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STAR SONG (short story)

Updated: Oct 23, 2019

By Nathan Warner


Haunted by his wife's death in the Dominion War, Captain Andrew Crawford is tasked with intercepting a mysterious anomaly that may tempt him beyond his ability to resist



“Readings?” Captain Andrew Crawford inquired, uneasily. He hardly had to ask as the U.S.S. Redoubtable shuddered beneath his feet – the Defiant class starship shook in the wake of the phenomenon as it coursed ahead through the stars at faster than light speed. The energy waves from the object were resonating in the ship’s hull producing deeply eerie tonal sounds.


“They’re off the chart,” Lt. Ravock reported. Crawford took a deep breath and held it. What was this…thing?


A few days earlier, the Andorian Alpha cluster of subspace antennas had registered an anomalous object moving into Federation space from below the galactic plane. According to astrometric analysis, the object was a type of Quasar – a black hole radiating massive amounts of light and radiation. Soon science stations all along the border were picking up powerful emissions from the anomaly halfway across the quadrant. But the strangest feature of the phenomenon was that it was moving independently of its galactic orbit and at the unbelievable velocity of Warp 9 – inbound for Federation space toward the Galactic Core! Suddenly, its trajectory changed below Antares with a new course that would take it away from the Galactic center and back out of the galactic plane into starless space. The Nebula class U.S.S. Hubble was immediately dispatched to intercept and report on the phenomenon before it exited the plane. They reached it at 0600 hours. At 0800 hours, all communication with the vessel was terminated.


On patrol near the Pachini cluster, the Defiant class U.S.S. Redoubtable was the nearest ship and was given the honor of reestablishing contact with the science team.


“They’re calling the object RF8 and aside from investigating the Hubble’s disappearance, our orders also require us to ascertain if the phenomenon is a tactile threat,” Captain Crawford relayed to his two senior officers in his ready-room, “We are allowed to use every means necessary to stop it, if it should endanger anything in its path.”


“Hence why they’re sending a warship,” Commander Abby Kirkland muttered, rolling her eyes, “it sure is nice knowing we’re still needed!” Crawford overlooked her comment because he shared his crew’s frustration about Starfleet’s decision to post their celebrated vessel – a veteran of the Dominion War – in a backwater region of space patrolling merchant lanes for six months. It had been dull and tedious for the battle-hardened crew. Lt. Ravock simply nodded, keeping any “feelings” he had under tight Vulcan control.


Lt. Am Ram, however, jutted his Tellerite forehead in agreement. “Some action at last!” he grunted. Crawford stood suddenly from behind his desk.


“The war is over, gentleman,” he said, firmly, grabbing each of their attention in turn as he looked from one to the other, “and we – myself included – need to get our hearts out of it and our minds back on what Starfleet is about! We are explorers and humanitarians! Yes, we fought a bitter, bloody, terrible war out of necessity, but that isn’t us – at least it’s not supposed to be. And if anyone has doubts about that, they seriously need to reevaluate the uniform they are wearing. Look elsewhere – I hear the Borg are recruiting.” The words had spilled out of Crawford from his own subconscious. He’d said them as much for himself as for the others. Commander Kirkland, Lt. Ravock, and Lt. Am Ram had stiffened to attention the moment Crawford’s tone touched the room. They looked with loyal admiration on their Captain who had gotten them through hell – they would follow him anywhere. “Dismissed,” Crawford whispered.


He stood tall and commanding until the ready room doors closed behind his staff, and then he collapsed in his chair. The inward struggle of the last year was wearing his resolve down. He’d even considered retiring from Starfleet. How could he remain the captain of a starship when the flashbacks found him hitting the deck, like they had last week when a crewman burst an EPS conduit in Engineering and for 5 straight minutes he had his crew fighting imaginary Jem’Hadar ships? Doctor Spalding had said it was PTSD and recommended some sort of holodeck therapy, but all Crawford heard was more time and energy that he didn’t have – and all of it back at Starbase 77, not here where their mission was. Then there were the sounds – he swore he could hear the battle cries of Jem’Hadar soldiers every time he transported – echoes from his uncounted away missions into warzones. And at night, the soft humming of the ship brought him back to the whimpers of the injured, dying, and desperate.


