One Moment in the Sunshine - Between Light and Matter

Posted on 17 Sep 2019 @ 8:17pm by Lieutenant JG Matthew Plumeri

3,120 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Episode 17 - Crystal of Life
Location: Fontalis - The Mountain House of Dreams
Timeline: MD01 - The time in between the transporter beams

[OFF:]

Directly following "Refraction Part 3"


[ON:]


“Time is but the shadow of the world on the background of Eternity”. (*)


Matt felt his guts tingle. A familiar almost warm feeling as his internal organs responded to the matter-energy beam that was the beginning of a transporter cycle. And usually, being enveloped by that energy beam and seeing nothing but white light surrounds you, was an exhilarating feeling. Hardly even describable really. As the transporter beam enfolds you and then the next moment you feel yourself in a different place as the light that surrounds you dissipates away is unlike any other feeling. That fact that people get used to it and give it no more thought that ordering a coffee at a replicator does not dispel in any way the amazing technology that matter to energy conversion affords to Starfleet personnel. And that’s what made the next moments so incredible. Moments? How long exactly was the transporter cycle anyway?

There were many “terror tales” about people being snatched away from the midst of the transporter beam by the hobgoblins and the monsters from the time you disappear from the place you were and reappear to the place you intended to go. Fanciful minds ran amuck with all kinds of tales – Matthew believed none of that nonsense.

Or so he thought.

He looked around for Captain Tanakata. He called out to Teegan Jones, the XO…they were just right here with him. Weren’t they?

He remembered being enveloped by the white light of the transporter cycle. The blue azure tones flitting about and then…. something extraordinary happened.

There was an unassuming and simple path here; nothing special about it at all. It had a gentle rise to it and led to a shady archway of trees. The lush growth around the path was of the deepest green. The sunlight that streamed through the canopy of trees created little pools of light on the dirt path. It was smooth and well worn. The trees were lush and tall. Their branches entwined with one another to form a vaulted canopy of leaves. The air was cool and smelled fresh. As fresh as after a spring rain that wipes away the dull winter.

The white bark of the trees and the animals and birds therein provided a symphony of life. Blue and yellow flowers bathed themselves in the pools of warm spring sun. The sound was only broken by the sound of his footsteps as Matthew ran along the pathway. He was dressed in sweatpants and a blue-hooded shirt that was stained with dark blotches of perspiration. He had been running for…a while now? He thought. He felt like it.

Up ahead, a stonework bridge crossed over a great, deep river. Its water was wide and moving swiftly. From high among the snow-capped mountains the river gained its strength. On his right, the river took a bend and was out of view. On his left the rapids swelled in strength towards towering falls. The roar of the falls was very loud here. As he crossed the bridge and ran along the well-trod path the way inclined upward. Matt ran uphill as beads of perspiration, like salty raindrops, hit a green leaf as he passed by.

The path was darker now as denser trees greedily drank the sunshine. But they soon broke and there before him was the immense dome of the temple.

It stood upon an outcropping of solid rock, ancient and unmoving, a perfect foundation. There was music here. The sound of it always thrilled him. It was exhilarating music from home. He raised his arms high and his face to the sun, “WOO!” He stopped to enjoy the sound as the music echoed all around him and seemed to join in the swell of the roar of the river. All around him, the water of the river plunged into the deep chasm of tower falls. It cascaded off the rocky face and made a roar that shook that air around it and sent a billowing spray of the most refreshing, clear, wonderfully pure water. It cooled the body, the mind and quenched every thirst. Great arcing rainbows filled the sky wherever the spray lent it cooling touch.

It was such a relief from the horror that they had just endured back aboard the Trial. His mind turned once again to his friends. Where was everyone?

Matt removed the hood and pushed it back to reveal his head. He took deep breaths of the cool air and drank deeply of the moisture. He stopped at an ornate bench along the way. Here, a rock wall prevented one from falling into the abyss below. Matt leaned out onto the wall and looked over the edge. He never tired of seeing this sight.

Matthew could focus now, and as he did so, a figure came into view, it was as if it was surrounded, somehow, by music of the spheres. It was as if one had just walked into a concert hall and the final few chords of some great symphony had just finished. It was as if some melodic or harmonic configuration was present and that it had just created a sense of resolution, a sense of finality or pause. It resonated through his being and he felt as one with the universe and in perfect harmony with it. All the ‘loose ends’ of life were tied up.

The figure was barefoot and dressed in simple, plain clothing, trousers that ended just below the knees. A white, rough spun shirt, loose fitting, oatmeal in color and open at the neck. There was warmth about him, and everything freshened into gladness at his approach. With each step he seemed to become more and more ‘real’. Until he stood before him. He looked rustically Fontalan. He had thick, brown hair in wavy soft curls that spilled onto his shoulders and the neckline of the long-sleeved shirt that was rolled up to the forearms. Brilliantly alive, warm blue eyes that were merry and welcoming. He was close enough now to see that he was a younger man, perhaps twenty-five or thirty years of age. About the same age as Matthew.

