“Can you get it to work?”
The engineer hesitated only slightly before nodding. “I can give it a shot, Captain.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Kirk said, smiling.
“Are we going down, Captain?” Chekov was eager to put right what he’d messed up.
“That’s right, Mister Chekov. Even if we don’t find Yüksel, I want to see what’s so important these people built this massive cavern for it.”
Doctor McCoy was about to leave the bridge when Vincent DeSalle arrived. The ship’s assistant chief engineer looked uncomfortable. It was plain he felt his damage-control report had to be delivered in person.
“Lieutenant, your report,” Sulu said.
“Most of the damage we sustained is impact-related,” DeSalle said. “From the unplanned transition from subspace to normal space.”
“What about the power systems?” asked Sulu. “Why do we experience that cutout every time?”
DeSalle was standing over Ensign Harper at the engineering station, who looked nervous in the presence of his superior. The lieutenant hit a couple of controls, replacing the unmoving stars on the viewscreen with a cutaway diagram of the Enterprise. “I’ve highlighted power conduits in yellow,” he said. “If you watch this…” The yellow lines disappeared and reappeared. “Every one of them shuts down for a split second when we hit a distortion. It took a while, but we eventually traced the cause—the computer systems shut down and had to reboot.”
“Why,” asked Sulu, “if they didn’t take any damage?”
“We’re looking into that,” said DeSalle. “We’ve got some ideas.”
McCoy moved closer to the viewscreen, looking at the diagram. “There’s no apparent cause?” He felt the need to emphasize the point.
You do that because you recognize when someone’s trying to hide complete ignorance.
“No,” DeSalle grudgingly admitted. “I’ve got the computer section checking and rechecking every duotronic circuit, but so far they’ve found nothing.”
“That’s three unexplained problems,” McCoy said. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Three problems?” asked Sulu. “The distort-zone, the computers, and… what else?”
McCoy briefly outlined what had happened to the espers. “I can’t find a cause for it in any of them.”
You actually admitted that out loud? You’re braver than I thought.
He tried to shush his inner voice, but it was getting harder and harder.
“What could connect a computer failure to comas, though?” asked DeSalle. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing about this makes sense,” said Sulu. “Any suggestions, Lieutenant Rodriguez?”
The science officer had been listening to and quietly responding to someone via his earpiece and hadn’t been paying attention. “Sorry, sir. I was just talking to Padmanabhan in spatial physics. He’s on his way up with a report on the distortions.”
“Very well, Mister Rodriguez.” McCoy could sense the disapproval in Sulu’s voice. Being the science officer of a starship was a difficult task; there were a lot of disciplines you were required to be conversant with. The Spocks who had mastered all of them were few and far between.
“Do you know of any link between the computers and the espers?” Sulu asked.
Rodriguez shook his head. “No, sir.”
The turbolift doors hissed open, discharging an Indian man—almost a boy, really, McCoy thought—in a blue sciences uniform. He had a data slate in front of him, which he was scribbling on even as he stepped onto the bridge. He continued using it as he passed McCoy to join Rodriguez at his console, handing it to him as he arrived. “Here you go, Esteban,” he said.
“Thanks, Homi.”
McCoy wasn’t the only one watching the pair interact; Sulu had oriented the command chair toward the sciences console and had an expectant look on his face. “Report,” he said finally.
Padmanabhan straightened up and faced Sulu. “Sir, we’ve been trying to map the extent of the distortions—that is, Bellos and I have been trying—me being Ensign Padmanabhan, sir—and we were having problems—difficulties that would arise—”
McCoy caught Uhura’s eyes, and she smiled.
Sulu, on the other hand, was becoming impatient. “We don’t need every detail of the investigation, Ensign,” he interjected. “Skip ahead.”
“Sorry, sir. The interiors of the distortions are infinite—they’re bigger on the inside, you might say—not just ripples or bumps in the space-time continuum, but holes to another universe. They’re spots where another universe is pushing its way into ours.”
