As of stardate 43922.2, there was no conscious thought behind this goal of hateful destruction, and no humanity.
But then, in truth, there never had been.
ONE
TNC 65813
t = ∞
The turbulence ended.
Zefram Cochrane was aware only of the low whisper of the shuttlecraft’s air circulators, the soft hum of her engines, the warmth of the Companion’s hand in his.
He looked out through the forward windows and saw darkness, limitless, featureless, broken only by a faint blue glow to port.
“We survived?” the Companion asked.
Cochrane smiled. “Did you doubt we would?”
She returned his smile and Cochrane felt the peace of this journey fill his heart because the Companion was with him.
“I only knew I had to be with you,” she said, “whatever happened.”
Cochrane felt relief that for the first time since they had been reunited, the Companion seemed to have finally relaxed. The bandage over her eye, the condition of her hair, all might be part of some avant-garde fashion on a world he had never visited. He marveled at Kirk and Spock and McCoy for devising this plan, for making it possible. The human race had changed so much in his extended lifetime, become so strong. He could hear Micah Brack telling him he should take credit for at least part of what had happened to humanity and those who joined them in their future, for giving them the stars. For in reaching out to explore the heavens, all had found themselves, as if the stars were where they were always meant to be.
Cochrane himself would never forget taking off his mask on the plains of Centauri B II, drawing that first breath of alien air.
Unencumbered.
For the first time, Cochrane could see that Micah Brack had been right but not in the way he had expected. All else in human history had followed from that moment, and Cochrane could finally admit that he had done something extraordinary—that he had given Earth’s peoples a way to achieve what they had always searched for—freedom, growth, the unending adventure of living. Yet all that mattered to him now was that in exchange for his gift to humanity, the events of his existence had brought him the gift he had searched for: the Companion, who gave to him all that made the adventure of life worth living. Love.
For a moment, Cochrane was overcome by the path he had taken to reach that final understanding of his life’s journey, that acceptance—from a child’s dream beneath a tree on Earth to the uncharted and complex dimension that lay within a black hole in space, all so he could arrive at such a simple destination, such a simple understanding.
“I love you,” he said to the Companion.
Her smile was answer enough. Journey’s end.
She glanced through the forward windows. He saw her eyes as she gazed off to port.
“What causes that glow?” she asked.
“Photons above us,” Cochrane said, admiring the line of her precious face, so softly lit by the glow from the shuttlecraft’s instruments. “The ones falling toward the singularity that we’ll swing around. We see nothing ahead of us because no light can escape the singularity from that direction. But we can see the blue-shifted light beginning its fall.”
“But not all the light is blue, Zefram.”
From his position, Cochrane could not see as far to port as the Companion could. He swung the spherical tactical monitor out from the bulkhead and checked the aft view.
He gasped.
Directly astern, flaring from within a rainbow-streaked halo of gravity-smeared light, a Klingon battle cruiser raced straight for him.
Even here, even now, there was no escape from the Optimum.
The turbulence ended.
Kirk eased his grip on the arms of his chair, a parting caress. The Enterprise might just as well have been flying at half-impulse through normal space.
“We have tunneled through the event horizon,” Spock announced.
“Scotty,” Kirk asked, “how’s she doing?”
“Captain Kirk,” a Scottish lilt answered back, “considering we’re in a region o’ space where nothin’ bigger than a molecule should be able to exist, th’ fact that we can have this conversation at all should be answer enough for ye.”
It was. The Enterprise had done it again. Her crew had done it again.
Kirk had done it again.
“Mr. Chekov, any sign of the shuttlecraft and the Klingon cruiser?” he asked. The main screen was black and Kirk could see Chekov working frantically on his sensor controls, trying to establish an image.
“There is no forward optical information available to us in this environment,” Spock said. “I am switching all sensors to subspace ranging-echo only.”
Instantly, the main viewscreen came to life with a collection of indistinct green splotches—an irregularly shaped blob to the lower right, and two much smaller dots to the upper left.
“Analysis, Spock?”
“In the upper left of the screen, I believe we are seeing sensor returns indicating that both the shuttlecraft and the Klingon vessel survived the event horizon. However, I am also recording extreme quantum compression waves that correspond to no known theory of gravitational singularities. Those waves are preventing me from obtaining finer display resolution.”
“Range to Klingon vessel?” Kirk asked. He sat forward in his chair. At least he could see that the small dots were expanding. The Enterprise was gaining.
“Keptin,” Chekov said plaintively. “Sensors indicate the Klingon vessel is more than one million kilometers away.”
“Impossible. The diameter of this event horizon is only eight hundred kilometers.”
“The quantum compression waves are to blame,” Spock explained. “They are distorting spatial dimensions, though not as theory predicts.”
“Then how can we set a course in here?” Kirk asked. “How can we target that Klingon ship and save Cochrane?”
“I am attempting to create a conversion program for our navigational routines. However, the compression waves are erratic. It appears our presence here is disruptive and the computer cannot cope with the changing spatial conditions.”
