STTC Mission Log 7 JOURNEY THROUGH THE BAZAAR Raven

JOURNEY THROUGH THE BAZAAR
Raven
by Edward H. Bart IV

        “I understand.” Raven nodded solemnly to Captain Johnson. The captain acknowledged the nod as he sat back behind his desk in the ready room.
        Raven sighed and gripped the armrests of his chair.
        The door chimed. Johnson looked up. “Come in.”
        The door slid open and a lieutenant commander stepped in.
        Raven stood up, preparing to leave Captain Johnson’s ready room. The head of the Cartography department, a Lieutenant Commander Batsoah, walked into the readyroom. Raven nodded once again to the captain and walked past Batsoah, heading out onto the bridge.
        The lieutenant commander cleared his throat, attracting Raven’s attention. “Excuse me, Major?”
        “Yes?”
        “You’re into Bajoran religion, right?”
        Raven looked down at the much younger man. He was half a meter taller than Batsoah, so his stare had some weight to it. “If by that, you mean I study and follow the teachings of the Prophets and practice my faith daily with prayer and meditation, then yes, I am ‘into’ Bajoran religion.”
        “No offense intended, sir,” Batsoah stammered in apology. “It was a poor choice of words.”
        “None taken,” Raven allowed his glowering face to fade into a mild smile. “Why do you ask?”
        “This report I’m giving the captain may interest you. I’ve consulted with the xenoarchaeology department and they had mentioned that you might be able to read Ancient Bajoran.”
        “I can read some dialects, yes,” Raven nodded, which caused a shock of white hair to fall forward over his slate grey eyes. He tucked his long hair back behind his ear.
        “I do have other things I have to take care of today,” Johnson said from behind his desk.
        “Sorry, sir,” Batsoah said. “I wanted to see if the major wanted to sit in on my briefing.”
        “That’s why I have two chairs in front of my desk. Park it and let’s go,” Johnson snapped.
        Raven returned to his seat and Batsoah took a seat next to the half-Betazoid, half-Bajoran.
        Batsoah looked at the captain, gripping his PADD tightly. “As you know, after you arranged for a data exchange earlier this morning, the Cartography department has been looking over maps on the commerce station’s free database. One of the first things we do is look for common frames of reference between their maps and our maps. We’ve been able to correlate with and complete some maps begun by Voyager’s Cartography officers and other maps based on our long range sensor scans of the Borderlands. However, in our automated computer searches, we discovered a surprising match.”
        Johnson looked at Batsoah. “With what?”
        “A unique constellation described by a Bajoran poet and religious pamphlet writer. Here.” Batsoah tapped on his PADD, calling up a file. He looked at the PADD display screen then looked up at the captain’s desktop monitor. “Um, do you mind? It looks better on a bigger screen.”
        Johnson sighed impatiently and nodded. He tapped on his monitor, closing several data screens, then swiveled the monitor to face all three of them.
        Batsoah tapped on his PADD and the monitor showed two different tan colored parchments. One was a thin text and the other was a finely etched ink print of a night sky with text accompanying the illustration.
        Batsoah indicated with his long nailed finger. “The one on the left is the poem in our historical archives. The other is from the commerce station’s cartography archives.”
        Johnson took a moment to glance at the monitor. “Interesting but coincidences happen.”
        “Yes, but what’s more is this Borderlands text is written in what very well may be Ancient Bajoran,” Batsoah said. He tapped on his PADD and the view of the ink print enlarged, providing them with a closer view of the text underneath the illustration.
        Raven leaned forward to study the monitor. “It does resemble Ancient Bajoran, but no form that I’m familiar with. Commander Batsoah, you mentioned consulting with Xenoarchaeology. What did they say?”
        “Their linguistics expert says that it’s not any Ancient Bajoran on record, although they admit they don’t have as extensive a database as they’d prefer. There’s only so much computer memory space allocated and nobody really expected the need for an exhaustive Bajoran historical database out here over 50,000 light-years away from Bajor.”
        “True,” Raven nodded.
        “Lieutenant Rothschild, the linguistics expert, did say that the text sample looks like it may be a variant of Ancient Bajoran, one that evolved after being removed from the Bajoran system.”
        Johnson raised an eyebrow. “I knew their solar ships could go pretty far, but not that far.”
        Batsoah smiled weakly. “I don’t think any Ancient Bajorans made it out to here. There is another possibility, though.”
        “A wormhole,” Johnson said. “Something worth investigating.”
        “I thought so, too, sir.”
        Johnson looked at Batsoah. “Don’t forget, this all could just turn out to be what I said earlier. Coincidence. There’s enough reports on record of parallel development to account for this seemingly Bajoran discovery. Have you found this constellation?”
        Batsoah shook his head. “We’re still looking through the station’s cartography files and our long range sensor scans. So far we haven’t come up with a location for this constellation.”
        “Do we even know if this constellation is real or just a figment of a writer’s imagination and an artist’s flight of fancy?”
        “We’ve found another map which depicts this constellation. It’s a little bit more recent than these documents, but it’s still several thousand years old. Soon we’ll start accounting for variables such as irregular stellar drift, catastrophic gravitational changes, supernovae and the like.”
        “I see,” said Johnson. “Well, this is an interesting discovery and I’m sure Xenoarchaeology is working on this too as well.”
        “They just started on it a few hours ago,” Batsoah said.
        “Good. Don’t forget, this falls under non-essential mission parameters. Your number one job is to map the Borderlands, not to chase down a possible long-lost Bajoran colony. Don’t get off-track.”
        “I understand, sir.”
        “Is the rest of your report downloaded onto my terminal?”
        “Yes, sir,” Batsoah replied.
        “Allright. Anything else out of the ordinary?”
        “No, sir.”
        Johnson nodded briskly and turned his monitor back towards him. “I’ll finish your report later. Dismissed.”
        Batsoah stood up and walked out of the ready room.
        Raven leaned forward towards Johnson’s desk. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look into this matter.”
        Johnson paused for a moment, considering the matter. “Fine. But like I told him, don’t get sidetracked. Remember what we talked about earlier.”
