Star Trek: TNG Indstinguishable From Magic (45 page)

“Seeing you when I first wake,” he specified. “I dunno if I could face today without that.”

“You make yourself sound very dependent.”

“Not every day, Leah. Just
this
day.”

Sela walked, with a Starfleet escort, along the corridor that led past the battle bridge. As she walked past, on her way to engineering to check up on her people’s work in assisting
Challenger
’s octopoid engineer, her hand flickered out and stuck something to the wall next to the sealed battle bridge door.

Her Starfleet escort never noticed.

Once in engineering, she took the centurion aside from where he was checking on connections. “I’ve attached a marker to the door of this ship’s auxiliary control center, the so-called battle bridge,” she told him in a low voice. “When the time comes, and it will come, you will go directly there and secure the room.”

“I understand, Commander,” the centurion whispered in response.

Even as Sela was talking to the centurion in engineering, the battle bridge doors opened, and Qat’qa emerged. She stepped out into the corridor, and quickly found the tiny marker.

She nodded to herself. “I knew it.”

T
he gray-blue expanse of the
Hera
’s saucer section spread out further and further to either side of the approaching shuttle’s underside.

“Ten meters,” Nog reported as he guided the shuttle in. Beside him, Scotty leaned forward in the co-pilot’s seat, his
eyes bright with curiosity, and a half smile sheltering under his mustache. “Eight meters . . . Seven . . .”

Behind them, Barclay spared a nervous glance at Voktra, who was looking out of the forward viewport with tired eyes. She glanced over at him, and nodded slightly. The remaining Starfleet people and Romulans watched the approaching ship stoically. Barclay suspected they were thinking that they could be of more use helping with repairs on
Challenger
. Or, in the case of the Romulans, perhaps they thought they could be more useful plotting against the
Challenger
crew. Either way, Barclay was wondering why he volunteered.

Voktra looked at him, and he remembered that this away mission was a vital part of his duty.

“Three meters,” Nog continued. “Two . . . Docking now—”

There was a tremendous boom, and suddenly Barclay was falling. Wind was rushing past his ears, and he realized in horror that it must be the shuttle depressurizing. There was a scream somewhere as he tried to grab hold of the back of the pilot’s seat, which felt like it was a hundred klicks away and that he could never fly so far in order to reach it.

The screaming grew louder, drowning out any alarms that were sounding. He wasn’t sure if it was Voktra, or himself, or the air squeezing through a rupture, or Nog doing that screech Ferengi sometimes did when they were in mortal terror.

The screaming was so loud now that it must surely rupture his eardrums, but somehow it didn’t. Then he was jarred awake, and rolled to a sitting position. His left shoulder, hip, and his whole back felt as if he had been kicked by an elephant.

Barclay got to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain, and satisfied himself that nothing was broken. He
was about to call down to sickbay when he realized he was standing in the open air.

There was a night sky above his head, clear, cloudless, and filled with stars. Barclay blinked, confused.
Challenger
had been thrown into intergalactic space, and there were no stars there. He spun around two or three times, taking in the starlit landscape, and the figures of the rest of the away team. For a moment, he leaned toward Voktra, offering a hand, but she was already on her feet, and he could see Scotty still on the floor beyond her.

Rushing over, Barclay got to him at the same time as a dazed-looking Nog, who clutched a tricorder in a swelling hand. Barclay felt a moment’s guilt about not having immediately gone to check up on the older man.

The pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats grew out of a carpeted platform on the ground. The structural skeleton of the shuttle lay open and naked like the bony fingers of a skeleton’s grasping hand. ODN cables snaked across a field of shattered metal, with collections of optronic circuits dotted like bushes in the scrubland.

“What the hell?” Barclay managed to say, on behalf of everyone.

Scotty walked stiffly to the pilot’s seat and examined it, then turned to the hedge of circuitry lined up in front of the two seats. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have to say that the shuttle has been turned inside-out.”

“That’s what it looks like,” Voktra agreed, “but it’s impossible.”

“Aye, the impact needed to rupture and flatten the shuttle would have been one none of us could have walked away from.”

