Strange New Worlds IV

by Dean Wesley Smith

  There was a still silence for a while, Meribor afraid that if she so much as spoke, she might somehow break her father, and Kamin, afraid that if he so much as spoke, he might somehow shatter himself further.

  Finally, he spoke. “Meribor …” he said in a ragged whisper.

  “Yes?” Her voice was just as soft.

  “Do you … remember … that story? That story that—”

  “Yes,” she interrupted him, as if the less he spoke, the less chance there was that he might cause himself more pain.

  “It was the only promise I ever broke …”

  “Shhh.” She put a finger lightly to his lips. “It’s all right. It wasn’t broken … not to me.”

  “You’re right. It’s not broken. Not yet. And get your … get your hand away from my mouth, please. I’m not that delicate.” The old Kamin was beginning to reappear.

  Meribor smiled hesitantly and slowly did so.

  “I want to finish the story.”

  The protective concern began to resurface in Meribor again. “No, Father. It’s all right, there’s no need. You don’t have to put yourself through that again. I understand,” she said again, slowly, as if he wasn’t hearing her.

  “No.” Kamin shook his shaggy head. “I want to. The black … it’s all gone now…. I’m free.”

  Meribor had never heard of “the black” before, yet she knew exactly what it was. She eyed Kamin the way a mother might eye a child as it takes its first, precarious steps.

  “I can still keep my promise, Meribor … let me do that.”

  A slow smile spread over Meribor’s face, like the first rays of sunlight splashing up over the mountains at sunrise. She pushed herself further up onto the bed, finding a pillow upon which to prop herself.

  “I’m afraid I’m a bit to large for your lap, Father, but … tell me a story.”

  For the first time in a long time, Kamin smiled—truly smiled. To him, as well, it felt like the fresh warmth of the sun on his face after a long, buffeting storm.

  He leaned back, and put his arm around his daughter. “Now where were we …? Oh, yes. Captain Picard and Commander Riker …”

  And as he said those names, his heart did not ache, and his soul did not throb in the dreadful anguish of lost memories.

  Indeed, the blackness was gone.

  And he was keeping his promise.

  Flash Point

  E. Catherine Tobler

  Flashback. I’m seven years old, standing in a hallway. I don’t know where it goes, where it is. A Cardassian holds my hand; his skin is desiccated, as gray and dry as the Cholla Flats. A thousand scales decorate the back and fingers; in the light from the end of the hall, they resemble shattered crystal. The Cardassian smells, like black clouds about to erupt.

  Flash-forward. Jaros II and the walls of this cell are that very color, the storm about to unleash itself. This room smells, but unlike that Cardassian, this is warm; he was cold.

  Flashthen. Garon II. A hundred lifetimes away and yet close enough to hold against my heart. Cupped in my hand, eight souls which I tossed into the gloom without looking back. The cave, the smell of the rock, like it had been under water. A pit newly carved just for us. The bite of powder in the air—weapons and the kiss of steam—

  * * *

  Flashback. Steam blocking my vision; a broken pipe letting loose with a sulfuric belch as I come into the room. I balk. The Cardassian holds my hand tighter, pulls me even though I’m digging my heels in. Those scales flush darker. He smells angry. A cool circle in my palm, then. The candy is sugar-white, as sweet as milaberries on my lips. The sweet erases the bitter steam, the round disk on my tongue a newfound toy.

  Then—Garon II. Weapons boxed like toys and I can’t go any further. The walls are low, the passages narrow. It’s like a palukoo trap and already I can reach up and touch the rock. It’s damp under my fingers. No, I can’t go in there—not with the steam hissing like skewered hara cats. It smells like a storm—can’t you taste the air? No—orders don’t matter—I can’t, I can’t.

  Back to the room. Father tied to the chair, his head limp, his hair wet. Earring broken, glinting like a star on the floor. Little star, not that far, twinkle gone, here comes dawn. The earring crunches under a boot heel. Father broken and sobbing—where did those wide shoulders go? Your shadow so small on the floor, so tiny in this room that smells like the dirt we poured over Mother when she died. Do you remember that day? You had wide shoulders then.

