Purgatory's Key

by Dayton Ward

  “You’re not dreaming.”

  The new voice came from behind them, and Joanna whirled to see an older human female in a Starfleet ­uniform—at least, she looked human—emerging from the trees and walking toward them. Her dark hair framed her face, and there was a determination in her cold, blue eyes that Joanna found intimidating.

  “Ambassador Sarek?” asked the new arrival, regarding the Vulcan.

  “I am Sarek.” He paused, glancing at Joanna before saying, “You know who I am?”

  The woman nodded. “Indeed I do, sir.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Captain Una. I know this might sound a little odd, even when you consider our situation, but I’ve been searching for you.”

  What?

  All of this was becoming just a bit too much, Joanna decided. What was it about this place that had seen fit to bring them altogether, here and now? Was it simple chance? That seemed unlikely. Were their actions being guided by some unseen force or other being? She guessed that was possible, and perhaps not even so outlandish a notion, given their present circumstances.

  Of course, it sort of begged the question: What or who else are we going to find here?

  “You have been searching for me,” said Sarek.

  Una nodded. “Yes, sir. I know how this sounds, but . . . I heard you calling out to your wife.”

  “Interesting,” said Sarek. “Then it seems we have much to discuss.”

  “Can we discuss it while we eat?” Gorkon snorted, his smile broadening even farther. “Battle makes me hungry.”

  Joanna released an exasperated sigh. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

  Eleven

  “You want me to what?”

  Uhura stood in the Enterprise’s astrophysics lab, her arms crossed as she watched Chekov with his arms buried up to the elbows inside an automated sensor drone that had undergone significant modifications. Had she heard the ensign correctly? Was he being subjected to a form of hazing ritual that was part of his being accepted by the starship’s cadre of junior officers and that required him to make bizarre requests of the senior staff?

  An odd and quite audible sigh escaped the probe’s innards, which Uhura at first thought had come from Chekov. It took her an extra moment to realize that the escaping air had instead come from a pressurized compartment inside the probe. Extracting his hands from inside the device, the ensign turned and smiled at her.

  “I said I’m hoping you can help me modify a subspace transceiver to send and accept sensor readings sent from another dimension.”

  Her eyes narrowing, Uhura replied, “Okay. That’s what I thought you said.” Stepping closer to the probe, she noted the presence of additional acquisition sensor modules as well as a second stereographic analysis component. “You’re really beefing up this thing.” Seeing a second power supply wedged into the device’s upper access compartment, she said, “Is this an extra battery for the transceiver?”

  Chekov nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant. Mister Spock and I decided a dedicated power source for the transceiver relay was prudent, given the circumstances. That is, assuming it can function the way we need it to. I’m hoping you can help me with my backup plan.”

  “Backup plan?” Uhura asked. “Should my feelings be hurt here?”

  Chekov smiled. “Not at all. It’s just that given what we’re about to try with this probe, I want to be as prepared as possible for the unexpected.”

  “Always a good idea, Ensign. So, what’s your plan?”

  Pointing to the probe’s open compartment, Chekov said, “You know we’re modifying this probe so that we can send it into the other universe. According to the theory Mister Spock and I have developed, we believe we can use the Transfer Key to relocate the probe to the same area within the dimensional realm where Captain Una and the others were sent. We’re programming the probe’s sensors to collect data and then recalibrate itself to send that information back through the link between the two universes.”

  Uhura tried to recall the theoretical physics discussions in which she had participated as a cadet at Starfleet Academy. The conversations had been spirited, and much of it was beyond her grasp of science and engineering. Her own intimate knowledge of subspace communications had kept her from becoming completely lost during such discourse. There were some scientists who even speculated that subspace was itself an alternate domain of existence, accessible only by faster-than-light travel. Even then, such a realm could not truly be explored, and therefore theories about it being a tangible, even inhabitable plane remained untested, perhaps for all time. In many ways, it was far different even than the strange parallel universe into which she along with Captain Kirk, Spock, and Montgomery Scott had been transported. Though that reality mirrored this one in many ways, including another Enterprise and near-perfect representations of her friends and shipmates, everyone there seemed to be a darker, malevolent representation of the people she knew. Fate and good fortune had allowed them to return to their own dimension.

  And now here they were, facing something like that yet again.

  “Do you and Mister Spock really think you can transport that thing into the Jatohr’s universe?” she asked.

  Chekov nodded. “We are almost certain. The Transfer Key has already shown us it’s possible, and Captain Una’s encounter with the Jatohr scientist who created it tells us that we can certainly transfer people from there to here. Even if we’re successful, we don’t know how the other universe will react to anything we send across. Our regular communications equipment may not work properly. That’s why I want the backup plan.”

  “Communicating across a dimensional barrier.” Uhura was speaking more to herself than Chekov as she regarded the modified probe. “I suppose there are worse ways to spend my off-duty time. Let’s get started.”

  Smiling, Chekov said, “Two-way communication is preferable, but even being able to receive a one-way feed from the probe is better than nothing. Still, it’d be nice to see what the probe is seeing, in real time. There’s no way to know if there are any hazards waiting for it.”

