Enigma Ship

by J. Steven York, Christina F. York

“What? Oh, never mind. What do you play?”

  “Golf.”

  “Golf?” She looked around the room.

  “The walls don’t move that far, trust me.”

  It was Dr. Lense’s turn to sigh. She shuffled over and sat down facing Abramowitz. “Animal,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Animal, that’s my answer. The Enigma is some kind of space-dwelling organism, like the space amoeba.”

  Abramowitz looked up and brushed a strand of damp hair out of her eyes. “You’re making that up.”

  Lense shook her head. “It’s the subject of many a trick question at Starfleet Medical. In 2268 the Enterprise, A or B or X or something—I don’t remember which one—encountered an eighteen-thousand-kilometer-long space-dwelling amoeba that consumed an entire star system before they could stop it.”

  Abramowitz shook her head. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Anyway, Enigma hasn’t shown signs of intelligence, and it doesn’t have warp drive. It does have camouflage, and it does ingest things, possibly as food. Ergo, animal.”

  “Mineral,” Abramowitz said suddenly. “Or mechanical anyway. It’s some kind of probe, or maybe a cloaked ship on autopilot, the crew long dead. They could have lost warp drive in deep space, and couldn’t fix it. The crew died of old age, or they just ran out of food and air, but the ship is still going its merry way, running on autopilot.”

  “So why does it keep swallowing things up?”

  Abramowitz took a deep breath, considering the problem. “If it’s a probe, it could be taking samples, or collecting specimens. Maybe it’s trying to recruit a replacement crew.”

  “I like my solution better.”

  “If your ‘solution’ is correct, then roughly one-hundred and fifty people are being digested by an amoeba as we speak. If my theory is correct, then they may be safe and waiting for rescue. I like mine better. A lot better.”

  Lense reacted as though she’d been slapped. She slammed the ball against the floor so hard that the crack hurt Abramowitz’s ears. “You think I don’t? But we have to face the possibility. Get back to me when you’re willing to.” She got up and stormed out of the rec room.

  Abramowitz just sat, trying to figure out what had just happened.

  * * *

  Duffy pushed a solitary black bean around his plate with a fork. He had been doing so for somewhere between two minutes and an eternity now, and it was driving Gomez, who sat across the mess-hall table from him, crazy.

  “Kieran, would you please eat that, or put it out of its misery.”

  He put down his fork and looked up at her. “Sorry, thinking.”

  “Thinking is good. Sharing is better. I could use some ideas here.”

  “What we need is a can opener.”

  “A what?”

  “Can opener. A device to open cans. Didn’t they teach Waldport’s Principles of Parallel Technologies when you were in the Academy?”

  “They taught his theories. The book wasn’t required reading.”

  “Then you know most technological civilizations develop parallel technologies, and Waldport’s first example is the can opener. Almost every civilization known develops a system of preserving food in metal cans. The surprising thing is that the device to open these cans, a can opener, often isn’t developed until later, sometimes hundreds of years later. You should read the book. It’s one of the foundations of the Prime Directive, the idea that every civilization develops warp drive.”

  “And every civilization develops can openers.”

  “Almost.”

  “Almost?”

  “That’s Waldport’s argument against his own principle. Vulcans never invented the can opener.”

  “Vulcans?” Sometimes following Kieran’s conversational leaps was enough to make her dizzy. As though this assignment didn’t already have her going in circles.

  “Never developed cans. They preserved food by drying, salting, or a kind of bacterially induced homeostasis. No cans. No can openers.”

  A pattern was beginning to emerge. “So, you’re saying that the Enigma may be a ship of some kind, representing an advanced civilization that somehow managed not to develop the warp drive, like the Vulcans and their nonexistent can openers.”

  “I’m saying that the Enigma is a big can, and we need a can opener to get inside.”

  Gomez looked down at her half eaten curry rice, and after a moment’s consideration, pushed it away before she started playing with her food, too. “I’d say we know two, maybe three, different ways to crack Enigma already.”

  Duffy leaned forward on his elbows and raised an eyebrow slightly. “How so?”