  Flashthere. Shoulders too big to fit; no, I can’t and I don’t care about a damn court-martial. Stop it, no. Phaser—I don’t want—The grip is slick and I can’t go in there. I don’t—Look how narrow it is, and the light, look at the light! James, don’t you see? Don’t!

  Sweet candy, sweet candy. The disk worn down to a flat plane. Event horizon, there’s no going back now. Father, bloody and sobbing. The straps digging into his arms, thin like winter sunlight. So thin, Daddy. The Cardassians smell like victory now and all I can see is your weakness. Shame—this is what shame tastes like. Bile in my throat, the scent of your blood in my nose. Where is my brave father? He is not here. He is not here.

  * * *

  Ro Laren died on Garon II; I don’t care what they tell you. Should have, would have, she did. I couldn’t go in the room. James went—didn’t listen to me. No one listened. No one saw the steam, the thin line of light. Lia’s sleeve whispered through my fingers as she passed—a second later they were all gone. No one listened. Nine went in, one came out. Blood on my uniform—and other things, too. Screams echo, you know. Then, the smell of fresh rain—broken clouds and lightning. Mission complete? Weapons bunker confirmed … aye, sir. Aye, sir.

  The body they took away was not my father. This was no man I knew, no man I came from. It’s not him at all, and that isn’t his earring, broken on the hard floor. Little star, shooting far; the rhyme ends there because the last page of the book was torn. Glistening scales and a fresh disk of sugar in my mouth. Laren is happy? For now. Who was that man?

  Flashnow. The walls of this cell are those colors, the black, the red, the sugar. Too warm in here, but I don’t complain. Laren isn’t happy, but Laren died years ago on Garon II. I don’t think this helps, this therapy. You can tell me watching my father’s death made me panic in that bunker, you can, but I don’t know that I’ll ever believe it. I want to be alone. You don’t want to hear about it all again … do you?

  Prodigal Son

  Tonya D. Price

  Space exploded before the Whole as we traveled toward home. Massive waves bombarded us, each wave stronger than the first; each assault arriving quicker than the last. We vibrated with excitement at our unexpected luck and separated into individual points of energy, our strength multiplying as we feasted. Without warning the waves stopped and started again, this time more intense than before.

  We traced the strange phenomenon to a ship struggling against an unseen force. Erratic warp field layers formed, strengthened, and collapsed. A cloud of energy plasma poured from the impulse engines. The patterns, though irregular, seemed … familiar. I knew this vessel. Shame weakened me, guilt threatened to hold me back, but love compelled me forward—toward the Enterprise.

  I rushed ahead, driven by some irresistible need, an instinct much stronger than mere curiosity. Among the hundreds of biological life-forms inhabiting the ship I searched for one: my mother’s. Could she feel my presence? Did she remember me—the one she named Ian Andrew Troi? And had she forgiven the pain I caused her? Buried in memories, I missed the approaching danger.

  The Whole tried to warn me. “Quick. Come back.”

  Too late. Already plane-oriented beings surrounded me. The closest attacked, draining my energy with a faint pull. At least I faced a quick end, without the agony of my first death.

  Before me the Enterprise struggled too, but the majestic ship never gave up. With another blast, a partial warp bubble formed, expanding outward until the edge held me in a farewell embrace. The conne
ction broke the two-dimensional beings’ hold and I found myself free. Plunging forward I pressed against a nacelle, letting the Enterprise’s released energies camouflage my signature until the bubble burst, exposing me a second time.

  “Hide inside the ship where the biologicals’ shields will protect you,” the Whole advised.

