By Nathan Warner
A covert recovery team, led by Professor Anthony Rasp, searches for the downed Galaxy class starship, U.S.S. Prospection, rumored to be carrying a captured Dominion superweapon. What they find could change history!
“The signal is now…behind us, Professor,” Lieutenant Jack Bader reported brightly. Everyone groaned. Bader’s optimism in this wild-goose chase was getting on everyone’s nerves. Archaeologist Anthony Rasp checked his own Tricorder. He also saw the indefinite Tritanium blip, flashing for a second, drifting slowly across the topographical map from where it had been, in front of them, to about a kilometer behind them. It had been fluctuating for hours.
“Why won’t it keep still?” Ensign Alice Saviere asked, wiping her brow in frustration. “You’d think for a scuttled starship, it would keep still! How much ground have we covered so far?”
“Nearly 12 km,” Commander Niven said evenly with the emotion of a Vulcan. Saviere sighed for his lack of feeling.
“I say they’re all sensor echoes!” she cried, throwing her hands up. “There’s nothing here!” Everyone looked to the Legendary Professor Rasp, waiting for him to say something.
Rasp brushed his spectacles up his nose and slowly pulled out a crystalline stone from his pocket, holding it in front of his Tricorder. He let out a piercing whistle, more for dramatic effect than anything. Suddenly, the signature popped back on his Tricorder, anchored on the topographical display nearly 3km from them across the slightly lower gravity of Mitas 2 – an M-class moon orbiting Bellecose, an unremarkable gas giant planet in the Antret System. The atmosphere of Mitas 2 had an unusual constituent that dampened radiation – even the light of the local star, resulting in a gentle blue hue in the air around them and poor sensor returns on their scans. They’d begun calling the elemental gas “Obscurium”.
“We are close,” Rasp smiled, clutching the stone to his lips and then pocketing it again. The team stood in a bit of a daze at what they had just seen. The legendary Mr. Rasp had done something legendary again, and in their presence! They were in awe. They set out again, climbing the steep ridge that led to a plateau at the top. Saviere pulled up next to Rasp.
“How did you do that, if you don’t mind me asking, Professor?” she querried. She was the only member of the team who risked looking stupid to ask good questions.
“It is a Betazoid Quartz crystal,” he answered wryly. “It attenuates and focuses energy. It is usually used to help Betezoids sharpen their mental and emotional focus, unlock trauma, and improve memory, but I have found it also helps to attenuate tricorder scans as well. I had a hunch that it could penetrate this ‘Obscurium’ in the atmosphere.”
Saviere glanced back at her crewmates and mouthed, “Oh, my…” Rasp truly was unbelievably larger than life, and he just kept growing larger every minute.
“Yes, that rascally Obscurium,” she said, returning her attention to Rasp at her side, and brushing her fingers through her blond locks. “It reminds me of my pet Klingon gerbil, Anchovy – he’s always vanishing from his cage, even though he’s still there. And I’m always checking it to make sure…” The look Rasp gave her dried up any further tales that might have been forthcoming about the Gerbil named Anchovy. Saviere considered her words sheepishly, as the archaeologist continued up the slope ahead of her, but the analogy was not unfounded. The Obscurium was making it seem like something that should be there wasn’t there. It was why the four of them were on foot, having left their Federation Mission Scoutship, the U.S.S. Dispatch, in orbit and all beamed down to hunt for a nebulous Tritanium signature they’d picked up on the surface. Was it the ship officially still listed as missing-in-action in the Federation databanks that they’d been searching for over the last 5 years?
There were many missing ships still unaccounted for at the close of the Dominion War, and it would take almost a decade for them to mostly be accounted for. Dozens of yet uncatalogued debris fields had to be assessed and the puzzle-pieces reassembled to tell the story of what had befallen them. On many alien worlds, empty lifeboats now resided on the surface, overgrown with vines or sunken in the sands like strange metallic eggs that had long since hatched their occupants – the only proof that a ship had been lost, somewhere in the star system. More than a few planets or moons boasted large hull fragments, twisted and burned out wrecks of the proud star-charting vessels they had once been.
While scrappers and looters raced to locate and salvage Federation technology for the Black Markets of the Orion Syndicate or the Ferengi Alliance, the Federation dispatched its own recovery teams headed up by Archeologist and former Starfleet Captain, Anthony Rasp. His mission was to locate intact wreckage before the scrappers could get their hands on it. He was good – the best starship-tracker around, owing to his specialty – Battlespace Forensics, the study of ancient space battlefields. Just last year, he’d located the mythic Cartosian dreadnaught in the comet belt of Bathe, adding to his already impressive career of historic finds.
And it was due to his reputation, that the Federation Intelligence Committee approached him to use his skills in helping them find nascent archaeological sites, laid down only a few years prior in the battlespaces of the Dominion War.
At first, Rasp had been reluctant. Although the science was the same, it wasn’t a “proper” use of his skillset, but the thought of the thousands of families still waiting to hear of the fate of their loved ones finally convinced him to agree to the posting. There were many ships to locate, and the Holy Grail was a missing Galaxy starship named the U.S.S. Prospection. The ship had gone missing while on a classified mission to acquire the prototype of what was rumored to be a joint Cardassian/Dominion superweapon. Cardassian resistance cells had claimed to have captured the prototype from a Dominion asteroid facility in the Badlands. The U.S.S. Prospection did meet with the resistance group, but after it left them, it was never heard from again.
For obvious reasons, the Federation Intelligence Committee needed this “situation” resolved as soon as possible – it didn’t do to have a potential super-weapon missing somewhere out there where scavengers were hunting down wreckage.
Rasp made it to the top of the ridge and rested his eyes on the mysterious plateau. He removed his broad-brimmed hat and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
“Well, lads,” he said, winking at Saviere, “I think we’ve found it.” Saviere scrambled excitedly up to the top and gazed at the scene. The plateau stretched out before them, sage-like brush and loose, rocky soil. But something had clearly impacted the surface, cutting a broad channel through the ground, stretching out as perspective lines into the horizon. Saviere, jumped a little in excitement. The width of the impact trail was approximately that of a Galaxy class saucer. She squinted into the distance, but couldn’t see the ship yet, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Galaxy class saucer crash sites often extended a good distance, if the landing was soft. The fact they couldn’t see it was a good sign, because it meant they’d likely find a mostly intact Saucer at the end of this newly paved road in the wilderness.
They’d visited several over the years, mostly catastrophic landings, though. After all, if there’d been survivors, the ship would have been recovered through normal channels like Search and Rescue, not by a team headed by an Archeologist!
“Very well,” Commander Niven seemed to punctuate the situation after he had reached them and taken in the scene himself. The Commander swatted absently at the dust on his uniform, catching his breath, standing akimbo. Saviere considered him carefully. Niven was a war hero and he’d been in many an uncomfortable spot of action during the Dominion War, but they’d all been onboard ships, not in “nature.” The stuffy middle-aged man seemed to have an aversion to root and twig – she shuddered to think how he’d react to a little cloud of gnats or buzzard flies. They had hardly begun trekking in the broad, earthen roadway of the impact trail, when she paused at the thought and glanced around. They hadn’t encountered any insects so far, which seemed mighty unusual. Every planet Saviere had every visited had some form of “small” life on it. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen or scanned any lifesigns at all since they’d stepped foot down here, not even bacteria. But before she could give that any more thought, a sound distracted her. She tilted her head to catch it. Was that singing?
All eyes focused back on Lt. Bader, taking up the vanguard, where the soft vocals seemed to be emanating from.
