“Conn, Damage Control,” Bill said automatically. “Reporting odd effects from forward.”
“Define odd effects,” the CO responded just as the damage control center entered the field.
“That is a good question, Captain Prael,” Weaver responded, taking the meerschaum pipe out of his mouth for a moment and stroking his Van Dyke beard. “Precisely defining it, however, is much more difficult.” Weaver looked at his pipe and, despite being a violent non-smoker, stuck it in his mouth and puffed. “I suspect… (puff, puff) that what we are experiencing… (puff) is an induced (puff, puff) hallucination…”
The damage control section was still the same, a mass of readouts on conditions throughout the ship, five seamen and petty officers to handle communications and orders and four steel bulkheads. But at the same time, it was… different. Bill knew the reporting system like the back of his hand and looking at it now he still understood it. But all the controls and readouts had changed, becoming much more garishly colored, with formerly muted reporting screens now being covered in blinking green lights and yellow arrows. The whole room had changed, becoming darker and more sharp edged at the same time, as if it were seen through some sort of odd lens. The petty officers were wearing ornate uniforms, including brim caps, that he recognized as wrong and yet correct at the same time. The seamen manning the consoles had shrunk in size to be almost childlike and simian at the same time.
What really bothered him, though, was that much as he could recognize there was a major, even catastrophic, change going on on the ship, the most he could muster was a quiet sense of academic interest.
He also found a tweed, patch-elbow jacket and a turtleneck sweater, clothing he wouldn’t normally wear in a million years, to be oddly comfortable.
“Mr. Weaver to the Wardroom!” the CO barked over the 1MC. “On the double triple-time! We have a level nine emergency! Set Condition One throughout the ship! All hands! All hands! Man Your Battle Stations! Report Undue Effects! Report! Report!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Holy grapp!” Sub Dude squealed. He looked at the wrench in his hand and couldn’t figure out why the hand holding it looked like a black leather glove. “What the grapp’s happening?”
“That is unclear,” a bass, robotic voice said from over his shoulder.
Gants turned around and squealed in fear, dropping the wrench and climbing up the bulkhead to look at his friend from the overhead.
“Red? Is that you?”
“I do not know,” the cyborg replied, his head rotating upwards with a whir of motors. While still the same height, Red now was about half covered in glittering metal and had a metal skull for a head. All he was wearing was a pair of electric purple pants and metal and leather boots. “Is the orangutan speaking to me my good friend and brother-in-law Michael Gants?”
“The what?” Gants asked, looking at his hand again. Then he noticed that his forearm was covered in orange fur and it was strangely… long. “YAAAAH!”
“As I always suspected,” the cyborg said, looking downward again, “deep down inside you are a monkey.”
There was a roar from down the corridor and deep in Gants’ primate bones he knew what it was.
“I should go determine Tiny’s condition,” Red said, straightening up with a whir and a click and marching down the corridor.
“Be careful!” Gants squealed. “I didn’t like the sounds of that! If this is happening all over the ship…”
“Lieutenant Bergstresser, what happened to your hair?” Morris asked.
Berg looked in the compartment’s small mirror and blanched. His formerly buzz-cut haircut was now long, black hair that stuck out on either side like uneven wings. The hilt of what looked very much like a claymore jutted over one shoulder. Looking downward he also determined that he was now unquestionably armed, in violation of regulations, the weapons being dual glittering pistols with mother-of-pearl hand-grips. He had never seen them before in his life but somehow knew that they were “laser” pistols that shot a green beam that would disintegrate any sufficiently small enemy. Given that lasers didn’t do that, his mind was having a hard time with the image.
“I have no idea!” Eric replied, spinning in place and gesturing with one hand held upwards, his fingers in a weird pointing position. “But My Great Enemy And His Army of Darkness Approaches! Call out! The Space Marines!”
“What Is! Going On!” the CO shouted, waving his arms in the air dramatically. He was wearing a purple and orange jumpsuit that was skin tight and revealed that he’d apparently gained about thirty percent in body mass, was now about seven feet tall and looked like the Terminator, complete with one eye that had been replaced by a red-glowing laser emitter. “This is! Unacceptable! Completely unacceptable! This cannot be accepted!”
The wardroom now had orange walls and a screen on the back bulkhead that showed a mass of trajectories that appeared to have nothing to do with anything.
“As I was (puff, puff) saying,” Weaver replied, calmly, leaning one patch-covered elbow on the edge of the table. “The first theory (puff, puff) that must be entertained (puff, pause, ponder, puff) is that we are experiencing a mass hallucination…”
“All I want to know!” the CO barked, his laser emitter shining in Weaver’s eyes, “Is How! We Are Going! To Stop this!”
“I would recommend,” (puff, puff… pause… ruminate… puff…) “that we extract the ship from the field (puff, puff) and investigate the results… (puff.)”
“Well, do it fast!” Miriam snapped from the hatch. “I can’t find anything to wear but these stupid school-girl outfits!”
The linguist was astride what looked like a white saber-toothed tiger. She was wearing a complete school-girl outfit from the saddle-loafer flats to the plain blue tie. If anything, compared to most of her wardrobe it was muted. The worst part, though, were her…
“What has occurred to your eyes, Miss Moon?” Bill asked, puffing politely.
“I don’t know!” Miriam shrilled, rolling eyes that took up most of her face around the room. “The weird part is, I can’t get contacts in them but I still can see normally! I should be blind as a bat. Tee-hee!” she added, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Oh, God, did I just giggle?”
“And now the effect is explained…” Weaver said, leaning one elbow on his station chair and taking a puff off his pipe while rotating his whole body to look at the overhead. “We have entered… the anime zone!”
“Okay, now that we’re back to normal,” Captain Prael said. “Can anyone explain what just happened?”
“Hang on a second, sir,” Bill said, making a face and sticking his tongue out. “I need some coffee or something to get the taste of this damned pipe smoke out of my mouth!” He spat without actually ejecting matter and winced. “God, that’s nasty!”
“Captain Weaver,” the CO replied, sighing. “If you could focus for just a moment?”
“I think it was some sort of effect from the interaction of the drive and the protection field,” Miriam said, stroking Tiny’s belly. If the cat was affected by the recent experience, it was not apparent. Of course, his anime image was probably what he thought he was anyway. “It has to be the drive, given that neither the Marines nor the dragonflies had a similar experience when they approached the station. Hallucination? Change in reality? Who knows?”
“How?” the CO asked. “That doesn’t seem physically possible!”