Star Trek, page 23
She patted him on the back as she moved toward the door. “If we survive this, I look forward to reading your paper.”
* * *
“You were correct, Captain,” Saru said as Burnham took the captain’s chair. “A hexadecimal mathematic system seems promising. I believe we have enough of a lingual map to at least transmit something that to them would not seem like gibberish.”
She turned toward the communications station behind them. “Mister Merrill?”
The ensign readied his console. “All hailing frequencies open, Captain.”
Burnham deferred to Saru. “Please do the honors, Number One. Universal peace and hello greetings, or as close as you can come.”
Saru worked his console and then motioned to Merrill, who slid his fingers across his screen and tapped a virtual button. “Transmission sent.”
Two seconds became ten and the captain counted silently to sixteen.
“No reply,” Merrill said.
Saru began, “Perhaps—”
Lieutenant Rhys cut the first officer off. “Captain, I am reading an energy buildup on the alien vessel.”
Letting the command chair spin wildly as she turned and launched herself toward tactical, Burnham leaned down and looked over Rhys’s shoulder. “Specify. Communications frequencies? A weapons signature?”
“I can’t tell.” He tried to tune in on the wave, applying different filters just as the captain would have. “The patterns are too irregular.” He let out a frustrated huff. “Like … choppy.”
“Saru?”
“Scanning.” He was quiet a moment as he analyzed the data. “Indications are imprecise, as the ship is not entirely in our quantum phase, but”—his gaze narrowed—“these readings are building to critical levels.”
“Engine breach?” Burnham asked.
“I’m unable to discern what or where their ship’s engines are,” Saru confessed. “It is possible.”
Unexpectedly, Stamets called out from the auxiliary science station. “Captain, if their engine is as mycelial based as their weapons, which we have to assume it is or they wouldn’t be here, our shields might defend us from a blast at this range, but not if they’re inside our protection.”
“I believe,” the Kelpien said in a metered yet anxious tone, “we should cease extending our shields around them.”
Burnham wasn’t convinced. She studied the detailed energy readings on the viewscreen. The ship was still a blur, despite the computer enhancement. “This makes no sense. Peaceful greetings don’t send alien vessels into self-destruct.”
“Not generally,” Saru said, “but we have seen how cultures like the Klingons take to them.”
“This doesn’t feel like that,” the captain said.
“Maybe they’re in trouble,” Owosekun noted from ops, sharing first a look with Burnham and then Detmer.
“Speculation, Captain,” Saru said. “But even if we make that assumption, the problem remains.” His right hand spread across his chest, the first officer lowered his gaze. “My recommendation stands.”
After protecting the alien vessel with Discovery’s shields, removing them could be seen as an aggressive act, which wasn’t how Burnham wanted first contact to proceed. At the same time, Benecia was waiting. Her crew and even her ship were being held hostage.
She met Saru’s eyes and despite his misgivings, asked, “Could this be their attempt to communicate?”
He swallowed hard and his jaw tightened. “I suppose it is possible, but, Captain . . .” She could feel his concern add to her own.
Her ship, her crew, her mission … especially her mission. First contact wasn’t more important than that.
“Captain, a message!” Ensign Merrill called out before she could order Rhys to drop the shields.
“Put it on screen,” Burnham ordered.
“Text only: ‘wait.’ ”
Too suddenly for Burnham to order a reply, a bright, agonizing flash of white light overwhelmed the bridge crew. They all turned away, shielding their eyes as the main viewer struggled to compensate.
When the captain heard Saru grunt in pain, she forced her eyes open just as the overpowering brightness dissipated. The Kelpien collapsed toward the deck, but she caught him, steadying him until he regained his footing.
“Are you okay?” Burnham asked.
Eyes still closed, Saru groaned and leaned into his console. “Yes, yes. Everything’s just very bright.” One eye squinted open to check the ambient light level before he slowly blinked both back to normal.
Burnham twisted toward Stamets. “Did it explode?”