“Lose the shoes?” the figure said.

“What? Who are you? Where am I?” Matthew asked.

“The answers are coming; but our time is short and there is much to say. You would know me as…Servio. And this place was once called, “The Immortal Diamond” and before then, it was the Fumigrar. And before that…”

Matthew realized now where he was and finished the sentence, “And before that Templi di Temele.”

Servio nodded, “Temele. That’s right. The Mountain House of Dreams and the Palace of Visions. Does this then sound more familiar to your ears Matt? ‘Loose from your feet your shoes. For all around, the place where you now stand is hallowed ground’”.

Matt looked around and said, “Then I died? The dang Tholians killed me? Killed us?”

Servio put a hand on his shoulder, “Not dead. Not yet my friend. Your Captain Lihra Saalm, she is risking her command, her love of Starfleet…everything she holds dear to save you and the others. The universe…is so much bigger than what you imagine it to be. Filled with wonders and worlds yet unknown. Immense solitudes and sacred spaces waiting to be discovered. But, what gives the Universe pause? It is acts like hers that stop the rivers of Time. You are…wonderous creatures! Come? Accompagnami?” He gestured towards the magnificent temple structure. “But first, lose the shoes man” Servio said.

* * *

The grass was soft under Matt’s bare feet. Despite the rubble he felt no stones under his feet, nor any sharp thorn, nor root of any kind. They ascended the steps together. Matt felt light-headed and as if he were dreaming. At times, Servio reached out his hand to steady him saying.

“It’s alright. It’s a lot to take in all at once I know. Just let it happen. Listen to the sound of my voice.” Servio said as they walked into the open-air temple. The towering columns cast shadows across the white and red Fontalan marble floor. Ahead of them, they approached a fountain.

“Risvegliare”, Servio spoke the word and the dry fountain came to life and bubbled forth with clear, clean water.

Matthew looked at the water bubbling forth and filling the basin. “The waters of memory?”

Servio smiled pleasantly, “Not your memories I can assure you. But memoria all the same. Your world is changing. You look into this water at your own risk, because it shows you the past, the present and the future, not a future that will be but one that might be. This is not a new world; it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every mad dictator who has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements, technological advances, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of your freedom. But like every one of the super-states that preceded it, it has one iron rule: logic is an enemy and truth is a menace. This is the past that never should have been; but was. It is your people’s past and it must never come again.”

Servio put his hand into the water of the fountain’s basin and there Matt saw this vision:

"There, the Acolytes of Radamio, taking a timbrel in her hand and together,
with all the assembled, they made homage and worship to Lokomai.
Round about his starry throne, adorned with skulls of innocents sat he.
Chief of him who is damned, servant to Radamio, all fallen in deadly worship,
First accursed Lokomai, hateful, horrid king,
smeared with blood of sacrifice, and parents’ tears,
The silent scream from open mouths, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud.
Their children’s cries, their children, unheard, thrashing in wicked agony,
that passed through fire to his grim idol.

As Matthew looked into the fountain’s basin, the heat from the burning could be felt even this far away in space and time. Matthew stood alongside two parents. They fell to their knees, tears running down their cheeks as they bore witness to the darkest chapter in Fontalan history. The smell of burning flesh, seared by phaser fire was so intense that it filled the sky with black, sooty smoke. And as the night turned to day by the fires that burned and the phaser energy that lit the bottom of the throne it made Matt sick.

“Do you know this place?” asked Servio.

“oh god…” was all that Matt could utter. It was sickening to behold. Matt put his hand to his mouth and tried to look away. Servio said, “Look again friend. What once was; must never be again.”

There, at the bottom of the throne danced people who worshipped this horrid king of death. They sang patriotic songs about freedom and liberty. The martial music played in comic horror. The insignia and symbols of the decayed Fontalan State, like grim idols glittered in the reflected fire. There were piles of bone-white skulls that were heaped around Lokomai’s throne. They were burnt clean and white, only to now be dripping in fresh blood as the slaughter continued unabated, unsatisfied, greedy for more and yet still more.

Matt said, “It is madness; pure madness and evil unchecked!”

Servio said, “Not your finest hour; no.”

To the right of the throne, sat one who whispered into Lokomai’s ear. Enrobed in clean, white, legal garments, this man says, “You are the king. You make the Law; you unmake the Law. The Law protects you. The phaser protects the Law. The phaser your god. The phaser is not a mere tool, a bit of technology, a political issue, a point of debate. It is an object of reverence now. We are devoted to it. Devotion to it precludes interruption with the sacrifices it entails. It does what it will and cannot be questioned.”

Matt looked away, “I cannot bear to look at it! Why am I here? What are you doing?”