“Country roads, take me home,” he crooned softly, with his eyes closed, “to the place where I…” But his optimism was dampened when he opened his eyes and saw Commander Niven’s stern brow bending down on him.
“Thank you for that, Lieutenant,” Niven said, in the least thankful voice he could muster. The tune died away instantly on Bader’s lips, and he tugged uncomfortably at his Science Uniform. But as they all turned their attention back to the “country” road before them, Saviere smiled as she thought she could still hear Bader faintly humming the ancient tune to himself. It wasn’t for naught that the Lieutenant had majored in Musical Theory before applying to Starfleet Academy.
The rest of the walk was uneventful, save for the many moments when Saviere would scamper up to the edge of the ridge of the channel and squint into the distance and when Rasp routinely paused to take Tricorder readings on chemical and elemental fragments embedded in the soil. As they trudged along, he worked busily at the controls.
“Found anything, Professor?” Niven finally asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because it was really starting to irritate him, like that itch from Rashweed he’d slowly developed on Parisas 4 as a child.
“Well, the planet has some very interesting subterranean caverns that extend almost like a foam through the entire crustal region. There are lots of voids and cavities – I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rasp replied distractedly, but then pointed the Tricorder back at the ground when he met the Commander’s strained eyes. “And…there are microscopic fragments in the soil that seem to match the constituents of a Galaxy class saucer section. But more importantly, there are trace elements of weapons fire scraped off in the earth from the hull, and they bear a Dominion energy signature in the common bandwidth of Jem’Hadar fighter craft.”
“So, the Prospection was shot down,” Niven said with a sigh.
“It would seem so,” Rasp replied.
“Let’s pray they didn’t acquire the cargo,” Niven grumbled, more to himself than anyone else.
After half an hour, Saviere finally gave a shout from the ridge.
“I see it!” she cried. “I see it – the ship is just ahead!” Less than 500 meters later, they could all see the “hill” of the Saucer rising up from the earth several kilometers ahead. The rest of the walk was surreal for the travelers, as the ship loomed larger by the minute.
It was the most awe-inspiring scene Saviere had ever seen – even topping that Miranda class they’d found submerged in a bay last year on Callous 4 – the sight underwater had been breathtaking, but running into the corpses was enough to keep a person from sleeping for the rest of their life and require yearly session of Betazoid hypnotic therapy. She sighed as she glanced across the hulking starship in the distance.
Would they find survivors? Would there be corpses here, too? Of course there would be! They’d never found a crash site without them. An Eerie suspense hung over them. They took a short break and ate some rations – dried apricots and protein bars, and then pushed the final leg towards the remains of the Prospection. It was majestic! Splayed out on its belly liked a beached sea creature, the aft quarter rose high above their heads – the underside bathed in deep, cool shadows. Saviere and Bader hurried forward to what looked like structures in the shade.
Sure enough, they came across a dozen tents and habitats neatly organized into a little neighborhood in the shadows. Makeshift gardens sprouted sagebrush nearby.
“Hello?” Bader cried. “Anyone home?” Silence answered them. They searched the structures, but no one was present, nor any sign of death, weapons fire, or violence. Plates of old moldy food lay neatly on tables with the chairs pulled up under a fine coating of dust. A sonic shower was still rattling away after years of being left on.
“Its strange,” Saviere whispered, “it looks like everyone left in the middle of what they were up to.” While Rasp and Nevin scanned the vicinity, the younger officers pushed forward towards the reachable hull.
“Look for a ventral hatch!” Rasp called after them. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkened environment and they had to draw out their lights to properly see the shaded hull of the ship. When they reached it, they found that deck 15 was at ground level on the inside lip of the Saucer connection joint.
There, a service hatch was open.
“We found something!” Saviere called back to Rasp. As the others caught up, Lt. Bader climbed through the hatch first, with Saviere, Rasp, and Niven following behind. The room was dimly lit by a natural radiation lamp and they found the access door easily enough. It swished open and everyone gasped – even the indominable Niven. The lights were still running – albeit in an energy saving mode.
“Remarkable,” Rasp smiled, stepping out into the corridor and running his hands on the computer panels that ran along the length. With a chirp, it activated and everyone jumped. Rasp took a moment and then cleared his throat.
“Name of this vessel?” he asked.
“This vessel is the U.S.S. Prospection, Galaxy Class starship Utopia Planetia…”
“Yes, thank you,” Niven stepped up, interrupting. “Are there any life-signs aboard?” The computer hesitated only a microsecond as it scanned the ship.
“There are four life signs aboard,” the computer replied succinctly.
“Four?” Saviere said in surprise. “Where are they?” Everyone turned slowly to stare at her dumbfounded as the computer answered.
“There are four lifesigns on deck 15, section…”
“Yes, Computer we know,” Niven growled, cutting it off again. Saviere felt really stupid at that moment. She gestured down the corridor with her Tricorder.
“I’ll just…you know, scan something,” she said, eager to get out of their hair. Niven nodded to her under his domineering eyebrows.
“You do that, Ensign,” he said.
Rasp turned to the Computer again. “What happened to the crew?” he asked.
“That information is not available,” the computer replied.
“And why not?” Nevin asked sternly. Only silence answered them. “Why not?” he repeated.
“That information is not available,” it replied evenly. Rasp held up his hand to stop Nevin from bursting a blood-vessel.
“Date this vessel went down?” he asked.
“This vessel crashed on Stardate 52861.3.”
“That’s around the right time,” Niven said. “It’s the vintage year of 2375, nearing the close of the Dominion War.” Rasp nodded.
“What cargo is this ship carrying?” he asked.
“That information is restricted,” the Computer replied. Nevin straightened.
“Override, Gregory Nevin, Beta Bravo 212765 Alpha,” he rattled off.
“That command function is not recognized,” the ship answered. Nevin pounded the screen.
“You’re not recognized, you insubordinate piece of scrap!” he growled. Rasp nodded towards the Bridge.
“Perhaps Captain Benjamin Yeats locked out the Main computer?” he suggested. “We should see if he left us a note or something.” Nevin grudgingly nodded, still hot around the collar about the Computer talking back at him.
“Commander?” Saviere called from down the corridor.
Nevin, Rasp, and Bader found her looking in on some crew quarters. “You have to see this, Sir,” she said nodding through the door. Inside, the wash basin was running water, and it looked like it had been running water for years – as if the user was interrupted so quickly that they left without a moment to lose. On the couch, a book lay open next to a moldy cup of coffee.
Rasp picked up the book, recognized it, and pointed out a passage on the open page to Niven, who read it aloud.
“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.”
“What does that mean?” Niven asked perplexed.
“It is quite clearly the Christian doctrine of the resurrection of the dead…” Rasp replied, catching himself before explaining further, “but…how it relates, if at all to this situation, I haven’t the faintest idea.” Niven took a deep breath and gently put the book down. He was finding it difficult to bear the drifting minds of his companions.
“Let’s get to the Bridge,” he grumbled. All four of them walked cautiously forward down the abandoned corridor until they reached a turbolift.
“Bridge,” Niven said with a voice that suppressed any further conversation on the trip up.
The Bridge also appeared to be abandoned. They stepped out of the lift and inspected some of the nearby consoles. Rasp slowly drifted down to the Command seats. He always appreciated the bold architecture of the Galaxy class Bridge. It wasn’t simply about business, it was welcoming and warm.
