Star Trek: That Which Divides

by Dayton Ward

  THIRTY-ONE

  Dividing his attention between the main viewscreen and the chronometer set into the astrogator panel situated between Sulu and Arex, Scott watched time slipping away as the image of the Dolysian freighter grew larger with every passing second.

  “We’re within transporter range,” said Sulu from the helm.

  Scott felt the ache in his back and shoulders, a consequence of his hunched posture while sitting in the captain’s chair. “Extend our shields, Mister Sulu. Lieutenant M’Ress, notify the transporter room to stand by.” He looked to Chekov at the science station. “You’ve verified the life signs?”

  “Five, sir,” the ensign replied. “Just like the first freighter.”

  Wishing he had remembered to read whichever briefing report might have informed him of the standard crew complement of Dolysian cargo freighters, Scott instead elected to thank whoever was responsible for seeing to it that he could beam everyone to the Enterprise at one time.

  “Shields extended,” Sulu said, and Scott saw him glance at the chronometer. “The Romulans should be in weapons range in under a minute.”

  Despite the escalating tension he could feel permeating the bridge, Scott still found a moment to shake his head in mild amusement. “Mister Sulu, what have I told you about your irritating habit of keeping time?”

  Sulu, picking up on the joke, looked over his shoulder. “I believe you called it an annoying fascination for timepieces, sir.”

  “Aye, so I did,” Scott replied before looking to M’Ress. “Tell the transporter room to beam those Dolysians aboard.”

  The Caitian communications officer acknowledged the order, and Scott heard her talking to the crewman on duty in the transporter room, though his attention once more was focused on the chronometer before him. The seconds were continuing to evaporate before his very eyes, but were they now dwindling even faster?

  “Transporter room reports all five Dolysians are safely aboard,” M’Ress said.

  Sulu added, “Their ship’s navigation system is continuing on automatic for its destination at the second moon. It’s programmed to meet up with its companion freighter and assume a standard orbit once it gets there.”

  “That’ll do,” Scott said, rubbing his chin as he leaned back in the captain’s chair. Once this situation was resolved—and assuming it was concluded in something resembling a peaceful manner—the crews of both freighters would be returned to their ships so that they might carry on with their tasks.

  The Red Alert indicator flashed on the helm console, and Sulu called out, “Romulan vessels are now within weapons range. They’re still maneuvering into attack positions.”

  “Reset shields to normal configuration,” Scott ordered, “and move us away from the freighter. I want some breathing room. Is that escape course plotted?”

  Nodding, Arex replied, “Course plotted and laid in, sir. Ready to execute at your command.”

  Though he did not want to leave the system so long as other options presented themselves, Scott knew that if the situation devolved into a shooting fight, the Enterprise would be vulnerable. With that in mind, he had ordered a contingency plan to take the ship away from immediate danger should circumstances warrant such action. He vowed it would be an option of last resort, as he had no intention of abandoning Captain Kirk and the landing party.

  “Tactical plot on main viewer,” Scott said.

  Sulu pressed the appropriate controls on his console, and a moment later the image on the viewscreen shifted from the Dolysian freighter to the computer’s cold, lifeless rendering of the Enterprise’s current situation. At the center of a white grid was a blue icon representing the starship, with three green avatars depicting the Romulan vessels. A smaller red marker indicated the Dolysian freighter, near the screen’s lower left corner and moving beyond the image’s boundary. The schematic shifted, morphing the grid into a three-dimensional cube with the Enterprise at its heart, and the three enemy warships moving toward it from different directions and angles, forming a multi-axis attack formation.

  Chekov said, “They’re moving to surround us. We still have some maneuvering room, but not for long.”

  “Mister Sulu, maneuver us closer to the energy field,” Scott ordered.

  Surprised by the command, Sulu looked over his shoulder. “Sir?”

  “Use the field as partial cover as we maneuver,” the engineer replied, understanding the lieutenant’s confusion. “They have to know what the rift did to their other ship. Maybe they’ll be hesitant to get too close. If nothing else, it might be able to keep them from flanking us.” Scott knew it was a long shot, but at this point such gambles seemed appropriate.

  “Mister Scott,” M’Ress called out. “We’re being hailed. It’s Commander Grathus.”

  “Of course it is,” the engineer muttered under his breath, unable to suppress a small smile. “Put him on-screen.”

  The image on the viewer changed to that of the Romulan commander, once again seated at whatever alcove or hole in the bulkhead that served as his communications station.

  “So,” Grathus said without any introduction, “you have deemed it necessary to take the civilians under your protection.”

  Rising from the captain’s chair, Scott replied, “As I told you earlier, Commander, the Dolysians have entered into a cooperative partnership with the Federation. As such, we are duty-bound to protect them from external threats. I’m also required to remind you that your presence here is in violation of the treaty between our governments. I suspect that my superiors will be contacting yours in due course.”

  Grathus leaned across his desk, to the point that his face all but filled the viewscreen. “We do not recognize the validity of your ‘partnership’ with these people, and even if it does exist, it does not absolve them of guilt for the destruction of a vessel of the Romulan Empire. If you choose to stand as their advocate, then it is you who will be held accountable for their actions.”

