CAPTAIN'S LOG:

Stardate 49703.01. En route to the 465th Equestriball Championship on Romulus, both a gesture of goodwill and an opportunity for a unique shoreleave, the USS Avenger has been reassigned to investigate the disappearance of the science vessel USS T.A. Edison. Contact with the ship was lost after it was sent to intercept an unidentified object slowly approaching the edge of our galaxy.

Captain Tobias Sutherland, alone in the turbolift, indulged himself in a luxurious stretch of his arms, chest, and shoulders. He took a deep breath, holding the stretch, feeling it loosen all his stiff muscles and ligaments. Serves you right for skipping your morning exercises, he mentally chided himself. Nevertheless, as he rolled his head from side to side a few times, he felt a great deal better.

The turbolift slowed, then changed direction. Sutherland picked his padd off the floor and reviewed the information it held about his ship's current mission. When he got to CREW ASSIGNMENT::USS T.A. EDISON he casually scrolled through the list, barely paying attention, until one name caught his eye: LIEUTENANT CARI SHANNON TAYLOR.

"It can't be," he whispered to himself.

"I hope your stay here was pleasant."

He was answered by a flashy grin and sparkling green eyes. "Extremely. You have a fine ship here, Captain. And a fine first officer." With this last, she playfully nudged the tall man walking next to her.

"Whatever you want, you're not getting, sis." Commander Atticus Taylor told her with a chuckle.

"If a position should become available on the Avenger," Sutherland began, unable to resist another go-around with Cari to bait his first officer, "maybe you'd be interested...?"

Atticus halted in his tracks, his eyes wide as he held up a hand. "Oh no. Visits are great, but..."

"Definitely!" Cari blurted out with a grin. "Especially with the high-caliber holodecks here: we could assemble poleball matches that'd make the pros jealous!"

Sutherland frowned. "Poleball?"

Lieutenant Cari Taylor looked at the captain as though he'd sprouted Mugatu fangs. The three of them continued slowly onward toward the transporter room. "Don't tell me you've never played poleball..."

"Believe me, sir," Commander Taylor butted in, "with her, you don't want to play poleball."

"Oh, you're just a sore loser," Cari stated.

"No, you're a cheater."

"How can you cheat at poleball?" she asked hotly.

Sutherland glanced back and forth between the two and shook his head, amused by their banter but wanting to move on. "How do you play this game, poleball?"

Cari changed gears quickly and smoothly, suddenly forgetting her brother's insult. "It's a null-grav holodeck game for one or more players, and the purpose is to score as many points as you can for yourself or your team by hitting a small ball inside one of several circles on the wall. These circles change locations after a random or pre-set amount of time, and a pattern will emerge if you pay attention. Also, rubber poles which run from floor to ceiling will pop up and disappear at certain intervals too, so you can use those to help you stop and hand off to another player, or to establish a new trajectory and push off, or actually a number of any other things. You have to be quick and on your toes, because a pole that appears right before you can give you what you need to score, or a pole that you were going to use to push off can disappear and leave you stationary, vulnerable until you throw the ball or until someone snags it from you." She paused, looking at Sutherland with the hint of a grin. "The game can get kind of rough, depending on who's playing, but you seem a little sturdier than my brother here, so I'm sure you'd enjoy it."

"Cheater," Atticus mumbled under his breath.

"Loser." On the spur of the moment, she stuck her tongue out at him in an exaggerated, comical way. The two men regarded her for a moment before all three of them chuckled heartily. They were still smiling as they entered the transporter room.

"Well, if you should ever visit us again, I just may take you up on a game. It sounds interesting," Sutherland admitted.

"It'd be a pleasure," Cari told him, her big smile reminding him of his own sister.

They all shook hands before Cari stepped up onto the pad.

Suddenly the lift doors whooshed open and a young man entered, snapping Sutherland out of his reverie. After a brief moment the captain stiffly acknowledged Ensign McDermot by name, then exited the lift, sadder than before.

Captain Sutherland sat at the head of the ward room's cherry-wood conference table, still unable to shake the sadness and mounting frustration that had come over him. At sixty-seven, he was one of the oldest commanding officers in Starfleet, and his six-member senior staff listened attentively as he briefed them on their ship's latest mission. To his immediate right sat the First Officer, Commander Andrew Brower. Continuing counter-clockwise: Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Christopher Logan; Operations Chief, Lt. Commander Schoen Rutledge; Chief Engineer, Lt. Commander Lucas West; Security Chief, Lieutenant Kaleran Rataan, a Rigellian; and Science Officer Lieutenant Lanei, a Deltan. As commanding officer, Sutherland seldom allowed his feelings to show. This time, though, his concern ran deep indeed.

First officer Brower felt the captain's concern, something he was not used to. Having just come from a private briefing with his commanding officer, he knew the captain was strained today, more tense than usual. He had come to know the captain as a stoic man who kept his feelings very close to the vest. Andrew continued with the staff meeting though, as was his job, not allowing feelings to influence his preparation for the mission ahead. "Avenger has been deployed to ascertain the whereabouts of the USS T.A. Edison, a research ship which was sent to intercept and learn about an object approaching the edge of our galaxy. The Edison missed her last two check-ins and was due back in Federation space yesterday. Our job is to find out where she is and learn more about the object she was sent to investigate."

"What's so important about this object that Command would send two starships beyond the rim of the galaxy to investigate?" the Deltan science officer inquired. She knew how dangerous it was for ships to travel beyond the galactic barrier, and so did Starfleet. For them to have sent ship's into the void, the admirals at Command must have had a fairly important reason.

Brower smiled at Lanei's insight. He touched a control pad on the tabletop and an image popped onto the room's two viewscreens. "This," he pointed to an oblong, rectangular shape on the diagram, "is what we've been sent to investigate." The image itself was fairly nondescript, and even with significant computer enhancing showed little detail. It appeared to be nothing more than a floating shape.

"Do they have any idea what it is," Lanei questioned.

"None," Brower indicated, "but they believe it's of artificial construction, and it's approaching our galaxy from an area of space we've never explored before."

"So they suspect this object might lead to the discovery of a new race?" Lanei queried.

"Is it a weapon?" Lt. Commander Rutledge asked bluntly.

Kaleran Rataan spoke up. "We can't be sure. But if it is an alien weapon, it's taking its own sweet time getting here. At the speed the object is traveling, it won't enter Federation space for at least another one-thousand years."

"Then why send it?" Rutledge asked argumentatively.

"That's what the Avenger has been assigned to find out," Sutherland chastised suddenly, his harsh tone surprising everyone in the room.

The captain was known for his rough exterior, but today he seemed to be moodier than usual, Brower noticed. Andrew quickly spoke up, easing the tension. "Mr. Rataan, why don't you brief the rest of the staff on everything we know about the object." As the security chief gathered his materials, Brower glanced at the captain, wondering what was bothering him.

"Long-range sensors on the automated Prometheus Four Station detected the in-coming object eleven days ago. The Edison was immediately deployed to intercept it and learn as much as possible," Rataan briefed. "So far we know very little about it, its origin, or its purpose. The object is approximately twenty-five hours beyond the edge of the galaxy at maximum warp, one of the farthest distances a Federation deep-space exploration ship has ever ventured. During the mission, we will be required to maintain a communication blackout at all times, one of the same restrictions which applied to the Edison."

"As you can see," Sutherland said after activating a new display on the viewscreen, "we will leave the galaxy very near the Romulan/Federation border. Starfleet Command feels it is imperative the Romulans remain unaware of our presence. Just as we are beginning to open lines of communications with them, they don't need to find us poking around their border."

"Does Starfleet feel the Romulans could be responsible for the disappearance of the Edison," Dr. Logan asked, carefully gauging the captain's reaction. Brower hadn't been the only to notice Sutherland's odd behavior. Perhaps it was a possible confrontation with the Romulans that was responsible for his unusual moodiness.

"It is definitely a possibility," Brower responded, realizing the captain had nothing to say on the subject. "But we just don't know. Any number of things could explain why they haven't checked in."

