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Paul’s lying on top of musty-smelling grass, soggy warm blades of it tickling his neck and palms. There’s a semicircle of craggy rock above him, and he can hear the soft lap of water, can smell it and feel it, too, the air oppressive with salty wet heat.
His surroundings confuse him, but Paul’s chest still holds that warm feeling he gets whenever Hugh talks to him inside the network.
He gets to his feet and finds that he’s in a small cave, only a few meters deep, most of it taken up by a small, gurgling pond, white fog rising from its surface. It reminds him of the hot springs his family used to visit when he was a kid, a ring of ochre around a steaming swirl of green and blue.
He steps outside the grotto and finds himself in some kind of park: big trees and hedges and walkways and benches. Everything looks neglected, abandoned. The trees around him are gnarled and mossy, many of their twigs and weaker branches torn off, rotting on the soil beneath them, between knotted roots. The hedges are big and untamed, eating into the space of the cracked walkways, slowly encroaching upon the dirt-streaked, corroded benches. The whole terrain is uneven, like something underground is trying to break through.
And everywhere, there’s this growth, a russet rope bristling with unnaturally green leaves, winding around tree trunks and shrubbery and bench legs, holding everything in its vice-like grip as if one day it’s going to squeeze the life out of it all.
Paul isn’t an expert, but the plant reminds him of ivy. Poisonous species of ivy are common on several worlds. Best not touch anything.
Actually, he’s not inside the park so much as at the edge of it. In front of him, there’s a wide, cobble-stoned square; at its center, a forbidding building swells up into the colorless sky.
Its large, looming structure rises several stories high. Window panes glint like a thousand eyes, and a large double-sided glass door stretches like a mouth. The building’s facade is dull, a sickly gray, marred by a rash of blackish green dirt and more of that poison ivy trying to snake its way up and swallow the ailing structure into the ground.
Paul feels that invisible hand again, the one moving him around like a chess piece, suggesting what to do in a way he knows he can’t refuse. He pauses, but thinks of Hugh, and takes one step, then another towards the sinister old building.
With every step away from the cave, the air changes, the temperature falling incongruously, and a sickly-sweet smell emanates from the earth itself.
Dead leaves crunch underfoot as Paul makes his way across the square. The door has a gray metal frame and is made of glass panes with milky lines drawn horizontally across the surface. When he comes closer, the doors slide apart with an eerie, screeching sound. Everything is so dilapidated, Paul wonders where the mechanism gets its power. Then again, as proved by his perfectly healthy and uninjured body, none of the scenarios inside the mycelial network seem to be real, strictly speaking. And if it’s all in his mind, then anything could happen. It’s not a comforting thought.
Paul’s left foot steps onto the smooth floor inside, formerly white tiles obscured by what looks like years of dirt, dust and debris, when suddenly, the doors behind him snap shut like jaws. He stumbles forward, trying to pull his legs in front of himself, not get his ankle trapped, and falls onto the ground just inside the building.
Great, he thinks, crouched on his knees in a dirty puddle. Just great.
He gets up, scanning his surroundings. He’s in a kind of lobby, except it’s emptier than any lobby he’s ever been in before. To both sides of the entrance, large staircases wind their way up around an atrium, their mostly white steps looking like long rows of teeth, forever opening up to devour the space.
Everything is dirty, but when it was still in use, it must have been grand. White and gray and so much light coming in from the insect-eye windows as well as from a whole array of artificial light sources bolted to the walls and ceiling. Remarkably, most of those lights still work, although some flicker and dim in fitful patterns. Several light fixtures have come loose, hanging precariously on wires and plastic tubes, slowly swaying in a breeze Paul can’t tell the origin of.
He imagines the structure in a former life: a big, open space, bustling with people. What kind of place had it been? He notices a symbol, a red plus sign in a big white square, painted onto a large, gradually curving table – a reception desk, maybe? Not a plus sign, Paul amends, a cross. Could this have been a hospital?
He scans the place and finds what looks like a directory next to a wall of steel doors – maybe a bank of elevators? Radiology, Pathology, Oncology, Operating Theater, Purchasing Department, Cafeteria, Paul reads. He was right: this is an old-fashioned hospital.
Immediately, Paul feels drawn to the cafeteria and decides to follow the impulse; it might be the invisible hand again. Although, maybe, he’s just hungry. Could he even eat food inside the network? Drink anything? Would it actually nurture and replenish him? He knows so little about this still - about how the network works in general and about his current situation in particular. The things he experiences, are they more like hallucinations or is the network actually creating new realities? What happens to these realities when he moves on? Are they destroyed or do they continue to exist? What happens with the bodies? Is there a dead Paul Stamets lying in a blood-soaked Victorian basement somewhere in an alternate universe? And what about his companions? Saru and Burnham? What about the injuries they sustained? What about Tilly? Did that faceless goat hybrid get her?
But no, that can’t be. Hugh told Paul that he saved her, that Saru and Burnham were safe, too. And it’s not just Hugh, Paul feels it, somewhere deep inside these bones that are probably not even real, that they are safe. They have to be.
He follows the signposts to the cafeteria, but it seems to take forever. The building is huge, even bigger on the inside, with corridor after corridor birthing ever more doors, more hallways, more archways – more opportunities to lose his way.
Finally, he finds metal letters affixed above a big set of doors: C FE RI. Close enough.
Paul pushes the door open and before he can take in the specifics of this messy, banged-up space, he hears someone squawk. A familiar head of red locks turns around, clutching a metal rod in hand, poised to attack.
