Date: Wed, 3 Jun 1998 00:34:14 -0500 (CDT) From: Allen Edward Veazey Subject: USS OBERON: Musical Bodies Stardate 100601.1250 "Right. Nabon, you and I. Keegan, Keyotay, you two remain here." Nabon spared one last glance at the Vulcan, wondering just what had gone wrong. Too much, too much...he could see Keyotay's katra faintly, the thing that he knew could be captured and returned to his home, yet it was inextricably linked to Jonah as if tethered. Thousands, millions of tiny glowing tendrils tied him fast to Jonah, appearing to Nabon as a binding stronger than chains. And the spirits...that's all they could be. They swarmed over Keyotay's body, the link, there, not there, seeking, questing...failing. They swarmed around Nabon as well, recognizing his uniqueness, pleading silently. Nabon felt for them, the spirits of the crew, denied the one thing they wanted. The same thing that Jonah wanted. Oneness. Completion. Something he himself was denied. Forever alone. Close to their goal, yet forever alone. A single tear trailed down his face as the blur of Jonah's transport engulfed him. ************************** Suddenly they were there and the smallish holographic image was replaced by reality. Nabon could hear the squeal of metal, the sound of shorted circuitry, the smell of ozone... Prism turned his head to face them, and roared in frustration. "You! Puny fleshlings! How did you get here?" It was all the time Owen needed. He drew back his fist, and then rammed it home with all the force he could muster, right into the gash on his rival's side. Sparks flew as his fist penetrated the gap, ripping itself to shreds in the process. The crystalline beast shrieked, the sound tearing at the very air. Iona, Stae-faan and Nabon clutched at their ears, falling to their knees. Owen turned his head toward the three fallen forms, to shout to them; as he did, Prism stopped screaming. Stae-faan looked up at him, and Owen drew breath to shout. "Captain! Sound! It will sha-" With unbelieable speed, the crystalline entity opened up space between them, rammed the stump of his arm into Christie's chest. Nabon ignored the scene, concentrating on Owen's words. Sound...of course. Vibration. He spoke, crooned, gestured, his arms sweeping, herding the crew-spirits before him, shaping the air even as he ran to the combatants. Shaping magic... *********************** (Delphi, Greece, 50 BC) "Come, spirit. Appear before me." Never before had this happened. Never had he been pulled from a body he had occupied by an outside force. He flew, pulling the dust and water around him, a ghostlike image wavering before the sage. He studied the man who had called him. Old, old he was. Deep-set eyes peeking from behind a mountain of wrinkles. Long robes, gold-trimmed, but they had seen better days. He looked for a body to possess, some way of speaking to the man. There were some questions to be answered. "There is no need, spirit. You may speak. I can understand you." *How have you done this thing? Who are you to interfere?* "Ahh-h, that is a story in itself. I call you to offer a deal...I offer you knowledge if you procure some for me." *What knowledge?* "A series of scrolls in Crete...I want them. You can get them." *And in return?* "I offer you knowledge of how I called you. You don't know yet, do you? Otherwise, you would have resisted. I offer you magic." *I agree. Tell me.* "It is not so easy, little ghost. You need to learn, to practice...but the gist of it is will. You exert your will over spirits. All magic is the same. Magic is the attempt to control the unseen spirits, and the spirit within the living, or bring back the spirits of the dead who have not crossed over, like yourself. The words differ from country to country, but it doesn't matter. To spirits all languages are one. Incantations can help focus your will, but in the end you don't need it. You are strong, I can see. I will teach you what I know when you return." ************************** And so he had...the there/not there spirits were with him, responding, shaping the wind, bringing forth the high, deadly keen that would shatter the crystal. So intent was he on his goal, he did not even notice the failure of his body, the shock of death, before it was over. His torn and bloodied form collapsed to the ground as the spirits scattered. **************************** How long, he asked himself faintly. There was always that time, that crisis moment when he was too disoriented to do anything. He could think again, though, and part of him rushed back to conscious thought even as another part yearned towards the oblivion that he had just experienced. If it were only so. He awakened, probed, immediately finding an empty host that appeared suitable. He rushed into it. Something was wrong, he noticed immediately. It was not flesh. Microprocessors, servos, wiring as thin as the smallest nerve. It had form. Function. It was complex, yet understandable. Never had he seen a construct with this degree of sophistication. Never had he possessed an artificial thing with the complexity of flesh... He searched, recognizing the basic control/movement software, it was still intact. Memory functions. Sensor arrays. Higher functions...ah, there was damage here. He bypassed systems, barely recognizing others, searching the memory cells, reestablishing links... ********************* "Why? What crime has he committed?" The sun beat