“You’re my canary in our coal mine,” Michael Burnham had once told Saru. And while the Kelpien didn’t understand the reference until she explained it, she was never sure if he was mildly offended, bemused, or perhaps even proud. Those alien eyes could hide as much as they wanted. However he felt about it, his threat ganglia could be a good indication of a figurative—or sometimes literal—oncoming storm. At the moment, they were not visible, which Burnham found reassuring.
“Doctor Culber?” The captain hoped her tone came across as sympathetic. “You said you’re not certain how you arrived in the mycelial network. Do you know how long you were exposed though? Doctor Pollard said she found evidence of long-term, repeated epidural damage.”
Hesitating, Culber caressed his neck and gazed past Burnham. What wounds had been visible, Pollard had treated. The unseen scars plainly lingered. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But it felt like a very long time.”
“It may have been, even if it wasn’t,” Stamets said.
“What do you mean?” Rhys asked.
“Time works … differently in the network, I think.”
“Doctor,” the captain said to Culber, “you were covered in that dust that protected you somewhat.”
“From … the JahSepp, I believe you called it?” Saru added. “What language is that?”
“I don’t know,” Culber said. “It’s just what Ephraim called them. They don’t thrive in the yeel forests.”
“Did Ephraim suggest you cover yourself in the dust from the yeel trees?” Burnham asked.
Uncertain, Culber ran a thumb along his jaw. “I know the air burns less when I use it. It’s one of the few things I never forget. I either stumbled upon it or … I don’t know.”
“We think that’s why the hull is degrading slower than I thought it would,” Tilly said.
“The coordinates in the message we received brought us here,” Stamets said, with an excitement that encouraged the captain. “We crashed or materialized or whatever, right in the middle of this yeel tree forest.”
“What do you mean, whatever?” It wasn’t like Stamets to be inexact. She noticed he’d been more equivocal since returning to the Discovery.
“I still haven’t had a chance to determine exactly how we ended up here,” he replied.
The turbolift doors parted and Commander Ellen Landry, Discovery’s chief of security, walked slowly, and a bit uncertainly, toward them.
“Should you be out of sickbay?” Saru asked.
“Depends on who you ask.” A weary expression belied Landry’s strong tone.
“I’m going to ask Doctor Schanne,” Burnham said.
Landry glowered. “He lies a lot.”
“Commander—” Saru began to chide her.
“I heard the intruder alert. The doctor said we’re stuck in mycelial space. That means there’s work to be done.” Landry held up her right hand. “I promise I’m okay. I’m groggy is all. Schanne wouldn’t give me a stimulant, so I’ll get some coffee. Maybe a lot of it. I’ll be five by five.”
Burnham sniffed her disapproval, but given the circumstances, she saw no logic in fighting her chief of security on the point. “Fine.”
Landry jerked her head toward Culber. “Who’s this?” No one said anything, so she looked back to Burnham. “Captain?”
As concisely as she could, the captain explained. “Doctor Culber was found outside the ship, in the mycelial forest in which we find ourselves … beached.”
“Human?” Landry asked, looking him over, likely assessing his threat level.
“Very,” Culber said.
Burnham noticed a look in his eye … Did he know Landry? Plainly, she didn’t know him. Did they have a problem with each other? Was he her doctor? What caused the ghost of recognition?
“Mister Stamets, I want the yeel dust analyzed,” Burnham ordered. “See if there is something we can incorporate into our shielding that might help us stay in one piece if we are stuck here.” She crooked a thumb toward the main viewer. “And might allow us to raise the port shutters.”
He nodded.
“Ensign Tilly.” The captain raised her voice a bit so it carried to the communications station. “You and Mister Bryce will continue to work on the mycelial radio. Get it running, please.”
Bryce shared a glance with Tilly as he gave his console over to his relief. He motioned her toward an auxiliary station. Under their current conditions, the bridge had the most reliable computer access.
Burnham then rotated toward Airiam. “Work with Rhys. See if we can tune the internal sensors so we don’t need to run grid searches with tricorders.”
“Aye, Captain.” Airiam and Rhys excused themselves to the tactical station.
“What about me?” Culber asked.
“Sickbay,” Burnham said. “Commander Landry will escort you.”
Culber started toward the lift. “I can find my way.”
“Commander Landry will escort you.” The captain waved her over to him.
“You don’t trust me,” Culber stated.
Burnham felt her jaw clench. “Doctor, I simply don’t know you.” She met her security chief’s eyes, and Landry’s narrowed gaze suggested she understood the captain’s concerns.
