Strange New Worlds VIII

by Dean Wesley Smith

  The Vulcan had just entered the ward, studying a padd as she walked. She never knew what hit her.

  “Traitors!” Their visitor caught sight of her and erupted from his bed. Before anyone could react, he’d flung an instrument tray at her head and came charging at her with near manic fury. Worf crashed into him an arm’s length from the stunned physician. As the two men hit the floor, Picard and an orderly joined the fray and each man seized an arm; together they wrestled him to the bed. As a nurse rushed to Selar’s side, Doctor Crusher grabbed a hypospray and pressed it to the patient’s neck. With a hiss, it was over.

  “Doctor,” said Picard, still breathing hard. “I would very much like to know who this man is.”

  * * *

  “My name is Vargas.”

  Hours later, their visitor stood beside a diagnostic bed in a private alcove, separated from the rest of the isolation ward by a glowing forcefield. Picard and Riker watched him from the other side. Counselor Troi was with them, and a guard stood ready nearby.

  “Captain,” Vargas said. “I do apologize for my behavior. My journey apparently was more—stressful—than I anticipated. Your doctor—is she all right?”

  “She’s a bit shaken,” Picard said, “but unhurt.”

  “Good.” The man had a quiet, dignified air about him. His color had returned, and he spoke with measured ease. He had an almost regal bearing and gave the appearance of one used to being in command. Yet something about him was also cautious—and curious.

  “This technology,” he said, looking around him. “And humans. So many of us. Thriving. Captain, I cannot tell you what a welcome sight this is.”

  “Well. I’m glad we could come to your aid,” Picard said. “However—your rescue, and your outburst, do raise certain questions.”

  “Of course,” Vargas said. “Please.”

  “Can you tell us anything about the disturbance where we found you?”

  Vargas shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “The Enterprise took a hell of a beating from that thing,” Riker said. “Your pod is fine. Can you explain that?”

  “I’m sorry,” their guest replied. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Is there anyone you’d like us to contact?”

  “No.”

  A moment ticked by in silence. Picard tried another tack. “When I mentioned you were on board the Enterprise,” he said, “you were surprised. Why?”

  This seemed to pique Vargas’s interest. He studied each of them before responding. “Captain,” he said slowly. “Where I come from, no vessel has used that name in two hundred years.”

  Picard considered this. “Why is that?” he asked.

  “Since the diaspora . . . Well, that name carries some very unwelcome associations.”

  Picard and Riker exchanged glances. “I’m not sure I follow,” Riker said.

  “No?” Vargas replied, a slight tremor in his voice. He studied them intently. “Perhaps . . . My God. You really don’t know.” This elicited no reaction. So he told them.

  “Enterprise was the ship sent into the Expanse to prevent the destruction of Earth,” Vargas said. “She failed.”

  He watched them carefully, gauging their reaction.

  “Enterprise herself was lost twelve years later in the battle of Ceti Alpha V. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and after so much misfortune tied to that name . . . well, no vessel has used it since.” He paused. “But you must know this . . . ?”

  Picard didn’t respond; Riker tried to mask his growing skepticism and surprise. Counselor Troi broke the silence. “I understand you were pleased to see Lieutenant Worf,” she said. “And your reaction to Doctor Selar was quite . . . sudden. Why? Do you feel you—know them—somehow?”

  “Know them? No—no, of course not. Not them, specifically. But it was a natural reaction—what with the alliance, and the war . . . ”

  Troi took a deep breath. “The war.”

  Vargas studied each of them again. “Perhaps I had best start at the beginning.”

  “Yes,” Picard said patiently. “I think that would be wise.”

  So with a wary gleam in his eye, Vargas began his tale. “It was a few months after Ceti Alpha. One of our vessels encountered a transport. An Earth ship. We had no record of her, so they went aboard. And it was remarkable. It was a late-twentieth-century sleeper ship, Captain—called the S.S. Botany Bay.”

  Riker’s voice was barely a whisper. “Khan.”

