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  #8: Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

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  #18: Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

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  #22: War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

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  #31: Ishtar Rising Book 2 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

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  #61: Progress by Terri Osborne (What’s Past Book 1)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 2005 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 1-4165-2043-0

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com/st

  http://www.startrek.com

  Chapter

  1

  Pressure.

  The morning sun burst through the small cavern’s recently excavated stained-glass window, casting reds, greens, blues, purples, and yellows against the carved back wall. Dust glinted as it moved lazily through beams of light, sparkling now and then. The room smelled of old books and forgotten knowledge.

  Water moved nearby in an underground stream no wider than a meter, discovered half a kilometer from the first chamber.

  Pressure, pressure, pressure. Jewlan Omi thrust her lower lip out in a small gesture of frustration as she stared at the beige pages of her notes. Every letter of every word placed together to form every sentence was perfectly drawn, painstakingly positioned in her grandmother’s own style, which had been commended by the Board of Linguistic Anachronisms as being the finest in historic realism.

  And how is any of this supposed to help me?

  “Pffft,” the sound came out as a pressing of air between her lower lip and the teeth of her upper jaw. There was no word on the page that closely resembled the sound—it was just something that Jewlan had done since childhood. A noise that irritated her father, whether he were in Beta or Alpha States. “This has to prove there are more than four laws, right?”

  Her voice echoed against the walls, as no one answered her.

  Not that Jewlan expected anyone to really hear, or care.

  She sat alone in the First Chamber. The others in her group had returned to the city, forty kilometers west of this latest archaeological find on a planet her people claimed more than a century ago. Two artisans, two news tellers, the team’s former expert in mechanical investigations, and the site’s financial backer. Everyone used the mechanic’s shift to Beta State as their reasoning for departure, proclaiming a new mechanic should be found, interviewed, and approved for work.

  And no one in their right mind had declined an opportunity to return to the city to partake of the modern conveniences there.

  No one except Jewlan, that is.

  The painful truth was Jewlan failed to crack the symbols leading out of the Fourth Chamber. After six weeks, people were tired, dejected, and very grumpy.

  The First Chamber had been an accidental find. Digging in the area had revealed a door covered in unfamiliar markings. There had been four distinct symbols, each framed in an equal-sided box. Jewlan, an instructor and professional in cryptography and linguistics, had been brought in from the local university to translate the symbols. Working with Doren Hazar, one of the capital city’s brightest experts in cultural mechanics, had been easy. The two combined their skills in engineering and linguistics to decipher the first combination of symbols to open the first door.

  It’d been simple once the base root letters had been identified. Jewlan found the key within the Four Laws of Life, discovered decades ago on tablets carved in the Temple of a site south of where they were now.

  The First Laws were of Light, which she’d corresponded with the universal element of fire,
or a common beginning of all things.

  She took up the pages and moved through the bits of floating dust to the Second Chamber door. Inside, artificial lights illuminated a trickling fountain, fed by the underground stream and decorated with carved symbols representing the Second Laws of Water.

  In the Third Chamber they’d found tables, chairs, beds—all manner of archaeological treasures to give Jewlan’s people a better understanding of the race that had perhaps lived on the world of Asario before her people colonized it.

  Jewlan had liked the books best—especially the ones written by hand—and had made formal requests to be involved in studying them once her task at opening all the doors had been complete.

  That task had now come to an abrupt halt for two reasons.

  Finding a fifth door was the first.

  The second was Doren’s Beta-shift to Loran Hazar. Loran was a regional representative in the Primary Conclave, and refused to go against their strict laws of gender-based occupations.

  Archaeological Mechanics was not Loran’s profession. She insisted on returning to the city and once again take up her role as a lawmaker.

  Which left Jewlan alone with the problem. No one knew of a Fifth Law. A team had been sent to the Temple to look for any clues to this new site. They had found nothing helpful.

  What if it were going to take science to open the door and not the magic of words? Everything had to work off a trigger mechanism. Simply pressing the right combination of plates triggered the door to open. Mechanics.

  Jewlan neared the door and looked closely at the seams. She imagined looking through the walls to either side. If they had some way to look through the rock into whatever mechanism these people had used, it could be possible to find the—

  She stopped her thoughts from traveling any further. They were wrong thoughts. They were mechanical thoughts.

  They were Jolen thoughts.

  She looked around the room, almost expecting to find someone watching her, reading her mind. Ready to point a finger at her.

  But that was impossible. No one could read minds. Especially not the Conclave.

  She blinked. Could they? They sure as hell knew it was me that set off the sprinkler system at the party two months ago. Accidents happen, right?

  Focusing on the four panels in the door, Jewlan listened to the hum of a nearby lamp. The heat felt good against her exposed skin. The sun had set some time ago, and the temperature had dropped. It would be two days before anyone returned to the site—that is, if they found a mechanic to replace Doren.

  I only hope I don’t Beta-shift, or I’ll be removed from the entire expedition. There would be no need for a computer specialist. Not in the middle of ancient ruins.

  And that would just suck.

  There was no one around. No one in the caves. The two guards left behind to protect Jewlan were outside in one of the temporary shelters, warming up to a good game of Bathces. The project supervisor was no doubt sleeping off her latest cup of Polin tea. She’d be unconscious for hours.

  Jewlan tapped her lower lip with the index finger of her right hand. The papers remained half folded, clutched in her left hand.

  Had anyone considered the consequence of simply pushing random buttons? She couldn’t remember ever suggesting the idea to Doren, mainly because the two of them had had such a good time solving the puzzle that neither had thought of it. There hadn’t been a reason for guessing.

  Well, why not?

  Dr. Sesar had told her to continue working on deciphering the Fifth Law while he headed back to the city for a hot bath, but he hadn’t said anything about not touching the door.