“Amazingly, no.”
She turned back and watched as the alien vessel loomed close, now fully formed and no longer a translucent swath of foamy light. The captain was astounded by the sheer beauty of the ship. Fashioned like an hourglass, the vessel had no nacelles or outward signs of engines. It did have some of the same trappings as any starship: viewports, docking ports, and what appeared to be a deflector array. The hull was smooth, with significantly larger hull plates (perhaps armor?) than a Federation starship, but the seams between them were barely visible.
“Oh my,” Saru said, standing sluggishly, still leaning on his station. “The craftsmanship is astonishing.”
“They have brought,” Stamets said slowly, “their entire vessel into our quantum wavelength.”
“It’s magnificent,” Burnham breathed.
“Is it … biological?” The Kelpien studied the alien ship with focused intent as he returned to his scanners.
“Captain,” Merrill said, his voice a reverent whisper. “They’re hailing us—ship-to-ship visual.”
Feeling the blood drain from her face, Michael Burnham stood in front of the command chair, straightened her shoulders, and smoothed her uniform. “Patch them through.”
A rectangular window opened across the main viewer, showing what was probably their bridge. Three of the same alien species as were in engineering greeted her. The lead one, perhaps their commander, spoke first, his or her arms raised, almost in a surrendering stance, but more formally. Their cultural equivalent of open arms, Burnham supposed.
“Greetings of peace also to you, Great Angel of Science Sailing House. I am Breytik, humble, nonrival angel twin of the Maligonq Familial Consideration.”
Signaling for their audio to be muted, the captain turned to Saru. “ ‘Angel of Science Sailing House … nonrival angel twin’? Little help?”
“ ‘Captain of the Starship Discovery,’ I believe.” He tapped at his console and reviewed part of his monitor. “Yes. And it seems ‘nonrival angel twin’ means he also is in command. This translation matrix is twelve minutes old.” One hand making a circular motion, he assured her, “It will catch up. It always does.”
After a motion to Merrill to resume transmission, she looked forward again.
“I’m Captain Michael Burnham of the Starship Discovery, a representative of the United Federation of Planets. We have several of your personnel aboard our vessel. I want to assure you, they have not been harmed.”
“Your sailing house wavered, Captain. We were innocent of your lives or home.” Already “great angel” had been replaced by her proper title. Not that “great angel” wasn’t nice too. Still, she glanced back at her first officer for some context.
“The computer suggests,” Saru said, “that our natural quantum wavelength led them to believe we were not present.”
“Thank you.”
Burnham noticed the Maligonq dressed similarly to their crew aboard the Discovery. Their uniforms appeared to be more casual, comfortable versions of the EV suits, but all a pale blue. Each had symbols that could be rank or insignia, but what they meant she couldn’t guess. “Commander Breytik, we also didn’t understand your natural phase was out of sync with ours. We’re here by accident. Our contact with mycelial space is generally brief and we cannot maintain our hull’s integrity for very long.”
“Saga twin, Captain Mykkel Burn-um. Coincidence is our contact.” Her first name came out of the translator sounding more clicky, as the UT tried to approximate the Maligonq commander’s enunciation as best it could. His arms now at his sides, his fingers flexing and clenching, he seemed sincere.
“We believe you travel using a mycelial-spore-based propulsion system. Is this new to your culture?”
“We are old,” Breytik said. “Many dead and born since beginning.”
“I see.” It sounded like they’d been using mycelial travel for generations, though “born” and “dead” could refer to something other than people.
“Your use of this method is fresh?” he asked, seeming as curious about them as she was about the Maligonq. Thankfully, more and more frequently, the translator was giving them a normal syntax.
“Yes, this is new for us,” Burnham said, stepping closer to the main viewscreen. She was trying to seem both open and relaxed, and she casually gestured to the helm. “At least, relative to our usual matter-antimatter warp engines.”
