Strange New Worlds 2016 (16 page)

But I couldn’t join you or our Vulcan friend. I suddenly felt much older than I was.
I felt the hustle of bodies squirming for escape, for any ship to climb onto. I felt
my life compressed into that moment of surging, rudderless bodies. They couldn’t think
of anything but escape and survival; I was tired of escaping, of mere survival.

So, I followed the sun’s path and trekked beneath the intense heat on the lighted
side of Remus. For a few months, I needed to abandon everything and quietly discover
who I was and what I actually believed. An abandoned outpost gave me shelter and the
outpost’s ration supply, food. It didn’t matter whether I was Romulan or Reman anymore.
But when Spock returned to deliver the news of your death during a protest, I agreed
to rejoin our fragile society as it kicked and squirmed into new life. Spock suggested
I write this to you—which has been a surprisingly cathartic experience—to root our
story in the cyclical discovery between the seen and unseen.

S
TAR
T
REK
:

D
EEP
S
PACE
N
INE
®

T
HE
F
AÇADE OF
F
ATE

Michael Turner

T
HE BURST OF LIGHT
brought a wave of heat and searing pain. Benjamin Sisko squeezed his eyes shut and
choked on the acrid smoke that filled his nose, mouth, and lungs. The environmental
systems labored at clearing the runabout of smoke and pumping fresh oxygen, but the
damage was done. Sisko wondered if they would die of suffocation before being vaporized.

“Life-support systems operating at twenty-two percent!” Worf yelled before another
volley of photon torpedoes jarred the hapless ship.

At the helm, Jadzia Dax struggled furiously. She swore. “Phasers are offline!”

What good would it do,
wondered Sisko,
to fight?
They were already lost . . .

Benjamin Sisko opened his eyes. He sat up and regretted it immediately. He knew it
was Jadzia’s comforting hand on his shoulder before she said anything.

“Take it easy, Benjamin.”

His mouth was dry and he tried to swallow but felt his throat tighten. “How long?”
he managed to ask.

“Worf was the first to wake up, about an hour ago. I came to a little later.”

Sisko blinked and focused his attention on the Klingon, who stood a meter away with
his arms folded across his chest.

“We are prisoners,” Worf said. “I can find no way out. There are no obvious locking
mechanisms.”

Jadzia Dax sat down beside Sisko on the smooth, cool floor. “No obvious door either,
for that matter.”

“The runabout?” Sisko asked.

Dax shook her head. Before she could elaborate the air was filled with a throbbing
sound as all four walls seemed to shimmer as they became transparent, and then disappeared
altogether.

Sisko shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness and rose to his feet. He was clearheaded
now, his senses alert.

They were surrounded by half a dozen figures, and as his eyes adjusted, Sisko followed
one figure as it came closer. The woman had the familiar nasal ridges of a Bajoran.
Her hair was iron gray and swept away from her face. She was square jawed, and her
eyes were crystal blue. Rather than the usual elaborate and ornate attire he might
expect from a Bajoran, her flowing robe was simple and plain. She smiled at him and
nodded to Dax and Worf beside him.

“Welcome,” she said. Sisko thought her enunciation was overly precise, as if she were
trying a new language for the first time.

“I’m Captain Benjamin Sisko. These are my officers—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Yes,” she said. “Benjamin Sisko. Jadzia Dax. Worf,
son of Mogh. We know all about each of you.” Her gaze lingered on Sisko. “We are honored
by your presence.”

“If not more than a little surprised by your sudden and unexpected appearance,” said
another identically clad member of the group as he stepped forward. A Cardassian.
Sisko did his best to hide his surprise. “Nonetheless, welcome.”

“Where are we?” Sisko asked.

There was a brief hesitation before the woman answered, “Far from home. But we are
going to help you return.”

“Where is our ship?” Worf asked abruptly.

The Cardassian answered, “We have it in stasis. The ship was in the process of rapidly
expanding beyond safe parameters. We decided to remove you to ensure your safety.”

Dax said, “ ‘Rapidly expanding beyond safe parameters’ is an interesting way to describe
an explosion.”

Sisko regarded her.

“We suffered a warp core breach,” Dax explained. “I was trying to eject the core but
there was too much damage to the main console.” She eyed the woman. “How is it possible
you were able to contain the explosion and transport us off our vessel? We should
be dead.”

The Bajoran and Cardassian exchanged glances. “You obviously have many questions,”
she said. “We will do our best to address them.” She looked uncertainly at her colleague.

The Cardassian smiled widely. “There is no need for secrets. We can tell them everything.
Why not? But let us do it as civilized hosts. Come. You must be as hungry for food
as you are knowledge.”

They were taken to a large sunlit room and offered fresh fruit and drink. The woman
had introduced herself as P’Tash. The man’s name was Valel. P’Tash explained that
they were in the Citadel, in the capital of the planet and the seat of all government.
The walk from wherever they were being held to the reception room had not been revealing.
The corridors were well lit, clean, but barren. The table and chairs in the reception
room were simple and made of an unidentified polymer. The other members of the welcoming
committee, as Sisko thought of them, were more interesting. Two more were Bajoran,
another was a Bolian, and the last was Klingon.