  “Commander, we’ve been over this,” Scott snapped. “The Dolysian people had no knowledge of the technology buried beneath the surface of the planetoid. It’s been there since well before they even achieved space flight. Why are you continuing to perpetrate an obvious falsehood?”

  “It is not a falsehood, human,” Grathus replied. “Romulans simply do not believe in the notion of ignorance as an excuse from responsibility. The Dolysians claimed that planet and all the riches it affords their society. Therefore, they are culpable for any offenses it commits.”

  Sensing the futility of arguing with the Romulan, Scott could only shake his head. Had he misread Grathus? During their earlier conversation, the commander had seemed pragmatic, if determined, with respect to finding an explanation for the loss of the other scout ship. Though he had not responded to Scott’s earlier assertions that he wanted to avoid triggering an interstellar incident, his mannerisms had suggested as much. Was it possible that the Romulan was just that effective at presenting a demeanor that caused others to underestimate or misjudge his motives? Could it be a simple matter of bruised ego, and the perceived need to assert dominance? Grathus commanded a small armada; did he need to demonstrate his strength, perhaps to subordinates who might see an opportunity for advancement if an ineffective leader were removed from their path?

  “I’m certain my government will see things differently, Commander,” Scott said, making one last attempt at fostering civil discourse. “And I can’t believe yours won’t feel the same way, so what is it you’re hoping to accomplish here, other than possibly starting a war?”

  The scowl that had been clouding Grathus’s expression softened, and he almost smiled. “You claim some insight into the minds and attitudes of my people, human. After all this time with us as your enemy, you have learned nothing.” His face vanished, replaced by the tactical schematic.

  Sulu released an annoyed grunt. “Well, that was enlightening.”

  “Mister Scott!” Chekov called out, his voice nearly a shout. “The Romulan ship
s are accelerating to full impulse power, maneuvering to envelop us.”

  “Evasive course,” Scott ordered. “Increase our speed to maximum and stand by weapons.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sulu responded, his hands almost a blur as they moved over his helm console. “Executing evasive maneuvers.”

  “Sensors are detecting minor fluctuations in the energy barrier,” Chekov called out. “It’s almost like it’s reacting to our presence.”

  Scott frowned as he processed the report. “Are we in any danger?”

  “From the field?” Chekov asked as he returned his attention to the science station’s sensor viewer. “No, sir. The Romulans seem to have that covered.” A moment later he blurted, “Incoming fire!”

  There was no time to issue any warnings to brace for impact before the first salvo struck. Scott felt the deck shudder beneath his feet as the Enterprise’s deflector shields absorbed the brunt of the attack. An alarm klaxon wailed for attention, but he waved to Chekov to silence it.

  “Hit on port side, aft,” Chekov said, and Scott heard the anxiety in the ensign’s voice. “Shields holding.”

  Sulu asked, “Should we return fire?”

  “Target their engines,” Scott answered. “Wait for my order.” He did not want this fight, but he did not see anything else in the way of options. Grathus was going to force this confrontation, perhaps destroying the Enterprise in the process. He would then be free to tell his superiors whatever version of fact or fiction suited his needs, perhaps even justifying further action against the Dolysians, who at least for the short term would be defenseless against Grathus and his small fleet. None of it made any sense to Scott, with the possible exception of simple pride, and the need for the Romulan commander to demonstrate that he—and, by extension, his people—would not be intimidated by their interstellar neighbors regardless of whatever territorial borders might exist between them.

  Another strike impacted against the deflector shields, and everything around Scott trembled in protest. The quivering was channeled through the command chair and into his arms. Like the first round, he knew that this also was a solid hit.

  They’ve got us dialed in, all right.

  Chekov looked up from his viewer. “Another hit aft. Shields are still holding. For now, anyway.”

  “Are they playing with us?” Sulu asked as he alternated his attention between his console and the main viewscreen, which continued to update the tactical schematic as the skirmish evolved. “Or are they worried about the barrier?”

  “You just keep hugging it, Mister Sulu,” Scott said. Maneuvering the Enterprise closer to the energy field seemed to be producing the desired results, based on the information being relayed by the tactical plot. The Romulans, at first eager to give chase, now appeared to be giving the barrier a wide berth, even though they remained well within the operational range of their warships’ weapons. Glancing over his left shoulder, he asked, “Lieutenant Masters, any effects from the field?”

  Seated behind him at the bridge’s engineering station, Lieutenant Charlene Masters, a young, dark-skinned officer, replied, “There’s some minor flux in the warp engines, but otherwise everything’s in the green, sir. I don’t know what might happen if we get any closer.”

  The bridge was jolted by yet another salvo of disruptor fire, one after another in rapid succession. This time the effects were more pronounced, with consoles blinking and the overhead lighting dimming for a moment as power was automatically routed to the ship’s deflector shield generators.

  “Now it’s getting interesting,” Scott mumbled to himself, before prompting in a louder voice, “Damage?”

  Chekov replied, “Aft shields down to eighty-seven percent, sir. Rerouting power to compensate.”