  “Yes, Commander. Khan. And sixty-two of his followers. We revived them.”

  “You must have known what he was . . . .”

  “Of course we did. But these were desperate times. There were only a few thousand of us left. We thought that humanity was in the twilight of its existence. And whatever else that shipful of Augments might have been—they were human, after all.

  “They were dismayed—and enraged—at what they found. They awoke from their slumber to find their homeworld gone, their race nearly extinct, and our resources and resolve in tatters. They had aspired to be kings, in another time—and this was the kingdom they found.

  “Faced with this reality, Khan and his followers rose up and became the leaders they always knew they were destined to be. They rallied and inspired us, and we began to strike back against the Xindi. Khan personally forged an alliance with the Klingon Empire . . . ” Vargas’s tone grew wistful. “Oh, how I wish I could have been there,” he said. “To see him in the Great Hall, in his prime, standing fearless and proud, a human like none those warriors had ever seen. Through sheer force of will, he brought them to our cause. And then the Andorians, and the Axanar, and the Tellarites, and more. Together we pushed the Xindi back. Eventually we managed to destroy a number of their masters’ Spheres, and in so doing we laid waste to the Expanse.

  “We began to rebuild. And we vowed that never again would humanity fall victim to such a horror. We began to seek our enemies out. We put down Nausicaan raiders like dogs. And eventually we came into conflict with the Vulcans. They had stifled us in our infancy and stood by twice while our world was attacked. They had done nothing to grant us sanctuary in our exile, and eventually so many years of anger and resentment boiled over into war. That war has been raging now for twenty years.”

  For several moments, the only sounds were the forcefield’s hum and the steady pulse of sickbay monitors. A steward passed by delivering meals. Then Picard spoke. “Mister Vargas,” he said quietly. “You have given us a great many mysteries. But I assure you: None of the things you describe has ever happened.”

  “Captain—” a voice said before Vargas could respond. It was the steward. “I need to speak with you,” he said. “Now.”

  Riker turned to him. “This is not the time,” he said sharply. “Crewman . . . ”

  “Daniels, sir.”

  * * *

  “So now Daniels is a time traveler?”

  The senior staff was assembled in the observation lounge. Geordi was having a hard time making sense of it all.

  “According to him, at least,” Riker said.

  “And we believe him?”

  “I’ve run scans,” Crusher said. “And his DNA shows signs of interspecies mating dating back far longer than should be possible for a human of this era. Plus, there are a few genes in there I still can’t identify. So—yes. It’s possible.”

  “We already know that there are—unusual—temporal forces at work here,” Picard said. “I don’t know yet if I believe him—but I’m prepared to hear what he has to say.” He thought for a moment and then turned to Worf. “Bring him in.”

  A moment later, Daniels took a seat among them. He was an earnest young man, with a serious face and slightly receding hair.

  “Mister Daniels,” Picard began. “Can you shed any—light—on today’s events?”

  “Captain, as I’ve said, my home is in the thirty-first century, seven hundred years in your future. Like you, I serve the Federation—or what today’s Federation will become. We can mon
itor and travel through time in ways I can’t begin to describe. But we have no record of anything like what he’s told you.”

  “You don’t believe him.”

  “We’re aware of the timeline he describes. But only to a point. It was a self-correcting, closed-loop phenomenon—it should have reintegrated with our timeline twelve years after it began. His presence here suggests it didn’t. But that’s impossible—and deeply disturbing.”

  “So he’s from an alternate reality, then,” Riker said. “A crossover.”

  “I don’t think so,” Crusher said. “In every documented case of dimensional shift—like Mister Worf’s encounter with the quantum fissure last year or the crossovers with a mirror universe being reported at Deep Space 9—there is a detectable quantum flux in the misplaced person’s RNA. Mister Vargas doesn’t have that.”

  “How can he be from this universe,” Worf asked, “but from a past that never was?”

  “Could he be delusional?” Riker said. “Or lying?”