Dax was as perplexed as Sisko. “We’re far from home, aren’t we?” Dax asked wryly as
they sat down across from their hosts.

P’Tash nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “You could say that.”

“And yet,” Valel interjected, “you’re right at home. In a sense.”

Sisko left his plate of fruit and cheese untouched. “I appreciate the rescue, but
I’m not overly fond of mysteries. Where are we and what happened to us?”

Nodding, P’Tash drew herself up. “We’ve done our best to analyze the circumstances
which brought you”—she made a small gesture with her hands—“here. Your ship was locked
in combat of some kind. You were losing, badly.”

Worf allowed a small growl to crawl from the back of his throat but said nothing.

“We were ambushed by a Jem’Hadar battle cruiser,” Dax said. “We didn’t stand a chance.”

A momentary look of confusion clouded P’Tash’s face before she continued. “Your rapid
acceleration from the conflict, coupled with the enormous burst of photonic energy,
opened a breach in the space-time continuum.”

Sisko turned to Dax for her thoughts. “Old man?”

Dax looked at Sisko. “That’s possible in theory. A one-in-a-billion chance, maybe.
It’s not something we’d be likely to replicate.”

Turning back to P’Tash, Sisko said, “You mentioned the space-time continuum. Please”—only
Dax caught a hint of weariness in his voice—“tell me we haven’t time traveled.”

“Captain,” Valel said, perhaps sensing Sisko’s apprehension, “please be assured that
we did nothing to bring you here. We merely averted a catastrophe when your ship suddenly
appeared in orbit on the verge of complete obliteration.”

“And where is
here
?”

“You are on Bajor, Captain Sisko.”

“Bajor?” Sisko looked from Dax to Worf, as if to confirm what he’d heard. “I know
Bajor very well. This doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.”

“It is Bajor,” P’Tash said. “But not when you knew it. You have moved forward in time
almost twelve hundred years.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken when Dax said, “I know what you’re thinking,
Benjamin. When we get back, we’re going to have a lot of explaining to do to the Department
of Temporal Investigations.”

“Right now a visit from Dulmur and Lucsly is the least of my concerns,” said Sisko.
“Getting home is.”

“And we will help you with that,” P’Tash said, somewhat anxiously, Sisko thought.

“Frankly,” began Valel, “we don’t want you here either. I mean no offense.”

“None taken,” said Worf.

Dax, one eyebrow raised, asked, “You have the technology to send us back in time?”

Valel nodded. “Just as we have the technology to put your ship in stasis and stop
it from . . . exploding . . . so can we formulate your return. We must repair your
ship first. It will take some time.”

P’Tash put a hand on Valel’s arm. “There isn’t much time.”

“No pun intended,” said Dax.

Sisko was not amused. “You’re eager to have us gone. We’re eager to return home. What
can we do to help?”

“Valel could use Jadzia Dax’s assistance in repairing your ship,” said P’Tash. “There
is remarkable damage to the hull, engine, and life-support systems.”

Sisko stood and the others followed. “Then let’s get to it.”

Dax stood alone with Valel in his laboratory. It was remarkably sparse, thought Dax,
like so much of what they had seen. She said, “I imagine your technology is beyond
our comprehension, just as ours would be to someone a thousand years behind us.”

Valel took a moment to reflect on this and let a smile play across his lips. “I suppose
what we can do would appear to be like magic to you.” The air shimmered in front of
him and a solid, three-dimensional image of the runabout appeared before them. Dax
had not seen him press a button or otherwise engage any device to make the hologram
appear. “Your vessel. Remarkably beautiful, I must say. Amazing how you were able
to soar through the cosmos in such a vehicle.”

“Indeed,” Dax said, as she inspected the damage to the
U.S.S.
Rio Grande.
One of the nacelles was shattered and an enormous scar stretched from aft to stern.
The little ship had never stood a chance. Things would have been different had they
been in the
Defiant
. “Studying the damage, it looks as if she may never soar again.”

Valel looked stunned. “She? Your vessels have assigned gender?”

Dax shrugged. “An old tradition.” Dax walked around the image. “The exterior looks
pretty rough. I was at the helm.” The memory of the brief but violent battle with
the Jem’Hadar came rushing back to her. She could smell the tang of smoke, taste blood
in her mouth. Her hand reached for her lip, expecting to feel a scar. There was none.
“We were injured.”

“We repaired you.”

“Thank you.”

“And now we must repair your ship. However, we must find a way to repair it in such
a way that when you return you will not be able to detect any future technology. In
fact, we must make the repairs appear as if it was never damaged in the first place.”

“That makes sense. And then return us to a point in space-time far away from the Jem’Hadar.”

“Of course.”

Dax focused on Valel. “What about us? Our knowledge of the future?”

“Ah, yes. That, of course, will have to be cleansed.”