  “Masters,” Scott said, “direct the computer to alternate power to the shields based on which side is facing the energy field. Draw power from that side to shore up the weakened areas.” He knew it was a tall order given Sulu’s maneuvering, which entailed whatever turns, banks, and dives he might execute as part of the evasive course he had plotted along with any improvisation he might employ based on the Romulan ships’ movements. Such rapid calculations and action were beyond the limits of regular flesh and blood engineers, but Scott reasoned it would be easy enough for the Enterprise’s main computer.

  Blowing out his breath, he said, “All right, Mister Arex, let’s try giving them something to think about. Fire at your discretion.”

  Before the Triexian could respond, there was a notable disruption in systems across the bridge. Once more consoles and their display monitors wavered and the lights flickered, and Scott thought he even felt the briefest of tremors in the deck plating. Instead of resetting themselves as they had before, the interruptions continued, showing no signs of abating.

  “We weren’t hit,” he said. “What’s causing that?”

  At the helm, Sulu’s hands moved across his console, with the lieutenant stabbing button after button in a flurry of chaotic motions. “It’s the energy field. I think I got us too close.”

  “The field’s definitely reacting to us,” said Chekov, once more bent over the viewer. “The Romulan ships are backing off. They must be seeing what’s happening.” Then, he looked up from his station. “If I’m reading this correctly, there’s a distortion at the field’s boundary corresponding to our relative position.”

  Scott moved from his seat just before another disruptor barrage struck the shields. The effects of the impact were more pronounced this time, triggering new alarms at different stations around the bridge.

  “Firing phasers,” Arex called out, and Scott heard the deep resonating hum of energy being channeled to the starship’s weapons banks. “Direct hit on the lead vessel’s forward shields. They’re still maintaining their distance.”

  “Our aft shields are down to sixty-three percent,” Chekov said.

  Acknowledging the report, Scott pointed to the science station. “Show me the distortion.”

  Chekov nodded, pressing a series of controls on his console. One of the two large monitors above his station changed to a computer-realized interpretation of the energy barrier as recorded by the sensors. Pointing to the field’s outer boundary, the ensign said. “See this area right here at the edge? It actually retreated on itself as we passed, then resumed its normal configuration after we moved away. The pattern repeats as we traverse the field.”

  “Our warp engines,” Scott said, more to himself than to anyone else. “The barrier reacts to the presence of an active warp drive. Every time a ship passed through the rift, the field responded with distortion, but those ships were moving at sublight speeds.” He studied the monitor, seeing for the first time what had been right before him—before them all—from the beginning. “What if a ship were to penetrate the barrier at warp speed?”

  “What?” Chekov asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Enter the barrier? Sir, the rift’s not open. The Dolysians told us that every ship and probe they’ve sent into it has been destroyed.”

  The ship trembled around them once more, the ship’s reaction to the attack even greater this time. How many more hits could the shields take before the generators were overloaded?

  “None of those ships had warp drive,” Scott said, holding on to the railing to keep his balance. “Arex, plot a course for the other side of the barrier, using the Huang Zhong’s navigational data.”

  “What are you thinking, Scotty?” Sulu asked.

  Scott returned to the captain’s chair. “Warp jump, Mister Sulu. Precision piloting. You up for that?”

  “It beats staying out here,” the helmsman replied. “But what if you’re wrong?”

  “Then Captain Kirk’s liable to be pretty angry with me. Standard view on the screen, please.” Though Scott could not be certain his idea would work, the sensor data seemed to support what his gut was telling him was possible. Instinct emboldened by experience had always helped to see him through one enormous challenge after another during his
career—none greater than some of the trials he had faced during his tenure aboard this ship—but would that be enough now? There was only one way to know, and any lingering doubts he might have vanished as another double disruptor strike slammed into the Enterprise’s shields.

  “Aft shields failing!” Chekov shouted above the new wave of alarms.

  Clinging to the arms of the captain’s chair, Scott snapped, “Mister Arex!”

  “Course plotted!” replied the navigator. The Triexian was gripping the edge of his console with two hands and using his third to manipulate his console’s controls.

  Scott gritted his teeth, glaring at the roiling mass of energy at the center of the main viewscreen. “Now, Sulu!”

  The helm officer did not reply, but instead stabbed one button on his own control panel. Scott had the briefest of moments to note distant stars on the viewscreen begin to stretch as the energy barrier seemed to lunge toward him. Yet another alarm whined, and everything seemed to shake and rattle as though preparing to come apart.

  “Energy distortion!” Chekov yelled over the klaxon.

  Then, the field was gone, replaced by the small green-brown sphere that was the Gralafi planetoid. The tremors subsided, leaving only the alert warbling and drowning out all other sounds on the bridge. Before Scott could order it silenced, Sulu pressed a control and terminated the annoying siren.

  “That’s it?” Chekov asked, making no effort to hide his skepticism.

  “We’re secure from warp speed,” Sulu said.

  Scott cleared his throat. “Status? How are the warp engines?”

  Behind him, Lieutenant Masters replied, “Everything looks nominal, sir. All decks are reporting no damage.”

  His eyes still on the planetoid, Scott asked, “What about the energy field? Any change in its readings?”