Once Landry and Culber were in the lift, Burnham gestured Stamets toward the door to her ready room. “Lieutenant, a word, please?”
Burnham wished she had the time to be less blunt, but the people on Benecia needed them. When the doors closed, allowing them a measure of privacy, she asked, “Doctor Culber. You have feelings for him?”
Stamets seemed to search for the best way to describe it. “I … sense a connection. I feel I can trust him, I guess? That we can trust him.”
That had been sufficient to keep the stranger out of the brig—which according to the status report didn’t yet have power anyway—but it wasn’t enough, given Culber’s somewhat wanting answers, to inspire the captain’s complete confidence. “I need to know who he is, and no offense, I can’t simply take your word for it.”
“Of course.” There was a trace of offense in his tone.
Burnham straightened and flipped a switch on the desk console behind her. “Computer. Access service record, Hugh Culber.”
“Accessing … Culber, Hugh. Serial number: G098-632MQB. Rank: lieutenant commander. Position: ship’s surgeon and chief medical officer. Current assignment: U.S.S. Hood NCC-1703. Commendations: Legion of Honor, Award of Valor, Asclepius Staff of Antos Aid Mission. Twice decorated by Starfleet Medical. Decorated by Starfleet Command.”
“Impressive.” She’d be lucky to have such a crew member.
“Constitution-class assignment,” Stamets noted. “They only take the cream of the crop.”
“I’m not dissatisfied with the Crossfield class, mister,” the captain said.
They shared a brief smile, but Stamets motioned toward the port beside her. “It’s not been great today.”
Burnham didn’t argue that point. She lowered herself into her desk chair and flipped the console’s switch back off. “Thinking cynically, how do we know the Culber in sickbay isn’t the one whose record we just heard?”
“If we reached out to the Hood, we could confirm this isn’t our universe’s Hugh.” He took the chair opposite her when she motioned to it. “But we can’t.”
The captain leaned forward, noting Stamets always used Culber’s first name. “Why are you certain he isn’t the Hugh Culber in the database?”
Taking in a long breath and releasing it slowly, Stamets seemed to consider it. “I don’t think I can explain it,” he said, looking away for a moment. “In any case, I don’t sense he means us any harm.”
“Because his Starfleet record is exemplary?”
“That’s the record of our universe’s Hugh Culber, not his.”
Her face tight with frustration, Burnham felt Stamets might lack the skepticism she was hoping he could manifest. “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say he’s unquestionably from a parallel existence to ours. There’s nothing to suggest someone is the same in every iteration of an alternate universe.”
As if he had tasted something unpleasant, his expression soured. “Ephraim showed us a version of me that was … well, I’m not sure ‘evil’ fits but, immoral? Amoral? Arrogantly violent?”
“Ephraim. A unique name for a creature who looks like a giant tardigrade. Didn’t you name him something else?”
“Straal did.” Stamets chuckled. “Yogi the water bear.”
“I don’t recognize the reference.”
“I think it’s from an old book,” he said, uncertain.
“Can you contact this Ephraim?” Burnham asked. “He may have insight or information that would help us in this situation.”
“I don’t think so, Captain. He appeared to us while we were unconscious. At least to the outside world. I got the feeling he was there for Hugh rather than me.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“I don’t know that, either. Hugh seemed better acquainted with him. I did get the sense he just wanted to be helpful.”
Was he still referring to Culber, or did he mean Ephraim? Burnham wasn’t certain, but sometimes it was better to just let someone talk than to interrupt for a clarification. “Go on.”
“Nothing, I …” He hesitated. “I think Hugh and I … in his universe, we were … I think we’re much closer.”
“And that possibility excites you or confuses you?”
“To be honest”—he let out an uneasy breath—“it scares the living shit out of me.”
She kept her eyes locked with his. “Why?”
Stamets broke the connection, stood, and moved toward the screen opposite the desk. “Is this working?”
Burnham rose and followed him toward it. “Yes.”
“Let me show you.” Stamets activated the screen and began tapping at it as the captain leaned against the table and waited. “This is the data we’ve been accumulating from our jumps. Eighty-three in all.”
He pushed the image to the holo-display above the desk, so they could appreciate the full, three-dimensional view, and the captain turned to follow the map.
“Now, here’re the Glenn’s,” he continued, adding information to the electronic diorama. “This brings the total to over one hundred sixty-four jumps.” He moved closer and pointed to several blank areas among the arcs and points of light. “See these scattered pockets of negative mass?”
“Yes.”