The nightmare vision ended. The fountain of water was…water again. And the idyllic scene was that again. Servio, putting a hand on his shoulder said, “History, if nothing else, teaches mankind that the institutions you think are so immutable; are, in fact, quite fragile. That good government and a good king is rare. And that democracies are much more fragile than you think.”

Servio said, “Look once more? See what it is that makes heroes of any age?” Offering him a hand up, Matt took it. Standing once again close to the fountain he looked into the basin.

There, in the waters, appeared before them the heroic moment when Vinulata spoke out against the cult of the phaser – the cult of Lokomai. It was the sound of his voice that people said that day was what they remembered most. It was as if the chains fell away from him and a thousand voices cried out for freedom.

Vinulata, stood before Lokomai the king and said:

The First Word – ”Ragionare” – (Reason) Reason must reason you from your unreason. We have given the phaser the power to destroy the reasoning process. It forbids us making logical connections. Denial on such a scale always comes from or is blessed and protected by religious fundamentalism.

The Second Word - ”Acconsente” - (Acquiesce) We have given the phaser the power to turn all our politicians into a class of spineless invertebrate and mute attendants at the blood soaked shrine. None dare suggest that Lokomai can in any way be reined in without being denounced by the high priests of this “religion of the phased energy beam.” The many who seek Lokomai’s royal seal of approval brandish their phasers while campaigning or boast that they have themselves hunted ‘critters.’ We deem it much better that the children die, or their lives be blasted than that a politician seeking royal approbation should risk losing an election by speaking out against our god the hand phaser.

The Third Word - ”Legge” - (The Law) We have given the phaser the power to distort our legal process. Lokomai declares, with phaser held high, that, “Anyone, anywhere in our land, has the power to mow down civilians with energy weapons.” Even the Court of Majesty has been cowed, reversing the Law at the command of Lokomai to guarantee that any and every madman can indulge his “religion” of slaughter. Our new phaser god brooks no dissent, even from the highest court in the land.”

That was the day that the world changed, and the veil was lifted. Not all at once. But the path was changed, and the madness curbed.

History would show that civil war broke out in every place and the whole world ripped itself apart. But, the long arc of History bends towards justice and eventually the nightmare was over. Vinulata confronted the forces of Lokomai on the battlefield just outside of Serse. It was there that the madness ended. No more would Fontalans give such power to hand phasers. And, with faltering steps, they emerged from the long tunnels of misery and into the bright sunshine of freedom.

And then it was over.

* * *

Matthew staggered back from the fountain and fell on his rump. He took deep, gasping breaths as he tried to process what had just happened.

Servio knelt beside him, “Just…breathe” he said. “Just…breathe.”

After Matt recovered, he asked him, “Why show me that? What am I doing here? What’s going on?”

Servio helped him stand up and led him to a nearby large, flat marble stone where they sat down. Taking a long look at him and then sitting cross legged on the stone Servio said, “You are a scientist. You study the past in order to understand the present. To us, all moments in time are accessible. For you, Time is a river and you are caught in its currents. For us…Time is an ocean. Navigable, open, wide and free.”

Calmer now, Matt asked, “What am I doing here?”

Servio said, “Vinulata became the first of many good rulers. Your people, they made him the First Emperor even though he didn’t want the title. But, for all the good he did Vinulata was only partly correct. He abolished the state religion of Radamio and abolished the cult of Lokomai and made him and the worship of the hand phaser obsolete.

But you must remember that so is the State, the entity he worshiped. Any state, entity, or ideology becomes obsolete when it stockpiles the wrong weapons: when it captures territories, but not minds; when it enslaves millions, but convinces nobody. When it is naked, yet puts on armor and calls it faith, while in the eyes of God it has no faith at all.

Your world, your people are in danger of becoming obsolete. There are dark forces that want you to return to an earlier time. And that is not how the universe works. Your Captain Saalm shows the merit of what I say. She considers her crew of such great worth that she is willing to risk losing everything, mission, ship, her own life; on the chance – not the promise – that her crew is worth saving.

Why are you here? Remember this above all else: Any state, any entity, any ideology which fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of Man... that state is obsolete.”


* * *

Servio ended by saying, “And now our time is done. You won’t remember much. More of just…an impression. An echo of what you saw here.”

Matthew asked, “Where exactly is ‘here’”?

“Everywhere. And nowhere. You will think of it as a figment of your imagination. A dream that couldn’t possibly be real. What matters is that when the time comes you do the right thing.”

Before he could say anything else, and there were at least a million more questions to be asked, Matt felt his guts tingle. He recognized it as the transporter beam – the one that he never left – reorganizing him from energy back to matter.

And the white light enveloped him, the cerulean colors surrounded him and the dream was over.




(*) From “Diary of a Pilgrimage (and Six Essays)” (ed. 1891) by Jerome K. Jerome



[OFF:]

LTJG Matthew Plumeri
Science Officer/Historian
USS Galileo NCC-80010

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