Enigma Ship

by J. Steven York, Christina F. York

  Captain Scott seemed to notice the bowl for the first time. “Sorry about your lunch, David. This is one of those instances where seconds could mean the difference between life and death.”

  Under better circumstances, Gold might have grinned. Captain Scott was a man out of time, an officer from the golden days of two-fisted space exploration. He didn’t shy from the dramatic, or even the melodramatic. It was something Gold liked in Scott, even as he found it sorely lacking in himself. “My people are on their way, and we’re already en route at maximum warp. It sounds like we should hit the ground running, so to speak.”

  “Aye, that’s the way I see it. Everything we’ve got on the situation has been transferred to your computers under the heading ‘Enigma,’ but I wanted to brief you all personally.”

  The door opened and the S.C.E. crew began to file in, led by Gomez and Corsi.

  Gold nodded to acknowledge their arrival. “Warm up your padds, there’s work to be done.”

  “Always is,” replied Gomez, pulling out her personal access data display.

  Corsi’s reaction was different. She stopped and studied the captain, her eyes narrowed. He could see her mind working furiously.

  Corsi wasn’t an engineer, far from it. Beyond fieldstripping a hand phaser in the dark, or setting a demolitions charge, she steered clear of technical subjects. If the current mission concerned her, she knew there was a threat involved, either to the ship, or the crew. Playing watchdog to a ship full of egghead engineers, often oblivious to their own safety, was her job. She took it very seriously.

  Lense, Soloman, Blue, Abramowitz, and Stevens quickly followed and took their seats, Blue scuttling across the room and crawling onto her special chair at the far end of the table. Gold noticed Duffy bringing up the rear, a distracted frown on his face.

  “Computer, display file Enigma on the main viewer.” A screen on the wall lit with the files entry screen, Scott’s image shifting to an inset in the upper-right-hand corner.

  Gomez frowned as she looked over the file’s contents. “This is a search-and-rescue operation? I’d think there were better-equipped ships in the sector for that.”

  Scott sighed. “Well now, that’s the rub. The U.S.S. Chinook is already on station, but they’re having no luck getting inside the bloody thing, or even figuring out what in blazes it is. Command has a vital relief mission for them across the sector, and they’re going to have to get under way in just a few hours.”

  “More vital than a missing starship?” Gold asked.

  “According to Starfleet Command, this is classified as a salvage operation where the Lincoln is concerned. We know the Lincoln struck what they’re calling a navigation hazard at sublight speed. The object is about a hundred kilometers in diameter, and the Lincoln didn’t come out the other side. That means it was likely decelerated from two-hundred and fifty thousand KPH to the navigation hazard’s speed, about ten thousand KPH.”

  Gold felt his jaw clench involuntarily as he thought about it.

  Shaking his head, Stevens said, “Even with inertial dampers, that should have torn the Lincoln to shreds, and turned its crew into paste. Not something I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

  “That’s what Starfleet assumes, Mr. Stevens. There’s also the matter of a freighter crewman who disappeared inside the object under less violent circumstances. Starfleet hasn’t given up on him, but the Chinook ‘s mission is of planetary importance. They expect you go in, rescue that merchantman if possible, recover any wreckage, and deal with this blasted navigation hazard, but that’s nae the way I think. The crew of the Lincoln is as certain paste as I’m seventy-five years dead on a derelict ship. Until I see evidence of the wreckage and the bodies, we’ll be working on the assumption that those people are alive and in need of our immediate help.”

  This time Gold did grin, just a little. Scott had come back from the dead more than once, after all. “If I’m ever in trouble, Scotty, I should have someone like you looking for me. Fine, search and rescue, then. By the book. If there’s any way possible, we’ll be bringing them back alive.”

  Scotty’s lined face brightened a bit. “Aye, I knew I could count on you lot. It’s stumped the science types on the Chinook, so I’m hoping an engineering approach will do better. Just don’t forget the main thing is to crack that egg open and get any survivors out. Captain Gold, I’ll stop my meddling and let you get on with your work. Good luck to ye, and keep me posted.”