        “I won’t. I know how important the assignment you gave me is. I’ll follow this Bajoran development on my free time.”
        “Allright,” Johnson said, turning his attention to his monitor.
        Raven stood up and walked to the door.
        “Oh, Raven...”
        He turned to look back at the captain.
        “Yes, Thomas?”
        Johnson smiled. “Let me know what you turn up. I want to know if some Bajorans really did beat us in arriving to the Borderlands.” He winked before bending his head down to resume his paperwork.
        “I’ll keep you apprised,” Raven smiled, turning to walk out of the readyroom.

        Raven rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his faintly ridged nose. His nose was slightly crooked, the result of a punishing blow from a Cardassian soldier decades ago. He had been offered the opportunity for reconstructive surgery which would take a mere five minutes in a sickbay; but he declined, preferring not to undergo surgery purely for vanity reasons.
        The face of a ensign stared at him from the flat monitor on his desk inside his quarters. Although the computer had compiled a list of recent additions to the crew of the Courageous, it would take time to look through the personnel files for suspicious looking histories. Personnel records could be altered so Raven would also have to do some personal interviews as well. He knew that he was essentially looking for a needle in a field of haystacks. And what’s more- the needle didn’t want to be found.
        The security mission that Captain Johnson assigned to him was a large responsibility. It would take weeks to accomplish. However, this mystery which Batsoah had briefed the captain and him on, attracted his thoughts. He couldn’t completely focus on the personnel files. The thought that something of Bajor’s could be on the commerce station a short distance away from his ship tickled his fancy.
        He tapped his monitor, enabling an encryption key which locked his terminal from anybody other than him. He stood up and adjusted his long-flowing outfit, then stepped out of his quarters to a turbolift. He took it to the primary Xenoarchaeology lab. This was the first time he had occasion to see the Xenoarchaeology department. He knew the department had a vital role to the Courageous’s mission. Not every uninhabited world the starship would visit were always barren of life. The galaxy had been in existence for a long time. Compared to the lifespan of the galaxy, even the longest-lived civilization registered as a mere heartbeat. And then they were gone.
        Sometimes they left behind large stores of knowledge, even technology. One of Captain Johnson’s mandates was to find new resources and technology. Sometimes the xenoarchaeologists would be called upon to uncover those left behind by beings long since passed on.
        However, the Ancient Bajorans weren’t quite long gone. They lived on in their descendants in the Bajor system in the Alpha Quadrant, and in Raven himself, the son of a Bajoran refugee who found a wife on Betazed. It piqued Raven’s curiosity that something of his people’s may have turned up thousands of millions light years away from home.
        Raven stepped into the laboratory which immediately struck him as more of a library than a scientific laboratory. Rows of dedicated terminals gave the xenoarchaeologists ready access to varied databases. At the far end was a recessed cubicle, not unlike a surgical suite in a sickbay. However, instead of a biobed, a similar structure rested in the center of the cubicle. Raven surmised that it was for fragile objects which needed to be examined in more controlled situations. He was almost certain that the same forcefield array that lined surgical suites also lined this cubicle.
        “Hello, Major Raven, is it?”
        Raven turned to the source of the voice. He had to look down, seeing a particularly short human with close-cropped spiky blond hair. From his vantage point, Raven could see the severely receding hairline of the man.
        “Yes, that’s correct,” Raven told him.
        “That saves me the trouble of contacting you.”
        Raven continued looking at him. “And you are?”
        “I’m Lieutenant Wolfgang Rothschild.”
        “Ah yes, the linguist,” Raven nodded. “I wished to speak with you.”
        “About the text sample?” Rothschild nodded and beckoned for Raven to follow him up an aisle of terminals. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
        “I merely wanted to find out what you knew.”
        Rothschild sat down in front of one of the terminals at the end of the room. “I’d offer you a seat but as you can see, space is a premium in here.”
        “I prefer to stand.”
        “Uh-huh yeah,” Rothschild said, tapping on the console in front of him. “Gives you a bird’s-eye view of things huh?”
        Raven’s mouth quirked into a slight smile. “Are you making fun of my height?”
        “Huh?” Rothschild looked up at Raven. “Yeah, I am. I’m short as you can see. I’ve heard all the short jokes, so in retaliation, I’ve learned all the tall jokes. Sorry if I offended you, it was just an automatic reflex.”
        “No offense taken,” said Raven. “It is just as well, I don’t think my legs would be comfortable sitting in these close quarters.”
        “That’s right,” Rothschild nodded. “I didn’t think of that.”
        “I remember in my youth when I was having my yearly physical. I was concerned about my latest growth spurt. My arms were longer. My legs were longer. I asked my doctor how long a man’s legs should be. Now, what do you suppose she told me?”
        “I don’t know,” Rothschild said.
        Raven shrugged, then said, “She said that a man’s legs should be long enough to reach the ground.”
        The lieutenant grinned a toothy grin. “I walked into that one. That’s an old joke. A very old joke. I should know, I’m an archaeologist.”
        “Is that it? The map?” Raven said, gesturing to the terminal monitor. It was displaying the same map that Lieutenant Commander Batsoah showed in the readyroom.
        Rothschild looked back at the monitor. “Yes, it is. Unfortunately, that’s all we have to work with. I already contacted the archivists on the commerce station whether or not they had the physical specimen in their possession. They only have this.” The lieutenant pointed to the screen. “Molecular dating, ink analysis, and other tests are out of the question. All we have is what we see.”
        Raven nodded and leaned down to look at the monitor. “I already know your preliminary estimate was that it may or may not be a variant of Ancient Bajoran. Have you been able to refine your estimation any further?”
        Rothschild shook his head. “I haven’t been able to rule out anything one way or the other. I really wish I could get my hands on this parchment, then I could tell you right away whether or not it contained ink manufactured in the Alpha Quadrant.”
        “What about translation?”
        “All we have is four lines, 15 to 24 characters in length... not enough for the universal translator to provide a reliable translation. I’ll have to sift through the UT’s output and make some educated guesses. I’m starting to wish I had paid more attention to Bajoran history in school. Too much mystical mumbo-jumbo for my taste, and besides it didn’t look like Bajorans would matter much to the Federation back then. No offense.”
