Strange New Worlds IV

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Orlean stood in awe. Before him rose a city such as he had never seen. Carved from the native rock cliffs, it spoke of a forgotten time when elegance was blended with function, where beauty was crafted from the mundane. Graceful curves, like those of a beautiful woman, drew the eye ever upward. Tall spires and towers caressed the clear sky like a lover. Orlean was transfixed in a spell as the afternoon sun played across the textures of the facade. All of the buildings flowed together as if they were designed to please the soul—except … one archway was filled in. The stonework was substandard compared with the prevalent style and grace. It was almost vulgar to look at, a blemish that caused Orlean to notice a hole. The sunlight held the small dark opening in stark contrast. Slowly, as if drawn by a need, Orlean crossed to the hole. It wasn’t much bigger than his head, but with little effort more stones fell away, revealing a large chamber. A glimmer came from within as the sun dipped low. Stepping into the darkness, Orlean felt the closeness of something large. As his eyes adjusted he made out silver wings. A great bird stood in the darkness waiting to take flight. Running his hands over the cold surface, he felt a tingle of excitement. While he had never seen the space transports of his people, he knew that these were flying machines! The tales were true! He turned and peered deeper into the gloom. More birds sat waiting for their commands. Orlean was shaking as he spied another chamber deep in the back. Dark, cold, foreboding—calling to him. Come to me! Orlean took a hesitant step forward. Yes! I wait for you! formed in his mind. The dark chamber was just a step away. The voice in his mind became stronger, more demanding. Step forward! Release me and I will serve you well! Orlean involuntarily stepped through the doorway and froze. Eyes stared at him, glowing in the dark with a cold green light. Looking back, he saw that sunlight no longer streamed into the chamber. The sun had set. Night was coming. Orlean was alone, or was he? Fear replaced curiosity. Terror overwhelmed inaction and Orlean ran. The voice screamed in his head. Come back! Release me! The hate and anguish trapped behind the rock wall echoed in his mind and pursued him as he scrambled into the twilight.

  “Captain’s log: The Enterprise has been dispatched to the Alin system. Research vessel Anasazi has been reporting that wormholes and other spatial anomalies have been occurring there with sudden regularity. Starfleet fears that unwanted visitors like the Borg or the Dominion might be attempting to bore deep into Federation territory.”

  “Captain,” interrupted Worf, “we are being hailed by the Anasazi on an emergency band.”

  “On screen.”

  Captain Jean-Luc Picard rose from his command chair and straightened his uniform just before an image appeared on the viewscreen. Surprise flashed across the captain’s face and grew to a warm smile in recognition. The face was the same. A little more wrinkled, a tad more gray, but there was no doubt. “Dr. Bowman. It has been a long time.”

  “Jean-Luc Picard? The captain of the Enterprise?” the man beamed back. “I should have known my star pupil would go this far—only I had hoped it would have been in archeology!”

  Captain Picard nodded. “I still get my fingernails dirty when time allows.”

  “Fantastic! Perhaps you can join me on the planet! I have a surprise that will knock your socks off.”

  “I look forward to it—but what is the nature of the emergency?”

  Dr. Bowman shook his head as if to gather his thoughts. “Emergency?—Oh! I forgot! Another anomaly has opened over the planet! Thank providence we had altered our orbit or we would have been thrown to who-knows-where.”

  “We are coming into the system now.” Captain Picard glanced to Data. “What are sensors picking up?”

  “Initial scans show a category-two wormhole two thousand kilometers off the their port bow. However, it is not large enough to allow passage of the Anasazi and is diminishing in size,” answered the android.

  Captain Picard looked up to Dr. Bowman’s image. “Do you have any indications of what might have caused the wormhole?”

  Dr. Bowman shook his head. “None. Unfortunately funds are limited and the institute budgeted for only what was needed for this archeological expedition. Nothing more. We’re lucky to have shovels for digging.”

  “Captain,” injected Data, “there are traces of radiation emanating from the planet to where the anomaly occurred.”

  “Are you saying something on the planet caused the wormhole?”

  “That’s impossible. There’s nothing on the planet with enough power or technology to be able to generate something of this magnitude!”

  Data pursed his lips. “I have checked my readings. The radiation came from the planet.”

  “Can you pinpoint a location?” asked Picard.

  Data’s fingers flew over the console with timing and perfection only he could obtain. “They seem to emanate from a extinct volcano crater in the southern hemisphere.”

  “What?” queried Dr. Bowman. “Transfer those coordinates to the Anasazi. You just described the location of our dig!”

  Picard nodded to Data. “Do it.”

  Dr. Bowman’s image turned as he scanned the transmitted data. He shook his head in disbelief after a moment. “This can’t be right. They are the same as our archeological dig.”

  “Could there be something down there generating the radiation?” asked Picard.

  “There’s nothing there but an ancient city. Preliminary indications show it hasn’t been inhabited for hundreds of years.”

  “Data, do a scan for any type of power plant or other technology in the area.”

  Data shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain, but natural interference in the crater is making it impossible to do other than surface scans.”