But worst of all, he couldn’t stop hearing his wife’s voice mixed in with the cries, and he couldn’t stop reliving Amy’s death on the transport ship ambushed by Dominion forces a week before the war ended. It had been his fault. He had put her on that vessel and sent her away, saying it was too dangerous to stay aboard the Redoubtable. They had been in the middle of a personal message when the attack came, and her last words to him were cut off forever with her screams as her cabin blew out into space. That cry reverberated in his mind, piercing his soul hour unto hour – recalled in every sound, but especially the replicator’s whine. He’d taken to eating rations just to avoid the thing.

He knew he needed to seek treatment, but he’d have to wait till their return to Starbase 77. If he could only hold out that long!


“Moment to moment, it all passes by,” he muttered, reminded of his mother’s words to him when he’d skinned his knees as a child. Crawford took a few minutes to squeeze his bloodshot eyes shut and press the bridge of his nose with his fingers, right where the headache was sending pulsating throbs through his thoughts. By the time he stepped onto the bridge, twenty minutes had passed. Commander Kirkland looked up worriedly from the captain’s chair, but vacated it when she saw her Captain was in command of himself.


“We’ve plotted a course to intercept RF8, Captain,” she reported, “and it will take us about an hour at Warp 9.” Crawford didn’t take his seat, but stood next to it.


“Do it,” he nodded, and then headed for the door, “I’ll be in Engineering, if you need me.”

The gentle throbbing of the warp core was the only thing that truly relaxed him, and when he arrived in the Engine Room, he realized he’d been holding his breath from the bridge. He let it out and took a deep breath as the gentle humming washed over him. He pretended to want a report on the plasma injectors and sat next to the core skimming it absently. He felt like only a few minutes passed before his communicator chirped.


“Yes?” he asked. “Captain, we are approaching RF8 and will be within visual range shortly,” Kirkland reported. Crawford nodded to himself.


“Very, well, Commander,” he sighed, “I’ll be there in a minute.”


He prepared to stand up and then fell back down in shock. Amy was standing in front of him – alive! She bent down and reached for him.


“Come with me,” she whispered gently, “We’ll be late!” Crawford blinked and she was gone. But there was no urgency – it didn’t seem like she had vanished – it felt like she was waiting for him to follow her and that the doorway to join her was nearby. He was in such a daze that he hardly noticed the Engine room shuddering around him. Snapping out of his mental fog, he tapped his communicator.


“Report!” he barked. There was a slight pause and the engine room shook again until it in an instant, it became perfectly still.


“Nothing too serious, Captain,” came Kirkland’s voice, “It appears that RF8 is projecting a powerful particle beam and we were momentarily caught in it.”


“An energy beam?” Crawford asked.


“Yes,” Kirkland replied, obviously distracted reading the sensor data, “…as you know RF8 has become some sort of massive black hole with an accretion disk and is emitting an x-ray jet along its axis like a Quasar…the Redoubtable passed through the edge of that jet.”


“I’m coming up,” Crawford said, distractedly, glancing at the place where his wife had appeared. Were his hallucinations becoming worse? But unlike his other hallucinations, something about this experience had cleared his mind and calmed him. He felt like he had purpose.


Back on the bridge he quickly occupied his seat, close on the heels of Kirkland as she got up from it. “Are we in visual range yet?” he asked his helmsman, Ensign Brin Fanle.


“Aye, Sir,” Fanle replied. Suddenly on screen, Crawford could see a distant light moved across the stars, emitting a white energy beam like a sword, cutting through space in front of it.


“Magnify,” he muttered. The visual sensors reached out and brought the massive object close enough to fill the entire screen. He was filled with awe and peace at the sight, rather that the dread and horror he expected.


“It’s the size of a solar system!” Fanle gasped, breaking into Crawford’s thoughts.