        “That’s a valid opinion to state,” Raven shook his head. “No offense in that.”
        “What about you? Anything you can contribute?”
        Raven pursed his lips and stared at the parchment as he focused on the block of script. “All I can say is that it bears some resemblance to some of the ancient papers I’ve read in my religious studies.”
        “In general or in any specific characteristics?”
        “In general, no. However, this is obviously a descriptor, a caption of some sort to be read in conjunction with the cartographic illustration. The Ancient Bajoran I’ve read was long flowery prose, full of metaphorical imageries and allegories, as religious writers are wont to indulge in. So in general, that’s unlike what I’ve seen.”
        “I understand,” Rothschild said. “There is one point I’d like to make. Maybe this text has nothing to do with the map at all. For all we know, this could be somebody’s grocery shopping list scribbled onto a handy piece of paper which just happens to be a star map.”
        “Well, didn’t Lieutenant Commander Batsoah tell you that they found a correlation between this constellation and an constellation described by a minor Bajoran poet?”
        “Yes, I know. Tebor Joachee. We only have two samples of his work in our Bajoran database. I know the point you were going to make and yes, I agree that the map and the text are related; but I’m only saying they may not necessarily be directly related to each other.”
        Raven swept back a shock of white hair that had fallen over his eyes. “So what next?”
        Rothschild shrugged. “I check the translator’s output.”
        “Hm,” Raven murmured.
        “What?”
        “I don’t know. It may be nothing.”
        “If you’ve got something, Major, go ahead and tell me. Any little bit you can give me can only help.”
        “The more that I look at this, the more I think this particular ideograph resembles an old ideograph for the Prophets,” Raven said, pointing to a symbol on the monitor.
        “Really?”
        “Yes, but it might just be wishful thinking,” Raven said. “My imagination making it out to be something familiar to me.”
        “Ah, I understand,” said Rothschild.
        “Would more samples of Ancient Bajoran help you?”
        “Can’t hurt,” Rothschild shrugged.
        “I brought some old writings with me. They are mainly poetry I enjoy mediating upon. I will bring them to you tomorrow.”
        “Sounds good to me. Maybe I’ll have something more to tell you tomorrow when you come by.”
        “Very well,” Raven straightened up, folding his arms over his chest. “I shall see you then.”

        Raven walked down the corridor, heading back to his quarters. He spied the figure of the ship’s Science Officer, Doctor Joh Emmeril. Unlike him, she was a full Bajoran. Like him, however, Joh was an officer in the Bajoran Militia. Her post as the Science Officer was due to the incorporation of Militia into Starfleet as per their treaty; following the example set by Deep Space Nine. Starfleet needed the influx of manpower to compensate for the long term war with the Dominion.
        Raven’s own role on the starship was as the commanding officer of the Militia regiments stationed aboard. He had also begun picking up the slack left behind when Major Ironsides left the ship. The captain had told him he would decide on an official replacement before the shore leave was over.
        He wondered why Joh was waiting for him at his quarters. He was used to being the one to initiate meetings. She had been quite reticent to form friendships with others, let alone a relationship.
        He wasn’t surprised. Most people her age had experienced the brunt of the brutality of the Cardassian Occupation. She had never told him what happened to her during the Occupation, and he was not about to pry. He had no idea if she had ever been married, had children, worked for the resistance, or had been a collaborator. With his mental abilities, he could find out, however in doing so, he would only destroy her trust in him- and other people.
        He had begun developing some deep feelings for her. Several things about her attracted him. It was rare that he met other people his age aboard starships. Most of the elder officers had administrative jobs planetside. The fact that she was Bajoran was also appealing. He also liked the way she usually kept her long greying hair braided up.
        “Emmeril, what brings you here?” he asked her as he approached the door to his quarters.
        She looked up at him. “I thought it would be a nice idea to meet and discuss what we might do on our shore leave. You are going to have shore leave, are you?”
        Raven frowned. “I hadn’t considered it. I thought I might take this opportunity to catch up on the extra duties I’ve assumed. Do you have a shore leave slot?”
        “Yes,” Joh nodded. “Most of the crew intend to visit the commerce station to witness the ongoing ‘bazaar.’ I thought we might follow suit.”
        “Let me see if I can arrange something,” he smiled. “I would enjoy spending time with you.
        She allowed him a rare smile. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
        Raven tapped on the keypad next to the door, letting himself into his quarters. He turned to look at Joh. “Would you care to come in for a short while?”
        “Allright,” she replied. The doctor followed Raven into his quarters and she sat down on the sofa against the far wall in his living room.
        “May I get you some refreshments?”
        “Yes, please.”
        Raven walked to the replicator unit in the wall. “Your usual tea, correct?”
        “That will be fine.”
        Raven ordered the beverages and walked back to Joh and sat on the other end of the sofa. He handed her a cup of tea and set his own cup in front of him on the coffee table.
        “How was your shift?” he asked her.
        “It was uneventful,” Joh answered.
        “That’s good.”
        “We are gearing up to review data from the commerce station, provided that Captain Johnson and Ambassador Favor are successful in their negotiations for an information exchange.”
        “So far they have been,” Raven said, sipping from his cup. “Oh, there’s nothing outside the usual cultural, linguistic, and cartographic exchanges, but they’ve opened dialogues. From all appearances, everything is for sale at the station.”
        “It’s an interesting station from an engineering standpoint,” Joh said. “It depends on rotation to generate gravity, unlike the more efficient and modern gravitational generation technology most space-faring civilizations possess.”
        “That station has been there for a long time,” Raven said. “Actually, that brings up one thing I wished to discuss with you. What do you know of Ancient Bajoran history?”
        “Very little. The stories I heard as a child and teenager were too laden with mythology to be of much use to me. The Cardassians didn’t exactly encourage much introspection on Bajoran culture or history either.” Joh tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear and stared placidly at Raven.
        He smiled. “I understand. It seems that we may have found a lost piece of our history here in the Borderlands, of all places!”
        “Is that so.” The tone of Joh’s voice remained neutral.