“Do you think some sort of bio-weapon was used that killed all biological lifeforms on the ship?” Saviere suddenly asked. “I mean every living thing is gone, right down to pets! Should we be worried?” She had stood up anxiously looking at the air she was breathing.
“But wouldn’t we have registered residual biological or radiative energies?” Bader suggested to her.
“We won’t know anything until we get some answers from the crew,” Rasp said, evenly. “So, let’s see what we can find up here.”
After initial inspection of the computer wasn’t turning up anything other than the familiar interference from the Computer, Niven gestured towards the Turbolift.
“Bader, Saviere, I want you to check out the Main Shuttlebay,” he ordered. “Try to locate any sign of the device that prompted this mission in the first place. Hopefully, they stored it in the Saucer and not the Stardrive – wherever that is now. Professor Rasp and I will continue looking for information here.”
“Aye, Sir,” Bader replied, and then swiveled in step. “Sir, shouldn’t we inform Starfleet that we have located the Prospection?” Niven nodded.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he said, “but let’s secure the artifact, if it is here, before we waste time making calls. That is after all why we are here.”
While the two younger officers disappeared into the Turbolift, Rasp and Nevin headed for the Captain’s quarters. The doors opened crisply, revealing an empty room, still lit. The Captain’s desk was cluttered with computer and communication gear, flanked by a half-drunk cup of moldy tea. Rasp strayed to the “fishtank,” in the wall, which was still bubbling away. He tapped on the glass and peered into it for a sight of whatever creature Yeats had kept for company. The sign said it was a “Freshwater Bolian Blowfish,” but there didn’t seem to be anything swimming in that water. “Perhaps it ate itself,” he muttered. Meanwhile, Nevin settled into Captain Yeats’s chair and found his personal PADD.
“Last recorded Captain’s Log,” Niven barked. Suddenly an image of the Captain popped into view. He had a prominent nose and a thick, bearded chin, just beginning to gray.
“If you are reading this, we must not have made it,” Yeats sighed, running his fingers through his thinning grey hair. “And I want to give an account of what led to this moment. Where to begin? Well, our mission to smuggle out a supposed prototype of a Cardassian Weapon of Mass Destruction went like clockwork. We met with Cardassian rebels in the Talso 2 asteroid field just inside the Badlands. It was a discrete, out-of-the way place. Our orders were to get in and get out as quickly as possible. Starfleet had no idea what we were supposedly taking on board, but they couldn’t take the risk of ignoring that it could really be a WMD. So we took possession of the cargo container without question, and in under one hour were back on our way to Starbase 375. That was…about 3 months ago. I hadn’t even had time to visit the Shuttle Bay when we were “interrupted” by a Jem’Hadar patrol – way out of their expected patrol lanes. Starfleet Intelligence really failed us on this one. We fought off two, but couldn’t shake the third. We had a Warp Core Breach forming and I ordered the separation of the ship. The blast from the breach destroyed the Dominion vessel, but we sustained some heavy damage also. We used our impulse engines to get as far away from Jem’Hadar patrols as possible before they gave out, just as we found this little insignificant moon that reflected our scans – a useful feature, I felt at the time. We beamed down a small away team and found it to be habitable, although communication and sensors were lousy at best. Losing energy and with multiple hull breaches on our ventral side, I decided to beach the ship. After all, our orders were to prevent the WMD from falling into enemy hands, and if we could hide the ship, we could hide the device.”
Yeats paused to chuckle to himself and then threw a PADD on the table. “Turns out the ‘superweapon’ is just an ancient amphora – a Bajoran vase or lamp that the Cardassians were obsessed with because of some legends concerning it. They’d apparently been doing experiments on it, but my Engineers couldn’t find any evidence the artifact possessed any real threat. Still, I have had to treat it as the asset Starfleet believed it to be, until it can be proved otherwise.” Rasp had stiffened notably as Yeats spoke about the Bajoran amphora.
Captain Yeats continued sadly, “So, we’re stuck here because of a vase. It all seems so silly now that I know that. We have settled in to a long stay on this moon. To tell you the truth, I expected to be discovered by now. I guess I figured Starfleet wouldn’t give up on us and we’d be found eventually. But, hey, I don’t even know the outcome of the war, or if it is still going on. So much bloodshed! I’d pay anything for this war to be over. We all wish we didn’t have the memories – the ship and crew have seen their fill of death. We were the first responders to the Moon of Ashtaphor, where the Jem’Hadar employed flesh-eating viruses on the populus. I’d pay anything just to forget the things I’ve seen.”
Yeats stiffened with a weariness that seemed to be from his bones. “But,” he added, “for all I know, you could be Jem’Hadar listening to this! Which is why I locked out the main computer, fusing the isolinear chips, just in case you were wondering. I’m clever like that – something I picked up fighting the Maquis. Now, going forward, all ship’s systems are kept to a minimal with life support keeps this ship home for us. Oh, and one more thing – for all my Federation friends out there, if you visit the Main Shuttle Bay…fire in the hole.” The recording came to an end.
“Fascinating!” Rasp let his breath out. “This is all about a Bajoran artifact!” Niven nodded with obvious disinterest.
“What did he mean there at the end?” he asked. “The part about the fire…the fire in the hole?” Rasp scratched his temple.
“Well, on Earth in ancient times, I believe that was an expression for when primitive explosive devices were activated in mining operations,” he shrugged. “It was basically a way of saying, ‘a bomb is about to go off,’ or something.”
“You don’t suppose,” Nevin stood with a start, “that Yeats had the Shuttlebay rigged with some sort of explosive to prevent theft of the artifact should the Jem’Hadar come knocking?”
Rasp paled as he hit his Com Badge. “Rasp to Saviere!” Silence answered them. “Saviere, come in!”
“Saviere here,” the Ensign answered. Her voice sounded a little odd.
“Ensign do not attempt to enter the Main Shuttle Bay,” Rasp yelled. “It may be boobytrapped!” Silence flooded in again for a few moments.
“Yes…I know,” she said. “You better get down here.”
Rasp and Niven cleared the Bridge, found the Turbolift, and descended 3 decks. The doors opened to a short hallway that reached the Shuttlebay at the end. There, Bader and Saviere waited for them next to a grizzly scene of destruction.
“It looks like we weren’t the first to find this ship,” Saviere nodded down to three charred and unrecognizable corpses. The doors had been blown in and scorch marks painted the walls with thick soot deposits.
“What caused the blast?” Niven asked. Saviere tapped her Tricorder.
“Well, according to this, there were a couple of photon grenades rigged to detonate if the doors should open,” she said grimly. The site of charred flesh had turned her stomach – and just as she had started to feel hungry again, too! Life was too unfair sometimes.
“Crude, but effective,” Niven nodded.
“I’ll say,” Bader replied, brightly. “They’re more well-done than my Grandfather’s infamous grilled steaks. We used to sneak them off our dinner plates and play them out back as hockey pucks on the ice in the winter and…” Bader’s childhood anecdote dried up on his lips beneath the fire in Niven’s eyes, as Saviere clutched at her stomach, desperately holding back a retch.
“Remind me, Lieutenant, why you are here?” Niven asked ominously. Bader looked absently from Professor Rasp to the Commander.
“Uh…to secure the thingy that the Prospection picked up?” he asked.
“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Niven asked dangerously. Bader took a hard swallow.
“Uh, no…that’d be it, Sir,” he said, and then gestured into the Bay. “I’ll just see what’s going on in here, Sir, if that is okay.” Niven nodded enthusiastic approval and the young man left them.
