“So it’s a competence issue,” Dahl said.
Jenkins tossed up a scrolling image featuring the Intrepid’s officers and section heads and their various citations and awards. “This is the flagship of the Dub U,” he said. “You don’t get to be on it if you’re an incompetent.”
“Then it’s bad luck,” Finn said. “The Intrepid has the worst karma in the known universe.”
“That second part might be true,” Jenkins said. “But I don’t think luck has anything to do with it.”
Dahl blinked and remembered saying the same thing, after he dragged Kerensky into the shuttle. “There’s something going on with the officers here,” he said.
“Five of them, yes,” Jenkins said. “Abernathy, Q’eeng, Kerensky, West and Hartnell. Statistically speaking there’s something highly aberrant about them. When they’re on an away mission, the chance of the mission experiencing a critical failure increases. When two or more of them are on the same away mission, the chance of a critical failure increases exponentially. If three or more are on the mission, it’s almost certain someone is going to die.”
“But never any of them,” Hanson said.
“That’s right,” Jenkins said. “Sure, Kerensky gets the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis. Even the other four are occasionally knocked around. But death? Not for them. Never for them.”
“And none of this is normal,” Dahl prompted.
“Of course not!” Jenkins said. He flipped up pictures of the five officers, with graphs behind them. “Each of them has experienced exponentially higher fatality rates on away missions than any other officers in the same positions on other ships. That’s across the entire fleet, and across the entire existence of the fleet, back to the formation of the Dub U nearly two hundred years ago. You have to go back to the blue water fleets for the same types of fatalities, and even the officers themselves didn’t escape mortality. Captains and senior officers were dropping dead all the time.”
“That’s what scurvy and plague will do,” Hester said.
“It’s not just scurvy,” Jenkins said, and waved at the officers’ pictures. “Officers die today too, you know. Having rank changes mortality patterns somewhat but doesn’t eliminate them. Statistically speaking, all five of these guys should be dead two or three times over. Maybe one or two of them would have survived all the experiences they’ve had so far. But all five of them? The odds are better that one of them would get struck by lightning.”
“Which they would survive,” Finn said.
“But not the crewman next to him,” Duvall said.
“Now you’re getting it,” Jenkins said.
“So what you’re saying is all this is impossible,” Dahl said.
Jenkins shook his head. “Nothing’s impossible,” he said. “But some things are pretty damned unlikely. This is one of them.”
“How unlikely?” Dahl asked.
“In all my research there’s only one spaceship I’ve found that has even remotely the same sort of statistical patterns for away missions,” Jenkins said. He rummaged through the graphic elements again, and then threw one onto the screen. They all stared at it.
Duvall frowned. “I don’t recognize this ship,” she said. “And I thought I knew every type of ship we had. Is this a Dub U ship?”
“Not exactly,” Jenkins said. “It’s from the United Federation of Planets.”
Duvall blinked and focused her attention back at Jenkins. “Who are they?” she asked.
“They don’t exist,” Jenkins said, and pointed back at the ship. “And neither does this. This is the starship Enterprise. It’s fictional. It was on a science fictional drama series. And so are we.”
* * *
“Okay,” Finn said, after a moment. “I don’t know about anyone else here, but I’m ready to label this guy officially completely fucking insane.”
Jenkins looked over to Dahl. “I told you it would sound insane,” he said. He waved at the display. “But here are the stats.”
“The stats show that there’s something screwed up with this ship,” Finn said. “It doesn’t suggest we’re stars in a fucked-up science fiction show.”
“I never said you were the stars,” Jenkins said. He pointed at the floating images of Abernathy, Q’eeng, Kerensky, West and Hartnell. “They’re the stars. You’re extras.”
“Perfect,” Finn said, and stood up. “Thank you so much for wasting my time. I’m going to get some sleep now.”
“Wait,” Dahl said.
“‘Wait’? Seriously, Andy?” Finn said. “I know you’ve been obsessed with this for a while now, but there’s being on the edge and then there’s going all the way over the edge, and our hairy friend here is so far over the edge that the edge doesn’t even know him anymore.”