“Yes, thank you for that commentary, Mr. Fanle,” he said, wryly, “Can you bring us along side it – keeping us out of the beam’s path?” Fanle interrogated his controls.


“Aye, I can,” he replied, and the Defiant class pulsed forward towards the mysterious object hurling itself across space. As they drew nearer, Crawford gazed in awe at what RF8 had become. A dense cloud of gas, dust, and debris clothed the former star like a mantle, and its radiative energy lit the cloud like glory. The Quasar’s accretion disk was rotating around the central bulge in the cloud where the singularity was hiding – almost rotating like an image he’d once seen of an ancient earth ship propeller. The Redoubtable pulled a parallel course at a safe distance outside the star’s power, steady on a trajectory to exit the Galactic plane at warp 9 in two hours. All around them faint tonal sounds played in the ship’s hull – sometimes heavenly and sometimes eerily. Crawford listened. It was almost musical!


“What is that?” he asked.


“The energy waves from the accretion’s beam are producing sound waves in our hull,” Lt. Ravock replied at his science station.


“Is there an intelligent pattern?” Crawford asked, definitely picking up on something.


“Difficult to say,” Ravock answered, “but there is a pattern.” Crawford nodded.


“Begin scanning the interior,” he said. The ship’s sensors went to work, but with meager returns.


“While the sensors cannot explain how this star became a singularity, clearly it has,” Lt. Ravock said monotonously from the Science Station, “and it appears to have vaporized everything in its system – now feeding off the debris field to produce the particle beam – a perfect example of a Quasar, Captain.”


“Yes, but Vulcan logic leaves a lot unexplained,” Kirkland challenged, “Por exemplo, I’ll bet you can’t hazard an explanation for the star’s movement!” Ravock tilted his head as logic streams and calculations cascaded through his mind, attempting to grapple with the challenge. After a few seconds of this, he opened his mouth, but then closed it and turned back to his station without a word.


“Scan for any sign of the science team,” Crawford ordered, paying little attention to the quibbling around him. Ravock tuned the ship’s sensors for Starfleet transponders. Almost instantly, the console beeped an affirmation and Ravock turned in surprise (for a Vulcan) as the results came in.


“Sir, I’m reading the Hubble holding position inside the cloud,” he reported.


“What? Intact?” Kirkland exclaimed.


“According to sensors, it would seem so,” Ravock said evenly.


“What is their location?” Crawford asked. Ravock punched up superimposed coordinates on the viewscreen. It looked like the vessel was close to the event horizon – too close!


“How is that possible?” Crawford asked in disbelief.


“Unknown at this time,” Ravock replied in as mystified of a tone as a Vulcan can muster.


“Can we hail them?” Kirkland asked, speaking the words on Crawford’s tongue.


“The gravitational distortions are too high,” Ravock replied.


“And yet, our sensors are able to detect the ship?” Kirkland asked, arching her blond eyebrow in challenge. Ravock arched his own eyebrow in return.


“That is a good point, Commander,” he admitted and methodically interrogated his console.


“Captain, I am detecting what appears to be a corridor of sorts through the gravitational effects that is allowing energy transmission to the edge of the event horizon,” he reported.


“Attempting to hail the Hubble,” Ensign Fanle announced from the helm, dispelling Kirkland’s surmise that he hadn’t been listening. A few seconds passed and everyone on the bridge waited eagerly for the result. “Sir, I’m reading that they are receiving us, but they are not responding,” Fanle announced.


“Could it be gravitational interference?” Crawford asked.


“Unlikely,” Ravock answered, “we are reading a strong acknowledgement from the ship’s computer that they are receiving us.”

“What are they doing in there?” Crawford muttered to himself before turning to Ravock. “Could we follow them in through the corridor?” he asked, experiencing a sudden and intense desire to do so. Ravock nodded.


“All sensor readings show a place of gravitational calm just before the event horizon,” he said, continuing, “This is the place that the corridor is extending from – and it appears to be as serene and stable as empty space. Of course, we will need to enter the object’s warp bubble if we are to do any delicate maneuvering – the corridor is only a Kilometer across.”