Professor Rasp, in the meantime, had been inspecting the bodies with his Tricorder.
“We have an Orion male and two Andorians,” he said. “Probably independent mercenaries or operatives of the Orion Syndicate.”
“Well, those are two very different things!” Niven commented.
“Indeed,” Rasp replied. “And if the Orion Syndicate knows about this vessel, we’re going to need some backup about 2 minutes ago.”
“Understood,” Niven tapped his Communicator. “One to beam up,” he said. Almost instantly, he vanished in a shimmer of light. Rasp stepped through the jagged metal fragments of the doorway into the expansive shuttle and cargo bay. There in the middle of the bay, a large blue cargo container rested. It had to be the place of the Amphora. He’d only taken a few steps, when the walls of the box dematerialized to reveal Bader behind it.
“I found the access code,” he smiled, but then glanced curiously at the mysterious object before them that had been revealed from inside the box. Rasp stepped up and stood in awe. It was the Bajoran Amphora! Standing at about 4 feet tall and 3 feet wide, it appeared to be constructed or molded of some rough meteoric material. Bajoran script wrapped around it. But the most interesting part was the tall blue flame that proceeded from the spout at the top.
Rasp instantly had his Tricorder out. “The flame doesn’t appear to be combusting any known fuel source,” he commented. “But it is hot!” he said, blocking Bader’s hand from touching it.
“I was just going to pass my hand quickly through it,” Bader almost pleaded.
“Not unless you want it seared off,” Rasp muttered. “That flame is registering at 4,000 degrees Kelvin!”
“If it was that hot, we’d be burned up just by proximity!” Bader replied.
“Well, according to the Tricorder the heat drops off exponentially for some reason,” Rasp nodded. “So, it is quite cool only a few inches from it. Fascinating.”
“What do you make of the base pedestal?” Bader asked, drawing Rasp’s attention to the metallic collar that the vase nested in. Curious, Rasp ran his Tricorder over it.
“Well, it appears to be Cardassian technology,” he said. “By the readout, it seems to be a regulator of some sort.”
“Regulating what?” Bader asked. Rasp shook his head.
“That is good question,” he said stroking his beard. “I haven’t a clue.”
He was distracted by the Bajoran script around the waist of the base and brushed his hand over the etchings in the Amphora. Below it, there was another set of inscriptions, more ancient and very sophisticatedly tooled. Rasp squinted at them. They appeared to be circular dots and looked reminiscent of Morse Code, but almost on an ascending and descending scale. Perhaps they were musical?
“What does it say?” Saviere asked, having joined them. She was looking for a distraction from standing guard over the gruesome corpses they had discovered. Rasp stood up and pointed at each Bajoran word as he read.
“Let the pilgrim kneel before the eternal light of the Amphora of Gandres,” Rasp replied, absently. “Gandres,” he repeated vaguely. It sounded familiar. He raised his Tricorder. “Sync with the U.S.S. Dispatch,” he ordered. The Tricorder chirped.
“Specify Query,” the computer asked.
“The Amphora of Gandres. Bajor,” he input. A few seconds passed as the data was downloaded from the ship in orbit.
“Professor,” Bader interrupted absently, staring intno his own Tricorder, “I think that the Cardassian technology at the base is actually an amplifier of some kind built to magnify a set of cascading verteron waves.”
“Verteron waves?” Rasp exclaimed. “No, Ensign, that is wormhole stuff you are talking about – not anything that could be inside this bay, let alone inside this vase!” At that moment, his Tricorder interrupted.
“Specify readout or narration,” it asked.
“Narration,” Rasp replied. Instantly, the Dispatch’s computer voice began its reading.
“The following is an excerpt from the Bajoran historical archive: ‘The Amphora of Gandres, or the Gandres Amphora is a mystical or religious lamp originating on Bajor. It was reputedly a mythical vase that burned an eternal blue flame, which could not be snuffed out. In Bajoran legend, it was said that a wise mystic named Gandres found the Amphora in a meteorite crater on Bajor, having fallen from the heavens. Aside from gaining prestige by possessing a magical lamp that burned night and day without ceasing, Gandres is said to have discovered something else quite remarkable. One day, according to the texts, Gandres was humming a tune while at his prayers when he was “inhaled” into the Amphora. The mysterious vase had swallowed him! His assistant, a lad named Darys, desperately tried to break open the vase, but to no effect. In tears, he remembered the folklore, which said that if you spoke a curse in reverse, you would undo the effect. He wiped his eyes and hummed his master’s tune backwards. Suddenly, Gandres was exhaled, “or spit up” back into his room on Bajor by the Amphora. He spoke of finding himself alone in an enchanted world of magic that was all to his command. There, he gained knowledge and wisdom, in exchange for his memories. He wanted to return. And he did, many times. With the help of his assistant, Darys would simply repeat the tune in reverse and Gandres would return after some designated time had passed. His visits to “Betrallia,” as he called the place inside the Amphora, became longer. Once he stayed in the Amphora for twenty years and when he returned, he looked as youthful as when he had left, while Darys and everyone else had aged greatly. He shared great knowledge and wisdom with the people from his travels. But he and Darys never shared the secret of how to use the Amphora. On Gandres’ last trip into the Amphora, Darys passed away suddenly, taking with him the knowledge of how to return Gandres to Bajor. The great sage was never seen again. The Amphora was placed in a shrine and a cult developed waiting for Gandres to return. But he has not to this day. The Gandres Amphora was forgotten until the Cardassians discovered it in their occupation and excavation of Bajor – at that time, they were eager to find and remove all mystical objects for research and study, hoping to unlock some secret source of power to aid them in their contest against the other powers of the Alpha Quadrant. While some of those artifacts have been returned to Bajor, the Gandres Amphora is still missing to this day.’”
The narration ended and silence momentarily filled the bay.
“What a day to be alive!” Rasp cried, pulling Bader and Saviere close in his arms. “This is a historic find of a priceless artifact!”
“What was all that about this object ‘inhaling’ somebody’s body?” Saviere asked uneasily. Rasp waved his hand dismissively.
“Oh, just the usual mystical legends surrounding such magnificent artifacts,” he said jubilantly. “We see the same thing with archaeological finds like Earth’s Aladdin’s Lamp and the T-Kol Ewer of Vulcan, both supposedly containing within a great being or a wise consciousness that can be called upon for aid.”
To Rasp’s mild irritation, Bader wasn’t paying attention. He was still focused intently on the pedestal of the amphora. He straightened with a worried expression on his face.
“Professor,” he said uneasily, “I think my scans may have activated the Cardassian technology. I’m detecting an energy buildup.”
“Where?” Rasp asked, applying his own Tricorder to the base.
“From inside the Amphora,” he answered. Rasp stepped back as he confirmed the Lieutenant’s readings.
“Okay,” he said, “well, perhaps we should…”
Suddenly, swirling columns of purple energy descended around them. Before Rasp, Bader, or Saviere could draw their phasers, the figures that had just beamed in levelled their disrupters.
“Orions,” Rasp muttered. Twelve highly trained Orion Syndicate mercenaries had taken them completely by surprise. The tallest of the group lowered his weapon and strode forward. His bald green scalp glowed under the Bay’s lights, contrasting with his jet-black body-armor.
“Hand over your phasers and Tricorders,” he said, locking each of them with his eyes. “Please refuse. I haven’t had to fire my weapon all day and it really needs a good blast – keeps it clean, you know.”
“Drop your weapons,” Rasp ordered his younger companions. The Orion snorted as he took possession of their devices, clearly disappointed they had not resisted. He raised a com-band on his wrist to his lips.
