Star Trek, page 25
“I hate time travel,” Underwood grumbled.
“Everyone does,” Straal said.
“You’ve authenticated the call?”
Straal deferred to the spore-drive ops officer. “Freddy?”
The young lieutenant hesitated, scratching his beard thoughtfully. Straal knew he didn’t like being put on the spot, but it was Kovalik who had first received the transmission. “It’s how I read it, Captain. Once we decoded it, it was pretty clear.”
Turning to her chief of security, Underwood pursed her lips and grunted softly. “Opinion?”
Lieutenant Commander Henry Sieber pushed away his mostly empty plate. He removed the napkin from his lap and dabbed at his mouth lightly before answering. “We’re obligated to pursue it, sir. It is not standard operating procedure, but I’ll certify it’s genuine. Won’t be easy, though, from what I saw.”
“It’ll take over an hour, yes,” Straal said. “But it’s not outside our wheelhouse.”
Underwood sucked her teeth a long moment, then decided. “Very well, Commander. Get to work. Dismissed.”
* * *
Even with Kovalik’s and Sieber’s help, and an extra engineering detail, the work took closer to two hours to finish. They might have been completed a few minutes sooner had Underwood not gotten on the comm every quarter hour to ask how much past the time they’d be delayed. “It doesn’t matter,” Straal explained. “We’ll get there when we’re supposed to.”
But the captain didn’t mind being too careful.
When they were ready to jump, Sieber was there to see Straal off. “You’re ready for this?”
As Straal rolled up his sleeves and slid the biomonitor cuff onto his own wrist, he winced, then shook off the too-tight feeling.
“You okay?” Sieber asked.
“I don’t like the cuff, but it’s not the first time we’ve needed it.”
“Sorry. Doctor’s orders, at Stamets’s recommendation.”
“They’re both worriers.”
Snorting, Sieber patted the man on the shoulder. “No offense, Straal, but you’re a pretty pessimistic guy yourself.”
His eyes narrowed defensively as he pulled his arm away. “Please. I have the most upbeat, positive outlook on life of anyone I know.”
Sieber crossed his arms and just stared at the man as he ran a last check on the spore-injector console.
“I do!” Straal protested as he met his friend’s eyes.
“Justin, last month I told you my cousin’s cat ran out of the house and they couldn’t find her.”
“So?” Straal brushed past him to check something on the other console. “I said it was too bad, didn’t I?”
“No,” Sieber said, his arms still crossed. “You suggested they shouldn’t have a cat because they’re too much of a bother.”
Stopping midstride to the reaction cube, Straal turned back. “Oh. Sorry. I’m usually nicer than that.”
“You’re fine,” Sieber told him, slapping him on the back. “Nice isn’t a term I’d use to describe you, but you’re at least … friendly. Most of the time.”
Lowering himself against the seat that held him at an incline in the chamber, Straal laid his forearms in position for the biomechanical shunts that would momentarily link him with the spore drive’s nav system. “Glad I can be easily labeled with such pet-like terms. Next you’ll tell me I’m well groomed.”
“You are.” Sieber laughed as the door closed with a hiss.
Straal rolled his eyes, and wiggled his hips uncomfortably against the sled. “Aren’t you heading to the bridge?”
“You want me to stay with you?” the security chief asked. “I could make up a reason.”
“Ritkowski is here,” Straal said, nodding toward his position at the main station.
“I don’t mind,” Sieber assured him.
“You worried you might lose me doing this, or lose the Glenn?”
“Yes,” Sieber said, acknowledging both.
Perhaps admiring the honesty, the astromycologist laughed with some amusement. “You’re the one who told the captain you agreed this was from the Discovery.”
“Because it is,” Sieber said. “Look, you’re uncertain, I get that. And it does concern me that you’re maybe distracted. We’ve never done anything like this before. Are you thrilled about shutting down and isolating half our systems?”
“Not really,” Straal replied. “But I trust Paul.”
