No Limits

by Peter David

  “Thank you,” said Dovan. “Now please let go.”

  “Now that I’ve taken an interest in your work, I want you to see it through,” said Burgoyne. “To that end, if you don’t get your act together soon and put that genius mind of yours to work on more techno-organic miracles—with undefeatable fail-safes and without your genetic material—I swear I will hunt you down myself and finish the job that Starfly started.”

  “You’re joking,” said Dovan, staring up at hir with disbelief…and a touch of worry.

  “Try me,” said Burgoyne, curling back hir lips to reveal hir sharp, gleaming canines. “Just try me.”

  MARK MCHENRY

  Singularity

  Christina F. York

  Despite his rather peculiar nature—which, unbeknownst to all, is due to having a Greek god in his ancestry—Mark McHenry graduated Starfleet Academy along with future Excalibur crewmates Soleta and Zak Kebron, and established a reputation as one of the best, if most eccentric, pilots in Starfleet. “Singularity” takes place several years after he graduated from the Academy.

  Christina F. York

  Christina F. York’s fiction first appeared in Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Since then she has sold five novels, collaborated with her husband, J. Steven York, on various works, including Star Trek S.C.E. #20: Enigma Ship, and is currently hard at work on a variety of projects. In recognition of her growing bibliography, she has acquired the obligatory writer’s cats, who share the Yorks’ Oregon home.

  Mark McHenry ignored the warning klaxon, and the droning computer voice that kept repeating, “Shield failure imminent.”

  He watched the viewscreen as he steered the runabout, his hands thrust into the holographic control system. The display showed a chaotic tumble of color, light, and darkness. The light appeared in swift, erratic bolts and flashes, then disappeared into a blackness so complete it hurt his eyes.

  He could recover. He just had to concentrate, to ignore all the outside distractions and trust himself and his skills as a pilot.

  “McHenry!” Colin Murphy’s voice was quiet and emotionless over his com link. “The shields are failing, and structural integrity is critical. Sensors indicate a reading of over two thousand Cochranes—well outside tolerances.”

  “Yes,” McHenry muttered, his attention never leaving the nav controls. “I just need to—finish—this—maneuver.”

  With a surge, the ship pulled free of the black hole, and veered away from the gaping nothingness, which quickly dwindled behind him.

  Satisfied, McHenry leaned back in his seat, drew a deep breath, then hunched over the control console again. His fingers continued manipulating the controls, moving to some internal rhythm, as he flew the runabout back to the science ship. He had delayed only a fraction of a second. All Murphy and the other engineers would know was that the four-dimensional navigation system worked.

  Within seconds, McHenry heard Murphy again. “Computer, end program.”

  The controls shimmered and disappeared. The viewscreens were replaced with bare walls, leaving only the navigator’s chair in the middle of the stripped-down holoroom, and McHenry’s bare hands hanging in empty air.

  McHenry rose from the chair and moved to the hatch. The door slid open, putting him face-to-face with Murphy.

  “Good job, McHenry. Debrief in fifteen minutes, fourth-floor conference room.”

  Murphy turned and left the lab. McHenry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He had done a good job. But any good pilot could do it. Even so, he felt a small rush of victory. He had done it first.

  It was a dream assignment for McHenry. The holographic controls they were developing would make it possible to get closer than ever to black holes. They could learn more, explore more, than ever before. They would be able to navigate on the razor’s edge between normal space and the event horizon, at the brink of oblivion.

  McHenry was pleased he could be a part of the development. Maybe, if he was incredibly lucky, he could join a mission at the edge of a black hole, once they had worked out all the bugs in the system.

  He marveled at his good fortune. He could have been on a ship on the other side of the galaxy, or assigned to some remote starbase, when the project started. He could have been passed over for pilots who were stronger, or more agile. But somehow he had managed to get into the single most exciting project in Starfleet.

  He wasn’t about to disappoint the engineers. They would succeed.

