"Database Diving"

[Guest Laarell]

"The Parein is a legend, a myth. From us it was taken, and we know now when, but it is a song -- a song in our minds so faint, so distant, that it is only an echo.

 

All may know of this echo, but few will hear it. It is the echo that sings what we are, and the gods are what we are, and the ancient prophets and our children too -- the Parein is truly Power."

 

Gods, Laarell hated obscure literature.

 

Three days parsing fragmentary data after she'd started Sci on the project, two paragraphs of obscure poetry had been thought to be a possible reference to the Crownstone. Legendary artifact? Check. "Mystical" powers? Check. Missing? Check.

 

So, either the planetwide-coverup conspiracy theory just didn't hold water, or the Satarimi were just... bad... at subterfuge. For some reason, however, Laarell was starting to doubt the latter. If it was, as this writing indicated, legend, the common people could simply not have been particularly aware of it. Not every myth, she considered wryly, was as well-known as that of Earth's Holy Grail.

 

Linguistic evidence was pointing towards a positive on whether "Parein" could be translated as "Crownstone". In fact, it was during an etymological inquiry regarding the modern Satarimi word "Parros", roughly, "Seat of Power" or "throne", that the poetry had been located. A good sign.

 

So now, it seemed, they were back at square one -- with a little room to speculate accurately. Something lost and powerful that was, at one point, important enough that a poet of old could feel compelled to mention it in verse.

 

Laarell was thinking, perhaps, something vaguely akin to the orbs of Bajor. Mysterious enough an object that, to a not-so-technically-advanced species, it would seem only a god could have created it.

 

That, or maybe it was just really, really pretty. And shiny.

 

Again the Orion woman found herself growing... restless. She was the type who wanted answers, and her random guesses, no matter what likely hypotheses they seemed to be, were simply not answers.

 

Laarell was hoping they'd find more at their neutral base than engineering and medical supplies. Her Deltan officer wanted to hear from "local" populations, and they would. A smirk curved Laarell's lips. A plan -- a rough plan, at any rate -- was hatching.

 

She and the Al-Ucard were already set to beam in upon arrival at Aiesse. The existing "plan" was to head down, getting a lay of the land for science. But now, now she hoped they'd be getting more than that -- if things worked the way she wanted, they'd be returning to Excalibur with not just savvy for the marketplace, but a lead on the Crownstone.