“I think it’s fair to say that whoever built this plinth didn’t build the ring.” Dimitry Malenkov’s statement cut through the back and forth that Gabrielle and W’a’le’ki had been in the middle of while examining the plinth’s outer surface. It had also bounced off of Simmons’ conversational armour with little effect, the man deep into studying the contents of Friendship 7’s computer logs in the shade of nearby trees.

“Oh?” W’a asked, looking up from the padd she and Gabrielle had been sharing in order to better read their own findings.

“Yes,” Dimitry continued, approaching with his own padd. “The power systems in the plinth that’s keeping Friendship 7 running goes down about fifteen meters, has some sort of join in it and then continues down about a kilometre into the depths of the ring.” Then turned over the padd to Gabrielle. “But the power conduit before and after the joint are two different materials.”

“Doesn’t prove anything though,” Gabrielle challenged.

“True, save that while they’re the same technological principles, the last portion of the power distribution powering our probe is less efficient than the main feed. Likely due to someone adapting it more than a lack of engineering prowess.”

“Kind of like if someone was adapting Starfleet power conduits to fix a Klingon starship?” W’a’le’ki asked, rolling forward when Dimitry nodded. “But why was there a power conduit most of the way to the surface in the first place?”

“I suspect if we ever find the builders, they might shed some light on that,” Dimitry answered. “But aside from this little supposition of mine, there isn’t much more to report at the moment, Commander Camargo.”

“Nothing exciting in the fields of geophysics?” Gabrielle asked with a dose of humour.

“Nothing,” Dimitry answered. “The entire surface of the ring is an exceedingly clever and well put together façade, but otherwise there’s nothing interesting going on here.”

“Because the interesting things aren’t on the ring,” Maxwell Simmons declared as he rejoined the group, showing more than usual curtesy by letting someone finish speaking first. “The cosmozoans are the interesting things here. We need to leave the ring right now.”

“I’m going to need a bit more than just a cryptic warning, Simmons,” Gabrielle said exasperatedly.

The eye roll from the man was enough for Gabrielle to make a mental note to have words with him about such displays later in private, calmer settings. Or maybe she could just put in his transfer paperwork and send him off to a deep space research platform on the Gorn border where his attitude could become the crux of a brand new defence system.

“Of course you do,” Simmons finally conceded, handing over his own padd and making sure to point at a relevant section on the screen, not trusting anyone but himself to actually know how to read properly. “There’s a warning in the data aboard Friendship 7 that equates the images of butterflies in the Earth database with death.”

“Headaches, nausea, withering crops, bubonic plague, hemorrhagic fever,” Gabrielle read the additional links that had been added to the article on butterflies out loud. “Okay, message received. But how and why?”

“This feels like the type of warning that is far more important to get and act on first, then understand fully,” W’a’le’ki answered. “Much like proposed nuclear waste messages from hundreds of cultures throughout history.”

“The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours,” Dimitry recited.

“Exactly!” W’a’le’ki’s ever-present smile faded away. “Commander, someone left Friendship 7 here, broadcasting, so we’d find it. Then made a noticeable change in its database so we’d get this message.”

“It’s pretty damn cryptic. They could have just stated as such.” Gabrielle wasn’t enjoying the deliberate obfuscation that was going on here.

“Could have, perhaps, but maybe it’s a cultural thing for whoever left the warning. Or they wanted it to be universal enough for anyone, with or without an equivalent to the universal translator, to get this message and act upon it.” W’a’le’ki looked upward, as did they all, when a runabout flew overhead in a lazy arc. “That’s as good a message from the universe as I need.”

“Why are they here?” Simmons asked, glaring at the runabout as it started to dip behind some nearby trees, looking to be less than a kilometre away.

“While you were busy examining Friendship 7, the crew back on the ship discovered an issue with long-range subspace communications not stemming from an equipment issue, and Commander Gantzmann is opting for an element of caution.” Gabrielle smiled, enjoying knowing something that Simmons didn’t. It was petty of her to take joy in that moment, but he didn’t bring out the best in her.

“What?” Simmons asked, his attention turning immediately back to Gabrielle. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I had to inform you, Lieutenant Simmons, about every development.” This time Gabrielle didn’t hold back, letting her words carry bite with them. “And those back aboard Atlantis are more than capable of looking into the issue right now.”

W’a’le’ki stepped in, attempting to throw oil on troubled waters, or at least on one part. “Besides, you’d not have found this warning otherwise, right?” she asked Simmons.

“Oh, I’d have found it eventually,” he answered dismissively. “After figuring out what is going on with subspace. Seeing as I am the foremost astrophysics expert, I should return to the ship and get started on this immediately.”

“Excuse me?” Gabrielle shot at Simmons.

“What, I shouldn’t head back to the ship?” Simmons hadn’t even considered he wasn’t the expert at something amongst the crew, so a challenge to that statement wasn’t even worth entertaining.

“Expert?” Gabrielle asked as clarification. He’d gotten under her skin and with that one-word question he smirked, knowing what he’d finally done and achieved.

“Yes. Foremost expert even.”

Dimitry Malenkov chortled at that statement, drawing Simmons’ ire. “Oh, I’ll be telling Starkiller about this,” he said. “Krek is going to have a thing or two to say about this.” Malenkov it turned out held little fear for whatever Simmons might try or do to him.

“Fine,” Gabrielle cut in just as Simmons was opening his mouth to say something. “Go back to the ship.”

That plan was ruined immediately when Simmons went to tap his commbadge and the small device blurted at him angrily. And again and again as he repeated the action, trying to hail the ship hanging only a scant few hundred kilometres above their heads. “Great, guess we’re walking to the runabout then,” Simmons stated, before turning and marching off without another word.

“You know commander,” Dimitry said, quietly as he and W’a’le’ki closed ranks around her and all of them watched Simmons march off, a security officer from Ch’tkk’va’s team falling in with him. “If we hurry, we could just leave him here on the ring. I’m sure no one would mind.”

“Until the locals come visiting and Simmons starts an intergalactic war with people who make Dyson rings,” Gabrielle countered. “Thanks you two for cutting in when you did.”

“No problem, Commander,” W’a said. “But I plan on being on the other side of the ship when Dimitry here tells Krek that Simmons thinks he’s the foremost expert.”

“I think we all plan on that,” Gabrielle answered, Dimitry shrugging.

“I am planning on selling tickets,” Dimitry said. “But perhaps we should get to the runabout and see what is going on with comms, yes?”