        “Yes,” Raven nodded. He turned to face her more fully, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “A digital copy of a map manuscript was in the station’s archives. Stellar Cartography ran across it while cross-referencing common points of interests. It corresponds with a Bajoran poet’s description of an constellation. The accompanying writing on the manuscript may be an previously unknown dialect of Ancient Bajoran.”
        “The odds are against anything of the Bajorans making their way from the Alpha Quadrant to the nether regions between the Delta and Beta Quadrants,” Joh said. “I would be more inclined to ascribe it to coincidence and linguistic parallel development.”
        “I know. The Xenoarchaeology department proposed that,” Raven said. He shook his head. “But more surprising things have occurred before. No one ever imagined that the Ancient Bajorans ever could have crossed entire solar systems in a golden solar sailship but our Emissary proved it to be so. The Prophets themselves bestowed unimaginable artifacts on the Ancients in the form of their Tears. Who can truly say what the Ancient Bajorans were capable of?”
        Joh sighed a heavy sigh, one that Raven had heard before. “Granted, the wormhole aliens possess technology beyond anything we can construct ourselves, but the Ancient Bajorans lacked the sophistication to utilize any technology the wormhole aliens may have saw fit to introduce to our proto-culture. Take these Orbs you mentioned. They’re incredible energy constructs, probably capable of sustaining hundreds of cities, and what did the Ancients use them for?” She twisted her mouth in a smirk.
        “Hallucinogenic experiences. And these experiences were written down and over time became the cornerstone of Bajoran religion and Bajoran culture, although one would be hard-pressed to see a distinction between the two. They took a group of remarkably uninvolved and unsympathetic aliens and began to depend on them for everything from rain, crop growth, fertility, and protection from extraterrestrial demons, such as the one that tore your earlobe off.”
        Raven’s hand went up to feel the remnant of his right ear. Although he had killed the Cardassian that had torn his earring off, any mention of the incident struck a deep sense of dread in him.
        Joh picked up her cup of tea again and sipped at the cooling liquid. “Our ancestors’ level of sophistication fails to impress me.”
        Raven let his hand drop to his chest, where his earring hung on a silver chain, He brushed over the circle of his father’s family crest and let his hand drop to his lap. “I don’t want to get into an argument over our belief systems again. Putting everything else aside, aren’t you interested in uncovering a lost chapter in Bajoran history?”
        “I have no interest in the past of Bajor,” Joh replied. “Only its future.”
        Raven sighed. “I see.”
        “It’s getting late,” Joh said. “I should be on my way to my quarters.” She stood up, prompting Raven to stand up.
        “Would you like me to walk with you?” he asked.
        “No, but thank you for the offer. I’m sure you have things to do. You will let me know about shore leave, won’t you?”
        “Of course I will, Emmeril,” Raven’s frown softened into a smile.
        Joh walked up to Raven and put a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
        “You didn’t. You spoke your mind, and that’s all I ask of you.”
        “Good night, Raven.”
        “Good night, Emmeril.”
        Joh turned and departed from Raven’s quarters.

        Raven sat crosslegged in front of his bed. Actually, it wasn’t a bed. It was more of a padded blanket unrolled out onto the floor. It wasn’t too comfortable but Raven found that if he kept his comfort levels too high, his mental defenses weakened. In other words, the more uncomfortable he was, the tighter his reins were on his telepathic levels.
        The bed was one of the many adaptions he made in his lifestyle to accommodate his unique genetic abilities. However, his biggest cornerstone was his daily mediations, the mediations required of the faithful. Not unlike the Vulcans, Raven found it useful to regiment his mind according to a belief system, a code of right and wrong. Still, Raven went further than the Vulcans did. He prayed. He sought the guidance and blessings of the Prophets.
        It was obvious to those whose eyes could see that the Prophets held Bajor in their embrace. Raven could feel that embrace and could see it. It soothed his mind and kept all the thousand intrusive thoughts and feelings of life aboard an enclosed starship at bay.
        He had powers of the mind, but it paled in comparison to the power of faith. This was the credo he lived his life by.
        He thought back to the conversation he had with Joh last night. She was one of the minority, a quite large minority at that, of the Bajorans who didn’t ascribe to the teachings of the Prophets. He respected her lifestyle choice, although in a small way he hoped by seeing the way he lived, she would have her eyes and pagh opened.
        Still, it puzzled him; her marked disinterest in a possible archaeological discovery on the Ancient Bajorans. Yes, it was true the Prophets was a thread that intertwined through the tapestry of Bajor’s past but there was so much more to it. Not for the first time, he wondered why she had such little interest in the past, hers or her peoples’. Raven himself was born into two cultures with rich heritages. His mother could trace her ancestry back dozens of generations. His father was fortunate enough to grow up with a grandmother skilled in the oral tradition of Bajor. He then passed on these stories to young Raven.
        Sitting by the idyllic pond near his Betazoid grandmother’s estate, Raven listened raptly to his father’s stories of Bajor and it’s past, before the Cardassians came. Raven had shut his eyes to block out the sight of the Betazoid environment so he could imagine the landscape of Bajor. His love affair with Bajor and its past began by that Betazoid pond.
        Raven exhaled and called out to the computer. “List personal messages, subjects only.”
        “You have three messages,” the computer spoke. Raven didn’t know why but he thought the voice had the faintest touch of an Betazoid accent to it. He supposed it was wistful homesickness. “Message One is from Lieutenant Dawson. Subject: Weapons Locker Inspection. Message Two is from Lieutenant Kyle. Subject: Shore leave personnel rotation. Message Three is from Lieutenant Commander Batsoah. Subject: Update on Bajoran search project.”
        “Play Message Three.”
        “Major Raven,” the message began playing. It was Batsoah’s voice. “I’m sending you this message since you wanted to be included in any progress updates regarding the possible Bajoran manuscript. I’ve already submitted a report but I thought you might want to drop by the Stellar Cartography room for me to explain what we found. I’ll be on duty all day, just ask for me.”
        The computer’s voice returned, “End of Message Three.”
        Raven raised a grey eyebrow. He stood up and moved to his closet to put clothes on.