“It is safe,” he said simply. Another transporter beam entered the Bay, revealing Niven held at phaser-point by an Andorian, dressed in a black business suit.
“I’m sorry,” Niven said. “They were waiting for us when I beamed up. I did get the message out, though.”
“Yes,” the Andorian said, with mocking concern, “he is so very sorry. And he’ll be even sorrier for sending that distress call by the time I’m done with him.” He pushed Niven to the Large Orion who held him firmly in place while the Andorian strode forward towards Rasp.
“My name is Reval,” he said playfully. “And I am here to take a collection for the Syndicate.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Rasp said slowly.
“I will collect this ship,” Reval said, his antennas twitching eagerly towards the Amphora behind Rasp. “I will collect you, and I will collect this cargo. Anyone who gets in the way of this collection will face such severe treatment as they have never imagined possible.” For a moment, the true, menacing face of the Andorian broke through his playful exterior.
He raised his phaser and a bolt of red energy struck Bader in his left arm, separating it from his shoulder. He collapsed with a blood-curdling cry as the searing pain ate away his consciousness.
“Like so.” Reval smiled as Rasp and Saviere rushed to the Lieutenant’s side.
“No!” Saviere screamed, kneeling next to Bader. Rasp bent down and examined the wound. The flesh was cauterized, which at least meant there was no bleeding. As if jealous for their attention, Reval stamped loudly.
“Now!” he cried, locking them in his gaze. “Do we understand one another?”
“Yes,” Rasp ground through his clenched teeth, desperately holding his vest over the young man’s wound.
“Good,” Reval said, waving his men forward. “Collect the Dominion ‘superweapon, first. It should find a high-bidding buyer on the Dark Markets, if I don’t find a use for it first. Perhaps I should test it?” He ran his blue hand over the Amphora and then shrugged his shoulders at the flame licking gently out of the top.
“I don’t even know what it does!” he laughed. “What’s it do, huh? How do you turn it on?” Rasp could see the psychopath in Reval as the Andorian turned his phaser on him. Thoughts desperately flickered through his mind. He bit his tongue from telling the Andorian that the flame held magical powers and he should stick his head in it – might clear his mind.
“Tell me, old man,” Reval smirked. “Tell me what it does, so I can…” Reval glanced up and tilted his head. “What is that sound?” he asked.
Rasp glanced around the bay. At first, he didn’t hear anything, but then, he thought he could just make out a strange humming over Saviere’s sobs as she held up Bader’s paling head in her lap. The humming had an interesting rhythm to it, and Rasp was caught up in what almost sounded like a simple melody – only it sounded like it was swelling beyond its simplicity with the aid of a powerful artificial amplifier.
“Tell me what that is!” Reval demanded, pressing his phaser against Rasp’s neck.
“I don’t know!” Rasp yelled.
“Well, perhaps you need a mental stimulant,” Reval said, stepping back and levelling his phaser at Saviere. He pulled the trigger. There was a flash, but it was not the light of a phaser. At that moment, Rasp felt something reach out for him – reach out and grab him. He felt enveloped by a powerful force. And not just him – he could feel it reaching out for everyone. It was a wide embrace.
As wide as this moon! He thought. And then he felt himself melting towards the Amphora – sucked, squeezed towards its flaming aperture, which was now a tall column of swirling blue energy reaching to the roof of the Shuttle Bay, where it spread out in a swirling whirlpool of light.
A wormhole? he thought. But that’s just not possible!
He felt himself lifting from the ground, and he was sure everyone heard him screaming. But then again, everyone was screaming. He melted into everyone and shrunk through the opening, passing into the fire. And then darkness.
Ages seemed to pass of a conscious, but dreamless sleep. All he could sense or see was darkness for a very long time, and then, a light slowly appeared on the horizon of his mind. In that moment, he saw the curvature of a star. He was in space! Yes, there were pinpricks of light everywhere. Suddenly, they stretched like fine lines before and behind him – a cosmic warp field propelling him at unattainable speeds. Galaxies melted around him as he sped faster and faster. And then, suddenly, he was standing on the ground in a garden surrounded by some sort of twilight. He glanced around. Nothing looked familiar. Where was he? A figure approached from around a bend of swaying ferns.
“My name is Gandres,” he said softly. His Bajoran earpiece shook as he bowed slightly. “You are welcome here.”
“Where…where am I?” Rasp asked breathlessly.
“Somewhere at peace,” Gandres answered cryptically. “Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” Rasp replied succinctly. “No, it isn’t.” He suddenly panicked, instinctively raising his hands to feel his face.
“Who…am I?” he gasped. He remembered his name, but not what it meant to him. He could not remember who he was! It was as if all his memories up until that moment were gone. He turned to Gandres and asked again, “Who am I?”
“Someone at peace,” Gandres said softly. “No one truly knows themselves.” Rasp had a momentary impulse to grab the maddening man and shake some real answers out of him, but he found suddenly that he lacked the ability to see the impulse through. Instead, he was overwhelmed with compassion.
“True, my friend, true!” he heard himself say. Gandres beckoned him forward.
“Come, join us,” he said. Rasp nodded and stepped forward over the cool, dewy grass. All around, the tall, white trees swayed in a gentle, healing breeze. Large graceful butterflies wafted softly from large blooming flower banks as the hum of bees, busily pollenating away, calmed Rasp’s uncertainty. All around, they were bathed in a perpetual, soothing twilight. It was a soft light, enough to see and read clearly, but not enough to cut out the stars that sang in the sky. Yes, Rasp could hear soft tonal choirs almost beyond the range of his ears up in the sky.
He was entranced. And everywhere, he sensed the goodwill of people, plant, and animal. Gandres brought him to a throng of men and women standing around a glowing fountain of crystal water. They were all dressed differently, and many looked unrelated to the other outwardly, but inwardly, they seemed to have a kindred purpose that shone in their eyes.
Without introduction, they welcomed him as one of their own and gave him a crystalline cup to draw water from the fountain.
“Thank you,” he smiled, stepping up to the beautiful stone basin and dipping the cup into the water. He took a sip. It was the most delicious water he’d ever tasted – like sipping life! Everyone began milling about in conversation and laughter. He bumped into a pleasant green gentlemen and a chatty fellow named Reval.
“I can’t get over the stars,” the Andorian said, sweeping his hand across the sky. “They just grab hold of your soul and don’t let go!” The people wandered off in groups, not even talking, and yet feeling like they were accepted and wanted by the others. For hours, Rasp walked beneath the trees in the endless gardens that stretched as far as he could see. The breeze played gently in the soft glowing branches. While he felt the passage of time, it also seemed to have no meaning. It was a strange paradox to him. Yet, he was perfectly content.
Rasp stretched, sat down on the soft springy turf and put his hands in his vest pocket. His fingers touched something that felt like a rock and suddenly a surge of emotion and memories downloaded into him. He screamed, but thankfully, no one was near enough to take notice.
He felt himself being squeezed and sucked into…an amphora? He saw the phaser blast that cut poor Bader down and the cries of Ensign Saviere as she knelt at his side. He remembered the cool touch of the hull of a Starship and the sight of the U.S.S. Prospection, belly-flopped in the earth. Everything came surging back in a seizure of pain. Gasping for breath, Rasp rolled on the ground as the experience came to an end. He drew out his hand from his pocket clutching the Betazoid Quartz crystal. It had restored his memories somehow. He stood up and looked about at the alien world around him.
