Menali, a young Evoran male with one of the more brightly colored outfits Abramowitz had seen so far, was obviously enjoying playing tour guide. Every few moments, he would veer from one side of the narrow flitter to the other, excitedly describing natural and Evoran-made sites. His pride in the planet was clear and his smile infectious.

Next to her, Gomez proclaimed that the planet was a pretty one, and Abramowitz had to agree. The architecture emphasized shorter buildings, allowing for the distant mountains to act as backgrounds. She noted the cleanliness of the streets, towns, and waterways, leading her to believe they had long ago made land management a priority. When she asked, Menali breathlessly explained how the power plants were mostly thermodynamic and kept either underground or deep within mountain ranges with microwave technology beaming the energy to the farms, towns, and cities.

The cultural specialist made notes on everything he explained, planning to add it to the cultural database when the mission was complete. She marveled that the Federation truly knew very little of these people and their ways, yet felt secure enough to make them a protectorate. She’d never understand the Diplomatic Corps. “Regent Cuzar seemed very concerned about the possibility of a civil war. Have they been common on your world?”

“Seft, no,” he said. “Not this century, anyway. We used to have a lot of them and they took their toll. In conitik school we were taught that we didn’t reach the stars for so long because we were so busy building weapons and defenses against those weapons.”

Abramowitz nodded sympathetically, interested in how that might compare with the history of other Federation worlds. “What made them finally stop?”

“We finally built high-altitude fighters to intercept the missiles and some of the older pilots formed a political party so they could show us once and for all that we were just one people who needed to look out for one another rather than fight.”

To Abramowitz, that sounded too idealistic to be true, but she also knew that that was how it must have been taught in the schools. She’d have to do further research to see the events in their true context. That is, if the away team would be granted access to such documentation.

“Menali,” she asked, “are there histories I can study to learn more?”

“Regent Cuzar announced recently that we’re going to improve our libraries. I guess we weren’t very good record keepers during all those fights,” he said with a shrug.

Gomez shot her a questioning look and Abramowitz tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. It would make their studies and research harder, the gesture told the first officer. Whatever this mission promised, it would be more complicated to achieve. Gomez returned a look that was intended to say, When ever are these missions easy?

In his security alcove, Helanoman sat at the huge semicircular master station and signaled several of his colleagues, positioned throughout the city. All the signal contained was a time. Within seconds, each recipient signaled back with a single word: ready.

He then turned his attention to the worldnet and its observations of the da Vinci far overhead. Captain Gold seemed like a veteran, albeit soft, used to ferrying these engineers around. He showed Cuzar more sympathy than mettle—but Helanoman also knew of Starfleet’s reputation. When the Onlith acted, they would have to do so in such a way that Gold and his ship would not be involved. Indeed, when they took control of the government, Helanoman would simply send the ship away and they would leave out of deference to the wishes of the new administration.

His administration.

*   *   *

The flitter landed in a cloud of dust that was quickly dispersed in the hot air. It was a smooth ride, Gomez admitted to herself, and she did like the opportunity to see the world rather than just transport to the archaeological site. Sometimes the old-fashioned ways were still good ones. Menali certainly provided them with a great deal of information, although much of it seemed more interesting than useful. Still, one never knew. Her experiences with the S.C.E. proved that time after time.

Four people approached the craft with one clearly the senior leader. Menali said this would be Cuzar’s chief scientist, Rugan. She seemed much older than the others, so Gomez asked Menali about her.

“Rugan lives and breathes research,” he explained. “She’s just over fifty and most of our people are retired by then, doing spiritual service and the like. Rugan, they say, will never give up and will be entombed with her microscope.”

Abramowitz looked up at that and asked, “How long do your people live, Menali?”

“Our oldest living person is sixty-three, and he claims it’s the high altitudes of his mountain home.”

Abramowitz turned to Gomez and commented, “I’d like to know if their short life span is natural or a result of all their wars.”

“That’s not why we’re here, you know,” Gomez said.

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I wish we could get Elizabeth down here to give them an exam.”

Gomez shook her head. “Menali notwithstanding, they seem so private that I suspect that would never happen. But now that you mention it, the captain was asking me about Elizabeth this morning. She seem okay to you?” Abramowitz and the doctor were not especially close friends, Gomez knew, but the captain’s question had been on her mind.

“I guess so. Why?”

“Never mind.” The flitter’s doors opened and Menali led the officers onto the sun-hardened surface. He made the introductions and Rugan smiled briefly at each one, but Gomez suspected she’d rather be digging than making nice to a bunch of people from Starfleet. Still, they were here to help and she was beginning to get fidgety herself.

“The item is this way,” Rugan said in a rough voice, and abruptly turned, expecting everyone to follow at her pace. While she had shorter legs than the officers, the planet’s higher gravity slowed them down, so keeping pace was more involved than Gomez expected. As they walked, she saw tents, some prefab constructs, and lighting equipment, little different from what she had seen on a dozen other worlds. No doubt Rugan drove them day and night.