“Oh heavens, Lieutenant- uhm, Paul. I can still call you Paul, right? That still counts.” Sylvia Tilly.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, smile bright with relief. “I hate doing this alone. I mean, this would have been my first time. Before, Airiam, Rhys and I were in this beautiful rainforest. Which was so scary, but also very pretty.” She opens her eyes wide, then shakes her head. Paul is about to cut in, but she presses on, her hand still holding the metal bar as she gestures enthusiastically. “It was confusing. And then we got to battle a Maraval dragon. Terrifying, but also amazing. And then Rhys tried to kiss me again, and I probably would have let him, but that was right when I got sent here, so that didn’t happen.” She laughs anxiously, like she just realized she actually said everything inside her head out loud. Paul opens his mouth but Tilly barrels on, “Sorry, I should probably just stop talking.” Her face scrunches up in an apology, and she gingerly puts down her weapon on a nearby table, next to some device with a yellow plastic casing.
Paul can’t help smiling. “It’s good to see you, Tilly,” he says, and it really is. She’s so excited and a little too much, just like she always is, and it gives him a sense of normalcy. Sylvia Tilly is still the same, so Saru and Burnham and everyone else surely are, too. They have to be.
“So back to last names,” she nods, adjusting her expression. “I mean, of course.” Her face brightens again. “Makes sense. We’re going to get back to Discovery, and then I’ll be a lowly cadet again, and you’ll be my superior officer, and it would be weird to call you by your first name, so I’d better not get into the habit.” She nods her head in something like approval.
After all the pain and anguish in his last scenario, even the more annoying sides of Sylvia Tilly’s personality seem almost endearing to him, making everything feel more manageable. For a moment, Paul can almost forget the weirdness of being inside the mycelial network.
“We are going to get back to Discovery,” he assures her, “but for now, Paul is fine.” He grins. “No take backs.” If he himself can get used to not calling her Tilly anymore remains to be seen.
Her smile is cheerful. “Great. I mean, good. I mean.” She shrugs self-consciously. “There’s no food here, unfortunately. It looks like animals ransacked the place a while back, and all that’s left is excrement and a few salt shakers, but the plumbing in the pantry still works, so you can get a drink of water, maybe freshen up a little.”
Paul wonders what he must look like for the first time and rubs his hand across his face. Sure enough, his palm comes back dirty. He nods. “Great idea, let’s-“
All light and movement are sucked out of the air as a moment of perfect stillness descends. Then the ground rumbles and everything inside the cafeteria – chairs, tables, trays, flatware, cutlery – seems to jump into the air, then crashes down again, metal and wood hitting the stone floor with shrill clanks and dull thuds, a dissonant jumble amplified by the fact that Paul can’t see anything in the pitch-black. The earthquake throws him against the nearest wall and he lands on his knees again when he bounces back. He has to stop doing that.
A second later, the cafeteria is bathed in light again, everything as it was before. Well, apart from some light fixtures to their right swinging in the air and some round metal implements making a weird noise against the floor as they slowly spin to a halt.
Paul’s kneecaps hurt, there’s probably bruising. His ears are ringing.
“What in the hell was that?” he asks Tilly, who somehow managed to stay upright.
“Oh, so this was your first one?” she says. “I’m sorry, should have warned you. I just assumed you were here as long as I was, that you already knew.” She bites her lip. “Silly of me, I mean, just look at the last-”
“Knew what?” Paul interrupts her.
“That this is what happens here.” She looks at some metal wristband he doesn’t remember seeing on her before. “Eighteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds this time,” she says.
“Tilly,” he snaps, catches himself and continues more evenly, “I mean, Sylvia, please tell me what’s going on here.”
“I don’t know either.” She smooths her hair back in a nervous gesture. “But when I woke up here, I had this thing strapped around my wrist. It’s a chronograph, like a clock people used to carry around.”
“Yeah,” Paul agrees, “Pocket watches I think they were called.”
Sylvia nods. “Anyway, judging from the scenarios I already lived through, I thought that there must be a reason I’m wearing it, so I’ve been checking the time whenever one of these … earthquakes occurred. And as far as I can tell, the intervals are getting shorter.”
Paul feels his eyes widen. That doesn’t sound good. “By how much?”
“My first interval was twenty-three minutes and fifty-eight seconds, then twenty-three minutes exactly, then twenty-one oh-six, now eighteen twenty-seven.”
Paul nods, “So the interval is shrinking, like a clock running out. The network is giving us a time limit.” It reminds Paul of the competition Tilly and he barely survived.
Tilly nods. “Exactly, and if we allow for some variation due to incorrect measurements,” she looks up at him, her eyebrows shooting up, “which we really should because I was a little bit terrified ever since I woke up here alone,” she catches herself, “I think I know by how much.”
She pulls a piece of paper and an old-fashioned ballpoint pen out of her pocket and hands it over.
“I found this in an office a few doors down when I scouted the place, and I made some calculations,” she says as Paul scans the numbers. Her prediction for the last interval is only one second off.
Paul nods, “Nice work,” he swallows, “but if this is true, we are running out of time fast.”
The duration seems to diminish by an additional four-point-two percent per interval, which isn’t good news.
“I know,” Tilly says, “only fifteen minutes till our next shake-down.”
“At this rate, in about forty minutes we won’t even have time to get our bearings back.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid the whole place might fall down around us once we’re under five minutes,” she says. “I don’t think this structure was built to withstand earthquakes.”