The young Lucas West nodded, picking up where Brower left off. Keying in his own instructions, still another display popped to life on the viewscreen. "During our mission, the ship will pass through the galactic barrier in order to reach the void beyond. The barrier itself is filled with static discharges, plasma storms, vertiron emissions, and a whole host of other unpleasant phenomenon which will wreak havoc on ship's systems. During our travel through the barrier, Avenger will experience extreme stresses."

"What's being done about that, West?" the captain asked irritably.

Lucas paused for a moment, now off-stride. "We're installing additional structural integrity field generators and higher capacity power-transfer units to the shield grid to compensate," he answered. "But even those measures may not be enough."

"I'll make preparations in sickbay to treat multiple bumps, contusions, and fractures," Logan added. "Sounds like it's going to be a bumpy ride." He exchanged glances with West and they gave each other a slight nod.

"But our problems don't stop there," Brower continued. "Once we pass through the barrier, we'll have to deal with the extreme cold of the void beyond. Several starships have gone into the void and traveled back safely, but none for an extended period of time. We have no way to know what could happen to the ship out there, so we need to be ready for anything."

"The commander is right," Sutherland spoke up. "But that's our job, being prepared for anything. This ship will arrive at the barrier in two hours. And we will be ready." He stared at the senior officers, his steel blue eyes emphasizing the point.

Brower cleared his throat. Clearly the meeting was wrapping up. "All right, here are your assignments." He tapped a command into the tabletop panel which downloaded departmental instructions into each of the other senior officers' padds. "I would like each of your prep-reports by 0800 hours tomorrow."

The captain looked at each officer. "If there are no questions," Sutherland paused, "dismissed." Not waiting for the others, the captain quickly departed the briefing room.

Brower and Logan exchanged concerned glances, but neither said a word about their mutual concern for the captain.

Sutherland knew he was edgy, and mentally he chided himself for what had transpired in the ward room so many hours earlier. Despite his attempts to fight off irritability, he had also lost his temper on the bridge during the Avenger's tense trip through the galactic barrier. But they had made it. Now, as the ship sped through the void towards the last known position of the Edison, he was looking forward to getting a little rest. His quarters were quiet and inviting as he entered, and he pulled off his uniform top and sat on the edge of his bed to remove his boots and pants. Just after doing so, but before he could put pajamas on over his skivvies, a sudden chill enveloped his body, feeling strangely as though a million needles were pricking his skin. He shivered and quickly snatched up his pajama bottoms...

"We have a weak visual from the away team, Captain," Ensign Ekim announced from his position on the bridge.

"Patch it through."

The main viewscreen lit up with static and the vague form of Commander Taylor's face.

"Captain, the Maquis vessel has crash-landed in the northern polar region. There's no sign of survivors, but through all the blowing snow and ice sensors may not be very accurate. Our shuttle will arrive at the crash sight in less than ten minutes."

"Proceed with caution, Commander," Sutherland ordered from his relatively warm, safe place on the Avenger bridge. "The northern region of Acafee Four can get a bit cool."

"You have a way with understatement, sir," Taylor replied. "I agree, sir. It's no beach." As if to demonstrate, he changed the transmitted view to a shuttle exterior: an intense whiteness surrounded the tiny craft, making the bridge crew squint during the split-second it took the viewscreen to dim itself.

Sutherland shivered in sympathy.

"Bridge to Captain," a voice on the commpulled Sutherland from his flashback as quickly as it had come.

"Go ahead, Mr. Brower," he replied then finished slipping a loose shirt over his white-haired head.

"Primary environmental systems have failed, apparently due to the extremely cold temperatures we encountered passing through the galactic barrier. Mr. West has attempted to compensate by initiating a link between secondary and tertiary systems."

"Acknowledged. Keep me informed." Sutherland took a step toward the washroom, grimacing when he stepped on something which made a sound like that of a sickly animal chirp. The noise filled the air.

"Captain?" the first officer's puzzled voice queried over the com.

Sutherland glanced down at the tattered slippers his sister had given him so long ago. They had been crafted to look like a pair of Hakarian soil burrowers, not unlike Earth squirrels. He'd kept them partly because they were a gift, and partly because no one else knew about them. But he'd forgotten about the added special effect...

"Nothing, Commander," Sutherland assured, thinking of all the razzing he'd endure if the truth be known. "Carry on."

"Aye sir. Brower out."

Sutherland sighed and closed the channel, looking down at the worn little animal-slipper now trapped beneath his foot.

Behind his desk reviewing departmental reports, Commander Brower felt the slight shift in the ship as is decelerated from warp and he knew that Avenger was arriving at its destination. The door chime sounded.

"Enter," Brower stated, and Lt. Commander West walked in with a data padd in hand. Without looking up from his work, the first officer remarked off-handedly, "You are late, Lieutenant."

"With all of the system failures and outages, I had trouble..." West stammered, unused to not getting work done on time. "I didn't allow myself enough time to--"

"Rataan to Brower," the commander's comm badge resonated, interrupting the engineer's explanation.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"We've arrived at the coordinates. And we've located the Edison, sir. She seems to be adrift. I think you should take a look at her."

"Very well, Mr. Rataan. Put it through," he said watching as nearly instantaneously an image popped onto his desktop viewer. Lucas stared at the image as well. Much to their astonishment they saw a stationary Oberth-class research ship floating aimlessly, dwarfed by an object approximately four times the length of Avenger.

On the bridge, the sound of distant pounding could be heard behind the chamber, a continuous yet muffled thump of booted feet on gunmetal-gray traction carpeting. Suddenly Brower and West rushed through the hatchway from the access corridor. The bridge was amazingly quiet and their arrival drew everyone's attention.

Sutherland was standing just inside the bridge perimeter, apparently having come from his ready room. "What do you make of it, Commander?" he asked coolly. All eyes of the bridge crew focused forward once again. On the main view screen, hanging like a dead goldfish was the derelict T.A. Edison. Behind the science vessel was the mammoth form of an object. The object appeared as a large, rectangular silhouette which blocked out the central bulk of the Milky Way behind it. It seemed as though someone had taken a large chunk out of the galaxy. The bizarre image was disrupted by the flashing of the Edison's running lights, the red, green, and white strobes reflecting off of the shape's coal-black surface every 1.1 seconds. Sutherland's wrinkled forehead furrowed further and he ran a thoughtful finger over his chin, staring at the massive aberration. There had been no response to communication hails, and something was definitely wrong aboard the Edison. Had this mysterious obelisk affected the science ship, or was something more at work here? He needed answers. "Sensor readings," he ordered. Despite their own amazement, the surrounding officers snapped out of their apparent shock and redirected attentions towards their instruments.

As West turned and strode to the engineering control monitors behind him, Brower leapt both steps down to the command level. Adrenaline was surging through the tense cords of muscle in his body, like some sort of hyper-stimulant or an over-caffienated raktajino. Poising himself, he eased into his chair at the same time the captain took a seat to his right. Andrew's chestnut eyes flicked back and forth between the viewer and the usually-sedate form of his captain. This time, though, Sutherland seemed upset by something, oddly agitated, and Brower wondered what it could be.

"What the hell is the situation on the Edison?" Sutherland demanded impatiently, barely seated.

Brower looked to Rutledge, hoping the ops manager had discovered something. The captain did not appear to be in a tolerant mood. Out of habit, he popped open the console beside him and began random systems checks on the Avenger's key components. The environmental systems link was still holding but he continued to check it anyway. It was more something for his hands to do rather than a necessity. An alert had not yet been called and there was no need for anxiety. But the presence of an unknown quantity, the object floating in the void, put him on edge. Perhaps the captain felt the same apprehension.

Rutledge, from the aft Operations alcove, announced, "I've run several sweeps through the Edison, Captain. There are no signs of life. It would appear that the structural integrity of the upper hull has given way. Data indicates there has been a massive hull breach. I'm afraid I can't offer a better explanation at this time."

"Keep looking," ordered Sutherland, not bothering to glance over his shoulder. "There has to be an answer out there."