“And if you trust him, I trust him,” Sieber said. “Just stay focused. Please.” He patted the glass between them. “That’s a security directive, my friend.”
“Yeah.” Straal tried to take the moment lightly, but he found he couldn’t. He watched his friend march up the steps to the exit, then called to Ritkowski. “Initiate.”
* * *
“Are the shield adjustments online?” Captain Underwood asked tactical as she paced the bridge.
“Yes, Captain,” Lieutenant Mikhailov replied as she checked her screen. “No problems.”
The captain pivoted toward the spore-drive console.
Kovalik saw her coming and promptly reported, “Spore drive is online and engaged.”
Just as the lift doors opened and Sieber took his station to the left of her, Underwood lowered herself into the command chair. Settling in, she punched the intraship control on its arm. “All hands, this is the captain. What we’re about to attempt might be a rougher ride than usual. But you are skilled, you are strong, and our sister ship needs us. We will be there for them, just as Captain Burnham and the crew of the Discovery would be for us.” She took in a breath. “Black alert.”
“Black alert. Black alert,” the computer announced as alert screens flashed and the bridge’s lighting took on a bluish hue.
Glancing one last time at Sieber, Underwood squared her shoulders into the back of the chair and steadied herself more than she normally would have. “Jump.”
Previous leaps began with the sound made by the cavitation of the modified saucer section, but that odd squealing, unique to the Crossfield class alone, was over rather quickly. Usually. This time, it seemed to last interminably, and as the captain turned the center seat toward Sieber, she could feel her chair and her bridge shaking beneath them.
“Report.”
“Modified shields are holding.” Sieber’s voice needed to be louder than a typical jump, just to carry over the din of the reverberations around them. He swiped one hand across his station, while steadying himself with the other. “Sheer climbing, but within tolerance.”
After what was perhaps the longest fifty-four seconds of their lives, the vibrations around them didn’t slow—they stopped.
“Jump complete,” Kovalik said, sounding out of breath. “Computer is reading this as an incomplete navigation sequence.”
“That’s expected,” Underwood said, and it made sense, since the mycelial network wasn’t a destination—it was the road. “It just means the coordinates aren’t in the nav system’s database.” The captain leaned toward Lieutenant Viswanathan. “Ops?”
Akila Viswanathan’s voice had a bit of a rasp, likely from tension tightening her throat. “Systems are responding—sluggishly. Shielding held.”
The captain nodded her approval and activated her chair comm. “Bridge to spore drive.”
“Straal here.”
“All well, Commander?” Underwood asked.
No immediate reply came, but that could have been because he was removing himself from the reaction cube. “Not a trip I’d like to make every day,” Straal said finally. “But yes. I’ll be fine.”
“Good. Get your gear. The job’s only just begun.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Bridge out.” Rising, Underwood clasped her hands together, rubbing some warmth into her fingers. Mycelial jumps always made her fingers cold. “All right, people. We’re in one piece. Let’s bring it all back online. Report status to the first officer.”
Sieber was in charge of gathering the status reports and when the crew had reported in, he came to the command chair to confirm. “All systems back online, Captain.”
She gave him a slim smile and motioned toward the main viewscreen. “Lieutenant Viswanathan, let’s see where we are.”
“Onscreen,” Viswanathan said, but there was a delay as the computer slowly parsed what must have been a voluminous amount of sensor data.
When the shutters retracted and the main viewer flashed to life, Underwood felt her jaw slacken. “Oh, my,” the captain breathed out, her eyes widening. She took a step forward.
Beyond their starship, the saucer section jutted forward into an organic fungal landscape: the mycelial plane. It extended as far as they could see, where a vibrant horizon met a dark, starless sky. The entire color wheel of fungi stretched out in every direction, bright and glowing against the black background of the dark forest. Distantly, a spore geyser exploded, and yet it seemed coordinated and not chaotic. The beauty of a nature heretofore unseen, until Straal and Stamets had opened it to them.