As if to prove her point, one of the light fixtures crashes onto a table not too far away from them.
“Delightful.” Paul’s about to point out that they should probably leave the building before it buries them alive, but the words die in his throat, like something makes him hold his tongue.
Tilly doesn’t seem to notice. “Just before you showed up, I was about to investigate something up there.” She points to the panels overhead.
There’s something Paul wanted to say, he’s sure of it, but the thought eludes him. He tries to concentrate, but the more he does, the more his mind seems shrouded in an ever-thickening fog.
Only when he focuses on Tilly again does the fog start to lift. “What do you mean?”
“There were noises coming from inside the ceiling, that’s why I had that metal pipe.”
She gestures for him to stay quiet and soon enough, Paul hears faint noises scratching and scraping from above. They seem to be coming closer.
“Maybe they have something like Jefferies tubes up there, access tunnels,” Paul says quietly.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Tilly replies as she maneuvers around some overturned furniture to get the metal tube and yellow device from earlier, then climbs onto a table.
She motions for Paul to join her, then points upward. “Most of these square panels are fixed in place, but this one is different, see.”
Tilly’s right. The ceiling is made up of a grid of solid white and gray squares, but the one they’re standing under is special, like a painted grate with a series of small slits.
“An air vent, maybe,” Paul guesses.
“Could be,” Tilly nods slowly. “Anyway, this looks like a handle.”
“Here,” she says, shoving the yellow device in his direction, “can you hold the flashlight while I…” Her eyes track upward.
Paul knows she’s scared, but her resolve is evident in the way she holds herself.
Yet, he isn’t just her superior officer, he’s taller than her, too, if not by much, so he refuses the device – the flashlight – and takes the metal bar from her other hand.
“I’ll do it,” he says and pushes at the recessed handle. It takes a moment of jiggling and rattling, like the metal grid holding the panel is somewhat warped; from time passing or the recurrent earthquakes, Paul really can’t say – probably both. Finally, the grate moves upward with a drawn-out squeak and he pushes the hatch open. Before he can think too much about it and get too scared, Paul grabs onto the metal frame and pulls himself up into the darkness above.
After the well-lit cafeteria, it’s hard to make out anything up here, but he can sense more than he sees that there’s another ceiling, probably less than a meter above him. It’s completely quiet inside these close quarters, no trace of the scraping sounds that brought him up here to investigate. And around him, there’s a lot of … stuff.
His eyes acclimate and catch glimpses of metal ducts and wires. It does seem a lot like a Jefferies tube with all system conduits exposed, even if it’s a lot dustier: a whole floor of pipes, utility shafts and electrical systems.
Tilly hands Paul the flashlight through the hatch and when he turns it on, he has to squeeze his lids shut against the brightness. He almost misses it over the visual confusion, but there’s a scrabbling sound, a dragging movement not too far away, and Paul swings around in its general direction, his fist tight around the metal bar.
He hits something, a nanosecond of wet give before there’s real resistance, something solid, and a dull groan rings through the cramped space. Paul keeps his hold on the weapon.
His eyes adjust and right as he makes out a person-shaped figure, a sickeningly familiar voice rings out.
“Stamets.” The eyes behind the words are wide with shock, and there’s blood dripping down the face and chin from the laceration Paul inflicted.
Not again. Not him of all people. Ash Tyler.
There are over a hundred and thirty people aboard Discovery, and the network has to pair him off with Hugh’s murderer.
Paul’s just survived all those loops seeing, feeling, being Tyler while he killed Hugh. Why does he have to go through this again?
Paul feels his fist clench, tension building and building in his muscles; kinetic energy that must be discharged in a whack-whack-whack of metal against bone. He doesn’t just want to hurt Tyler, he wants to annihilate him, take from Tyler what he took from Hugh, what he took from Paul.
Paul takes a big swing, gathering all the momentum he can, and Tyler looks at him, sees him, but he doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t put his hands up to cover his face or shield his eyes.
Paul can’t read Tyler’s expression, doesn’t want to, but it’s not like anything he expected.
He halts the metal tube only centimeters from Tyler’s face, his muscles barely strong enough to abort the movement in time.
“Go ahead,” Tyler says, “I deserve it.”
Paul deflates.
He’s disoriented, unsure what to do, so he scrambles towards the open panel and lowers himself down through the ceiling.
“You coming?” His voice is steadier than expected, but gruffer, too.
Tilly’s face when she sees Tyler come down through the hatch runs the gamut of human emotion in record time.
“Oh my! You’re- I mean, are you- um. Did it work? I mean,” she hesitates, “who are you?”
Tyler smiles cheerlessly, and Paul doesn’t want to remember all the pain and suffering he felt inside Ash Tyler’s mind and body. It makes no difference. Tyler killed Hugh.
“The procedure worked, yeah. Voq is gone.” Tyler nods, as if to reassure himself. “I’m Ash Tyler.” His breath whooshes out of him, and he moves the back of his hand across his cheek to wipe away some of the blood. “But I’m not sure what that means anymore.”
His eyes widen. “Michael? Is she- Is she okay?”
Tilly bites her lip. “Yeah,” she says, “well, she made it off the Terran ship, at least. Now she’s stuck here in this mycelial limbo like the rest of us. That’s as okay as we all are going to get right now, I think.”
“Thank you,” Tyler says, voice thick.