  I obeyed, slipping between the microfoam duranium filaments, past the stressed tritanium fabric molecules of the ship’s hull. As a tiny beam of light I traveled along the wall and ceiling seam, pale in the glare of the overhead lamps. Memories guided me toward those I once called family. Their presence refreshed me like the charged kiss of a solar wind. Picard. Riker. My mother …

  My mother. Deanna Troi. Starship counselor. Empath. I meant no harm the first time I came across her dreaming in her bed. Her differences intrigued me, her emptiness stirred my compassion. I joined with her, seeking knowledge, intending comfort. Instead, my presence stirred yearnings; unknown, frightening maternal urges beyond the Whole’s comprehension and in the process I became … singular. Connected to her, but somehow … apart. Unlike the reassurance of a merging with the Whole, our union brought confusion and endangered all aboard her ship. I departed, but her pain haunted me, pursuing me even after my leaving. Sights. Sounds. Taste. The strange sensations remained embedded in my thoughts long after I no longer possessed eyes to record light waves or ears to capture sound waves or mouth to speak. Traveling through space I often thought of her choking sobs in my darkened bedroom; her salty tears on my still cheeks; her pumping heart aching in protest at the abrupt numbness of a death.

  My death.

  To protect her, to protect them all, I left. She understood, but the understanding didn’t ease her heartache … or mine.

  After such a long interval of time dare I risk reviving such pain by contacting her again? Brain waves as unique as the Whole’s energy patterns called me to her and I extended a gentle probe of her mind. Random neurological distortions mixed with flashes from nerves tense with pain told me she was under attack. The twodimensionals. Their primitive, undisciplined emotions overloaded her empathic sensibilities. Without thought to the consequences I entered her mind, distributing my energy self around her most vulnerable cells, preventing permanent damage. The barrier numbed her neural receptors, blocking their response by buffering her sensitive paracortex; the center of her empathy. The shielding worked, but the consciousness which comprised her thought patterns vanished like a comet’s ice crystals caught in the heat of a nearby sun.

  What had I done wrong? Mother, I cried, but no answer came. Should I reveal myself to Picard? Or Riker? Or Data? Her body machine continued. Heart pumped. Lungs filled and deflated. Blood surged through her veins as before when we united. All she felt, I felt. All she sensed, I sensed. Could this be death? Memories recalled the heaviness of thought preceding the final conscious moment—no such acceptance reigned in her mind. Desperate, I triggered neurons in an attempt to save her, but the effort went unrewarded.

  “Troi?” A woman’s voice stirred me from my panic. “Deanna, it’s Dr. Crusher. Wake up.”

  Explosions of thought ignited in a sudden bolt of awareness as my mother’s consciousness revived. Through her eyes I viewed the soft violet palette of her office; heard the rasp of her breath against the cushioned nap of the gray carpet where she lay and felt the force of her personality return. Unlike before, her thoughts opened to me, though I took care to keep my presence a secret from her.

  The doctor found no sign of damage, but my mother sensed a difference. As we passed crew members in the corridor she stared after them, trying to determine the source of her confusion. In the senior staff briefing room she studied those around her until gradually she realized the aura of emotion comprising the feel of each of her friends no longer colored their presence. They existed. Sight revealed their bodies, but as objects, not sentient beings. With eyes shut no sense of them remained. Picard’s courage—gone. Geordi’s kindness—gone. Will Riker’s passion—gone. She grieved for her loss and once again I knew the blame for her pain rested with me.

  Data spoke. Forever the enigma, he alone appeared to her as he always did—sentience hidden in a void. “The probe’s point of view reveals the entities surrounding the Enterprise exist entirely within two dimensions.”

  What was this? Data talked as if the two-dimensional beings posed a threat to the crew, but they possessed no means to harm humans. These scattered, ignorant beings traveled unencumbered by thought, reacting to stimuli, broadcasting tidal waves of unrestrained, primitive emotion: painful when absorbed by the Betazoid paracortex, but undetectable by the human brain. Meandering through space, these invaders from another dimension sought food and shelter as they headed toward home. There lay the danger. Why did Data speak of two-dimensionals and not of the cosmic string fragment, their destination? Was it possible he remained unaware of the tiny black hole devouring everything that ventured too near?

