Strange New Worlds X

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Stardate 53422.3

  B iting at his thumbnail, Jack stared at the data displayed on his computer screen. “Damn, damn, damn! I’m out of time. Time, time, there’s no more time!”

  Roughly Sixty Trillion Years Later

  The universe, for eons condensing unchecked, finally collapsed upon itself and exploded in a conflagration of light and energy, near-simultaneously annihilating and recreating everything in the entire universe.

  Stardate 53425.6

  Jack stared at his computer screen, running his thumbnail between his two upper central incisors. His calculations just were not adding up. Something was missing.

  The sudden scent of wood laced with graphite wafted past his nose. Jack frowned, inhaling the familiar scent and looking around. His small ward at the Institute hadn’t changed. Same small bed, same small door leading to his small necessary, same small dresser containing his few personal effects. He didn’t have any pencils—not any more.

  The smell faded, and Jack looked around in confusion. His peripheral vision caught his reflection in the computer screen—wait, no, not his reflection. He stared into the computer screen, looking beyond the data displayed there. His own puzzled visage stared back. For just a moment, though, he could have sworn he had seen someone else—someone he’d heard had died well over a year ago. Captain Benjamin Sisko, his fellow mutant friend Julian’s old commanding officer.

  Roughly Sixty Trillion Years Later

  The universe, for eons condensing unchecked, finally collapsed upon itself and exploded in a conflagration of light and energy, near-simultaneously annihilating and recreating everything in the entire universe.

  Stardate 53434.

  Jack stared at the data displayed on his computer screen, picking at his moustache. Several variables shifted toward the negative. He closed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. They were all doomed. No one could see that but him. No one listened to him; they just said “Yes, Jack,” or “All right, Jack,” or “Why don’t you take this and go back to your room, Jack? You’ll feel ever so much better.”

  After a long sigh, he opened his eyes to get back to work, but discovered that he was floating—standing?—in a thick white nothingness. All around him pulsed a sound which he quickly connected to his own heartbeat. He was no idiot; of course it was his own heartbeat—his own genetically enhanced heartbeat, beating in a genetically-perfect rhythm.

  He raised his hand to his mouth so that he could nibble on his thumbnail. He looked around at the blank white expanse. “Hello? Is there anyone there?”

  His own question reflected back in the white otherness, but no response came to him. Frustrated, he wandered around, or at least thought he did. He could feel the commands electrically sent to his muscles, could feel his muscles contracting and expanding, but his environment didn’t move, didn’t change.

  He tried again. “Hello, is there anyone out there? Patrick? Lauren? Anyone?”

  No answer to these questions either. Annoyed, Jack gnawed anew at his thumb.

  An odd voice filtered in through the white. “Doctor Wykoff, please come to isolation ward four. Doctor Wykoff to isolation ward four.”

  Jack looked around in alarm. Who had said that? He couldn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything else other than his heartbeat pulsing around him, inside him.

  “Hello?” Still no answer. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared in the white nothingness, he found himself seated again at his computer in his little ward room, seeing the same grim results displayed on the screen as before. He slapped the monitor. “Damn! I’m wasting too much time.”

  Roughly Sixty Trillion Years Later

  The universe, for eons condensing unchecked, finally collapsed upon itself and exploded in a conflagration of light and energy, near-simultaneously annihilating and recreating everything in the entire universe.

  Stardate 53442.8

  Jack paced back and forth in front of his little computer desk. He stopped, considering a new variable. He leaned over and entered an adjustment into his computer. He frowned at the results. “No, no, no. That’s no good, that’s no good.” He worried at the cuticle around his thumb. “Do that and you lose another hundred million years. Too soon, too soon.”

  He stared at the computer screen again, entered more commands. As he sat down to review his work, he smelled graphite and then found himself surrounded by that white nothingness again. This time, however, a large door, off-white and in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, loomed in front of him. He didn’t see anything around it or behind it, nothing other than that same strange impenetrable mist.