"Aye, sir."

From the Science niche forward and starboard of the captain's position, Lanei turned her head, body following swing as her swivel chair came around. The shifting colors of the nearby computer monitors reflected across her hairless Deltan features. "Captain, I have specifications on the object now. It's obelisk-shaped, approximately fourteen-hundred meters in length. Composition is an ultra-dense solid, granite-like in density. It seems to be composed of an alloy material we've never seen before, and sensors can't discern the individual elemental components, but the science labs are working on that now. Judging by its shape and synthetic metallurgy, I can confirm Starfleet's hypothesis: it is definitely artificial in origin." She paused, thoughtfully reading the streams of data pouring across her console. "The obelisk seems to have been finely cut, but by a technique I am not familiar with. There are also what appears to be an unusual series of markings running along all four sides. I cannot tell whether they are linguistic or decorative."

"Any ideas on where it came from?" Sutherland asked, intrigued.

"I wouldn't care to guess at this time, sir."

"When would the time for guessing be?" the commanding officer snapped harshly. "You seem to be raising more questions than you are answering, Lieutenant."

Her lips stretched tight, until the blood had been squeezed from them and they turned white. "Making an educated observation, I would say this obelisk was manufactured by an alien race we are not familiar with. Given its unfamiliar composition, I would say the chances are good that it came here from another galaxy." Her voice was strained and business-like.

There was a moment of silence as the captain digested her analysis and everyone else waited for his reaction.

"That's more like it," he said at last.

Slowly things returned to normal on the bridge and the other officers continued their initial studies of the object. West began running the automated control systems through their designed diagnostic programs. As Brower had been doing earlier, he was mostly trying to keep himself busy. The possibility they could be discovering a new race made him uneasy. First Contact scenarios were not his forte. He felt more at home in the bowels of the ship, tinkering with engine efficiency, adjusting misaligned plasma conduits, and griping about faulty McKinley Station programming. A blinking red indicator on the large cut-away schematic caught his eye. "Now that's odd," he murmured. The aberration was in a series of utility cluster circuitry on deck eleven, just outside Main Engineering. His fingers gently brushed the control panel's slick touch-sensitive surface as he tried to zero in on the problem.

"Anderson to West," chirped a female voice from the metal insignia on the chest of the chief engineer's uniform jacket. He touched it, opening a commchannel to his assistant chief. Anderson was also the current engineering officer of the watch. He had a feeling the striking red-head knew what this problem was.

"Go ahead."

"Sir, the port-side access lift in Engineering has malfunctioned and jammed. Crewman Oberholtzer was using it and now she's trapped inside."

"I see," he blinked stiffling a small urge to snicker. "You'd better go ahead and pull her out. I'll be down shortly to take a look at it. West out." He turned away from the aft bulkhead toward the command area. "Captain, there's a small problem in Engineering. That's where I'll be if you need me."

"Understood, Mr. West," Sutherland said off-handedly. He was fixated on the viewscreen.

West strode to the turbolift, and as the doors hissed closed, a slight shiver danced down his spine. "Damned environmental controls," he grumbled to no one in particular as he thought about this newest glitch. But his mind was more focused on what might be wrong with the captain.

The calm, steady voice of the Deltan science officer broke the stillness in Lanei's office. The captain and Crewman McDermott listened intently while she gave a report on the data they had collected thus far. Regretfully, she didn't have much to satisfying the demand of her superior. Ordinarily she would have had the luxury of downloading information from the other ship. Unfortunately that wasn't possible. Any data the Edison had amassed had been destroyed or was inaccessible due to the extreme cold. That stumbling block, however, offered her a great deal of knowledge. The fact that an obstacle was keeping Lanei from valuable information was, in itself, worthwhile data. "Captain," she spoke with grave sincerity, "we don't have very much. In fact, we have virtually nothing. We're still not certain what happened to the Edison, but whatever it was could happen to us if we aren't careful."

Sutherland did not hide his frustration at Lanei's report, but he nodded, appreciating their effort. He hoped they at least had some ideas. "Do you think what happened to the Edison is related to the obelisk, Lieutenant?"

Lanei looked at the captain, then to her data padd lying on the desktop. "In my opinion, I would say the obelisk is somehow connected to what happened to them. But if you are asking if I think it was directly responsible... I'm just not sure."

Sutherland rubbed the deepening creases in his forehead. "Then do you at least have a suggestion for safely proceeding with our investigation?" he asked her bluntly.

Lanei exchanged a glance with McDermott. "Sir," she paused, taking a data padd from the young crewman, "while we do need to learn about the object, I must advise that we maintain a considerable distance from it." She checked over the padd and handed it back to Wilson, "we just can't tell yet what it is we're up against."

"At this point," the captain nodded, thinking of the grim fate the Edison crew had suffered, "I would concur. But we must discover... we must find out what..." he got up and paced a few steps, "we must know what it is. Is it a weapon? A ship? A probe? One could even suppose it to be a life-form! If it did cause the destruction of the Edison, we must learn its greater intent and find a way to stop it."

"Sir," the geologist now offered the padd to the captain, eager to share his findings and theories, "I believe I may have found a way for us to study the obelisk without directly putting the ship at risk."

Sutherland was intrigued and took the padd, dropping into one of the plush chairs facing Lanei's desk. "Go on."

"You see," McDermott continued, his face animated as he shared the plan, "we can create a miniature version of the obelisk within the holodeck and study it there. A recreation of roughly one-twentieth scale would maintain the same dimensions yet give us a chance to decipher the hieroglyphics which appear on all four sides of the object."

"Are these markings similar to any language known to Starfleet?"

"Apparently not," Lanei answered, certain her preliminary scans had been accurate, "but we'll have a better idea once we've studied the miniature."

The captain was silent for several moments, apparently deep in thought. Then he quietly asked the question which cut to the point of this whole mystery. "Where did it come from?" he whispered eerily. "Where did it come from?"

Lieutenant Rataan rubbed his hands together briskly then flexed his slender Rigellian fingers to keep them limber in the frigid cold. The cold on the bridge probably affected him more than his human counterparts. He was used to a hot, arid climate and he had never quite adjusted to the temperatures in the common areas of the ship as it was. His own quarters were always kept at least fifteen degrees warmer.

The coolness even caused his head to ache, but he would never think of leaving his post to seek medical attention for anything so trivial. He tried to ignore the pounding in his head and focused on the activity around him, slight though it was. Suddenly Kale's console beeped wildly. Immediately he looked into the situation. "Commander!" he shouted to Brower, "there's an intruder alert on deck eight!"

Brower turned in the command chair. "Get security teams down there." He slapped his commbadge. "Bridge to captain."

Red alert tracer lights cast a flickering crimson tint into the corridor as Crewmen Joseph Young and his team arrived at the Main Gangway Connector-Beta on deck eight with phasers in hand. Quickly assessing the situation with tricorders, he discovered the connector hatch was slightly ajar. An emergency forcefield hissed in front of the opening, preventing the corridor's air from rushing out into the vacuum of space. Upon further inspection, he determined the locking mechanism had been corrupted, though he wasn't sure how. The youthful crewman tapped his comm badge. "Young to Rataan," he announced, his heart hammering from the excitement.

"Report, Crewman."

Young looked at his team in a drained way. "Sir, there seems to be a mechanical malfunction with the primary locking system. There is no sign of an intrusion."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. I've done the scan twice and Yakos' team has swept the corridor. There is nothing here."

"Please notify Engineering immediately. Rattan out."

Young tapped his comm badge again. "Young to Ensign Ortiz. There is a malfunction with the port side gangway connector's primary locking system on deck eight."

"Can you speculate on a cause?" Ortiz's Australian accent queried.

"No ideas."

Ortiz sighed. "On my way."

