Enigma Ship by J. York (small books to read .TXT) 📕

the urge to explore and to seek simulated experiences, through storytelling, or more advanced technologies like holodecks, were interrelated. Perhaps that might lead the occasional civilization down a different—different technological path.”

Lense squinted at the readouts. “I’m not an engineer, but how different are they? I mean, the ship hypothesis is mine, but shouldn’t there be more metal in there?”

Stevens shrugged. “Given the resolution of this method, we pretty much had to know what we were looking for, so there could be lots of nonduranium alloys inside there that aren’t showing. But we do show plenty of carbon-organic signatures, and only a small number of them correspond to the Lincoln crew. If we assume those are living creatures, and not corpses or somebody’s food supply, then it still looks like a ship.”

“There’s—there’s something else that’s bothering me,” said Barclay. “You said that Enigma showed some sign of—telepathic capabilities?”

Lense nodded. “According to our Betazoid crewmember, yes. Why does that bother you?”

“If we assume the crew have some telepathic abilities she’s picking up, then probably not. But if it comes from the holographic systems, possibly. Starfleet Intelligence, years ago, did some studies of a telepathic hologram feedback system. A system like that is capable of showing a viewer exactly what they expect to see, and that feedback can be quite—powerful.”

“Holodiction,” said Lense.

The very word made Barclay squirm in a way Lense found intriguing. She’d have to ask Gomez or Duffy, who served with him in the past, about his background sometime.

“No, not holodiction—though it could lead to that, I suppose. What we’re talking about is an absolute suspension of disbelief, about hyperreality. The mind providing the source of the illusion is hypnotized—seduced by the illusion, until they find it almost impossible not to accept as reality.”

*     *     *

P8 Blue looked up from her tricorder, antenna waving excitedly. Her voice sounded over Duffy’s com-link. “I think I have an idea how the Lincoln survived the impact.”

Duffy, who floated at the end of his safety line several meters away, grunted in response. His attention was focused on the magnetic probe they’d only recently replicated, based on seventy-year-old Starfleet blueprints. Of course, they’d added some modifications: a long-duration power supply, extra field strength, and a whole suite of telemetry sensors that would provide data to the highly modified tricorders that they also carried. Still, some small part of his mind was listening to Pattie. “Do tell,” he finally said.

“The interstellar medium is rather thin out here, but Enigma is still sweeping a wide swath though interstellar gas and dust. I’ve observed several microparticle dust impacts while you’ve been working. Enigma doesn’t sweep them away with a deflector, like a Federation starship, and there’s been no energy release consistent with an impact. I believe Enigma uses some combination of force fields and gravity control to gently brake objects it encounters. Meanwhile, it should leave a ‘hole’ in the interstellar medium which would be possible to follow, but it does not. That means that it’s leaving a trail of dust and gas behind as it moves.”

“Like,” said Gomez, “soldiers covering their tracks to avoid detection.”

“Exactly,” said Pattie. “But the composition has been subtly altered. Enigma is using the objects and gas it collects as raw materials, and ejecting waste products.”

Duffy frowned. “You think the Lincoln will be cut up for raw materials?”

“Possibly,” said Pattie, “but perhaps not. In any case, there is a mechanism that could have ‘collected’ the Lincoln without substantially damaging it.”

Gomez leaned back. “Did you copy that, da Vinci?”

“We did,” said Corsi’s voice. “We’re monitoring you very carefully.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Duffy. “We promise not to leave the yard.”

Duffy thought he heard a slight growl, but it was hard to tell. Corsi’s voice returned, crisp and professional. “Are you sure you don’t want a security team out there with you?”

“No,” said Gomez, before Duffy could reply. “Nothing Enigma has done so far seems to constitute aggression. Having a bunch of goons with phasers waiting around might be seen as provocative. It would only put us in danger.”

“My people are not ‘goons,’ any more than yours are ‘grease monkeys.’”

Gomez chuckled. Foley, one of Corsi’s security people, had let the “grease monkey” quip slip a week earlier, and Gomez was milking it for all it was worth.

“What,” asked Corsi, “is taking so long?”

“We’re being methodical,” answered Gomez.

“That’s ‘safe’ in security speak,” said Duffy. “Besides I’m almost”—there was a click, and the end of the magnetic probe began to glow a soft blue—“ready.”

“Be careful,” said Gomez, “that you don’t depolarize your own suit seals.”

“Careful, careful,” Duffy replied in a sing-song tone. He pushed the probe closer to Enigma’s nearly invisible surface. There was no question this time. The stars imaged near the probe began to shimmer and swirl like runny watercolors.

“Check your safety lines,” warned Pattie. “If we pierce the field, atmosphere could vent from inside.”

Duffy tugged at the line, and braced himself as he turned up the probe’s gain and pushed it against the force field. Suddenly the image melted back, shimmering waves moving outwards from a hole that seemed, literally, to appear out of empty space. “It’s working!”

As the opening reached half a meter or so, Duffy reduced the gain and allowed it to stabilize. There was light inside, and he got an impression of a large space.

Gomez checked her tricorder. “I’m getting a reading from inside. There’s a breathable nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, with enough residual force field to keep it inside. It’s like the fields in the shuttlebay. Radiation flux is above background but nothing we’d need to worry about in the short term, even without our suits.”

Duffy leaned closer to the opening. He could see large machinery inside, dun- and gold-colored metals, pinstripes of silver and black, and glowing blue panels that pulsed with energy. “Will the force fields keep us from getting inside?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. Try pushing your hand through.”

“Wait,” said Corsi.

Duffy grimaced. They had a ship to rescue.

He plunged his hand through the field before any superior officer had time to reformulate