  Picard scratched his chin. “Perhaps we should have a closer look at this city.”

  Dr. Bowman’s image nodded. “Yes! While you’re down there I’ll show you what we have found. I’m telling you, it will knock your socks off.”

  “We’ll meet you at the coordinates, Dr. Bowman.” As the screen went dark Picard turned. “Data, prepare a shuttle. You and I are going on a dig.”

  Picard stood in awe as Data checked his tricorder. “Magnificent.”

  Data looked up at the walled city for a moment. “It is a work of art; however, I am undecided as to which style it resembles: Roman, Greek, Spanish, perhaps even Phoenician.”

  “It wouldn’t be doing it justice to compare it to any other style. The builders had a love for stone.”

  Dr. Bowman appeared from a hole in the stonework. “Welcome! Wonderful, isn’t she! It will take decades to unravel all of her mysteries!”

  Picard nodded. “We were just commenting on the beauty.”

  “Yes!” agreed Dr. Bowman. “This place is like the fairy-tale cities of my youth.”

  “How was this site found?” asked Data.

  “I’m glad you asked. A young herder was tending his flock and found it. The Federation might never have known of it, but a Starfleet cadet was here on leave soon after. Together, Orlean and the cadet climbed the mountain. The cadet realized what significance this city had and, well, here we are today.”

  “It is outstanding,” murmured Picard as he scanned the gracefully curving walls.

  “Come!” Bowman motioned. “I have something that defies explanation.” The three stepped through the hole and into darkness. As Picard’s eyes adjusted to something his mind would not accept, a switch clicked and light flooded the chamber. Picard caught his breath at what was before him. He reached out and ran a hand over the surface in disbelief.

  “See what I mean?” asked Bowman.

  Picard slowly nodded as he inspected the object. “How can this be?” He turned and gazed at the objects parked around him. “Have you checked them for authenticity?”

  Bowman smiled “They are as real as you and I—just much older.”

  “They look like—”

  “—Vintage mid-twentieth-century U.S. Naval Avengers. They were—are torpedo bombers from Earth’s World War Two,” finished
Bowman.

  “Have you told Starfleet?” asked Picard.

  “Not yet,” Bowman replied, shaking his head. “We decided it would be best if we had a witness before we sent a message that would question my sanity. You, my dear friend, are the perfect witness, an archeological buff and captain of the Federation’s flagship. Providence was smiling when you showed up.”

  Picard gazed at the centuries-old plane in front of him. “Replace the tires, wipe away the dirt, and—” Picard stepped up on the makeshift ladder leaning against the plane and wiped away some dust from a name painted in rolling script. “Lieutenant Charles Taylor. That name sounds familiar.”

  “Captain,” replied Data. “I am aware of a Lieutenant Charles Taylor from my phenomenon studies. The information seems to match what we see here.”

  “What can you tell us, Data?”

  “Lieutenant Taylor was commander of the ill-fated Flight 19. On December 5th, 1945, five Avenger torpedo bombers left from the Naval Air Station at Fort Lauderdale, Florida. It was a training mission and the flight was composed of all students except for the commander, Lieutenant Charles Taylor. The mission called for Taylor and his group of men to fly due east into what was referred later as the Bermuda Triangle.” Data hesitated. “They never came back.”

  “Very good, Data,” replied Bowman. “I ran a check on our historical logs and found the U.S. Navy attributed their disappearance to Lieutenant Taylor’s being drunk and his inexperience over the Bahamas. Records show a violent storm arose over the Atlantic. Since they had little in the way of reliable technology to track their position Taylor judged his position by the islands below him. Radio reports heard Taylor saying they were over the Florida Keys, not the Bahamas. He was heard to say they were going to fly north and east to hit Florida but in reality they were flying north and east of the Bahamas, away from land and straight into the storm.”

  “There were five planes, but there are only three here,” added Picard.

  “We realized that but since we don’t know how they got here we can’t say where the other two are. They might be hidden in some other alcove,” answered Bowman.

  “Actually, in the original occurrence six planes were lost,” injected Data.

  “Six planes?” asked Picard.

  “Another aircraft, a Martin Mariner crewed with twenty-two men, was sent out searching for the lost Avengers. It also vanished.”

  “I remember reading something about that,” added Bowman. “The Navy spotted an explosion and found debris that would have matched the Mariner.”

  “Ancient flying was precarious at best,” commented Picard.

  The three stood silent for a moment. Then Picard peered through the dusty canopy, shoved it back in its tracks, and looked into the ancient cockpit. He was startled by his find. “The gauges are missing,” he said as he eyed the empty sockets on the instrument panel.

  “That was a mystery that soon led to another mystery.” Bowman turned toward the back of the cave and motioned for Data and Picard to follow. Picard shifted his precarious footing on the rickety ladder as it teetered and then pitched away. He lunged for the Avenger cockpit for support as the ladder gave way. “Data!” Picard cried as his hands clawed for purchase inside the cockpit. Suddenly a firm set of hands supported his legs even as his right hand closed on something next to the pilot seat. Picard pulled it free as Data slowly lowered him down.