  Jack crossed his arms and gnawed on his cuticle again, taking in this new variable. Should he knock, should he open it, should he leave it? If he left it, where would he go? He turned away from the door and looked around. All around him was the whiteness. There was nowhere else to go. He had no idea how long he had been here before, no idea how long he’d been there this time. His internal clock, enhanced by the genetic manipulation forced on him when he was a child, didn’t seem to wind quite right here.

  He turned back to the door, considering it. That same strange voice filtered out of the nothingness. “Doctor Wykoff, please come to isolation ward four. Doctor Wykoff to isolation ward four.”

  This time it sounded like the voice came from beyond the other side of the door. Jack reached out to the door, drew his hand back, but then reached out to knock on it, forcefully and repeatedly.

  There was no response to his knocking, so he tried the doorknob. It opened at his touch. Curious, he looked in through the doorframe.

  The room beyond was full of couches and chairs and tables, all of which were occupied by men and women—humans—wearing what looked to be pajamas of varying hues and styles. Some of them sat quietly at their seats, some rocked themselves, and still others thrashed about or beat themselves. From time to time a man or woman dressed in white would walk here and there, their white shoes squeaking on the dull blue tile floor. They would pause to talk to a person—patient—Jack corrected himself, and sometimes they would lead one of them away, through one of the many other doors connected to the room. No one seemed to pay Jack any mind. Confused, he stepped forward into the room.

  Roughly Sixty Trillion Years Later

  The universe, for eons condensing unchecked, finally collapsed upon itself and exploded in a conflagration of light and energy, near-simultaneously annihilating and recreating everything in the entire universe.

  Stardate 53445.1

  Jack stared at his computer screen, nibbling a new furrow into his thumb cuticle. He stopped, blinking at the screen. Something had happened. Where had he just been? What the hell was going on?

  He stood up to head for the door, but found himself back in that white nothingness, staring at an off-white door, different than the one he’d seen before. He could tell from the areas of flaking paint that it was a different door. The familiar scent of pencil lead caught Jack’s senses.

  He tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He twisted it and pushed the door open. What, or more specifically, who he saw inside the room stunned him.

  Captain Benjamin Sisko stood in front of one of the room’s walls, wearing eyeglasses and a simple white tunic and pants. He had a short pencil in his hand and he was writing on the wall. Sisko turned to glance at Jack, his pencil half-raised.

  “Hello, Jack. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Confused, Jack walked into the room, his arms crossed. “Captain Sisko?”

  Sisko stifled a giggle. “Sisko? No, no. He’s just one of the characters in my stories.” He gestured at the walls, which were just over half-filled with tightly-packed writing from ceiling to floor.

  Jack stared at him. This wasn’t Captain Sisko. He cleared his throat. “If you’re not Captain Sisko, then who are you? And why am I here?”

  The man grinned and gestured with his pencil at the wall. “I’m Benny Russell. I’m a writer.”

  Jack nodded at the wall
s. “Clearly.” He leaned closer to the wall to read a section of the tightly-packed text. It concerned Deep Space Nine and the war with the Dominion.

  “Why … why are you writing on the walls, um, Benny?”

  Benny flourished his pencil stub. “Because I’m a writer. Because I might be a threat to myself, or to other people.” He shrugged and giggled again.

  Jack grimaced. He’d heard words like that before. Then, one of Benny’s earlier comments struck home. “Wait a minute! You said that Sisko was just one of your characters. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Benny smiled. “I told you. I write stories. Captain Sisko is one of the stars of my stories, or at least he was until he fell into the Fire Caves on Bajor.” Benny gestured toward one of the writing-covered walls. “Now that he’s there, I have other stories to write, other tales to tell.”

  Jack nibbled on his thumb. This didn’t make any sense. More to himself than to Benny, he asked, “What am I doing here?”

  Benny shrugged and turned back to the section of wall he’d been writing on. Over his shoulder, he said, “You’ll have to wait until the end of your story to figure that out.”

  Jack stared at Benny as he resumed writing on the wall. The door behind Jack made a strange noise, and he turned to examine it …

  … and found himself standing just outside one of Deep Space Nine’s large round airlock doors as it cycled open.

