It Always Watches: A Star Trek Discovery Horror Story

VI: Discovering Terror

Stamets called up the next set of equations on his holographic display, and the air before him filled with numbers and characters.

"So, this is where we're sort of stumped," McMichaels said, stabbing at the floating script. "We're close—we know we're close—but we just can't master the power curves necessary for success."

Stamets squinted at the text. "That's...I mean, that's an astounding amount of power you're trying to channel."

"Which is why we want to realign the deflector emitter to refract it into smaller, more shaped emission. Like the point of a chisel."

"But you're...it looks like you're trying to punch a hole in subspace," Stamets observed. "When we mapped the mycelial network, it was a matter of detecting something we had no instruments to detect. This is..."

"It's like pulling up the floorboards to get to the pipes," McMichaels beamed. "Or, more accurately, drilling a hole so you can slide a sensor probe through. We've weakened a spot here, but just haven't been able to penetrate that last little bit."

"Well, Stamets said, "if it's just a matter of reconfiguring the output. I can help you with that."

McMichaels smiled broadly. "Doctor Stamets, I'm so thrilled to hear that."

"Call me Paul. And it's the least I can do for a fellow scientist," Stamets said and got to work. He arranged and rearranged the numbers in space before him. Every so often seeming to catch a glimpse of something watching him from the other side of the field of numbers, but when he blinked it was gone.

********

Scientific Log: USS Pretorious

KMCMICAELS STARDATE 7655.2

...ultimately we decided that this was the best tack to take. It's an understatement to say that I'm unhappy with this new direction, seeing years of work delayed because something new and shiny caught Crawford's attention. Still, I'm a good warrior-scientist. I'll follow my orders...

KMCMICAELS STARDATE 7655.35

Much as I hate to admit it, this discovery probably does eclipse my bio-gel experiment. I doubt that it quite reaches the level that Crawford claims—his tendency for embellishment is one of the more endearing and frustrating things about him—but if we can make a solid contribution to the war effort...

KMCMICAELS STARDATE 7655.57

We don't sleep anymore. We don't need it. The project consumes our every waking moment. It fills us, and gives us a kinship and connection beyond mere comradery. We are joined in purpose. We have all felt its touch and understand the enormity of our undertaking and of the miracle we will bring.

KMCMICAELS STARDATE 7655.63

The work continues apace, but I fear we are hitting a wall. It has expanded our minds in way we could have never imagined but we are still limited by our tether to this plastic existence. We have tried to report our progress to Starfleet Command, but their limited minds are unable to comprehend the way that we will transform reality. We have, instead, opted to bypass their analysis and record our findings in an encoded file in our mission log named ABRAXIS.

KMCMICAELS STARDATE 7655.70

It has reduced the crew compliment. It has redistributed the redundant and unnecessary crew members, used their raw material as fuel for us. It has transformed the bridge crew into their most perfectly efficient forms. It will transform us all into perfect things. It will transform this existence—the Universe as we understand it will be molded and shaped into something more beautiful. All of eternity will be rewritten.

********

Burnham closed the ship's log and slapped the comm panel with the edge of her hand. "Commander Stamets, we need to go immediately," she said breathlessly.

"Burnham, we've already had this conversation, so if you can't find anything better to do to pass the time—"

"You don't understand, Commander. While I was meditating, I detected a... a...presence. A mind so alien, like nothing I've ever experienced. It's affecting this crew. I think it's controlling them.

She heard Stamets's snort even through the comm panel.

"Burnham, I don't have time for this. We're doing amazing work here, and you're interrupting it. You know, I'm tempted to put you on report to Captain Lorca when we get back to the Discovery—"

Burnham cut the line, then keyed the bridge. "Burnham to bridge!" She waited but there was no answer. She keyed the comms again. "Burnham to Captain Crampton, please respond!" but the comms remained maddeningly silent. Not simply unresponded to, but wholly dead, as if the unit itself had stopped working.

Frustration welled up in her, and Burnham recognized the danger that came with it. She tended to make her rashest, most impulsive decisions when facing the wall of human obstinacy. As always, it was impossible to resist.

She darted into her room—welcomingly lit compared to the hallway—and grabbed up her phaser pistol off the bed and clipped it to her hip. Then she turned and headed for the turboshaft. The doors opened welcomingly, but the bridge was off-limits to her. Those controls were darkened. It might have been a deterrent, Burnham pondered, if she hadn't ascended to the rank of commander. She pulled up the system's architecture, and quickly scanned the base code, then inserted her own identification coding. Immediately, the bridge option lit up, and the lift lurched upward.

If you don't want to answer, I'm just going to have to kick in the door...she thought ferociously as the lift hummed upward. After a moment her skin prickled, and the lights began to dim. A moment later, she felt the chill permeate her uniform and slowly make its way to her flesh. Her breath steamed. Where the hell was this thing taking her?

The lift slowed to a stop, and Burnham's hand fell onto the grip of her phaser.

The lights dimed almost to darkness and the turbolift doors whooshed open. Burnham took in what she saw in the bridge. It immediately overwhelmed her human sensibilities, and her mind fell back onto the bloodless comfort of Vulcan logic. When that failed, she reacted instinctively:

She screamed.