STAR TREK - SCE - 20 - Enigma Ship

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About the Authors

Coming Next Month

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’

imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license

from Paramount Pictures.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-5675-0

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com/st

http://www.startrek.com

Other eBooks in the Star Trek™: Starfleet

Corps of Engineers series from Pocket Books:

#1:The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

#2:Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#3:Hard Crash by Christie Golden

#4:Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#5:Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#6:Cold Fusionby Keith R.A. DeCandido

#7:Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#8:Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#9:The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

#10:Gateways Epilogue:Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#11:Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#12:Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

#13:No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

#14:Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

#15:Past Life by Robert Greenberger

#16:Oaths by Glenn Hauman

#17:Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#18:Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#19:Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#20:Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

Coming Soon:

#21:War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#22:War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’

imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license

from Paramount Pictures.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-5675-0

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com/st

http://www.startrek.com

Chapter

“U.S.S. Lincolnto Vulpecula,the Arch-Merchanthas dropped out of warp again. Let’s circle back on

impulse and see what’s broken this time.”

Second Mate Wayne “Pappy” Omthon muttered a curse and shut down theVulpecula’s warp drive. The

freighter shuddered and the lights on the cramped bridge flickered as it shifted to impulse.

Pappy turned the command chair to face the sensor console and get a fix onArch-Merchant, wincing at

the chair’s squeak. He’d get it oiled as soon as he had time.

The image on the screen was fuzzy, so Pappy slapped it with the flat of his pistachio-green hand, a

practiced maneuver that instantly, if temporarily, cleared up the image. He’d earned the nickname

“Pappy” by being far younger than the captain and most of the crew serving under him, a point he was

still defensive about. But he prided himself on knowing the ship’s quirks as well as any old-timer.

Arch-Merchantwas venting plasma coolant. He sighed, ignoring the sensor display which had gone all

fuzzy again. “That ship,” he announced, without a trace of irony, “is a piece of junk.” He slapped the

sensor display again, then put in a call to Captain Rivers in her cabin to advise her of the situation.

Rivers was, as he’d expected, mildly drunk. The captain instructed him to use his own judgment, and not

to call her again unless there was a core breach. Pappy grunted as the intercom screen went blank, then

set a reverse course. It was business as usual.

Both theVulpecula and theArch-Merchant were privately owned freighters operating on the edge of

former Cardassian space. The fall of the Cardassian Union and the aftermath of the Dominion War had

thrown the region into chaos, creating lucrative new trade opportunities, and new dangers as pirates and

raiders moved in.

Federation starships were spread thin and overworked, so freighters often formed small, impromptu

convoys for mutual protection and safety. Pappy didn’t fear the danger much, but he was just as happy

when they were transporting some cargo important enough to Federation interests to warrant a starship

to escort their convoy.

On this run, the two ships carried power station components, Cardassian war salvage from abandoned

bases now needed to rebuild Cardassia Prime. If Pappy found it ironic that the Federation was paying to

ship Cardassian war materials to restore Cardassia, he never would have said so. It was exactly the sort

of situation a tramp freighter captain lived for. It was Pappy’s ambition to buy theVulpecula from Captain

Rivers one of these days. His share of profits from this run would be one more step in that direction.

Ifthey ever got to Cardassia.

“VulpeculatoLincoln. How long are we going to be delayed this time?”

One of the secondary viewscreens cleared, and the angular features of a human Starfleet officer

appeared.“This is Captain Newport. Shouldn’t you be addressing that question to the Arch-Merchant?”

Pappy grinned, he hoped not too much. “Since it’s my guess your engineers will be doing the repair

work, I thought you’d know best.”

Newport chuckled.“My chief engineer is putting together a repair party right now. We should know

more after they beam over. Tell me, why is it—” He hesitated.“How to put this politely?”

“I won’t make you ask the question, Captain. TheArch-Merchant is a corporate ship. She looks clean

and sharp for the stockholders, but she’s lucky to make it out of orbit without shedding a nacelle. We’re

a tramp, and independent. Our ship looks like the rattletrap she is, but we keep the important systems in

top shape, appearances be damned. Most of the time, we’re all we’ve got out here.”

