Star Trek Page 3

  “You’re more than just a thing in pain, I hope.”

  “A piece of me is missing, that’s all I know …” the man said slowly. “No, I—I know more. I know …” He hit his temples softly with the heels of his palms. “What? What do I know? What do I know?”

  The entity shuffled forward and put an arm under the man’s elbow. “Tell me anything you know, no matter how insignificant.”

  “I … I know the human skull is made up of twenty-two distinct bones,” he said, suddenly confident. “And the Vulcan skull has twenty.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Of course, the Andorian skull has thirty-three,” he said, growing more self-assured.

  “Go on.”

  “Nerve impulses in the brain,” the man continued, “can move as fast as 430 kilometers an hour. Human brain impulses. Human brains. I’m a human. From the planet Earth.”

  “Yes. You remember that again. This is progress.”

  “Yes. I—yes. How do I know all this?” he asked, perplexed. “How do I know over thirteen hundred enzymes are active in a human cell, but for Vulcans it’s far fewer?”

  “How do you know?” his companion pressed, fully knowing the answer.

  “I’m a doctor.” He looked pleadingly at the figure. “Am I a doctor?”

  “You are. So what piece of you is missing? Wouldn’t a doctor know?”

  The man rapidly shook his head. “No, no, that’s not science. That’s … That’s … Paul.”

  “You always remember his name,” his companion noted. “Do you still remember yours? You have before.”

  “I … yes. Of course, I do remember,” he said slowly. “It’s Hugh.”

  “Hugh what?”

  “Hugh … C-Culber.” He straightened with pride. “Doctor Hugh Culber.”

  “And do you remember my name?”

  Turning toward his companion, the doctor observed him, much as he might a new alien patient whose race he’d never encountered. Which in the other one’s case would likely be common, as Culber had only ever known one tardigrade life-form. “Y-you’re … R-rip— … No. It’s you! You’re Ephraim!”

  “Yes, my friend,” Ephraim said cheerfully, and the mere presence of that emotion from him helped to steady Culber even more. “The clearing approaches, I promise. You will regain yourself.”

  “I will? You’ll help me get to him? And I will be free of this place?”

  “You will. And you won’t. And you are. And you aren’t.”

  3

  “Sequence complete.”

  Once the shunts retracted from his arms, Stamets stumbled toward the door. As it slid open, his mind cleared and he pushed himself to awaken further. “Yes, fine,” he said, assuming someone had asked him how he was, though he wasn’t sure anyone had.

  “Um, okay,” Tilly said, and he felt a hand on his elbow, guiding him out of the cube. Or did he? Was that his hand? His elbow?

  Wait, didn’t I come out already?

  It had been Tilly’s hand on him and her face was now in front of his. He felt the deck beneath his feet as the mental fog lifted. He was here, standing before her, as others worked quietly around them.

  “Welcome back … ?” she said.

  His shoulders tightened, reminding him that he had muscles. Which wasn’t a thought that should randomly occur. “What does that mean?” He wasn’t asking Tilly, but himself, about his realization that he hadn’t felt his own body until a moment ago.

  “You had that faraway look again,” Tilly said, handing him his small, white water bottle, which this time he eagerly took. “Another spore dream?”

  He drank, almost swigging, and only then realized how thirsty he was. As soon as Stamets finished, he asked for more. Tilly handed him another bottle and she and Enav watched as he drained it quickly.

  “Why did you rush out of the spore chamber?” Enav asked. “Did something go wrong?”

  “Wrong? No. And we call it a reaction cube.” He was feeling better now, and though it seemed to him like an eternity since the jump completed, it was clearly only seconds. He handed the empty bottle back and bent over a bit, taking in deep breaths to steady himself.

  “It’s okay. We sometimes call it the spore chamber,” Tilly whispered to Enav as she moved back toward her current tasks on the upper level.

  “We’re at the destination?” Stamets asked, trying to steal a glance at Tilly’s station as he pushed himself upright.