Kirk hadn’t come all this way to be stopped by a computer shortcoming. “Dammit, Spock—what’s the source of those waves?”
Spock adjusted controls at his science station, and the image on the main screen expanded to show the irregularly shaped blotch from the lower right corner. As the green shape filled the screen, it became better defined, until Kirk could see that part of its distortion came from movement—it appeared to be pulsating with three expanding and contracting lobes.
“That is the source,” the science officer answered. “It is the subspace event horizon. The boundary from which not even warp engines could return us to normal space-time.”
“But why isn’t it a sphere, like the electromagnetic event horizon we passed through above?”
“Unknown, Captain. Our sensors cannot obtain any information from beyond that boundary. However, judging from the pulsations, I suspect that instead of one singularity being at the heart of this black hole, there are in fact three. They appear to be linked into tight orbits of each other, at what would, from necessity, be faster-than-light speeds.”
Kirk turned to look at his science officer to be sure he had heard correctly. “Three singularities? Orbiting faster than light?”
Spock made a dismissive expression. “I do not pretend to understand how such a thing could exist at all.”
“All right. It’s there. How can we deal with it to stop the Klingon ship?”
“I would suggest launching a photon torpedo. Its onboard guidance system can perform necessary course corrections in flight.”
Kirk turned back to the screen. “Put the cruiser and the shuttlecraft on the screen, Mr. Chekov.”
The pulsating tri-lobed shape disappeared, replaced by two green, rough-edged silhouettes. One was little more than a few pixels across, showing no detail, but the other image was identifiable as a
D7 battle cruiser.
“Lieutenant Uhura,” Kirk said, “can we use subspace radio in here?”
Uhura frowned as she listened carefully to her earpiece. Her expert fingers moved swiftly over her controls. “Barely, sir. There is considerable interference.”
“Try to hail the cruiser. We’ll give it one warning at least.”
“The ship is not responding, sir.”
Kirk turned to Spock again. “Any way to know how shock waves will travel through this region? If we do destroy the cruiser, what might that do to our shuttlecraft?”
“Shock waves will not propagate here faster than the relative velocity of the shuttlecraft. It will not be harmed.”
Kirk took no pleasure in what he knew he must do next. It might be better if the Klingon ship had tried to fight back. “Does the cruiser even know we’re here?” he asked.
“Each ship in this region experiences time at a different rate. It could be that their sensors cannot even perceive us,” Spock said. “The compression waves we’ve disturbed are creating pockets of temporal distortion as well as spatial ones.”
Shooting at a blind enemy didn’t make it any easier for Kirk, but he knew he could delay no longer. “Mr. Chekov, target the Klingon cruiser.”
“Cruiser targeted, sir.”
“Fire photon torpedo, self-guided mode.”
The sound of the torpedo launcher hummed through the bridge. Kirk watched as a tiny point of green appeared on the screen, then seemed to spiral in the general direction of the cruiser, making constant course corrections.
“As I suspected,” Spock said, “as the torpedo passes through different compression nodes, its sensors are perceiving the Klingon ship in different locations at different times. This is a most fluid environment. Quite fascinating.”
The tiny green dot moved past the Klingon ship. Kirk tensed, worried the torpedo would lock on to Ian Shelton. But the dot doubled back, merged with the cruiser’s silhouette, and then both were gone.
“That’s it?” Kirk asked.
“As soon as the torpedo disrupted the cruiser’s structural integrity field,” Spock said, “tidal forces would have reduced the ship to little more than a molecular mist.”
“Then Cochrane and the Companion are safe?”
“Only if we can adjust their trajectory, and ours. For the moment, both our vessels are being drawn down toward the linked singularities and the second horizon.”
Kirk was too fueled by adrenaline to remain seated. He paced the area behind Chekov and Sulu. “Mr. Sulu, match trajectory with the shuttlecraft.” He glanced back at Spock. “At least we’ll be able to beam them back aboard.”
But Spock shook his head. “There are too many temporal distortions present, and we are creating even more as the compression waves bounce off our shields. Our transporters would never be able to hold a coherent signal, even at close range.”
“Then we’ll use tractor beams,” Kirk said.
“If we are able to generate sufficient power.”
Kirk heard the unspoken message in Spock’s tone. “ Are we going to be able to correct our trajectories, Spock?”
“I do not believe we have that capability, Captain. We are too deep within the gravity well.”
Kirk stopped pacing. “Even if we go to warp?”
“The condition of our dilithium crystals is such that we cannot remain in warp long enough from this position to reach the event horizon. If we even make the attempt, our crystals will burn out within a second, our structural integrity field will collapse, and—”
Kirk finished it: “—we’ll be reduced to a molecular mist, like the ship we just destroyed.” He tapped his fist against his open palm, brain afire with possibilities. “Can we adjust our trajectory enough to slingshot us past the linked singularities and use the velocity we’d gain to carry us upward to the first event horizon?”
“I am endeavoring to calculate that course,” Spock said. “But the compression waves are reducing the amount of space we have in which to maneuver. The closer we approach the singularities, the more problematic course corrections become.”
