by Dave Stern
“Naturally, I was puzzled at this turn of events. So much so that I felt it necessary to speed my return to duty in order to check my calculations. Which I have just done. This time, however, I took nothing for granted, not even the Hubble Constant. I decided to measure that myself.” She looked around the table. “As I said before, the number I came up with for the constant differs by .02 kilometers per second per megaparsec from the accepted value.”
“That’s significant?” Archer asked.
She looked at him as though he’d just grown two heads.
“There is a reason it is called a constant, sir. The number does not change. Under any circumstances.”
“And yet this number is different,” Phlox said.
The Vulcan nodded. “I measured it two dozen times over the last half hour, and in each instance, arrived at the same number. It is still a constant. However, it is a different constant.”
She looked around the table.
“A different constant. A different rate of expansion. Therefore, a different universe.”
A different universe. Her logic was impeccable, as always. And yet…
“This begs the question: if we are in a different universe, how—and when—did we get here?” Phlox asked.
It came to Archer all at once.
“The anomaly,” he said. His eyes met T’Pol’s.
She nodded.
“It is within the realm of possibility,” she said. “Black holes have been proposed as potential gateways into parallel worlds. Preliminary studies of the anomaly revealed similar characteristics.”
“When that mine crippled us, we were close enough to the anomaly to get caught in its gravitational field,” Archer said. “To be drawn inside. To cross over. But assuming we’re right, and this is a different universe—it’s an awful lot like the one we came from.”
“Which Parnikee predicted,” Phlox said. “The existence of parallel universes. Worlds virtually identical to ours, with minor differences that could account for the variable in this constant you’re speaking of.” The doctor frowned. “Which could also account for the unexplained weakness you’ve been feeling, Captain”—he nodded to Archer—“as well as the crew’s reactions—the illnesses I’ve been treating.”
“Precisely what I suspected, Doctor. That is why I wanted you to hear this as well. There may indeed be a biochemical difference in molecular compounds between continuums.”
Phlox nodded. “At the least, this information suggests a new avenue for my research.”
“It also suggests that we need to return to our own universe as soon as possible. That brings us back to the search for Enterprise.”
About time, too, Archer thought. Not that it had been wasted time, but they’d spent ten minutes in this room they didn’t have. They still didn’t know what message Covay’s com officer had gotten off. More hostiles could be headed their way at this minute.
“T’Pol.” Archer turned to his science officer. “You said you hurried your return to duty. How do you feel now?”
“Sustained physical exertion would be unwise, but otherwise…I am quite capable of performing my duties.”
“Then I’ll want you with me on the Denari ship.”
“Yes, sir.”
That, left him with the question of whom to leave in charge here at the prison. Lee? O’Bannon? O’Neill? None of them had any real experience in these kinds of situations. Again, he wished for Malcolm. Or Trip. Or someone with just a tad more seasoning whom he could leave in charge.
But they weren’t here. And there was no telling when they would be back.
He decided on O’Neill. She’d had command experience and had done a commendable job managing the incident with the Jantaleyse ambassador. Archer left her fairly general instructions—no heroics, defend the prison as best they could, but if any substantial force showed up, surrender.
“We’ll be back with Enterprise to get you out of here, one way or another,” he promised.
While D.O. began organizing the prison’s defenses, Archer stopped at a hastily arranged interrogation chamber, where Chief Lee had taken the newly captured Denari. The captain walked in to find Lieutenant Covay answering—or rather, not answering—Lee’s questions.
Both looked up. The Denari officer sneered.
“You’re a dead man, Chief Archer. Makandros will track you down and eat you for breakfast.”
“Makandros,” the captain said. “Who’s he?”
“Their commander,” Lee supplied.
“Makandros?” Archer frowned. “I thought this Sadir person—the general—was in charge.”
“Sadir is dead. Assassinated, apparently,” Lee supplied.
“Surrender now, Chief,” Covay said. “The general will go easy on you—move you to a more secure facility after a minimal punishment. That’s if you haven’t damaged the ship yet. Those Stingers are his pride and joy.”
Stinger. Archer took note of the name, which indicated the ship’s class, he supposed.
“That’s Captain Archer, Lieutenant. And no, I haven’t damaged your vessel, nor do I intend to. All I’m interested in is getting my ship back. Enterprise.”
Covay met his gaze head-on.
“As I told your man here, I know nothing about that.”
Archer nodding, not breaking eye contact.
“Crewmen of mine were taken from here—Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Mayweather, Hess, and Ryan. I’m wondering if you know anything about that.”
“Never heard those names before. We’re a military ship, Captain.” Covay put a sneer into that word as well. “Not a prison transport.”
Still the man didn’t blink. He was either a very good liar, or…
“I hope for your sake you’re telling the truth right now, Lieutenant Covay,” the captain said. “Because if not…” He leaned forward till his face was inches from Covay’s. “I’ll have you for breakfast. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly.” Covay said.
“Good.”
Archer stood. He motioned Lee to join him outside the interrogation chamber, which the man did, shutting the door behind him.
