Enigma Ship

by J. Steven York, Christina F. York

  “This happened, on the four-hundred-and-sixth day of the twentieth season of our voyage through the black ocean. We were trapped for a time, but we escaped and after many adventures on the black ocean, returned here, to these fine sands.”

  “Kieran,” said Gomez, “maybe we shouldn’t talk about this with the ‘locals’ till we know more.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “Friends,” said Pattie, “we are not alone.”

  They turned to see a bright ball of light emerge from the cliff face. As it approached, it dimmed and changed form, into something more humanoid this time.

  The being was shorter than Duffy, with caramel-colored skin, its head owl-like and topped with short brown feathers. The eyes were yellow, which surprised Duffy not at all. “This isn’t your story,” said the owl. “You must not interfere.”

  Duffy turned to the behemoth. “Nice meeting you, but I think we’ll be go—”

  * * *

  “—ing.” Duffy staggered as the gravity changed.

  Clouds of dust blew past him, kicked up by elephant-sized beasts that marched single file through the marketplace, cargo carried in slings tied between the tail of one animal and a blunt horn on the nose of the next.

  One of the beasts contemplated him with a blue eye the size of his fist, a gaze suggesting intelligence, if not sentience. Then it snorted and moved on.

  The plaza was crowded with thousands of people representing dozens of races, none familiar to Duffy. Open-air stalls sold goods of all kinds: food, artwork, and items of unfamiliar, yet obviously advanced, technology.

  The first impression had been of a primitive market, but Duffy realized this might be an illusion. The primitive aspects might be recreational, or perhaps ceremonial.

  Certainly, everyone seemed to be having a good time. He had the impression of a vast party, or a fair.

  He, Gomez, and Pattie stood close together, earning no more than the occasional curious glance in the sea of races. This was obviously a place used to unfamiliar visitors.

  “I believe,” said Pattie, “we have been sent somewhere where we can do the least harm.”

  Duffy nodded. “That light entity was real, and he was clearly upset we were interfering with the alien’s ‘story.’”

  Gomez looked around. “I wonder how much of this is real? Not much, I’d wager.”

  “I agree,” said Duffy. “This was created for someone else’s benefit, and it could be only a few of the thousands of beings here. Maybe only one of them.”

  Gomez pointed towards a largely empty seating area. In the middle was a large platform with an elaborate machine on it, constructed of brass and glass pipes. It might have been a sculpture, or a musical instrument on a stage, it was hard to tell.

  “Since we aren’t likely to find anyone real to talk to, I suggest we sit down and assess our situation.”

  There were benches and perchlike rails, in a variety of sizes. Duffy found one that looked right and sat down, Gomez taking the seat next to him.

  Duffy reflected on their situation, and nodded his head in amazement. “The Lincoln can’t be the first ship to get trapped inside Enigma. There must have been dozens, hundreds maybe, and nobody escapes because they think they already have. They continue their voyages, go home, even die of old age, never realizing that they’re living in a holo-simulation.”

  “Agreed,” said Pattie. “This obviously has been going on for a long time. None of these species are familiar to us.”

  “Based on its course,” said Duffy, “Enigma just crossed the Ronde void, a region almost devoid of stars. The area beyond it is unexplored by the Federation. All we know about it is from scattered reports purchased from the Ferengi. I bet that’s where these species came from.” He watched as a turbaned vendor draped a jeweled chain around the neck of a skeptical customer. “But we’ve got no way of knowing if all of them are really present, or if they’re simply re-created from someone’s memory.”

  Gomez watched another of the “elephant trains” pass by, this one carrying egg-shaped gondolas full of passengers.

  “What I don’t understand, is how anyone could not know they’re in a simulation, after they’ve seen the kinds of things we did.”

  P8 reared up on her back four legs, her antenna waving. “We did not enter Enigma on a colliding ship. Our experience may not be typical.”

  Duffy shrugged. “She’s right. Maybe there’s an automatic response to a ship collision, and they just end up in simulated space until a more complete simulation can be created.”