Holodeck One seemed to come alive with the undercurrent of frustration running through it. Two capable, intelligent adults had put an hour of work into the Avenger's dilemma and come up with nothing. Historian Kirnan Philan scowled at the smaller version of the obelisk, captive in the holodeck's programming. He and Wilson McDermott had painstakingly recreated every last detail, studied it patiently, diligently...thoroughly. They had run a computer check of every known language, every existing pictographical form of communication. Nothing. They had tried comparisons to different forms of art, both ancient and modern. For all their efforts they had achieved only lost time and worn patience.

The holodeck doors parted with a hushed whisper and Captain Sutherland entered. His irritable frown told of his grim mood. He paused to regard the object suspended in the holodeck, momentarily pleased by the ingenuity of his crew. But when he saw the expressions on the scientists' faces, he braced for an unyeilding report. Mentally he reminded himself that the crewmen had done their best against difficult circumstances. "You gentlemen have been hard at work here. Any discoveries?"

There was a long, dejected pause. Everywhere the two researchers looked they found only more questions, more problems, and so very few answers. "We've exhausted the computer's library files," Philan's words came with a mixture of apology and annoyance, "there's just nothing."

McDermott glanced to his colleague, wearing the slightest of frowns. Sutherland noticed the man's dejected scowl. "Speculations, Mr. McDermott?"

The geologist squinted at the enigmatic hologram, as if the truth lay hidden somewhere just beyond his field of vision. "We did find record of an obelisk being found on Earth, four thousand years ago."

"Something similar?" the captain ventured, hoping for concrete information, something stable enough to build upon and start from.

McDermott shook his head, seeming sorry to have sparked false hope. "No connection, only a vague similarity between the symbols."

"The symbols," Philan put in with a gesture to the alien configurations, "are fifteen total and will combine to four-hundred-thirty-two combinations."

Sutherland's gaze did not lift from the shiny surface of the obelisk-hologram, "And what does that tell us?"

Silence and bewildered looks were the only answer he received.

The captain drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to control his irritability. "Carry on, gentlemen," he said, making his way briskly to the corridor. Once outside and after the doors had hissed closed again, Sutherland leaned against the corridor wall, feeling suddenly tired and overwhelmed by the situation.

A communicator chirp interrupted his silent meditation. "Rutledge to Captain."

"Go ahead." He had hesitated only slightly before giving a quick tap to his comm badge. Heading on toward the turbolift, he waited for the ops manager's news.

"We've confirmed that the Edison did suffer a catastrophic hull breach, but we still have no answers as to why."

Sutherland shook his head in frustration, smacking the back of his hand into the other open palm with a slap. "This is taking far too long, Commander." His anger boomed and echoed down the empty corridor before he took control of his frustration and lowered his voice. "I want answers, Mr. Rutledge, and I want them yesterday. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Schoen paused briefly, taken by surprise at the captain's outburst. "I would like to suggest that we beam the Edison crew directly to the Avenger. I have been talking with the doctor, and it is clear the temperatures won't allow us to get an away team over there. We both agree that the best place to conduct further study on the bodies would be aboard our ship. It's the only way we'll be able to tell with any certainty if an alien presence may have been involved with what happened--"

"Fine," Sutherland interrupted, suddenly tired of Rutledge's long-winded explanation. "If that's all we can afford, then so be it. Commander Brower will supervise."

"Aye, sir," Rutledge responded stiffly before the channel closed.

As Sutherland continued toward the lift, an unexpected thought flashed through his mind, momentarily brightening his spirits with hope. Until her body was recovered, it was conceivable that Cari hadn't been aboard the Edison on this particular mission. Perhaps she had been spared...

"Captain, we're receiving another transmission from the surface," Ensign Ekim announced. "Audio only."

Sutherland shook his head. It had to be real bad down there. "Put it through." The whistle and roar of rushing wind made everyone on the bridge grimace. "What's your status, Taylor?" he questioned, raising his voice to a level he hoped could be heard.

"We're by the M-maquis vessel, s-sir," Commander Atticus Taylor answered, his words slow, paced with intent as though it took his every effort to speak. Another loud rush of wind-- "...three dead and t-two missing. They're p-probably around here somewhere. W-we're heading out to--"

An almost deafening, shrill noise made Sutherland gesture firmly for the volume on the commline to be turned down. How the hell hard is that wind blowing, anyway? he thought absentmindedly. "Taylor, please repeat your last transmission."

A short pause ensued, filled with nothing but a cold harshness which served to send another brief wave of sympathy through Sutherland's mind as he thought about his men down there--as he thought about Taylor down there.

"The t-two survivors must b-be around the c-crash s-site somewhere. We're searching now..."

A flicker of light startled Sutherland, wresting him from the depths of his mind back into present awareness. He frowned, pausing in mid-stride in the center of the corridor. After a few moments, his eyes began to ache from the quick spurts of alternating light and darkness. More problems with the damned environmental controls, he cursed to himself. Frustration mounting, he marched into the turbolift.

The lift doors opened, depositing him onto the bridge. The various officers' heads around the room turned in his direction, nodded in acknowledgment, then re-focused on their duties. He quietly circled the circumference of the bridge, peering over shoulders. Normally he would have gone directly to the command chair, or even to his ready room. He trusted the abilities of all his personnel, but this situation was different. For him, this situation had a face and name: it was personal.

As he circumnavigated the nerve center of the ship, he stopped in front of the large viewscreen where an image of the Edison floated, dead in space, the gargantuan obelisk seeming to lurk ominously behind the small vessel. Seventy-four men and women, gone, he thought. What a waste. It was hardly the first time a Starfleet ship had been lost in the line of duty. At the Academy, he had been required to memorize the names of all of the starships that had been lost up to that point. It now seemed as though that list had doubled since his youth. But it was also a testament to the exploratory spirit of the human race. No matter how many died, mankind would not forgo its continual search of the heavens. If Vulcans were intellects, if Klingons were warriors, then humans were explorers. Nothing would keep them from learning more about their universe.

The thought comforted him a bit, and briefly he pushed the personal side of this mission to the back of his mind. A sudden pain in his stomach reminded him that he was hungry, having forgotten to eat anything yet that day. He made his way to the replicator set in the starboard support bulkhead.

"Mutzal soup," he told the small terminal. The computer engaged and his food began to materialize. Suddenly, the room grew dark and there was an audible draining noise as power converters shut down. "What the...?" he stammered in surprise. Then as quickly as the lighting had terminated, it was back on again, the powerful hum of the ship returning to normal. A loud splash redirected the captain's attention and he felt something warm and wet dripping down his front. Glancing at the food processor, he realized the brief power failure had caused a glitch in the replicator. The cup of broth had materialized without its container. When the confinement beam was interrupted, thick soup leaked down the terminal all over his uniform. He growled in irritation, removing his soiled uniform jacket.

The bridge was absolutely still. No one dared say or do anything. In the captain's present state of mind, they knew he could easily blow. Several tense seconds passed.

Finally Rataan spoke up, offering an explanation for what had happened. "Sir, the ship's hull experienced a sudden drop in temperature to near-absolute-zero. Apparently all ship's systems were briefly affected."

"But sensors indicate that exterior temperature is back to original levels, Captain," Rutledge chimed in, hoping to take some of the heat off of Rataan.

Sudden, deep laughter surprised everyone on the bridge. Sutherland, without turning around, looked at his ridiculous situation and laughed. It wasn't funny. None of this was. But by sheer absurdity it was comical.

"Understood," the captain said, still laughing. " Keep me posted." Jacket under arm, he marched toward his ready room.

Rutledge and Rataan glanced at one another, unsure exactly what had just happened, but they breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, and by the way," Sutherland glanced back at the messy replicator, "someone clean that up."

"Aye, sir," they said simultaneously. As soon as their commanding officer had disappeared into his office, Rutledge fingered the lieutenant commander's pips on his collar. "Well, Lieutenant," he told Rataan, "you'd better get to it."

Rataan cocked an eyebrow. "I don't think so...sir." They both looked forward to the Con "Oh, Ensign Shaw..."

Two more sudden and mysterious ship-wide malfunctions prompted Sutherland to call a meeting of the senior staff. He wanted to know what was happening to the ship, and what they could do to stop it.

