Enigma Ship - J. Steven York [26]
Duffy turned to the behemoth. “Nice meeting you, but I think we’ll be go—”
* * *
“—ing.” Duffy staggered as the gravity changed.
Clouds of dust blew past him, kicked up by elephant-sized beasts that marched single file through the marketplace, cargo carried in slings tied between the tail of one animal and a blunt horn on the nose of the next.
One of the beasts contemplated him with a blue eye the size of his fist, a gaze suggesting intelligence, if not sentience. Then it snorted and moved on.
The plaza was crowded with thousands of people representing dozens of races, none familiar to Duffy. Open-air stalls sold goods of all kinds: food, artwork, and items of unfamiliar, yet obviously advanced, technology.
The first impression had been of a primitive market, but Duffy realized this might be an illusion. The primitive aspects might be recreational, or perhaps ceremonial.
Certainly, everyone seemed to be having a good time. He had the impression of a vast party, or a fair.
He, Gomez, and Pattie stood close together, earning no more than the occasional curious glance in the sea of races. This was obviously a place used to unfamiliar visitors.
“I believe,” said Pattie, “we have been sent somewhere where we can do the least harm.”
Duffy nodded. “That light entity was real, and he was clearly upset we were interfering with the alien’s ‘story.’”
Gomez looked around. “I wonder how much of this is real? Not much, I’d wager.”
“I agree,” said Duffy. “This was created for someone else’s benefit, and it could be only a few of the thousands of beings here. Maybe only one of them.”
Gomez pointed towards a largely empty seating area. In the middle was a large platform with an elaborate machine on it, constructed of brass and glass pipes. It might have been a sculpture, or a musical instrument on a stage, it was hard to tell.
“Since we aren’t likely to find anyone real to talk to, I suggest we sit down and assess our situation.”
There were benches and perchlike rails, in a variety of sizes. Duffy found one that looked right and sat down, Gomez taking the seat next to him.
Duffy reflected on their situation, and nodded his head in amazement. “The Lincoln can’t be the first ship to get trapped inside Enigma. There must have been dozens, hundreds maybe, and nobody escapes because they think they already have. They continue their voyages, go home, even die of old age, never realizing that they’re living in a holo-simulation.”
“Agreed,” said Pattie. “This obviously has been going on for a long time. None of these species are familiar to us.”
“Based on its course,” said Duffy, “Enigma just crossed the Ronde void, a region almost devoid of stars. The area beyond it is unexplored by the Federation. All we know about it is from scattered reports purchased from the Ferengi. I bet that’s where these species came from.” He watched as a turbaned vendor draped a jeweled chain around the neck of a skeptical customer. “But we’ve got no way of knowing if all of them are really present, or if they’re simply re-created from someone’s memory.”
Gomez watched another of the “elephant trains” pass by, this one carrying egg-shaped gondolas full of passengers.
“What I don’t understand, is how anyone could not know they’re in a simulation, after they’ve seen the kinds of things we did.”
P8 reared up on her back four legs, her antenna waving. “We did not enter Enigma on a colliding ship. Our experience may not be typical.”
Duffy shrugged. “She’s right. Maybe there’s an automatic response to a ship collision, and they just end up in simulated space until a more complete simulation can be created.”
Gomez nodded. “Of course. They wouldn’t need a simulation until the colliding ship was supposed to reach a planet.”
Duffy frowned. “I have one other concern. If we do find our way out, how do we know we’ve found our way out? We could end up like the rest of these prisoners, passengers, whatever you want to call them. We could be back on the