  The conference room reflected the personalities of the men and women who used it. Utilitarian, and unadorned, but with the best available technical equipment.

  The conference table was worn and small, the bare metal chairs mismatched, as if they had been appropriated from other workspaces when they were needed, and the carpet colorless. In contrast, at each station the table held a state-of-the-art engineering screen linked to all the data available on the 4-D project, and oversized display screens covered the walls.

  When McHenry reached the room, about half the stations were already filled. Seetara, Harris, and Crane, the other test pilots, were clustered together at one end. Jill Harris gestured to an empty seat next to her, and McHenry moved to join the group.

  At the center of the table, where he could command a view of all the participants, was Colin Murphy. As the chief engineer, he was in charge of the project, and the rest of the staff answered to him.

  Though they were all members of Starfleet, McHenry knew that in this room rank counted for nothing. All that mattered was creating a new navigational system, and your status depended on your ability to contribute. Today, McHenry was at the top of the ladder.

  McHenry listened as Murphy gave a brief description of today’s simulation. Although he assumed a relaxed posture, and seemed to be inattentive, he was sharply focused on Murphy’s description of the test.

  “Shield integrity showed signs of failure at approximately twenty-seven minutes, flight time. Before failure occurred, the craft escaped the event horizon. The simulation was subsequently terminated at twenty-nine-point-five minutes of flight time.” The usually taciturn Murphy could not disguise the note of excitement in his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that we have successfully simulated the flyby of an event horizon. Congratulations.”

  Murphy paused, as if allowing them to savor a moment of success. Then he continued. “Mr. McHenry, your observations, please.”

  McHenry suppressed a grin as he rose to his feet. He knew what the engineers needed to hear.

  “The flight was uneventful through launch and approach.” He tapped a command on his padd and a display of his flight path appeared on the screens. “At twenty-five minutes, I experienced increased subspace distortion, at approximately this point.” He indicated a spot in his flight path on the display. “Cochrane readings exceeded fifteen hundred at about that same time. A few seconds later, there was a fluctuation in the controls. It was so slight that it may not have registered, but it was there. It lasted only a fraction of a second; then navigational control returned to nominal. The runabout continued on trajectory, taking an elliptical path around the singularity, and drawing closer to the event horizon. At twenty-seven minutes, we reached the closest approach to the event horizon, and began the withdrawal. During the initial withdrawal phase, all controls appeared nominal, and all readings were normal. At about twenty-eight minutes, the warning klaxons sounded a shield-failure warning. However, the ship pulled free of the event horizon and assumed its return course before Mr. Murphy signaled ‘end program.’ ”

  “Recommendations, Mr. McHenry?” It was Seetara, the Vulcan propulsion engineer, who asked. It was always Seetara who asked.

  “We need to reconfigure the controls here, here, and here.” He switched the display to a representation of the controls, and indicated three positions. “The sequence of commands is awkward in the current configuration, and it may have contributed to the sluggishness I detected.”

  Murphy nodded as his assistant made notes. “Anything m
ore, Mr. McHenry?”

  “No, sir. Other than that, she performed flawlessly. As good as any pilot could ask for.”

  “Thank you.” Murphy looked around the table. “Anyone else have questions or comments?”

  Murphy paused. No one spoke, though a few shook their heads. Clearly, everyone wanted to get back to work. McHenry could see the design engineer fiddling with his padd, already at work on McHenry’s modification.

  “Very well. Thank you, Mr. McHenry. Dismissed.”

  The pilots held back as the engineering staff filed out of the room, until they were alone. Then they all seemed to talk at once.

  “What happened, really?”

  “How did it feel?”

  “Did it work the way we expected?”

  Mark finally allowed a grin to spread across his face. “It was incredible! Just what we expected. Wait till you get to try it!”

  “I don’t know, Mark.” Jill’s blue eyes were clouded. “It looked like a rougher ride than you’re telling us.”

