Spock owed Uhura the galaxy's biggest possible explanation, because they hadn't had a chance to sit and talk about anything for almost two days, and although being on communications gave her a better window into what was going on than most people, it was amazing how often she was still in the dark. Fortunately for him, Kirk got to her first.
The captain called her to his quarters about an hour before the Inhabitants were scheduled to depart; when she arrived, he was busy with what appeared to be one of Carol's many reports. He was still wearing the collar device she'd caught glimpses of, and he looked exhausted, if not unhappy.
He glanced up and indicated one of the guest chairs with a nod. "Hey, Uhura. Have a seat, I just need a second." He closed the collection of figures and text to reveal several dozen more documents from various other individuals, herself among them. It was a good thing he liked reading, because he had a lot of it to do before he could file his own report.
He darkened his display with a gesture. "So. Normally, when we're in a first contact situation, you wind up with at least one, if not several, languages to study. And I know there was the message in the initial distress call, but I'm sure that's not the same as several hours of conversations and negotiations. None of which we have this time around."
Without meaning to she looked at the device again. He did as well, and gave her an apologetic smile.
"This is part of why, but it's not the entire reason." There was a small memory fob on his desk. He pushed it over to her, and she took it up, frowning.
"What's this?"
"The Inhabitants don't have a spoken language. They communicate completely with signs and gestures and posture, or through a networked link like the Pilots use. They had to evolve the physical language frequently to keep the AI from knowing what they were saying to one another off the grid." He paused, no doubt from the look of understanding that had to be on her face.
She said, "They didn't want to use our main communications systems because there was always the chance we wouldn't be able to help them, and if the AI saw too much of their interactions with us, it would get better at translating. The device was private, so it was safer."
Kirk nodded. "I asked them if they'd be willing to record some things, since the AI's not a problem anymore. There's maybe a dozen hours on there at most, which I know isn't a lot, but I hope it's a start."
Uhura stared at him, then back down at the fob. When she didn't say anything, he started talking again. (He did that when he didn't know why someone wasn't responding.)
"I also pulled some things from the station's computers so you could look at its makers' language. There's a lot more of that. Most of it's text, but there were some audio recordings too."
She closed her hand around the fob and met his eyes. Simple thanks seemed inadequate, and maybe not even necessary, because he was doing this to make up for how there was so much he wasn't telling anyone, not even her. Yet in her hand she was holding the sort of thing most linguists waited their whole careers for: two rare languages, one of which she might be the only person to ever report on.
"Thank you," she said, hoping her voice made it clear. He relaxed, and gave her a weak smile.
"No problem. And, thank you-you're the one who picked up the signal and recognized what it was. If you hadn't, I don't think any of this would have turned out like it did." She accepted the praise with a smile of her own, and he cleared his throat and took up his tablet. "So. See you on the bridge in an hour?"
She got up from her chair. "I'll be there."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"You're welcome, Captain."
She cursed the fact that she'd only have an hour with the recordings before she had to be back on shift. It was all she could do not to sprint back to her quarters.
Carol sat at a table in the rear observation deck, watching the facility float in space, free of the dangers of the neutron star and the AI that had once controlled it. It looked quite different to her now that she saw it through eyes that had witnessed battles to control it from both without and within.
The Inhabitants were going to depart soon, but she had wanted to avoid the busy chaos of the bridge, and this was her next best view. She was working through a glass of red wine and thinking over the last couple of chaotic days: of working with the physics of a type of star she'd never thought to encounter; of trying to wrap her mind around the computer systems of the facility so she could help Gaila with the software; of watching the captain bridge a communications gap between two species.
The last part had her wondering. Jim seemed alright, or as alright as he ever was, yet she wasn't sure how he could still be himself in the face of these kinds of things. That led her to the uncomfortable subject of her father, who had changed without her noticing, all because of Nero. She was determined to not think about that right now, and so stopped. If Drs. McCoy and Riley and Commander Spock felt Jim was himself and capable of being captain, she would trust their judgment (especially Commander Spock's).
"Pretty nice view."
She looked up from the wineglass to find Gaila standing behind the seat opposite her with a glass of something milky and bright yellow in hand. Carol smiled and gestured at the table, and Gaila sat down with a murmured thanks.
"I figured this was just as good a view as the bridge."
"Just with less people," Gaila agreed.
Carol raised her glass, saying, "To out-engineering an advanced race." Gaila followed suit with a smile, and they both took a drink. Their eyes fell on the station, and Carol asked, "Do you think they're still out there?" Gaila seemed at a loss, and Carol clarified, "The ones who made the facility."
Gaila regarded it for a moment, then shook her head. "No."
"Why not?"
Gaila's fingers drummed on the table. "You know how the Galaxy slowly built up all the different kinds of elements, right?"
Carol nodded. "Old stars exploded into supernovae, casting elements out into space, which came together to form new stars. That just kept going until we have the elements we have now."
Gaila said, "And one day the dust from the explosions made planets, and those planets evolved life." Carol tipped her head, and Gaila gazed back out at the station. "The ones that made this station, they were the old stars. Maybe they were even the first stars. This station, it's just their stardust still floating around. Us, the Inhabitants-we're the new stars."
Carol watched the station, considering that. "But why aren't we more than they were?"
"Well, we will be eventually, but it takes a long time to get there. We're just, protostars right now. One day we'll shine as bright as they did. Maybe even brighter, and hopefully with a lot more clarity."
Carol stared at her glass of wine. "I don't imagine the Inhabitants wanted to be protostars."
"None of us really get a choice in that, come to it. Them less so than most. We're born and that's how it is." Gaila took in a breath and let it out, and Carol was reminded that Gaila had needed to claim her freedom. "But they're free now, and they can decide what their lives mean and where they'll go."
Carol thought of the protostar they'd left off surveying to come here. Word was it still hadn't ignited. "It won't be easy for them, after all of this."
"It won't," Gaila agreed. "But they've got the Galaxy's most powerful space station. That'll help. And they have each other."
Carol smiled faintly. Something seemed to pulse through the ship, like a brief hum, and she started as space began to lens around the facility. "Look."
They watched as the wormhole event horizon took shape around the station, curving the light of the stars behind it into a distorted circle. Another pulse made the ship vibrate, then the station vanished and the stars slid back into place.
Gaila said something under her breath in an Orion language.
Carol whispered, "Good luck."
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