Could the legends of Gandres of Bajor be true? Was this the place that the Bajoran sage had reputedly visited? It all seemed too wild to be possible! And yet, here Rasp was. He looked up and stuffed the crystal in his coat as someone approached. Suddenly, recognition set in.
“Reval!” he muttered, tense with apprehension. The Andorian representative of the Orion Syndicate smiled at him, but strolled past, admiring the flowers. He hadn’t seemed to recognize Rasp, but what about the others? Where were they? Into all his thoughts a sudden one popped.
“Bader!” he gasped.
In the throng of people, Rasp searched for the young man. As he gently made his way through the little crowds of people, he stopped short at the sight of several Cardassian figures, laughing pleasantly with Gandres! What were they doing here? Were they spies or Dominion agents? Rasp gave them a wide berth. A safe distance away, he began asking after the Lieutenant.
“Have you seen a young man named Bader?” he asked.
“Yes, Bader is by the Celestial Lake,” the green Orion killer responded cheerfully. Rasp thanked him warily and set off down the stone steps to where the man had pointed. Soon, a lake appeared as he stepped out from the trees along a soft, sandy beach. There were a few groups of people wandering around, and Rasp stopped up short. A few of them were wearing Starfleet uniforms – but he didn’t recognize them. A sudden though struck him. What if the crew of the Prospection had inadvertently activated the Cardassian Amplifier while studying the Amphora in the cargo bay? That would explain why everyone seemed to vanish in the middle of what they were doing! They – and everything in proximity – were “sucked” into the Amphora, just as they had been, and were dumped here to populated this place – whatever it was.
Rasp glanced up and down the beach for Bader. He thought he spied him up at the water’s edge. It was a massive lake! Rasp strained his eyes, but could not see the opposing side. He pulled up next to the young man. It was Bader, indeed, but his arm was whole! How was that possible?
“Hello, Bader,” he said, extending a hand. “My name is Rasp.” The young man shook his hand.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “We all welcomed you here at the Fabor Fountain.” Rasp nodded, wondering what tack to take in the conversation, but he was distracted suddenly by a bloated fish staring back at him in the water.
“What is that?” he asked warily, pointing to the large, barb-covered creature.
“It’s a fish,” Bader smiled.
“Yes, but what kind of fish?” Rasp asked eagerly. Bader shrugged with an innocent smile as Rasp clutched for the Betazoid Quartz in his pocket. As he touched it, he saw in his mind the empty fish-tank in Captain Yeats’ Ready Room and the inscription below the glass: “Freshwater Bolian Blowfish.” Yes! It was the fish that should have been in the tank on the Prospection! It was here too! So, the Amphora did, indeed, “collect” ALL biological signatures. He had to suppress his scientific curiosity to search for other “specimens” from the Starfleet vessel, and stay focused on the task at hand. He glanced warily up and down the beach. They seemed to be alone.
“Bader,” he said gravely. “Hold out your hand. I want to give you something.” The young man turned around and innocently opened his palm, into which Rasp dropped the Betazoid Quartz. A spasm of pain overtook the young man and he collapsed on the ground, writhing through a seizure. His eyes were rolling back in his skull and he shook and convulsed as his body was overwhelmed. Slowly, it ebbed away and he returned to consciousness, clutching wildly at his left arm.
“My arm!” he cried. “Oh, my arm!” Rasp held him gently down.
“It’s okay, Lieutenant!” he hissed loudly, praying they weren’t drawing too much attention. “You are safe! And you are healed!” Gradually, Bader stopped struggling and consciousness returned to him. He rubbed his shoulder until his gaze fell on Rasp, hovering over him. He struggled to his feet as recognition snapped his face to attention.
“Professor, Rasp, Sir,” he stuttered, standing stiffly with his arms clasped behind his back. Rasp sighed with relief.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” he said, taking back the crystal from Bader’s white-knuckled fist. “Do you remember seeing Ensign Saviere or Commander Niven?” Bader tilted his head as context flowed through his memories here in this strange place.
“Yes,” he said in surprise. “Yes, I just saw them! They were also on this beach just a few minutes ago! This way!” Bader sprinted up the sands and Rasp followed at his best possible speed, which was about half the young man’s ability. Around a bend in the beach, behind a stand of trees, Rasp caught up to the Lieutenant and three other figures. With relief, his eyes fell on Alice Saviere and Gregory Niven, but the third man caught even more of his interest. It was Captain Benjamin Yeats, himself!
“Greetings, gentlemen,” Yeats said peacefully. “We were just out for a stroll together, would you like to join us?” Without speaking, Rasp drew out the Betazoid Quartz, placed their hands together with Alice’s hand on top and touched the quartz to her palm. Instantly, all three of them stiffened like electricity was coursing through their bodies – the literal overload of strong emotions and fear from the last thing they remembered before finding themselves here.
Yeats was the first to stumble back. He collapsed on a stone seat protruding from the sand. “I’m a Starfleet Captain!” he mumbled to himself.
Niven stood up stiffly. “Rasp, how did you…” he began, but the Professor held up the Betazoid Quartz as answer.
“The single most handy accessory in the Galaxy,” he smiled, pocketing it just as quickly as it had appeared. “Now, we need to figure out what is going on here.”
Before Niven could realize he didn’t know where to begin, a brilliant flash appeared in the midst of them and a bright, radiant entity blazed between them.
“You have recovered your inclination to self-preservation and harm,” it said. The voice shook the air, like lighting up an impulse engine in the atmosphere. Out of nowhere, a strong wind was whipping up the sands all around them. The small company scattered back from it as the voice continued. “You cannot stay here. You must leave.” It roared.
“Yes, we want to go back!” Rasp cried, covering his ears with his hands. “We want to go back to where we came from!” There was a slight pause as the figure – obscured by light seemed to consider him.
“Very well,” it said. “You will be returned.”
“What about the rest of our people?” Niven asked. “Return them with us!” Before the entity could speak, Captain Yeats answered.
“We do not wish to return,” he said. “We elect to stay, if that is possible.” Rasp couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You are a Starfleet Captain,” Niven bellowed. “And the people here are a Starfleet crew!” Yeats shook his head.
“We are much more than that now, Commander,” he replied. “We are content and we are at peace. We do not age or die. We have families and children. We learn good things, not bad. We owe our allegiance to that now.”
“Do you dare speak for all the officers on your ship?” Niven asked angrily.
“I do!” Yeats replied with sudden heat. “Because I know them. I suffered with them. We died the million deaths that war brings to the heart of a man. The suffering of innocence stains our memories, poisons our sleep! I beg you, remove the tide of blood!” He had fallen to his knees, overwhelmed as memories flooded back. Niven sputtered helplessly, enraged at the insubordination.
“Rasp, say something!” he demanded, but the Professor stayed silent at first. There was wisdom in the situation.
“If you will permit me,” he said finally to the entity. “What is this place.” The entity seemed to turn to him – it was hard to tell which way it was facing.
“We do not share knowledge with harm-causers,” it said. Rasp was taken back by this statement, but upon reflection he understood that even at the best of times Starfleet and the Federation still caused harm – often unintentionally, but sometimes with clear intention. And if his brief experiences in this place gave any indication, this was a place without harm.
“Can you read thoughts?” Rasp asked.
“Yes,” the entity replied.
“Then read mine,” he said. “You’ll see I intend no harm, even if I may have inadvertently cause it at times.” The entity seemed to nod.
