Psi Phi's Star Trek Books Database

#59: Blackout

Previous: #58: Honor
Next: #60: The Cleanup
Star Trek: S.C.E.
eBook / January, 2006
XSCE000059

Written by Phaedra M. Weldon

Excerpt:

"Bart," Carol touched Bart's arm on the way out of the conference room.

The linguist stopped in the hallway just outside as Carol stepped through the door. He really wanted to back to his quarters and prepare himself for their arrival. But, as usual, someone needed to talk. "What's up, Carol?"

Carol Abramowitz had a slight build, with large eyes and a full mouth. Her close cropped dark hair shined under the lights as did the twinkle in her eye. "Congratulations--you're writing again?"

Bart frowned. He'd made the mistake of sharing his recent tardiness in writing to Anthony with Carol over dinner. But how did the woman know he'd actually attempted a letter?

Catching the look of confusion in Bart's expression, Carol reached down and grabbed Bart's hand, the one with the stain. She held it up for both of them to see. "It's nice to see that little mark again."

With a little more force than intended, Bart pulled his hand out of Carol's grip. Guilt pressed down harder against his shoulders. "It's nothing. It's not what you think. I didn't...couldn't..."

Carol leaned forward toward Bart. "You didn't write Anthony a letter?"

He opened his mouth to respond and then closed it. A loud sigh escaped him as he leaned against the nearest bulkhead. They were alone in the corridor. "I started to. But then I wasn't sure what to say. I wanted to tell him about the Koas and what I saw. And about Caitano and Deverick and about Elizabeth's baby. And then a small voice told me I was only avoiding the larger issue. But something kept staying the words."

"You mean Anthony's mention of marriage." Carol put her hands on her hips and leaned her head to one side. "Bart--why would someone like you, who enjoys a stable, long-term, long-distance even, relationship with a wonderful man, be afraid of commitment?"

Though his own inner voice had asked the same questions over and over, Bart hadn't heard it verbalized. It immediately put him on the defensive. "I am not afraid, I'm just..." he paused.

I'm just what? Cautious? How often had he used that excuse on himself, sabotaging relationships before? Cautious because of his own job? Since joining Starfleet over eighteen years ago, his life had been full of adventure as well as danger. He knew he'd over-rationalized the higher road--knowing casual relationships were best as he never knew if one mission would lead to his own death.

All that changed when he met Anthony Mark on Starbase 92 over a year ago.

Or so he'd believed.

In space, on a ship, how would anyone know what next step would spell the end? It seemed so easy while I'd been out there, watching the Koas pyramid unfold, watching a miracle take place. Knowing then I'd wanted Anthony in my life always, to share such experiences with me. So what happened? Why can't I even verbalize my own anxiety at the thought of marriage?

"Bart? You're doing it. You're over-thinking."

He blinked at her. "I am not. I'm just trying to figure out what's wrong with me."

"Well then talk to me."

He frowned. "About what?"

"Whatever is bothering you. People always go to you when they're confused or need an ear. Why won't you talk to me? Or to Fabian? Or Pattie? Or hell, even Tev--you seem to get along with him better than anyone."

That much was true. Bart didn't feel the same animosity toward the Tellarite that the rest of the crew did. "Look--you're right. Maybe I need to talk. And maybe I will--one day. I have to figure out what's wrong with me, and I have to figure it out on my own."

"Nothing's wrong with you. You're just a man with cold feet."

"I do not have cold feet."

"Iceberg."

"Eh," Bart turned and pressed his forehead against the nearest bulkhead, a little harder than he intended, making a nice thunking noise. He closed his eyes as he spoke. "I don't have cold feet. I'm only considering Anthony, that's all. My life--our lives here--are in constant danger. Something tragic could happen at any moment."

"To him or you?"

"Both."

"And this is something no other Starfleet officer has faced before?" Carol frowned.

Bart opened his eyes and straightened up. "I'm not an officer."

"No, but Anthony is. And he accepts those risks everyday. I don't think you're being fair to him. I think you're being selfish. I think this is all about you and something you haven't faced."

Selfish. Me?

Bart rubbed at his forehead before running thin fingers through his thick, salt and pepper hair. "When I think about a permanent commitment, something inside..." He searched for the perfect word and plucked it from inside his stressed mind. "Twists."

"You're repulsed at the notion of marriage? Bart, you and Anthony are in love. I saw the way you two were at the wedding. That man adores you." She shook her head. "I think you don't know why marriage gives you cold feet."

"No, no, no. Argh... I'm not saying this right." Me. A linguist, and I can't even put into words the reasons why I can't--

"Hey Bart," came Fabian Stevens's voice from Bart's combadge. "You there?"

Bart touched his badge with a sigh. "I'm here. What's up?"