Crawford nodded.


“Let’s do this,” he said, and then straightened his shoulders. “Lt. Ravock, transfer the corridor waypoints to the helm – Ensign Fanle, lay in a course and bring us in, gently.” With a few taps on the his console, Fanle brought the ship around and matching RF8’s velocity perfectly “popped” into the object’s mysterious warp field with a jolt.


“Approaching the corridor,” Fanle reported. Crawford gazed ahead through the viewscreen, and then he saw it – a “tunnel” of clear space descending through the accretion disk towards the event horizon. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.


“Shields up – red alert!” With only a slight bump, the Redoubtable descended into the corridor, the walls of which shimmered with mesmerizing wave interference patterns – as if an energy field was keeping it open. The tonal “music” was strong, but gentler. Crawford thought he could see patterns on the walls – almost symbols in the shimmering waves.


“Report?” he asked, turning to his Science officer.


“Fascinating,” Ravock announced, “the corridor is stable and being maintained by a surprisingly powerful energy field, seemingly capable of neutralizing the time dilation of the gravity waves.”


Crawford was tiring of asking how this quasar was doing what it was doing, so he didn’t. Instead, he gazed ahead intently looking for the end to this long shaft they were traversing. After about an hour of careful travelling, Crawford straightened in his seat.


“There!” he cried, directing the viewscreen from focusing on the walls for Ravock’s studies to instead magnify straight ahead. The entire bridge crew looked up from their duties to see the shaft opening before them into a torroidal chamber somewhat reminiscent of a space dock interior. In only a few minutes, they left the corridor and entered the massive chamber housing the singularity. And in the center of the chamber they saw the heart of the phenomenon – a bright star-like light beaming a powerful cascade of energy out into space. Matter tides on the outside surface of the chamber were flowing into the singularity’s poles like the magnetic field lines of a planet, feeding the particle beam.


“Captain,” Ravock interrupted, “I have located the Hubble on the opposite side of this chamber.” Crawford wrestled his eyes away from the screen and tried to focus on Fanle.


“Ensign,” he whispered, “lay in a course to intercept.” Slowly, the Redoubtable floated toward the coordinates, until the missing Nebula class appeared out from behind the singularity. It looked in perfect condition. “Life signs?” Crawford asked.


“None,” Ravock replied monotonously for so terrifying a statement.


“No life signs?” Kirkland asked in disbelief.


“Correct, Commander,” Ravock said, “although the ship shows no sign of damage and life-support appears to be functioning.” Crawford was already out of his chair and on the way to the door.


“Kirkland, Ravock – you’re with me – we’re going over there to figure out what’s going on. Am Ram, you have the bridge.” The Tellerite grunted his acknowledgment.

During the transport, Crawford’s adrenalin began pumping – he tried not to hyperventilate. As the team materialized on the bridge of the Hubble, he half expected to see a Jem’Hadar soldier raising its blade to strike him. Thankfully, this was not the case – just an empty bridge. They had materialized behind the Captain’s chair and Crawford could instantly see no one was home. Kirkland began scanning with her tricorder, but not before Ravock had already scanned the room. All the lights and systems were up and operational.


“Ravock, I want you to check out Engineering,” he said, “and Kirkland, see if there’re any clues in Sickbay – I’ll start accessing the Captain’s log.” The two lieutenants nodded and entered the turbolift. Crawford sat at a terminal and punched up the logs, quickly queuing to the last one. The image of Captain Rayborn popped onto the screen – a round-faced man in his 50’s with a graying beard.


“Where to begin?” the captain said, “we’ve been offered the chance of a life-time, and we’ve all agreed to take it. I won’t apologize for abandoning our duty. If anyone had the same opportunity, they’d take it – especially if they’d been wounded like we were in the last war. We were in the heart of that hell, and we all lost loved ones. This is a chance to set that right for ourselves. Is that selfish? I don’t know. But I can live with it – we all can. I, Captain Clay Rayborn, relinquish my command. Goodbye.”