Paul is glad that the two of them are caught up in their exchange for a moment, giving him a short respite to organize his thoughts. There’s so much he wants to say, his mouth crowding with accusations, but if Tilly’s right, they don’t have time.
“How long till the next one, Tilly?”
She checks her wrist. “About six more minutes.”
“Fuck,” Paul says.
Tyler’s brows knit together. “Till what?”
“The next earthquake,” Paul and Tilly reply, almost in unison.
“You expect more of these?”
“Um yeah,” Tilly confirms. “Hold on, how long have you been here?”
“I don’t know,” Tyler says, “I woke up in that,” he gestures at the ceiling, “utility space or whatever, maybe five minutes before the earthquake. I was on my hands and knees, trying to find a way out, trying to follow the noises and voices I heard.” One side of his mouth quirks, and if Paul didn’t despise him, he’d be tempted to find it charming. “The two of you, apparently.”
“Okay,” Paul says, skin crawling with how much he doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to listen to Tyler’s voice. This is not the time and place, he reminds himself. For now, all that matters is finding a way out. “Judging from experience, we have to work together to discover the endgame of this scenario.” Paul keeps his eyes firmly locked on Tilly, who gives him a too-knowing smile. “So, let’s pool what we know real quick before this building starts shaking again and falls down around us.”
Why aren’t they leaving, Paul thinks. Why should they stay here and talk when they could be getting out of this deathtrap? He’s about to propose as much when a thunderbolt of a headache pierces his temple.
He takes a deep breath and the pain fades. Didn’t he want to say something just now? It’s at the tip of his tongue, but ...
“Stamets,” Tyler says, “I just want to say I’m sorry, I-“
“We don’t have time for that,” Paul interrupts him. Even if they had, Paul wouldn’t want to hear it.
“Of course.” Tyler nods his understanding.
Everyone gives a quick summary of what they saw, what they experienced ever since they got here. Nothing seems to click, to make sense or connect in a meaningful way. The only thing that seems clear is that they were supposed to meet up, what with Tilly and Paul both feeling compelled to find the cafeteria and Tyler coming to in the space right above them.
“Three more minutes,” Tilly announces.
Paul feels sick. He wants to do something, anything. He can’t just stand around like this, waiting for the next quake to further damage the structure. There has to be something they can do, he thinks. It’s not like they’re trapped in here. Why aren’t they-
Another headache, but this time, it’s a dull throb, like his brain expands, pressing against the inside of his skull. Paul loses his train of thought.
“Tilly, you said that it always got dark outside before the earthquake hit, right?” Tyler asks. His voice is like a nail scratching against metal in Paul’s head.
He’s more hesitant when he turns to Paul. “And Stamets, you talked about this sweet smell outside, and those weird cobwebs in the trees – you said they looked like veils.”
“Yeah,” Paul nods his head, frowning. “Where are you heading with this?” Impatience prickles all along his scalp, like an itch he can’t scratch.
Tyler’s eyes dart up at Paul. His shoulder slump and he looks down quickly, shaking his head. “Never mind,” he says quietly.
Tilly takes a step in Tyler’s direction, reaching out to touch his arm. “Spit it out. Anything might help. And it’s not like we have any other options.” She shoots Paul a meaningful look.
Tyler glances over at Paul, like he’s waiting for permission to speak. The nerve. Paul makes an impatient gesture. “Go on.”
Tyler’s eyes rove around fitfully, like he’s unable to look at either Tilly or Paul.
“Well,” Tyler clears his throat. “As I said, L’Rell undid the connection between Voq’s mind and mine. But,” he twitches, eyes cutting away, “and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before, but, I still have access to Voq’s memories.”
Paul’s hands clench into first. He can’t believe it. Fucking Klingon memories. It’s just like he thought. How can they trust Tyler when Voq is still there, still inside of him?
“And let me guess,” Paul spits out the words, “conveniently, those memories will help you save the day?”
Tyler’s head snaps up, but Paul won’t let him say another word. “I was there when you killed Hugh,” he hisses. The shock on Tyler’s face sends a jolt of satisfaction through Paul. “I know Hugh found out your body is Klingon, modified to look human. Now you say you have Klingon memories, too? Body, mind - what else is there?” There’s a flare of something, but then Tyler’s expression turns completely empty. “Sure sounds like you’re a Klingon to me, Voq.”
“Paul,” Tilly says, hands up in a placating gesture. She makes her voice soft, soothing. “He didn’t have to tell us. It doesn’t make sense unless he’s telling the truth.” She cocks her head, making eye contact with Paul. “How about we listen at least?”
“He’s a killer, Tilly, an enemy spy.” Paul’s voice is too loud in his own ears, but he feels so small, desperation pulling at him, contorting his features. “He’ll lead us into a fucking trap.”
Tilly shakes her head. “No, he won’t.” Her tone is firm, and it irks Paul when she squeezes Tyler’s arm. “We’ll listen to him.” Her words have an air of authority Paul can’t deny. “And then take it from there.”
She turns towards Tyler. “Go ahead,” she gives him a half-smile. “Tell us what you meant to say.”
Tyler swallows. His voice dry when he starts speaking. “All these little details, they reminded me of something.” Tyler shakes his head as if to clear it. “There’s this myth about the birth of the Hollow Serpent. It was before the time of Kahless, but children still sing about it.” Paul rolls his eyes. Of course, with Klingons everything has to tie in with their brawling messiah. Now with extra snakes.