Newport nodded.“Well, thanks for being the less troublesome part of this mission.” He glanced to one

side.“Looks like the Arch-Merchantmanaged to plug the plasma leak on their own. Uncommonly

resourceful of them. Now if we can just—”

The screen went blank. No static, no interference, no sign of a problem on the Federation ship. It just

went blank. Startled, Pappy glanced up at the main viewer. He could see theArch-Merchant ‘s plasma

cloud, a tiny smudge against the darkness, glowing in reflecting starlight, but theLincoln was gone.

He slammed the intercom panel. “Condition red, all crew to emergency stations. Possible hostiles

incoming!” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Captain to the bridge.”

He knew the result of that last command: the captain would at least attempt to sober up first. If he was

lucky, he might see her on the bridge in an hour or so.

He hailed theArch-Merchant. “Did you see what happened to theLincoln?”

The reply was audio only and crackled with static. The voice was high, tinged with incipient panic.“No,

Vulpecula,our sensors are down too. Are we under attack? We can’t see anything. We’re dead in

space! Don’t leave us!”

“I’m not leaving anybody, but I’m busy here. Save your questions and send out a distress call for me,

will you?” Pappy closed the channel and turned his attention to the sensor screens. No hostiles, no

radiation or debris, no cosmic storms, nothing that would account for theLincoln ‘s disappearance.

He reviewed his own sensor logs, replaying the event. TheLincoln vanished, without violence or

explosion. He slowed down the replay, then slowed it again. He squinted. TheLincoln didn’t just vanish.

It was as though it had run into an invisible rift in space and been swallowed. A wormhole? He shook his

head. He should have pickedsomething up on sensors.

He heard the bridge doors slide open. TheVulpecula was highly automated, and the tiny bridge had only

two stations. The second was staffed only during shift changeovers or critical operations such as docking.

Or during emergencies, so he wasn’t surprised to hear someone slide into the seat behind him. He was

surprised to catch a strong odor of Saurian brandy.

Turning his head, he caught the captain’s eye. “Carry on, Pappy. I took a handful of stims, but she’s still

your ship for now.” She tapped the controls to activate her station. “Just tell me what you need.”

That explained the smell. The stims were burning the alcohol out of her system. Pappy tapped at the

command console, transferring information to the secondary station.

“The point at which theLincoln disappeared is on your sensor display. Run a detailed scan on the area in

front of it. Look for anything unusual.” Pappy ordered all stop, and kept his distance. If something had

pulled theLincoln in, it wouldn’t do to be pulled in as well.

The secondary consoles chirped and beeped as the captain entered commands. Finally she looked up at

him, her dark eyes red and tired, but sobering by the minute. “There’s something out there, a

discontinuity, like somebody blew an invisible bubble and theLincoln just ran into it.”

Pappy frowned, his sharp eyebrows drawing together into a vee. “How big a bubble?”

The Captain consulted her displays, rubbed her eyes, then checked them again. “I’m reading a sphere a

hundred kilometers across. We just missed running into it ourselves.” She sighed. “This is trouble.”

“Our convoy partner is disabled, we’re facing off with an invisible threat the size of a moon, one that just

took out anIntrepid -class starship without firing a shot. Yeah, that would be one definition of ‘trouble.’”

He tapped the thruster controls.

It was the Captain’s turn to frown. “What are you doing?”

“Getting in closer,” he replied. “Somebody may need rescuing.”

* * *

TheU.S.S. da Vinci was a small ship. Even with a limited crew of about forty, its interior was crowded

and cluttered by Starfleet standards, a situation not improved by the preponderance of engineers in its

crew. In general, they were pragmatic about their use of ship’s spaces. It wasn’t unusual to see someone

overhauling environmental suits on a briefing room table, storing salvaged alien propulsion components in

a corner of the transporter room, or playing Andorian Juggle-ball in the shuttlebay.

Lt. Commander Kieran Duffy could even remember a time when all the corridors of deck six had been

briefly converted into a miniature golf course, complete with holographic windmill. The exception to all

this madness, by unspoken consent, was the mess hall. Not that it was reserved for eating, not at all, but

it was reserved for quiet conversation, reading, social gatherings, and the occasional spontaneous musical

interlude. No plasma torches, no alien artifacts, and no extreme sports allowed.

That was why Duffy liked it there, why it was the place he retreated when he needed to work or think,

when his quarters became too cramped or lonely. The lights were kept low, the dark maroon chairs were

inviting, and the clusters of small tables fostered quiet conversation. It was theda Vinci ‘s living room, the

place he came to bask in the feeling of family, and be reminded why hereally liked having one of the few

private cabins on the ship.

