Star Trek: That Which Divides

by Dayton Ward

  Standing next to him, Uhura said, “There’s something else, sir. It looks like the security system’s not limited to just this planetoid.”

  It took Kirk an extra second to process the communications officer’s statement before realization dawned. “The rift?”

  Nodding, Uhura replied. “Yes, sir. It’s closing.”

  “Spock,” Kirk snapped, “can we stop it, or open it again?”

  The Vulcan shook his head. “Not at present, Captain.”

  “Uhura, can you contact the Enterprise?” Kirk asked. “They need to know what’s going on down here.” The Dolysians doubtless would be alarmed at the rift’s sudden closure and the effects it would have on their efforts to resupply the Havreltipa mining colony on Gralafi as well as transporting the erinadium ore from the planetoid to where it was needed on the homeworld.

  “No, sir,” the lieutenant said. “All frequencies are blocked, and our own communicators are being jammed, but I don’t think it’s coming from inside the complex.”

  “The Romulans?” Kirk asked, already knowing the answer.

  Uhura nodded. “It looks that way, sir.”

  Damn it! Kirk thought. They were trapped down here, with no way to call for help even from the landing parties at the Huang Zhong wreck, much less anyone on the Enterprise. And if the Romulans were behind the jamming, then the team that had made it into the complex could call for help. “If the jamming were removed, could we use the Kalandan technology to contact the ship?”

  Spock replied, “Possibly, Captain, but that would take time.”

  “Then we need a way to reach Kyle at the crash site,” Kirk said. “I don’t care how, just find something.” Maybe his crewmen working the salvage operation might be able to help him.

  Boma, still working at the adjacent console, turned and said, “I think we may have an even bigger problem.”

  “Of course we do,” McCoy said, falling in behind Kirk as the captain and Spock moved to where the lieutenant pointed to one status display.

  “What is that?” Kirk asked.

  Before Boma could answer, Spock said, “A countdown, Captain. The security system has issued an emergency containment protocol, designed to go into effect when it believes it is under attack.”

  “The Romulans destroying that row of equipment over there?” Boma said, pointing to the ruined consoles along the wall near the door. “Those controlled access to the environmental control systems. An attack on that is like an attack on the entire complex.”

  Before Kirk could ask his next questions, a low whine cut him off, and he turned to see a beam of light cascading down from the control cube hanging at the room’s center. Inside the beam, the indistinct form of Meyeliri took shape. She wore a dark blue robe and stood with her hands clasped before her as she seemed to fix her gaze on Kirk.

  “My fellow Kalandans, our defense system has detected a threat against this facility. In order to prevent the accumulated knowledge of our people from falling into the wrong hands, the system has initiated our final containment protocol.”

  “She’s sure being nice about it,” Sortino said.

  Meyeliri continued, “As caretakers of this repository, you undertook a pledge to protect it at any cost. Though it was hoped that such drastic steps would never be needed, no other choice remains. The sacrifice you are about to make on behalf of all the Kalandan people will always be remembered and honored. Thank you.” She bowed her head as the projection faded before disappearing along with the cube’s light beam.

  McCoy asked, “Any more good news?”

  “The explosion will consume this entire facility,” the science officer replied. “The resulting shock waves could cause severe damage to the Dolysian mining settlement, and perhaps cause irreparable damage to the planetoid itself.”

  Releasing a snort of derision, McCoy said, “Does anybody besides me think that’s more than a bit of an overreaction on the computer’s part?”

  “It might be that some key circuits related to decision support and response escalation were damaged by the Romulans,” Boma said. “We won’t know until we start digging around.”

  Kirk felt his heart sink even as his mind raced to consider the safety of not just his people but also the Dolysians at the mining colony as well as the transport ships moving to and from the planetoid. “How much time do we have?”

  “Two hours, twenty-six minutes, eleven seconds,” Spock said, “converting from Kalandan time measurements, of course.”

  “What about the Dolysian miners?” Uhura asked. “Can they evacuate?”

  Spock shook his head. “Even if we could warn them, there is insufficient time to effect an evacuation, Lieutenant. As it stands, the complex itself has been sealed, and each of the five clusters within the facility has also been locked down. We cannot get to the surface, though we can move to an adjacent cluster.”

  “We can’t leave, even if we wanted to,” Kirk snapped. “This planetoid is vital to the Dolysian people. Losing it or letting it suffer catastrophic damage would cause immeasurable harm to their society.”

  “Although not as important as protecting the Dolysians,” Spock said, “there is also the Kalandan knowledge repository to consider. Given what we know of the Kalandan civilization’s ultimate fate, it’s very possible that the data stored here is irreplaceable. It should be preserved if at all possible.”

  McCoy said, “There’s probably another planet like this one out there somewhere, Spock. Hell, there might be dozens of them, for all we know.”

  “If it comes down to the Kalandans or the Dolysians,” Kirk said, “we’re backing the Dolysians, not that it matters.” So far as he was concerned, there was only one course of action. “We have to stop the destruct sequence, no matter what.”

  “Or die trying,” Sortino added. When Kirk turned to look at her, he saw the resolve in the ambassador’s face, and nodded in agreement.