The staff assembled in the ward room, minus West who remained in Main Engineering to get a handle on the systems failures. Lt. Commander Rutledge began the solemn meeting by describing the laundry list of malfunctions the ship had experienced thus far. "For starters, propulsion is down. Both impulse and warp power are currently off-line." The officers around the room exchanged concerned glances. The ship was now stranded out in the extra-galactic void, powerless and increasingly helpless in the face of a great unknown. "Also, the access lift in Engineering, the main gangway connector, and many sub-systems of the environmental controls have failed, including corridor lighting and atmospheric controls in most of the living quarters. Further, most of the malfunctions have been occurring on the ship's port side," he added, a significant piece of information, since the other officers also knew the obelisk was off the ship's port bow.

"Then you're suggesting the obelisk may be a threat to the Avenger?" Rataan asked.

The captain did not respond immediately. Instead, he rested his chin in his left hand and paused briefly to regain a rational grasp on the matter at hand.

The long, tense silence was finally broken when the doors parted, revealing a winded chief engineer. "I think... I may... have something..." West panted, trying to catch his breath.

Looking suspiciously at the young engineer, the captain held out his hand, allowing him to proceed.

Lucas had been down in Main Engineering, trying to deal with the numerous system failures, but it ate at him that he no one seemed to be able to find a cause. He had been mulling it over in the back of his mind until finally an idea had come to him. It only took a few recalibrations and some checking before he found that his theory at least had merit. Finally he had caught his breath enough to continue. With a few taps into the tabletop console, he brought two schematic images onto the viewscreens in the room. "My theory," he began, "which might explain the destruction of the Edison, is simple. So simple, I believe we all may have initially overlooked it. The lack of radiation and gravity outside of the galaxy seems to produce pockets or storms of extremely cold temperatures." He indicated a diagram of the Edison being surrounded by a small area labeled as one such pocket. "A storm like this might have passed over the Edison while she was studying the obelisk. I believe the Avenger experienced one of these so-called storms when the entire ship briefly lost primary systems earlier."

Commander Brower looked at West, a question in his eyes. "Why weren't the storms detected while traveling toward the obelisk once we left the galaxy?" he asked.

"If we had been traveling at sublight, they might have been. However, traveling at warp speeds, such storms are virtually undetectable and a starship is apparently unaffected," the engineer conjectured. He stepped closer to the schematic diagram on the screen, illustrating his point. "In addition, the storms are much colder than our sensors are normally programmed to detect. The temperature inside these pockets approaches absolute zero."

Lanei let out a low whistle. She saw the data on the temperatures West had recorded. "We didn't even think temperature this low were possible. They're only a few ten-thousandths of a degree from absolute zero. Theoretically and artificially absolute zero is possible, but it doesn't occur naturally. If this data is correct, these pockets could be the coldest naturally occurring phenomenon known to Federation science."

West held up a hand. "That's not all. Short and long-rang sensors detect about fifteen storms of various sizes and shapes currently surrounding the obelisk, the Edison, and the Avenger. They seem to be floating aimlessly through this part of space."

"Is the ship in danger?" Brower questioned.

Almost on cue, the ship lost power before it was suddenly restored again. "Warning, hull breach on decks nine and ten," the female voice of the ship's computer announced. Without hesitation Sutherland ordered a red alert.

The alarm klaxons were just beginning to sound as the senior staff spilled out of the ward room onto the bridge. The illumination dimmed, eliminating visual distractions so the bridge crew could better concentrate attentions on their instruments. The red alert indicator lights lining the bulkheads and ceiling flickered on and off, casting a scarlet tinge over the pallid faces of the senior officers. "Status report," Sutherland ordered, stopping in front of his chair, looking intently towards the rear of the control center.

Rataan and Rutledge jumped the short flight of steps to the aft deck. Ensign Ford, who had been managing the Operations post, quickly scrambled out of the way to give Rutledge access to the station. Ford, realizing his presence was still needed, moved to one of the auxiliary consoles along the aft bridge, hoping he could be of help.

"Damage control teams are responding," Rutledge said after consulting his console.

Rataan glanced intently at the Tactical panel, his fingers deftly passing over the controls. "Emergency forcefields have been erected in sections thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen on decks nine and ten. The breach has stabilized for the moment."

While Rutledge quietly studied his instruments, an intensified air of tension permeated the room. West stood behind him aiding in the recalibration of the sensors to detect the super-cold pockets of space around the ship. "Sir, it would appear that another storm has passed over the ship," Rutledge announced. The captain walked around the console and stood next to them, staring at the Operations Manager's monitors. On one screen, a red indicator flashed on a cross-section of the ship, on the port side of the engineering hull. Rutledge tapped his finger on it for the captain's benefit. "This area of Avenger's hull appears to have been destablilized, causing the breach."

West stepped down to the engineering console on the lower bridge deck and was conducting his own damage report. Concern furrowed his normally smooth, ebony brow. He tapped a sequence of commands on a bank of gold touch pads, calling up a list of damaged systems. "A primary waveguide conduit was damaged, and without backups, the main synthesizer-processing node overloaded. Replicators, transporters, and holodecks are currently off-line."

"Captain," Rataan called out. "I'm reading a complete failure of the inertial dampening system. Also, deflector shields are losing power. They've dropped to sixty-seven percent."

"Is there any way we can block out these storms?" Sutherland asked Rutledge. "Or at least lessen their impact?"

The solid-set lt. commander glanced at the captain, weariness apparent on his face. The lids around his coal-black eyes contracted slightly. "I honestly don't know. We've never encountered anything like this before."

Sutherland rubbed the base of his aching neck. "West?"

He shrugged.

"Keep looking."

"Aye, sir."

The captain made his way back down to his seat, all the while staring at the main viewscreen. The Edison and the obelisk were still there, two silent messengers riding through the perpetual night of space like the dark horsemen of mythical lore. Death and Pestilence. He shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts as so much nonsense.

"I think we've been able to modify the sensors to track the storms," Rataan's young voice advised. "If these readings are right, another pocket is approaching!"

"West, divert auxiliary and life support power to the shields!" Brower ordered hastily.

"I've already done that, Commander," Lucas apprised, "though I don't know what good it'll do us!"

Nervously everyone waited the few seconds until the storm pocket intercepted the ship.

Suddenly, it was dark again and silence shrouded the bridge. The computer screens winked off simultaneously as the ship's power systems shut down. The darkness was nearly tangible for several agonizing moments before the light panels flickered back on again. The monitors came back up, but this time much slower than before. "Structural integrity field is down to twenty-five percent," West reported, voice strained. Knowing the crushing vacuum of space could come rushing in at any time to claim them all had that affect on him. "Propulsion systems are still off-line."

Lanei shouted, "We've lost environmental on deck fifteen. Initiating containment procedures now."

"Casualties?" Brower asked.

"All sections of the ship bordering space have been evacuated," Rutledge spoke up, "no one was down there."

"Weapons systems are out," Rataan continued his grim report. "And shield strength is still dropping. It's down to forty-five percent."

"Captain!" said West. "If the sensors are correct, the surrounding storms are all moving toward Avenger. In fact, according to long-range scans, even more super-cold pockets have been detected. Every storm pocket within detectable range is moving toward the ship!"

Sutherland felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, making the collar of his uniform feel as though it was beginning to stick. "If you have any ideas, Mr. West, please share them."

"Sir, I'd like to shut down main power, except for minimal life-support and sensors."

"Explain," Brower said.

"I have a theory. It's possible the storms are attracted to the heat generated from the plasma conduits and engine plants. If we shut them down, the storms may lose their attraction for the ship."

"Or, theoretically, they could still approach and kill us," Rutledge argued. "Without shields we'd be a sitting duck. And the environmental systems are a mess right now. Who knows what shutting them down could do? We might never get them operating again."

West shot him a look. "If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it."

"There isn't time for a debate," Sutherland told them. "Shut down the power, Commander."