  “Yes, sir. Cygnia Minor colony.” The ensign moved to let him at the console as he gripped its edge, pulling himself to it. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”

  Verifying their coordinates, Stamets felt calmed and released a tight breath. As if a switch flipped, he felt fully himself once more, and was stronger when he said, “I’m perfect. If we get to work on your mycelial communication idea, will you drop it?”

  Tilly gave an ear-to-ear grin. “So hard it’ll break.”

  “How long have we got before the next one?” Stamets asked.

  “Depends on when we get word of another outbreak,” she said, checking the schedule on the console. “If we run low on antivirals and supplies here, we’ll need to stock up again, but the Arcturian system is close enough at warp speed so the captain may not order a jump.”

  With some effort, Stamets suppressed a feeling somewhere between dread and foreboding as he motioned toward the station. “So we don’t unnecessarily cover the same ground Straal and I did three years ago, why don’t we review our findings … and failures?”

  “Oh, I did that already,” Tilly assured him, far too chipper for his liking, especially after he mentioned the failure part.

  “I see.” Stamets pulled up the files anyway, at least to remind himself. It all seemed fresh in his mind, but after the brief brain-fog he’d just experienced, he didn’t want to chance he’d forgotten something. “Give me a moment to catch up and we’ll talk about next steps.”

  As they did, he found that several of those steps forward led only to almost the same number back, and by the time Enav returned to look over their shoulders, she only shook her head with a fleeting comment that what they were working on made no sense to her.

  “Is this quantum physics or biology?” she asked as she passed them.

  “They’re really the same—” Stamets began to call after her, but Tilly waved him off.

  “I already tried. She’s one of those normal engineers.” She crinkled her nose. “Very little astromycological background.”

  “I’ll put her on report,” Stamets quipped, then pointed at the holographic simulation as it completed. “See this? That’s not working.”

  “I know,” Tilly said. “But if we had a nanoparticle regulator that could adjust quickly enough—”

  “Even if we were to design one, we can’t produce something like that from the ship’s fabrication units.” Stamets didn’t want to sound defeatist, but their first stumbling block was a big one. “And I promise you there’s nothing close enough in our stores.”

  Tilly’s shoulders slumped a bit. “You’re sure?”

  He glared at her.

  “Of course you’re sure.”

  He could see a frown beginning to form, but he didn’t like to sugarcoat anything. “I told you, Straal and I—”

  “But that was different,” she explained. “You were trying to make it work with subspace. This is basic radio.”

  Stamets agreed, but that fact didn’t encourage him. “Yes, we never got to this point in our simulations, but that doesn’t mean we can get further. We’re still trying to get a signal into the mycelial network without an energy wave that disrupts the frequency. That just may not be possible.”

  He watched as Tilly focused her disappointment into cognitive action. She was trying to will a solution into realization. He’d been there, and sometimes even done that. But he feared not this time.

  “Well, let’s think about it,” she said, “before we give up.”

  When did I stop doing that? he wond
ered. Didn’t I used to believe the impossible could be made possible? “Hey, I’m not giving up.” Her passion was pulling him out of his nosedive. “I’m just frustrated.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  When the display flashed a new schedule change, he nudged her out of the way and took over the console. “I’ll save our work. You call it a night. Bridge just flashed that we have an early jump to Cestus III in the morning.”

  Tilly glanced at the monitor and the new order. “Oh, this is before my watch. I’ll assign Orna to cover. I’m an ensign now. I can assign people.”

  “I know, I know,” he said dismissively. “Where will you be, though?”

  “PT.” She moved her arms as if running, but kept her feet in place. “I applied for the Command Training Program, remember? Gotta be ready if it’s approved.”

  “Right. Well, okay.”

  Tilly clearly sensed dissatisfaction, though in fact he was mostly surprised. “Do you want me to switch it? I mean, I can— I just—”

  “I’ll manage somehow. I’m used to having you there, but it’s not like we chat while I’m jumping.” What if they did? Would he choose Tilly for that? He could see positives and negatives. She was rarely at a loss for words. Would finding a way to talk him through a jump keep him from having a spore dream? Do I even want to lose them?