“You know how I hate to agree with Finn,” Hester said. “But I do. This isn’t right. It’s not even wrong.”
Dahl looked at Duvall. “I’m voting for nuts, too, Andy,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Jimmy?” Dahl asked, looking at Hanson.
“Well, he’s definitely nuts,” Hanson said. “But he thinks he’s telling the truth.”
“Of course he does! That’s why he’s nuts,” Finn said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Hanson said. “When you’re nuts, your reasoning is consistent with your own internal logic, but it’s internal logic, which doesn’t make any sort of sense outside your own head.” He pointed at Jenkins. “His logic is external and reasonable enough.”
“Except the part where we’re all fictional,” Finn sneered.
“I never said that,” Jenkins said.
“Gaaah,” Finn said, and pointed to the Enterprise. “Fictional, you unmitigated asshole.”
“It’s fictional,” Jenkins said. “You’re real. But a fictional television show intrudes on our reality and warps it.”
“Wait,” Finn said, waving his hands in disbelief. “Television? Are you fucking kidding me? There hasn’t been television in hundreds of years.”
“Television got its start in 1928,” Jenkins said. “The last use of the medium for entertainment purposes was in 2105. Sometime between those two dates there’s a television series following the adventures of the crew of the Intrepid.”
“I really want to know what you’re smoking,” Finn said. “Because whatever it is, I’m betting I can make a hell of a profit on it.”
Jenkins looked back at Dahl again. “I can’t work like this,” he said.
“Everyone shut up for a minute,” Dahl said. Finn and Jenkins calmed themselves. “Look. I agree it sounds crazy. Even he admits it sounds crazy.” Dahl pointed at Jenkins. “But think about what we’ve seen go on in this ship. Think of how people act here. What’s messed up here isn’t that this guy thinks we’re on a television show. What’s messed up here is that as far as I can tell, at this point, it’s the most rational explanation for what’s going on. Tell me that I’m wrong.”
Dahl looked around at his friends. Everyone was silent. Finn looked like he was barely holding his tongue.
“Right,” Dahl said. “So at least let’s hear the rest of what he has to say. Maybe it gets more nuts from here. Maybe it starts to make more sense. Either way, it’s better than what we have now, which is nothing.”
“Fine,” Finn said, finally. “But you owe us all handjobs.” He sat back down.
“Handjobs?” Jenkins asked Dahl.
“Long story,” Dahl said.
“Well, anyway,” Jenkins said. “You’re right about one thing. It’s messed up that the most rational explanation for what does go on in this ship is that a television show intrudes on our reality and warps it. But that’s not the worst thing about it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Finn said. “If that’s not the worst thing, what is?”
“That as far as I can tell,” Jenkins said, “it’s not actually a very good show.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Red alert!” said Captain Abernathy, as the Calendrian rebel shi
p fired its torpedoes at the Intrepid. “Evasive maneuvers! Now!” Dahl, standing at his science post on the bridge, positioned his feet for stability as the ship yawed widely, moving its bulk to avoid the nimble guided projectiles headed for it.
You’ll notice that the Intrepid’s inertial dampeners don’t work as well in crisis situations, Dahl remembered Jenkins telling them. The ship could do hairpin turns and loop-de-loops any other time and you’d never notice. But whenever there’s a dramatic event, there goes your footing.
“They’re still coming right at us!” yelled Ensign Jacobs, at the weapons station, tracking the torpedoes.
Abernathy pounded the button on his chair that opened a broadcast channel. “All hands! Brace for impact!”
Dahl and everyone else on the bridge grabbed on to their stations and braced themselves. This would be a good time for a restraint system, Dahl thought.
There was a far crump as the torpedoes hit the Intrepid. The bridge deck swayed from the impact.
“Damage report!” barked Abernathy.