He’d picked a choice seat for himself near one of the scattered windows, where he could watch the

stars, and ordered a quinine water from the replicator. Leaning back in the lightly padded chair, he put his

feet on the table and sat back with an oversized design padd propped up in his lap.

He’d just gotten comfortable, opened his work space, and managed to move exactly one line in the

display when he sensed someone standing behind him, and a very familiar scent of herbal shampoo.

Commander Sonya Gomez leaned into his field of view, looking at the padd.

“What’re you doing?”

He pulled the padd protectively to his stomach. “Nothing. Just doodling.”

Gomez glanced at the table, and Duffy hastily put his feet on the floor. “That was a starship. You’re

doodling a starship?”

“So?”

“Pretty elaborate doodle. How long you been doodling?”

He sighed and lowered the padd back to working position. “Six months.”

“That’s some doodle.” She leaned closer, her body nearly touching his shoulder, and this time he didn’t

try to hide his work. “I didn’t know you were interested in ship design.”

“Isn’t every engineer on some level?”

“So you’re designing a ship?”

“An S.C.E. ship.”

“We’ve got one of those already.”

The doors opened, and Gomez drew back a fraction. Fabian Stevens and P8 Blue came in. Stevens

headed for the replicators, while Pattie scuttled across the floor on all legs, popping to an upright stance

only when reaching Duffy’s table. “Greetings. I see you are designing a ship, Commander.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Gomez. “An S.C.E. ship, I’m told.”

“We’ve already got one of those,” said Stevens, who approached the table with two cups in hand. He

gave one to Pattie. “Here’s your ‘swamp tea,’ whatever that is. I don’t really want to know.”

“Thank you,” said Pattie.

“That’s what I told him,” Gomez said.

Duffy sighed. “Theda Vinci is a great ship, but she isn’t designed for the kind of missions we go on. No

ship is, really. Tugs are slow, short range, and don’t have the shops or crew capacity we need. A general

purpose design like thisSaber -class is small and maneuverable sure, but it’s too fragile for heavy work,

and it also doesn’t have the cargo, shop, or laboratory space we could really use.”

Gomez’s interest was piqued. “So you’re designing a ship with our needs in mind?”

Duffy shrugged. “It’s just an exercise, a dream ship really. Gives me an excuse to broaden my

knowledge of ship’s systems.”

“It resembles aNorway -class,” observed Pattie, shoving a second small table next to Duffy’s.

“I used that as a starting point, but see, the engines are uprated, and the whole front of the saucer section

opens up like—no offense, Pattie—like insect mandibles, to form a miniature drydock. We can pull

things partially inside the ship for inspection or repair.”

Pattie tapped a foreleg at a part of the diagram. “What are those?”

“Heavy tractor beam emitters, for towing.”

“You should add six smaller ones,” said Pattie, “for precision manipulation of objects in space.”

Duffy nodded. “Good idea.”

“And more Jefferies tubes,” said Pattie. “I like Jefferies tubes.”

By now, several other crewmembers had entered the mess hall, including the chief of security, Lt.

Commander Domenica Corsi, and the chief medical officer, Dr. Elizabeth Lense, and all of them seemed

to be gravitating to the table. Stevens shoved another table over, and sat next to Corsi.

“Idea,” said Stevens. “An industrial replicator, so we don’t have to replicate small parts and put ‘em

together into something big. And maybe a second hololab.”

Gomez sighed, and Duffy imagined he could feel the warmth of her breath on the back of his neck. “A

second holodeck would be nice. Then it can double for recreational purposes.”

“Holodecks are nothing but trouble,” said Corsi. “We’d be better off without any. More quantum

torpedoes would be good though. I’m very in favor of more torpedoes.”

Lense reached across the table and tapped Duffy on the wrist. “Put in a Risa deck.”

Duffy looked up at her. “What’s a Risa deck?”

She shrugged. “Risa in deck form. Sounds good to me.” She saw the look in Duffy’s eyes. “What do

you expect? I’m a doctor, not an engineer.”

He looked back at his padd. “You’re not taking this seriously.” He scowled at her, but couldn’t hold it

for long. “Besides, I like my Risa in chewable, cherry-flavored lozenge form anyway.”

A faint vibration in the hull stilled the conversation, and all eyes went to the windows, where beyond the

nacelle the stars shifted into streaks of light. “We’ve gone to warp,” said Duffy.