The transmission ended and the screen went blank. In the darkness of the console, a face was reflected from behind him. Crawford whipped around and then his terror turned to astonishment.


“Amy?” he asked in disbelief. Standing there, in front of him, his wife nodded.


“Yes, Andrew,” she said, “Come! We have reservations at the Castle bistro, don’t you remember?”


“Where? How?” he stuttered.


“Follow me!” she laughed and ran down to the turbolift, disappearing inside. Crawford ran after her and jumped past the doors. In that instant, the turbolift vanished – the whole ship vanished! Crawford shielded his eyes. He was standing on a beach under a bright, warm sun. The water was purple and a Federation shuttle reflected in a calm tidal pool as it flew overhead. Crawford recognized the place from old images. This was Paradesium, a beautiful planet destroyed before he was born when its star went supernova. His father had shown him images as a child, and he’d always held the image in his mind as a happy place. Yet, the shuttle was modern day. What did this mean? The sea waves crashed gently on the shore and the water rippled. But then Crawford noticed that more than the water was rippling – the entire scene rippled like a tapestry fluttering in a breeze and then suddenly, the whole thing was “blown” away, fluttering down before his eyes like a flag fallen from its pole. Now, he saw he was standing on a green hill overlooking an enormous forest of prehistoric ferns with a tour of Federation visitors returning from their walk through the groves. The ferns were two hundred feet tall at least.


“Cambrena!” he gasped. But that was impossible! He’d seen its destruction from orbit as Jem’Hadar forces bombarded it with biogenic weapons. It had been one of the worst things he’d ever witnessed. Yet, here it was, intact and again…in the present. The scene began fluttering and it fell away, replaced by a candle-lit dinner on an enormous balcony of a stone castle overlooking a twin sunset. Across the table from him, Amy was raising her glass.


“To the end of the war!” she said, “may it be the last in a good long while.” Crawford’s mind was addled. How could this be! How was she here at the end of the war? She had died before it ended! The scene began to ripple.


“No, don’t leave!” he cried, reaching out to try and grab the scene as it fell away. It was no use, and the balcony was wrenched from his grasp. Now, he found himself floating in space, surrounded by billions of stars, one of which he was pulled rapidly towards. Then he saw that it was an unstable protostar – an enormous gas-giant planet – fusion had not fired in its heart. An object approached it – a sort of elemental looking shape, like ripples of blue flame or electrical energy perhaps. Somehow, Crawford knew it was a being – one of a race called the Lumineeria. The object penetrated the atmosphere of the enormous planet and disappeared. In a few short minutes, the atmosphere bulged and an enormous shockwave heralded the birth of a new star. It brought life to the planets in the system and soon vessels came and inhabited them.


For millennia the planets prospered and their populations grew. Crawford felt that this pleased the Lumineeria, as if this was their purpose to cultivate weak or undeveloped stars to ensure the healthy growth of their planetary systems bringing all manner of life – sort of like galactic gardeners. They appeared to be masters of space/time, generally able to mold and shape it.


Suddenly, Crawford’s attention was drawn back to the star. Something was terribly wrong but the inhabitants of the planet did not know! He could feel a panic sweep over him – a feeling from a consciousness outside himself. It urged him to warn the planets as it desperately tried to calm the impending doom. Now the panic flooded him, but before he could cry out, the star went supernova, destroying all the worlds it had helped sustain – pulverizing them to ash and dust. As if that was not enough, the Lumineerian was trapped as the star fell in on itself, imploding in its own massive gravity until all light was pulled in with it into a pitch black hole refusing even the slightest glimmer. Crawford was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, shame, and despair – the Lumineeria’s thoughts perhaps? It had failed its purpose and killed trillions of beings in the process.


And now, it was trapped in a lightless vessel of eternal night. Then, without warning, a torch kindled in the inky stain of blackness and a blade of light leapt out – a quasar was borne! The being had found a way to overcome the darkness and partially control its prison! The object began moving away out into the void on a pilgrimage of exile. Rather than return home to the Galactic Core, it would wander the outer rim, calling to those who yearned for an opportunity to undo the injuries they had caused. In its long pilgrimage, this Lumineeria had encountered thousands of mortal souls and had granted many of them solace, even as it was not able to take that solace for itself.


