The Progenitor (2)
W N Dayley

 

“No, Sir.” Thenesh’s voice was small and he wilted further into his chair.
From her station to the right and slightly behind Rekex, Zechor studied the readouts on her monitor intently. A new wavelength had appeared among the relatively mundane background radiation. Whether it was solar in nature or something else she was not certain, yet. Several keystrokes on her keypad isolated the frequency. Several more began an analysis of its inherent properties. Within seconds, she knew it was not a naturally-occurring from of radiation. The computer still couldn’t identify it, though.
“Sir,” she addressed Commander Rekex, “I’ve found something that may interest you.”
“What is it, Adjunct?”
“A signal of unknown origin and, as yet, unidentified. It is artificial in nature and completely unlike anything the ship’s databases have on record.”
Rekex’s interest was piqued. “The computer has no record of such a signal? At what end of the spectrum is the frequency?” He left the command post and strode to Zechor’s station, fresh determination in his step.
“It is . . .,” Zechor hesitated. “It crosses the spectrum.”
This statement caught Thenesh’s attention. He whipped his head around to look at the Adjunct, an expression of profound confusion wrinkling his ridges. “How can that be? A signal is usually carried on one primary frequency. A transmission can be sent on several frequencies simultaneously, but on distinct frequencies.” He tapped in to the information on Zechor’s monitor and let out a low hiss as the readout appeared.
“What do you make of it, Thenesh?” Rekex was painfully out of his element in this regard, which was one reason why he was so frustrated: had there been an enemy poised in this system to conquer the Humans, he would have been ready and able to combat them. The scientific aspects, unfortunately, fell just outside his expertise. His was a position of command, not research.
“I do not know quite what to make of it, Sir. These readings appear accurate – background filters are in place, sensors are functioning properly – but the signal is . . . baffling.”
“At least it is something.” Thenesh and Zehor both nodded their agreement.
“Can we trace it back to its source?”
“Attempting to do so now, Sir,” Zechor answered. Thus far, the signal appeared to be emanating from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. She calibrated the sensors to narrow their focus to its specific signature, but the fact that it was transmitting across all frequencies made it extremely difficult. The amplitude and modulation of the signal suggested a relatively close point of origin, she surmised. Without a more accurate reading, however, the means to locate its source were beyond them. Within sensor range were several planets, and their satellites, as well as the asteroid belt: the signal could be originating from any one of these bodies. Or all of them, she realized. A transmitter placed on each of the asteroids, planets and moons would certainly confuse the sensors into thinking it was everywhere at once, because it would be everywhere at once. And if each was set to a different frequency, and programmed to broadcast synchronously, it would cover the entire spectrum.
She shared this tentative theory with the Commander who, to his credit, seemed equally impressed with the logic of such a strategy and skeptical as to what purpose it would serve, but did not dismiss it, due to a lack of any real evidence, out of hand.
Your thoughts, Thenesh.” Rekex regretted his earlier surliness with is Science Officer, and wished to reintegrate him into the search as best he could. Thenesh had always been a competent and loyal subordinate. His clan was among the most prominent in the Caste of Scientist, several of its members having made significant contributions in the areas of molecular genetics and biomechanics. Thenesh decided to pursue Astronomy rather than Biology. He had refused a posting with the Office of Interstellar Affairs – much to the chagrin of his clan – in order to enter military service. The Patriarch of his clan as well as both of his paternal siblings had entered into high-profile research arenas and expected he would do the same. Thenesh had no interest in spending his life in a laboratory, working with pale representations of celestial bodies. He wanted to study the genuine article firsthand. So he volunteered for a mission to a neighboring system to study a proto-star formation and enjoyed it so much he knew this was the type of work he was meant to do.
“Alpha and Gamma radiation are within tolerances. There are faint traces of Delta wave emissions, which is unusual for a modulated frequency.”
“Why is that?” Rekex asked.
“Delta waves are generally associated with brain activity. You do not normally find them imbedded within communication’s transmissions,” Thenesh explained. “They are indicative of sleep patterns, present only in deep-sleep. And . . .,” he hesitated, punching up a different section of the signal’s graphical representation. After a moment of study, he continued. “This is odd.”
“Define odd,” Zechor walked over to stand behind Thenesh as he explained the signal’s unusual composition.
“Yes, do,” Rekex added.
“There are, in addition to the Delta waves, traces of Beta waves, as well.” He held up a hand to forestall any further questions. “Alpha, Beta, Delta, Gamma, and Theta waves are the waveforms, in varying frequencies, by which the neural activity is measured. The various waveforms are associated with specific brain activity such as higher reasoning, sleep patterns and meditation. But they are very low level emissions, between 4 Hz and, at the upper end, 70 Hz; hardly capable of projecting through a planet’s atmosphere or outside of its magnetic field.
“And yet, here,” he pointed to the monitor before him, “we have evidence of their existence outside the confines of the brain, bound to other, higher amplitude frequencies, and emanating into space. Strange.”
“Does this new information help us solve the absence of the Human civilization?” Rekex was not certain there was a solution to this riddle, but as Commander, it was his duty not to present a fatalistic front to his subordinates. As much as he would like to scrap the mission and return to Serenthii, he knew he could not until all avenues were explored – and exhausted.
Neither Thenesh nor Zechor spoke. Neither knew how – or if – the signal was related to the Humans’ disappearance. It may have been a form of communication they were developing when whatever caused their disappearance happened.
Neither dared say as much to Rekex for fear of darkening his mood further. He seemed on the verge of exploding as it was: his ridges were full and upright, his jaw set, the muscles standing out along his mandible and his eyes had taken on a yellowish hue far deeper than normal.
Not to be thwarted, however, Commander Rekex rather pointedly prompted his subordinates. “Well? Nobody has anything to say? Not even a theory?”
“No, Sir,” Thenesh answered quietly, rubbing the side of his cranial plate where a minor ache had begun to throb over the last few intervals. “We do not have enough information about the signal to make an educated guess. It may be the cause and it may have no bearing on the situation at all. It is simply too early to tell.”
Commander Rekex did not look pleased with this response. His jaw clenched tighter. An incisor must have penetrated the thick hide of his lower jaw as Zechor saw a trickle of blue-black blood slide down his chin. He roughly wiped it away with the back of his hand and studied it for a moment as if not certain what it was. Afterward, he visibly relaxed a notch, his jaws unclenching enough to allow him to speak. “Very well, then.” He took a deep breath and his ridges lowered slightly. “Science Officer Thenesh, continue to work on identifying the signal’s properties. Determine if this mysterious signal could be somehow related to the disappearance of the Humans. Maintain present attitude until I return.” With that he stalked off the command deck. The door to his office irised open at his approach and, as he disappeared into his office, irised closed behind him.
Zechor and Thenesh shared an inquiring glance as the door sealed. Neither had ever seen him so tense, barking orders at his subordinates and publicly chastising them. Then again, he had never found himself in such a complex and disturbing situation before. Their mission was the longest – both in duration and distance – ever undertaken by the Interstellar Commission. And the most expensive, consequently. The Commander was under a tremendous amount of pressure to complete it to everyone’s satisfaction. Still, he had a reputation for being composed under pressure, a Commander who led his subordinates by example. His displays of frustration were uncharacteristic.
Zechor pressed the heel of her palm to the space between her eyes, where the first signs of a headache were beginning to manifest themselves. She then resumed scanning the area again.

