Star Trek, page 26
They all stood a long moment, until finally Stamets pulled away when he heard Hugh Culber clearing his throat.
They looked up to find the doctor standing a meter away, a playful twinkle in his eye. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
* * *
Stamets laughed. “No, no, Hugh, come in.” Motioning Culber down the steps, he said, “This is who I’ve been telling you about.”
Taking Culber’s arm, Kittik held it perhaps too tightly and the doctor pulled away. “You have?”
“This is the Hugh?” the alien asked. “Kul-bur?” Kittik studied him head to toe, running his wrist just centimeters from his sides, perhaps scanning him with some hidden tricorder.
“Yes, I’m Hugh.” Culber tensed. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Well, I told Kittik about your condition …”
Seeming to be reviewing data on a screen only he could see, Kittik stepped away, his hands moving as if manipulating invisible objects hanging in the air.
Culber moved toward Stamets. “Now I have a condition?” He glanced at Straal, then did a double take. “Justin,” he murmured.
Straal held out his hand for Culber to shake. “Yes, Justin Straal, Paul’s counterpart from the Glenn.”
“Yes we— I’ve heard.” Slow to take Straal’s hand, he was unnerved by the awkwardness of meeting yet another person he’d known who was, to him, dead. I guess I’m dead, too, to my universe. How often, though, would this happen? It was always an overwhelming feeling: that crushing, foreboding reverse–déjà vu he’d now felt a dozen times.
“I’m guessing you know me in your universe, but I’m different?” Straal asked. “Paul filled me in too.”
“Yeah, a little different,” Culber said. How about turned inside out by a navigational mistake?
“Different good or different bad?” Straal was trying to be charming, but didn’t seem very skilled in that area.
Mustering his best bedside manner, Culber hid his discomfort with a smile. “Neither. Just different.” When Straal seemed to want more, he added, “I didn’t know you that well.”
“That makes sense.”
“I showed Justin and Kittik your scans,” Stamets told Culber, and used the nearby console to bring up the data.
Straal put up his hands. “I’ve not had a lot of time to go over anything.”
“This is you.” Kittik touched the screen, making it blip, then seemed to be looking at his own internal display again. There was probably some implanted device that fed information to an optic-nerve interface. “You are these data?”
Stealing a glance, just to be sure the readings were his, Culber said, “Yes, taken today.”
Kittik’s nose crinkled. “You are of this place.”
Ephraim had said the same and Culber got a chill along his spine. He still didn’t know what it meant. “Not by choice.”
“Yes,” Kittik said, as if making some internal realization. “You are also not of this place, aren’t you?”
Wondering why having both of them examining his biology was necessary, Culber remembered how single-minded his universe’s Paul could be.
Unexpectedly, Stamets asked Straal and Kittik, “Do you see a problem with Hugh coming back to our universe with Discovery ?”
Neither the alien nor the human scientist answered immediately, but Straal was the first to reply. “This is guesswork, but despite the mycelial-based enzymatics, his DNA is human, and the quantum signature shouldn’t be a problem. And it’s certainly not safe to be here. Look at his subdermal scar tissue.” He pointed toward the display above the console.
“Would you agree with that?” Stamets asked Kittik.
He made a motion that suggested he was weighing things in either hand but couldn’t decide which was heavier. “You are unique life-forms to me. His situation is unique. We would never have met you had you not accidentally changed our quantum wavelength. We did not know beings existed like this.”
If that’s his way of saying I don’t know, it’s the long way around, Culber thought.
Kittik turned then to Straal. “Will you help me, Stra’al?” He motioned toward the reaction cube. “I need a few more readings from your modifications to assure we can easily return to our natural phase.”
Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Straal practically leaped to Kittik’s side. “Happy to!”
When they were alone, unnerved by what felt like an invasion of privacy, all Culber could ask Stamets was, “Why?”
