Cathedral Michael Mangels (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📖

subjective experiences inside the artifact—to say nothing of her tenacious hold on life—might have contributed at least as much to her survival as had his and Krissten’s efforts.

Dax smiled brilliantly at Bashir as she handed a padd to Vaughn, who was sitting in the command chair, gazing abstractedly at the floating space construct’s haunting image.

“Ship’s status report,” she said, every inch the spit-and-polish executive officer. When he didn’t respond immediately, she added, “Sir?”

Vaughn took another moment to accept the proffered report. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. That object lends itself to woolgathering.”

She nodded, gazing out into infinity with Vaughn. “I know what you mean. You ought to see it from the inside.”

“I can’t tell you how badly I’d like an opportunity to do just that. As horrific as some of what you’ve told me sounds, the opportunity to confront one’s alternate selves—to take shortcuts onto the roads not taken—well, it’s hard not to find certain aspects of that compelling.”

As Vaughn spoke, Bashir saw the commander’s blue eyes fill with some unaccustomed emotion—regret, perhaps?—as they strayed toward Ensign Tenmei, who busied herself at the conn station. It was no secret that Prynn was Vaughn’s daughter and that, until fairly recently, a great deal of familial tension had existed between the two. But these weren’t matters one could simply ask one’s commanding officer about.

Bashir decided to broach something less sensitive. Gesturing toward the mysterious object on the viewer, he said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Setting Ezri’s padd aside, Vaughn turned the captain’s chair in Bashir’s direction, “Always,” he said, though his expression had grown guarded.

“Sir, I couldn’t help but notice that you left something rather significant out of your log entry just now.”

The commander raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes, sir. I’m speaking of our interference in the conflict between the D’Naali and the Nyazen.”

“Interference?” Vaughn repeated, steepling his fingers in front of his salt-and-pepper beard and arching an eyebrow. “Defined how?”

“By our direct participation in combat against the D’Naali,” Bashir said, glancing quickly toward Shar at the science station, who appeared to be listening attentively to this exchange. While Bashir had been reattaching Nog’s biosynthetic limb, Shar had visited the medical bay, where he had brought them both up to speed on almost everything that had transpired during the away team’s foray into the artifact.

“We did prevent the D’Naali from blowing the object up,” Bashir continued.

The commander chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. From what I observed, the Nyazen didn’t get particularly vigilant about guarding the cathedral until after we arrived. I think that’s because the D’Naali never truly had the ability to do any real damage in the first place. If they’d had that kind of power, then they would have found a way to destroy the cathedral thousands of years ago. One side would surely have wiped the other out long before now. The D’Naali themselves probably never believed they’d get the upper hand in their ancient little war—until Sacagawea informed them of our plan to use relays to beam an away team into the cathedral.”

Bashir allowed a tiny smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “We did fire a few shots their way, sir.”

Vaughn matched the smile. “They seemed in need of a little…demonstration of our sincerity, Doctor. But remember: we never actually scored a hit. The balance of forces between the Nyazen and the D’Naali remains intact. And we recovered you and the rest of the away team.”

Bashir found he couldn’t fault Vaughn’s reasoning, and some subtle shift in the commander’s demeanor told him it might not be such a good idea to try. Instead, he merely nodded and glanced in Nog’s direction; he noticed that Nog, too, had been listening with interest—and seemed eager to make his own contribution to the discussion.

Vaughn had evidently noticed the same thing. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

Looking down at his inanimate leg, Nog said, “Sir, there’s still one main question about the, um, cathedral that nobody’s been able to answer yet—even with the translation of the alien text.”

“And that is?”

“What’s it for?” Nog said, an overtone of pain in his voice.

Bowers spoke up, his arms folded as he leaned against the bulkhead beside the tactical station. “The text gave us a pretty fair idea of why the thing’s builders made it. They wanted to tap into unlimited power, but they couldn’t control it, and they lost their homeworld because of it.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Nog said, shaking his head. “What I want to know is…what is the thing now? What exactly has it become during the half-billion years since it was built? And why?”

Ezri bit her lip, evidently considering Nog’s questions carefully before attempting to answer them. “For starters, whatever intelligence still drives the thing is strongly telepathic. And it appeared to use issues and problems each of us was already struggling with as the tether connecting us to our alternate selves in those other universes.”

Shar chose that moment to break his silence. "As far as the ‘why’ part of the question goes, I’d attribute a lot of it to the phenomenon of emergent properties. Because of its original function as an interdimensional energy tap, the object has always connected with and searched through many parallel universes and alternate dimensions. Therefore its ability to allow people to address alternate versions of themselves may be purely accidental—an emergent outgrowth of its original purpose, abetted by the object’s built-in multidimensional physical topography."

Bowers flashed Shar a that’s-sure-easy-for-you-to-say look before responding. “You’re saying you think that thing’s just…an accident?”

“Precisely. Just as the universe itself may be.”

Looking at Shar, Vaughn nodded sagely. “That makes perfect sense, Ensign. Still, the existence of a miraculous cathedral could be interpreted to imply the existence of a miraculous cathedral builder. And, by extension, some sort of Grand Plan. Those with great faith rarely believe that anything happens entirely by accident.” Bashir saw the commander turn his expectant gaze upon him, as though anticipating a debate.

But once again, he merely nodded. Prior to his own experiences inside the object—no, the cathedral—Bashir