Tyler’s eyes remain trained on the ground and he says the next words haltingly, like he’s translating them as he speaks, yet they maintain a certain rhythm, “The trees were draped in shrouds of time / the earth spewed forth a cloying vapor / she drank the sun out of the sky / to feed her trembling and her quaver.”
Finally, Tyler looks up, and his eyes find Tilly’s. “It’s all there: darkness first, only then does the earth start shaking, the sickly-sweet scent, the shrouds in the tree branches.”
“And the shrinking intervals, too,” Tyler adds, his pitch growing higher. He has the gall to recite something in Klingon. How can Tilly stay so calm? Without the damn Klingons, none of this would have happened. Paul’s hands cramp into fists and his mouth sours. He forces himself to stay quiet, breathe evenly.
A thought tries to surface through his simmering rage. He and Tilly had to compete in a damn potion-brewing competition with a cloven-hoofed host. Paul’s not sure which scenario sounds more absurd. Still, he doesn’t trust Tyler, he can’t. Tilly is an ally, a friend, but Tyler … He’s a traitor, a murderer; even the network couldn’t change that.
“One in twenty-four, Two in twenty-four, and so on,” Tyler translates. “That’s the chorus. It’s a kind of countdown. The children sing it faster and faster for every verse because the earthquakes come in quicker succession as the serpent grows. As a child, I-,” he coughs, like the word scalded his tongue, then starts again, “Klingon children are afraid of reaching twenty-four in twenty-four because that’s when the Hollow Serpent will swallow everything, even time itself.” Tyler pastes on a smile that wouldn’t fool anybody, “Luckily, the version I know only has twelve verses.”
Tilly checks her wrist again. “All brace for the next quake,” she shouts. “Only ten more seconds.”
This time, they plant themselves under a table in brace positions, hugging their arms around their bend legs. It turns out to be a good choice.
The cafeteria plunges into darkness again, and Paul can’t help notice that the earth starts rumbling with a delay of two or three seconds. It’s worse this time. Although Paul sits on the floor, he’s thrown around violently, his shoulder connecting with a heavy object. Instantly, the joint starts to throb. An alarming cracking noise resonates through the space, like the amplified sound of a seam slowly ripping.
The rumbling stops, the lights come back on, and the sky outside returns to a pale monochrome.
Paul scans the area. His surroundings look much worse than they did before. Prior, there was disarray, chairs turned on their heads, cutlery on the floor, but now there’s actual destruction. Several of the chairs and tables are splintered or outright broken, and maybe half of the overhead lights have crashed down around them. That’s not the worst of it, though. A long, ominous crack now runs right through the middle of the building.
Possible structural damage, great.
“I think Ash might be onto something,” Tilly says, like this was just a minor interruption of their conversation, not a full-blown seismic event. Why does she use Tyler’s first name?
“Are you sure?” Paul asks, mocking. “I mean, you did hear that bit about the very hungry snake.”
“Of course I’m not sure,” Tilly says, strained, clearly making an effort not to rise to his bait. “But it makes as much sense as anything does in here.” She briskly brushes some debris off her arm as she gets up. “And I realized something.” Her hand slips into her pocket and retrieves the piece of paper from earlier. “The time between quakes diminishes by about four-point-two percent, remember? If you factor in a margin of error for imprecise measurements, as a fraction that’s-”
Paul joins in for the last words, “One in twenty-four.” Smart kid, he has to give her that.
Tyler nods eagerly. “Twenty-four is a holy number in Klingon culture. There are the twenty-four Labours of Kahless and the twenty-four Great Houses. It’s the number of destruction and creation.”
“I don’t care about its cultural significance,” Paul snaps, irritated and spiteful. “Or nursery rhymes about snakes.” Paul must have hit Tyler harder than he’d thought. The whole thing is so absurd, it must be brain damage talking.
Tilly clearly disagrees, judging from the serious way she addresses Tyler. “Does the myth have any clues on how to stop the snake?”
Tyler glances cautiously over at Paul before he continues. It’s annoying. “The forgotten warrior blinds the serpent, then he tricks it into the boiling caves and drowns it,” he tells Tilly.
“And what? The grotto outside is supposed to be the boiling caves?” Paul makes scare quotes around his last words, his tone dripping sarcasm.
It seems to be lost on Tyler, however, who only nods. “That’s what I think, yes.”
Tilly nods, too.
He tries to point out the absurdity one more time. “So we really believe this is about a giant snake now? Which we haven’t seen any evidence of, but now we want to find it and trick it into following us so we can drown it in a hot spring?”
“In my last scenario, we fought a damn dragon,” Tilly says. “I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch.”
Paul reaches out and takes the paper that’s still in Tilly’s hand.
“The next quake is,” he reads the numbers off Tilly’s note, “only eleven minutes away, then nine, then six-and-a-half, and then we’re below five.”
Tilly’s eye twitches nervously, but then she nods, solemn. “You have any other ideas?” She looks at Paul.
Actually, he does. If the building is going to come down around them, the best thing would be to … the best thing … Paul’s head feels muzzy, dulled.
What was he trying to say? He can’t remember.
The back of his tongue feels dry and heavy, and Paul swallow to get rid of the feeling. After a moment, he admits, “No, I don’t.”
“Great,” Tilly claps her hands together. “Any ideas on how to blind the serpent and trick it into the cave?”
“I don’t know how the warrior blinds it, but he tricks it with a,” Tyler hesitates, “a path of brine would be the translation, I think.”