  Gomez nodded. “Of course. They wouldn’t need a simulation until the colliding ship was supposed to reach a planet.”

  Duffy frowned. “I have one other concern. If we do find our way out, how do we know we’ve found our way out? We could end up like the rest of these prisoners, passengers, whatever you want to call them. We could be back on the da Vinci, happy as targs in blood, when we’re really still in a simulation.”

  “The difference between all of them, and us,” Gomez said, holding up the magnetic probe, “is that we have the key to reality.” She activated it, and pushed it through the metal bench.

  Pattie made one of her contemplative noises. “The light entity—do you think it is part of Enigma’s crew, or some aspect of the ship’s automated systems, or its holoprogramming?”

  “Maybe part of the program,” said Gomez. “It seems pretty single-minded.”

  “I am not so sure,” said Pattie. “If all these other beings can survive here, there’s no obvious reason the crew shouldn’t be alive as well.”

  Duffy looked up at a nearby vendor’s tent. “Maybe we should just ask. Here it comes.”

  They turned and watched as the ball of light approached. It changed form; this time it was fully humanoid, Bolian to be exact, and it wore a Starfleet uniform. “You don’t belong here,” it said, “but now I know where you do belong.”

  “We’re from the Federation Starship da Vinci,” said Gomez, standing and showing her open hands. “We mean no harm to this ship. Are you part of its crew? We need to speak with the crew.”

  The pseudo-Bolian looked puzzled. “I am a keeper of order. I keep the stories on their paths. You don’t belong here. You take me from my own story, and I wish to return to it.”

  “Please,” said Gomez, “are you real?”

  She reached for the magnetic probe again, activated it, and extended it towards the Bolian.

  He shimmered, and for a moment, Duffy could see what was underneath—a floating machine a little bigger than his torso. On top of it, a small creature looked out at him with intelligent, yellow eyes.

  Then the Bolian was restored, an annoyed expression on his face. He pushed the probe away, seemingly no longer affected by it. “That device interferes with the story. It disrupts the experience. You should not use it.” He frowned. “You don’t belong here.”

  Gomez’s eyes went wide. “Kieran, helmets, now!”

  Duffy affixed his helmet to his head, just as the Bolian image reached out a hand, and his stomach lurched—

  Chapter

  9

  They were floating, floating among stars. Duffy was relieved to see that his helmet’s seals were intact. A quick glance over to Gomez showed that hers was also.

  Gomez, meanwhile, looked at their Nasat companion. “Pattie, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Like you, Commander, I anticipated this and closed my breathing passages before our transport.”

  Duffy looked around. “Is this really space? The stars look right.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” said Gomez, “but there’s nothing to test with the probe. If it’s real space, though, where’s the da Vinci?“

  Duffy activated his suit’s communicator. “Away team to da Vinci, do you read? Can you get a transporter lock on us?”

  “Stand by,” said an unfamiliar voice, “we’re homing in on your signal.”

  Duffy saw something moving at the edge o
f his vision, and turned to face it—a bright, moving, dot that quickly grew larger in the distance.

  “It’s a Federation ship,” said Pattie, “but it’s not the da Vinci. “

  As Duffy watched, the dot resolved itself into the sleek shape of an Intrepid-class starship. He could just read the markings U.S.S. LINCOLN across its bow when the transporter effect enveloped him.

  * * *

  Fabian Stevens put down his molecular welder and looked up over the torpedo casing on his workbench.

  Across the hololab, Soloman sat bolt upright in a chair, looking straight ahead, unmoving. Only the furious flashing of the lights on his belt-mounted data buffer hinted at how hard he was working.

  “Thank you,” said Stevens, “for your help on programming, Soloman. This is well beyond my humble computer skills.”

  Soloman turned his head slightly towards Stevens. “Thank you for asking me. The construction of a narrow-bandwidth, data-redundant, self-installing message worm to operate in the limited environment of a tricorder is a stimulating challenge. It is good to have function, to participate in the rescue of my crewmates. I feel”—he paused, as a rapid burst passed through the data buffer—“responsible for their disappearance.”

