Dyson Sphere - Charles R. Pellegrino [24]
Captain Dalen believed in time-dragging and subspace. To believe that Troi was a psychic or that Jerusalem was a place of miracles made her feel timidly agnostic by comparison. And to believe that someone had created a world so vast that there was no hope of discovering it wholly—what did that make her? And to believe that a man had created Data in the image of man?
The Horta nodded excitedly and called across subspace to the Enterprise: “You and I and the Sphere, Data—we have more in common than the fact that, at one time or another, we have all seemed to be the last of our kind.”
“We have all been molded from silicon,” Data called back, having obviously made the connection in a microsecond. “And we were all fashioned, I presume, by carbon-based species. And, Captain Dalen, are you suggesting what I believe you are suggesting, namely that we are artifacts, all three of us?” Picard shook his head. “Is there nothing in heaven and Earth that is not archaeology anymore?”
“Probably not,” said Captain Dalen. “My theory of Horta evolution is that we originated as self-replicating mining machines.-Like Data, we became self-aware. Like the Sphere, we were either abandoned by our creators, or we outlived them.”
Or killed them, Dalen thought to herself, deciding not to say that aloud.
“And who might our neutron star thrower be?” Picard said. “Some fossil remnant of the Borg collective?”
“Perhaps something more alien than the Borg,” Troi offered, “intelligence vastly different from the run of humanoid life. It might have seen the proliferation of humanoid genotypes and decided to prevent it.”
“As you would say,” Data replied from the screen, “the horse is long out of the barn, with humanoid life very widely dispersed, but this Sphere is still an eminently vulnerable target. It may also be that the old enemy no longer exists, or has vastly changed its ways, and that this is an old vengeance weapon, still working one last time.”
“And who would have destroyed the old enemy?” Riker asked.
Picard had an answer at once. “Why, the Sphere-builders, I would think. The early Borg.”
“So,” Riker said softly, “we may have something to thank them for after all.” Dalen let out her equivalent of a sigh. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the Horta captain said.
Captain Dalen had been called to the bridge, apparently on a routine matter. Troi and La Forge followed her from the conference pit. Picard remained on his cushion, staring at that part of the wall screen display showing the relativistic cannonball still on course; and he watched Dyson’s latest spurt of acceleration, clearly a defensive maneuver.
I wouldn’t be so sure of that, the Horta had warned.
I guess we’ll know soon enough, Picard told himself. Two enemies, one ancient and seemingly extinct, the other so long gone that it was archaeologically invisible, were coming suddenly to life.
An archaeologist’s worst nightmare, Picard knew, was to come back from the wilderness with no results. Here, he did not worry about bringing back too few results. No. His concern here was over too great a feast of them.
Songe D’autumn
CAPTAIN’S LOG, STARSHIP DARWIN
IMPACT MINUS 12 DAYS EGRESS MINUS 9 DAYS
During my encounters with various human beings, I have learned that a number of them harbor a very deep fear of transporter technology, a fear not so much of death as of being left alive in a hopelessly jumbled state. Data calls it bad programming; but we of Janus VI all share the same fear. Nevertheless, Federation regulations dictated that our ship be equipped with the infernal devices.
I’m glad for that now.
An hour ago, Geordi La Forge modified a new V.R. Visor to fit my head, and transported a large probe—about the size of a walnut—some three hundred kilometers above the sphere wall. It was, for me, like materializing in a spacesuit above the inner surface of Dyson—above that impossibly flat surface.