“Everything you see has its roots in the unseen world. Forms may change, yet the essence remains the same.”

Rumi – 1248 AD

There’s an old adage that asserts that, “The bomb lives only as it is falling.”**

It takes a certain lunatic resolve to stand resolute in the face of sure destruction and yell “Fire!” yet that is exactly what Captain Monique McDowell found herself doing. Even she was forced to question the prudence of this course of action as she attempted to hold herself upright amidst the blackened and twisted deck – plates of what remained of the Shuttle – pad.

It seemed bizarre in the extreme to return to the wreck of what had formerly been Rig D31, the scene of horrific destruction and of her own terrible, frantic flight from the onslaught of the rage unleashed by that creature of pure energy. As the salt – sting of the sea was whipped lashing into her eyes, Monique felt the quotidian weight of responsibility for at least one of the deaths that had transpired her and couldn’t help wondering if she wouldn’t soon be adding her own to that grisly tally.

But McDowell had not chosen this meeting place at random, rather this had been a conscious and deliberate choice of location to attempt First Contact with the race of energy beings that were connected to the destruction of the Genodyne facility, as surely as they were connected to the storms that raged above its carcass.

What better place to strike a deal with the Devil than at the very gates of Hell?

Monique sighed.

There was so much that could go wrong with the course of action that she had committed herself to, so much that was not known and with only supposition and a credible yet unproven base of science, Captain McDowell could help but worry that she had figuratively and actually painted a very large target on her back.

“Well, ain’t nothing ever got done by waiting.” Monique muttered to herself as she attempted in vain to keep the worse effects of the storm from dribbling down the back of her hood and she keyed her Commbadge.

“McDowell to USS Astute.” She grimaced against the harsh drive of the rain as the glowering hemisphere of clouds above her we rent asunder by a cataclysmic detonation of thunder followed a few seconds later by a blinding coruscation of lightning that left vivid patterns seared across her retina’s when she instinctively closed her eyes a fraction later.

“Astute here, Captain, go ahead.” Came the familiar and welcoming rumbled of Commander Kottu’s voice over the comm – channel, somehow managing to preside over the clamor of the storm.

“I’m in position, sending coordinates.” Monique relayed with some trepidation. She could still back out, even now. She was reasonably sure that no one would think less of her if she did.

“Confirming coordinates. Ready to fire on your mark.” The XO assured, from the safety of her command chair some 87 kilometers above her in orbit.

But she would know. A Starfleet Captain has to always put their own concerns aside and weigh the potential cost of their actions (or lack thereof) on others. If she did not find the resolve to do what had to be done and face her own fears, then her lack of action would directly contribute to the deaths of millions from starvation – should she not be able to make contact with these mysterious, ethereal alien beings and find some accord.

“Well, if I’m wrong, Darrius, then you can tell me all about it when you see me, like you always love to do.” Monique breathed to herself, a private prayer to her late husband.

“Astute to Captain McDowell” Kottu’s voice drifted on the wind, reminding Monique that the channel was still open. She swore a silent “goddammit” and then responded.

“Disregard my last, Astute. Prepare to fire on my mark.” Captain McDowell resolved herself to command purposely, “Just let Allanah know that if she misses the shot, then this will reflect badly on her next personnel review.”

“Lieutenant Boseman assures me her aim is true and besides; I’d be the one performing that review if she screws things up – so you needn’t concern yourself overly Captain.” Kottu quipped dryly. “Astute standing by.”

“This is the Captain.” Monique nodded with finality, ready now to accept whatever fate transpired.

“Fire!”

From high in the heavens, the sure lance of phasic energy issued from the ventral phaser array aboard the Echelon – class light cruiser from its vantage in orbit above. The bright orange column of focused energy cleaving through the Mesosphere and on downward through the embroilment of roiling clouds below, bursting forth above the ocean in a white-hot stream and intersecting with the remains of the platform where the CO (so fragile in comparison) stood awaiting its arrival.