  Understanding came to me and through me to the Whole, who raced to join the rescue. Should I reveal myself to my mother? Whisper in her mind the danger lurking in space? If I let loose my hold, even briefly, what damage might she endure? But if I stayed with her revealing nothing, the ship might be swallowed. I decided to wait in hopes I could avoid having to choose between saving the ship and protecting my mother’s empathy.

  During the waiting my mother’s torment grew, and though many offered words of comfort, her isolation deepened. Some, like Dr. Crusher, she pushed away with harsh words and accusations. Picard she shoved aside with a formal resignation. How could she consider leaving her friends? How could she threaten to journey away from those whose experiences she shared to travel alone through the universe? Try as I might, I could not imagine an existence apart from the Whole.

  One she could not push away: Commander Riker. Each time he appeared I rejoiced. Often, as her child, I imagined him to be my father. Not my biological father, of course, for I needed no seed for my birth, but the tall commander was as close to the relationship as I would come. What is a father but one who comforts and protects? One morning as Ian I awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs he cooked for my mother as she recuperated from my birth. One afternoon I listened to his stories of fishing Prince William Sound for salmon, his laughter warming the room as the size of his catch increased with the telling of the tale. One evening he took me from my mother’s arms and carried me to my bed, whispering good night as he tucked me beneath a soft blanket. Did such care make him my father? Perhaps not, but I assigned him the role nonetheless, so desperately did I want the three of us to be a family.

  Now, once again, I felt his strength in the arms he wrapped around my mother. He held her close, refusing to let her pull away. Encased in her thoughts I felt the link between the two and understood for the first time the connections the biologicals formed. Even without empathy they composed a whole of their own. Separate yet joined. Like energy beings, they generated strength together.

  A message interrupted the moment. “La Forge to Riker … we are ready to attempt a controlled overload jump to warp six.”

  A useless exercise, but their failure no longer mattered. Afraid, but determined, the Whole approached, gathering like bait for Riker’s fish. Food and shelter. The cosmic string offered shelter to the single plane-oriented entities, but the Whole held out the promise of food.

  After careful consideration the Whole chose a position a safe distance from the event horizon of the cosmic string. In position, they emitted a weak energy pulse. Our predators took the bait.

  Disaster struck when Riker and Data detected the cosmic string fragment. Unaware of our efforts to help, Captain Picard ordered a photon torpedo spread between the entities and the cosmic string. The blast proved harmless to the two-dimensionals; deadly to the Whole. The plane-oriented beings seized the opportunity to feed on the scattered remnants of the Whole as they floated immobilized by the jolt to their systems.

  Unaware of the life-and-death struggle outside the ship
, my mother worked with Data to discover a way to communicate with the two-dimensional entities. If I could send her a message without loosening my hold on her mind, Picard might be able to help the Whole escape, but I could not speak to her while protecting her, so I remained silent.

  As she worked she voiced her helplessness. “Right now, Data, I feel as two-dimensional as our friends out there. In the universe, but barely aware of it. Just trying to survive.”

  Perhaps a quick signal. A tiny flash of a neuron to help her understand the two-dimensionals. Little time remained. I fired one impulse. One word. One clue. “Instinct.”

  She battled to place the thought. “On … instinct …”

  From that hint the crew put the pieces together and rigged the Enterprise’s parabolic dish to re-create the decay particles’ resonance along the event horizon of the quantum string fragment. While the crew worked, the Whole attempted to merge, but they remained easy prey for the enemy.

  I could not remain safe inside the Enterprise while the Whole faced annihilation and I could not abandon my mother. If she lost her empathic abilities I feared her pain would be even greater than what she felt when I, as Ian, ceased to exist. Time forced my decision as the Enterprise’s first attempt failed to slow the twodimensional entities. As the crew prepared to increase the intensity of the resonance signal my choice became clear: my mother would live; the Whole might not. I abandoned her a second time and rushed through the hull, letting speed carry me past my predators, back to the Whole. Aided by my presence our power surged, but not enough to resist the hordes surrounding us.