  “Naw. Piece of cake. You’ll see.” Mark leveled his gaze at her. “You’re one of the best, Harris.” He looked around the arc of faces. “You all are. There isn’t anything you can’t do. I know it.”

  Seetara inclined his head slightly. “If you say so, Mr. McHenry.” His tone indicated he was not convinced.

  Frankie Crane let out an impatient whoop. “Forget the doom-and-gloom crowd. You did it, Markie-boy! Let’s blow this joint and celebrate!” He threw an arm over Mark’s shoulders. “The first round’s on me.”

  Frankie turned to Jill and Seetara, and made a sweeping bow in their direction. “In view of our pal here’s accomplishment, I’ll even buy you two a drink. But you better hurry up, this is a limited-time offer.”

  Mark watched Jill’s eyes clear, and a smile spread across her face. In the last few weeks, she had clearly developed a deep affection for the baby-faced Crane, and couldn’t resist his good-natured enthusiasm.

  Even Seetara seemed amused, or as amused as a Vulcan ever got. McHenry could have sworn his eyebrow twitched.

  “Sure,” McHenry said. “Let’s celebrate.”

  The bar was crowded and noisy, but Crane managed to thread his way through and find an empty table. Harris and Seetara followed him, and McHenry was behind them in tail position.

  Crane moved swiftly, and McHenry smiled to himself. Even in a packed waterfront bar, Crane’s piloting skills were evident.

  They settled in around the table, Jill taking the seat between Crane and McHenry. She was an attractive woman. With close-cropped red hair and an athletic build, she attracted male attention, but didn’t seem to notice.

  Seetara sat between Crane and McHenry, his posture relaxing slightly, now that they were out of the lab.

  McHenry felt a twinge of nostalgia. This was what it had been like in his Academy days, being part of a team, one of the gang. He wondered where Soleta, Tania, Zak, and Worf were, where their careers had taken them.

  But now he was part of a team again. It felt good. They were working together on a huge project, Singularity One, and each of them was eager for the challenge.

  Crane had disappeared, but quickly returned, carrying four iced mugs, a head of foam topping each one and running down the sides.

  “Stout,” Crane said, setting the mugs on the table. “Greatest thing on Earth.”

  “Hardly an impressive claim,” Seetara said, eyeing the mug suspiciously.

  McHenry preferred Klingon bloodwine to Earth beer, but he accepted the mug with a smile. This was his celebration, after all. He should try to enjoy it. Even a man descended from gods sometimes just wanted to be one of the guys.

  “Good news.” Murphy stood behind his usual chair at the center of the conference table. “After Mr. McHenry’s successful simulation, and the subsequent flight of Harris, Seetara, and Crane, we finally have authorization to build a prototype.”

  The room buzzed with excitement, and the four pilots exchanged triumphant glances. Crane grinned widely, and whispered to McHenry, “Thanks for leading the way, buddy.”

  McHenry shook his head. “Luck of the draw, man. I just happened to get there first.”

  Murphy shot them a look, and further comment died. They could discuss it later.

  Once he had everyone’s attention again, Murphy continued. “Construction will begin immediately. We expect to have a functional holographic control unit installed in the runabout Amazon in about three weeks. We will begin field trials immediately thereafter.”

  He keyed his padd, and a star chart appeared on the display screens. “We have selected a location for the trials, and arranged for the use of the science vessel Glenn.”

  A smile threatened Murphy’s usual stoic expression. “You will all receive orders for your temporary transfer to duty aboard the Glenn, but that’s just a formality. As of now, consider yourselves reassigned, and be prepared to leave at the end of the month. Dismissed.”

  The meeting broke into knots of engineers, pilots, and technicians, all talking at once. McHenry stood with Harris, Seetara, and Crane. It seemed as though all four were talking at once, but Crane’s excited chatter rode over the others.