“Maybe we didn’t,” Barclay suggested. He looked
around nervously. “I mean, this definitely isn’t the interior of the
Hera
. Do you think we could be . . . I mean . . .”

“Don’t be daft, laddie. We’re not dead, if that’s what you’re suggesting. This is a real place. Besides, if we’d crashed, the shuttle wouldn’t just be inside out, it’d be scattered over a piece of real estate the size o’ Belgium.”

“Oh.”

“And this shuttle might be inside out but it’s all together, all in proportion . . .” Scotty reached out and touched a control, but nothing happened. “It’s still assembled right, but inside out.”

“No power, though.”

“Aye, and that’s another puzzle. Why didn’t we explode when warp field containment went?” Nobody seemed to have an answer.

“Sir.” Nog raised a hand. “Could we be in one of the
Hera
’s holodecks?” He gestured around the group. “Maybe none of this is real, and the shuttle a holographic fake.”

Scotty nodded thoughtfully. “I doubt it could be the
Hera
’s holodeck, not with that spatial manifold taking up half her decks, but it could certainly be a holodeck.”

Nog immediately straightened. “Computer, end program.” He maintained his expectant expression for about five seconds. Barclay hoped that might work, but he knew in his heart that it wouldn’t. This wasn’t a holodeck, because if it was, he would have known. He would have felt the old thrill and the old reassurance, and he would have noted the little giveaways that years of training and experience—both on and off duty—had given him.

“It could still be a holodeck,” Scotty said, “but there’s no guarantee that it’s a Federation one, or that a computer running it would understand Federation Standard, or have a universal translator built in.”

Scotty led the group away from the inside-out shuttle, and up a low ridge that opened out onto a plain. They stopped and spread out along the edge of the ridge, everyone taking scans of what they saw there. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we’re not in Kansas any more . . .”

There was a city of sorts spread out before them. Stacked arrangements of rooms and corridors were all open to the air. Towering beams of some metallic elements curved upward and over the junctions of metal-floored roads and sidewalks.

The starlight glittered on the pseudo-city, giving just enough light to make it clear that the place was constructed by an advanced people out of recognizable and advanced technology, but not enough to lay it all open to easy inspection from a distance. Even so, Scotty could see fixtures, fittings, and even materials that were all very familiar to him. None of it left him in any doubt where the materials, or even the whole parts, had come from.

Walking down into the outskirts of the city, hands on tricorders and weapons, everyone had wide eyes and nervous twitches. Even walking this short distance had drenched everyone in sweat. It might be nighttime on this planet, but it was as hot as a mid-summer day in the Sahara.

Barclay directed his tricorder toward a curving metal arm that stretched heavenward, wrapped in a rocky growth that grew all around it. “This is pretty odd, Scotty. The main column is an alloy of tritanium and duranium. The growth around it isn’t growth, it’s aluminum crystalfoam, and polyduranide. I’m reading molybdenum in the mix too, sir.”

“That’s a familiar sounding mixture, don’t you think, Mister Barclay?”

“It sounds like the structure materials used in most Federation starships over the past several decades. Uh, specifically the
Excelsior
,
Galaxy
,
Nebula,
and
Akira
-classes.”

“And the
Hera
was a
Nebula
-class ship.”

The conclusion was inescapable. “It’s the
Hera.”
Barclay shivered, visibly. It was, in retrospect, obvious. The walls were made of the same materials and in the same colors as
Challenger
’s, and the
Galaxy
and
Nebula-
classes shared their main saucer design and manufacturing. “Someone must have spent years dismantling the pieces of the interior, and then using them to build this.” Barclay was impressed. The skills required to dismantle the complete interior of a starship and then rebuild it in such a perfect working form on the surface of a planet were almost beyond his imagining. Whoever had done it, he would like to shake them by the hand, if they had hands.

“No,” Scotty said. “They didn’t.”

“They didn’t?” Barclay couldn’t believe his ears. The citadel was right there, and . . . “It didn’t just appear like that!”

“Ah, but it did, Reg. That’s the thing of it. It did just appear like that. Just the same as the interior of our shuttle appeared when we docked.” Scotty kept walking, puffing a little as he tried to walk and talk in the thin air. Barclay didn’t like the sound of it, but supposed it was unavoidable.