“Like seawater?” Paul asks. This is getting better and better.
There has to be another option, something more sane. No matter how hard Paul tries to think, the idea remains just out of reach.
Tyler nods. “Yeah.”
Tilly’s face scrunches up in concentration. Slowly, she says, “Saltwater,” and starts towards the back of the cafeteria.
“Where are you going, Tilly?” Paul asks, but he’s already following right behind her. He doesn’t even know why. This is absurd, all of it.
“What you said earlier,” she says without looking back, walking quickly. “The scenarios, they’re dangerous, but there’s always a way to succeed. We’re given the tools to beat them. This one really isn’t that different from the one we did before,” On the far wall of the cafeteria, opposite the entrance, Tilly stops at a sign reading “pantry” and pushes a door open. The earthquake has ravaged the space, leaving it full of debris and dirt, but Tilly’s stride is purposeful as she crosses the room. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence I found this,” she calls and pulls a large container from a cabinet.
“We have water and we have salt,” she says with an almost cheerful smile. “So we can make our own brine.”
Paul sees Tyler nod just when he does the same. Even that little indication of consensus between them rankles.
Miraculously, some empty bottles in another cabinet are still intact, and Paul grudgingly helps Tilly make a batch of saline solution while Tyler goes to find implements they could potentially use to blind the beast. It’s insane, of course, but Paul’s been outvoted and, more concerningly, he can’t quite focus his own thinking.
“Five more minutes,” Tilly announces as they put the bottles into a banged-up metal cart from the supply room one door down, next to the rebar Tyler found. “Better get-”
Across the room, the doors of the cafeteria blast open, banging into the walls and creating a cloud of crumbling plaster. A creature slithers in, wailing and howling; its glittering, scaled body undulating in erratic movements, rearing up and plunging down, driving itself into the chaos of broken furniture. Paul can’t help jumping at the sight.
“At least we don’t have to look for it anymore,” Ash says dryly.
Even though they’re in direct line of sight, the serpent doesn’t come straight at them. Instead, it zigzags across the floor in a strange crouch, pushing its snout under chairs and tables.
Paul signals for everyone to run. A snake. An enormous fucking snake.
Tilly has two bottles pressed against her chest and Tyler takes the cart as they make a break for it.
Another desk splits in two over the beast’s head, and it hisses and swerves in their direction. When they’re about level with the serpent, the closest they’ve been, it veers towards Tyler, but then Tilly throws one of her bottles behind herself, in the direction of the pantry. It’s made of glass and Paul can hear it smash into pieces behind them.
The distraction seems to work, and the snake slithers towards the noise as the three of them get closer to the door.
Tyler pushes the doors open with the cart, and Paul hears a wet slurping sound as he uses some rebar to barricade the door.
Tilly herds them around a corner where they collapse against the wall.
“It seemed to,” Tilly’s gasping for air,” calm down a little at the end, right?”
“There’s a snake in the cafeteria,” Paul finds himself saying between harsh breaths.
This can’t be happening. “How is this happening?” Did he say that out loud?
Even with sweat gleaming on her forehead and her chest heaving, Tilly manages to give him a pointed look. “Mycelial deathtrap scenario, remember?”
Of course, Paul thinks numbly. It makes as much sense as anything in here.
“It did calm down,” Tyler answers Tilly’s earlier question. He’s out of breath, too, Paul notes with some satisfaction. Then again, he did move the additional weight of the cart. “Once it got inside the pantry.”
It’s true. Just now, there is not a lot of noise coming from inside the cafeteria.
“I noticed,” Tilly’s breathing is still a little ragged, “in here, it’s super bright. The place looks abandoned, but light fixtures,” she points up at some of them, “still work unless they’re smashed, and there’s windows everywhere.”
Paul sees where she’s going. He’s thankful that his brain seems to be working again. He should put it to good use right away, so he picks up her thread: “But the pantry room only has a small transom window, so it’s pretty dark,” he tries for a smile. “And that’s where the serpent seemed to calm down.”
“Yeah,” Tyler agrees, a note of excitement in his voice Paul really doesn’t care for. He tells himself to listen anyway. “Before we barricaded the door, I saw it pushing its head inside the cabinet, like it was seeking out the dark.”
Tilly agrees, excitement creeping into her voice as well. “And the way it moves, it didn’t go straight after us, it just lumbered about.” She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think it can see much.”
Paul has to agree.
“Yeah, when I first turned on the flashlight in the maintenance level, I couldn’t see anything.” He connects the dots as he speaks. “What if the serpent is highly photosensitive?”
“Oh my goodness,” Tilly exclaims, “like Ripper?”
Tyler looks confused. “Ripper?”
“Before you joined the crew, we had an encounter with a tardigrade, and-“
It’s an apt comparison, but they really don’t have time for this, so Paul cuts in: “Tilly. How much time left?”
“Shit,” she sputters and looks at her wrist, “I mean, two minutes.”
Paul presses the side of his index finger against his lips, and they listen for a few moments. The beast is thrashing inside the cafeteria, but it doesn’t seem to come any closer. If Tilly’s right and the serpent really is like the tardigrade, confused and out of its element, they might not need to harm it.
Paul decides to voice his thoughts. “Maybe we don’t have to literally blind it, maybe we have to get it somewhere dark. Boiling caves – sounds dark to me.”
To his surprise, Tyler agrees. “Yeah, maybe it’s about,” he makes a gesture like he’s looking for the right word, “its natural habitat.”
