“Eleventh Hour”
Stardate 74386.2.3;
May 21, 2397
Episode 58
Prologue
The sensors bleeped, and suddenly, component 3EJ-916Q appeared on
the screen before Binax. He blinked
his lone bloodshot eye and studied the newfound component for a long moment,
unsure if the sensors were providing accurate data; in all of his time
observing the temporal matrix, he had never observed a component so far into
the future. Thus, Binax knew it was
either a sensor glitch, or incredibly good luck. For his part, he certainly hoped it was the latter of the two cases. Master would be pleased…
But before he brought component 3EJ-916Q to Master’s attention,
Binax had to be certain it was not a glitch. His long, branch-like fingers carefully danced over the control
interface, extracting the necessary data from the temporal core—but to his
chagrin, the component was so far into the future that the majority of the
readings were fragmented and heavily distorted by the temporal continuum. They were useless.
Not ready to give up just yet, Binax craned his long, fragile
neck, looking over his shoulder and glared the temporal manifold behind
him. If he could increase sensor
resolution, he felt confident it could better study component 3EJ-916Q. Slowly, Binax came about and lumbered to the
lanky quadruped standing near the manifold.
Her eye lingered on the computer display for only a moment before turning
to Binax.
State your purpose, she promptly demanded, her terse
words echoing throughout Binax’ mind.
We must increase sensor resolution, he said. Component 3EJ-916Q is nearly out of
sensor range, and I am having difficulty studying it.
Understood. She
swiftly placed her hands on the manifold, working the controls until she nodded
her head. Work complete. Resolution has been enhanced by 6.62
percent.
Binax blinked. Insufficient,
he exclaimed. He needed at least a
fifteen percent enhancement to adequately study component 3EJ-916Q.
If the component is significant, I will make attempt to make
further enhancements. And then
she turned away, making it clear to Binax that she would answer no more
questions until he gave her reason to do so.
Thus, Binax retreated to his station and returned his attention to
the enigmatic component. The 6.62
percent had improved his ability to probe the object slightly—but the change
was so nominal that Binax doubted the fifteen percent he had hoping for would
have made any difference. He would have
to summon Master now, and hope to receive authorization to launch a temporal
probe. It was the only way he would be
able to further study component 3EJ-916Q—and given all this tumult, Binax
certainly hoped the component was significant enough to warrant a temporal
incursion.
Master, he summoned, looking across the drab brownish-green facility in
the general direction of the massive Yelss lurking in the forward section.
He immediately looked up from his workstation and craned his thick
neck nearly 180 degrees until his eye glared curiously at Binax. What?
Component 3EJ-916Q requires your attention, said Binax.
Master nodded, and lumbered to the aft section as quickly as his
four legs would carry him. Significance?
The component is located near the end of the known temporal
continuum, explained Binax, gesturing to the computer screen beside him. I suggest we launch a temporal probe for
further investigation.
Master carefully observed the data for himself, gently stroking
his the flap of loose skin on his throat as he did so. Proceed.
As far as Axar was concerned, the Entrox was one of the
most beautiful sights in the universe.
For that matter, it was one of the few sights in the universe,
making it that much harder to refute his previous statement. It was a sleek, agile vessel capable of
traversing millions of light years in the blink of an eye, opening vast
interspatial fissures into the unknown, peering into the complexities of the
space/time continuum, and so much more.
It was that so much more that made Axar’s heart race with
excitement, for not even he knew the Entrox’s maximum
potential. Nobody knew. And that was what made serving on the vessel
a constant adventure.
Suddenly, a muted bleeping noise pulsed throughout the command
chamber, and Axar snapped out of his quiet reverie. “What is it?” he inquired, looking to Rinix, his first officer.
Rinix was seated at the only workstation in the command chamber, a
large, semi-circular apse just in front of the command chair. The configuration was a classic design that
spanned millennia—and with good reason.
It was certainly efficient, allowing easy access to all the controls. Still, Axar preferred to work with a more
expansive three-dimensional grid that displayed every last function on
the ship. It was complex and confusing,
but it made Axar drool with awe.
Rinix, however, was not awed by the sights before him, and quickly
delved into the sensor data. “We are
being probed by a Yelss vessel, Rishara’aa class.”
Yelss. Axar recognized the
name, and immediately linked it with trouble.
“Timeframe?” he demanded.
“The year 2397.”
“Primitive,” said
Axar. He was immediately curious as to how
these aliens were able to probe so far into the future, and for a moment, he
considered investigating. But then
better judgment kicked in. “Destroy the probe.”
Rinix nodded, and swiftly tapped at the controls before him. Moments later, the entire control interface
vanished, the console grew slightly larger, and more complex, and a new
tactical interface flitted to life before Rinix. He swiftly tapped at the controls, and moments later, the command
chamber’s walls dissolved, giving Axar an unobstructed view of the goings on
outside the ship.
For a moment, all was quiet, but as Rinix continued to peck away
at the controls, a faint peach-colored hue began to emanate from the ship’s
forward section. It lingered for a long
moment, gradually gaining intensity until it exploded into a ragged beam of vivid
light, plowing into the gaping maw of a swirling vortex. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it
all vanished, and again, there was nothing.
“Probe destroyed,” Rinix announced seconds later.
A smile fell upon Axar’s face.
“Good,” he said. “Monitor the
vessel and—”
Suddenly, the Entrox did something that it had never before
done—it began to shake. Axar’s eyes
went wide, and he immediately moved to grab the arms of his chair—but they were
gone. He concentrated his thoughts for
a short moment, and seconds later, two sturdy arms manifested themselves on the
chair. Axar nodded approvingly and
grabbed hold. “Now what?” he demanded.
“I do not know,” admitted Rinix.
“The computer is even—”
A massive azure explosion swiftly engulfed the entire vessel…
Something was wrong. As
Binax gazed at his sensors, he was certain of that, and little more, save the
fact that Master was not pleased.
The ship was constantly shaking, bulkheads groaned, and fiery
sparks rained down from the ceiling.
Deadly tendrils of vivid blue energy wrapped themselves around the
temporal core; the female that adjusted the sensor resolution for Binax had
been vaporized by one of them. Her
haunting cries for help still echoed inside Binax’s mind…
What is wrong? Master’s
mood was rapidly deteriorating. His
bulky fists were tightly clenched; he clearly wanted to take some decisive
action, but knew not what to do—nor did Binax.
His every last attempt to analyze the temporal core had failed, and now…
now… It did not matter.
Binax closed his eyes just as a massive azure explosion burst
through the temporal core. It rapidly
spewed forth a wicked cloud of death and destruction…