“I wanted to make sure that when we jumped, there wasn’t something that would kill you in our universe.” Collapsing the screen, Stamets closed the data file, and knowing him, he probably assumed the uncomfortable discussion would go with it. “Everyone agrees the quantum signature is meaningless. The odd enzymes we found? Maybe we just have to supplement your diet or … I don’t know. But it’s nothing serious. I just wanted to be sure.”
Was it that easy? Culber thought. “Don’t you have to know what you’re looking for, to find it?”
“Hmm?” Stamets moved toward the wall of spore storage containers and picked one that was full. Most were still red. “We were just looking for possible problems. And found none.” He placed the container into the console and injected it into the system. “You’ll be fine.”
“Will I?”
Looking up, a faint shadow of unease fell over Stamets’s face. “You do want to come back with us? With me?”
A nervous chuckle gurgled in the back of Culber’s throat. The mycelial plane was no place for him. Although the day-to-day of survival was a blur, and really always had been, the recollection of his JahSepp attackers—the air that burned—was seared into not only his memory, but his skin. “I know I can’t stay here.”
“Exactly.” Removing the empty spore container and replacing it with a full one, Stamets continued to work. “Starfleet will want to debrief you, and probably they should be the ones to let our Hugh Culber know … but I’m sure it will be fine.”
“That’ll be a hell of a day for him.”
Watching Stamets move, Culber searched for a difference between this universe’s Paul and his own. In manner and mannerisms, they were identical. In presence and charisma, the same. And Culber wanted him—yearned to stay with him, to be with him … except he’d known the man mere hours.
“What’s wrong?” Stamets asked, perhaps seeing Culber’s doubt play across his face.
Everything.
It was the one question Stamets probably shouldn’t have asked—and as a result, Culber was able to solidify his feelings into a thought that could be articulated: “How do you know that he’s not the one for you? Your universe’s Hugh Culber?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Paul, you don’t know me.” Culber let his hand fall against the lip of the console. “What has it been? Three hours? Four?”
Taking Culber’s hand in his, Stamets turned from his work and held the doctor’s fingers against his chest. “Ephraim showed us each other’s memories. That … connected us. I admit it all sounds like mystical nonsense, which I’m so allergic to it gives me hives.” He leaned his head to one side and with his free hand pointed to his neck. “See? Hives.”
“There’s nothing there.” Hugh wished he could give Paul the laugh he clearly sought, but only an uneven, emotional breath came out.
“No, I can feel it. Help me. I need a doctor.”
“Head doctor.”
“Agreed.” He leaned in and whispered, “You’re making me crazy.”
Finally Culber laughed, and Stamets did as well. It was the easy, near-surreal kind that people who’d known each other forever could share.
“Come with me,” Stamets said. “You know you wanna.”
Culber felt his face numb and he pulled back his hand. He rubbed his cheek and chin just to feel himself, to make sure he was still real. “You don’t only mean come out of the network. You mean be with you.”
“Yup. And, listen, this—for me.” He wagged a finger between them, suggesting their relationship, their connection, and the feelings they both clearly had. “A difficult, implausible, asinine leap of faith. Which I don’t do for just anyone.”
“Believe him,” Straal said, breaking the moment between the two. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But it’s true. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
I have, Culber thought.
And I haven’t. And I will again. And I won’t.
26
Captain’s log, supplemental. The arrival of the U.S.S. Glenn has refueled our own mycelial drive, as well as the Maligonq ship. With fourteen minutes of shield power remaining, it is imperative we get under way. Needless to say, we shall miss our newfound friends, and hope we’ll be able to make contact with them from our respective universes, once back in normal space.
“You’re certain you’ll be able to return to your normal quantum wavelength when you jump away?” Burnham asked the Maligonq commander.
A line of static bisected Breytik’s image on the main viewscreen. “Yes. We have all the data we need to assure that our people, who were aboard your ship, will change phase with us as we exit the network. Your openness, your assistance, and your forgiveness have been an inspiration, Captain Burnham.”