“You find out anything useful?” the captain asked.
“Not a thing. Believe it or not, that lieutenant’s the most talkative one of the bunch.” Lee shook his head. “It’s a hard group, sir. Name, rank, and serial number. They won’t crack unless we…do something drastic.”
Archer frowned.
“If you’re suggesting torture, Chief…”
“No, sir. Just telling you the facts.”
“Understood.”
His communicator beeped.
“Archer.”
“This is Sub-Commander T’Pol, sir. Denari vessel is prepped and ready for launch. We await your arrival.”
“Be there in five minutes,” the captain said. “Out.”
He turned to Lee.
“Keep at it. Relay any information you find through Lieutenant O’Neill.”
“I will, sir.”
“Good man.” The captain clapped him on the shoulder.
Lee was a good man. Reed had trained him well. I have a hell of a crew, the captain thought.
He didn’t like to think about leaving the vast majority of them here, where there was a good chance they would be overwhelmed by whatever force came in response to the signal Covay’s crew had gotten out.
But it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter.
T’Pol had proposed starting their search in the area near the anomaly where they had been attacked. Archer doubted his ship would still be there, or even anywhere nearby, but it might be possible to pick up Enterprise’s trail…
Well, he couldn’t counter with anything better, as he passed through the airlock into the Denari vessel proper, Archer continued to “illogically hope” the search would be a short one.
He joined T’Pol in the cockpit, where she was hunched over one of the forward stations, fingers flying across the sensor panel in front of h
er.
Archer settled into the chair to her right—the pilot’s seat—and studied the controls.
“A fairly standard configuration,” T’Pol said as she worked. “You should have no trouble flying this vessel.”
The captain nodded. Standard was right; the layout mimicked, to an uncanny degree, the instrument set on the early fleet courier vessels. Archer had cut his teeth on those.
“Looks straightforward enough,” he said. “Any signs of other ships approaching?”
“Nothing. However, Rava is in the heart of this system’s asteroid belt, many of which are large enough to hide enemy fighters, particularly if they are as small as this ship.”
The captain nodded. “We’ll travel on alert, then. Can you open a channel to Rava?”
T’Pol nodded. The captain saw she was wearing a com earpiece identical to Hoshi’s.
Archer had to wonder if he was ever going to see the ensign again.
More than anyone else in the crew, he felt responsible for Hoshi. She would never have come into space if he hadn’t twisted her arm. And though he’d worried about her ability to cope on occasion, over the last few months she’d really settled in as a member of the crew. But to think of her all alone out there…
No, not alone. Not necessarily. Trip could still be with her. The thought gave him some comfort.
“Channel open, Captain,” T’Pol said.
Archer nodded. “Lieutenant O’Neill.”
“Here, sir.”
“We’re about to launch,” Archer said. “Maintain com silence unless absolutely necessary. We don’t have a secure channel to talk on.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Good. Archer out.”
T’Pol had already plotted their course. Archer took a moment to study it before they launched. He saw she hadn’t been kidding about Rava being in the heart of the asteroid belt; there were literally hundreds of rocks of all shapes and sizes whizzing past the prison satellite.
It turned out to be a very good thing that flying the ship came so easily to him. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have made it very far at all.
An hour into the journey, they were finally past the most crowded portion of the Belt, and the captain felt sure enough of their course to switch on the autopilot and stretch his legs. He went back into the main compartment of the vessel.
Weapons stations—two on either side of the ship, one at the rear, all with access to fixed gun emplacements on the hull—took up most of the interior. They’d brought along enough crew to man all of them. He’d put Yamani and Rodriguez, two of his best armory officers, according to Reed, in charge of organizing the weapons detail.
“Captain,” Yamani said, nodding his head in acknowledgment as Archer came to stand by his shoulder.
“What’s the word?” Archer asked. “You have a handle on these yet?”
“Yes, sir. A lot of the same kind of stuff we used to train on back in the Academy.”
“And lots of it,” Rodriguez put in from the station behind them. “These ships are built for one thing only, Captain. War.”
Archer frowned. “Suppose we were on Enterprise, and came up against a half-dozen of these. How would we do?”
“Oh.” Yamani shook his head and smiled. The captain saw him exchange a glance with Rodriguez.
“This is nice stuff, sir,” the ensign said. “But old.”
“That’s right,” Rodriguez added. “Shielding is nowhere. Enterprise could blow a dozen of these out of the water. No problem.”
“That’s good to hear. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Archer said.
“Captain?”
That was T’Pol, calling him from the front of the ship.
Archer strode back into the cockpit.
“Something coming in from Rava,” T’Pol said, touching her earpiece. “It’s Lieutenant O’Neill.”
The captain shook his head, irritated. He’d as much as told her to maintain com silence.
“Put it up,” Archer said.
Stinger’s small viewscreen filled with static. A second later, D.O. came on. She looked worried.
“Captain, sorry to—”
Her voice crackled. The image wavered.