The chief engineer nodded and turned back toward his controls. The lights began to go out again, and, as before, the monitors shut down. But this time, the gravity generators backed down, making everything feel lighter. Minimal illumination filled the room. Long dark shadows appeared over the faces of the crew, giving them the eerie impression of skeletons. Not exactly an encouraging sight, Sutherland thought, knowing full well it wouldn't be long before the temperature began to drop as well. Everything was still quiet, except for the beeping of West's control station.

"I think it worked," said Lucas. "The storms seem to have ceased their approach."

The bridge occupants signed a breath of relief, not knowing if it would be their last but appreciating it just the same.

The captain and the senior staff found themselves sitting around the bridge ward room's conference table again--contemplating the seriousness of their present situation. The atmosphere was decidedly subdued. There was an awkward hush; anger and frustration lay thick upon the air. Using minimal power for light and heat, the officers' breath was visible each time they spoke.

"It is my belief," West reported, "that while Avenger attempted to compensate for the loss of power, she generated more and more energy. Every time we have been affected by a power drain or system malfunction, we take the logical choice of action and compensate with increased power. But I am suggesting that is these very increases in power which, in turn, are attracting more and more of the very storms affecting our systems in the first place."

"A vicious cycle," commented Brower.

"Meanwhile, without power, temperatures throughout the ship continue to drop."

"I feel compelled to interject my medical opinion," Dr. Logan spoke up. "I'm concerned about the crew working in such extreme cold. The short and long-term affects on body temperature are unpredictable."

The captain nodded. "I agree. We cannot continue to operate a starship under such dire conditions. So we need alternatives." He looked at his officers expectantly.

Lanei leaned forward. "The obelisk is one large piece of solid stone with a low magnetic polarization. But there are still things about it we don't know or haven't discovered yet. There still may be some hidden force at work on the obelisk which is responsible for the ship's port side malfunctions. We are still unable to interpret the hieroglyphics. There is still a lot we don't know."

Sutherland quietly surveyed the faces at the table, then stood up. "Mr. West, I would like to see some immediate progress on rehabilitating the ship's systems. Lieutenant Lanei, we need more information about that obelisk. The rest of you, do what you can to facilitate either of those orders." He paused, making certain there were no questions or protests. "Dismissed." Without a word between them, five officers stood and filed out. Only Logan remained. "You have been dismissed, Doctor," Sutherland reminded him.

The doctor handed the captain a data padd. "This is the list of the sixty-two bodies recovered thus far from the Edison." He paused briefly, Studying the captain's ashen features. "Permission to speak freely, sir." Sutherland nodded his approval. "I'm...I'm feeling a little uneasy about what has been going on."

"If you mean the effect the cold will have on the crew--"

"No, sir," Logan interrupted, sensing the captain was trying to screen his feelings, "that is not what I was referring to."

Sutherland eyed him for a moment. "You are dismissed, Doctor," he said angrily. "I am fine, and unless you have medical data to the contrary, I will have you leave my personal feelings out of this."

Logan desperately wanted to stay, to help the captain, his friend. But it was clear Sutherland had other ideas. Turning, he left the room feeling no better than a scolded pet.

Once Logan had departed, Sutherland regretted his tone with the doctor, but did not dwell on it. He settled back into his cold chair and began scrolling through the information on the small padd. He stopped at the name of Science Officer, Lieutenant Cari Shannon Taylor.

Sutherland sat stiffly in the command chair, annoyed by the silence, annoyed by the occasional beeps and noises of systems doing their jobs, and annoyed by the sweat that had begun to plaster his shirt to his back. He seriously considered taking up pacing, but that would only create more nervousness and tension among the bridge crew.

All he could do was wait.

And all captains hated to wait.

"Another transmission from the away team, Captain," Lon Ekim announced suddenly, startling Sutherland out of his reverie. "Audio only."

Sutherland knew something was wrong--he could feel it--when Rataan's voice came over the channel instead of Taylor's.

"The missing Maquis ambushed us, Captain," Rataan reported, his breath sounding labored. "Taylor's down. We got him back to the shuttle, but he needs immediate medical assistance."

Sutherland slapped his comm badge as he stood from his chair.

"Bridge to Transporter Room One."

"Baden here."

"Beam the away team back, now!"

"No chance, Captain," Baden's voice was regretful "Too much atmospheric interference."

"Find a way, Mr. Baden. Lives are at stake." Commander Taylor wouldn't survive otherwise.

"I'll do my best, sir."

"Rataan," Sutherland continued. "Is Taylor conscious?"

"Barely."

"I want to speak to him."

"A moment later, Taylor's weak voice whispered over the link. The captain could barely understand him.

"Don't worry, sir. I'll...make it."

"See that you do, Commander. That's an order."

"Oh, I won't...make it because of an order..."

"Oh?" Sutherland queried, wondering if Taylor was losing his mental faculties.

"I'll...I'll make it because...I still need to see you play poleball with my sister."

Sutherland grimaced and felt his heart stop when he heard Taylor attempt a chuckled. There was a long pause as the sound of rushing wind filled the comm channel.

"Promise me you'll watch after her, Captain."

In the brief silence that ensued, Sutherland wished he were anything but a captain, forced to watch officers live and die because of his orders.

"It's too late, Captain," Rataan spoke over the channel again, his voice low and rough. "He's dead."

Still sitting in the cold, empty room, a wave of intense sadness washed over Sutherland's body. Combined with the incessant chill which pervaded the ship, he felt helpless and insecure, feelings which reminded him too much of his childhood, feelings he wished he could throw to the frozen space outside. He was tired of the memories. If only they could get answers and be done with this mission.

In the Physical Science Division's Alpha Lab, Philan squinted through the dim lighting to regard the geologist. McDermott was taking his turn staring at the compact monitor, scrolling through the hieroglyphics they'd collected from the obelisk. Both were cold, tired, and frustrated due to hours of unrewarded work they had endured. Running on minimal power only made matters that much harder. It was a constant reminder of the problem at hand, of the puzzle they had to solve. The poor lighting provided as much help as a nagging child, making them overly aware of the situation's urgency.

With a sigh of barely contained exasperation, McDermott turned from the monitor, sitting up straight to ease the aching muscles in his back. Then he slumped backwards, the picture of defeat, "I just don't know."

Philan moved to take his place at the monitor. The images waiting for him were just the same as the hour before. Nothing new, no obvious clues, came forward to help him. Alien carvings, etched into an alien artifact, locked a mystery beyond his grasp. The answer was here before him, right here! But he couldn't find it. In his mind he consigned himself to having failed, but he went through the motions of continuing his search. Unhurried, he reached for a data padd, without enthusiasm his eyes skimmed over the information on it. McDermott, still draped across his chair, glanced over just in time to see Philan's face held in pause. His eyes didn't move as he became lost in thought.

"What?" McDermott didn't shift from his comfortable position.

Philan placed the padd beside the monitor to compare something. Completely transfixed he leaned forward, desperate to check the accuracy of what he thought he saw.

"What?" McDermott insisted, forcing himself to sit up and take a closer look.

"See this?" Philan spoke quietly, as if the discovery were a small creature that could be frightened away.

"No."

"Look," the historian pointed, "these symbols on the obelisk show a slight resemblance to these on file."

The geologist gave a disappointed grunt, "Pretty slight."

But Philan remained eager, optimistic. He scrolled through the list, making guesses at what he saw. "This one," he encouraged McDermott to come forward, "it just might represent the word star."

McDermott raised a critical eyebrow, unimpressed by the jump of logic being made.

"And this one," Kirnan went on, holding up the data padd, "see how it looks very much like this representation for journey?"

McDermott, finally stirred from his doubts, took the padd, and made a realization of his own, "What about that? Do you think the computer could form a random cross reference between these three symbols?"

In just twenty minutes the two scientists had compiled hours of study. With the computer's help they had come up with two possible scenarios. McDermott grasped the padd. "Either this is a historical record of ancient agricultural practices..."

"Or the record of a journey through space," Philan indicated his own padd, "unless our cross-references were farther off than we expected."

"Time to report to the lieutenant?"

"I think so."