After five minutes, they arrived at an area that had been opened like an incision, long and deep but not especially wide. The sides of the dig were smooth with mounds of sifted, light tan dirt lining the dig. No one was working within the hole at the moment, although Gomez saw several varieties of insect life-forms, all slimy, long-legged, and with pincers. Several were crawling atop the reason for their visit.

The item looked like a round, fat blob. It was a dusty uniform purple color and connected to piping that vanished within the crust. There were bulbous protrusions all around the object that seemed to be controls of some sort.

Gomez took out her tricorder and began scanning the item from above. The readings were coming back as a metallic compound, matching what the Evorans had already told the crew. The age estimate also seemed to match. However, her more sophisticated tricorder could also tell that there was still some form of power running through the object, low-level but steady.

She crouched for a better look, ignoring those around her. In fact, if anyone was talking, she didn’t notice, fascinated as she was by the item. Its design defied identification and if that was a language scrawled on the sides of the pipes it was not at all one she or the tricorder could identify. After a moment she stopped to wipe sweat from her forehead and realized she was genuinely excited by this prospect. It didn’t seem to be threatening—and she knew from threatening alien technology.

“Carol, this thing is amazing,” she finally said, standing and brushing herself off. “It’s everything Cuzar told us it would be and more. It’s obviously connected to something else and I think it’s still active.”

Rugan hurried over, an unhappy look on her lined face. “What do you mean, still active? What is it?”

“Clearly it’s old. Beyond that, I don’t know yet,” Gomez admitted. “And I think that’s writing on the pipes. Do you recognize it?”

“It’s not remotely like any Evoran writing I’ve ever studied,” she said with distaste.

Gomez tapped her communicator. “Gomez to da Vinci. Captain, we’re at the site and sure enough, that thing doesn’t seem to belong to the Evora. There’s some writing on it we can’t place. Can you spare Bart for the mission?”

“I think we can,” Gold said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Anything else you’ve seen?”

“We’ve only been here a little while, but no. Carol has been talking to their chief scientist, Rugan, and Hawkins, well, he’s looking a little lost and bored.”

“If it’s all the same, I want to leave him with you and Abramowitz.”

“No problem with me. Gomez out.” She turned to Vance, who did indeed look out of place and restless. “Sorry, Hawkins, but you’ve got to keep me safe.”

“I can handle it,” he said with a smile. “Might be the first time I hit planetside without winding up in sickbay.”

“Rugan,” Carol said, returning their attention to the dig. “Have you considered widening this stretch to see where these pipes lead?”

“No, Dr. Abramowitz,” she said unhappily. “Once we cleared this off and realized what it was, no one wanted much to do with it. Many of these locals we use are strictly religious and they don’t know what to do with this new information.”

“Well,” Gomez said, “to better understand this, we need it widened. If there’s another of these…nodes…we should try and find it.”

Rugan tugged at her chin with a wrinkled hand. “Wouldn’t digging risk damaging it? If there’s power running through it, that could be trouble.”

Abramowitz hadn’t considered that aspect and she shot a quick glance at Gomez. The first officer shrugged, uncertain herself at this point. Abramowitz turned back to the wizened scientist.

“Without digging further, we might never figure out what you’ve found. Starfleet is good, but even we need more to work with.”

The scientist nodded and turned to talk to several of the nearby laborers.

“Feliciano to Gomez.”

Surprised to be hearing from the transporter chief, Gomez tapped her combadge. “Go ahead, Diego.”

“Commander, I can’t beam Mr. Faulwell directly into the dig site. There’s some kind of interference. I also don’t have a positive lock on the away team.”

Gomez took out her tricorder. “The power emissions from the item must be interfering with the transporter. Beam him down as close as you can.”

“Acknowledged.”

Seconds later, Bart Faulwell materialized about twenty-five meters from where they stood, unnoticed by all save Gomez and Hawkins. He apparently had been paying attention to the reports and tricorder readings, because in addition to his own equipment, he was wearing a bright blue hat.

“Over here, Bart,” Gomez called. He ambled over, smiling and nodding at the locals but keeping his distance. Once he joined Gomez and Abramowitz, he leaned over the hole and stared at the item. She laughed when he made a face at its odd shape but she also noticed that his eyes went right to the writing and his lips began moving.

“I was checking the database and this doesn’t seem to match any of the races that we know were in this sector one hundred thousand years back,” Faulwell noted. Gomez appreciated his preparation even though he was not slated to be part of the away team. Still, it made sense that he might be needed and no doubt he knew it.

“Carol, is there anything you’ve learned that I should know about?”

“Not yet,” she said, coming closer and leaning over the edge. “You’ll have to crack this one without a clue.”

“Swell.”

“Hey,” Abramowitz said, “you’re the one who says you like challenges.”

Faulwell smiled. “Good point…”