Gomez seemed to be assessing the vibration in the deck. “About nine-point-six-five. We’re in a hurry.”

“The inertial dampers need tuning,” said Pattie.

Stevens nodded, touching a bulkhead with his fingertips. “Somebody should check those plasma

injectors too.”

Corsi rolled her eyes. “How did I get stuck on a ship full of engineers?”

“Dumb luck?” Stevens said with a smile.

Captain Gold’s voice came from the intercom.“S.C.E. staff to the observation lounge.”

“Right on schedule,” said Lense, taking one last sip ofraktajino before heading toward the doors.

“Showtime, people,” said Gomez, leading the rest of them out.

Duffy sighed and cleared the padd’s display. “One plasma conduit,” he muttered, before following the

others into the corridor. “I got to move one lousy plasma conduit.”

Chapter

Captain David Gold sat alone at the table in theU.S.S. da Vinci ‘s observation lounge. Carefully spaced

around the long black table stood a full complement of vacant chairs, all Starfleet standard issue, save for

Blue’s at the other end of the table. At his elbow was a rapidly cooling bowl of matzoh ball soup, and the

grim visage of Captain Montgomery Scott filled the main viewscreen in the wall to his right.

He glanced briefly into the soup, decided the color of the broth was too pale, the sheen of fat on top

somehow wrong. He set it on the table to finish its thermodynamic journey to room temperature. No

matter how many times he had the crew tweak the replicators, they could never produce even a faint

shadow of his wife’s wonderful homemade soup.

Captain Scott seemed to notice the bowl for the first time.“Sorry about your lunch, David. This is one of

those instances where seconds could mean the difference between life and death.”

Under better circumstances, Gold might have grinned. Captain Scott was a man out of time, an officer

from the golden days of two-fisted space exploration. He didn’t shy from the dramatic, or even the

melodramatic. It was something Gold liked in Scott, even as he found it sorely lacking in himself. “My

people are on their way, and we’re already en route at maximum warp. It sounds like we should hit the

ground running, so to speak.”

“Aye, that’s the way I see it. Everything we’ve got on the situation has been transferred to your

computers under the heading ‘Enigma,’ but I wanted to brief you all personally.”

The door opened and the S.C.E. crew began to file in, led by Gomez and Corsi.

Gold nodded to acknowledge their arrival. “Warm up your padds, there’s work to be done.”

“Always is,” replied Gomez, pulling out her personal access data display.

Corsi’s reaction was different. She stopped and studied the captain, her eyes narrowed. He could see

her mind working furiously.

Corsi wasn’t an engineer, far from it. Beyond fieldstripping a hand phaser in the dark, or setting a

demolitions charge, she steered clear of technical subjects. If the current mission concerned her, she

knew there was a threat involved, either to the ship, or the crew. Playing watchdog to a ship full of

egghead engineers, often oblivious to their own safety, was her job. She took it very seriously.

Lense, Soloman, Blue, Abramowitz, and Stevens quickly followed and took their seats, Blue scuttling

across the room and crawling onto her special chair at the far end of the table. Gold noticed Duffy

bringing up the rear, a distracted frown on his face.

“Computer, display file Enigma on the main viewer.” A screen on the wall lit with the files entry screen,

Scott’s image shifting to an inset in the upper-right-hand corner.

Gomez frowned as she looked over the file’s contents. “This is a search-and-rescue operation? I’d think

there were better-equipped ships in the sector for that.”

Scott sighed.“Well now, that’s the rub. The U.S.S. Chinookis already on station, but they’re having no

luck getting inside the bloody thing, or even figuring out what in blazes it is. Command has a vital relief

mission for them across the sector, and they’re going to have to get under way in just a few hours.”

“More vital than a missing starship?” Gold asked.

“According to Starfleet Command, this is classified as a salvage operation where theLincolnis

concerned. We know the Lincolnstruck what they’re calling a navigation hazard at sublight speed. The

object is about a hundred kilometers in diameter, and the Lincolndidn’t come out the other side. That

means it was likely decelerated from two-hundred and fifty thousand KPH to the navigation hazard’s

speed, about ten thousand KPH.”

Gold felt his jaw clench involuntarily as he thought about it.

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ContentsChapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12AbouttheAuthorsComingNextMonthThisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareproductsoftheauthors’imaginationsorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorperson...

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