What Judgments Come

Returning his attention to his workstation, Xiong glanced over the various status gauges and graphics as the chamber’s internal sensor feeds sprang to life. Three of his screens began to cascade data at a rate too fast for his eyes to follow, but the lieutenant knew everything they were seeing was being recorded and stored within the Lovell’s main computer. He would have plenty of time later to review the information they were collecting.

“Commander,” O’Halloran called out, “I’m getting some unusual readings here.”

“Prepare to power down,” Marcus said.

“Stand by to abort,” Xiong ordered, a split second after the doctor. As they exchanged knowing glances, the lieutenant wondered if the tension he felt mirrored whatever feelings of anxiety she might be experiencing. To her credit, Marcus appeared calm and controlled, though he noted the slight tightening of her jaw line as she kept her attention focused on the scene before her.

Shaking his head, O’Halloran said, “No, wait. This doesn’t look threatening. It’s just … unusual.”

“Feel free to elaborate,” al-Khaled said.

O’Halloran, already hunched over his console, frowned. “It’s just that … okay, now there’s nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Xiong asked. “You’re not receiving?”

“I am receiving,” O’Halloran replied, “but the artifact seems completely unresponsive to any external stimuli. There’s no signal wave response, no high-energy particles, no communications signal. Nothing.”

“Is it dead?” Marcus asked. “Could the intensity of the scans have killed the Shedai inside the crystal?”

“No, Doctor,” Anderson replied. “We’re at least getting that much. It’s still very much alive in there.”

“And the scans are reaching it?” al-Khaled asked, frowning in confusion.

Leaning forward in his seat, Xiong pressed a sequence of controls that allowed him to scroll through the data collected during the past few moments. He noted that the sensor arrays recorded the scans’ penetration of the artifact’s crystal surface, and even their examination of whatever it was that lurked inside. The Shedai was, in essence, noncorporeal energy even though it had demonstrated the ability to assume physical form, particularly when angered. It also had shown a propensity for occupying and controlling physical objects of massive size and power, such as the beings that Xiong had encountered more than once.

“According to this,” he said, “the scans are hitting it, as are the communications signals.”

“Maybe it doesn’t know how to respond?” Marcus said.

Reclining in his chair, Xiong released a small, tired sigh. “That, or maybe it just doesn’t give a damn.”

11

Something intruded upon the Shedai Wanderer’s slumber and she awoke with a start, confused and irritated at the disruption. How long had she been sleeping? It seemed to her as though time had ceased to have any meaning within this gulf of energy in which she languished.

What was it? Reaching out with her consciousness, she listened for whatever unidentified presence had sought to make itself known to her. She was convinced it was an attempt at communication, though she was unable to locate its source. The signal, if indeed that was what she had detected, was brief and weak, though still sufficient to upset the energy fields contained within her crystal prison. What was the signal’s origin, and what was its purpose? For a moment she considered offering some form of response, but restrained herself. The fields gripping her had sapped her strength, leaving her all but defenseless. Though the Wanderer loathed the very idea of refusing to stand before an enemy, the simple reality was that here, she held no power.

Her own anger and lack of discipline had brought her to this place, this pocket of existence fashioned specifically to contain those of her kind. There were tremendous energies in play here, and she knew they were not natural phenomena. It had not taken her long after becoming ensnared within these odd fields to discern the artificial nature of their ebbs and flows, a product of the crystal that contained such unbridled chaos. Who could possess the power to create such a construct? Could it possibly be a creation of some long-dead species of Telinaruul? She had, after some time and reflection, dismissed such an unlikely possibility, though she forced herself to admit that the particular parasites that she had confronted with increasing frequency prior to her capture had succeeded in surprising her during their past encounters. However, she attributed that more to their adaptability and i

As for the enigmatic crystal that held her, the Wanderer had probed and examined her surroundings and found no flaw or other sign of vulnerability that might be exploited. Not that it mattered, as what little strength and abilities remained to her had proven insufficient for making any real escape attempt. Her every effort on that front had failed, leaving her even more weakened and frustrated. She was at the mercy of her captors, whoever they were and for however long they saw fit to keep her in this place.

Wait.

Again, something seemed to summon her from the depths of the rift that held her prisoner, and once more she listened. Unlike the previous call, this one carried with it an element of familiarity. It, like her, was Shedai, but older—much older—than the Wanderer herself.

Where are you? Who are you?

The other consciousness, which the Wanderer had detected for but the briefest of moments, was gone, but in that infinitesimal interval she had sensed its power. When she had attacked the Telinaruul and their fragile habitat, she had believed one of the ancient crystals in their possession to be harboring one of the enumerated—one of the Serataal. There had been no time to verify that before she had been taken captive. As the other mind she had sensed began to coalesce into existence a second time, she reached out with whatever feeble wisps of perception she still commanded. Now, there was a co

Then, the co

No!

Once more, there was nothing for her to do but wait. All she could bring to bear was her patience while preserving her limited strength and watching for an opportunity to act. She was certain that, sooner or later, her captors would have to reveal themselves.

Whoever or whatever they were, the Wanderer would destroy them.

12

Thomas Blair stopped himself from trying to force the turbolift doors to open faster, willing himself to stand still until they parted enough for him to exit the car and step onto the Defiant’s bridge. The first thing he noted was that the entire room was bathed in the harsh crimson lights that signified a Red Alert status. In keeping with Blair’s personal preferences, the audible alarm had been muted on the bridge as well as in turbolifts.

“Status report,” he called out, nodding to Commander Mbugua as the first officer vacated the captain’s chair. Rather than head for the center seat himself, Blair made his way around the upper bridge deck toward the science station.