  “If you’re sure, sir.”

  “Positive.” Stamets forced a smile. “Good night, Tilly.”

  “Thanks. You too.” She bounded up the stairs and as the doors opened, she turned back and said brightly, “Hopefully, I’ll dream up some options for us.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  And also nice to always look forward to dreams.

  * * *

  “Missed you at lunch,” Joann Owosekun told Tilly as she placed her tray on the table and slid into the empty seat. Gen Rhys scooted closer to Keyla Detmer, offering Tilly more space.

  Opposite her, Airiam nodded her customary greeting. “Ensign.”

  “I ate with Mister Stamets,” Tilly explained.

  “We saw that,” Rhys said.

  “I didn’t.” Detmer spooned what smelled like pea soup onto a crostini and took a dainty bite. “I had lunch with Bryce—and the captain.”

  “Ohhh.” Tilly took a sip of her drink. “Exciting or scary?”

  “Neither. Just a working lunch. The only scary part,” Detmer added with some annoyance, “was that I was late because I couldn’t find the padd I left on my bed.”

  “Oh,” Tilly said.

  “I had to scrounge another one to present my report.” She leaned toward the ensign, her blue eyes bright and sharp. “That’s the problem with having a roommate who would organize the dust bunnies under the bed by size and shape, if she could. Who’s so tidy I can never find half of the—”

  “We don’t get dust bunnies on the ship,” Tilly interrupted, trying to defuse the tension.

  “Someone’s missing the point.”

  “Last time I was in your cabin and had to use your sink,” Owo tactfully interjected, “I did see a lot of eyebrow pluckings left behind. Maybe someone who leaves those all over the sink needs someone cleaning up after them?”

  “You saw a few, maybe,” Detmer said, suddenly defensive.

  “Sure. From each eyebrow. Built up daily over a week.”

  “So, uh …” Tilly took a bite of her breakfast burrito, breakfast-for-dinner being one of her favorite things. The pause as she chewed gave her cover to change the subject, since this was a pet peeve of Detmer’s that everyone present had heard her complain about at least once a month. “Where’s Bryce?”

  “Quarantine,” Owo replied.

  Tilly gasped. “No! What happened?”

  “It’s just precautionary,” Detmer told her, then chided Owosekun. “Don’t make it sound like he’s going to die.”

  Owo shrugged. “I said one actual word. One.”

  “True. Sorry.” Setting down her spoon delicately on the plate under her bowl, Detmer leaned toward Tilly and quieted her voice. “Bryce went down to help boost the colony’s subspace array. Turns out one of their blood-burn cases worked the same facility.”

  “And they didn’t sterilize it?” she asked, aghast.

  “They did, but the captain wants to be sure and beamed Bryce right to quarantine.”

  “Something like that gets on this ship,” Rhys said, “and … I don’t want to even think about it.”

  “Gen, we have the proper antivirals on board.” Airiam turned from him to Tilly. “Keyla and I are going to visit Bryce when she is finished eating … whenever that might be.” She cast a frown toward Detmer.

  “Are you making fun of my eating habits, again?” the conn officer asked.

  “Yes,” Airiam said.

  In response, Detmer slow-motioned another sip of her soup and then made an exaggeratedly slow dab of her lips with a napkin.

  “I don’t have to wait,” Airiam said as she rose, her empty tray in hand. “I can meet you there.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Detmer said as she quickly gathered her things. “I was nursing it just to stay eating for Tilly’s sake.”

  Tilly smiled in appreciation, then looked to Rhys and Owo. “You guys’ll stay, right?”

  “Sure,” Owo said. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

  “I was going to learn the rules of Ket-ma Tah,” Rhys said, taking a fry from his own plate despite the fact he’d already covered it with a napkin. “But I’ve been putting that off for weeks, so another night won’t matter.”

