The Folded World by Jeff Mariotte Page B

dimensions, but universes, intersect here. This McRaven might exist in a universe in which it never had a crew.”
    â€œYou’re makin’ my brain hurt,” McCoy said.
    â€œThat is not my intention.” Once again, Kirk thought he might have seen the beginnings of a smile play across the science officer’s face, a slight crinkling at the corners of the eyes.
    They examined the cabin that Ambassador D’Asaro had used. Most surfaces were covered in the same rust and moist, dark fur they’d found elsewhere. Nothing indicated how long it had been since anyone had been aboard the ship. With the stuttering turbolifts, Kirk’s party made it to the bridge. The minimal power aboard wasn’t adequate to get the ship’s main computer working, so they couldn’t access that for the ship’s records.
    Then a scouting party led by Stanley Vandella returned to the bridge. “Captain,” Vandella said. “There’s something you’ve got to see.”
    â€œHaven’t I seen enough?” Kirk replied, in jest. He beckoned the rest of the team. “We’ve learned all we’re going to in here.”
    Vandella led the group off the bridge, down to the crew quarters on Deck 6. “We were checking the various crew decks to see if we could find any sign of recent habitation,” he said. “Instead, we found—”
    â€œDon’t keep us in suspense, man,” McCoy groused. “What is it?”
    â€œIt’s . . . hard to describe,” Vandella said. “You’ll see in a minute.”
    Kirk noticed a strange odor tingeing the air in the corridor. Without his helmet on, he could smell the outside world again. This aroma wasn’t exactly like the one he had imagined earlier, but it was close enough that he had to wonder if he had, in fact, really smelled something. There was an undercurrent of cherries to it, but cherries that were spoiling, and mixed with another odor, at once familiar and strange. It took a while for him to realize that it was reminiscent of exhaust from Uncle Frank’s farm truck.
    Then Vandella stopped before a door, just one more anonymous entry into a standard crew member’s quarters. He punched the control on the outside, and the door labored open with a wheeze.
    And through the door was not crew quarters, butan opening. Into what, Kirk was unsure. Even more uncertain was what comprised the opening. It looked organic, walls and ceiling and floor coated with thick fungus or moss, with pinkish patches beneath, glistening and wet.
    The opening looked, in fact, like a throat, with a pink and green mottled uvula hanging down from the center.
    â€œWhat is . . . ?” Kirk began.
    â€œA passageway into the largest vessel,” Spock said, consulting his tricorder. “This side of the saucer is the only part of the McRaven in direct contact with it.”
    â€œThe ship that’s central to the cluster of ships,” Kirk said. “As if it were exerting its own gravitational pull.”
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œJim, we oughta get out of here,” McCoy said. “Nothin’ good can come of hangin’ around this place a minute longer.”
    Spock raised an eyebrow. “This is a singularly unique research opportunity, Doctor.”
    â€œIt’s a damn death trap!”
    â€œIt’s still a rescue mission, Bones,” Kirk said. “The McRaven is—somehow—joined to that larger ship. Which is where we detected electrical impulses that might be signs of life. We have to check it out.”
    McCoy shook his head slowly, as if he were in the presence of lunatics whose delusions had to be tolerated lest they become dangerous. “All right,” he said. “I don’t like it, but you’re the captain.”
    Kirk turned to O’Meara, who was holding a tricorder at the ready. “Scan past that opening, Mister O’Meara. Since