  “That’s a stupid question!” yelled a voice Jack recognized as belonging to his friend and fellow Institute inmate, Patrick. Jack glanced just ahead and saw Patrick in his stolen Starfleet admiral’s uniform, his usually wild thinning hair combed back in an orderly fashion. Two security guards stood in front of Patrick, trading confused looks.

  Thinking fast, Jack moved quickly to get in front of Patrick. He said, “Ah, the admiral is here to see Doctor Bashir.” Quickly, he added, “You don’t want to keep the admiral waiting, do you?”

  The two security guards traded glances. The senior of the two nodded at Jack and Patrick. “Sorry, Lieutenant, Admiral. Welcome to Deep Space Nine.”

  Jack glanced down at himself and saw that he was wearing a Starfleet lieutenant’s uniform. He nodded at the two security officers and led Patrick onto the Promenade and toward the station’s Infirmary. He glanced at Patrick as they walked.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “That’s a stupid question!”

  Jack squeezed Patrick’s arm, hard.

  Patrick winced. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”

  “Don’t play the Starfleet admiral with me! What are we doing here?”

  Patrick looked downcast. “You wanted to come here to see Julian. You asked me and Lauren to come with you.” He sniffed. Jack could see tears welling up in his friend’s eyes.

  Jack glanced around the Promenade. “Lauren’s here?”

  Patrick nodded. “Yes. She’s securing the shuttle we, ah, borrowed from the Institute.” He rubbed his arm where Jack had squeezed it. “Why are you so mean?”

  Jack crossed his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t take your arm off, you know.” He grabbed a jumja stick off a nearby kiosk. The proprietor of the stand objected, but Jack ignored her.

  “Here, take this.” He handed the jumja stick to Patrick, who accepted it with a large grin. “I’m sorry. All better now?”

  Patrick stuck the confection in his mouth and nodded.

  Jack said, “Now let’s go find that doctor.” He led the way to the Infirmary, where he expected to find his old friend, Julian Bashir, fellow mutant freak and quite possibly the only person who could help Jack figure out what was happening to him.

  Jack leaned his head into the Infirmary, noting that there was just one nurse on duty and no Doctor Bashir at his desk. The nurse noticed Jack.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Jack giggled at the reference and crossed his arms. “Why, yes, yes, you can help us. Me. Us. We’re looking for your commander-in-chief, the head doctor.”

  Lauren, Jack’s lovely friend and also a guest of the Institute, slid in next to Jack and gave the nurse a winning smile. She was wearing a lieutenant’s uniform as well. She said, “We’re such dear friends of Julian’s and we’d just love to see him.”

  The nurse glanced at Lauren, then turned back to Patrick. “I’m sorry, sir. Doctor Bashir isn’t on duty at the moment. If this is an emergency, I can contact him for you, of course.”

  Jack shrugged and crossed his arms. “Thank you, but I think we can find him on our own.”

  Lauren leaned in. “It’s a surprise for Julian, you see. He’ll be so thrilled to see us.”

  The nurse moved toward the Infirmary’s comm system. “Here, let me call him for you….”

  Jack blocked her path. “No, no, don’t bother.” He gave her a quick once-over. “Thanks for your help anyway. We’ll find him ourselves.”

  Jack led Patrick and Lauren out of the Infirmary, leaving the nurse behind. As they moved toward one of the station’s lifts, Patrick said, “We could have let her contact Doctor Bashir. She was only trying to help.”

  Jack crossed his arms as they entered the lift. “She wasn’t moving fast enough. We don’t have time to waste.” He glanced at the ceiling. “Habitat ring, section D-47.”

  As the lift moved toward their destination, Lauren draped herself on the handrail. “You’re in such a rush, Jack. You should really step back and enjoy the moment. That nurse liked you.”

  Jack chewed on his thumb. “I know, I know that! I don’t have time for attractions, for dilly-dallies. I have the universe to save, and I need Doctor Bashir’s help.” He paused as the lift slowed to a stop. He glanced at his two companions. “But don’t tell him I told you that.”