Ó
Rekex sat at his desk, the monitor displaying the graph of the unidentified signal’s composition. HE could not make any sense of it. And the more he thought about it, the more his cranial plates ached. Finally, he punched the button to shut off the screen and sat back, staring at the blank screen for a moment. He did not have an answer for this mystery.
Neither did he have one for his behavior. He was mortified about the manner in which he had addressed his officers, infuriated with himself for having given in to the frustration he was experiencing in front of them. “Inexcusable,” he chastised himself. Since entering the system, he felt a subtle change coming over him. Though he could not say in exactly what way he was changed, he sensed a difference in him. Whether it was because the information available to him was outdated and, therefore, useless, or because he expected to simply greet the species, convince them of the Serenthi’s good will, perhaps participate in a brief summit to establish communications, then go home, he could not say. That it was something more fundamental, a character flaw within himself never crossed his mind.
He knew he had acted badly toward Thenesh, and would have to redeem himself in the Science Officer’s eyes or risk losing his expertise on further missions. That, he decided, would be a shame. Thenesh was a gifted scientist, an expert in his field, and a loyal officer, as well. Hardly deserving of his acerbic behavior. And, yet, despite all his knowledge, Thenesh could not determine the signal’s construction, or place of origin, or potential relevance to their mission. It was maddening.
As was the headache he was experiencing. He rubbed the tips of his digits in small circles against the cranial plates on either side of his head. He did not normally experience them and was doubly irritated by the appearance of one at such an inopportune moment.
After several moments of massaging with no effect, the idea struck him that he might simply be in need of nourishment. He had not eaten since emergence from hyper-sleep, and his body could be demanding he do so now.
Grudgingly, he heaved himself out of his cushioned, wide-armed chair and made his way toward the door that led to the corridor beyond. It irised open to allow him egress and he hesitated, hovering over the threshold and preventing the door from closing. He stared at the blank monitor for a moment, as if something he had seen before turning it off just now registered. As he stood there, he could not recall what it was, or why it seemed significant, however. He shook his head, winced as a momentary flash of pain shot through his left plate. As he passed through the door, he resolved to enjoy his meal. Afterward, he might take a short nap if Zechor and Thenesh had not made any progress with the signal. If they had, sleep could wait. After all, he had spent fifty years in hyper-sleep on the journey to this system. Which may account for the way I’ve been feeling lately, he thought. Early star travelers had complained that the time spent in space on extended flights often left them feeling out-of-sorts: sleepy, irritable, even unsettled. Perhaps the same was true of hyper-sleep, as well. After I eat, I will ask Technician Hekten.