“What if these aren’t blank spots, but unseen, unknown pathways? It’s what I tried to explain in sickbay. What if the mycelial network doesn’t just connect places in our galaxy, in our universe, but also to other, parallel, alternate universes.” He indicated the gaps in the map. “These could be markers of not just conduits to Hugh’s universe, but a multitude of others.”
Starship captains, especially those raised on Vulcan, tended to control their outward reactions. But amazement bubbled up as Burnham marveled at the possibilities. “This is far beyond the conventional conception of spacetime.”
“Exactly!” Stamets said. “Doesn’t that terrify you?”
The captain didn’t answer, not because it would have been inappropriate to admit, but because the truth was … she wasn’t. Astonished and a touch disconcerted, but mostly she was fascinated.
Nevertheless, she could see where this discovery could push one toward existential chaos. If people knew there were other, perhaps better—or worse—versions of themselves in existence, what might they do? And even if there was no action they could take, what would the psychological effects be? Some might be thrust toward greatness … others toward madness.
Even worse, what would the mere fact of alternate universes do to those who had lost someone they loved? If one was grieving a child, a parent, or a partner, and believed they could find them existing elsewhere …
More specifically for Michael Burnham, it meant somewhere another version of her parents were still alive. She was sanguine about that possibility, and could in fact gain strength from it, because she knew that while her parents were dead, some other Burnham had lived a different, perhaps better life. Or not. How was she to know? Maybe her best self was raised by Sarek and Amanda on Vulcan. She could be contented in that belief and find satisfaction in her singular existence. But she also saw where others might not.
“I do understand,” she said eventually.
“There’s a lot of baggage to unpack,” Stamets whispered, slumping back into the chair.
“Let’s get home first. We can unpack it there.”
He looked up wearily. “Yeah. It can wait.”
“I hope so. People are expecting us to get to Benecia. The Republic was the closest ship by conventional warp, but that was going to take two days. I need to be sure not just of your impartiality regarding Doctor Culber, but your ability to remain on task.” She searched his visage, hoping to see the more certain Paul Stamets she was used to.
“I can.”
“I know you believe that’s true. I just hope you’re able to assess yourself reliably.”
“I’m okay,” he told her. “Meeting Hugh feels like the road not taken. That’s something I have to deal with, but like you said: home first.”
“Good. Let’s get on that.”
He stood to leave but twisted back before reaching the exit. “Thank you, Captain.”
As the doors opened to the bridge, Saru let Stamets pass, then entered the ready room.
Surprised, Burnham rose to greet him. “Am I getting a status report?”
“If I may be frank, I was hoping for a captain’s report.” He glanced momentarily at the holograph floating above the desk behind her. “How are you?”
“Looking for grounding, Saru.” She returned to her chair and indicated the mycelial jump map Stamets had left hovering. “The Matrons of Vulcan Philosophy had little to say on the topic of parallel universe theory.”
“Perhaps Professor Gill’s alternate-history theory, then,” Saru said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Historian John Gill has a theory about like planets sharing traits and patterns of historical development. Not multiple universes, but perhaps the theories might be applicable.”
“I’m not necessarily doubting the theory. But there is a Doctor Hugh Culber on the Hood. Occam’s razor requires me to ask how I know the man in sickbay isn’t really him.”
“More to the point, if he isn’t the Doctor Culber from the Hood, and isn’t from another universe, then who or what is he?”
“That, my friend, is an excellent question.” She marched back to the computer console. “Computer, access records on Culber, Hugh, ship’s surgeon on the U.S.S. Hood.”
“Records available.”
Pacing back and forth along the desk, Burnham formulated the right questions to ask. “Computer, search Doctor Culber’s medical records for results from any psychosimulator, engram, or hyperencephalogram testing.”
“Working. Results found.”
“Transfer to Doctor Pollard in sickbay.”
The computer beeped to acknowledge the command.
“A logical enough course to take, Captain,” Saru said, “but if different, what would the results indicate other than that he is not the Hugh Culber from the Hood ?”
“I don’t know, Saru. I can’t make decisions in an information vacuum. We need facts. Have Doctor Pollard do a deep dive, now that main computers are processing again. Every test she can think of, above and beyond those to compare with what we have in the records.”
Burnham moved past her first officer and toward the door, ready to retake the center seat.
Before they exited, his tone quiet, Saru asked, “Michael, if he’s not who or what he says he is … Well, I had noted Mister Stamets seems rather attached.”
She met his eyes, and reflected in his gaze saw the worry she felt. “That he does.”
“Enough that it’s a concern?”
“I don’t know, Saru. I don’t think he does, either.”