Sulu nodded in apparent understanding. “What kind of universe?”
“This is a realm entirely separate from our own—floating around in the higher dimensions, with its own stars, its own planets—maybe not, though, if its physical laws are too different.”
“Wait,” said McCoy. “I thought the universe was infinite. How can there be other universes out there?”
Padmanabhan looked back at Rodriguez helplessly. Sulu graciously stepped in. “A sheet of paper could be infinite, Doctor, yet since it is almost two-dimensional, there could be other infinite sheets of paper out there, within the three-dimensional world. Our universe has the same relationship to the higher dimensions.”
“Exactly!” Padmanabhan chirped. “And if you had two sheets of paper—well, probably you have more, but let’s just say two—then they’d intersect in some places, and that’s where we are. At an intersection.”
“Does the other universe have different physical laws?” asked Sulu.
“We think so,” said Padmanabhan. “These distortions—‘holes’ would be more proper—are places where our universe is being rewritten by the other one. Well, parts of our universe—subspace, to be exact—the overlap seems to be confined to that.”
“I might just be a simple country doctor,” said McCoy, “but that doesn’t sound good.”
“It is!” Padmanabhan looked around excitedly, then immediately backtracked. “Well, it sort of is. It is from a physics perspective—it could be absolutely fascinating—”
Obviously this boy had been spending too much time around Spock.
“—but it’s not good for us—seeing as how we come from this universe—and its laws.”
“Could this account for our computer problems?” asked Sulu, turning to face DeSalle.
“It’s possible. I’ll look into it,” he said.
“And what about my patients?” McCoy asked. “Is the other universe affecting them?”
Padmanabhan gave him a quizzical look. “Patients, sir?”
“I have five people in comas, Ensign, with no apparent cause. Can these intersections be causing that?”
“Sorry, sir. I’m a physicist, not a medical doctor.”
“Ensign, I want you to send all the data you have to Lieutenant DeSalle and Doctor McCoy. And gentlemen, please pass whatever you have to the physics labs,” Sulu ordered. “If there’s a connection, we need to pool our knowledge to find it.”
Watch a group of Spock’s number-crunchers figure out this problem before you can. That’ll satisfy the pointy-eared intellectual.
“I’d better head back down to sickbay,” said McCoy.
Like that’ll help.
Could he put that self-doubt aside for just a moment?
McCoy began moving toward the turbolift as Sulu hit a button to clear the power diagram from the viewscreen. “Distance from Mu Arigulon?” the lieutenant asked.
Farrell checked his panel. “Point-nine-seven light-years,” he said.
McCoy paused just before the lift and turned. “We won’t be moving at impulse that entire distance, will we?” he asked.
“Hopefully not,” said Sulu. “The distortions only extend a few days ahead of us.”
“If we stay out of warp,” Rodriguez added, “no new ones should form, and once we’re far enough away, we can g
o to warp again.”
And what would happen if they weren’t able to find a way around this? McCoy was not at all happy about the thick layer of uncertainty that coated everything. It made getting a definite answer impossible. “If this other universe is too different from ours, it can’t be good if these holes in space stay open, right?”
“Correct,” Sulu said gravely. “Depending on the power of the force, Enterprise’s destruction could be the first in a series of disasters.”
Great. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked. The more you tell me, the more I think I should’ve stood in bed.”
Sulu put on a smile that was doubtless intended to be encouraging, but it failed to have that effect on the doctor. “Of course, that’s only a worst-case scenario. They might stop growing once we’re destroyed. Then Starfleet would only have to quarantine this sector.”
“Thanks, Sulu.” McCoy’s sarcasm was only thinly veiled. “I’m feeling much more confident now.”
“We’ll be careful, Doctor, I promise.” Sulu had grown more serious the further this talk progressed, the very image of a man born to be in charge. “We’ll probably be about four days late, but at least we’ll still be whole.”