“T’Pol…”
“Trying, sir. A lot of interference.” She punched buttons quickly and calmly. “I have audio. No visual.”
The captain nodded.
“…say again. We boosted sensors and picked up—”
The signal died.
An alert sounded.
T’Pol shifted her attention to the sensor panel in front of her. Archer took a quick look over her shoulder as he settled back into his seat.
A lot of ships. Closing fast.
“Hostiles,” she said. “Identical to our vessel.”
“Stingers,” the captain said. “Too many to fight. Send the data to me. I’ll plot us a course out.”
“A moment.” She paused. “Eight ships now. No, ten. Closing in formation.”
“I see them,” Archer said. He disengaged the autopilot as the information came in to his station. Ten Stingers, identical to his vessel, moving at high impulse, in a perfectly regimented formation. No, not quite perfect.
“The two above the ecliptic,” the captain said. “Their spacing’s off. That’s our way out. Hang on. This is going to get a little rough.”
He braced himself and punched thrusters.
Nothing happened.
“The autopilot still has control,” T’Pol said.
“Thank you, Sub-Commander. I can see that.” The captain frowned. What’s the matter with this thing?
He tried to disengage again—and again, he failed.
“The autopilot is dropping our speed,” T’Pol said. “Point three impulse. Point two—”
Archer was close enough to her station that he could see the other ships closing in.
“T’Pol,” he said, “can you manually reroute control?”
“Trying.” Her hands flew over the sensor panel for a moment.
Then she sat back and shook her head. “No, sir. Control of primary flight functions has been disrupted.”
“By who?”
“I cannot say. Most likely, an external guidance system. I will attempt to disrupt its transmissions.” She swiveled slightly in her chair and accessed a different set of controls. Almost immediately, she sat back.
“Communications are inoperative as well.”
“Weapons?” Archer shouted, standing and looking back through the open cockpit door.
Yamani and Rodriguez were absorbed in working their respective consoles. Both men looked utterly frustrated.
“Weapons as well are off-line,” T’Pol said.
Archer sat back in his seat, stunned.
“What can we do? How can we regain control of the ship?”
“Short of shutting down everything, including life support…” She shook her head. “I cannot say.”
The ship slowed even further.
“Something else headed our way,” T’Pol said, studying her sensor screen. “A much bigger vessel. About the size of Enterprise.”
Archer nodded. This ship he could see coming, first as a small silver glint in the upper right-hand corner of the viewscreen, then as a long, slim, dangerous-looking vessel. Without a doubt, a warship.
It filled the viewscreen as it drew close.
“Intensive signal traffic between that vessel and ours, Captain. It would seem that…”
Her voice trailed off.
The warship loomed over them. On the underside of its hull, Archer could see a small hatch sliding open.
They were being drawn inside the larger vessel.
“…a preprogrammed docking sequence is being initiated,” T’Pol finished.
The captain shook his head, watching the big ship draw closer. Docking wasn’t the way he would have described what was happening. It was more like they were being swallowed whole.
Eaten for breakfast.
Archer sig
hed.
He had a funny feeling he knew exactly who their host was going to turn out to be.
Six
“COULD USE YOUR HELP here a second, sir,” Hoshi said.
Trip pushed back from the pilot’s station and stood as best he could inside the cramped interior of the cell-ship. Hoshi was hooking up the last of the new relays to the cell-ship’s power grid. He held the unit in place while she finished.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a seat. She powered up the console in front of her. “I’ll just run a few tests, and then…”
Trip nodded. “And then we’re ready.” He’d already done a systems check—as far as he could check systems on a ship whose operation remained largely a mystery to him—and stocked the overhead compartments with an emergency repair kit and enough pisarko—this time, in the form of ration bars—to last them a week.
Beyond that, they’d have to plan on returning to Eclipse, or finding another Guild ship, or some other place to resupply—though Trip didn’t really think they’d have much longer than a week, being honest with himself. Hoshi was certainly in a much better mood this morning, but even the smile on her face couldn’t mask her worsening condition or her physical weakness. Even though the com relays weighed barely as much as a good-sized stack of laundry, she’d been unable to hold them in place herself and had to ask Trip to reattach them for her. He’d found them surprisingly heavy as well. Not a good sign.
No, a week was about what they had. And Trip didn’t plan on returning to Eclipse. If they didn’t find Enterprise, his plan was to push the cell-ship to the outer limits of its warp capabilities and head back toward Earth, looking for a Starfleet or Vulcan outpost. His bet was that a more advanced civilization might be able to help them. Accent on the “might.” And if their condition worsened even faster than expected, if they didn’t have the time to make that kind of journey…
Maybe, he’d been thinking, they should take a chance on flying through the anomaly themselves. Though that was probably more of a suicide mission than anything else, given the gravitational forces swirling around that phenomenon. Still, Trip would do that—go out fighting—rather than face the possibility of wasting away to nothing on a bed in Eclipse’s medical ward, tubes and equipment hooked up to every orifice in his body. He was not going to die that way, no matter what.