  “Well, first there’s the brute force method. Crash into it at a significant fraction of the speed of light. It worked for the Lincoln.”

  “Okay, I’m scratching that one off my list right now.”

  “Don’t. We won’t want to get in that way ourselves, but maybe there’s some way we can use it, to send in a ruggedized penetrator probe, or spear some kind of pipe into the surface for access, like a giant hypodermic needle.”

  “There’s a joke there somewhere. Maybe two or three. But go on, what’s the next method?”

  She frowned. “Well, that’s the problem. We know, but we don’t know. This freighter pilot managed to get himself in somehow. So did the two from the Chinook, and they managed to carry a dozen marker buoys with them.”

  “Well, this Omthon guy was apparently actively trying to get in. It’s hard to tell really; the sensor logs from the freighter were of such poor resolution. But we have recordings of the Chinook incident in crystal resolution in every wavelength known to the Federation, and we know they were only fixing a buoy near Enigma, not trying to get in, and were just swallowed up.”

  “Ah, but that swallowing, that’s the only proactive thing that Enigma has done since we’ve encountered it. I think they, or the buoys, did something to trigger it. If we can figure out what that is, it’s like having the key to the door.”

  “The trouble with that is, assuming that any of them are still alive in there—and I am—none of them have come back out. Me, I want to go in, but the coming out part, this is also part of the plan.”

  Gomez considered this for a moment. “We need a can opener,” she finally said.

  “I think I heard somebody suggest that idea.”

  She gave him a look that had stopped strong men in their tracks, but he just shrugged and grinned at her.

  “But we need one that also works from the inside,” she continued. “That means we can’t just duplicate one of the methods for entering Enigma, we have to understand how it works before we find ourselves trapped.” She stood up abruptly. “Come on, time to look at those sensor logs again.”

  Duffy groaned, loudly. “We’ve been through them a dozen times,” he protested, but he was already climbing out of his chair to follow her.

  “Then that obviously wasn’t enough,” she shot back over her shoulder, as she led the way out of the mess hall.

  * * *

  Soloman stared intently out the viewplate, watching floating debris drift by only inches from his face. “This is entirely illogical, P8.”

  “Concentrate on flying the pod,” P8 Blue’s voice came from a hidden speaker. “Besides, you’re a Bynar, not a Vulcan. Stop sounding like one.”

  “Computers are inherently logical, and Bynars are a computer-based society.”

  “Yes, but you’re a passionate people too, even though you don’t often express it so other humanoids can understand. You delight, you fear, you love. I’ve seen it. Look out!”

  A proximity klaxon sounded, and Soloman was alarmed to see an ejected warp core tumbling towards him like a giant baton. He fumbled with the unfamiliar joystick, feeling the pod twist end over end, but the warp core grew ever larger in his view. In a panic, he hit the main impulse thruster, feeling the rumble as it fired just a meter or so under his feet.

  The warp core slid out of view be
neath the window, but smaller pieces of debris bounced noisily off the hull around him. He flinched as a jagged piece of metal bounced off the window just over his head, but the transparent aluminum held. In a moment, he was clear of the debris field, looking down on the shattered saucer section of the Galaxy-class ship. “Very well then, I fear this assignment.”

  P8 made a dry, crackling sound. Soloman suspected the sound corresponded to a human sigh, though he wasn’t certain. Bynars had no exact equivalent to either noise.

  “Only a grub is mastered by their own fear. Well, grubs and green males, but that’s another matter. In any case, while you failed to handle that situation the way I would have, it all worked out with only minimal damage registering on the pod.”

  Soloman muttered a string of binary code that did not have a direct translation, but could best be rendered in the human tongue as, “Dammit.” “I failed to recover the data core. We will be unable to determine why this ship broke up.”

  “The wreckage isn’t going anywhere, Soloman. Safety is always the first concern.”

  “Now, but what if the lives of my teammates depend on me?”

  “Then I have every confidence you will do what is necessary. Besides, in a real emergency it isn’t likely you’ll need the joystick.”

