Kevin David Anderson - Night of the Living Trekkies

by Kevin David Anderson
and Sam Stall

ATTENTION ALL STARFLEET PERSONNEL

The following text is an original work of fiction/horror/parody. Night of the Living Trekkies is not sponsored by, affiliated with, or endorsed by the owners of the Star Trek brand. Any personnel claiming otherwise will be sentenced to one year of hard labor in the penal colony of Rura Penthe.

Space, the final frontier...

Shut up.

These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise...

I said, shut up.

Its five-year mission: to explore strange worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations...

Youre pissing me off.

To boldly go where no man has gone before.

Quit rubbing it in, okay?

First Lieutenant Mallory Kaplan, U.S. Air Force Medical Service flight nurse, finished her recital and smiled triumphantly.

Actually, that last bit doesnt quite capture the current situation, she said. Plenty of menand womenhave already gone where Im going. But Ill be the first person currently in this room to make the trip.

The room of which she spoke was an underground bunker. She and her senior watch officer, U.S. Air Force Captain Les Marple, spent four eight-hour shifts inside it each week, studying images and readouts on computer monitors. During the long, boring stretches when nothing inside the almost completely automated facility required their attention, they passed the time by harassing each other.

Youre being unprofessional, Marple said. Im your superior officer. Show some respect.

Cant help it, Kaplan said. Im so excited about my uniform.

Youre dressing up?

Of course. Thats half the fun of attending a Star Trek convention. Im portraying one of the greatest captains ever to command the Enterprise.

You mean Kirk?

Kirks a man.

I know, but I think you could pull it off.

Kaplan smacked him lightly on the head with her clipboard.

Im going as Captain Rachel Garrett, she said.

Marple shot Kaplan a puzzled look.

Who the hell is that? he said.

The captain of the Enterprise-C, which served a couple of decades before the Enterprise-D from Star Trek: The Next Generation. A temporal rift brought it forward in time, changing future history. In order to repair the damage, it had to go back to its own era, even though...

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Marple said. Seen it, bought the Blu-ray. Whats the point of going as someone so obscure? No one will recognize you.

Kaplans sly smile let him know that hed walked into a trap.

Oh, thats right, she said with mock concern. Youve never been to GulfCon. You dont know that the convention attendees like to go as incredibly obscure Trek characters. Its a joke that started at the first one, five years ago. If you make it through the entire weekend without anyone guessing your identity, you win a hundred bucks.

Screw that, Marple said. Id go as Picard. Hes what inspired me to join the Air Force. I kept thinking that one day Id be exploring space and commanding my own ship.

Me, too, Kaplan said wistfully. Hows that working out for you?

Marple surveyed his surroundings. The bunker in which the two of them sat was located on the grounds of the Johnson Space-flight Center, just outside Houston, Texas. Not that the general publicor, for that matter, most of the centers staffknew that. Their duty station, secured behind a steel door that opened only to those who passed a retinal scan, was a dimly lit, concrete-floored room with a single long desk, upon which sat two massive computer monitorsmonitors that formed the centers of their professional lives.

Not exactly like Id hoped, Marple said.

At least youre bald, like Picard, Kaplan said.

Id rather have no hair than Janeway hair. First season Janeway hair.

Youd also make a great Orion. Since youre already green with envy.

Marple was about to tell Kaplan to stick her high-horse attitude straight up her Jefferies tube when a single ding emanated from the monitors parked in front of them.

Box Seventeen, Kaplan said, suddenly all business.

Marples fingers flew across his keyboard. A grainy black-and-white shot of a steel-walled enclosure popped up on both their screens. Inside, a small four-legged animal paced back and forth twice. Then, with its head pointed squarely into a corner, it stopped.

Havent seen this one before, Kaplan said. It looks like its been partially skinned.

Back in the day, when they were still working on these things, some genius decided to vivisect it, Marple said. Or maybe dissect is the correct word. It didnt go according to plan. The guy who tried it is in Box Thirty-two.

Kaplan dutifully noted the incident in her log. Not that it was necessary. Everythingabsolutely everything that happened in the facility was closely monitored at an off-site command center. There was no need to send reports. The Brass watched it all in real time.

Were getting dinged a lot today, she said. Its like theyre restless or something.

Marple laughed.

Theyre not restless, he said. Theyre not anything. They go in one direction until they hit a wall, then go in another until they hit another wall.

Still, Kaplan said, four dings is a lot.

Marple knew she was right. Often entire shifts passed without movement. The four incidents theyd logged so far were noteworthy. Especially since theyd all occurred in the last two hours. Each came from a different specimen, two of which had gone months without so much as a twitch. Yet today they got up and walked. Or staggered. Or crawled.

It was unprecedented. Kaplan and Marple hated it when the unprecedented happened, because there was always the chance that it could quickly morph into something horrible. Something that could never, ever be allowed to see the light of day. Like the guy in Box Thirty-two.

Sometimes I wish I was still back in a silo, serving on a Minuteman missile crew, Marple said. It was less stressful.

Isnt that why they picked you for this? Kaplan said.

Yeah. My psych profile was exactly what they wanted. Someone who wouldnt mind spending a lot of time underground staring at the end of the world.

His monitor emitted a muted alarm.

What? Kaplan said. What is it?

Marple studied the readouts on his screen. His eyes grew wide.

Theres a problem with the security system, he said. Big-time malfunction.

What kind? Kaplan said.

Marple looked at the screen for a few seconds more.

Weve lost containment on boxes Nine and Twelve.

Does that mean...?

Give me a visual on Twelve, Marple said. Maybe its a false reading.

Another black-and-white image of a steel-lined cell appeared on their monitors. It was empty.

Switch to exterior, Marple said.

The view showed Twelves door. A door that hadnt been un-sealed, so far as they knew, in more than two years.

Now it was wide open.

Were screwed, Kaplan said. Were totally screwed.

Keep it together, Marple said, sweat beads dotting his forehead as he typed. A computer glitch sprung them. But were safe in here. Nothing can get through a two-inch steel door.

Dammit, Kaplan said. More of them are opening! Lost containment on Thirty, Twenty-Five, Eight...

Stop. I get it. Check Box One.

Kaplan switched to the enclosure just in time for them to see the door open, revealing a rectangle of impenetrable blackness.