by Peter David
“I managed to pick up a few trace elements before the sensors simply cut out on me entirely,” said Xy. “Based on it, I certainly wouldn’t recommend an EVA. I’m reading cardiotoxins, neurotoxins, dermatoneurotoxins, myotoxins, nephrotoxins…”
“The repeated use of the word ‘toxins’ would seem to be the tip-off, wouldn’t it,” said Calhoun grimly.
“Yes, sir, it would. I don’t even want to think what it would do to an EVA suit.”
“But what’s it doing to our hull? Morgan, can you…” He paused. “I don’t quite know how to say this. Can you feel anything? On the outside of the ship, I mean. I know you’re in the central computer, but—”
“I can’t feel anything out there in the tactile sense, Captain,” Morgan said slowly, as if trying to figure out the best way to explain the inexplicable. “But I can send electrical impulses through parts of the ship’s hull in a manner not entirely dissimilar from a nervous system. It gives me sensations of pressure, basic environmental data and such. I’m doing it right now, since I thought it a safe assumption that—if you asked—you’d want it done.”
“All right then,” said Calhoun. “How long will it take you to—”
“It’s instantaneous,” she said. Her brow wrinkled thoughtfully and she brushed a lock of her hair from her face. Calhoun thought both of those gestures to be a bit amusing. After all, she was a computer entity and didn’t really need to “think” at all. Her thought processes were indeed, as she said, instantaneous. Nor did she need to make any sort of physical gesture to adjust her appearance. She simply needed to think and the change would happen immediately. But she retained enough of her humanity that she still felt compelled to at least look like she was giving something some thought and display those little human gestures such as primping.
“It’s definitely not the fluidic space that the U.S.S. Voyager encountered. I just compared the readings from their own science surveys,” she reported. “Its mass is much thicker than that. It’s…well, it’s gelatinous.”
“Gelatinous? Okay…look, I know you don’t have much to work with. But can we at least get a feel for what’s out there? I mean, isn’t it possible that we haven’t gone anywhere at all? That we’re actually inside some sort of…I don’t know. Enclosure? Some sort of force bubble created by whatever the hell that was?”
“An enclosure within our own galaxy? It’s possible, yes,” admitted Xy. “Then again, it is possible, as I suggested earlier, that we’re in another universe entirely. Or perhaps some sort of pocket universe, an anomaly situated between different planes of existence. But as long as our sensors aren’t functioning, I can’t determine precisely. Still…perhaps I can get us a rough idea of the size of what we’re dealing with.”
“How?”
“I can use the sonar array dish to generate small-amplitude adiabatic oscillations. If they encounter boundaries, obstructions and such, they will rebound from whatever they strike and be detectable to us if we listen for their reflection. If they don’t return, we know that we’ve got some serious distance around us. Perhaps enough to indicate that we truly are in another galaxy or even universe of some sort. If they do return, we can determine the distance they traveled by measuring the time of the emission of the pulse to our reception of it. We might even be able to construct wave images of whatever it was they ran into. Naturally if we were dealing with deep space, such an alternative to sensors would be fruitless, because there’s no air for sound waves to travel upon. But in this gelatinous mess, it should be feasible.”
“That’s very ingenious,” said Calhoun. “Do you really think it will work?”
“It worked several hundred years ago,” Morgan pointed out, “back when they called it ‘sound navigation and ranging’…or, for short—”
“Sonar. Oh. Right.” Xy looked slightly crestfallen. “That would be sonar, wouldn’t it.”
“Don’t feel bad, Xy,” Burgoyne said consolingly. “Nothing wrong with reinventing the wheel every now and then.”
“Very well, then. Do it,” Calhoun ordered.
“Kebron,” said Xy, moving toward the Brikar, “I’ll need to do this through tactical…”
“Got it.” Kebron didn’t nod, since he effectively had no neck. He stepped back and allowed Xy to step in and start programming the sensor dish for its newly created purpose.
“Morgan,” said Calhoun, as Xy continued his preparations, “do you think you can handle both ops and conn until Tania’s back at her post?”
“Of course, Captain.” Morgan was speaking matter-of-factly, without any trace of boasting. “In point of fact, since I’m effectively the computer system, I could run this entire vessel all by myself.”
“That’s a great idea, Morgan, because having a single computer mind running an entire space vessel…nothing bad has ever happened as a result of that situation.”
She frowned. “That was sarcasm, wasn’t it.”
“Just a touch.”
“Oscillation activated, Captain,” said Xy. “Generating full-radius scan.”
“Excellent. Engine status?”
“We have both warp drive and ion drive available, Captain,” said Morgan.
“Can we move through this…whatever it is?” asked Calhoun.
“We can, yes,” said Burgoyne. “But we shouldn’t move at anything more than sublight speed.”
“Why not?”
“It would be inadvisable.”
“I’m not following, Burgy,” said Calhoun.
“Captain…light speed functions because we essentially slip into warp space while simultaneously bending a bubble of subspace around us. That’s why we don’t become bogged down in Einsteinian paradox. It’s also why warp speed has been having environmental consequences: because it causes wear and tear on the very fabric of space and time itself.”