Ó
Zechor watched the imager as the constant stream of lumpen, lifeless rocks spun lazily in a dance that had been occurring for billions of years. The asteroids swung in lazy circles around the system’s star, one or two occasionally falling out of orbit, attracted by the massive gravitational pull of the star. As they hurtled inward toward certain vaporization, the others were oblivious of their peril; they continued to circle millennia after millennia as if nothing else existed in the universe but the dance. The Adjunct felt that way right now as well.
She had been studying the various asteroids for cycles now, without any discernible progress. The signal’s origins were no more evident than they were when they first detected it. Nor did she think Thenesh had made any significant progress either. At least, he had not reported anything of significance to her.
“Anything to report?” she asked Thenesh.
He seemed not to hear the question, however; his eyes continued to scan the image of the signal’s analysis on his monitor.
Zechor repeated the question, a note of irritation in her tone.
“No.”
His curt reply, seemingly devoid of respect for her or her position, rankled Zechor. “No? Is that all you have to say, Science Officer?”
“Yes. Sir.” He added reluctantly, not bothering to take his eyes from the monitor.
Zechor let out an irritated snort. Thenesh was beginning to get on her nerves. Yes, he was an expert on these things, and yes he was a good officer – loyal and all that – but he was also arrogant and could be insufferable at times. This was one of those times, she decided.
“Thenesh, can you theorize as to the origins or purpose of this signal?”
Several seconds passed before Thenesh reacted to the question. His shoulders sagged, his ridges deflated somewhat, and he turned in his chair to regard the Adjunct. “No, Adjunct, I cannot theorize about something which I have never encountered before. I need to study it, analyze its properties, before I can make any kind of educated guess. So please, allow me to continue my work. Sir.”
Zechor took exception to the condescending tone of his reply and had an acerbic remark ready to let fly when the communications screen blipped to life on her monitor. “Technician Hekten to Adjunct Zechor.”
She bit off that remark and turned to her screen, touching the activation button. “Yes, Technician?”
“Commander Rekex has just come to see me about his recent behavioral shifts. Have you experienced any mood swings or unwarranted emotions? Headaches?” Thenesh raised his head at the mention of headaches, but said nothing.
Zechor thought for a moment about the inquiry before answering. There was a dull ache in her left cranial plate that had been coming and going, manifesting itself in short, painful jolts every so often. She had been about to get into an argument with Thenesh a moment earlier. She had been feeling oddly impatient lately, as well. “Yes, Technician. As a matter of fact, I have been experiencing all of those conditions. Is that significant?”
“Perhaps,” Hekten mused, nodding her wrinkled head. “Have any other members reported or been exhibiting similar symptoms?”
Zechor immediately thought of Thenesh’s recent belligerence, but did not immediately answer. Instead, she looked to Thenesh, who, to her surprise, was already looking at her. AS their eyes met, he dipped his muzzle in acknowledgment. “Yes, Technician, others have been experiencing the same symptoms.”
“I suspected as much,” Hekten seemed to be speaking to herself. “Has the ship encountered any unusual forms of radiation?”
“No. Just the unusual signal we detected earlier.”
“Signal? What signal is that?” The Technician’s intent eyes bore into Zechor through the screen.
“I – the sensors – discovered an unusual signal emanating from the vicinity of the planet near which we are currently orbiting. As of yet, we have been unable to locate its source.” She paused for a moment, just realizing what the Technician was asking. “Do you think that could be the cause?”
“Possibly,” Hekten replied. “It may not be, though. Can you feed whatever information you have on this signal to Medical?”
Zechor touched a sequence on her monitor, then answered, “Done.”
“Thank you, Adjunct. I will examine the data immediately.” With that, Hekten’s image disappeared from her screen.
Both a moment, Zechor just stared at the area where the communications screen had been, replaying the Technician’s words over and over. Could the signal be affecting the crew’s mental states? If so, to what end? And what would the end result be of such manipulation? She thought she knew, and glanced at Thenesh guiltily. He was still looking at her, as if reading her thoughts. His expression, however, told her he had also been thinking unkind thoughts about her. The ridges on his forehead dimpled slightly before he turned his attention back to problem confronting them.
Zechor’s ridges also dimpled, but also paled momentarily before she turned her attention to the other member of the command crew. “Helmsman, how are you feeling?”