  “Right,” he said. “Or die trying.”

  TWENTY

  Pavel Chekov frowned at the data being fed to him by the Enterprise sensors, not knowing what to make of the readings he was observing. “Mister Scott,” he said, pulling his face away from the science station’s hooded viewer, “I’m picking up a fluctuation from within the rift. Something’s happening.” Turning from his station, he looked to where Commander Scott sat in the captain’s chair at the center of the bridge, an expression of concern clouding his features.

  “Any idea what it might mean?” the engineer asked.

  Chekov shook his head. “The readings aren’t like anything we’ve observed since our arrival sir, and there’s nothing comparable in any of the sensor data collected by the Huang Zhong.”

  Gesturing toward the main viewscreen, which now depicted an image of the energy field as well as a Dolysian freighter on a course to enter the rift, Scott asked, “Could it be reacting to us, or even that ship?”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” Chekov replied, returning his attention to the sensor viewer. Without looking, he reached to the rows of controls that allowed him to adjust the display of the data being routed to the viewer, switching between different displays that offered him all manner of information about the rift. Among the measurements and other statistical and tactical information was one figure that he now noticed was shifting. The number was decreasing, and beginning to do so at an accelerated rate.

  “The rift’s closing!” he shouted, turning from the science station to look back to the viewscreen, where it was now quite obvious that the energy barrier had started to contract. The gap in the field was growing smaller with each passing moment.

  Rising from the command chair, Scotty asked, “Do we know what’s causing it?”

  “No, sir,” Chekov replied. “At least, the sensors aren’t telling us anything.”

  Sitting at the helm, Sulu pointed to the screen. “What about that freighter? Does the crew know the rift’s closing?”

  “M’Ress,” Scott said, “hail that ship and warn them off.”<
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  “Opening a frequency now, sir,” replied the Caitian lieutenant, turning to her station. After a moment, she added, “They seem to be aware of the situation, Mister Scott, and they are hailing us.”

  “On-screen, Lieutenant,” Scott ordered.

  The viewscreen display shifted from its depiction of the rift to that of a Dolysian female. She was dressed in a monotone green garment which to Chekov resembled a set of crewman’s coveralls, and her hair was thick and unkempt. Standing at the center of what looked to be a cramped cockpit or bridge, her pale yellow skin looked almost white in the pale glow of the compartment’s recessed lighting and the illumination cast off by the control consoles, which seemed crammed into every centimeter of available space.

  “Federation ship,” she said, her white eyes wide with anxiety and confusion, “I am Matrel Ketran ila Shul, master of the freighter Yishayyk. Can you tell us what is happening?”

  Stepping away from the captain’s chair and around the helm console, Scott said, “Captain Ketran, I’m Commander Montgomery Scott, temporarily in command of the U.S.S. Enterprise. We registered the rift’s closing at the same time you did. At this point, we have no explanation for what’s happening. If I had more information, I’d happily share it with you. Do you know if there were other ships that might have been caught in the rift while coming from Gralafi?”

  The Dolysian shook her head. “I do not believe any of our ships were actually in the Pass at the time of the closing, but I do know that several freighters were scheduled to leave Gralafi in short order, each carrying full shipments of the erinadium ore produced by our mining facility.” She paused, casting her gaze downward for a moment before adding, “The situation would appear to have changed that, however. My ship contains replacement components for Havreltipa’s environmental control and water filtration systems. If we are unable to deliver these supplies, it puts the miners and support personnel living there at risk.”

  Chekov nodded, understanding all too well that the rift’s closure meant a disruption of the tight delivery window of crucial supplies and relief personnel to the Havreltipa colony. He had familiarized himself with the operation, marveling at the precision required to transport people and matériel on such a scale and within such a limited time frame. The process had been perfected over decades of practice, charging experienced hands like Captain Ketran with keeping the operation on its rigid schedule. Now, some unknown element had upset that delicate program, endangering not only one of Dolysia’s primary industries but also the lives of hundreds of people living and working on Gralafi.

  “Rest assured that we’re investigating the problem with every resource at our disposal, Captain,” Scott said to Ketran. “If there’s anything we can do to assist you, please feel free to contact us directly.”

  On the screen, Ketran replied, “Thank you, Commander.”

  As the communication was severed and the Dolysian’s image was replaced once more by that of the rift, Scott turned to M’Ress. “Lieutenant, send a message to Chancellor Wiladra’s office on Dolysia. Apprise her of the situation with the rift, and inform her that we’re doing everything we can to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Aye, sir,” M’Ress said.

  Turning from his station at the helm, Sulu looked first to Scott and then to Chekov before asking, “Do you think the rift closing might be connected to anything happening on Gralafi?”

  “That was my first thought, Mister Sulu,” Scott said, moving past the navigator’s console on his way to the railing separating the command well from the upper bridge deck and the science station. “What do you think about that, Mister Chekov? Could the landing party have done something to trigger this? Can we rule out that the rift simply closed on its own the way it always does?”