        Batsoah’s long nails clicked as he typed on the console. The Stellar Cartography main room was darkened, portraying a blank slate for cartographic data. Only the glow of the various stations lining the plank provided any light for Raven to see anything. Batsoah stood up and watched as stars began appearing on the inky blank slate surrounding them. Planets and nebulae and other astronomical phenomenona materialized into view.
        A gridwork coalesced into view, segmenting ‘space’ around them into squares that measured out dozens of light years across. Batsoah tapped on the emitter controls again and a grid enlarged, taking up all of the spherical room. Raven looked at the star patterns, waiting to notice the constellation as portrayed in the intriguing manuscript.
        “I don’t see it,” he said at last.
        “That’s exactly the point,” Batsoah said, looking up and in front of him, gripping the protective railing so he wouldn’t fall off the plank. “That’s where we believe the location is, about 47 light-years away from our present location.” He pointed. Raven’s eyes went from Batsoah’s blue taloned finger to the holographic surface of the map room.
        “There’s nothing there.” The grid was black, void of any stars or planets.
        “Again, that is correct,” Batsoah said. “But...” he tapped on the console once more, and the map changed. The view of space took on strange colors and patterns. The grid in question turned into a swirl of pink and green and lines of blue created a starburst pattern.
        “A blackhole,” Raven said.
        “Yes,” Batsoah said. “A black star, or blackhole as Federation scientists prefer to call them. We sifted through data over various time frames and approximately 1500 years ago, the constellation resided in this sector of space. After that, a blackhole has dominated this sector, even to this day.”
        “You are certain the constellation was here?”
        Batsoah nodded once. “With a 99.1 percentage of probability. The other stars have been swallowed up by the blackhole, and the final star is just on the edges of the grid, slowly orbiting the blackhole, if you can see there.”
        “I see,” Raven nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched as primal energies slowly vanished past the blackhole’s event horizon. “So the constellation is a dead end.”
        “I wouldn’t say that,” Batsoah said. “Do you know how blackholes are formed?”
        “Certain stars collapse due to their own mass,” answered Raven. “It is one of the final stages of a star’s life, is it not? Either that or a supernova.”
        “A bit simplistic, but yes,” Batsoah said. “The problem is, none of the stars that made up the constellation, or even in this grid, were anywhere close to forming a blackhole.”
        “Yet a blackhole exists here.”
        Batsoah smiled. “And so it begs the question, how was the blackhole formed? What, or perhaps even- who caused the blackhole to form?” He laughed. “Perhaps I’m being a bit over-dramatic, but this is a very interesting case we’ve stumbled onto.”
        “I am glad you have been able to find some enthusiasm for this project, Commander. What are your plans next?”
        “Well, nothing right now. We still have to continue our analysis of the data we got from the station. This is just a more interesting side avenue.”
        “I trust you will continue to keep me within the loop?”
        “It’s in my notes,” the lieutenant commander nodded.
        “Thank you. Carry on with your work.” Raven turned to leave, stepping out into a bright corridor of the Courageous.
        He glanced at a wall panel, checking the chronometer. He saw he had time before his scheduled log-in time with Starfleet Command’s Security Database. He walked in the direction of the best turbolift that would take him back to his quarters.
        Several minutes later, Raven entered his quarters and walked into his bedroom. He stepped past his flat bed and kneeled to open a weathered trunk. He peered inside and sifted through the contents gently. He withdrew several scrolls wrapped in animal hides, dry and cracked from hot summers and bitter winters.
        He stood up, cradling the scrolls gently in his arms. The mere smell of the scrolls transported him centuries into the past. He smiled faintly and walked out of his quarters, on his way to provide Lieutenant Rothschild with additional materials.

        “These are superb examples of Ancient Bajoran calligraphy and poetry,” Rothschild said, gingerly touching the scrolls on the examination table before him. His grey-gloved hands softly pushed down the curled edge of a scroll so he could look at one line of text. He glanced at a rusty stain that smeared the edge of one sheet. He turned the corner over to see a large spot. He glanced up at Raven.
        “Spilled paint?”
        “Spilled blood,” Raven answered. “I’ve carried these with me during my time in the Resistance.”
        “I see,” Rothschild murmured. “Nevertheless, these papers are in remarkable condition. I’ll run some tests to ensure what period these writings are from and so on. While I’m at it, would you like me to run more detailed analyses, to establish a provenance?”
        “Hmm?” Raven looked back at Rothschild. “I’m sorry?”
        “Would you like me to try and establish a timeline for ownership? Most collectors prefer to have a solid provenance.”
        “Ah, yes, I’m not interested in that. I don’t intend to sell them, and I already know all I need to know about them.”
        “I could analyze the blood and find out whose it is.”
        “I know whose blood it is,” Raven said.
        “Okay,” Rothschild nodded, turning his attention back to the scroll unfurled underneath him. “Do you have any translation files on these?”
        “Ah yes, I do,” Raven said. “I have all of them translated into Modern Bajoran, and two are translated into Federation Standard. If you’ll let me use a terminal, I can transfer the files from my personal database.”
        “There’s a free one over there,” the lieutenant pointed to a console off to the side of the room.
        A moment later, Raven stepped back to Rothschild’s side. “The information transfer is completed. Is there anything else I can assist you with?” The linguist was looking at a tricorder readout.
        “No, that’s all,” Rothschild answered. “Thanks for bringing these in. I’ll take good care of them. I can tell they’re very important to you.”
        “Indeed, they are.”
        “Oh. These don’t seem to be in the same time frame as the manuscript,” Rothschild said, half to himself.
        “What does it matter?”
        “Well, it’s only an educated guess,” Rothschild said, “but these writings are from a later timeframe than the manuscript. I can make a comparison better if I find the point at which the writing had yet split off into two branches, this style, and the style of the constellation map. That’s assuming they are all Ancient Bajoran. What would be really good if we could find something similar to the map that we can compare to.”

        Joh raised the spoon to her mouth, blowing gently. Wisps of steam curled away in response to her cooling breath. She sipped at the soup in her spoon then lowered the spoon.