  Picard felt the concerned stare of Data. “Are you in need of medical attention, Captain?”

  Picard gave Data a reassuring smile. “No. Thanks to you I’m fine.”

  “What did you find?” Data asked as his gaze drifted to a worn book in Picard’s hands.

  “I’m not sure,” Picard answered as he gently opened the book, “but my guess would be a captain’s log from my ancient counterpart.”

  “Come!” Bowman yelled from the back of the chamber. “I have more to show you back here!”

  Picard closed the log and motioned Data along. “Let’s see what other surprises are in this cave of wonders.”

  They followed Bowman’s path through the dust and into another chamber. More floodlights illuminated the walls. It was what was on one wall that caught Picard’s and Data’s attention.

  “Notice, if you will, the chamber that we just left,” motioned Bowman. “It had been carved from the stone with the same expertise that built the rest of the city. But here in this room the walls and ceiling are natural, a cavern. Except for this one.” Bowman gestured toward the wall that held Picard’s and Data’s attention. “This one doesn’t match and is the root of our next mystery. Notice the poor stonework, the crude placement of rock, and—the implants of the missing planes’ gauges. All along it the gauges are embedded into the wall.”

  “To what end?” asked Data.

  “That I can’t say.” Bowman shrugged. “It is another mystery. But …” He smiled. “Watch this—” Bowman flicked another switch and the room was plunged into darkness.

  Data eyes were the first to pick it out. “The gauges are glowing.”

  “Quite right. They’re glowing radium green!”

  As Picard’s eyes focused on the green luminescence, Bowman turned the lights back on, causing Picard to shield his face from the brightness.

  “Sorry, Jean-Luc,” offered Bowman. “In my excitement I forget myself. But you see these artifacts are part of Earth’s dangerous if not blissfully ignorant past. The dials are painted with radium. Quite common during the first half of the twentieth century. The people didn’t realize the potential danger of using radioactive elements. Radium was mixed with paint to produce glow-in-the-dark watch faces, automobile gauges, radio dials, and as you can see, airplane instruments. Entire factories were set up to supply the market. Unfortunately most of the employers hired young women with good eyesight to paint the dials. They even encouraged the women to form the paintbrushes with their lips—which led adventurous girls to painting their teeth and lips just for the novelty. It wasn’t until well after these women began dying of radiation cancer that the practice was stopped.”

  Data looked the wall over. “It was as if they placed the dials in a pattern.”

  “I noticed that myself,” replied Picard.

  “Yes, it seemed so to us also.”

  Picard walked over to a hole in the wall. Rubble from the hole lay strewn about. “What happened here?”

  “I’m afraid our removal of some of the gauges loosened the mortar and caused that portion to collapse.”

  Picard glanced around at the rubble from the hole. “It looks like it was blown out.”

  Bowman walked over to the hole. “I hadn’t noticed that before. It does look like something blew the wall away.” He shrugged. “Maybe a draft blew it out or something like that.”

  Picard peered into the inky darkness beyond the hole as Data checked his tricorder. “Have you checked what is on the other side yet?”

  Bowman shrugged. “More caverns, from the little we looked.”

  “Odd that someone would go to such trouble to block the caverns. Data, do you get any reading on what caused the wormhole?”

  “None, Captain. The native rock seems to have a dampening effect on the sensors.”

  Bowman glanced at the book in Picard’s hand. “What did you find, Jean-Luc?”

  “I think it might be Lieutenant Taylor’s logbook,” Picard said as he gingerly opened it.

  “By providence! If that’s Taylor’s logbook maybe he wrote down what happened!”

  “It seems mainly comments about maintenance and flight hours,” Picard murmured as he paged through. “There does seem to be some chronological order—let me see if I can find December 1945.” Picard flipped deeper through the book and then stopped. “Here. 05 December 1945. Afternoon flight today … Can’t seem to shake this flu bug and I can’t get anyone to take my place … Radio compass is on the Fritz again … Don’t know how they expect us to fly when they can’t keep the equipment working …” Picard stopped and rubbed hi
s eyes. “I need to read this in a better light.”

  “There’s a place to sit outside. We can look it over there,” answered Bowman.

  In a minute they stepped into the cool sunshine of the high mountain day. Picard got comfortable and started again. “There are more comments about his not feeling well and some other things.” Picard flipped a page and stopped. “Here’s something—

  “We have landed on a plateau. I don’t know where the hell we are … I lost one of the planes. It was Johnson and Beck. I hope to God they made it back safely. We must have flown into a tornado or hurricane. One minute we were trying to reach the Florida Peninsula, the next we’re about to crash into a mountain. It doesn’t make sense … I feel like Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz.’

  “We see a city not far away. We have tried radioing for help but get no response. Of the eleven left, four are coming with me to check it out … The rest will stand guard by the planes … I wish we still had our .45s. Maybe we’ll get to meet the wizard!”

  “It sounds like they were pulled here through a wormhole,” said Data.