  “There is no indication that he’s disturbed,” Troi said. “And I don’t sense any outright deception. There’s more he’s not telling us—but what he has said, in his experience at least, is entirely true.”

  “You say he’s holding something back,” Picard said. “Do you believe he means us any harm?”

  “No, sir,” Troi said. “If I had to describe his demeanor, I’d say above all that he’s . . . curious. Intensely curious about us, almost clinical in his approach. But hopeful, too.”

  “Hopeful?” Riker asked. “For what?”

  Troi shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Mister La Forge,” Picard said. “What have you learned from his ship?”

  “Not much,” Geordi said. “It’s an amalgam of technology from at least a dozen worlds, and some I’ve never seen before. I don’t know what half of that stuff does. And it’s putting out a lot of energy—but I can’t tell what kind or why.”

  “Captain,” Daniels said. “As troubling as his story is, my superiors are most concerned about that disturbance.” Beyond the room’s tall viewports, the storm could still be seen, raging in the distance. Occasional shudders could still be felt throughout the ship. “By now you must be aware that this isn’t the only one.”

  “We are,” Picard said grimly. “Mister Data.”

  The android rose and activated the wall screen. “In the last three hours,” he said, “Starfleet has reported the eruption of seventeen anomalies like the one that we have encountered. They appear to be propagating at an increasing rate. They are already beginning to pose a serious threat to navigation. If one should develop near an inhabited planet, the results would likely be catastrophic.”

  “Starfleet has declared a fleetwide yellow alert,” Picard said. “We’re devoting every resource we have to study them.”

  “What are they?” Crusher asked.

  “The anomalies defy most forms of analysis,” Data said. “But they appear to be eruptions of pure entropy.”

  “They’re wounds,” Daniels added. “Wounds in the fabric of space and time. Our data suggests that the one you’ve encountered is the epicenter. And Vargas’s appearance at the same time can’t be a coincidence.”

  “You think he’s responsible for them?”

  “Or that something else is responsible for them both. Either way, I’d like to take him with me to find out. In my time, we can investigate these issues in ways that would never be possible here.”

  Suddenly, he was overcome by a wave of nausea.

  “Daniels? Are you all right?”

  He looked up, and there, sitting where Doctor Crusher had been a moment before, was an older woman with light, curly hair. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Doctor Pulaski ran your scans just an hour ago,” Picard said.

  “Pulaski?” Daniels croaked. “Where’s Crusher?”

  “I’m still here,” said a voice. Daniels turned to face Riker—and found instead an officer he’d never seen before.

  “Who are—”

  “Daniels,” Picard said. “Mister Crusher has been my first officer for years . . . ”

  “Mister Crusher—Wesley?”

  The officer looked confused. “Wesley is my son. What’s wrong with you?”

  Daniels looked back to Pulaski—but found Doctor Crusher back in her place. Beside her, though, Worf had been replaced by a young woman with short blond hair. “Tasha,” he heard Riker say to her. “Perhaps you should take our guest—”

  “Riker—” Daniels turned back to the speaker. But Riker now sat at the head of the table, with four pips on his collar. “Oh no,” Daniels said. “No. Where’s Captain Picard?”

  Riker grew frustrated. “Daniels, Captain Picard was killed by the Borg years ago. What’s going on?”

  Daniels put his head in his hands. When he looked up, everything was right again. “Captain,” he said weakly. “We have to hurry.”

  * * *

  The double doors slid open, admitting Daniels and Picard to guest quarters on deck eight. The lighting was dim, and music played softly within. A guard stood outside the door.

  They found Vargas seated at the desk, staring vacantly at his computer. “He didn’t deserve this . . . ” he said.

  The doors slid shut behind them. “I’m sorry?”

  “Marooned on a barren world. Hunted like a criminal. . . . He didn’t deserve such an end.” Vargas turned to face them.

  “Well,” Picard said. “The history we remember is a bit—different—from yours.”

  “Yes,” Vargas said wearily. “So I see.” He motioned to the computer. “I’ve been reading a great deal of your history, Captain. Thank you for allowing me.”