down on the flagstones of Gabbatha, the Stone Pavement, and the heat made the noise and the vicious crowd all the more irritating. And frightening. "Crucify him!" they screamed, over and over, a chant. They pressed forward, and he could see that they were getting out of control. He couldn't understand their vehemence, but what did it matter? Even Herod wouldn't deal with him. Why should he? It was out of his hands, even the condemned one said so. Their own choice, their own justice. No Roman law was broken. He called for a bowl of water and washed his hands before the crowd. "I am innocent of this man's blood," he said. "It is your responsibility!" "Let his blood be on us and our children!" they responded. Turning away, he waved his hands, releasing Barabbas and sending the one they called the Christ to his flogging, then his crucifixion. He met the stare of one of the crowd, an unkempt man with a half-accusing, half-wild look on his face. He almost called the centurion to bring the man before him, but he had already slipped into the throng. **************************** My God. It had been him. Nabon. He remembered that body, remembered the judgement at the stone pavement. Remembered Pilate and his stare. Owen *was* Pilate. Wait, that couldn't be right. The android had no resemblance whatsoever to Pontius Pilate. Did it have a soul, a spirit? Was it trapped, like he was? He delved deeper into the memory banks, finding scene after scene...memory upon memory. A line of experiences throughout history that shocked him to stillness, beggaring even his own existence. He saw them, a line of them, android to android, passing down the memories of all the ones before them. Incredible. Finally, here was one that had seen what he had. One that seen the wonders of history for himself. One that knew the loneliness. One that *understood*. He *had* to. And he, it, was broken. Well, there was always hope. He knew what to do. He settled in, feeling muscles/servos respond, feeling the energy pouring through circuits. He cast his mind out, calling, crooning, gathering those alien spirits outside the vessel, calling them. He swarmed with their essence, feeling their confused pain, then sent them to the place that had so recently been occupied by Keyotay. Somehow, some way the Vulcan had been released from Jonah, but that didn't matter. He bound them, cajoled them, sent them on. And in the end, he could not tell who was more joyous, the lost crew or the ship who received its own back into the fold. Reunited. Complete. Jonah wriggled through space, deliriously happy. Flooding his body with power from the energy cells, he sat up. "What the -" Stee-fann whirled at Dacey's exclamation. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw Owen rising to a seated position, next to where the CEO kneeled. "Owen!" he called out, "are you all right?" The android looked at him, then spoke. Even before the voice came out, Stae-faan knew something was dreadfully wrong. "I'm all right, Captain, but I'm not Owen." Anathema! "I'm Nabon." "How-" exclaimed Crown, from the side. Nabon stared at him; how did he get here? Just how much time had passed? "Report, Ensign," the captain grated. The man was barely holding some emotion back; Nabon doubted it was pleasure. "I was trying to destroy Prism, with the help of Jonah's crew...I identified the there/not there phenomena as their displaced spirits. I was not successful. Once I left my body, this one was conveniently close." He flexed his fingers, tried to gauge external damage. "I must say, it is an excellent host. With proper care it could last for eons. I'll have to understand the neural processes a bit better, but-" "Get out of him!" Iona's voice was garbled with rage. "I could, but where would that leave Owen Christie? I can't bring him back myself. I need help." "What?!" "The one you call Owen Christie is not dead, Commander. He never lived. There is no spirit to leave. It's all in here somewhere," he added, tapping his temple. "I don't understand the circuitry involved, it's too complex. I've never seen anything like it before. But, to bring him back, it's just a simple matter of repair. Trust me, I want him back as badly as you do." Stae-faan looked at him. "Why do you say that?" "He could teach me how to build one like this, if not let me keep this one. He alone has the capability. Don't you see what this means for me? No more hunting for bodies. No more useless searching. Technology has finally replaced flesh. I haven't had a construct function this well since, since..." his face twisted with remorse, "since the Maharal's golem at Prague. But that is another story." "What the hell are you?" "Never mind, Adam," Stae-faan snapped. "I'll explain later. Nabon, what do you need to bring Lt. Christie back?" " I need access to the science station and sickbay on the OBERON. And the assistance of the Chief Medical and Engineering officers, of course. I will give it my utmost." ******************************* NRPG: Thanks Brian for the ideas and the Pilate thing :) All: would someone send me some info on the Tanekko in OPS? I can't use or talk to him until I know who and what he is. Allen Veazey wolf@dbtech.net "And in these days, When darkness falls early And people rush home To the ones they love, You better take a fool's advice And take care of your own; One day they're here Next day they're gone." --Don Henley, New York Minute