Kirk could see he shouldn’t interrupt Spock again. If there was a course correction they could make, Spock would find it. But only if he had time.
Kirk sat back down, forcing himself to remain calm. “Uhura, try to raise the shuttlecraft so we can at least let Mr. Cochrane and the Companion know what’s going on.”
He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. There had been a way into this black hole, there would be a way out. All he had to do was find it.
“No response from the shuttlecraft,” Uhura said. “Too much interference.”
“Keep trying,” Kirk said. He watched the tiny dot on the screen slowly expanding as the Enterprise drew near. At least wherever they were bound, they would all get there together.
Uhura suddenly murmured with surprise and Kirk turned to see her pull out her earpiece.
“Sorry, sir. I just got a flood of interference.”
“Keptin,” Chekov called out. “Sensors are picking up the presence of another wessel! It has just passed through the event horizon above us.”
Kirk’s jaw tightened. “Ready photon torpedoes,” he ordered. He had been half expecting this. The second Klingon cruiser had finally arrived. And by being in the higher orbit, it had the upper hand. “Onscreen,” he said.
The screen flickered as an aft view was displayed. Instead of a black background, the screen was alive with flashes of color and light, the result of the infall of photons and subspace signals from above. In the middle of the visual confusion was the smeared, irregular silhouette of the third vessel.
It looked wrong.
“Can you make that any clearer?” Kirk asked.
“Trying, sir,” Chekov said, but no matter what adjustments he made, the level of interference remained the same.
The third ship was gaining, its silhouette growing larger. “That’s not a Klingon cruiser,” Kirk said. The silhouette showed a distinct saucer section and twin nacelles. “Spock, have we been down here long enough for that to be the Excalibur?”
“It is possible,” Spock said. “The temporal-distortion nodes are interfering with normal time-dilation effects. I will attempt to trace the vessel’s trajectory to calculate its time of entry.”
“Keptin, the wessel is making course corrections, matching our trajectory.”
“Uhura,” Kirk said, “open hailing frequencies to that vessel. Warn them away from our trajectory.”
“Too late, Keptin. They’ve matched it precisely.”
Uhura went to work on her board. Kirk was too impatient to wait for Spock. “Come on, Mr. Spock—is that the Excalibur or the Lexington?”
Spock looked up from his science viewer with an expression of un-Vulcan-like bemusement. “Captain, it is neither. According to my calculations, that ship is from the future.”
Kirk’s eyes widened. “How far in the future?”
“A century at least,” Spock said. “And it is trapped in the same fatal trajectory we are.”
The turbulence ended.
For Picard, it was as if the Enterprise had moved into the eye of some galactic hurricane. All he was aware of was the gentle background symphony of normal bridge functions. And his throbbing, broken wrist.
The main screen flashed with static as the sensors reset themselves. When the mage cleared, Picard could see that most of it was computer-enhanced, as if very little of what the sensor grid was able to perceive would make sense to human eyes. Picard guessed that, for the most part, he was looking at subspace sensor returns. But of what?
The Data-thing shouted commands to O’Brien at Ops, telling him how to adjust sensor readings to improve the screen image. Unfortunately, the sensor grid had not been reset since the Romulan collision and O’Brien was unable to comply with the settings he was ordered to make.
Finally, though, the blurred images coalesced on the screen. In the lower right was a bizarre, thr
ee-lobed object which appeared to pulsate. Picard guessed it was the subspace event horizon, though could not explain the shape and movement unless the second, lower horizon hid three singularities linked in close orbit—which would require velocities in excess of the speed of light. Picard remembered reading abstracts about multi-singularities as an exotic new form of gravitationally collapsed object, but whatever phenomenon the Enterprise was now facing, this was no ordinary black hole.
To the upper left of the screen were two much smaller objects. One was only a dot of light, presumably the science package the Garneau had been on station to recover. But the second object was clearly a starship—and the Garneau’s captain had not mentioned that. In addition, it was clear that both objects were spiraling down toward the subspace event horizon, and not away from it. Picard didn’t know how the Garneau had been expected to recover either.
“I compliment you on your ship,” the Data-thing said. “It is hours away from failure.”
The main screen images changed their position as the Enterprise changed course.
“Captain Picard …”
Picard turned at the sound of Worf’s voice, weak and shaky. He had a bad cut across his warrior’s brow, being treated by Dr. Crusher even as he leaned over his tactical board. “The course we are on … we are heading for the singularity …”
“Just for the time being,” the Data-thing said. “First there is a shuttlecraft we must rendezvous with. And then your mighty ship will take us back.”
“We’ll never make it,” La Forge said urgently. He was still at his engineering station but Picard could see science displays on his screens. “Captain, the Kabreigny Object is a multisingularity. The closer we get to the subspace event horizon, the more the quantum metric of space will be compressed around us. It won’t matter how much power we have for our engines—we just won’t have enough space left to maneuver in!”
The Data-thing looked over his shoulder, about to speak. But he didn’t. Picard could guess what had happened. The Thorsen personality had accessed Data’s onboard data banks and discovered that La Forge was right.
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