  He turned around and stepped off the turbolift …

  … and through the off-white door into the large white room with blue tile and dozens of patients in pajamas. Jack stopped in his tracks and looked behind him. The door he had walked through was behind him, closed. He tried the handle, but it was locked. There was no sign of Patrick or Lauren, or DS9 for that matter.

  He glanced at the patients in the room. As before, some of them busied themselves with games, books, or jigsaw puzzles, while others sat quietly or mumbled to themselves. A couple of them hit themselves, but the ever-present orderlies were quick to move over and stop them from the selfflagellations.

  Jack stepped over to one of the orderlies who had a stethoscope draped over her neck. “Excuse me.”

  The woman turned her attention on Jack. “Hello, what are you doing up and about?”

  Jack blinked. “What?” He glanced at her nametag. “Why shouldn’t I be up and about, Doctor Wilson? Hmm?”

  She gave him a small smile. “You know this is your rest time, Jack. Didn’t you take your medicine?”

  Jack crossed his arms. “My medicine? I don’t have to take any medicine.”

  She placed her hand on one of his arms and led him toward one of the side doors. “Now, Jack, you know you need your medicine or you’re never going to get better. Why don’t you come with me.” Jack noted that the last statement was an order, not a question or a request. He pulled his arm out of her grasp.

  “No, I don’t need to go with you, and I don’t need any medicine. I’m here …” He paused. Why was he here? He wasn’t sick, he wasn’t losing his mind. He was here to find … Benny?

  A voice filtered over the loudspeaker set in one corner of the room. “Doctor Wykoff to isolation ward four. Doctor Wykoff to isolation ward four.”

  Jack nodded. He’d heard that before—every time he was here or in that white fog, he’d heard that same voice.

  He looked at Doctor Wilson. “Take me to isolation ward four. I want to see Benny. Benny Russell.”

  Wilson gave him a smile that Jack suspected was utterly insincere. “I can’t do that, Jack, but I can get you close. You’re staying in isolation ward five. We’ll go right by four. Okay?”

  The tone of her voice suggested to Jack that she
’d brook no argument, so he nodded and allowed her to lead him through the door and out of the main room.

  They walked down a wide off-white corridor lined with several additional doors. As Wilson led him deeper into the labyrinthine building, Jack said, “Can we hurry it up a bit? I don’t have time to waste.”

  Wilson kept moving him forward. “We’re almost there, Jack.” She pointed at one door as they passed it. “That’s isolation ward four.”

  Jack craned his neck to keep it in sight as they passed by. It looked like any of the other doors in the corridor. Wilson stopped in front of the next door down the hall. “This is your home. Isolation ward five.”

  Jack glanced at her, then at the door. He nibbled at his thumb nail. “What if I don’t want to go home?”

  She shook her head and unlocked the door, swung it open. “This is your home, Jack.”

  Jack crossed his arms again. He leaned into the small room. The walls were covered in some white fabric, and there was a small window set high in the far wall, casting a little filtered sunlight into the room. The room was otherwise featureless.

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t want to go in. I want to see Benny!”

  Wilson sighed. “Jack, don’t do this again.” She gestured into the room. “Go on in and I’ll bring you something to drink.”

  A gruff voice behind them asked, “Is there a problem here, Doctor Wilson?”

  Jack and Wilson turned to look at the newcomer. A dour man about Jack’s height stood in the hallway, wearing a frown and a white lab coat.

  Wilson said, “Actually, yes, Doctor Wykoff.” She indicated Jack. “Jack doesn’t want to go into his ward room.”

  Wykoff stared at Jack. “Why not, Jack? You know you’re much more comfortable in your room.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, I want to see Benny. I need his help.”

  Wykoff shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jack. You know you can’t see the other patients in the other wards. Benny has enough problems of his own—he can’t help you until he helps himself.” He paused, staring at Jack. “The same can be said for you, actually.”