Dr. Christopher Logan stepped from the frigid corridor into the the slightly warmer officer's mess and paused. Looking about the room hurriedly he spotted the object of his search sitting alone at a back table seemingly engrossed in a padd lying before him. Passing other crew members wrapped and bundled in warm clothing, Logan quickly made his way to the far table, taking no notice of the steaming coffee set out for the crew. With replicators off-line, coffee was the best they could do. As Chris approached the officer raised his head and smiled in recognition. "Doctor," his quarry acknowledged with a nod.

"May I sit down, Commander?" Logan asked as he pulled up along side of Andrew Brower's table.

"Of course," the first officer replied, gesturing to a chair at his right. As Logan took his seat Brower noticed the doctor had passed up a steaming cup of java. He raised an eyebrow, "I take it that this isn't a social visit," he said inquisitively.

Chris shook his head. "No Commander, I'm afraid it isn't. I've come to talk to you about the captain."

Brower's face became solemn. "I know. The strain is beginning to show, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it's more than the expected stress of command. I was just up on the bridge monitoring his vital signs."

Brower blinked at the medical officer in surprise. "I'm surprised he permitted that."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "He didn't."

The first officer's lips pursed as if to say "oh", but made no sound.

The doctor proceeded. "His heart rate is up and his respiration has increased to alarming levels." Chris brought his blue eyes up level with Brower's' dark stare. "I'm worried about him, very worried."

Brower shifted uneasily in his chair. "I've notice it too. He's more snappish than I've ever seen him... and jumpy. I've been wondering what's eating him. I've never known him to react to stress this way."

"I've never seen him react to anything this way." Chris paused before saying softly, "I was wondering if it could be something else, perhaps some external force."

Brower's eyes widened. "By external force, do you mean the obelisk?"

Chris nodded. "It's just a speculation, of course, but something I thought you should consider."

Andrew broke his gaze from his friend's and stared thoughtfully at the table top. "Sutherland's behavior had changed soon after we arrived out here in the void..." He looked up again and this time alarm was etched into his features. "Chris, you're not thinking of relieving him from duty, are you?"

Logan shook his head slowly. "No, not yet. But if his condition continues to deteriorate, it might be necessary. I think you should be prepared for that possibility."

Brower took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I understand, Doctor. Thanks for bringing this to my attention."

Logan stood up. "I sincerely hope it doesn't come to that, but we are going to have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best." He looked down at his wrist chronometer. "I'll check with you later, Commander. I'm due back in sickbay," he said regretfully. "We are still cataloguing bodies from the Edison."

"All right, Chris." Logan turned to go and Brower stared back down at his padd not really seeing the data it contained. After all he had gone through to establish his acceptance as first officer on the Avenger, he could think of no worse duty to perform than relieving the captain of command. Reluctantly he got up and headed for the bridge.

The temperature in the ship's nerve center reminded Brower of the winter camping trips he and his boyhood friends used to take when he lived on Betazed. He remembered lying out underneath the twinkling stars, cocooned in an insulated sleeping bag atop the downy snow, watching his breath float upwards, forming small clouds. He also recalled how the quiet was occasionally broken by the sharp giggles of his friends as they told jokes telepathically. It was always a sore point with him that, as an off-worlder, he could only communicate verbally, but the Betazoid culture was an open-minded one and his friends never held it against him.

He blinked suddenly, wondering why dangerous situations always brought about flashes of nostalgia. He was sitting on the command deck, next to the captain. Around him, the ship's composite frame creaked and groaned like an ancient sea-going vessel. His fingers touched the computer controls at his right, leaving smudges of heat on the panel's cold surface. He wondered if the captain could hear his teeth chattering. The shivers had started in his gut a few hours ago and had now worked their way out to his extremities. The data that now appeared on the computer screen did not make him feel any better. He glanced over at Sutherland, who was wrapped in a glittering space blanket and was breathing slowly, as if to conserve the air around him. Steam was flowing out his nostrils and drifting toward the overhead. "Captain," said Andrew. "With the structural integrity fields off-line, the extreme cold is beginning to affect the ship's hull. Some of the bulkheads are starting to buckle."

"Suggestions?" asked Sutherland of the bridge crew. The captain was beginning to feel old age settling into his bones. He had never liked the cold. He remembered the story of James Kirk and Leonard McCoy crossing the frozen wasteland during their escape from Rura Penthe. They had been about his age at the time, yet had managed not only to escape but to foil an assassination plot as well. Ah, men were just tougher back then because technology hadn't spoiled them as much, thought Sutherland. Now look at us. Stranded.

West cleared his throat. "We might try firing photon torpedoes into a concentrated area. They could act as a heat decoy for the clouds and we might be able to resume normal environmental conditions."

Sutherland looked around. There were no objections, and no other ideas. The plan wouldn't get them the information they needed about the obelisk, but it might stop the worsening plight of their ship. "Do it," he instructed. "Mr. Rattan, bring the weapons systems on-line and fire when ready. Three torpedoes."

"Aye, sir," Rataan said working his tactical console. It took another two minutes until the systems reinitialized and the launcher was ready to fire. "Firing."

There was a muffled thump-hiss from below decks as the cold launchers spat out three yellow balls of light. The bridge crew watched the main viewscreen as they sped away into the ethereal darkness.

"Sensors indicate the storms are moving toward the energy bursts," West confirmed, grinning at the results. "I'm bringing environmental systems back on-line." The light panels illuminated again as the heating units were brought up.

As the bitter chill slowly began to leave the compartment, Sutherland tossed off the blanket. "Well done," he stood. "But we've still got lots of work to do. First, I want complete damage reports from all department heads. Next, we need to concentrate on getting environmental systems stabilized. And then there's the obelisk." For the next several minutes, things returned to normal on the bridge as everyone began to warm up and step up their efforts to get the ship running smoothly again.

"Captain!" West cried suddenly in loud disbelief. The explosive billows from the torpedoes had dissipated, and apparently they hadn't lured the pocket far enough away. "The storms are changing direction again. They're heading back toward us! They must be following the residual heat and particle trail left by the torpedoes."

Sutherland cursed to himself. They had been so close. "Cut power," he instructed sadly. "Leave the sensors, the gravity generators, and minimal heat and light for Science, but shut everything else off."

"Understood, sir," West said, a slight tone of irritation in his voice. He didn't like it when his ideas didn't work. "Taking power off-line... again."

As the bridge was once again plunged into near darkness, Sutherland picked up his blanket and headed for his blanket and headed for his ready room. "You have the bridge, Commander."

"Anybody want to build a campfire?" Brower asked, making a half-hearted attempt at a joke as the captain left the bridge.

"Sorry, I left my tinderbox back in my quarters," Rataan replied. There were a few low chuckles but the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on their shoulders. The crew of the Avenger had little desire to become vacuum frozen mummies like the bodies found on the Edison.

He knew he should keep moving to circulate blood through his chilled body, but instead, Sutherland sat hunched at his desk, eyes glued to his console. It saddened him to think that he would have to report the death of Cari Taylor to her family, just as he had reported her brother's death.

I regret to inform you that your son, Commander Atticus Jessup Taylor, died while in the line of duty. Starfleet has suffered a great loss with his passing. He was a fine officer and personal friend, someone I could depend on in any situation. Atticus' loyalty and devotion were rare, and I treasured these qualities greatly, as did everyone who served with him. He served Starfleet well, and I only hope that as you mourn his death, you remember his honor and courage, his strong sense of duty, and his willingness to do whatever it took to get the job done.

A soft carillon from the door forced Sutherland to tear his eyes from the screen and refocus his thoughts toward present matters. "Enter." He had not expected to see the doctor walking into his office. "I suppose you've come to lecture me about the effect of the cold on the crew," he asked irritably.

Logan motioned to a chair, waited for the captain to acknowledge him, the sat and wrapped himself up in the blanket he had brought with him. "No. I came with news. I'm not certain exactly what it means, but I have a feeling it's important."

The captain looked at the doctor, his interest piqued, and reclined in his chair. "Go on."