  Stevens shook his head. “Now that’s just silly, Soloman. There was nothing you could have done. If you hadn’t been standing by, we might not even have been able to warn them.”

  Soloman blinked rapidly. It reminded Stevens of the lights on the data buffer.

  “Lt. Commander Corsi had me beamed from the module immediately after their disappearance. If I had been on station, I would have been in a position to be of more assistance, to observe the situation directly and provide data necessary to their rescue.”

  “Beaming you back was Corsi’s call, and Captain Gold’s, Soloman.” Stevens retrieved a relay from the parts replicator. “The module is still out there, operated from the bridge. It’s keeping the breach open, just in case, and relaying sensor readings. I’m not sure what else you could be doing out there.”

  “If they should return, they will need me to pilot them back to the ship.”

  Stevens bent over the torpedo casing, and fitted the relay into place. “They can be beamed back, or the module can be flown home by remote control.”

  Stevens glanced up as the lights on Soloman’s data buffer abruptly went dark, and he turned to face Stevens. “They will need someone—to be waiting there for them when they return.”

  Stevens considered this for a moment. He couldn’t argue. Part of him wanted to be out there, too.

  Soloman broke the silence. “We Bynars, we are aware that we are—unusual among humanoid species; that some species look upon us with disfavor.”

  Stevens blinked in surprise, the relay momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean?”

  “We are small. We are physically weak. We are linked closely to computers in a way that some humanoids find disturbing, or even repulsive. Even our aversion to ambiguity is disturbing to some. Yet we have always reached out to other species. We are a curious people. But some say we are not brave.”

  “Soloman, I don’t think anyone on this ship questions your courage—”

  “I wonder. What if Lt. Commander Corsi beamed me back in anticipation that this was my wish?”

  “Trust me, Soloman, she would have done the same for any of us.” Stevens chuckled dryly. “She’s protective of us crazy engineering types. I think that’s why the captain pulled her back a little this mission, to remind her we need room to work.”

  “Yet I have noted that she will place herself, and her security people, in danger.”

  Stevens nodded. “When the situation calls for it, yeah. But that’s what they’re trained for, and she trains them hard.” He waved a hand in the direction of the corridor. “Haven’t you seen them working out down at the court? When Lense isn’t playing handball, anyhow. When we pull into a starbase, while the rest of us are taking shore leave, Corsi is rotating her people down so they can run combat simulations on a real holodeck.”

  “I do not like uncertainty,” said Soloman. “I do not seek danger. Yet I would prefer to be out in the module, waiting for my crewmates. Do you know what the Klingons say of my people?”

  “No.”

  “They say ‘a Bynar never stands alone.’ I gather they mean great disrespect in this. Yet when my friends disappeared, I was as alone in that module as I have ever been in my life, even more alone than when 111 died. Yet I did not wish to return to the ship. I wished to fulfill my duties, to be of service to my shipmates. I would be there still, if I could.”

  Stevens grinned. “You’ve come a long way, Soloman. You can watch my back anytime.”

  Soloman blinked, then turned away. The data buffer began to flash again. “I will take that as a compliment, Fabian, but I do not consider your back to be especially interesting.”

  Stevens laughed and picked up his tools. “Let’s get this done. We have a message to send.”

  * * *

  It’s good to be out of the space suit, thought Gomez, adjusting her fresh uniform, even if it made her a little nervous.

  She half expected the “Keeper of Order” to appear through the wall of their assigned quarters at any moment and transport them somewhere else, but logically, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Whatever force controlled their fate on Enigma, had decided they belonged on a Federation vessel. This was likely their final destination.

  Large windows lined the curved wall. To all appearances, the Lincoln was under way at warp speed.

  A set of doors opened, and Duffy emerged from an adjoining bedroom.

  They’d been assigned to a large guest suite, and even with three of them, it was luxurious by the standards of the da Vinci. Even Captain Gold’s quarters weren’t this big.