Decks six through twelve will almost always sustain damages during an attack, Jenkins had said. It’s because these are the decks the show has sets for. They can cut away from the bridge for shots of explosions and crew being flung backward.
“Decks six, seven and nine have sustained heavy damages,” Q’eeng said. “Decks eight and ten have moderate damage.”
“More torpedoes!” cried Jacobs. “Four of them!”
“Countermeasures!” yelled Abernathy. “Fire!”
Why didn’t you use countermeasures in the first place? Dahl thought.
In his head, Jenkins answered. Every battle is designed for maximum drama, he said. This is what happens when the Narrative takes over. Things quit making sense. The laws of physics take a coffee break. People stop thinking logically and start thinking dramatically.
“The Narrative”—Jenkins’ term for when the television show crept into their lives, swept away rationality and physical laws and made people know, do and say things they wouldn’t otherwise. You’ve had it happen to you already, Jenkins had said. A fact you didn’t know before just pops into your head. You make a decision or take an action you wouldn’t otherwise make. It’s like an irresistible impulse because it is an irresistible impulse—your will isn’t your own, you’re just a pawn for a writer to move around.
On the view screen, three orange blossoms burned brightly as the Intrepid’s countermeasures took out torpedoes.
Three, not four, Dahl thought. Because having one get through will be more dramatic.
“One’s still heading our way!” Jacobs said. “It’s going to hit!”
There was a violent bang as the torpedo smacked against the hull several decks below the bridge. Jacobs screamed as his weapons station exploded in a shower of sparks, flinging him backward to the deck of the bridge.
Something will explode on the bridge, Jenkins said. That’s where the camera spends nearly all its time. There has to be damage there, whether it makes sense or not.
“Reroute weapons controls!” yelled Abernathy.
“Rerouted!” said Kerensky. “I have them.”
“Fire!” Abernathy said. “Full spread!”
Kerensky smashed his fingers into the buttons of his station. The view screen lit up as pulse beams and neutrino missiles blasted toward the Calendrian rebel, exploding in a constellation of impacts seconds later.
“Direct hits!” Kerensky said, looking at his station for information. “It looks like we cracked their engine core, Captain. We’ve got about a minute before she blows.”
“Get us out of here, Kerensky,” Abernathy said, and then turned to Q’eeng. “Additional damages?”
“Deck twelve heavily damaged,” Q’eeng said.
The door to the bridge opened and Chief Engineer West came through. “And our engines are banged up pretty good,” he said, as though he would have been able to hear Abernathy and Q’eeng’s conversation, through a door, while red alert sirens were blaring. “We’re lucky we didn’t crack our own core, Captain.”
“How long until it’s repaired?” Abernathy asked.
Just long enough to introduce a plot complication, Dahl thought.
“Ten hours would be pushing it,” West said.
“Damn it!” Abernathy said, pounding his chair again. “We’re supposed to be escorting the Calendrian pontifex’s ship to the peace talks by then.”
“Clearly there are those among the rebels still opposed to the talks,” Q’eeng said, looking toward the view screen. In it, the rebel ship blew up impressively.
“Yes, clearly,” Abernathy said. “But they were the ones who asked for the talks to begin with. Why jeopardize them now? And why attack us?” He looked off, grimly.
Every once in a while Abernathy or one of the other officers will say something dramatic, or rhetorical, or leading, and then he and everyone else will be quiet for a few seconds, Jenkins told them. That’s a lead-out to a commercial break. When that happens, the Narrative goes away. Watch what they do next.
After several seconds Abernathy blinked, relaxed his posture and looked at West. “Well, you should probably have your people start fixing those engines, then.” His voice was notably less tense and drama-filled.
“Right,” West said, and went right back out of the door. As he did so he looked around, as if wondering why he felt it necessary to come all the way to the bridge to deliver a piece of information he could have easily offered by phone.
Abernathy turned to Q’eeng. “And, let’s get repair crews to those damaged decks.”
“Will do,” Q’eeng said.