McCoy thought about Kirk, Spock, M’Benga, Scotty, and the others in the landing parties, stepping onto that new world, no doubt fascinated by an unending stream of new discoveries. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure they’ll relish the extra time.” He envied them, as a matter of fact. Unaware as they were of the Enterprise’s troubles, they were no doubt having the time of their lives.
“Weather report, Mister Jaeger.”
Upon returning to the Hofstadter, they had found that conditions had lessened to a mild drizzle, and Spock had taken off immediately. Wind continued to blow, but even with the weakened shields, continued flight should be safe in the current conditions.
“The winds are increasing. The level of rainfall has to be abnormal,” Jaeger insisted. “I’ve been looking at visual data from the orbital survey, and there’s a large number of dried-out lake beds, especially next to metropolises. And I can’t figure out why—many are fed by active rivers.”
“Is the upper atmosphere safer?” asked Spock. Given that the shuttle was a spacecraft, entering orbit to avoid the storms might prove the safest option.
“If anything, it’s worse. Close to the ground seems to have lower-force winds.” He flipped back and forth between reports on his slate. “I just don’t get it.”
“Interesting,” said Spock. “Continue your investigations.” He would continue to apply part of his mind to the task of solving the problem. In the meantime, he was still pondering what had happened to the inhabitants of Mu Arigulon, and what the warp reactors were sending their power to, which was the Hofstadter’s current destination.
Perhaps useful information could be found in the data Saloniemi had uncovered. He pulled up the A&A officer’s report on the central console and began reading. “I see that the Orion databases confirmed that the doll the captain found represents an inhabitant of Mu Arigulon V.”
“A ‘Farrezzi,’ sir,” interjected Saloniemi.
Spock nodded. “Have you discovered any other information of value?”
“The Farrezzi were definitely involved in interstellar markets around two centuries ago, but abruptly withdrew.” He shrugged. “The Orions seemed disappointed, but unconcerned. Is it possible they just left the planet?”
“Perhaps,” replied Spock, “but there is still no evidence of the large-scale space industry such an exodus would require.” He turned to face the rest of the shuttle crew. “I wish to journey to whatever ‘projector’ is at the hub of the reactor network. I will contact the captain momentarily, but I expect he will approve my decision.”
“Sir,” interrupted Jaeger. “My projections show higher wind intensity ahead.”
“Is that safe?” asked Scott.
“I estimate only a six percent chance that the Hofstadter will suffer damage, Mister Scott, and any damage will be within your abilities to repair.”
Scott smiled slightly. “Thank you, Mister Spock. I’ll do my best.”
Why an emotional species always felt the need to say this was a mystery Spock had long given up attempting to solve—or even commenting on. He set the Hofstadter to accelerate, plunging into the windy depths of the storm ahead.
It was getting late. Chekov hadn’t yet fully adjusted to the thirty-three-hour day here, and even though the sun hadn’t even set, his body was telling him that it was night. Not even the discovery of an alien elevator shaft was enough to keep him from yawning.
Ensign Seven Deers had been inspecting the elevator for the past few minutes, while the captain had talked to Spock on his communicator. Seven Deers hardly said a word, but she looked confident.
The captain shut his communicator and walked over to the hole in the floor, his arms crossed as he peered down it. “What do you think, Ensign?”
Seven Deers looked up. A strand of her long, brown hair had escaped its clasp and hung over her face. She casually tucked it behind her ear. “Well, sir,” she began, “I’m certain that it’s an elevator, that much I can say. As for how it works, I think this is the control lever.” She pointed at the object in question.
The captain nodded. “Do it.” He joined her to get a better view.
When Seven Deers pulled the lever down, a rumble started, the sound of metal banging against metal, and the platform moved, slowly but surely, down into the shaft. After a few seconds, she pushed the lever back up, and the platform ascended again.
