The meta-genome, essentially a carrier of raw genetic data contained within a biochemical matrix, was believed to be hundreds of thousands of years old and carried with it the potential to revolutionize current understanding of life and evolution, provided its Byzantine composition could ever be fully understood. If, as was believed by some experts at Starfleet Command, the alien DNA sequence was the product of artificial genetic engineering, then it suggested a level of technological prowess far above that of any known civilization. Investigating the meta-genome as well as its origins—and preventing rival powers such as the Klingons from doing the same thing—was the foremost priority for Starbase 47 and the starships assigned to it, and the reason the massive space station had been rushed into service in the first place. Support operations for the ongoing exploration, colonization, and merchant shipping efforts overseen by Vanguard would provide cover for that mission.
Terrell said, “Now, hang on a minute. The initial meta-genome samples were found in the Ravanar system, on the other side of the Taurus Reach. Everything found after that was still a long way from here.” Until now, no such clues to the existence of the enigmatic gene sequence had been found so far from the original discovery. “If what we’re saying here is true, then whoever cooked up that damned thing—”
“—had even greater influence than was originally theorized,” Nassir said, cutting off Terrell and smiling to soften his interruption. “That alone is a rather interesting discovery, don’t you think?”
Theriault chuckled. “Your gift for understatement never fails to impress me, Skipper.” Glancing to Terrell before continuing, she said, “The preliminary sensor readings are very similar to what was found on Ravanar IV, but we’ll need to collect samples for further, more detailed study and comparison back on Vanguard.”
Nodding, Nassir said, “Agreed. They’ve already got a cadre of scientists champing at the bit for anything we might find out here.” In addition to the team of specialists already assigned to Starbase 47 and given the task of studying the meta-genome, Terrell knew that Starfleet was dispatching a first-rate archeology and anthropology officer with advanced training and experience in the investigation of long-dead civilizations. That officer—currently en route from Earth—was not due to arrive at Vanguard for several more weeks.
Looks like we’ll have a present for him when he finally gets here.
“Since the three of us are the only members of the crew who know anything about this,” Nassir said, reaching up to rub his smooth, angular chin, “it looks like the two of you draw sample collection duty. We’ll have to concoct a story to tell the others, but considering how long we’ve been running fast and hot, I imagine Master Chief Ilucci will welcome the opportunity to give the ship a once-over. That’ll keep him and his people busy, and we can find other tasks for the rest of the crew. Just make your survey a quick one.”
Terrell replied, “Copy that, Skipper.” Then, with a small smile, he added, “You sure you don’t want to go?”
“I’m absolutely certain I dowant to go,” the captain said, “but I figure that’ll only raise questions among the crew.”
Theriault nodded in agreement. “So, what do we do in the meantime, sir?”
Shrugging, Nassir offered a whimsical smile. “The first thing we need to do is call home. Commodore Reyes is going to love this.”
2
The doors to Diego Reyes’s office parted, allowing the commodore to enter his private sanctuary without breaking his brisk, determined stride.
That was what was supposed to happen. Instead, only the left door slid aside while the right door maintained its position, the result being that the entire right side of Reyes’s body from his forehead to his boot slammed full speed into the barrier.
“What the hell?” Reyes snapped, feeling the sting where his nose and right cheek had caught the edge of the door and trying to avoid stumbling as he maneuvered his body through the blocked threshold leading to his office. Attempting to affect a demeanor communicating that he had with singular purpose intended to walk headlong into the door, the commodore directed his gaze out across the main deck of Starbase 47’s operations center. He noted that every member of the operations staff within his field of vision seemed to be concentrating with unwavering intensity at workstations, viewing screens, data slates, or even the walls or the deck—anywhere but the entrance to his office.
Yeah, it’s going to be one of those days.
“Where is Lieutenant Ballard?” he called out, referring to the station’s chief engineer.
From where he stood on the operation center’s raised supervisor’s deck, Lieutenant Commander Raymond Cannella, Starbase 47’s fleet operations manager, replied, “At last report, he was down in sensor control, sir.” Cannella was a burly man, with dark, thinning hair swept back from his forehead and a neck so thick it seemed on the verge of bursting through the ribbed collar of his gold tunic. He spoke with a pronounced accent that betrayed his New Jersey heritage and made his every word sound as though he were issuing a challenge. “You need him up here, sir?”
Reyes considered the question, reasoning that the length of time required for Ballard to make the transit from sensor control to the ops center might just be sufficient for the commodore to reassess his current desire to reassign the engineer to the station’s waste reclamation center. “No, that’s all right, Commander. I’ll just call him.” Crossing to the desk positioned outside his office and intended to be occupied by his yeoman—should one ever arrive from Starfleet—the commodore reached for the computer terminal positioned near its left edge and thumbed the intercom control. “Reyes to Ballard.”
There was a brief pause as the request was routed through the communications system before the lieutenant’s voice replied through the panel’s speaker grille, “Ballard here, sir. What can I do for you, Commodore?”
“Mister Ballard,” Reyes said, “I was just body-blocked by my own office door. You wouldn’t by chance happen to know anything about that?”
Ballard replied, “That’s probably my fault, sir. I had to take some of the internal sensor hubs off line to make some modifications. Very sensitive components, you know.”
“So is my nose,Lieutenant,” Reyes said. “How long before systems are back up?”
“Half an hour or so, sir,”Ballard said. “It’s just settling in adjustments more than anything else—the same kinds of things we’ve been dealing with for a while now.”
Sighing, Reyes nodded even though the chief engineer could not see him. Ballard’s report about the internal sensors was but a variation of status updates Reyes had been hearing for more than a month. Ballard and his people had been fighting a rash of minor, annoying glitches and other assorted anomalies while working to bring Starbase 47’s formidable array of internal computer and control systems on line and get them working in concert. All of this, in addition to the already rather long list of tasks to be completed before the station could be declared fully operational.
“Understood, Mister Ballard,” Reyes said after a moment. “I don’t suppose you have any good news for me?”
“You’ll be happy to know we fixed that bug in the food replication systems for the officers’ quarters,”the engineer replied. “Now when you order dinner, you won’t be getting anything from Ambassador Jetanien’s personal menu.”
Reyes chuckled at that. “Okay, you’re forgiven for the sensors.” A Rigellian Chelon, Jetanien had special dietary requirements, most of which were incompatible with human digestive systems. Some of the diplomat’s favorite dishes had emerged from the food slot in Reyes’s quarters, in response to the commodore’s request for a simple steak with steamed rice and vegetables. As for the noxious liquid that had substituted for the iced tea he had wanted, it remained as yet unidentified. “I won’t keep you from your duties any longer, Lieutenant. Keep Commander Cannella apprised of your progress.”