“What you say is true,” it said. It touched him and suddenly a flood of knowledge came upon him. If this was what a computer felt like during a download, what a rush! When it had finished, the entity turned to Yeats.
“In order to stay, your memories of your previous life must be suppressed,” it said.
“I beg it,” Yeats replied. At a touch from the entity, Yeats’ shoulders eased. He nodded to the others as if seeing them for the first time and slowly meandered off down the beautiful beach.
The entity considered the remaining crew.
“You know the way back, so I will leave you now,” it said, and in a flash, it was gone, along with the light and the roaring wind. A profound silence came upon them as the peace of the place flowed in like the tide.
“Yes…no, I don’t want to leave Betrallia,” Rasp said sadly as if answering out loud an inner conversation. He closed his eyes and took in the smells and sounds, as if for the last time. The others looked at him dumbfounded.
“What is Betrallia?” Saviere asked, trying to calm the tremor in her hands from the shock they’d just gone through.
“Right!” Rasp realize. “I suppose you didn't hear any of that.” The searing eyes of the other three made him clear his throat. “Betrallia is all of this!” he replied. “A place of healing, peace, and rest!”
“Enough to inspire insubordination?” Niven asked, dangerously. Rasp sighed and pointed up towards the stars.
“‘There is no insubordination so deep as betraying one’s own soul’ – Sasrak,” Rasp said softly, quoting the great Vulcan poet.
“Just be glad you are no longer in Starfleet, Professor,” Niven growled.
“Yes, well, Starfleet or not, I think we should be going,” Rasp answered sadly. He could see in Nevin the kind of mind that was not welcome here. “We’re unfortunately the type of company that has overstayed our welcome.” He produced the Betazoid Quartz and handed it to Bader.
“Lieutenant,” he smiled, “I’d say you have the best voice for this! Hum us all home, will you?” Bader took the crystal curiously. He’d meant to consider it, but a specific memory flooded in on him and he closed his eyes. He saw clearly the inscription on the Amphora and he instantly saw the scale. He hummed it softly, trying to get the right pitch, but then stopped and opened his eyes.
“Wait!” he said. “Didn’t the Computer tell us that Gandres’ assistant had to hum it backwards?” Rasp shrugged.
“You’re the one with the best memory right now, son,” he winked.
Slowly, Bader began to hum a haunting melody. They all took it up with him, closing their eyes. It harmonized and seemed to resonate into a tonal hum in the air. Suddenly, they felt a rushing and then their consciousness passed through the cosmos.
In an instant, they were standing quite still in the Main Shuttle Bay of the Prospection beside the Gandres Amphora. Almost before the rest of them had recovered, Rasp reached for one of the phasers that the Orion henchman had collected on the floor. He levelled it at the Amphora.
“Professor!” Saviere cried. But it was too late – a bolt of energy flew out and struck the Cardassian pedestal, frying its internal circuitry into sparks all over the Bay.
Niven had reached a phaser on the ground and held it up towards the Professor, unsure what was going on.
“What was that about?” he bellowed. Rasp considered him.
“Well you don’t want that thing turning on again and this whole adventure starting over do you?” he asked. Niven lowered his phaser, and stumbled back into a pallet of Replicator parts, as if in answer to the Professor’s question. He clutched his phaser closely.
“It feels good to be back!” he breathed. Rasp shook his head. Only someone with a mind for moral shades could say that. He turned his attention back to the Amphora, and admiration overwhelmed him. What a marvelous, one-of-a-kind find! Soon, he had Saviere and Bader up helping him make visual holodeck scans of the vessel.
Niven sat in a bit of a daze, staring at the Professor, who had begun whistling absently.
“What has you in such a chipper mood?” Niven grumbled.
“Oh, my dear Commander,” the Professor said, shaking his head. “This is a remarkable find. Something that would stand tall at the Smithsonian or the Vulcan Museum of Souls – the greatest recovered artifact since the Bajoran orbs – possible greater!”
“You do realize that if it ever leaves the hands of Starfleet Intelligence, which it won’t, it will go to a temple or a shrine on Bajor, if it goes anywhere?” Niven asked. Rasp stopped and stood up.
“Oh, that’s true,” he said with a grimace. "I'd forgotten that!" Niven stood up and gesticulated with his phaser.
“And while we’re on the topic of forgetting things, weren’t you going to tell us about that place we went to?” he asked sardonically. “You did have that special buddy moment, after all, with that terrifying entity.”
“Ah, yes,” Rasp replied, sheepishly, beckoning Bader and Saviere closer. “Very well, it must be story time.” He sat down in front of the Amphora and they gathered around him.
“Inside this device…” he began.
“The Amphora?” Saviere interrupted. Rasp nodded, but then shook his head.
“Well, we call it an amphora, because it looks similar in shape to the typical clay vase of ancient civilizations,” he said, “and it is a vessel, but aside from that, it has no similarities.”
“What is it then?” Niven interrupted.
“It is a device,” Raps answered, “a vessel constructed by a powerful race of seemingly omnipotent beings who are called the Angellia.”
“Where are they located,” Bader asked. Rasp sighed.
“Do you want me to explain what happened or not?”
“Yes, of course,” Saviere said breathlessly. “We’re sorry.” Niven didn’t look sorry, but Rasp continued anyways.
“The Angellia engineered their universe from the atom up – not our universe!” Rasp said quickly cutting off the question he could tell was already forming on Bader’s tongue. “A different universe, but once it was finished and before they could populate it with conscious beings, there was a disagreement amongst their order. A civil war broke out by a small sect who wanted to take over the project.”
“Why?” Saviere asked.
“Because,” Rasp leaned in on her, “it was too perfectly ordered and harmonious! They wanted to add some spontaneity to it – some upheaval and violence, but as the chief Architect wouldn’t allow it, they decided to do it themselves by starting the universe on fire in the outer edges of infinity, dissolving the elements of the original to make room for the new. The fire crept in, ravishing the perfect order of stars and galaxies that they had created. But one of the Angellia would not see the perfection they created destroyed, and he constructed a vessel in secret that could contain what remained of their perfect creation, sealing it from any harm and opening it only to those who had a secret desire to enter in. The Angellia drew their entire universe into this vessel and cast it out through the multiverse to land somewhere unknown, where they hoped someone worthy would find it. The Angellia who had created the vessel elected to enter their creation and watch over it. This is the entity we met."
“Are you saying, Professor, that an entire universe exists inside this Amphora?” Bader asked incredulously. Rasp glanced back at the vessel for a moment and then nodded.
“Uhm, yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” he said, understanding it sounded impossible. “But I am simply telling you what it told me.”
“Okay, so after presumably falling from a wormhole or something,” Niven nodded, “the Bajoran mystic Gandres stumbles upon it in a crater, and then he’s the first to stumble on the secret inside, and then what, it just sits in a shrine for thousands of years?”
“And what of the Cardassians?” Bader asked quizzically. “How do they fit into all this?”
