Synthesis - James Swallow [148]
Riker watched the play of light and dark through the misted pearl windows of One-Five’s tower annex, before looking away. The surface of the FirstGen was visible in shadows and the faint reflected light of the smaller of the binary suns, and he could see spots in the metal landscape where great divots of brass and gold had been ripped up. The damage from the battle reached up to where he stood; some of the windows showed cracks and burn patterns, and part of the landing pad out beyond the atmospheric shield was drooping, perhaps from some near hit.
“We’ve all taken our wounds,” said Deanna from behind him.
He didn’t answer immediately, instead looking up toward the higher orbit. He found a glimmer of white up there—Titan, at rest now, her injuries being tended to by Ra-Havreii’s people and a ragtag collection of drones gathered by White-Blue. The machines had insisted, once again, that the Starfleet ship be repaired first, with all their talk of duties and obligations.
“You will leave our space soon,” said the AI. “Your mission of exploration must continue.”
“That’s right,” he heard Deanna reply. “But there’s this one last thing to do.”
He turned and found Troi and the Sentry standing before him, two beings as alien to each other as possible, one of flesh and bone and one of iron and tripolymer. But here we are, a threat to all of us defeated through common cause.
“They come,” the AI clicked, pointing with a telescopic limb.
A group of small ships dropped into the landing cradles, and a train of proxy remotes filed into the annex. There were only a handful of them, and Riker noted the absence of several members of the Governance Kernel.
“We lost a great many of our kind in this confrontation,” said White-Blue, anticipating the captain’s thoughts. “New representatives will be gathered to bring the group to full capacity.”
“We are assembled.” One-Five’s voice rumbled around them. “We gather to address the organics.”
Cyan-Gray’s vaguely humanoid drone was among the arrivals, and it made something of a bow toward the captain as it approached. “William-Riker, Deanna-Troi, it is pleasing to see your existence still continues.”
“Likewise,” Riker answered. “I’m sorry to hear about your losses.”
“And I yours,” said the vaguely female voice. “I understand we owe our survival to the actions of the ThirdGen.”
Deanna nodded. “She gave up her existence in order to seal the subspace rifts.”
“Impossible…” muttered one of the remotes.
“Negative,” White-Blue insisted. “The data confirm this. Compute it for yourself. I have placed all of the readings in the communal dataspace for all to see.”
“Interrogative: How was this possible?” boomed One-Five.
“The avatar,” began Deanna, picking her words with care. “In a way, she was a synthesis of both of us, of our natures and yours. And she took the best of us, our shared senses of duty and obligation.”
Another of the remotes, a drum-shaped unit Riker had not seen before, drifted forward on a humming pressor field. “We are grateful. However… Interrogative: When the next incursion comes, what will happen then?”
“You do not comprehend,” White-Blue broke in. “The ThirdGen’s act of sacrifice has sealed the rift permanently. It will never open again.”
A ripple of shock crossed the chamber, each machine stiffening in the wake of the droneframe’s comment.
“And to make certain of that, my science officer and chief engineer have informed me that you must retire your slip drives,” said Riker. “Those systems used a side effect of the Null incursions for interstellar travel. Keep using them, and you’re just asking for trouble.”
Silver-Green’s tetrahedron turned slowly. “We cannot exceed light velocity without that technology.”
“There are other methods,” said Deanna. “We can offer you the