  There was a clunk and a whir, and the EVA pod’s hatch swung open. Soloman blinked against the glare of the da Vinci‘s shuttlebay, and looked down at P8 Blue, standing on her hind legs just outside.

  “Enough simulations for now. We need to work on the mission planning for Enigma.”

  Soloman nodded gratefully, and climbed down the steps to the shuttlebay’s deck. The da Vinci’s two shuttles were parked just a few meters away, leaving little room for anything else in the small bay. He took one last look up into the pod’s cupola, and watched the simulated starfields projected onto the windows flicker and vanish.

  Soloman took a step, and nearly stumbled. Bynars were not a strong people, and the session had been taxing. His hands ached from manually operating the controls.

  P8 watched him flexing his fingers, and made a comforting sound. “Sorry to push you so hard, but time is short. The simulation programs we have on hand are very advanced, worst-case scenarios that would challenge even an experienced pilot. And I know that operating the controls manually, rather than through direct computer interface, put you at a disadvantage, but that was something you had to learn. Under the circumstances, you did well.”

  They stepped through the pressure doors into an interior corridor, and headed toward the workroom where they had set up shop for their part of the mission.

  “Thank you.” Soloman still felt uncertain.

  “How did it feel?”

  “Feel? Do you mean in the tactile, or the emotional sense?”

  “In the less tangible sense. Operating a spacecraft, even one this small and limited, is a profound experience, from both a sensory and emotional standpoint. Sometimes the best way to evaluate it is on a nontechnical level. How does the pod feel to you?”

  Soloman hesitated. There had been fear, excitement, and exhilaration, but something else nagged at him, some aspect that colored all the rest. “It felt—lonely.”

  P8 dropped down to scuttle on all eight legs. “That’s not what I would have expected.”

  “Nor I. I thought that since—losing my bond-mate, I thought I had become somewhat immune, or at least numbed, to the feeling of being alone. Yet I have spent most of my time on this ship, surrounded by my crewmates, interfacing with its computers. I’ve not been truly as alone as I imagined. In the pod, immersed in the simulation, hearing only your voice, without even the pod’s pathetically limited computer for company, I was more alone than I think I have ever been, and I know that in a real mission, it would be even more extreme.”

  P8 stopped, then scuttled around in a semicircle to look up at Soloman. “I am sorry. I didn’t see what a personal challenge this could be for you, and I’m sure Commander Gomez didn’t either. I will talk with her. I’m sure we can get someone else to go out in the pod.”

  “No,” said Soloman, surprised at his own resolve, “that will not be necessary. I look forward to the mission not with dread, but with anticipation. Flying the mission, operating the manual controls, that feeling of being alone. I felt—empowered.”

  P8 stood on her hind legs, antennae waving excitedly. “Good for you, my friend! It is amazing what this Enigma can teach us about ourselves. I have heard it said, that when one looks into the abyss, they see only themselves.” She turned and walked through the door of their workroom.

  Feeling just a little dizzy, not from fatigue, but from amazement, Soloman followed.

  Chapter

  4

  To Captain Gold, the da Vinci‘s shuttlebay seemed like a giant’s closet: crowded, and badly in need of being cleaned out. There were two shuttlecraft wedged into the compact space, plus a Work Bee and several EVA pods. Along every wall and in various alcoves, all manner of large equipment was stowed: phaser drills, portable tractor beam emitters, cargo-sized pattern enhancers, magnetic grapples, spools of carbon nanotube cable, color-coded drums of lubricants and plasma coolant, and other tools of the S.C.E. trade.

  On most Federation starships, the shuttlebay was a neat and spacious hangar, kept clear of all but a few shuttles and perhaps a visiting ship or two.

  Well, Gold smiled to himself as he threaded his way through the clutter, most shuttlebays don’t have to work for a living.

  He stood before the closed bay doors, and glanced over his shoulder at the observation windows. As he expected, the station was not staffed, and he was alone. Good. “Computer, active force field, open shuttlebay doors.”

  “Command authorization required.”