“Warp?” Breytik scoffed, with a popping sound that may have been a laugh. “Matter-antimatter!” He seemed disgusted but not aggressive, per se. More like when Sarek would sniff at her and Amanda’s occasional need to visit an Earth-style roller coaster.
Another voice was heard, more distant: one of the other Maligonq speaking to Breytik. “Commander, the chief edict may be of import.”
Turning toward the voice, Breytik snapped a hand in the other speaker’s direction. “No, no, they have breached the mycelial barrier. Their science is elevated. Their culture is relevant.”
“Do you think they’re discussing their version of General Order One?” Saru asked.
Burnham smiled. “I think so.”
“Amazing,” Stamets whispered. “They see mycelial travel the way we do warp.” He then added, “See? I elevated your science.”
Startled by his presence, Burnham found Saru suddenly at her side. “Captain,” he said quietly, “our scans show their hull has more extensive damage than ours. I believe they need to extricate themselves from mycelial space as much as we do.”
“Affirmative, Captain Mykkel,” Breytik said, clearly hearing Saru’s report. “The JahSepp do not tolerate intruders. They will transform those they can.” As the translator improved, the alien commander seemed more authoritative. It gave his warning gravitas.
Burnham wondered if the Maligonq, as more frequent visitors to the mycelial plane, had given those organisms their name. “Is JahSepp your word for them?”
“Our word?” Breytik’s eyes blinked quickly, two sets of eyelids that closed and opened in tandem with one another but opposite their counterparts. Apparently this was meant to convey a negative reply. “No, no,” he said. “This is their word.”
Saru and Burnham shared a curious look.
“A disease of ship stranded us here,” the Maligonq commander continued. “We sent out a message, but it was too weak to penetrate to our realm.”
“We picked up your distress call,” Burnham said. “And”—she gave Stamets a fleeting glance—“accidentally found ourselves here.”
Breytik stooped over a bit, perhaps an apology. “We saw what we now know are your fuel spores. We thought it a … fortunate coincidence and brought them into our perceptive range.” Glancing at someone offscreen, as if the act had been taken at that person’s recommendation, Breytik seemed annoyed. “It would never have been our intention to commit piracy.”
“You’ve done this before?” Burnham asked. “Brought spores from one quantum wavelength to another?”
“Yes, when needed.” He clicked a long, thick sound that didn’t translate, maybe a vocal tic or an idiom. “It is not preferred, as it takes a great deal of energy. We do find a need to reap these fields occasionally and have found that some spore fuel lives across a wide range of wavelengths.”
“Your realm …”
“We know our realm is not yours,” Breytik said, sounding a bit disappointed. “Differing quantum variance and wavelength separate us.”
“Interesting,” Saru said. “All of these alternate universes have a unique variance, but some may have a different wavelength as well.” He glanced back to Stamets. “This is an astounding discovery, Lieutenant.”
As Stamets had suspected, the mycelial network linked not only places in their own universe, but myriad alternate universes, even those in a different perceptive phase. How many? There was no way to know. They may as well try to count the stars in the sky.
And someone was going to try … someday. Discovery was there at the beginning of it, and Burnham couldn’t help but be filled with an incredible surge of pride.
“Captain Mykkel,” Breytik said, standing on one foot, “we deeply apologize for our mistaken appropriation of your fuel. I have attempted to alert my crew aboard your ship of this misunderstanding. But, I believe their communications equipment has failed.”
Was standing on one foot akin to a bow? As a trained xenoanthropologist, Burnham wanted to study the Maligonq. Perhaps, she mused, standing on one foot put one purposely off balance, and therefore it was like showing a weaponless hand, kneeling, or bowing one’s head.
Stamets approached now and addressed both captains. “It’s possible that accidentally pulling the Maligonq crew into our phase fried their comm equipment.”
“They are also in your perceptive range?” Breytik asked.
“Yes,” Saru said. “That was an error on our part.”
“You didn’t know?” Burnham asked the Maligonq commander. “Then why did you bring your entire vessel into our quantum wavelength?”