  “What’s Ket-ma Tah?” Even though her burrito was lovely, Tilly suddenly wanted fries as well, but she pushed that craving away. He had the thin-cut ones and she’d want crinkle anyway, she told herself. And with cheese. Not the soupy cheese that tasted like it came from some weird powder, but real melted cheese that probably had come from an actual cow or bovine creature.

  “It’s like an Andorian mancala,” he said. “If that helps.”

  “It doesn’t,” Owo teased, and Tilly was sure she saw her eyes roll upward. Tilly had always sensed a big sister/little brother vibe between Owo and Rhys, which made her think having a sibling might be a wonderful thing, except she wouldn’t have wished her mother on anyone. “It’s like someone asking what your alligator sandwich tastes like, and you say it tastes like dinosaur.”

  “Probably tastes like chicken,” Rhys said playfully.

  “It was a hypothetical,” Owo shot back.

  “What’s mancala?” Tilly asked, only mildly interested, as she was feeling a bit left out of their fun.

  “I wanna say it’s like ancient checkers, but I could be wrong,” Rhys said, and grabbed another fry, running it through what was left of his gravy.

  Gravy, Tilly thought. “Now I want poutine.”

  “Huh?” Rhys asked.

  “Poutine. Never mind.”

  “I’m guessing two players and the object is to get the other person’s pieces,” Owo said.

  “I still need to read the rules,” Rhys told her. “I got it as a gift.”

  “Who gave you Andorian checkers?” Tilly decided to call it that instead of Ket-ma Tah or mancala.

  “Tactical officer from the Kerala.” He winked at her. “She’s Andorian. We met at a Starfleet training seminar about the new phasers.”

  Owo laughed. “She got you a strategy game you won’t know—so she can beat you.”

  Rhys smiled ruefully. “May be. But it’s not whether you win or lose—it’s how you play the game.”

  “I’m sure the captain would appreciate that being the motto of the ship’s tactician,” Tilly said.

  “I should start closing all my after-action reports with that line.” Rhys slurped up a last french fry and finally pushed his plate far enough away that it wouldn’t be within reach. “I was going to give the game to Landry, but I think you’re not supposed to regift, right?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s bad. Don’t do that.” Tilly thought how much easier this meal w
as in comparison to her lunch with Stamets. Then again, while his brain could be intimidating and his manner could be condescending, sharing a meal with him didn’t usually put her on edge. But she was worried about him, and while she’d liked to have sought counsel from her friends, she didn’t want to gossip. If Saru or the captain learned Stamets was having issues, it could put the spore drive, and therefore their mission, in jeopardy.

  At the same time, if her worry became more than a feeling, she would have to report it up the chain of command. They both knew that … but had avoided talking about it. It all weighed on her.

  “What’ve you been working on?” Owo asked, pulling Tilly from her analytical anxieties. “Other than kangaroo-level jumps?”

  “Starting something that could be big or could be a big fat zero, but we’ll see.” Tilly then leaned closer and whispered, “We think we might be able to use the mycelial network for communication.” She leaned back smugly and let them form their own conclusions as to how cool that would be.

  “We won’t tell,” Rhys said as he stood and began to clean up.

  “Tell?” Tilly said, suddenly nervous. “Tell who what about what? It’s just a hypothesis so far.”

  “Won’t tell Bryce you’re trying to make him obsolete,” Rhys said. “Wouldn’t be right to get him worried about one more thing while under quarantine.”

  “He’s teasing you,” Owo said, also rising and removing her tray.

  Tilly looked down and realized that she, too, was done with dinner. She took a last, too-loud sip of her tea and gathered her things as well. “Oh, right. Ha! Funny!”

  “She okay?” he asked Owo.

  “She’s just Tilly,” she replied as they moved off.

  It was the kind of comment that could be disapproving, but from Owo it was a compliment. Just Tilly felt right, and as her friends turned back, she met them with a smile to say Thanks for getting me.

  * * *

  “Sequence complete.”