Crawford understood in that moment that the quasar beam had produced the image of his wife in engineering and that in response to his yearning, the corridor into the quasar had opened. It had called him here to offer him an alternate reality – a way to restore his error – a path out of the pain he was suffering. That was it! Crawford remembered that some singularities had been demonstrated to be gateways to parallel universes – often too hazardous for ships to traverse, but with the aid of a space/time being like the Lumineeria, perhaps!


Was that possible? Could he be with Amy again? As if the mighty consciousness around him accepted these thoughts as an answer, Crawford suddenly found himself falling – falling through what felt like an atmosphere towards what looked like an ocean. From the surface, rippling waves rose to meet him – each one seemed to be a destiny. The one to the left showed a place where he and Amy had never met – above that, one showed a world where the Dominion War had never happened. Before he reached them, the waves faded and vanished, and all he saw now was the tranquil sea of energy below – vast and endless, showing that dinner on the castle balcony. He KNEW that this was the perfect future awaiting him – a reality where he had never sent Amy away and they had passed through the flames of war together to laugh and live beyond it. Suddenly, he heard voices calling above him. Turning around in the air, he saw Kirkland and Ravock. They were falling through the air, trying to reach him.


“Captain!” Kirkland called reaching her hand for his. Crawford gripped them both, pulling them close.


“I’m so glad the Lumineeria allowed me to say goodbye to you two,” he cried above the rushing of the air, knowing somehow they were staying behind. Ravock nodded.


“So you have made that your decision,” he said, “We have also been ‘brought up to speed’ by the Lumineeria, but we have elected to stay in the reality of our origin and report to Starfleet on this…fascinating discovery.” Kirkland was fighting back tears.


“Captain, is there no way to dissuade you?” she asked. But the look in his eyes answered her.


“Amy is waiting for me,” he said. He gripped them both fondly and then tucked himself in and dove away from them, increasing his speed toward the ocean of energy below. Like a bolt of lightning, he flashed through the surface, sending ripples through space time. Suddenly, he felt himself righted and sitting down. Nearby, he heard Amy’s voice: “After dinner, shall we take a stroll on the beach and try to catch the suns as they set into the sea?” Crawford opened his eyes and realized he was sitting at a table on the enormous balcony of a pre-Ebonite castle on Falcorium 4. Vines and flowers were everywhere, softening the huge stone blocks of the ancient fortress. And best of all, Amy sat across from him, curling her copper bangs with her fingers.


“Yes…yes,” he said with joy spilling through his pores, “But I want to stay out all night with you by the ocean and watch the moons rise.”


“Really?” Amy laughed, and shook her head thinking about it. She smiled. “Okay, let’s do it,” she said. They rose together and walked down the thousand steps to the beach, vanishing together into the play of light on the crashing waves.

“Acting Captain’s log,” Kirkland recorded, safely back on the Redoubtable, “We are taking leave of the phenomenon previously known as RF8 as it continues its course out of the Galactic plane. Ensign Fanle dubbed it ‘Tezcatlipoca’s Mirror’ after the mythological obsidian mirror that could see the whole cosmos. At least half our crew is missing, having elected to join realities where loved ones still remain. What a gift to them, and a curse to us!” She took a moment to wipe tears from her eyes. It had been hard to return to this reality, but she knew it was right for her.


“We have reported all our findings to Starfleet, and by their accounts, this has been a monumental discovery. As for me, I am less enthused. Knowing that a race of space/time beings dwell in the distant Galactic core is one thing – knowing that they inhabit some stars around us, tinkering with them is quite another! I probably shouldn’t be on the welcoming committee if we officially meet the Lumineeria someday! In the meantime I advise you, space-farers all, keep your eyes peeled for the mirror – will it return this way again? Only time and space will tell.”


The Redoubtable fell behind and watched RF8 continue its journey of penance as it left the galactic plane and entered starless realms.


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