Finding it difficult to fully focus on Breytik’s words, the captain marveled at the alien bridge that mixed bioengineering with holographic and physical controls. Burnham wished they had more time for the scientific and cultural exchange they’d begun. She envied Lieutenant Stamets, who had spent the most time with the Maligonq’s chief mycelial engineer. Once they got home, she’d be poring over his report, and likely recommend to Starfleet they investigate a way to confer with the Maligonq on ways to improve the spore-drive technology. “I’m only glad we were able to help one another, and forge what we hope is a long and edifying relationship.”
“Do you need us to stay in this realm until you return to yours?” Breytik asked. “If there is a problem, we may be able to help.”
Sharing a quick glance with Saru, the captain did consider it and could see her first officer was doing the same. “As agreeable as that would be,” the Kelpien said, “extending our shields is a drain we could do without.”
Burnham raised both arms, mimicking the greeting Breytik had made when they first met. “Thank you for the offer, Commander. We have the Glenn here. We’ll be fine.”
Raising his hands in the same manner, Breytik crinkled his nose. “Fair travels, Captain.”
“And to you.”
The communication ended with a flicker and Burnham watched as the Maligonq ship spun on an axis, slowly at first but quickly building up speed. With a crackle of sound and a flash of bright blue light, the ship seemed to melt into a ball, then vanish. It was lovely, and awe-inspiring, and somehow even a bit frightening.
Only the Discovery and her sister ship remained. One down, Burnham thought. Two to go.
* * *
“I better be getting back,” Justin Straal told them, closing his communicator. “Captain Charisma’s getting antsy.”
“I’d say you should transfer to the Discovery, but then I’d have to transfer to the Glenn. No, thanks,” Stamets said.
“She’s definitely an acquired taste,” Straal admitted. “Someday I might get there.”
Stamets grabbed his friend, gave him a warm hug with a clap on the back, and then pushed him to arm’s length, still holding on. “Thank you for … well, everything. The whole deal. Starting this journey, and getting us out of this mess.”
Straal smiled a bit as Stamets released him. “Brave new universe.”
“Universes,” he corrected. “See you on the other side.”
When Stamets turned away to resume his tasks, Culber noticed the Glenn mycelial navigator hesitated. They both watched Stamets, working excitedly with Tilly and Nilsson, and Culber wasn’t sure what was etched into Straal’s face.
“You okay, Justin?” Culber asked the man as he climbed toward the exit.
Pausing when he got to the upper level, Straal peered back at Stamets again for another quiet moment. “I used to think Paul would never be happy until I was as dedicated to our work as he was. I thought he was missing out on life because he’d never fully let someone else in. Hell, I didn’t even think there was anyone for him.” He leveled his gaze directly at Culber. “Now I see I was wrong … and I don’t think I’ll be happy until I find what he has with you.”
Stifling a protest, Hugh shuffled his feet and looked away.
Straal hung there briefly, then finally pivoted and left.
As Culber turned back and saw Stamets in his natural element, the illusion of this man being exactly like his husband was irresistible. The shame of that continued to haunt him, however. Was the love he had for his universe’s Paul fungible? Could it so easily transfer from the original to the … well, not copy, but “new and improved”?
Perhaps this Paul Stamets only seemed a bit more caring and more together than the one he left behind because he’d been without him for what seemed like an eternity.
Is this heaven, or hell? he mused.
Heaven was in his husband’s arms. Hell was in his doubt: How could you throw him aside? The guilt radiated across Culber’s psyche like a toothache—throbbing everywhere but difficult to localize.
Tilly at the main console, Nilsson at the backup, Stamets rolled up his sleeves as he strode toward him. “We’ll be putting into Starbase 46 for repairs once we get home. I’m taking leave with you. There’s a moon—”
“With a Kasseelian opera house. I know.” Culber found himself unable to meet Paul’s eyes without choking up. “But you hate it. Why—?”