“It was the only way we could communicate with you,” he replied. “All other attempts failed.”
The captain of the Discovery grinned broadly. He’s truly my counterpart, she thought. Just as eager to solve a problem through communication.
“Commander, may I suggest you join me here on Discovery?” Burnham stepped closer and indicated the spot next to her, as if inviting him to stand at her side. “It may help us solve each other’s problems.”
His hands flexing eagerly, Breytik seemed most excited about the idea. “Captain Mykkel, I should be delighted.”
23
“Energize,” Burnham ordered, eagerly awaiting Breytik’s arrival.
The transporter chief activated the console, slid his fingers slowly down the controls, and a lone pad swirled in a sparkle of light.
When the hum of the transport faded, the Maligonq leader looked around nervously, until he met his fellow captain’s eyes.
Burnham motioned for him to step off the transporter dais. “You said you were familiar with matter-energy transport technology.”
“I am,” he assured her as he gathered his composure. “Your process is significantly slower than ours.” The translation of his vocal clicks and whistles was now smooth, the universal translator having learned at least enough to make it seem as if the language they heard were coming from his own lips.
With a slight bow, Burnham greeted Breytik more formally once he was at her side. She introduced her crew, indicating them in turn. “My first officer, Commander Saru,” she said, “and our mycelial navigator and astromycologist, Lieutenant Stamets.”
The Maligonq commander turned to him. “Ah, you understand our science well!”
“I didn’t know it was your …” Stamets stopped when Burnham glowered at him. “Yes. I try.”
“Is he pink?” Breytik asked Burnham. “He’s very pink.” He turned back to Stamets. “You’re very pink.”
“Thank … you?”
“I hope you feel better soon,” the Maligonq told him, just above a whisper.
The captain motioned toward the doorway. “If you’d come with us, Commander?”
Burnham and her Maligonq guest exited first, followed by Stamets, who muttered to Saru, “It’s not easy being pink.”
Once in the corridor and on their way to main engineering, Breytik ran his four-fingered hand along one bulkhead as they passed—carefully not touching any control surfaces. “This is all manufactured?” He rubbed the opposable fingers together, then brushed them clean against his tunic. The idea of a nonorganic ship seemed to unnerve him.
“All Starfleet ships,” Saru explained, “are manufactured.”
“No wonder your transporter is slow,” Breytik said.
Inside main engineering, Landry and the Maligonq “intruders” seemed to be enjoying one another’s company, now that the universal translators had made that possible.
“You really should carry some kind of weapon, even a small one, if you’re going to be on a landing party,” she was telling one of the five, showing him how a type-1 phaser slid out of a type-2 to make a more concealable, if slightly weaker, energy weapon.
“I will suggest it to our— Oh! There he is! Commander!” The alien getting the armaments lecture nearly leaped toward Breytik. With all eight fingers, they instantly embraced each other’s heads, then the other four did the same with their commander.
“You are all well?” the Maligonq captain asked his crew. “Dofchi? How is your back?”
“There were some moments of fright,” Dofchi said, blinking toward Landry in a way Burnham wasn’t sure was a wink or side-eye. “But all is well. My back is as it has always been. Too old to be away from home.”
The clicking/popping sound they released, Burnham could tell from their expressions, was clearly laughter.
Their good humor was infectious and while it was difficult for any of the Discovery crew to keep themselves from smiling, Burnham knew there was still a tall hill to climb to get both vessels home.
“Where are the others?” Dofchi asked. “They were harvesting fuel.”
“They’re close,” Landry said.
“In our spore-drive section.” The captain glanced to Landry, who shook her head. “We still don’t have access.”
“It’s a protected area, and there was a, uh, an accident that has jammed the blast doors.” Burnham didn’t feel it useful to go into the details that the cascade of failures began with a phaser blast from Breytik’s crewmember. Not only because that served no purpose, but because the captain was sure she or one of her people might have reacted similarly to an alien vessel—and crew—suddenly appearing around them.