“Exactly,” Tilly exclaims. “Remember how it seemed to chase Tyler, but when I threw the bottle, it went right after it. Maybe it wasn’t the noise – it was the smell.”
It makes sense. “I think we spilled quite a bit of salt and water in the pantry,” Paul adds, “maybe the serpent smelled it, and that’s why it went in there.”
Tilly is smiling now. “If its natural habitat is a dark saltwater cave, maybe we don’t have to kill it at all, maybe we just have to get it home.”
Paul hopes she’s right. The brutal scenario with Michael and Saru is still etched into his mind. Even if it’s not real, if it’s just inside the mycelial network, killing another being takes a toll. He’d like to avoid it at all costs.
“Okay,” Tilly says, “in 15 seconds, we’ll see how calm the serpent gets when it’s dark.”
They assume brace positions inside an alcove. The creature is banging and crashing inside the cafeteria.
Darkness descends and instantly, the destructive noises on the other side of the door cease. The earthquake starts. It’s even fiercer than the last one, and they’re lucky they’re not inside the cafeteria anymore. Here in the corridors, there’s hardly any furniture that could hit them. The building, however, groans, like its structure is about to break, load-bearing beams straining under the pressure. When the rumbling stops, Paul has a strange feeling, like the whole world has tilted on its axis.
The lights come back on and the beast starts raving again.
“Not definitive proof,” Tilly says, “but close enough for me.” She gets up, and Paul and Tyler do the same.
Paul remembers something from those childhood trips to Yellowstone. Maybe he does have something to contribute here.
“Boiling caves – that sounds like a whole cave system, not just one little grotto,” he says, glancing at Tyler, then quickly looking away. “What if there’s another entry point, one closer and darker?”
Tilly points her finger at him. “When I came to in the basement, it was a lot darker than up here,” she says. “Only green exit lights every few meters. We should be able to take them out pretty quick, get it completely dark.”
“That still doesn’t give us access to those hypothetical caves,” Tyler cautions.
Paul has to admit that he has a point. Yet, Paul’s own complete dismissal of Tyler’s input has already cost them precious time. They have to try and work as a team here.
Before he can say anything, Tilly sweeps the reservations aside. “But maybe it does.” She starts pushing the cart down the corridor. “Follow me.”
Tyler swiftly takes over the cart and walks beside her. “Let me. You lead the way and explain.” Paul should have thought to offer first. No, he reminds himself, teamwork.
Tilly’s directing them around several corners.
“The earthquakes in the rhyme, they birth the serpent, but the serpent’s already here and yet they intensify,” Tilly says, and she’s right. “So what if the earth is trying to birth new access points, too, so the snake can find its way back home. Maybe the earthquake ripped open the ground in the basement and we’ll find an entrance to the caves there.”
“That would be extremely convenient,” Tyler says, taking the words out of Paul’s mouth, which still annoys Paul.
“We could really use some fucking convenience right about now,” Tilly replies, and she’s right, too. Maybe six minutes till the next earthquake, then another six and then they’re below five. Their time is running out fast.
“There,” Tilly points at what used to be a door. Now it’s more of a hole in the wall with chunks of concrete and debris strewn around it. The basement entrance.
Tyler grabs some rebar. “I’ll go check it out.”
“Not alone,” Paul hears himself say and grabs another metal rod. If they’re going to work as a team, he can’t let Tyler investigate alone. There could be more serpents down there, waiting to attack. Besides, whatever’s down there, he has to see it for himself.
“I’ll keep watch,” he hears Tilly behind them as he steps onto the staircase leading down.
She was right: it’s all shadows down here, glowing red and green signs leading the way to emergency exits.
The corridor warps, fissures running along the ground and up the walls, giving the structure a precarious feel. It could fall in on itself any minute.
Tyler is ahead of him, following security protocol as much as possible without a phaser. He pushes open door after door and checks the rooms behind them, snapping “clear” before moving on to the next.
Even with how much Paul is trying to do better, it doesn’t feel right for Tyler to take charge like this.
“I’ll take this side-” Paul starts and trails off. All the way on the far end of the passage, there’s a kind of double door. It looks wrong and crooked, like the metal frame has melted around its two panels. He can’t be sure, but it looks like fog is wafting up where door and frame no longer fit flush together.
Paul runs towards it. “Stamets, what-” Tyler starts shouting, but Paul doesn’t listen.
The closer he gets, the surer Paul is. The door looks distorted, skewed in its ingress, and he can feel heat coming off of it from several meters away. And yes, he smells something, too, faint at first, then stronger; hot and salty.
“Help me open this,” he yells at Tyler who’s already followed him half-way.
To his credit, Tyler immediately uses his metal rod as a crowbar and Paul does the same. It’s hard to push the rebar in deep enough, to find purchase and leverage, and soon Paul’s sweating with exertion, his heart hammering and his banged-up shoulder joint protesting. If only he knew how much time they have left. Not much, that’s for sure.
Finally, they manage to smash the molten lock and break one door panel out of its hinges.
A few steps lead down into a big hall. The space is ravaged: parts of the ceiling have come down, exposing the rebar, and broken rocks and debris form jagged peaks of varying height, knolls and cairns, uncanny in a man-made space. Sheets of cracked concrete rise up where the ground is broken from forces beneath, and a plate of siding has come off, lying at a sharp angle across a mound of dirt. Deep cracks crawl up the walls on all sides.
