The image being broadcast from the Chief’s helmet camera changed. The objects ahead of him, particularly the oddly shaped construction, increased in size as he moved closer.
“. . . six! Disengage thrusters.”
“Thrusters off,” Ferahim acknowledged. “Confirmed.”
The speed at which images grew larger steadied, now that he was traveling at a constant velocity.
“Are you seeing this, Bridge?”
“Affirmative, Chief,” Elizabeth replied.
Devereux glanced over at her with a quick smile. The young Commander glowed under the silent praise.
“It doesn’t look any prettier from out here,” the Chief reported. “I think I saw something like it in a museum once. I don’t remember which one.”
Devereux’s interest was piqued. The object, what they could make of it, did not look familiar to her at all. Although there was a remote chance of any connection, it might still reveal a clue to its origin.
“The Boston Museum of Science? The NASA museum? The Sagan Observatory?”
“No,” the Chief answered abruptly. “I remember now. It was the Toyota-Ford World Wrestling Arena.”
“What was it doing there?”
“A piece of their ceiling caved in.”
Devereux was certain that she heard Pyrafox snicker. She stared hard at the back of his red-furred head, but he did not turn around.
Rolling her eyes, she sighed and looked over at Elizabeth. To her credit, her First Officer’s expression displayed a very straight face. The tension of that corners of Elizabeth’s jaws, though, told Devereux how hard she was working to maintain it.
“I suppose we should start taking some readings now or something. Huh, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Ferahim answered promptly.
Devereux’s eyed turned toward the main Science station. They were already receiving automatic telemetry from the suit, but not the detailed readings there were looking for. The Chief and Ferahim were still too far away to see anything that the telescope back on the large fragment had not already shown them.
Muffled sounds came over the comm channel as the pair detached and readied their portable scanners. Few of the words were clear, but Devereux was certain that at least a half dozen of the ones coming from the Chief’s suit radio would be considered profane in at least three cultures.
“Okay,” the Chief finally reported. “We’re ready. Transmitting now.”
“Bring them up on Screen Three, split screen,” Devereux instructed Gho.
The image flickered and then two almost identical computer-rendered images formed at the top and bottom of the bridge display. Each seemed filled with a thin haze, preventing any real details from being seen.
Devereux looked toward Gho, but the Science officer just shook her head.
“Can you adjust your resolution?” Elizabeth asked.
“You seem to think I know how to work this blasted thing . . .”
Devereux suppressed a slight smile. The Chief was determined to keep up the appearance of being just a overranked deckhand—despite the fact that he knew how to repair and operate nearly every piece of equipment aboard their ship.
“There,” he said, his voice crackling slightly. “I think I’ve got it.” His voice dropped and Devereux assumed that he was conferring with Ferahim. “Is that any better?”
Devereux studied the images on the screen. To her eyes, it looked about the same as before, perhaps even less defined. She turned her head to get Elizabeth’s and Gho’s opinion. Their expressions told her that they shared her appraisal.
“It actually looks worse, Chief,” she told him.
There was no doubt at all in her mind at the profane content of his next words.
“Bridge,” Ferahim’s soft, lyrical tones sounded over the comm channel through a thin haze of static. “I have adjusted my scanner. Has the image improved?”
Devereux looked toward the far right bridge display, seeing that the ensign’s readings appeared on the lower half of the screen. It looked no different from the images being created from the Chief’s scanner.
“It’s not any better, Ensign,” Devereux replied. “Sorry.”
There was a short burst of sound that might have been profanity from the Chief again, but it was too garbled to tell for certain.
“Bridge,” the Chief said, a little more clearly, “we might . . . need you to . . .”
Muted hisses of noise swallowed the rest of his words.
#
“Chief,” Devereux said. “Repeat your message. We lost your transmission at the end there.”
“Bridge,” the Chief’s voice burst from the speakers, but it was awash in interference.
He is either shouting, or has boosted his signal gain. Perhaps both.
The Captain turned to Hawkes. “I want to see their positions.”
Hawkes tapped the necessary controls on his console.The locator grid on Screen One reappeared, showing the Chief’s and Ferahim’s positions.
“Their suits are still transmitting,” the Captain reported with some relief.
“They function on a much higher wavelength,” Hawkes reminded her. “Due to the likelihood of just such a phenomenon.”
Devereux flashed him a tight-lipped look of irritation and then gestured for him to take over communications.
“Chief Rayna . . . Ensign Ferahim, please respond,” Hawkes called out calmly. “We are not receiving your signal clearly.”
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