  “Let’s hope there’s nothing like that, for the sake of Captain Una and everyone else trapped over there.” Beyond just rescuing their friends and former Enterprise crew members, Uhura knew that retrieving Ambassador Sarek and Councillor Gorkon was vital if the Federation hoped to avoid further escalating tensions with the ­Klingon Empire. She suspected they already were living on borrowed time and wondered how much longer the ­Klingon High Council or its military leaders would wait before deciding Gorkon was lost, and it was the Federation’s fault. What Spock and Chekov were planning needed to be put into motion without delay.

  Better get cracking, then.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me about this theory you and Spock have.”

  Several minutes passed as Chekov talked about molecular harmonics, vibrating atoms, and how changing the frequency of vibration could shift objects between dimensional planes. The ensign did a creditable job explaining it, and she understood most of what he was saying, but there still were aspects of the problem that eluded her. Uhura realized that she did not need to grasp every last detail. The Jatohr had already done that for her.

  “The Transfer Key is able to change this frequency,” she said, “and do so in a targeted manner, both in relation to the person or object being moved and a fixed point in the destination universe. You’re saying this process is like a frequency we can’t hear or that our sensors can’t detect.”

  “That’s the idea,” he said. “What we need to figure out is whether an object present in one universe can receive a communication from an object in another.”

  “Why not? Communication can take many forms. Subspace carrier waves, old-fashioned radio signals, or even pulsing light or radiation across a spectrum.” Uhura paused, considering what she had just said. “Hang on a minute.”

  Moving to one of the lab�
�s auxiliary consoles, she dropped into the station’s seat and reached for the rows of multicolored controls. It took her only moments to enter a command sequence to the ship’s computer, and once her instructions were executed she activated the lab’s main viewscreen. Uhura turned from the station just as the screen flared to life, watching as a computer-generated image coalesced into existence. It was a white graph superimposed over a black background, and a bright red line began tracing over the grid from left to right, arcing and dipping as it crossed the screen.

  “Gamma rays?” asked Chekov after a moment.

  Uhura nodded. “With a recursive modulating algorithm, we could transmit basic data in a form that we would be able to detect as it seeps between the dimensions. Once we have that, sending a matching harmonic signal back the other way should be possible. That second power source will come in handy for something like this.”

  “I’ll also need to make further adjustments to the subspace transceiver, but that shouldn’t take long.”

  Studying her impromptu solution, Uhura said, “It just might work. I don’t know for how long or how powerful the transmission will be, but I may be able to boost the ship’s communications array so that it can detect the signal.”

  Stepping away from the console, Uhura moved to the workbench supporting the probe. “Let’s get a better look at this thing.”

  Chekov drew closer, preparing to assist her, but she was already peering into the probe’s open compartment, her gaze tracing the internal circuitry paths and component configuration.

  “This is some nice work, Ensign.” Uhura found the communications components without trouble. Not for the first time, she applauded her decision to remain abreast of the inner workings of such components. This had often necessitated spending her share of time deep in the bowels of the ship’s communications array or even sprawled on the deck underneath her console on the bridge to repair or replace burned-out components. She had never minded “getting her hands dirty” with the equipment, as Mister Scott said. Others might be content to leave such tasks to an engineer or assistant, but not her. Equipment repair and maintenance was just another part of the job, and it was this aspect that Uhura strove to teach the entire communications staff.

  Behind them, the lab’s doors slid open to admit Spock. The first officer was carrying a data slate, and his tricorder was slung over his shoulder. He paused in the doorway upon seeing Chekov and Uhura.

  “Mister Spock,” said Uhura.

  The Vulcan nodded. “Lieutenant.” To Chekov, he said, “Ensign, I have isolated the readings required to match the probe’s frequency modulation to that of the Transfer Key. Have you completed reconfiguring the internal components?”

  Gesturing to Uhura, Chekov replied, “I had an idea about one final modification and requested the lieutenant’s assistance.”

  “I’m happy to help,” said Uhura. “I know you’ve had a lot on your mind.”

  She hoped Spock would find her deliberate phrasing appropriate, not wanting him to think he may have displayed any emotional reaction to the current situation. It was obvious to even a casual observer that Spock had been under tremendous strain since the incident on Centaurus. Only someone who had served with him would notice the subtle shift in his normally stoic demeanor. It was obvious that he was concerned about Ambassador Sarek, and that it was these feelings—however controlled they may be—that now drove Spock to find a way to retrieve his father. Uhura knew that he and Sarek had only recently repaired a dysfunctional relationship that had stretched back nearly two decades. The resolution had come during the Enterprise’s mission to ferry the ambassador and a number of Federation diplomats to a vital conference. The tension between Spock and his father even during the brief moments Uhura had witnessed was palpable. Their differences had been resolved after Sarek had suffered a life-threatening heart attack that required surgery and a massive blood transfusion that only Spock could provide. It was the first step on a long path toward reconciliation.