Everything is bathed in the green light of exit signs and obscured by a salty mist rising up from the simmering lake that’s springing forth from the earth.
“Tilly was right,” Tyler says next to him.
Paul turns towards him. “You run up, smash as many lights as you can, and help her lure the snake down here,” he orders. Tyler might have been the security chief once, but Paul’s the superior officer. He’s in charge right now. “I’ll take out those,” Paul adds and picks up a pebble from a mound of debris, taking out the first green light.
Paul understands the protest in Tyler’s eyes. They’ve both seen the damage, know how little structural integrity has to be left with all this detritus on the floor. The next earthquake is sure to bring most of the rest of the building down, and even a medium-sized rock would be enough to break Paul’s skull. “Now, Lieutenant,” Paul barks.
“Will do.” Tyler nods curtly as he takes off, brandishing the rebar, taking out the majority of the lights he passes as he runs at a clip faster than anything Paul could manage.
Paul has taken out maybe half of the lights in this new boiling cave when everything plunges into darkness. It gives him a bit of warning, and he curls himself into a ball and pulls the discarded door panel on top of himself as a shield. He hears an inhuman groan, a long screeching sound. The bottom seems to drop out of the room and there’s a violent splash, like part of the ceiling came down. Just then the light comes back on, and a wave of boiling water gurgles up around him, soaking his shoes and parts of his pants, a few drops scalding his forearm. Paul’s somewhat shielded by the door, at least, and manages to get up quickly.
He cries out. All he wants to do is pull off his shoes and the sticky-hot clothes scalding his skin. He doesn’t have time for that. According to Tilly’s calculations, this interval will be just over six minutes. The next earthquake will tear this building down, burying them all.
So he picks up another rock and manages to throw out one more light. His hand is unscathed, but the skin on his forearm is feverishly hot, too tight around his flesh.
He managed to take all but one light out when he hears a thunderous noise above, then footsteps.
“Stamets,” Tyler shouts from somewhere behind Paul, “it’s coming, get out of here!”
Paul throws the stone in his hand but only hits concrete.
“Doesn’t matter,” Tyler shouts, closer. “Run!”
Paul tries again and misses.
He can see Tyler’s eyes, wide and imploring, even in the dim light.
“Run now or I’ll carry you,” he threatens.
Paul runs.
He hears the last light smash. Tyler’s beside him again, hitting the remaining lights with his metal rod as he runs. Still faster than Paul, in spite of the additional task.
Everything is dark but for the opening on top of the stairs, maybe ten meters away. There’s rumbling above. The serpent.
Did it get Tilly? Will it crush Tyler and Paul as it slithers into the corridor?
At the entrance, Tilly is standing guard, opening a bottle as soon as she sees the two of them. “Oh good, you made it.”
They climb up the stairs as fast as they can. Tilly splashes saltwater onto the steps below and throws the open bottle down into the basement.
She opens another bottle she had sandwiched under her arm, letting a trickle of water run out as she jogs off. Paul and Tyler follow.
Tilly rounds a corner and there is a giant black blob, a writhing knot under a black cover.
“Tarp,” Tilly smiles proudly. “Found it when I first searched the place after I came to. Thought it could buy us some time.”
“You didn’t…” Paul says.
“Trap a mythic Klingon serpent and a few bottles of saltwater under plastic tarp to calm it down? Oh yes I did.” There’s a cheerful glint in her eyes despite the danger.
Paul is seriously impressed.
Tilly throws the bottle in the blob’s direction and it rolls on the floor until it hits the tarp.
“That’s the stuff,” she coos, “just follow the smell, sweetie.”
Sweetie? Sylvia Tilly is truly something else.
The creature under the tarp seems to pick up the scent and eagerly follows the wet trail Tilly left for it.
It’s slower than it was before. The darkness truly seems to calm it down. Finally, the serpent reaches the basement door.
Tilly encourages it, “Almost there.”
When the creature slides between what’s left of the warped door jambs, the tarp snatches on a crack in the wall and gets pulled off part of the way.
The serpent howls and hisses, but thankfully, it seems to realize that further down, there’s both darkness and saltwater waiting.
Paul, Tilly and Tyler come closer and look down into the dark corridor as it slides deeper into the bowels of the building. It’s hard to make anything out, and soon they can’t even see traces of movement.
After a few moments, however, they hear a loud, satisfying splash. Looks like the serpent found its way home.
Paul smiles in relief. He’s glad they didn’t kill it. He’d rather save a creature than end its life.
Then he remembers something, and a heavy clamp constricts his chest. “How long till the next earthquake?”
Tilly looks at her wrist. “Seven seconds ago,” she says.
Paul exhales. They did it.
“We did it, I think,” Tilly adds quietly.
“Yeah,” Paul says. He swallows. “Good work, team.”
Paul grins at Tilly and his eyes linger on Tyler for a moment. He hadn’t wanted Tyler to be right, hadn’t wanted Klingon lore to be the thing that saved them. But it had been. That has to mean something. Paul can’t look Tyler in the eye, not yet. But he has to admit that they did good work, all of them. This time, Tyler helped save a creature’s life; helped save their lives, too.
Hugh would be proud Paul got this far. The realization conjures a faint smile onto Paul’s lips just as his surroundings dissolve. It’s different than before. There’s that pull into a new scenario, but it’s mixed with the comforting warmth Paul associates with Hugh.
Somewhere within him, Hugh’s voice reverberates like an echo. “Come on, Paul. We have to keep moving.”