Stamets’s fingers lightly pushed Culber’s chin up until he was looking at him. “I’d rather hate something you loved, with you, than love anything else, without you.”
Falling into a tight embrace and a deep kiss that was brief and yet more intimate than what they had shared in the lift, they stayed together, vise tight, until either Nilsson or Tilly cleared her throat.
“Get a room, you two,” Tilly teased as Stamets turned toward the reaction cube.
“Soon,” he told Culber as the door closed him into the chamber.
Nodding to the ensign once the arms of the biomechanical shunts popped into place, Stamets leaned back. “Ready.”
She hit the comm button, then worked her console to confirm all levels one last time. “Bridge, spore drive primed. Green lights.”
“Acknowledged,” Burnham said. “Black alert. Mister Stamets, take us home.”
“Black alert,” the computer warned. “Black alert.”
Connecting with Hugh a last moment before he closed his eyes, Stamets looked blissfully happy. He settled comfortably into the sled and murmured, “Aye, Captain. Home.”
* * *
From the captain’s perspective, a normal jump through the mycelial network was brief. As this protracted jump dragged on, however, the captain couldn’t help but worry about the hull damage. Was Discovery holding together? The ship rattled around her too long, but eventually there was a crackle of electricity, and a subtle lightness of being akin to artificial gravity going offline, and it was finally over.
Burnham took a breath and waited for Airiam to confirm arrival. “Sequence complete.”
“Confirming,” Saru said, and the captain swiveled in his direction. “According to astral navigation beacons, as well as stellar locale scans, we are”—he looked up happily—“within orbital range of Benecia.”
Detmer and Owo smiled at each other, then glanced back to Saru.
“Starfleet Command is hailing, Captain, requesting our status,” Bryce called from the communications station. “As is the Glenn.”
“Key systems are functional,” Saru said. “Many are on bypass or backups. I recommend we limit warp speed factor to six.”
“Send that report, Mister Bryce, along with my regards to Admiral Cornwell and Captain Underwood, respectively.” Lifting herself from the center seat, Burnham stepped toward the viewscreen and took in the swath of starscape laid out before them. In the corner of the image lay Benecia. To their perspective, Discovery was barely late. “Standard orbit,” she ordered, and turned to Saru. “Have Doctor Pollard coordinate delivery of antivirals.” Striding toward communications, she told Bryce, “Lieutenant, please get an updated database from the Federation Health Organization and confirm any new blood-burn outbreaks.”
Her crew responded appropriately, offering their respective acknowledgments, and for the first time in what felt like days, but had only been hours, Burnham felt relieved. The mycelial plane had been fascinating scientifically, but clearly was not a safe place.
“Captain … you’re needed in engineering.” From Bryce’s grave tone alone, the captain instantly felt a steel cable of tension tighten around her.
“Saru, take the conn.”
* * *
The sizzle in the air was short-lived. The musty smell he would never forget pressed down cruelly until it felt like a part of him. When he sunk to his knees, a puff of yeel-tree dust billowed up to choke him. Despite that, the air still burned. The memory of how painful that could be spurred him toward protection. He dug his hands into the bark around him, covering himself quickly, sloppily, as best he could.
He continued until exhaustion came, then sobbed and curled himself into a fetal ball.
“I am sorry, my friend.” Ephraim’s voice was quiet at first, and Culber had difficulty focusing on it. “I empathize with your anguish.”
“You knew this would happen, didn’t you? You knew I would be left behind.”
“I didn’t, and I did. I will, and I won’t.”
His jaw clenched, fists at his sides, Culber’s eyes burned with anger, hate, and yeel dust. “You son of a bitch—”
“You needed this,” Ephraim said sympathetically, “but that makes it no easier.”
“Why? Why did I need to be tormented into believing I would be free of this place?”
“You will be free. And you won’t—”
