Engines of Destiny

by Gene DeWeese

  Picard shook his head. “I doubt it, Number One. Even if everything you say is true, it wouldn’t work. The timeline we are now in is almost certainly the timeline created by Captain Scott’s interference decades or centuries in the past, no matter how or why he arrived there. It is not the timeline that Captain Scott would have emerged into at the completion of a first jump that fell short. He would have emerged into the original 2293, the one we are all familiar with, not into this one.”

  “That is essentially correct, Commander,” Data said when Riker looked at the android questioningly. “Whether the original timeline still exists somewhere is debatable, but even if it does exist, we almost certainly cannot access it.”

  “‘Almost’ certainly?” Picard asked. “Tell us more, Mr. Data.”

  Data turned his attention briefly to a different set of readouts before answering. “It is perhaps significant that, ever since we arrived, there has been a massive amount of chronometric radiation permeating all space within sensor range.”

  “More than can have been generated by the arrival of a ship from three quarters of a century in this universe’s future?” Riker wondered.

  “There are no records of similar situations with which we could compare readings,” Data said. “However, basic chronometric theory suggests that any such radiation triggered by the arrival of a chronologically alien object would be quickly damped out in a stable timeline, as would radiation triggered by any changes caused by the object.”

  “Which means what, Mr. Data?” Picard asked. “That we are seriously altering the timeline just by being here? Or that if Mr. Scott survived—either an overshoot or a second jump—he is still out there, still making changes?”

  “Either is possible, Captain. Basic theory, however, suggests that a level of radiation this high and this steady is more likely the result of an earlier disruption so great that the timestream was rendered incapable of stabilizing itself and therefore continues to generate high levels of chronometric radiation.”

  “Or perhaps,” Worf broke in, a touch of annoyance in his rumbling bass, “your theory is simply wrong.”

  “That is of course possible,” Data conceded, unperturbed. “The theory should be considered tentative at best since it contains a number of unproven assumptions and has never to my knowledge been tested in a real-world situation, certainly never one of this complexity.”

  Riker snorted, almost laughing. “So what you’re really saying is, you don’t have a clue.”

  “Quite the opposite, Commander. In a sense, clues are all we do have. In theory, the level of chronometric radiation could be considered analogous to the ripples generated when a rock is thrown into a river. If the rock is large enough, it could even send the river over its banks or block it altogether. The radiation is believed to be directly—some say exponentially—proportional to the size and force of the ‘chronological rock’ thrown into the timestream. It could also be seen as a measure of the timeline’s instability.”

  Picard nodded. “According to that theory, then, this timeline is highly unstable. Are you suggesting it is so unstable it might self-destruct? And do what? Allow the original timeline to restore itself?”

  “Theory does allow for that possibility. However—”

  Data broke off, his attention returning abruptly to the scan results still streaming across the viewscreen.

  “There was an explosion?” Riker asked sharply.

  “No indication as yet, Commander. The sensors have, however, detected traces of dilithium ore in the system’s innermost planet. There are also indications of mining operations approximately one hundred years ago, which is also approximately the time at which the low-yield photon torpedo detonations occurred.”

  Picard frowned. “But the Federation never found dilithium here.”

  “That is perhaps because the Arhennius system was never closely examined. The dilithium deposits are beneath several kilometers of rock, undetectable by Federation sensors of that time unless the scans were done from low orbit. And records indicate that when long-range scans found no possibility of life of any kind, the Federation never actually sent a ship into the system.”

  “But in this timeline they did—someone did,” Picard said. “Ensign Raeger, set a course for the planet in question, full impulse.”

  As the ensign complied, Picard turned toward Guinan, still seated in Troi’s place. Though she had seemed to listen intently to every word the others had said since they had arrived in this time, she had spoken not a word herself.

  “Guinan?”

  Again she displayed uncharacteristic behavior by averting her eyes as she replied. “Yes, Captain?”

  “You still have no…feelings as to what we should do? Or not do?”

  “My feelings are irrelevant. You must do as you see fit.”

  “Your feelings are one of the major reasons we are here, Guinan,” Picard said, unable to entirely suppress a brief flash of annoyance. “I don’t recall your being at all reluctant when you asked—when you demanded that I trust those feelings, that I trust you, and follow Captain Scott through time.”