"We just got another subspace from Asario. Apparently they've picked up some sort of low-level emission from the excavation site."

"Emission? Like a radiation emission?"

"No." Fabian paused. "More like a repeated message. It's sort of riding piggyback on whatever's dampening the planet's magnetic fields. I'm going to pipe it to the communications station on the bridge. Can you check it out?"

"On my way," Bart turned in the direction of the bridge and Carol followed. "Do we have anything on the planet's history?"

"I'm afraid not. Or not much more than what the Asarion people have found since their colonization of it."

"Upload what you can to the communications station." Bart preceded Carol onto the bridge and turned immediately to the station.

Captain Gold sat in his chair and gave a half turn to watch Bart seat himself. "You received Stevens's message?"

"Yes sir." Bart grabbed up a receiver and slipped it into his left ear as he sat down. He tapped a sequence of pads on the consol and found Fabian's upload. Making sure the receiver was snuggly in place, Bart cued the message, adjusted the volume and played it.

At first he thought something was wrong with his receiver as the message was little more than a series of static whistles and clicks. He adjusted the resonance and compensated for distance and stream.

Abruptly the whistles and clicks became a voice--but not any voice Bart had heard before--or in any immediately recognizable language. He glanced at the captain who was watching him patiently. Frowning, the linguist quickly analyzed sounds, looked for repeating patterns, pinpointed consonants and vowels.

"Anything?" Gold prompted.

Bart pursed his lips as he fed what he heard into the computer. The universal translator was busy doing high-speed comparisons. But the linguist didn't really need the computer's aid to understand the meaning of the message. Tonal inflection as well as basic language syntax was all Bart Faulwell required. He had deciphered thousands of codes, languages, and symbols.

"Captain," the linguist said. "It's a warning."

"A warning?"

"A warning?" came Fabian's voice from the speakers. Obviously the tactical specialist had been monitoring bridge communications. "From who to whom? And what?"

"Dunno," Bart said. "I can tell it's a warning, and it's being repeated in precise intervals. I'd say it's automated."

"But no idea on who and what?" Gold said.

"Not yet. But I'll have it."

"I know you will. Keep at it." Gold lifted his chin. "Stevens, you and Blue come up with any more power scenarios?"

"Not on the whys, sir. We've scraped together a little over fifty or so portable fusion generators. They'll help get the city's basics back online for us to work with. I think we'll do better once we can actually take a look at the situation. Get a hands-on reading."

Bart allowed himself to become immersed in the message. He closed his eyes, allowing his fingers to move over the station's controls on their own as he listened to each word, broke it down, and reinvented it.

Words. He loved words. He loved sounds. Their shape and form in his mind. Communication was a subjective science and one that depended as well as interwove with a culture's beliefs. Their spiritual doctrines.

And their military might.

This message had the sound of being military based. Sparse. Staccato. Powerful.

This was a people who were confident in their control of the situation. Whatever that may have been.

Bart checked the information Carol had given him. The newest site, the one where Corlis believed the blackout originated, was the oldest of the discoveries. He displayed images of symbols, the language written, on several of his monitors, quickly identifying sounds with representations.

Speaking a language and seeing its symbols written were two different experiences, and Bart could only have imagined what linguists who worked on the ancient pyramids at Giza had thought after so many years of seeing the language of the ancient Egyptians when it was actually spoken.

The translator beeped at him, and Bart scanned the computer's interpretation of the message. He did a double take as he checked the computer's findings. "What the..."

"Found something?" Gold rotated his command chair to face the linguist.

Bart glanced up at Gold. "I've got a tentative translation. And I mean tentative. I'd have to check the computer's findings against my own knowledge, but..." He paused. "The tone of the message--the way the language is spoken--it doesn't make any sense when considering what I think the words mean."

"Oh? What does it say?"

Bart had the whole of the bridge crew's attention, though many remained focused on their stations, everyone was listening.

He took a deep breath. "'Do not to your neighbor what is hateful to yourself.'"

No one spoke.

Then Gold sat forward, his expression as incredulous as Bart's own. "Faulwell--that's impossible. That's a famous maxim by Heillel."

Bart nodded his head slowly. "I know, Captain."

"And that's all it says?"

"Yes sir."

"What about the rest?" Gold asked.

"Rest?" Carol said. "There's more?"

"The quote goes on to say 'the rest is commentary; go learn it.'"

Bart knew the famous maxim. Knew that finding the exact same passage on a world thousands of light-years from earth was implausible. But here it was.

"Wong," Gold said to the helm. "Let's see if we can get this ship to Asario a little faster."

The flummoxed linguist looked back down at the computer's translation. Go learn it, indeed. Apparently, we're on our way to do just that.

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