“And while you’re at it, get someone up here to repair the weapons station,” Abernathy said. “And see if we can’t find some power spike dampeners or something. There’s not a damn reason why everything on the bridge has to go up in sparks anytime we have a battle.”
Dahl made a small choking sound at this.
“Is there a problem, Ensign?” Abernathy said, seeing Dahl for what seemed like the first time in all of this.
“No, sir,” Dahl said. “Sorry, sir. A little post-combat nervousness.”
“You’re Dill,” Abernathy said. “From Xenobiology.”
“Dahl, sir,” Dahl said. “That was my former posting, yes.”
“First day on the bridge, then,” Abernathy said.
“It is,” Dahl said.
“Well, don’t worry, it’s not always like this,” Abernathy said. “Sometimes it’s worse.”
“Yes, sir,” Dahl said.
“Okay,” Abernathy said, and then nodded at the prone figure of Jacobs, who was now moaning softly. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and take Jackson here to sick bay. He looks like he could use it.”
“Right away, sir,” Dahl said, and moved to help Jacobs.
“How is he?” Abernathy asked, as Dahl lifted him.
“Banged up,” Dahl said. “But I think he’ll live.”
“Well, good,” Abernathy said. “That’s more than I can say for the last weapons specialist. Or the one before that. Sometimes, Dill, I wonder what the hell is going on with this ship. It’s like it has a goddamned curse.”
* * *
“It doesn’t prove anything,” Finn said, after Dahl recounted the events of the attack. The five of them were huddled around a table in the crew lounge, with their drinks.
“How much more proof do you want?” Dahl asked. “It was like going down a checklist. Wonky inertial dampeners? Check. Exploding bridge stations? Check. Damage to decks six through twelve? Check. Meaningful pause before dropping to commercial? Check.”
“No one died,” Hanson pointed out.
“Nobody had to die,” Dahl said. “I think this battle is just an opener. It’s what you have before the first commercial break. It’s the setup for whatever’s supposed to happen next.”
“Like what?” Duvall asked.
“I don’t know,” Dahl said. “I’m not writing this thing.”
“Jenkins would know,” Hester said. “He’s got that collection of ‘episodes.’”
Dahl nodded. Jenkins had splayed out a timeline of the Intrepid that featured glowing hash marks at near regular intervals. Those are where the Narrative intrudes, he said, zooming into one of the hash marks, which in detail branched out like a root structure. It comes and goes, you can see. Each of these smaller events is a scene. They all tie into a narrative arc. Jenkins zoomed out. Six years. Twenty-four major events a year, on average. Plus a couple minor ones. I think those are tie-in novels.
“Not you, now,” Finn complained to Hester, breaking Dahl’s reverie. “It’s bad enough Andy is all wrapped up in this. Now you’re going over to the crazy side, too.”
“Finn, if the shoe fits, I’m going to call it a shoe, all right?” Hester said. “I don’t believe his conclusions, but his knowledge of the details is pretty damn impressive. This last engagement went down like Jenkins said it would. He called the thing right down to the exploding bridge station. Now, maybe we’re not actually being written, and maybe Jenkins is off his medication. But I bet he’s got a good guess where this adventure with that rebel ship takes us.”
“So you’re going to go running to him every time something happens to find out what you should do next?” Finn asked. “If you really want to follow a cult leader, there are better ones than a guy who hasn’t eaten anything but away rations for four years and shits in a portable potty.”
“How do you explain it, then?” Hester asked Finn.
“I don’t,” Finn said. “Look. This is a weird damn ship. We all agree on that. But what you’re trying to do is impose causality on random events, just like everyone else here has been doing.”
“The suspension of the laws of physics isn’t a random event, Finn,” Hester said.
“And you’re a physicist now?” Finn countered, and looked around. “People, we’re on a goddamned spaceship. Can any of us really explain how the thing works? We encounter all types of alien life on planets we’ve just discovered. Should we be surprised we don’t understand it? We’re part of a civilization that spans light-years. That’s inherently weird if you give it any thought. It’s all inherently unlikely.”