Only once since Discovery launched had Deb Underwood seen their cultivation bay. Either Stamets or the young ensign who gave her the tour had called it their mycelial forest. In comparison to this, it was a sparse garden.
“Get Straal up here,” the captain ordered Sieber. “He needs to see this.”
Underwood heard her first officer on the comm, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the main viewscreen. She took another two steps toward it.
“Are we in position?” she asked, still somewhat breathless.
“Thrusters autofired at the proper coordinates,” Garrison confirmed off his console.
“Two vessels nearby,” Mikhailov called out. “One is the Discovery.”
“Give me that visual,” Underwood ordered.
The viewscreen now showed their sister ship, which was covered in black soot. Wind brought motes of dust or debris into contact with its shields, causing cascades of sparkle and color as the tiny fragments sizzled against the deflective screens. Underwood could see the starship had, in fact, extended its shields around another ship, which appeared less like a vessel than it did some spacefaring creature. The alien ship looked far more like it belonged in the mycelial plane than either of the Federation vessels.
The captain heard the lift doors open, but it was only when Straal inhaled sharply that she turned to face the astromycologist.
Straal just stood for a long moment, a few steps out of the turbolift, his jaw quivering.
Underwood watched him, enjoying vicariously the man’s joy. Obviously his route to the bridge had avoided any other observation ports. “Nice view?”
Overwhelmed, Straal was uncharacteristically speechless. He finally moved forward, stretching a hand toward the main screen as if he might reach out and touch the realm that for him lived mostly in dreams.
The captain was pleased. Not only had they gotten there, but she could see it had reenergized her mycelial navigator. Proudly, she turned to communications. “Hail the Discovery. Tell them we’re ready to bring them home.”
* * *
“Captain Underwood of the Glenn, Captain,” Lieutenant Bryce said. “Pretty amazing, since we literally just sent the message a moment ago.”
“Temporal mechanics doesn’t always have to hurt,” replied Burnham. “Patch her through.” As she rose from her chair to greet Underwood’s hologram, it flickered with static and garbled into a knot of light and lines. She turned back to Bryce. “Lieutenant?”
Bryce worked at his console and after a moment shook his head, frustrated. “Shields are disrupting the holographic signal.”
“Switch to screen,” she ordered, and turned back to the main viewer.
“Switching, aye.” A tap on his console and Bryce sent the image of the Glenn’s bridge to the viewscreen.
“What’d you get yourself into this time, Michael?” Underwood teased, breaking the pretense of protocol.
“It’s been,” Burnham said frankly and with a weary smile, “a very interesting day. We’re glad you’re here. Any update from Benecia?” She’d made sure to add her overwhelming concern of the medical emergency in a personal log for Underwood to read.
“They’ve been informed of your delay. It’s not as long as it feels to you. They still only have the three cases and they’re all in quarantine.”
“At least there’s that. What’s your status?” Burnham asked. “Rough ride?”
“Thanks to your specifications, far smoother than yours.”
She met Underwood’s eyes, somehow easier to do on the solid image of the viewscreen. “Thank you for coming, Deb.”
“Anytime, Captain. Now let’s get you out of here.”
25
“Energize,” Paul Stamets ordered.
Tilly stood at the cargo bay’s heavy-transporter console. “Aye, sir.” She moved its sliders down.
The central plate with the giant Starfleet insignia, just meters in front of them, hummed to life as the sparkling columns formed. When the light show was finished, Justin Straal stood there with a dozen large stasis containers behind him.
Leaping toward Stamets, he rushed forward into an excited mix of handshake and embrace. “Paul, have you seen it?” He held the other man by the shoulders. “We scanned it. It’s bio-organic. Its capacities for meiotic sporogenesis must be immense.”
“Kittik tells me they are.” Stamets gently untangled himself. He couldn’t remember seeing Straal so enthusiastic about … well, anything. Even their first jump hadn’t inspired him to this degree. “But their entire stock became diseased and they had to purge everything. The whole lot.”