“So?”
“Oh dear,” Morgan spoke up, and now Xy was nodding as well. “I see the problem.”
“Yes, so do I,” said Xy.
“Excellent, then,” Calhoun said, slapping his palms on the armrests of his chair as if the matter was settled. “As long as everyone else understands, I don’t see why it’s remotely necessary that the captain be right there along with everyone else…”
“The problem, Captain, is that we don’t know where we are,” said Burgoyne. “Subspace, warp space, or any damned space in between. Plus Xy has given us reason to believe that some aspects of the laws of physics might not function in the way that we’re accustomed. If that’s the case and we activate the warp engines…”
“We’re taking the chance that we could shred everything around us,” said Morgan. “Not only could we destroy our surroundings, but we could theoretically initiate a chain reaction that would work its way through every plane of existence and destroy time and space—the very universe—itself.”
Calhoun took this tidbit in. “Okay, yes,” he admitted, “I would tend to classify that as ‘inadvisable.’ Good judgment call. So we proceed on impulse, if we’re to proceed at all, is that it? Going to take us a long time to get anywhere. Then again, since we haven’t the faintest idea where we’re going, I suppose we’re not in all that much of a rush. I mean, Kalinda is still a prisoner on Priatia, and the incendiary political situation in the New Thallonian Protectorate threatens to plunge the entire territory into civil war. But what’s a massive body count between friends?”
There was silence from the rest of the bridge.
“People,” he continued, “I have no desire to bring the entirety of the multiverse crashing down upon our heads. But neither do I want to pretend that we don’t have some serious time pressure at work. We need to figure out what happened, and how to reverse it, and we need to do it soon…before there’s no longer a Thallonian space of any sort to get back to.”
There were echoes of “Aye, sir” throughout the bridge.
That was when Xy suddenly spoke up. “Captain, we’re receiving rebound information from the oscillation waves.”
“I believe the old-fashioned term was ‘pings,’ ” Morgan said.
“We have some pings, Captain,” Xy promptly amended.
“You mean we’re getting a determination of the perimeters of this place?”
“Not so far,” said Xy, crouched over the readings. “But I’m getting a reading on something else.”
“What sort of something else?”
“Something big, Captain,” and he looked up at Calhoun with clear worry on his face. “Something extremely big.”
“Is it the same ship that sent us into this…place?”
“It could be,” said Xy slowly, nodding. “It could very well be.”
“Well then,” Calhoun said with disturbing cheerfulness. “Since our priority is getting back home…let’s head over and introduce ourselves to the neighbors.”
ii.
Dr. Selar was accomplished at maintaining her Vulcan sense of reserve and detachment in just about all situations. The qualifier of “just about” invariably related to interacting with her erstwhile mate, Burgoyne 172, and particularly so when matters were stressful.
“I have six injured crewmen down here,” she told hir over the intercom, glancing around the sickbay to make certain that everyone was being attended to properly. She knew that all her people were top medical personnel. Nevertheless she double-and even triple-checked their work out of force of habit and training. Deep down, she was convinced that no human could be as capable a doctor as a Vulcan. She would never have said that aloud, since it would doubtless have had a negative impact on her people’s morale, but she couldn’t do anything about her opinion. “I would very much like to know,” she continued, “if any more can be expected in the immediate future.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that at the present time, Doctor,” said Burgoyne. “We’re still gathering damage reports.”
“Are we in a hostile environment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are we likely to be in a combat situation in the near future?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know.”
This was precisely the sort of situation in which, were it anyone else, Selar’s inflection would not have changed. But because it was Burgoyne, and because of their history together, she was unable to keep annoyance out of her voice. “Thank you, Commander,” she said, her tone laden with irony. “This has been an extremely enlightening conversation. Selar out.” She heard Burgoyne start to say something in reply, but the connection was obediently severed.
The doors to sickbay hissed open, and Xyon entered, hauling what appeared to be Tania Tobias along with him. She was barely conscious, her head slumped forward, her eyes looking glazed. “Customer, Doc,” he called out. “Possible mild concussion.”
“Thank you for your diagnosis, Dr. Xyon.” She didn’t bother to wait for any of the technicians to come over and lend a hand. Instead Dr. Selar went straight over to them, positioned her arms under Tania, and lifted her clear off the floor.
Xyon made no effort to hide that he was impressed. “That Vulcan strength certainly comes in handy, doesn’t it.”
“It can,” Selar said noncommittally.
“I don’t know why you bother with the nerve pinch when you can just break someone’s neck so they can’t bother you anymore. Why do you?”
She fixed him with a glance. “At the moment, I could not say.” She carried Tobias over to an empty diagnostic bed and laid her down. “Did you see what happened? What she struck her head on?”
“Not really,” Xyon admitted. “Everything was dark at the time. She was found like this.”
“Worlds.”