  “Interesting that we got VIP quarters,” she said. “But I’d feel a lot better about it if there weren’t a pair of armed security officers standing outside.”

  The cushions on the couch under the windows stirred, and Pattie emerged from where she’d tunneled in to rest. “I feel much refreshed,” she said.

  “Good,” said Gomez, “I wish I’d had time for a nap myself. We need a clear head here.”

  Duffy looked puzzled. “We were looking for the Lincoln, and we’ve found it. If our situation isn’t perfect, it’s much improved. Moreover, this ship is real. We’ve tested it.”

  She nodded her head towards the windows. “But is that real? We assume not, but we can’t be sure.”

  “If it is a simulation,” said Pattie, “then whose simulation is it? We know Enigma’s holographic systems have a telepathic capability they use to create their simulations. In this case, would it base the simulation on the thoughts of the entire crew, or perhaps just one individual?”

  “Judging by those guards outside,” said Gomez, “we don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Clearly somebody, probably Captain Newport, is suspicious of us. If the simulation is based on his thoughts—Well, remember what Reg warned us about. He may not want to know this is a simulation.”

  The door slid open, and an Andorian security officer leaned in. “The captain will see you now.”

  The three of them followed her to the elevator, and three decks up to the captain’s ready-room off the ship’s bridge.

  Captain Newport sat behind his desk, the top empty except for a three-dimensional chess board in the center. A green-skinned man dressed in civilian clothing sat in a chair to his right. They appeared to be in the middle of a game. From what Gomez could tell, the green-skinned man was winning.

  Both men stood as they entered the room. The green-skinned man seemed to study them with special interest.

  The captain put out his hand to Gomez. “I’m Captain Newport, welcome to the Lincoln.”

  “I’m Commander Sonya Gomez, first officer of the U.S.S. da Vinci, and this is my second officer, Lt. Commander Kieran Duffy, and one of our engineers, P8 Blue.”

  He ges
tured at a trio of chairs arrayed around his desk. “Please sit down.”

  Gomez and Duffy took their seats. P8 climbed into the chair, but it wasn’t designed for her, and she perched awkwardly on the arm.

  Gomez turned her attention back to the green man. She became aware of a curious smell, a little like sage and cinnamon. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. “You must be Wayne Omthon, first officer of the Vulpecula.”

  He smiled nervously. “Ex-first officer, actually. My former captain and I had a falling out. That’s why I’m still on the Lincoln. They’ve made me their guest until we meet up with a ship headed back to Orion.”

  Gomez tried to hide her puzzlement. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Newport’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know his name, and how did you come to be floating in mid-space, six light-years from the nearest star, and conveniently right along our course?”

  Gomez glanced at the others, uncertain what to say next. Well, try the truth. “Well sir, we were sent to rescue you after a collision you had with an object we call Enigma.”

  Newport still looked serious, but he laughed. “If you’d hoped to rescue anyone, you might have brought a ship.”

  She studied the room casually, trying to get some sense of the officer she was dealing with. A collection of antique gunpowder-and-bullet firearms filled a glass case behind his chair. A small shelf of old-style paper books was displayed in a glass case with an elaborate lock, on the wall to his left. She could only just see the title of one of them, The Spy Who Loved Me. It appeared Newport had an interest in espionage.

  “We did, sir, an S.C.E. vessel. In fact, we sort of expected them to pick us up, not you.”

  “You said you’re from the da Vinci. We show that vessel in transit to Deep Space 7, nowhere near the so-called Enigma object.”

  “Yes sir,” said Gomez, “that was our course before we were called in to investigate your ship’s disappearance, but we diverted in response to the Chinook’s call. You never left the Enigma, sir. This is all an illusion.”

  Newport’s face started to redden. “You’re not the first to try and sell me that bill of goods. This is no illusion. This is a Federation Starship.” The captain stood so abruptly his chair nearly fell over. “I want to know what’s going on here, what’s affecting the minds of my crew. Even Mr. Omthon was confused when we first brought him aboard, though his mind has since cleared. Just what are you? Telepaths? Changelings? Section 31?”