“Well,” Rasp continued, “the Angellia didn’t give me any information on that part of the story, so we don’t know for sure.” He held up his Tricorder and pointed it at the mess he’d made of the pedestal. “But it seems the Cardassians modified the Amphora with tachyon quartz and a verteron generator to amplify the mystical effect of the audible frequencies that opened its aperture. Not having the technology of the Angellia, their primitive verteron generator could probably only enhance the Amphora’s rest state by roughly a billion times. While pitiful compared to the Angellia, it is impressive by the standards of the Alpha Quadrant. And, oh, how useful it could be! I’m sure the Cardassians envisioned employing it to capture all the sentient biology existing within a large city, perhaps. And, as I suspect shields don’t protect against the effect, the possible applications were endless. They could deploy the Amphora on a planet, activate it, and encapsulate all biology within a 100 Km radius into the Amphora. They could deploy it in space as a mine and capture the crew off an entire fleet of starships. Stimulating the Amphora in reverse, the Cardassians could recover their captives (be they captains, admirals, or the President himself!) for interrogation and prisoner exchange, while taking possession of the ships, cities, or planets left uninhabited. The technology they could capture with it alone was worth the effort to complete it. But by the fact that I ran into a number of Cardassians in Betrallia, I'd say they were having trouble recovering the test subjects they'd probably successfully sent into it. A few more months, however, and they might have figured out that simply reversing the harmony would do the trick, and the 'weapon' could have been fully realized.” Niven pressed his face into his palm.
“That would have been a game-changer,” he mumbled through his fingers, before straightening in a decisive stance. “Alright, our distress call got out, so we should expect some company in the next 12 hours. In the meantime, we can’t lose this artifact. It must make it safely into Starfleet custody for testing and possible recovery of our officers trapped inside. Understood?” Everyone nodded, but even then, Rasp had other thoughts on his mind. Niven shook the fatigue from his head.
“I’ll take the first watch!” he announced. “Saviere and Bader, search up some food and coffee, will you? I think the Replicators are still working.” The Ensign and Lieutenant nodded and headed off, leaving Professor Rasp and Commander Niven to themselves.
“You heard Captain Yeats,” Rasp said lowly. “He doesn’t want to come back.”
“It isn’t his call,” Niven said sharply. “He’s a Starfleet officer and he has to answer for his decision.”
“I can see your mind,” Rasp said pointedly, realizing he wasn’t going to make any headway. “I guess I’ll go help the youngsters rustle up some food.”
“You do that, Professor,” Niven grumbled, settling into his vigil over the Amphora. Once he was out of sight, Rasp quickly slipped through the corridor, raced down the hall, and found Main Sickbay. There, he checked the list of chemical constituents and found what he was looking for.
“Should do the trick,” he muttered, preparing a hypospray. He shot the antidote in his arm and then took a vial of fluid with him back into the corridors until he found some quarters. Inside, he replicated some creamer and then returned as quickly as he could to the Shuttlebay.
Saviere and Bader had just returned with a pitcher of coffee and a large platter of delicious smelling food.
“Here, I found some cream,” Rasp smiled, taking the pitcher from Saviere and handing her the cream. When no one was looking, he emptied the vial into the coffee pitcher. “Commander, do you take cream in your coffee.”
“No,” Niven said shortly. “It is best black.”
“So it is, so it is,” Rasp chuckled, pouring the Commander a cup. They settled into some well-deserved dinner and ate their fill from a Caesar salad, Bolian fishcakes, and Andorian steak, for starters, sipping their coffee occasionally until their cups were dry. Everyone was in a good mood, save Niven. How could they not be? They were in a huge shuttlebay, eating like kings in an intact Galaxy class Saucer, all alone on a moon, protecting a mystical amphora that contained an entire universe. And most importantly, they had found the entire crew of the U.S.S. Prospection alive and well, and they were watching over them now. It felt like a vigil for the living, instead of the many they’d held for the dead over the years.
“Once this is declassified, I’m writing a book,” Saviere said. Niven looked harshly at her.
“This will never be declassified, Ensign,” he said. “And you will never be allowed to share with anyone what happened here.” The happiness went out of Saviere’s face.
“Why not, Sir?” she asked.
“Because, Ensign,” he explained, “there are elements of Starfleet Intelligence who need this sort of thing in our struggle for survival against enemies we don’t even know we have yet. No, this vase will be studied and its powers unlocked, and no one will know of it. In fact, we’ll all be lucky if we’re not reassigned to some deep…” Niven’s face froze in mid-sentence. Rasp stood slowly up. Saviere and Bader had also frozen in place.
“Lost in time,” Rasp smiled, quickly shuffling up to the Bay controls. He tapped a few buttons on the console. Selected the deepest subterranean cavern he could find on the scans and then initiated transport. The Amphora shimmered and vanished from the Shuttlebay, never to be seen again.
“You’re welcome, Captain Yeats,” he said, patting the console. “God speed to you and your crew!” He checked to make sure there was no record of the transport, courtesy of Yeats’ Computer wipe. Rasp chuckled. “And thank you, Captain Yeats, Sir,” he said. He checked the time, and hurried back to his place in the little throng. He sat exactly where he’d been and raised his cup to his lips as it had been. He counted down in his head, “Three, two, one…”
“…space assignment where there’s not so much as a soul to talk to!” Niven finished. Paranoia was setting in – the stress of the situation and the burden of command, coupled with the prospect of being “thanked” with an assignment akin to banishment seemed to be too much for the man.
“Starfleet would never do that, Sir!” Bader replied hotly, and then turned to Rasp. “Would they, Professor?” Rasp shook his head.
“Sadly, it has happened before,” he said, waiting for someone to notice the Amphora was gone. “And after all, why not? The folks in charge are still the same flawed, finite creatures who can’t know what’s best for everyone, so they’re always reacting to situations and causing harm, intentional or not.” Niven sneered.
“That sounds a lot like that entity in that Amphor…” he began, gesturing to where the Amphora had stood. His mouth hung open in surprise. “The…the…thing,” he mumbled. “Where did it go?” He leapt to his feet. Rasp also followed suit.
“It…it was right here only a moment ago!” Niven cried, whipping out his Tricorder. He wiped cold sweat from his brow as he read the signs of a recent transporter beam.
“No!” he moaned. “How is this possible?”
“Should we give chase?” Bader suggested.
“They’re long gone by now,” Rasp sighed, and then turned his shining eyes at Niven. “Well, Commander, I don’t think Starfleet is going to like hearing that we had possession of a potential superweapon and then an unknown force stole it right from under our noses.”
“What are you suggesting?” Niven asked past his pale lips.
“I think we should tell Starfleet that we found nothing here when we came,” Rasp said. “And that the crew are all in a happier place.”
“I’m not sure I can do that,” Niven said desperately. Rasp shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, its your career,” he said. Niven glanced about like a hunted animal. A few tense moments passed and then he slouched in defeat.
“Fine!” he cried. “If you are all in agreement...I will also agree that we found nothing here.”
“Good man,” Rasp said, picking up the Coffee pitcher. “Looks like we’re out of coffee – I’ll go get another pot.” He strode out of the Shuttlebay with a slight sense of regret.
That Amphora would have been the crown-jewel of his career, and now no one would ever know about it. But in the end, he agreed with a wise friend and fellow archaeologist who had once said, “What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived.” And in this case, he was doing both – he was living for others by leaving his own “life” of glory behind.
He’d never recovered a ship with the living on it, not to mention at peace and happier than they had been in this world. Protecting Benjamin Yeats and his crew was the right thing to do, regardless of what it might cost him.
Before dawn, recovery crews had descended on the U.S.S. Prospection, and the salvage process began. The riddle of the missing crew and the superweapon that never was would go down in the Starfleet Annals as one of the greatest mysteries since the disappearance of the Roanoke colony. Many researchers would devote their lives to solving the enigma, and while there was plenty of wild speculation, none would ever learn the exact truth of the crew of the Prospection. Their lives remained safely deep in the earth of Mitas 2 and also in the hearts of four souls in the Universe, for as long as they beat. And they weren’t talking.