It had been neither Selar nor Xyon who had spoken. Instead it was Tania, who had come around but appeared to be oblivious of where she was or who was with her. She was staring up at the ceiling with great interest, although Selar couldn’t say whether she actually saw it or was, perhaps, looking right through it.
“What did she say?” asked Xyon.
“Worlds.” It was Tania again, but Selar had the oddest feeling she hadn’t repeated herself in order to accommodate Xyon. Instead she was randomly saying whatever was passing through her mind. “Worlds…in worlds…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
It was not an unreasonable question for him to ask, and yet Selar felt unduly irritated by having to take the time to answer it. Instead she was studying the diagnostic readouts, trying to get a fix on Tania’s brain activity. “There appears to be no subdural trauma. No substantive damage. However, Doctor, I am always open to a second opinion,” she added dryly.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Xyon pointed out.
She sighed with the infinitely annoyed air of one who does not suffer fools gladly. “If I answer it, will you leave?”
“Deal.”
“It was the name of the project she was working on before her…breakdown. Worlds Within Worlds. There had been a growing faction within the Federation arguing that terraforming was a violation of the Prime Directive.”
“Violation? How?” asked Xyon. “I thought terraforming was only done on planets that had no existing life on them.”
“Yes, but the argument went that there was the potential for life and a subsequent civilization on any planet, and the mere act of terraforming amounted to de facto interference.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She hadn’t been looking directly at Xyon, concentrating her efforts on tending to Tobias. Now, however, she glanced at him and said, “I have lived longer than you, Mr. Xyon, and I can tell you with authority that there are very few discussions in the universe that will be quashed simply by dint of the fact that they are ridiculous. In any event, Worlds Within Worlds was conceived as an alternative to terraforming. It involved the creation of artificial spheres in which entire populations would be able to exist. It is a concept that has existed for some time, originally proposed by a physicist named Freeman Dyson and called a Dyson Sphere. Dyson, however, proposed the construction of a megastructure around a star. Worlds Within Worlds entailed the creation of essentially a smaller, far more compact artificial star which would serve as the source of light and energy for the colonists.”
“And something happened to her while she was there?”
“Yes. She suffered a mental collapse of some sort. No one knows why. And even if I did know why, I would not tell you, for we would be moving beyond the realm of that which is public record and into the area of that which is—how best to put it—none of your damned business.”
“Fair enough,” said Xyon. “But if she had, as you say, some kind of breakdown…what’s she doing here?”
“Captain Calhoun decided to take a chance on her.”
“Why?”
“You would have to speak to him about that. Now, if we are quite through…?”
“Okay. Sure, well…thanks for the information.”
Xyon turned and exited the sickbay, much to Selar’s relief. She turned her attention back to Tania Tobias, who was continuing to stare fixedly at the ceiling. Tania’s lips were moving, but nothing seemed to be coming out. Selar leaned forward slightly, her extraordinarily sharp hearing serving her well as she realized that Tania was indeed whispering very, very softly. What she was saying, though, provided little guidance for Selar in terms of how to proceed.
“You know nothing,” Tania whispered. “Nothing. You know nothing at all…”
iii.
Calhoun was absolutely determined not to say “What is that?” yet again. He felt as if he’d been asking that entirely too often, and it made him feel as if he was coming across as perpetually clueless. If one was to lead, one should—at the very least—give the impression that one knew as much as, if not more than, those one was leading.
So it was with a feeling of relief that he was able to see the object ahead of them and know, for a fact, what it was.
It had taken them what felt like
an excruciatingly long time to get there. Calhoun was accustomed to warp speed, even if it was only warp one. Between traveling at sublight and moving through the fierce viscosity of the gelatinous mass of a universe in which they’d been enveloped, Calhoun felt less like the captain of a sleek starship and more like a flea perched atop the head of a hog slogging through mud.
All the time they had been traveling, Calhoun’s mind kept returning to the situation they had left behind. He couldn’t believe that matters had improved in their absence. Frustration was welling up within him. He was positive that Kalinda was a prisoner on Priatia, and that the Priatians were behind the civil war threatening to destroy the entirety of the New Thallonian Protectorate. Here was the Excalibur with this knowledge, tromping around, unable to do anything about it except pray that something turned up that would enable them to get the hell out of there.
He hoped that whatever it was they were about to encounter, it might provide them with that escape they so desperately needed.
Now, as it came into view on the screen, he realized that he might get his wish…but it might not do him any good, either.
“It’s not the same ship,” Burgoyne said, staring as fixedly at the screen as anyone else there.
Calhoun knew s/he was right. The vessel that they were seeing, although it bore a resemblance to the ship that had attacked them and sent them spiraling into this bizarre realm, was not exactly the same. It had that same cross-tube construction that made it look like a giant molecule, but there were far more tunnels cross-connecting. Also, although it was hard for Calhoun to believe, the damned thing was even bigger than the one they’d encountered. It almost offended his sense of propriety.
Apparently Morgan’s thoughts were going in the same direction. “Is it just me,” she asked, “or does anyone else think that there comes a time when something is so big it’s just ridiculous? I mean, at some point it just becomes showing off.”
