Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [38]
Maybe the column had tried to respond: it deepened in color, grew a bit more opaque—like the ocean before a storm, Hoshi had thought, then turned away from the creature swiftly, before it could see the involuntary dismay in her expression. The thought had caused her to remember the disturbing dream of the night before, of Kano and Uroqa looking calmly at the waves pounding against the window.
It’s only going to keep growing until it swallows us all.
Hoshi had shuddered at the memory. It hadn’t helped her nerves any to learn that Malcolm Reed, who had just been looking perfectly normal as he stood next to her in sickbay, had later collapsed. It broke her heart even more than the thought of viewing Uroqa’s last entry: she’d always liked Malcolm, more than she let on. There was something endearing about his awkard military stiffness and his pretense of being a suave ladies’ man, when in fact he was anything but.
And now, only she, the captain, and T’Pol were left from the original landing party. T’Pol would definitely be the last to succumb to any sickness—God help the microbe or radioactive particle that tried to pierce that Vulcan hide. Which left Hoshi wondering whether her tiredness was due to the fact that she hadn’t slept all night…or was due to some more sinister cause.
Hoshi leaned over the hooded viewer and finally steeled herself to watch the final log entry. In terms of discovering a solution to Enterprise’ s medical dilemma, there seemed little point in viewing the entry: either Wanderer was correct about radiation poisoning, or the mysterious Shikedan traveler was correct about a microbe. But as a linguist, each entry provided Hoshi with more information on the (unfortunately now dead) Oani language; and as a scientist, she could not be one-hundred-percent certain that some sort of useful medical data might not come out of this last recording.
As a caring being, she felt obliged to see Uroqa’s sad story through to the very end.
Hoshi drew a breath and pressed the control that put Uroqua’s frozen image back in motion. As always, he began the log entry by identifying himself and giving the date and time, and mentioning any historical significance either of them had. This last entry was the birthdate of one of the Oani’s most technologically progressive leaders, one born many centuries earlier, who had discovered how to effectively eliminate a great deal of the atmospheric pollution left behind by previous generations.
She was surprised to see Uroqa still physically strong, although emotionally drained by the tragedy surrounding him.
All dying or dead, he intoned, his once-forceful voice reduced to a murmur. It will not be long for Kano now, and so I yearn for my own death to come quickly.
It is so quiet here. The voices all are stilled, except my own. And I will be silent soon: I die so another creature, one too small for my eyes to see, might live. Yet its effects on my body will lead to its own destruction.
Is there meaning in this? I see none. Only darkness…
He paused, and Hoshi pressed a control, freezing his image; her eyes were filled with tears, and she wanted to regain control of herself—for some reason embarrassed that Wanderer might see her weep over the death of this stranger, this alien.
And then she felt suddenly disgusted with herself for caring what anyone else thought. Why shouldn’t she weep? Why shouldn’t she feel compassion for the passing of this caring man and his wonderful civilization?
Hoshi glanced over her shoulder: to her relief, Wanderer had vanished, apparently having finished its scan of the Enterprise computers.
She pressed the control again, then let the image play. But Uroqa had gone silent, gazing into the screen with an expression of eloquent sorrow; and then he turned his head and looked at something—someone—off-camera. His features did not shift, though his gaze was one of recognition.
I am sorry your help has been all