

After a long bout of tending to wounded Jami had assumed command on a darkened bridge littered with debris, the deck slicked with scattered scraps of console, pools of blood and assorted other bodily fluids, and the ship at the mercy of a Black Ops fleet deployed against an invasion. It was at that moment, when her talents were needed most, that Jami realized the gift had indeed endured the passage, and that the full effect of it was beyond her comprehension and uncontrollable.

 

First, she became inexplicably disoriented. Voices and images around her blended with voices and images from elsewhere, and she struggled to separate the two into a comprehensible pattern.

 

Commander, do you want to engage the PC? We have to take some control!

 

That was Commander Garnoopy.

 

Commander, obviously my repeated Morse code is being ignored or they are too stupid to read it. Do I continue?

 

That was Lt Cmdr Roget.

 

Not only is this an attack, they are being openly hostile and taking command staff. It is only prudent we take at least a small step to ensure our survival. We have hull breaches, decks 4-8, the primary warp core is offline, damage to plasma systems, transporters, comms, tractor beams, and deflector control is offline. We have no shields nor weapon systems. Engineering is reporting damage to the EPS conduits. There may be damage to the computer core, I'm not sure yet. We're missing about 20 crew quarters.

 

Garnoopy again.

 

A flash of electrodes, a face in the shadows. Isn't this a little ... 20th Century? Okay, so ask your questions already. I'm no alien or spy.

 

Atragon? What the…? Where are you?

 

If we phase cloak they can't harm us. If we sit here they will realize it's A9's ship and not only kill him, but kill us too. This is black ops, not the Federation fleet.

 

That was Garnoopy. What happened to Atragon? Only hearing half of what the Chief Engineer said, she thought she responded, “We have power and systems for that?”

 

Then Science Chief Escher said something and Engineering Chief Garnoopy replied, followed by someone going into spasm in sick bay, Lt Cmdr Faldek alone in the Chimera, then more shadows and a brilliant light, then pain….

 

She grit her teeth against what seemed like thousands of volts surging through her body, then she collapsed into the command chair, straining against convulsions. Something was said about a phase cloak, but she wasn’t sure what it was because she couldn’t think. The cloak didn’t work. Now what? More visions, more voices, then pain… and a scream....

 

Atragon!

 

Admiral, look at what your ship just did, what does this mean?

 

She knew that voice, but it could not be. Where was it coming from?

 

Admiral, I ask again, what did we just witness? No. Impossible. He’s not here.

 

More voices aboard Manticore, and some she didn’t recognize. More visions bombarded her from every direction. More questions, which she answered as best she could.

 

Then the face. Adrian Wolfe. Aboard the Babylon…

 

…and the sudden realization: Vai. What have you done?