  The screen blanked, replaced by an annoyingly incomplete scan of the enigma object.

  Gold turned back to the crew. “We’ll be pulling alongside the object in about eight hours, but we should know what we’re doing when we get there. Comments?”

  Blue made a little bell-like noise, her equivalent to clearing her throat. “Captain Scott’s egg metaphor, while gruesome, appears quite accurate. It seems impossible to understand this object from surface observations. To understand it better, we’ll need to find a way to penetrate to its interior.”

  Gomez nodded. “That’s what we’ll need to focus on then.”

  “Remember,” Gold said, “our immediate goal here isn’t complete or immediate understanding of the Enigma, it’s results. We’ll try anything, and we’ll try everything.”

  “It would help,” Stevens said, “if we could see inside the thing.”

  “Good point, Fabian,” Gomez said with another nod. “Take the lead on that. Find us a window inside that thing, visual, sensors, probing with a long metal rod—anything that’ll give us some useful information.”

  “One more thing,” said Stevens. “This freighter crewman, Wayne Omthon, who’s lost inside? I’m pretty sure I’ve met him. My parents run a shuttle service in the Rigel colonies, and he’s hauled express cargo through there while I was visiting. Apparently Rigel is a regular stop for his ship.”

  “It’s a small galaxy,” said Corsi.

  “But I wouldn’t want to paint it,” said Duffy.

  Gold talked over their banter with the ease of long practice. “Can you tell us anything useful about him?”

  Stevens scratched his chin for a moment, considering. “Mom once said he was part-human, part-green Orion. Not sure why that was noteworthy.”

  Corsi grinned, as though someone had just told her a secret joke.

  Stevens studied her face for a moment, puzzled, then moved on. “He has a good reputation as an engineer. Apparently he’s come up with some innovations to improve the engine efficiency on Profit-class Ferengi-built freighters, which have been widely adopted.”

  Gold mulled this for a moment. “You think that’s significant?”

  “Reports are he’s smart and resourceful. He may have found, or at least stumbled upon, a way to open a chink in the Enigma’s hide. Maybe if we can figure out how he did it, we won’t have to reinvent the wheel.”

  “It’s worth keeping in mind,” Gomez said. “Thanks, Fabian.” She turned her attention to Blue. “Pattie, assuming we can find a way inside the Enigma, we’ll need contingency plans for sending a team inside, and what they’ll do once they get there. I want you working on that.” Her gaze shifted briefly to Soloman, who sat silently, listening intently, and yet contributing little. “Soloman will work with you. Soloman, you’re checked out to operate an EVA pod, right?”

  It was difficult to read the little Bynar’s expression, but Gold thought he was surprised. “Commander? Er—I have access to all operational manuals and training materials though the ship’s computers, as well as an accumulated six hundred and thirty-two thousand hours of flight logs—however, in terms of practical experience—”

  “Blue,” Gold interrupted, “see to it that Soloman is checked out on the simulator and ready to fly by the time we arrive. They’re so automated, I could train a Denebian mud-monkey to fly an EVA pod. I imagine the finest computer expert in Starfleet should have no trouble.”

  Soloman blinked. “May I inquire—?”

  “I doubt we’ll just be able to beam into this thing,�
�� Gomez said. “We’ll need our team out there in suits, and I’ll want someone standing by just outside, to observe and provide assistance if necessary. In an EVA pod, you’ll be able to get up close and personal with it, and comfortably stay on station much longer than someone in a space suit.”

  Soloman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was an uncharacteristically human gesture. “Commander, I do not know if—”

  “You can do this, Soloman. You will do it.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “That covers the major assignments. The rest of you provide any support or resources you can. Teams should coordinate and share information. I’ll expect progress reports at least an hour before we drop out of warp.”

  Gomez looked at Gold, who gave an approving nod. “Good,” he said, and glanced around the room. “Anything else?”

  “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Carol Abramowitz, the team’s cultural specialist, asked.