"I found something when I was cataloguing the bodies from the Edison. This," he produced a standard, Starfleet-issue padd and slid it across the desk to the captain.

"I thought we were only beaming bodies from the ship?" Sutherland asked, confused. "Where did this come from?"

"We were only transporting bodies," Logan explained. "But the Edison's science officer was clutching this so tightly that it froze to her fingers in the cold. It took me nearly thirt--"

"Science officer?" the captain exclaimed, sitting straight in his chair and clutching the padd.

"Yes," he confirmed. "She had a death grip on it. Whatever it was, I knew it must have been important. But it has taken an hour for it to warm up enough to power back up. When I saw the contents, I brought it straight up here."

Sutherland eyed the padd and the mysterious inscription she had apparently scrawled on it. He starred at the last act of Lieutenant Cari Taylor.

"I believe it would be safe to discard the agricultural references theory," Lanei said with a wry smile after Philan had presented his and McDermott's findings. "You said this could be a record of space travel?"

"Perhaps," McDermott cautioned, not wanting to suppose too much, "We're certain of a reference to the stars and a journey..."

"It all makes perfect sense," Philan interrupted, "in fact, I'm surprised we didn't see it sooner."

Lanei nodded and held up a hand before they could say any more, "I think the captain should hear the rest of this," she paused to tap her comm badge, "Lieutenant Lanei to Captain Sutherland."

"Sutherland here."

"Captain, I believe we may finally have some information regarding the hieroglyphics.

"I think the doctor and I might have some information to share with you as well. Meet us in my ready room. Five minutes," the captain returned, glad to have what might be good news.

"Yes sir, right away," Lanei stood up and headed for the door, gesturing for the other two to follow her.

Lanei, McDermott, and Philan strode into the ready room as the doors parted.

"Sir?" Lanei paused just past the doorway, seeing the captain and doctor inside.

"Come in," Sutherland ushered them into his office. "I trust you've found something?"

"I'll allow Mr. Philan to present that to you, Captain," Lanei gestured to Kirnan and waited.

"We can't be one-hundred percent positive," the historian cautioned, "and some of this is formed on conjecture..."

"Get to the point," McDermott urged, noticing the weary expression growing on the captain's face.

"The obelisk," Philan obediently launched into his report, "appears to have been created by an ancient civilization. It was used to help them travel through deep space from one galaxy to another."

Sutherland listened patiently, letting the historian unfold the tale hidden in the alien pictograms.

Sutherland emerged onto the bridge from his ready room followed by Lanei, McDermott, Philan, and Logan. "Mr. Rutledge, bring full power back on-line," he ordered as he strode to the center seat in the command area. The three science officers made their way to Lanei's station.

"Captain, if any more of those super-frozen storm pockets reach the ship's hull, there's a good chance of structural collapse," Brower cautioned. He knew the captain was aware of this fact, but in his present condition, Brower was concerned the captain might not be thinking clearly. "We're risking catastrophic hull failure."

"I believe the science team may have solved that problem for us," Sutherland replied, gesturing to the trio of nervously smiling scientists at Lanei's station. "Mr. Rataan, lock phasers onto the obelisk, thirty-five percent power. Crewman McDermott will feed you specific targeting coordinates." As the captain spoke, the lights and heat came up again, under Rutledge's guidance, this time at full power.

"Feeding coordinates to tactical," said McDermott as Lanei and Philan watched apprehensively.

"Locking phasers," Rataan confirmed. "Target acquired."

Sutherland took one last, apprehensive look at the obelisk on the viewscreen. "Fire."

A single, swirling beam of rapid nadions shot out from the Avenger's hull and struck the obsidian-like obelisk. On the screen, the tongue of phaser energy worked its way over the obelisk's surface like a snake tasting and savoring its prey. "The storm pockets have begun moving again. They're approaching us!" Rutledge warned. "They'll intercept in less than thirty seconds."

"Steady," said Sutherland, raising his hand. "Continue firing, Mr. Rataan. Steady...steady..."

"Intercept in twenty seconds."

"Steady...steady..."

"Ten seconds," Rutledge called nervously.

The captain dropped his hand with a swift chopping motion. "Cease fire!" The phaser beam vanished, leaving a superheated obelisk. It glowed red-hot, its light illuminating the area of space surrounding it like a small corona. The bridge chamber was bathed in a soothing cherry glow.

There was chattering of computer controls from the engineering station. "Sir, the storm pockets seem to be losing momentum. They are slowing their approach." Something caught his eye on the display. "No, now they've begun to move off." His dark eyes soaked up the information in front of him. "They've completed altered course. It appears as though they are being drawn toward the obelisk."

"Excellent." Sutherland turned around, glancing to his chief of security. "Lieutenant, I want you to closely monitor that object. Whenever its temperature drops below Avenger's, I want you to heat it up again--roughly every hour or so."

"I must say, I'm astonished," Brower admitted.

For the first time in days a small smile tugged at the edges of Sutherland's lips. "Thank Crewman Philan for his interpretation. And Science Officer Taylor from the Edison."

The Tiburonian historian bobbed his head slightly, his ear lobes turning a faint sanguine color in modest embarrassment.

"According to what he told me, that object out there," he pointed at the screen, "is part of an antiquated yet highly-sophisticated transportation system. The hieroglyphics inscribed on it tell of an ancient civilization that used these obelisks in order to cross the immense void of intergalactic space. Those storm pockets of super-cold temperatures, closer than we thought possible to the absolute zero mark, were just as much a threat to them as they are to us. So they created the obelisk in order for there to be safe passage. But the pictograms didn't tell how the aliens achieved this."

"That's where Lieutenant Taylor comes in," the doctor added. "Apparently the Edison was facing this same dilemma before their hull breached. She had managed to learn the secret of the obelisk. It was scrawled onto a data padd she was clutching in her hand."

"What did the padd say?" Brower asked.

"Two words: heat decoy," Sutherland told him proudly, somehow comforted by the fact that Cari's death had not been in vein. Her last act helped save the entire Avenger crew. "From there, we figured that the aliens would simply heat the obelisk up as they traveled along, just like we've done. Given its age, this one must have been lost long ago."

"Now we can buy ourselves the time we need to get our systems repaired and be on our way," Brower smiled, noticing the growing improvement in the captain's mood. He threw a meaningful glance toward the doctor who had made his way to the bridge during all the excitement.

"And that's not all," said Lanei. "The hieroglyphics are reminiscent of those found on the only known Preserver artifact in the Federation, the ancient asteroid deflection system on Miramanee's Planet. According to our records, the focusing unit was cut from a similar material by similar means."

"Are we talking about a race that predates even the Preservers?" asked Brower, mouth open wide in astonishment. "I mean, weren't the Preservers responsible for helping to genetically seed several of the galaxy's current humanoid races?"

"It's quite possible," Lanei told him. "The Preservers seeded the galaxy. The pre-Preservers seeded the universe."

"Boggles the mind," Rataan commented. "There are implications of this discovery that will have Federation scientists talking for decades."

Sutherland smiled widely. "Yes, well, I'd like to save this fascinating science discussion for a more appropriate time and place, perhaps back inside our own galaxy." With that, the captain began to instruct his crew to make the necessary repairs of ship's systems. When he was done relaying commands, he moved toward the turbolift, headed for his quarters to get some rest. Before the doors hissed shut he added, "Take your time. There's no hurry."

CAPTAIN'S LOG, SUPPLEMENTAL:

All ship's systems are fully functional again, the deceased crew of the Edison have been transported aboard the Avenger, and the obelisk is working according to design. Although we were able to solve this particular riddle, I am reminded once again of just how many mysteries we have yet to encounter within the universe and how many we may never truly understand, such as the fundamental threads of life and death that bind everything together: friends with enemies, neighbors with distant races, the sky to the sea and the winds to the trees. When it comes down to it, mankind is merely a needle in a haystack.

The USS Avenger sped off toward Federation space with the crippled T.A. Edison in tow, leaving the slowly cooling obelisk behind.