“Excellent, Ensign,” the captain said. “Let’s see what’s down there.” He glanced back at Chekov. “Material strength satisfactory, Ensign Chekov?”
He’d been caught off guard but recovered quickly. “Aye, sir.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” Kirk moved closer to the elevator and gripped one of its vertical bars. “We’ll need to split up into two groups, however. There’s no need to push our luck. Ensign Chekov, can we tell what’s down there? Does the tricorder have an idea?”
“Scans are better here, but still not optimal, sir. All I can tell you is that the space below is potentially as large as this city.” He fiddled with the tricorder settings, trying to penetrate the interference. “There seem to be many rows of almost identical items, and—” Chekov fell silent, unable to believe what the tricorder was telling him.
“Ensign?”
He looked up at his commanding officer. “Captain, the items are highly sophisticated devices, and they’re still active!”
The faces of the others displayed surprise to varying degrees. Commander Giotto was pulling a face that showed how unhappy he was about this development. Crewman Tra was mimicking his superior. Seven Deers’s and Rawlins’s faces were mirrors of Chekov’s, full of stunned disbelief. And the captain… well, the captain was smiling, evidence of his satisfaction.
Understandable reactions. Finding this much working technology after all this time of neglect was unexpected. Too bad Commander Scott wasn’t here—Chekov knew the chief engineer would be having a field day. All Chekov needed to do now was find Yüksel, and he’d redeem himself.
Right now, both Kirk and Giotto were looking at him, likely expecting him to elaborate, but anything further would be guesswork, and he didn’t want to resort to that. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more specific, Captain.”
“Well, it appears we have no other choice,” Kirk said. “Commander, any reservations?”
With his tightened jaw and his grim face, Giotto looked even older than his salt-and-pepper hair made him out to be. “As a matter of fact, yes, sir. Since the ensign’s unable to provide better information, we’ve no idea what to expect. I must point out the obvious danger involved. And then we don’t even know that what’s down there has anything to do with Yüksel.”
Kirk nodded. “Thank you. I understand your concerns. However—” He paused for a moment, leaving Chekov to silently hope. “—we’re going
down there. Chekov and I will go first. If everything is fine, Commander Giotto, you’ll bring the rest of the landing party with you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want security backup, Captain?” asked Giotto.
“I have one, Commander.” Chekov thought he could detect a slight charge to the captain’s voice. “Mister Chekov.”
Giotto just nodded. Chekov wanted to know why it was so hard to please this man, considering that he’d even managed to impress Spock enough that he now served as backup science officer. He moved onto the platform, drawing his phaser. Kirk joined him.
“Ready, Captain?” asked Seven Deers.
“Ready?” asked Kirk. “Ensign, I’m looking forward to it.”
Seven Deers pulled the lever, and they began their descent into the darkness.
McCoy’s self-preoccupation was momentarily dispelled when he returned to sickbay and saw Nurse Chapel still moving about when she should be off duty. Nobody knew how long the quiet would last—she should be making the most of it.
“Christine,” McCoy said, watching her inspect the settings on a patient’s biobed.
“Doctor?” Chapel looked up, startled.
“How long have you been working without a break?” Part of it was his fault, he knew. He’d been the one who’d gone off to the rec room, retreated to his office, and visited the bridge. She’d been down here, working the entire time.
At least someone is pulling their weight here today. She can actually take care of problems, unlike you.
His attempt to suppress the thought didn’t work very well. The voice in his head seemed to grow more distinct with each passing moment.
“Not since I came on shift,” she said, blushing just enough for him to notice it.
“That’s eight hours!” McCoy exclaimed. “Have you even eaten?”
“I grabbed a salad from the food slots a few hours ago,” she said. “Have you?”
“Yes—” he began, but stopped himself. He hadn’t, he suddenly realized. He’d never made it to that sandwich on his trip to the rec room. But he didn’t even feel hungry. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “You need to sit down. I’ll take over here.”
Star Trek®: A Choice of Catastrophes Page 10