  Gold looked at her. “Excuse me?”

  Abramowitz shrugged. “Sorry, Captain. Just thinking out loud. That seems to be the fundamental question, the one the Chinook couldn’t answer. Is the Enigma animal, vegetable, or mineral? Knowing which one would give us a better idea what approach to take in breaking it open. But without breaking it open, there’s no way to answer the question.”

  * * *

  Following the meeting, Captain David Gold returned to the bridge of the da Vinci, more as a matter of his own comfort than of any necessity. As the doors parted, he basked in the atmosphere of the place: the subdued lighting that reflected his own preferences, the chatter of com traffic, the cool, efficient voice of the computer issuing from several consoles simultaneously, and the focused energy of his bridge crew as they went about their job.

  As usual, the tactical officer, Lieutenant McAllan, bellowed, “Captain on the bridge.” Gold had given up trying to break the by-the-book lieutenant of the habit.

  He stepped up to the command chair, slid his fingertips across the cool metal of its arm, and settled into the cushions.

  It was a comfortable chair, perhaps the most comfortable one he’d ever sat in, yielding where it needed to, and yet supporting his back firmly. When he sat in it, his body naturally fell into the correct posture, both comfortable and alert.

  He wished he had a chair that felt this good in his cabin. If they ever had to abandon ship, he’d get the crew off first, then hope there was a spare escape pod for the chair.

  “Status report, Ensign Wong.”

  Wong swiveled in his chair to face the Captain. It was an annoying habit common to Academy graduates these days. Keep your eyes on the road, thought Gold, but he said nothing. I’m just being an old curmudgeon. The ship can fly itself for a minute.

  “On course at warp nine point five, captain. All systems nominal. ETA, sixteen hours, thirty six minutes.”

  “Steady as she goes.”

  Wong nodded, and turned back to his console.

  About time. He smiled at himself. You are turning into a curmudgeon, David Gold. Keep this up, and you’re going to start to frightening your great-grandchildren as much as your junior officers. Appreciate what you’ve got here. She was a good little ship, and this was a good chair. Not the most glamorous command in Starfleet, and there were probably those who would look at it with some scorn, but it suited David Gold, and he knew it.

  S.C.E. ships didn’t go looking for battles, nor did they seek out strange new worlds. Often enough, those things found them, but that was almost never the plan. Captain Gold believed he spent as much time shepherding his brilliant and sometimes eccentric crew as he did charting courses across the galaxy. This ship and her crew faced battles of a completely different kind, and together they made discoveries no less profound, no less important. Moreover, everywhere they went, they left things better, things built, repaired, restored, improved. They made a difference.

  It was something he wouldn’t trade for anything.

  The turbolift doors slid open and Corsi stepped onto the bridge. Gold knew from the look on her face that something was bothering her, yet she hesitated to approach him.

  “Back so soon, Corsi? Come. We’ll talk.”

  Gold stood, a bit reluctantly, and gestured to the door of the ready room. Corsi followed as he crossed the short distance, and stepped inside.

  “I was wondering, Captain, why I didn’t receive a specific assignment regarding Enigma.”

  Gold stood near the doorway. He faced Corsi, her concern clear in her expression. “You’re my chief of security, Corsi. You know your job.”

  “Exactly, sir. We’re moving into a threat situation. I should be part of the planning.”

  “You know your input is always welcome, Corsi.”

  “I meant a specific part of the planning.”

  “This mission has potential hazards, yes, but this Enigma object isn’t something I’d classify as a threat. It’s made no overt hostile moves, demonstrated no weapons capability, nor even the ability to move at warp.”

  Corsi frowned. Her face was tight, drawn. She worried too much, relaxed too little. Gold wondered if it was his job as captain to try and change that.

  “Captain, a volcano isn’t hostile either, and yet it can be plenty dangerous.”