  “Your assistance is most welcome, Lieutenant,” said Spock. “What have you determined?”

  Uhura replied, “I think I’ve come up with a method of modulating gamma rays as carrier waves for altering molecular harmonics across the . . . well, whatever it is. A barrier? Conduit?”

  “Interesting.” Spock pondered the lieutenant’s suggestion. “As Doctor McCoy might say under similar circumstances, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ I will need to see your analysis, but the idea holds promise.”

  He reached with his free hand to his data slate, and Uhura noticed that he was holding a yellow computer data card beneath his left thumb against the slate’s flat surface. Retrieving the card, he offered it to Chekov.

  “These are my calculations for the variance in frequencies between the two universes. Program them into the probe’s communications processor, after which we will carry out a final series of diagnostic tests. I will inform the captain that our preparations for the probe are nearing completion. Your work to this point has been exemplary, Ensign.” Turning his attention to Uhura, he added, “I have no doubt your expertise will prove invaluable, as well, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Chekov. Uhura had to suppress the urge to smile as the ensign beamed with obvious pride.

  Spock departed the lab, on his way to the bridge to continue whatever preparations remained before the probe could be launched, leaving Uhura and Chekov alone in the astrophysics lab. To his credit, Chekov waited until the doors closed behind the first officer before releasing an audible sigh of relief.

  “When I was a boy,” he said, “I had a teacher who scared every one of his students. He was nothing compared to Mister Spock.”

  Putting her hand to her mouth, Uhura stifled a laugh. “He does have that way of making you feel like you’re failing at everything, even when he’s complimenting you, doesn’t he? But you’ll never learn more working with anyone else.” Her gaze lingering on the doors, she added, “Besides, he must have a lot of trust in you, to let you head up this part of a project that’s as important as this one.”

  Chekov replied, “We should probably get back to work, then.”

  “Agreed.” Uhura smiled. “After all, these molecular harmonics aren’t going to modulate themselves.”

  Twelve

  “Bah! This is hardly a way to celebrate victory.”

  Lost in thought, Captain Una was startled by Gorkon’s sudden outburst as the Klingon dropped another large piece of wood onto the campfire he and a few of the Usildar had prepared. Still grumbling under his breath, Gorkon moved away from the fire, perhaps searching for more wood to fuel it.

  The fire pit surrounded by stones, presumably gathered from the surrounding forest, was the centerpiece of the improvised encampment created by the Usildar. Una, along with Sarek and the human nurse, Joanna McCoy, had accompanied Gorkon and his new friends here following the battle. The councillor and the Usildar had opted not to give chase to those few Jatohr that had survived the skirmish, choosing instead to regroup and assess their status. Little more than a collection of shelters created from whatever materials the Usildar could find within the forest, the camp’s most interesting feature was its ersatz armory containing a diverse collection of spears, clubs, and other handcrafted weapons. The small arsenal had been augmented by a few blades—oversized swords that reminded Una of Klingon bat’leths—and other items salvaged from the small battlefield.

  “Are you all right?”

  The new voice made Una turn her gaze from the fire to see Joanna McCoy moving toward her. As the nurse lowered herself to sit on the ground on Una’s right, the captain forced a small smile.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Just . . . thinking.”

  “This place will do that.” McCoy crossed her legs, then held her hands out before her, directing her palms toward the fire. “It’s weird. I don’t really feel cold, but the fire is still warm an
d soothing.”

  Una nodded in agreement. The fire had been unnecessary, at least for warmth. She felt no chill in the air and only registered the heat from the flames once she focused her attention on it. Still, it had provided illumination once darkness had fallen, while she had imparted to Sarek and Joanna everything she knew about this universe. She described her prior encounters with the Usildar, the Jatohr, and the enigmatic technology that was responsible for their current situation. Included in that part of the report was her mission to rescue her lost shipmates and the plot she and Captain Kirk had cooked up to secure their return.

  “Ambassador Sarek tells me the Izarian was his military advisor during the peace talks on Centaurus,” said Joanna. She paused, and Una sensed her hesitation. “Did you know the other Starfleet officers?”

  “Yes. They were all former shipmates of mine, many years ago when I was a lieutenant on the Enterprise.” She spent the next few minutes retelling the story of her first encounter with the Usildar, the Jatohr, and the transfer-field technology that had trapped her comrades here, rather than killing them as was first believed.

  “I knew I had to do everything I could to rescue them.” She let her gaze drift toward the fire. “As it happens, everything wasn’t good enough.”

  Lieutenant Ingrid Holstine and Ensigns Dylan Craig and Bruce Goldberg were killed by the Jatohr, after Una had ordered them to return to the salt plains that seemed to be the common arrival point for everyone transported to this universe. Una had been unable to find an explanation for that phenomenon, but at least it was something—some known if intangible quality—with which they could work. The trio died along with Lieutenant Karen Griffin and Petty Officer James Cambias, who had been part of her original landing party to Usilde eighteen years earlier. All five of them had been banished here by the transfer-field generator. Their deaths hurt her even more because Una thought she had found a means of retrieving them.