  “Authorization Gold, ten-forty-five.”

  With a whir, the doors parted. There were many unusual aspects of the Saber-class design: the warp nacelles connected to the outside edges of the saucer, the deep-keeled engineering section trailing aft with the warp-core in the rear, and the shuttlebay doors that opened forward, just under the main bridge.

  The doors stood open, and Gold watched the warp-streaked stars passing by, the vastness of space separated from him by no more than a few inches and a force field.

  One more thing about this command that he wouldn’t trade for anything. The sailing captains of old could stand on the bow of their ship, lean over the rail, and look out at the vast and wondrous sea. So too, could Captain David Gold. He could almost imagine the stellar winds on his face.

  “That’s dangerous, you know.” The voice belonged to Corsi. He heard her sharp footsteps as she walked up behind him. Even in the cluttered shuttlebay, there was a military precision to her step.

  “The universe, or just where I’m watching it from?”

  “Both. If you weren’t the captain, I’d be busting your chops about safety protocols.”

  “Then it’s good to be the captain.”

  “Would the captain be prepared to accept a lecture on safety protocols?”

  “No.”

  “A reminder?”

  “Noted and ignored.”

  They stood silently for a while, Gold looking at the stars, Corsi contemplating the force-field control panel.

  Gold sighed. “You’re taking all the fun out of this, you realize?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Well, you’re good at taking the fun out of things. You clearly aren’t here for the view.”

  “I had the computer track you down. I wanted to discuss ship’s discipline.”

  “Somebody else’s chops you want to bust?”

  “Not that kind, Captain. Maybe discipline isn’t the word. Mood, maybe even morale, though that isn’t my area of expertise.”

  “Obviously.” When Corsi ignored the sarcasm in his tone, Gold said over his shoulder, “Go ahead.”

  “People are acting strangely, even for engineers. They’re acting almost—” She hesitated, as though searching for the proper
word. “—almost giddy. I’m even seeing it in my security people. I don’t understand it. This is a very serious mission.”

  Gold nodded. “Close shuttlebay doors.”

  He turned away from the closing doors and faced Corsi. “It’s understandable, Corsi. You’ve never been on this kind of mission before, have you?”

  “What kind of mission would that be, sir?”

  “We’re investigating the disappearance of a Federation starship with all hands. Despite Captain Scott’s boundless optimism, we all know, on some level, there’s a chance we won’t be finding survivors.”

  “We’ve investigated ship disasters before, much worse than this.” Her tone was puzzled, and a frown creased her smooth brow. “The Beast, Friend, the Senuta ship, those Breen and Jem’Hadar ships during the…”

  “Those were alien ships. This is a Federation starship, full of Starfleet personnel, people like us.”

  “So was the Defiant,” Corsi said almost defensively.

  “Yes, but we knew the Defiant crew was already dead before we even started that mission. I’m not saying that these people value the lives of aliens or non-Starfleet crews any less. But we all come out here, knowing there are dangers, knowing that the universe could reach right out and smite one or all of us. Knowing we may find a ship with all hands lost, is a stark reminder of our own fragility, our own mortality.”

  “You’re saying they’re scared?”

  “Not at all, not in any pejorative sense, anyway.” Gold clasped his hands behind his back, and paced across the small open space behind the closed doors, his head down and his voice low.

  “I’ve been in the fleet a long time, Corsi. I’ve lost too many crewmates and friends, seen wars and disasters, and generally spent too damn much time in the close proximity of death. That’s not unusual in these days. Not after the Dominion War and the Borg. It’s an unhappy accident of history that most everyone on board this ship, directly or indirectly, has had a taste of what we could be facing.”

  He stopped his pacing and glanced at Corsi, then looked back at his feet. “What I’m saying is that sometimes the only way to look the reaper in the eye, feel his cold breath on your cheek, and not to run screaming, is to laugh in his face. Trust me, this is only what anticipation of a possible disaster has done to them. If we find ourselves trying to sort body parts out of wreckage, you’ll hear gallows humor that will curl your toes.”