  Right?

  Jewlan set the papers on a nearby table and rubbed her hands together. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and pressed each of the symbols she recognized in the order she’d identified them, leaving the final two symbols for last.

  Nothing happened.

  But then, she hadn’t really expected anything.

  Until all of the artificial lights went out.

  “Oops,” Jewlan muttered in the darkness. “At least we hadn’t installed sprinklers.”

  Chapter

  2

  The airy, lithe plucks of eighteenth-century harp music inside the small cabin onboard the U.S.S. da Vinci did little to ease the nervous anxiety of Bartholomew Faulwell. The linguist felt tension in his hand as it rested upon a long-grain sheet of paper. Between his first three fingers he held his favorite pen, its nib sonically cleaned after every use.

  On the paper he’d written “Just a brief note,” as he’d always started his letters to his lover, Anthony Mark. He stared at the words. Crisp, blue-black ink. Flawless curves and extenders above and below each word.

  Everything was perfect.

  Everything except the words. There were none. And for a linguist to have no words—this was something indeed.

  I—I don’t know how to begin. What should I say to him first? Should I apologize for my behavior at the wedding, or do I start by describing my experience with releasing the Koas pyramid? Do I tell him about Caitano and Deverick? I’ve not even told him of Elizabeth’s pregnancy.

  Where were those words he’d so carefully stored in his memory for the past month, waiting for this opportunity to write them down?

  And yet—that wasn’t all he’d noticed was missing. There had been no stain on the tip of the finger of his right hand for several weeks. After Anthony’s less than subtle suggestion the two of them marry, Bart had all but stopped writing letters.

  No—that wasn’t completely true. He’d tried to write them. Began the ritual he so loved—of pulling the crisp, off-white sheet of paper from its box and smoothing it against his desk, selecting the perfect pen and filling the reservoir with the exact shade of ink. All of these tiny steps had brought him uncommon pleasure and peace.

  Because they’d always brought him closer to Anthony.

  Bart sighed aloud, the sound little more than a whisper amid the harp’s chords. He set the pen down and leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. Staring at the simple phrase did nothing to help the words come any faster.

  While in space, floating above the wonder of creation as the Koas’s world was restored and her people once again safe, Bart had believed there was nothing more pure, more fulfilling in life than companionship, and he was richer because of his relationship with Anthony.

  And he’d wanted to write him and tell him what he’d seen. Anthony would understand. Words had jumbled themselves into Bart’s mind since then and he had planned for this down time to finally put into words his experience at that moment.

  Looked forward to it.

  Needed it.

  And yet nothing came to him.

  He compared the feeling to revving an engine, pressing simultaneously against the fuel pedal and the brake, only to slam into an unforeseen wall the moment the brake was released.

  Splat.

  I’m avoiding the larger issue. Bart rubbed absently at his salt-and-pepper beard with his right hand. All those pretty words in my head mean nothing if I can’t even talk with Anthony about serious commitment or the reasons why I just…can’t. He groaned as he rubbed his forehead. It’d been easier to write that article for the Sato Linguistics Institute.

  A familiar sound interrupted his thoughts as his cabin’s intercom whistled. “Faulwell,” came Captain Gold’s gruff but pleasant tone, “please report to observation.”

  Saved once again by the call to adventure.

  As Bart removed the pen’s reservoir a bit of ink splashed onto the tip of the third finger of his right hand, in precisely the spot where it usually stained. After setting the nib into the sonic cleaner and replacing the paper to its box, Bart grabbed up a towel and rubbed at the ink, knowing it would have to wear away.

  He stood and tossed the towel onto the desk as he looked at his finger. Bart had always thought of the stain as a badge of honor, a symbol of his dedication to Anthony, a dedication he carried thro
ugh in his writing of letters.

  But no letter had been written. This stain was little more than a red herring—a false clue. He rubbed at it harder with the palm of his left hand as he turned to the door. “Out, out damned spot,” he muttered as he stepped into the corridor.

  Perhaps after whatever it was the captain wanted was finished, he could return and finish the letter, and then the stain would mean something. Maybe the words would come to him with what lay ahead. Buoyed by that completely false hope, and with a final glance at his stained finger, he departed the cabin he shared with Fabian Stevens.

  Bart couldn’t remember looking up even once during his walk to the observation lounge, yet somehow he’d managed not to run anyone over. When the doors opened for him he stopped just inside.

  Everyone was seated around the table and the combined looks from all his colleagues nearly bowled him over. Were they all looking at him for some reason other than he’d been the only one to just enter the room? Likely.

  “Faulwell, please be seated,” Gold said from his seat at the head of the table.

  Carol Abramowitz, the ship’s cultural specialist, stood just behind Gold beside the viewscreen. Displayed was a planet of greens, blues, and whites. It looked very much like Earth.

  Commander Sonya Gomez sat to Gold’s left. Seated to Gold’s right was the Tellarite, Mor glasch Tev, the da Vinci’s second in command. Beside Tev was the single Bynar, Soloman, the ship’s computer specialist. Beside Gomez sat Domenica Corsi, chief of security, and the one that would protect the S.C.E. team’s rear ends in case of any emergency. Standing just behind her was Makk Vinx, the da Vinci’s Iotian security guard.

  This looks interesting, Bart thought as he took up the chair opposite the captain’s. He made note of P8 Blue and Fabian Stevens’s absence. And where was Elizabeth? Not quite a month had passed since she and Dr. Julian Bashir had been rescued from an alternate universe. Elizabeth had been quiet and subdued since her return. The news of her pregnancy had spread throughout the ship, and Bart had been one of the first to congratulate her.

  What he hadn’t expected was the haunting sadness he saw in her eyes. Not even a forced smile could hide it. Bart recognized it. He sometimes saw it reflected in the mirror.