Ó
Commander Rekex reclined on one of the examination tables in Medical, gazing restlessly at the seam of two bulkheads above him. The walls and ceiling were light gray, the floor a slightly darker shade, and the examination beds a suitably mellow shade of green. Technician Hekten stood studying a monitor in the bulkhead on the opposite side of the room. Her arms were crossed over her breastplate, one hand stroking her muzzle absently. “Well, Technician, am I going to live?”
“Hmm. What, Commander?” Hekten turned to look at her patient, incomprehension etched across her features. Then she understood the Commander’s inquiry – levity always took longer to register with her than others – and her expression grew stern. “Commander, I don’t believe you are in any immediate danger of expiring.” She turned from the monitor and crossed the room to stand beside him. The Commander could see the signal’s analysis displayed on the screen she had been examining before he turned his attention to the Technician. She considered the information displayed on the bio-monitor mounted into the wall above the table. Heartbeats were regular; oxygen count was normal; circulatory pressure within acceptable limits. The recurring pain in his cranial plate was raising it to a slightly higher level than normal. “Neurological scans had produced some interesting results, Commander,” Hekten began. “Brain activity has increased by a factor of 8, and there is increased activity in the cerebral cortex. The neurons in your hippocampus seem to have been stimulated into overproducing. Serotonin levels are skyrocketing, which could account for your mood swings. However, I cannot identify the cause of the increased activity.
“The signal contains frequencies across the spectrum, including Alpha, Beta, Delta, Gamma and Theta waves. Any idea from where the signal originates.”
“No,” Rekex replied simply. He was pressing a hand to his left cranial plate. The jolts of pain had continued to increase in intensity even though the regularity with which they occurred had remained constant. “Thenesh and Zechor are attempting to ascertain the source.”
“Any ideas?”
“From somewhere out there,” he said harshly, flinging his arm out, a claw pointed toward space.
Hekten was not easily offended: she was a trained professional, after all. Rekex’s tone and flippant gesture, however, vexed her. “I see,” she said in an icy tone. “I hope your subordinates are using more scientific methods to solve this mystery, Commander.” Before Rekex could retort, Hekten had turned, grabbed a hypodermic injector and placed it to Rekex’s neck. “This will help with the pain. It’s a neural inhibitor. If the pain continues to increase in intensity or frequency, I want you to contact me. For now, you should be able to return to duty. I will question the rest of the crew to determine how widespread these headaches and mood swings are, and administer a similar dosage to the affected parties.” She depressed the button that triggered the injection. A low hiss sounded in Rekex’s ear as the compound infiltrated his circulatory system.
“You may go now,” Hekten informed him.
“Thank you,” Rekex said as he swung his legs off the table. “I feel better already.” His ridges dimpled sardonically.
Hekten gave him a withering expression as he exited Medical.

Ó
By the time Rekex returned to the command deck, his headache had subsided. He was still in an ill humor and he felt the first stirrings of the urge to mate. The tingling along his neck ridges was distracting him, and he found himself leering at the female crewmembers he passed in the corridors. With a tremendous effort of will, he kept himself from accosting one young exobiologist whose cranial patterns designated her as a research assistant. When he crossed through the portal to the command deck, he immediately sensed the feminine presence of Zechor at her post. She seemed not to notice him however, and continued whatever it was she was doing without interruption.
Just as well, he thought. No need to make matters more complicated.

 

 

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Copyright © 2006 W N Dayley
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