  Gold nodded. “Corsi, I understand how you feel, but this is still an engineering problem, and perhaps I put you in the middle of engineering problems too often. There are times that’s necessary and appropriate, but I don’t see that this is one of them.” He watched her frown deepen. “When you’re put in the middle of an engineering problem, Corsi, I sometimes wonder if it compromises the engineering, and if it compromises the security concerns as well. Let the individual teams handle the engineering matters.”

  “Even when I know they’ll be putting themselves in danger?”

  “I said you know your job, Corsi. Be watchful, keep them safe, but give them the space to work. You’re a professional, but so are they. Trust them as you trust yourself.”

  “Bridge to captain.” It was Lieutenant Ina, at ops. “We have an incoming transmission from the Chinook. “

  He could still read doubt in Corsi’s face, though she’d never question his orders. He smiled reassuringly. “Let’s try something different this time. It could be good. You never know.”

  As Gold stepped back onto the bridge, his smile faded, and he slipped back into business mode. “On screen, Lieutenant.”

  It had been a number of years since their last encounter, but he recognized Christa Otis, captain of the Chinook. He tried to remember the circumstances. Some casual gathering of senior officers on Starbase 96? He was twenty years Christa’s senior, which still made her a seasoned officer by most standards. Still, he felt a certain fatherly affection for her. He briefly considered making small talk, but something in her expression told him this wasn’t the time. Worry lines wrinkled her forehead, and her skin seemed pallid.

  “David. I didn’t know they were sending you, but I’m glad. Right now it means a lot to me that I’m turning this situation over to someone I trust.”

  “What’s wrong, Chris?”

  Her jaw clinched, and she looked away from the screen. “I’ve got orders to get under way to Salem II, David, maximum warp. Unless we can stop the blight there immediately, three hundred million people are going to starve come harvest time. There’s no choice at all.”

  “Chris—”

  “I’m leaving without two of my people, David. They were setting navigation buoys around the thing when they, and the buoys, just vanished.” Gold could see the effort it took for her to control her anger, in the tight line of her jaw, and her ramrod-straight posture. “It got bigger, just swallowed them up, and there’s not a blasted thing I can do about it.”

  Gold glanced over at Corsi, who, despite her best efforts at restraint, was giving him the “I told you so” face.

  Chapter

  3

  “How,” asked Carol Abramowitz, grunting as she slammed a handball off the f
ar wall of the court, “did I get this assignment?”

  Dr. Lense dashed to intercept the ball, smashed it with rocketlike power. It bounced off the wall and was past Abramowitz before she could react. Lense recovered the ball and bounced it against the floor so that it snapped back into her hand. “As I recall, ‘this assignment’ was your idea. ‘Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral, that is the question.’”

  Abramowitz sighed and wiped the sweat off her upper lip. “I know that, but I’m a cultural specialist. None of those really fall into my area.”

  “I’m a doctor, and the captain asked me to assist. That makes even less sense, if you want to think about it that way. I’d say he wants a couple of intelligent people not locked into some fixed technical or scientific viewpoint. This doesn’t fit into any neat categories. Maybe trying to make it fit is what threw the Chinook off.”

  Abramowitz sighed again, lifting her short black hair off her neck. “What’s the score?”

  “I’m winning,” said Lense.

  “I don’t doubt it, but what’s the score?”

  “I play to win. I’m winning.”

  “But the score?”

  “I’m not keeping score, I’m just winning.”

  “You’re not keeping score?”

  “Don’t need to. If you want to, you keep score.”

  “I don’t know how. I’ve never played handball. I swat this ball against the wall until I miss, that’s all I know. Why are we playing handball?”

  “You want my help? I think better while breaking a sweat.”

  “That makes one of us.” She plopped down in the corner, her back against the glass observation wall.

  Lense put her hands on her hips and frowned. “You’re no fun at all.” She waited to see if Abramowitz reacted, which she didn’t. “I’ve got the rec room for thirty more minutes. The computer can shift things around and we can play something else. Racquetball, roto-goal, Bolian squash—there’s a ping-pong table that pops out of the floor.”

  “I don’t play any of those, or Aztec basketball either.”