Following the exacting work of the Engineering department, guided in turn by the inspired intuition of the mawkish Ethnolinguistic Specialist, Elthomiel Danuba, the phase emitters had been modulated to the precise frequency that they hypothesized that the Energy – beings communicated within. Coupled with the might of the Universal Translator which had adapted the modulations on the electromagnetic spectrum recorded from the beings into a virtual Rosetta stone merging wavelength to phonetic register – the phaser beam carried a message of greeting instead of destruction.

With this lance from the heavens, so she would summon and speak with these angels of light.

The experience of standing so close to the impact of a phaser discharge and not being instantly evaporated was as admittedly novel as it was searingly, blindingly bright – so Monique reached into her water – drenched away – team jacket and drew out the VISOR that her people had prepared for her.

As she slipped the electromagnetic sensing band over her eyes and the device sensed and applied just the right amount of pressure to keep the device snugly secure on her head, McDowell had pause to reflect on just how justifiably proud she was of her people. Faced with the terror of the unknown, they had rose to the challenge of how to communicate with these beings with exactly the kind of discipline and scientific ingenuity that typified Starfleet.

True to his promise, Dr Jin Motonobu had indeed fashioned a means for Monique to be able to perceive the interphasic beings as they existed, their reality adjacent to her own, but hidden from organic or sensory view until this moment in time, able to track the interphasic energy signature that the beings were composed of and translate that into observable ‘incident radiation’, Monique would become the first human being ever to see these creatures, as well as be able to converse with them through the blazing beam of light that acted like a transmitter from heaven to earth.

The Tower of Babel rebuilt.

It was then and only then that Monique realized that, in the effort to get here – to be standing at this point on the threshold of making First Contact with a hitherto unknown alien race – that she hadn’t prepared anything poignant to say.

As it was, it proved that she would not have time to prepare any epoch – making speeches anyway.

The VISOR informed her that there was movement sensed within its range and she turned her head upwards to confirm what the device was telling her.

The sky above her was ringed with angels.

From the dark heavens above they dropped through the turmoil of the underside of the flashing clouds, an awe inspiring spectacle as first one, then another and another of shimmering humanoid shaped slowly descended, apparently unaffected by the storm, lightning or scouring winds as they came to stop, surrounding her in a loose halo as they came to a stop in the air above her some one hundred feet up from the surface of the turbulent grey seas that dashed their impotent fury at the scorched legs of the rig.

Leaving the comm channel open (possibly to record her last words for posterity), she took a deep breath and called out to the bright beings in the sky above.

“My name is Monique McDowell. I am the Captain of the Starfleet vessel, USS Astute. I represent the United Federation of Planets and come to you with a message of peace!” She called out, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.

The bright beings hung impassively above and said nothing in reply.

Monique swore inwardly and worried that they had somehow got their translation matrix wrong somehow? She persisted anew, striving to be heard above the storm and gesture around her to the remains of the rig.

“Three days ago, one of your people came to this place and caused its destruction. Some of our people died. We don’t understand why, but I am here to speak with you in the hopes that we can avoid more deaths and find some way to reach an understanding?”

Still the specters of light hung motionless above, mute in their judgement.

Monique felt the pang of abject despair begin to well deep beside her. She had failed.

Then, one of the beings, identical and indistinguishable from the others suddenly broke ranks and drifted slowly down towards McDowell, its iridescent shining form wreathed in a beautiful miasma of shifting tendrils of energy and light.

Down it came and its brilliance was such that Monique was forced to take an involuntary step back, even though the VISOR protected her eyes.

The astounding being came to a rest, hovering in the air just a few feet from the twisted deck and turned it’s featureless headfirst from the lancing beam of phasic energy and then slowly to regard the Captain.

When it spoke, it’s voice sounded like a whisper of dancing fission.

“I am the Speaker.”

((** – Iain Banks)