  “Field trials? Field trials! Can you believe it? I mean, of course you can.” He looked at McHenry. “You led the way, buddy!”

  Mark grinned. “We all did it, Frankie. If we hadn’t, they wouldn’t be putting the time and talent into building us a prototype.”

  Walking into the stripped-down common room of the refitted runabout Amazon was a déjà vu moment for McHenry. It felt exactly like the simulator in the lab at Starfleet Headquarters, right down to the emergency medikit on the bulkhead.

  He sat in the command chair, and imagined the holographic controls in front of him. The chair felt so familiar, he wondered if they had taken it from the lab in San Francisco.

  The power coupling was in the same place, under the right armrest, and when he activated it, the controls appeared in front of him, just like in the lab.

  Seetara was piloting Amazon. On this first round of tests with the new system they wouldn’t approach the event horizon. Despite his disappointment at the restrictions, McHenry was happy to be back in a real ship.

  Their flight was uneventful. To McHenry, in the windowless holosuite built into the runabout, it could just as well have been back in the lab. Except he could feel the difference in their position in space. Unlike the lab, which was always in the same spatial orientation, the runabout was actually moving, shifting location and direction.

  It might look exactly like the lab, but it didn’t feel that way.

  Pilot. 4-D pilot. Observer. McHenry, Harris, Seetara, and Crane cycled through all three positions, in every combination. They polished the skills they had developed in the lab, and grew familiar with the nuances of the new installation. They still could not fly near the event horizon, but each round of tests brought them closer.

  McHenry was next in the rotation, when Murphy called them into a briefing. “We have just received clearance for a flyby,” he said without preamble. “Mr. McHenry, you’re up. Are you ready?”

  McHenry felt a surge of excitement. Ready? They were all ready. “Yessir!”

  Murphy nodded. “We will begin tomorrow. Each flight will get progressively closer to the event horizon. Regular flight rotation will be followed. Any questions?”

  They shook their heads, and were dismissed.

  As they headed down the corridor, Crane turned to McHenry. “I do have a question for you, buddy.”

  “What?”

  “Just how in the hell are we supposed to sleep tonight?”

  Mark grinned at him. Crane would pilot the runabout in tomorrow’s flight, and McHenry understood how he felt. “I don’t know, Frankie. You think Zefram Cochrane had this problem before his first flight?”

  Crane laughed. “I think every pilot who ever broke a barrier must have had the same problem. Did you ever hear the stories about Yeager, the first guy to break the
sound barrier?”

  McHenry nodded. He devoured historical minutiae, and Chuck Yeager was one of the greatest pilots of twentieth-century Earth. He had read everything he could find about the man.

  But that didn’t stop Crane from launching into a long and involved tale of the first Mach 1 flight.

  McHenry had to admit it: Crane was a good storyteller. He could only imagine what Crane’s version of tomorrow’s flight would be like, but it would probably make a great story.

  McHenry watched the holographic viewscreen intently. Every few seconds the display would fluctuate, the colors a shade less intense, the focus softening almost imperceptibly. It passed in the blink of an eye, an instant of change that disappeared before it could be analyzed.

  But Mark knew each time it happened. He could feel the difference between their actual location and what the displays were showing him. It just felt wrong.

  At the helm, Crane seemed to share the same sense of wrongness. McHenry could hear it in the tone of his voice, and feel his hesitations.

  They drew in nearer to the event horizon, crossing the invisible line in space, which they had not crossed before. There was no dramatic change, no sudden shift, but McHenry could feel a subtle shift in the speed and direction of the runabout. It was fully in his control now, the 4-D controls offering a dizzying number of choices and combinations.

  McHenry reacted with confidence and precision. This was what they had trained for, the job they were here to do.

  The flight ended almost as soon as it began. At least, that was how it felt to McHenry. All the months of work, of training and drill and practice, came down to a few seconds of flight time. As he surrendered control to Crane, he wondered how long Zefram Cochrane’s first flight had been.