  Picard nodded.

  “You truly have no trace of what I’ve described.”

  “No,” Picard said. “I’d like to talk with you about that.”

  Vargas noted Picard’s companion. “And you, sir . . . ?”

  “Mister Daniels is . . . assisting us,” Picard said. “He shares our concern with your arrival, and particularly with the—disturbances—that have erupted since then.”

  “You think I can help with that,” Vargas said.

  “I think you know more than you’ve shared.”

  Vargas sat silently for a moment. “I’ve been reading about you, Captain,” he said quietly. “Oh, nothing classified. News accounts, mostly. You’re fond of archaeology, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Have you ever . . . looked upon a relic, Captain, and wondered what might have been? Have you ever dreamt of saving the Mayans, perhaps, or how a first contact could have gone?”

  “I suppose,” Picard said. “History is necessarily about possibility and choice.”

  “Quite so, Captain. Quite so.”

  “But there are things in life that can’t be changed,” Daniels said. “That shouldn’t be.”

  “Oh?” Vargas said. “Hmm. Well—perhaps so.”

  The ship shuddered around them.

  “The tremors are getting worse,” Vargas said.

  “Yes.”

  He grew quiet. “There are more of them, aren’t there?”

  “There are,” Picard said. He traded looks with Daniels. “Mister Vargas, what is it you’re not telling us? What do you know about them?”

  “I should go,” he said. He breathed deeply. “It’s time.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Picard said. “However—Mister Daniels would like to take you with him, to help us understand what is happening.”

  “Take me where?” Vargas asked. He peered more intently at the man. And then his expression changed. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked. “You want to take me through time . . . ”

  “How did you—”

  “Captain, this is madness,” Vargas said. “Absolutely not. I need to leave here. Now.”

  “I cannot—”

  “Captain, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Then explain it
to me.”

  Vargas looked at them in stony silence.

  “Well,” Picard said. “You see my dilemma.”

  * * *

  They returned to the bridge. Picard and Riker were conferring quietly when an alarm went off behind them.

  “Captain!” Worf said. “Detecting an unauthorized launch in main shuttlebay.” He looked up. “It’s Vargas.”

  “He didn’t waste any time,” Riker said. “How’d he get past security?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Secure the bay doors,” Picard said. “And get a team down there.”

  “He’s overriding our controls,” Worf said. “He’s depressurizing the bay . . . . He’s gone.”

  “Red alert,” Picard said. “Pursuit course.”

  On the main viewer, the tiny craft rocketed toward the disturbance. “Transporter lock?”

  “Jammed.”

  “Tractor beam.”

  “No effect.”

  Picard tugged at his uniform and glared at the screen. “Hail him.”

  Vargas appeared on screen. He glanced at them only briefly as he tended to the controls. “Don’t follow me, Captain. I beg of you.”

  “I have no intention of harming you,” Picard said. “But I believe you know how to stop these eruptions. And they have to be stopped.” The bridge around him began to shake.

  Data spoke quietly from ops. “Remodulating tractor emitters. This may negate his countermeasures.” On the viewer, Vargas’s ship shuddered as the beam took hold.

  “Captain, please.”

  “Talk to us,” Riker said.

  Vargas continued to work. He breathed deeply. “Possibility and choice, Captain. That is more true than you know.” He thought for a moment, then spoke absently while he worked.

  “Soon after our defeat of the Xindi, we began to learn more about their masters and other threats from beyond our realm. The Suliban, for example, and their temporal allies. We knew we were entering an age where such threats were no longer fixed in space or time.

  “Eventually the Suliban too were crushed, and we were able to learn a great deal from technology we recovered. We began experimenting. We began to think we could not just protect against invaders, but perhaps undo so much of what had befallen us.

  “Not long after our experiments began, we encountered a temporal parasite that affected a number of our researchers. It was a terrible affliction—freezing them in time, in a way, by preventing them from forming any long-term memory.