        “It’s quite good,” she declared.
        Raven smiled at her and straightened up in his seat. The rigid back was designed for humanoids with more flexible spines than his. Nevertheless, he was enjoying the meal.
        The cafe they sat in had few patrons, compared to the noisier and more crowded restaurants on the station. Raven had steered them towards this small corner cafe since it would be easier for him to keep everyone’s voice out of his mind.
        Raven picked up a spongy roll and took a bite. It had a strong yeasty flavor to it. Raven wondered if it was just undercooked bread or if it was supposed to taste that way. He decided against another bite.
        “May I try some of your soup?” he asked Joh.
        The doctor was dressed in her uniform, but didn’t wear her usual lab coat. She reached over to offer Raven a spoonful of the milky broth. He slurped the liquid and rolled his tongue around. “It’s better than it looks.”
        “How is your food?” she asked.
        Raven looked down at his plate. A slice of purplish meat sat in a puddle of clear pink tinged fluid. Diced vegetables took up the rest of the plate. Raven scooped up the vegetables in the serrated spoon the cook provided with the meal. He chewed on the vegetables then swallowed.
        “It’s good. No knives though.” He used the serrated edge of the spoon to cut another piece of the meet and scooped it up into his mouth.
        “Perhaps you should have brought your sword with you,” Joh smiled.
        Raven raised his eyebrows and grinned broadly. “Emmeril... did you just use up your allotment of humor this month?”
        Joh sighed and looked up at Raven across the small table. “I know that sometimes I do come off as humorless, even perhaps emotionless. It takes time for me to feel comfortable enough around someone to open up to them.”
        “I know.” Raven reached out across the table. Joh placed her hand in his.
        “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you in the past two months or so.”
        “As have I,” said Raven.
        “I... I don’t know what I was trying to say,” Joh shook her head. “Sorry.”
        “It’s allright,” Raven shrugged. “You said it very well. Finish your soup before it gets cold.”
        Joh smiled softly and started sipping at her soup again. Raven resumed eating and a comfortable silence passed between the two of them.
        When the dishes were cleared away, Raven broke the silence they shared. “I thought we might do some more ‘window shopping’ as they say,” he told Joh.
        “Well, I was satisfied with our walk through the station before dinner,” Joh said. “However, if you wish to continue looking around the station, that is acceptable to me. The hour is not too late.”
        Raven smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Good.” He stood up and gestured to the arch that led out of the cafe. “Shall we?”
        Joh stood up and followed Raven out of the restaurant. Raven took hold of Joh’s hand as they made their way past groups of humanoids, most of them species neither one had seen before. The sights and smells of the station reminded Raven quite a bit of Deep Space Nine although there were distinct differences.
        The tall major wended his way to an obelisk which displayed maps on each of its three sides. He looked at the map, pressing on the language panel.
The alien language which marked the map transformed into Federation Standard upon recognizing his species.
        “What are you seeking?” Joh asked as she waited by Raven’s side.
        “I had hoped to see a section of the station,” answered Raven. “I was informed that some of the shops carried extremely old items.”
        “I see. This is actually in relation to the project you told me about last night, is it not?”
        “As a matter of fact, yes.”
        “Is that the only reason why you arranged for your shoreleave? Did you have this planned all along?”
        Raven blinked and turned to look at Joh. “Of course not. I love spending time with you. I didn’t make plans over you. I simply thought as long as we were here, there would be no harm in searching.”
        “I suppose not,” Joh sighed. “Where to, then?”
        Raven turned to look at the map again. “Not far from here. Just one level up and into the next quarter-section of the station.”
        “Lead the way then.”
        As Raven set off, Joh fell in step alongside him. She walked faster to match his longer legs’ stride. “Just think of it,” Raven said, “we very well could find long lost kin to our people on Bajor. This could be a new chapter in our culture, finding a ‘lost tribe’ of Bajor.”
        “I would not attribute too much weight to these flights of fancies,” Joh replied back to him.
        “I know,” Raven nodded, yet his smile remained. “I can’t help but be thrilled at this mystery, at being useful to the ship as something other than an instrument of battle. I feel the Prophets’ touch here... we happen across information that may lead to finding other Bajorans, and I happen to have the means to assist in this research. If it hadn’t been for my scrolls, then Lieutenant Rothschild may not have been able to translate the writings.”
        Joh emitted a slight, barely audible sigh. Raven heard it nonetheless. He stopped talking and looked over at her as they walked side by side. “I know what you’d say... what you’re thinking. Fortunate coincidences. I know we agreed not to discuss this sort of thing, so...”
        “It’s...” Joh began to say, then fell silent. “I don’t mean to... I believe we’re here.”
        “Hmm?” Raven looked at her, then up at the storefronts they were walking past. “Yes, I think we’ve arrived.”

        Raven sighed and thumbed his small PADD off and tucked it into his vest underneath his traveling cloak. “Thank you for your assistance, I appreciate it.”
        “Humble blessings, and enlightment find you,” the shopkeeper tapped his left shoulderblade and then his right.
        Raven bowed slightly, careful not to knock over a stack of precariously stacked books on the nearby desk. He looked around, looking for Joh, but couldn’t see her past the bookshelves ahead of him. He turned to make his way to to the front of the store. He spied Joh standing in the corridor outside through the beveled storefront windows. He saw her talking with another person, a human. He recognized the human as the Courageous’s Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Hartman. He carefully walked through the aisle that led to the door, then outside.
        “Hello, doctor,” he said as he stepped up behind Joh, touching her arm.
        Hartman looked up at him. “Hello, Raven,” he said.
        Raven noticed a slight glassiness to his eyes, and smelled a scent of sweet fermentation. The bottles the doctor was holding was just another clue.
        Joh turned to look up at Raven. “Did you find anything?”
        “No, the shopkeeper couldn’t recognize any of the Ancient Bajoran writings I showed him. However, he told me that the proprietor of another shop at the end of this corridor may have some information himself, or know of someone offstation.”
        “I see. Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll catch up with you momentarily?”
        Raven bent to kiss Joh on the forehead. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” He turned to Hartman. “Have a good evening, Doctor.” He turned in the direction the shopkeeper pointed him in, and set off.