  She turned from the viewscreen to face him. As she looked up at him, she seemed more fragile than he had ever seen her. Instead of looking regal in her floor-length gown and the distinctive circular headgear that normally gave the impression of a crown, she looked small and beaten down.

  Most of all, and most uncharacteristically, she looked uncertain.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, I truly am, but nothing I say at this point could be trusted.”

  “Damn it, Guinan—” Picard began but cut himself off as she turned and hurried past him to the turbolift, her shoulders hunched as if to ward off invisible blows.

  Anger flared through him for a moment but vanished as quickly as it had come when he remembered the state she had been in when she had urged him to follow Captain Scott. She was at least as lost as he. And it had been his decision, not hers, that had brought them here. She had urged, virtually demanded, but he had made the decision. She could in no way be blamed for what either Captain Scott or he himself had done.

  Staring after her, he wondered darkly what could have had such an astonishing effect on her. Other than Data, no one he knew seemed so completely unflappable as Guinan. Even when faced by a creature like Q, she had not allowed herself to be intimidated. But now she was—

  “An energy field is forming around the Enterprise,” Data announced.

  “Shields to maximum,” Picard snapped, but even as he spoke, even as Worf brought the shields to one hundred percent, the viewscreen filled with a soft glow. At the same time, a sharp tingling like static electricity enveloped Picard’s entire body, inside and out. Riker grimaced, lurching to his feet next to Picard. Even Worf winced.

  And the air within the bridge began to sparkle. Obviously the shields were having no effect.

  For an instant, Picard thought Q was about to make another of his spectacular entrances, but this was different. Q put on visual pyrotechnics, but his arrivals had never been accompanied by physical sensations like these.

  The prickling quickly turned into outright pain, as if he were being struck by thousands of tiny lightning bolts. Every attempt to move only intensified it. The sparkling haze itself grew brighter, denser, a thickening fiery fog.

  “Engage, maximum warp!” It was all he could do to issue the command. The words felt as if they were liquid flame, searing his mouth and throat as he forced them out.

  At the helm, where the haze seemed even more intense, Ensign Raeger struggled to comply, her face contorted, her hands twitching spasmodically as they reached for the controls. Data turned toward her as she collapsed face down on the control panel, but his own effort to reach the controls failed as he twitched and went limp, a mass of sparks clustering around him as if attracted by the circuits he had in place of flesh and blood.

  Picard and Riker lurched toward the controls through air that was still growing thicker with the crackling sparks eve
ry instant. Riker’s body stiffened, every muscle frozen as he passed through a particularly dense patch. Like an axed tree, he toppled and hit the deck with a thud.

  Picard, not fully enveloped by the patch that had felled Riker, lurched one last step toward the helm, tripped over Riker’s outstretched arm and fell onto the still-twitching backs of Data and Raeger. The control panel, only inches from his face, was almost completely obscured by the intervening cloud of sparks, but he still managed, before the twitching of his own muscles turned to total paralysis, to hit the control that sent the ship lurching ahead on impulse power.

  The air on the bridge cleared, the energy field and its effects vanishing even more quickly than they had come.

  Picard and Riker gasped and lurched to their feet while Raeger jerked upright in her seat. Behind them, Worf still stood stiffly erect, but only because his massive hands had an unbreakable grip on the edges of the tactical station control panel.

  Data’s twitching ceased, but he remained motionless, still face down on the control panel.

  Picard levered the dead weight of the android aside and hit the controls that switched the viewscreen to an aft view.

  The image switched just in time for him to see a jagged oval filled with what looked like lightning bolts crackling in all directions while the entire display seemed to whirl like a nucleonic pinwheel.

  And it was moving with them, following them.

  Overtaking them!

  “Maximum warp, Ensign!” he grated, his throat still raw from his last attempt to speak.

  Wordlessly, Raeger complied, and the Enterprise began to pull away, even as the violence of the display continued to increase to what would have been a blinding level to the naked eye.

  Suddenly, the display went through a final spasm, not spinning but giving the illusion of literally turning itself inside out.