  Chekov resisted the urge to swallow the large lump that seemed to have taken up residence in his throat. “I’m not sure, sir, but I don’t think the rift closed naturally. According to everything we know about it, the window for it remaining open is supposed to last at least for the next several days, and that’s not even counting the safety margin the Dolysians factor into their schedule when planning the various transport runs. So long as they’ve been recording the rift’s openings and closures, the window for passing through it has remained consistent.”

  “But none of those readings include anything that might have been caused by the passage of non-Dolysian ships,” said Lieutenant Arex from where he sat behind Scott at the navigator’s station.

  Nodding, Chekov replied, “That’s an excellent point, sir. Perhaps the Romulan ships or the Huang Zhong or even our own shuttlecraft have had some sort of unintended effect on the rift?” He had conducted all manner of scans against the energy field almost from the moment Mister Spock had assigned him to the task of filling in as the Enterprise’s science officer on the bridge while the Vulcan was away on Gralafi. No hints or clues to any sort of disruption that might have been caused by the passage of the shuttles had presented itself. Whatever had triggered the energy barrier’s reaction to the ill-fated Huang Zhong and the Romulan scout ship seemed not to have had any lasting effects. Chekov had detected no obvious shift in the field’s patterns prior to the closure, and now that the rift itself had disappeared, the barrier’s readings appeared to have returned to normal. “Given that the Kalandan outpost on Gralafi controls the rift, I’m thinking that something there has caused this, either by accident or design.”

  “And what if it’s because of something the Romulans did?” Arex asked. “The captain and the others could be in trouble, and we wouldn’t even know it, much less be able to help them.”

  “Chances are the captain and the others know what’s going on,” Scott said, eyeing the image of the energy field on the main viewscreen. “I guess we should be thankful that whatever closed the rift didn’t decide to boot us halfway across the quadrant.”

  Chekov nodded, recalling how the ship had been transported hundreds of light-years away from the other Kalandan outpost by the technology buried beneath the surface of that planet. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat, considering how the process had almost led to the ship’s destruction.

  “The captain might need our help,” Sulu said, nodding toward the main viewscreen, “but with the rift closed, he can’t reach us.”

  Scott sighed as he crossed his arms. “Aye, and vice versa. That field’s not letting anything through, all right. So, we’ll just have to figure out a way to get in touch with them, anyway.” Eyeing Chekov once again, he asked, “Any thoughts on that, lad?”

  “Not yet, sir,” he replied, swallowing another nervous lump, “but I’ll get on it right away.” As Scott moved away from the railing on his way back to the command chair, Chekov turned to see Lieutenant M’Ress rising from her seat and walking toward him. She smiled, nodding to him as though offering encouragement.

  “If you require any assistance,” she said, “let me know.” The offer and her tone were enough to cut through at least some of his anxiety, and for a moment he thought he might blush.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat and trying not to look around the bridge to see if anyone was watching their exchange, he nodded and offered in what he hoped was a composed voice, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be sure to do that.”

  M’Ress, either oblivious to his anxiety or else reveling in it, smiled again before bringing her right hand from behind her back and extending it to him. When he looked down, he saw that she was holding his Academy-issued and never-returned personal eating utensil.

  “For its good luck properties,” she said, her eyes wide with amusement, though Chekov knew she was not mocking him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took it when I left this morning.”

  Now, he did blush. Taking the PEU from her, he again cleared his throat as M’Ress regarded him in silence for one final moment before turning and moving back to the communications station.

  Chekov watched her go. Then, something made him glance toward Sulu, only to see the helms
man making an immense effort not to look in his direction. Was that a thin, knowing smile fighting to work its way onto his friend’s face?

  Wonderful.

  Setting aside the distracting thoughts—and sights, welcome as they were—Chekov forced himself back to the matter at hand, and framed the issue in the simplest terms: until he solved the communications problem, the landing party was cut off from the ship and unable to request or receive aid, assuming they needed it. That was all the motivation Chekov required. While his skills and experience were no match for Spock’s, he was comforted by the knowledge that the Enterprise’s science officer would not have placed him in this position of responsibility if he did not think him up to the task.

  All I have to do now, Chekov mused as he tapped the PEU on the edge of the science station console, is not let him down.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Leaning into the tunnel so that her head and upper torso were exposed, Vathrael aimed her disruptor at the weapon turret mounted in the corner of the corridor intersection and fired. Heat from the pistol warmed her hand, and the energy discharge howled in the tunnel’s narrow confines as the bolt slammed into the turret. A shower of sparks erupted from the weapon, and Vathrael saw part of it fall to the ground.

  “So,” she said, looking to where Subcommander Atrelis stood along with her centurions and nodded with approval, “they can be beaten.”

  Her science officer nodded as he reached up to brush a lock of damp, grayish-black hair from his face. “Based on the scan data I have collected, Commander, the defense system, while quite sophisticated, appears designed to operate within rigidly defined parameters. It seems to remain passive if not directly confronted, or if it fails to register threats against whatever it is programmed to protect.”

  “If not directly confronted,” Vathrael repeated, stepping into the corridor and taking another look at the now-destroyed weapons mount. “Are you saying I didn’t need to shoot that turret just now?”