“I want to meet them. Where are they?” Straal looked around the cargo bay, searching for the Maligonq.
“Kittik is here. But the others beamed back to their ship. We’ll have Tilly beam what we need to the cultivation bay, and then send the Maligonq their share.”
Suddenly realizing the ensign was even there, Straal said, “Oh, hi, Tilly!”
“Hi, Doctor Straal.” Tilly waved, but quickly got back to working the transporter controls.
“This’ll be all we need?” Stamets asked.
Straal motioned toward the canisters. “It’s all there. Should be more than enough. Forty percent for you, the rest for them. But you’ll get only one shot, because we need to get out of here too.”
“Got it.” Stamets motioned toward the corridor. “Come along, my fungal friend. Meet their chief engineer. Mycelial engineer.”
Straal was ready and eager and strode so hastily that he had to slow down to wait for Stamets to catch up. “You say everything is spore based?” he asked.
Moving quickly, they had to dodge around various crew going to their stations, or still cleaning up from the damage when the Discovery hard-landed into the mycelial plane. Even thinking about that mishap couldn’t minimize the excitement Stamets felt from getting to show this to Straal. “I mean, I’ve not seen it all, but it’s the basis of their vessel—which, did you say is at least eighty percent bio-organic?”
“Yes! Can you imagine us pitching that?” Straal laughed as they boarded the turbolift.
Stamets snickered. It had been hard enough to sell anyone on a new method of propulsion. “What if we suggested that you could grow a starship? Would anyone believe us?”
“No,” Straal said. “We’d get more sea-monkey kits than we could count. Remember someone signed up the lab for a mushroom-of-the-month club?”
“I’d forgotten. Who was the joker behind that?”
“If I had found out …” Before Straal could finish his threat, the turbolift doors opened and he was back on their first thought. “An organic starship. Do you think we could ever?”
“For us, no,” Stamets said. “The Maligonq have been traveling the mycelial network for hundreds of years.”
Once in the lab, Stamets rushed him to the Maligonq scientist, introducing him with excited formality. “Justin Straal, this is Kittik. Kittik, this is my longtime friend and colleague. We discovered how to access the mycelial network and together helped to build this.” He spun a finger in the air to include all they saw.
When the Maligonq turned to Straal, Stamets watched, rapt. They’d both met many different species. But this was a first for them: a being who could teach them both on the ins and outs of their life’s work. Others might feel intimidated upon learning they were the small fish in such an intellectual pond. Even Stamets had at first. But Straal was quicker to see how much more there was to learn.
Rushing into the lab and bounding down the stairs to the lower deck, Tilly returned. “Breytik reports they received our transport of the spores to his engine room,” she said a bit breathlessly. She must have run and taken ladder access to avoid slow lifts. “I beamed ours directly to the cultivation bay, but we’ll need to process them into the empty canisters.”
A finger to his lips, then toward Straal and Kittik, Stamets tacitly urged Tilly to join him in watching their meeting.
What Straal was thinking wasn’t clear, but his eyes welled with tears as Kittik greeted him, arms raised. “Greetings, Jus-tan Stra’al. You have come far in a short time. I commend your efforts.”
“Oh, wow,” Straal whispered, focusing only on Kittik. “I cannot tell you,” he said around the lump in his throat, “how happy I am to meet you.”
Grinning so widely his face numbed and began to twitch, Stamets watched giddily as Straal took Kittik’s hand and shook it awkwardly.
“Justin, you okay?” Stamets leaned toward him and quietly asked, “Are you crying?”
Straal giggled. “I don’t even know why.”
“I do.” Stamets put his left arm around Straal’s shoulders and pulled him close. “It’s validation. And amazing. And just … makes the universe more beautiful.”
Looking between the two men, Kittik obviously thought there was some important ritual being performed, and he put an arm around each man’s shoulder and pulled them both toward him.
Unable to resist a group hug, Tilly rushed in as well.