“You mean this is the
Hera
’s interior, just turned inside-out?”

“Just as our shuttle was, aye.”

“How is that even possible?” It was totally ludicrous, as far as Barclay knew.

“It isn’t, as far as I know. Which means I don’t know everything, and that’s a relief.”

Voktra raised both of her eyebrows this time, looking, Barclay thought, surprisingly innocent in the process. “It’s a good thing to not know things?”

“If I knew everything there’d be no point coming out here, would there? We’d all be as well retiring en masse to Norpin Five and vegetatin’ for the rest of time.”

“Sounds like a fate worse than death,” Voktra opined.

“Speaking from experience, you’re right, it is.” Scotty reached up to touch the dark rock that was wrapped around the lower half of the nearest metal spar. “This rock that’s encrusting the spar . . . What is it?”

Barclay scanned it quickly. “According to my tricorder, a simple basalt.”

“Then, if this is the interior of the
Hera,
how come this rock has already made so many inroads?”

“The ship must have materialized partly inside some rock outcroppings.”

“I don’t think so . . .” Scotty stepped down from the rock, brushing the dust off his hands. “We’re definitely not in a holodeck.”

“Then where are we? There were no planets within sensor range,” Nog said.

“Laddie, ye must have noticed that we’re a lot further away than sensor range.” Scotty pointed upward. “We’re in the galaxy.”

“We’re in
a
galaxy,” Voktra said quietly. Barclay looked at her in horror, wishing she hadn’t thought of that. “Another wake?” he asked.

Scotty grimaced. “I don’t think so. A wake would have cracked the shuttle like an eggshell, and not had it so neatly turned inside out.”

“Where then?”

“If I were to think, dare I even use the word, logically,
I think I’d have to assume we’re on the other side of that spatial manifold.”

Reg’s gut turned to ice, crushed in a frozen fist. “How?”

“I hav’nae a clue, but the interior of the
Hera
is here with us.” Scotty paced around for a moment, then knelt to start scribbling equations in the dust. “If it were a toroidal continuum fold, that might do the trick . . .”

“So, we could be anywhere in the universe.”

“Aye, lad, that we could. It’d be nice to think we were back in our own galaxy, and there’s maybe a chance of it, with it bein’ so close to where the fold is, but there are no guarantees.” Scotty straightened up with a wince and a grunt. “If somebody would like to take some astronomical readings, maybe we could confirm one way or the other if we’re in our own galaxy.”

“I’ll do it,” Nog said.

While Nog tried to get a fix on their position, and Barclay continued examining the city that had once been the interior of the
Hera,
the two Romulan soldiers walked away in opposite directions to form the best defensive perimeter they could manage.

Voktra, meanwhile, set her tricorder for an environmental scan. “These readings make no sense,” she complained to no one in particular.

Scotty heard her. “In what way?”

“The amount of heat for one thing.”

“I don’t need a tricorder to see that it’s hot.” Scotty jerked his head in the direction of the horizon, at the visible ripples of heat haze rising from the parched earth.

“Yes, it’s hot, but what I mean is,
why
is it hot?”

“Aye, that’s a puzzler right enough. There’s no sun in the sky, and no signs of volcanism.”

“All the rock and ground looks old. I’m no geologist, but I don’t think there can have been any seismic or volcanic activity here for years.”

“So, why is this place so hot?”

“I can only think of one answer,” Barclay called from where he was, “and, to be fair, people do sometimes tell me to go there.”

Scotty laughed. “Aye, I know what ye mean. And I can think of at least one Satanic-looking gentleman who’d probably feel right at home here.”

There was more than just rock to the planet. Voktra’s tricorder readings had indicated massive life-form readings. They had found that, outside of the plain where the
Hera-
city stood, there were dense forests of greenery and yellow.

Since there was no sign of a threat on the plain, and no inhabitants in the starship city, Voktra sent her two soldiers to investigate the edge of the forest.

Watching them walk, Scotty eyed the distance, and judged that the horizon was probably around fifteen miles away, making the planet considerably smaller than Earth. The size of Earth’s moon, or thereabouts, he decided.