        He smiled, thinking about Joh’s willingness to let him pursue this search. He could tell her heart wasn’t in it. They had visited four stores with little or no luck. He told himself he would have to cook Joh’s favorite meal as repayment for tonight. He made a mental note to set a date with Joh.
        Before long, Joh returned to his side. He smiled, acknowledging her presence. He reached over to touch her arm again, sliding his hand down to hold her hand. It were as callused as his hands were, which wasn’t something you normally found on scientists. He suspected it had to do with the Cardassian Occupation, but she would not divulge anything.
        “I was surprised to see the doctor in this section of the station,” he said.
        “Yes, he had gotten lost. He wished to return to the transporter site. I gave him directions.”
        “I hope he returns safely. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him like that before.”
        “Nor have I,” Joh said. “Do you think this new lead will uncover anything?”
        “I don’t know, but if this contact yields nothing, we shall return to the ship.”
        “I see.”
        Raven squeezed her hand. “Emmeril, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your patience and your presence by my side. I want to make it up to you with dinner, tomorrow night, perhaps? I will make your favorite. I’ll be using my store of kava nuts, not replicated ones.”
        Joh smiled slightly. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”
        “Good,” Raven smiled in return. “It should be the third one from Bulkhead 147,” Raven looked at the stores. “Here.”
        They stepped inside a cramped shop. Most of the store’s merchandise was encased in protective display cubes. File drawers lined the walls. Raven made his way to the lone inhabitant of the store, a jaundiced humanoid with saggy bags under his three eyes and jowls. Light purple discolorations mottled his skin and hands. Wisps of wheat colored hair fell back onto the alien’s shoulders.
        “Pardon me, but... are you... Sjarsz? Martau told me you might have information on what I search for,” Raven said.
        “Sjarsss,” the shopkeeper said. “The zau is silent. And maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. You have something to show me?”
        Raven pulled out his PADD and handed it over, thumbing the display back on. “Have you seen any papers with this kind of script?”
        “Possibly. I am unsure,” Sjarsz murmured. “However, I am fairly certain I have seen this sort of starmap before. Allow me a moment.”
        Raven gritted his teeth, holding back premature excitement. “Certainly.”
        Sjarsz wobbled his way over to a computer terminal. He tapped on the oblong keypad, then on the monitor.
        Raven turned to look at Joh, standing near the entrance of the store. She crossed her arms and gave an idle glance at the displayed merchandise before looking out the doorway.
        “Yes, I was correct,” Sjarsz said. “My littermate, Iraws, has recently traveled through a sector of space similar to this. He collects maps and writings for me, you see. He is aboard my ship in the residents’ berthing area, scanning his new acquisitions into my database.”
        He waved his hands around. “Not everything I possess to sell is here, as you can obviously tell. Space is at a premium. For a gratuity, I will allow you to board my ship and talk to my littermate.”
        “How much of a gratuity?”

        Raven and Joh stood together in the back of Sjarsz’s transport pod. Kajrs, one of Sjarsz’s other 17 siblings as it turned out, was piloting the pod through the vast array of visiting and permanent ships berthed a distance away from the commerce station. The Bazaar received twenty times, perhaps even thirty times the amount of visitors that Deep Space Nine received. There was simply not enough room at the station for everyone to dock at.
        Joh seemed to be amusing herself by studying the varying ship designs outside her nearby porthole. Finally they reached Sjarsz’s ship. It was a modestly sized ship, a cargo transport by the looks of it. Kajrs ushered them out of the pod and through the airlock.
        “Raven, is it?” another littermate asked as they emerged onto a large cargo hold. “I am Iraws. My elder told me you would be arriving. I’ve already pulled the materials for you to view.” He guided Raven and Joh through an aisle of cargo shipping pods stacked high to the ceiling.
        They reached a large table which had a variety of parchments laid flat on the white surface. One littermate was inspecting a parchment with a scanning device and gloved hands. He barely looked up to acknowledge the visitors.
        Raven stepped up to the table. His heart caught in his throat as he laid eyes on one parchment. The coloration and calligraphy was almost similar to the star map. A nearby parchment seemed kin to the one he had first looked at.
        “What do you think, Emmeril?” Raven asked.
        “I’m sorry. I see no similarities or differences. I have not studied the document closely myself,” she replied.
        Raven looked at Iraws. “Do you mind if I scan this to show a colleague? I need his opinion before I make any purchases.”
        At the translated sound of ‘purchases,’ Iraws smiled broadly, showing uneven brown teeth. “Certainly. Do you need a scanning device?”
        “No, my PADD can take two-dimensional photographs,” Raven replied, holding it up in his hand.
        “Very well,” Iraws nodded and stood to the side, waiting expectantly.
        Raven held his PADD over the papers, digitizing the surfaces of each parchment. He tapped his combadge, “Raven to Courageous. Direct to Lieutenant Rothschild.”
        The combadge chirruped softly as it worked to connect him. After a few moments, the lieutenant’s voice came through. “Rothschild here.”
        “Lieutenant, I’ve found some papers which I believe are analogous to what we are studying. However, I need a trained eye before I spend any more of my own credits.”
        “Of course, Major, I understand.”
        “I’ve taken several two-dee photographs and I’d like to transmit them to your workstation.”
        “Fine, but emessage them to my quarters, that’s where I am.”
        “I apologize if I awoke you,” Raven said as he tapped on his PADD to transmit the photographs.
        “It’s allright, I wasn’t sleeping,” Rothschild said. “Okay, I have them, give me a sec.”
        Raven waited, glancing over at the other parchments, trying to keep his mind from getting ahead of himself.
        Rothschild finally replied. “Allright, I’m back, Major. There’s a little chance I could be wrong, but I think you’ve found our Rosetta stone. Go ahead and bring them to my workstation. I’ll meet you there. You know, your enthusiasm is pretty infectious.”
        Raven smiled and looked over at Joh, who stood by herself, looking at nothing in particular. “Very well, I shall meet you shortly,” Raven said.
        “Martin, could you go back to your quarters, I’ve got work to do,” Rothschild’s voice said. “And could you please give me my pants!”
        Raven blinked and looked at his combadge.
        “Oh! Um, sorry, Raven. I kept my thumb on the comm. Rothschild out.” The combadge chirped the closing of the connection.
        Raven looked at Iraws. “Let’s negotiate a price.”
        “By all means,” Iraws grinned solicitously.
        After some haggling, Raven held several tubes in his arms. He and Joh followed a different littermate back to the transport pod so they could return to the Courageous.
        “Emmeril, I realize it’s very late, but I still need to talk with Lieutenant Rothschild briefly. Why don’t you go to my quarters and I’ll meet you there?”
        Joh sighed, then nodded briefly. “Allright.”

        Raven walked back to his quarters, smiling inwardly. He looked forward to relating his conversation with Lieutenant Rothschild back to Joh. He hoped she would still be awake. On the other hand, he would be glad to find her sleeping in his bed. She always looked so calm and unreserved when she slept.
        He unlocked his quarters and found the lights off. He smiled and made his way to the bedroom, quietly removing his traveling cloak and vest. He stood by the doorway to the bedroom, sliding his boots off. He crept to the bed and reached down to feel Joh.
        Instead, he felt nothing. His bed was empty. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see that the bed covers were still tucked neatly over the mattress. Joh hadn’t gotten into the bed. He sat down, frowning. A faint blinking icon on the wall comm panel told him he had a new emessage.
        He walked over to it, and as expected, it was from Joh. A glance at the ship’s chronometer told him it was much later than he expected. She must have returned to her quarters. He tapped the emessage file.
        Joh’s voice played in the darkness.
        “Raven... Jaron... I think we need to... reevaluate our relationship with each other. No, this is not a result of what happened tonight, before you wonder about it. I have been thinking about it for a while now. I have enjoyed the time we have spent together a great deal. You are a wonderful companion, but there are some basic, inherent incompatibilities between us. While I find your faithfulness and spiritual devotion as admirable traits... I have a difficult time reconciling the fact that I find your beliefs very unappealing with the fact that I genuinely like you as a person, friend, and lover.
        “I know this would be better off said in person, but it was very late and I wanted to avoid the chance of a confrontation. I want the last memory of us together untainted by arguments and recriminations. I hope we can remain friends. Nevertheless, I think it would be a good idea not to see each other socially for a time. Save your kava nuts for another time, hmm? I hope you find success with your project. Sleep well.”
        Raven sighed deeply, leaning his forehead against the wall.

        Hartman leaned against the wall as the doors to his quarters opened. He blinked, seeing Joh standing in the corridor. “Hello,” he slurred.
        “Hello,” Joh said.
        “Uh... what are you doing here?”
        “I was returning to my quarters. I thought I would see if you had arrived back to the ship safely.”
        “Well, as you can obviously, plainly see, I’m just fine. Home safe and sound,” Hartman said.
        “And quite intoxicated.”
        “Yeah so? I’m still off duty,” Hartman shrugged. “I’ll take a hypospray in the morning and be just fine.”
        “It’s quite late. You won’t be getting enough sleep,” Joh pointed out.
        “Oh, so you’re here to tuck me in, is that it?”
        “Hmm,” Joh murmured in response.
        Hartman looked at her. “Why are you here?”
        Joh sighed, then said, “I don’t know.”

        Raven took his seat in the conference lounge and saw Joh walk into the room. It was the first time he had seen her in two days, since their last night together. Equal surges of anger and affection rose up in his chest. Her eyes met him for a moment, before she looked away, walking to her seat. The rest of the senior crew filed in and sat down.
        Raven wasn’t sure but he thought he caught Joh stealing a glance at Doctor Hartman as he sat down near the captain.
        Captain Johnson cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s get to it. Now that our business is concluded at the commerce station, it’s time to get a move on. I believe Major Raven has an item he wishes to discuss with us. Major?” He looked at Raven, directing the room’s attention to him.
        “Thank you, captain,” Raven nodded. He turned to look at the rest of the table. “For those of you who aren’t aware, I have been tracking down some information regarding the possibility of Bajorans visiting the Borderlands. We discovered a document on the station’s public database which hinted at this possibility. On further investigation, I’ve gathered some documents from a sector not more than eight light-years from our location, deeper into the Borderlands.
        “The initial document we found was a constellation chart. Commander Batsoah, in Stellar Cartography, first pointed us in the direction of the sector in question, while adding more intrigue. It turns out that the sector has mysteriously developed a blackhole when all information on the sector indicates it shouldn’t have one.
        “Translation of the document proved difficult. Lieutenant Rothschild of Linguistics needed more writing samples before he could compile a translation program. Fortunately, two days ago, I found a merchant that had samples from a planet in that sector of space. With those new writing samples, Lieutenant Rothschild was able to translate most of the text on the constellation chart and the other documents I purchased. He was not able to conclude whether or not the script was a derivative or offshoot of Ancient Bajoran. We are still left with the question of whether this indicates parallel development, or transplantation of Ancient Bajorans, or simple coincidence.
        “I’ve put in a request that we investigate the sector further.”
        Johnson stepped in. “I’ve thought about it, and I think it’ll be worth looking into. In light of our strengthened alliance with the Bajorans, their concerns are also Starfleet Command’s concerns. Also, there’s the question of the blackhole to consider- why did it develop, and what, if anything, caused it? So, Lieutenant Ruiz, the major will provide you with the coordinates for our next destination.”
        “Aye, sir,” the helmsman nodded her head.
        “If there’s nothing else,” Johnson said, “let’s wrap things up at the station and get underway. Dismissed.”
        The crew stood up then started leaving the conference lounge. Johnson tapped Raven’s arm. “Oh, one more thing, Raven?”
        “Yes, Thomas?”
        “It’s probably in your report, but I’ve been curious about it for a few days now already. The handwritten note on the chart?”
        “Yes?”
        “What does it say?”
        Raven cleared his throat. “It says, ‘They who can make stars fall live under this sky.’”

To be continued in STTC Mission Log Eight: Engine of Destruction