  Then it was gone, but where its center had been was now a tiny ship as unfamiliar as the energy display had been. No bigger than an Enterprise shuttlecraft, it had stubby, hawkish wings that had a Klingon look about them, but instead of a slender, arched neck leading up to a head, there was no neck at all, just an angular protrusion on what Picard assumed was the front of the body. What appeared to be a single warp drive nacelle was visible at the rear. For just a moment the ship was motionless except for a slight rotation on its axis, as if re-orienting itself. Then, abruptly, it headed directly for the Enterprise, taking up right where the ball of pyrotechnic light had left off. Within seconds, despite its size, it was moving at a warp speed only slightly less than the Enterprise was capable of.

  Without warning, the object exploded. The viewscreen went instantly blank as the protective circuits kicked in. Looking at the readouts on Data’s control panels, Picard saw the energy signature of the explosion.

  It had been a low-yield photon torpedo, similar to the ones used by the early Federation. Similar to the ones that had, according to Data’s scans, exploded near the inner planet a hundred years ago.

  But where had it come from?

  And what had all the preliminary fireworks been about?

  Under cover of the chaos created by the energy ribbon and the destruction of the Lakul and the Robert Fox, it was comparatively easy for Scotty to bring the Goddard within transporter range of the Enterprise-B without being noticed—or at least without being challenged.

  The hard part, as he had known from the start it would be, was the timing.

  Beam Kirk out a few seconds too early, and he would not have had time to make the necessary alterations to the deflector generators. The simulated photon torpedo would then not be produced, and the Enterprise-B itself would be destroyed, gobbled up by the energy ribbon.

  And Scotty himself—the earlier Scotty, on the Enterprise-B—would be killed. The Grandfather Paradox, in spades.

  A few seconds too late, and the Enterprise-B would be saved but its one-time captain would himself be swallowed up by the energy ribbon. And Scotty would have failed a second time to save the captain.

  Tapping into the intra-ship communications, Scotty waited, his face grim, his stomach churning as he tried to blot out the tortured mental image of the hundreds he had once again let die on the other two ships.

  Each second ticked by like a minute as he waited, listening.

  Finally, they came, the words etched forever in his memory. First, Demora Sulu’s urgent warning from the bridge: “Forty-five seconds to structural collapse!”

  Then silence as he began counting down the seconds until he would again hear Jim Kirk’s voice shouting the words that, the first time he’d heard them, had been Kirk’s last.

  This time, he vowed, they would be the words that would save him.

  Everywhere on the Enterprise-D it had been the same. The energy field, whatever it was, had invaded every cabin, every corridor, struck every crew member no matter where he or she was. Luckily there seemed to have been no lasting effects from the energy itself, and the spasms and falls it had caused had resulted in less than a dozen easily treated injuries, from bruises and sprained fingers to one broken arm. Data, the only one to have been rendered unconscious, was the last to fully recover, but his built-in diagnostic and repair routines brought him back to full functionality in a matter of minutes.

  Having no idea whether the deadly devices were limited to the Arhennius system or were scattered everywhere in this timeline, Picard brought the Enterprise to a stop after a few billion kilometers. Within minutes La Forge, up from engineering and working at the science station, quickly rigged an alarm system that would automatically engage the warp drive at the first sign that another of the inexplicable energy fields was invading any part of the ship.

  At the same time, Data completed a sensor scan of the entire system, which showed only their own warp trail and the aftermath of the photon torpedo’s detonation. There was no indication, he announced, of any more of the devices.

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel secure?” Riker asked sarcastically. “As I recall, there weren’t all that many indications of the one that almost blew us up.”

  “If feelings of security are your goal, Commander,” Data remarked, “you have chosen a singularly inappropriate profession.”

  “Gentlemen,” Picard began, but he was cut off by La Forge, who had just begun skimming through the sensor records of their encounter with the device.

  “Captain, there’s something here you should see,” the engineering officer said, tapping one of the science station controls. “You, too, Data.”

  Abruptly, the starfield disappeared from the viewscreen, replaced by an enhanced image of the jagged oval of the energy field as it had looked only moments before its final convulsions prior to vanishing and being replaced by the photon torpedo. A stream of figures raced across the bottom of the screen.

  “I think I know what that energy display was all about,” La Forge said after he’d let the others study the image for a moment. “You remember last year when we gave that stranded Romulan ship a hand, and Ensign Ro and I thought we’d been turned into ghosts but actually—”

  “Their interphase experiments,” Picard said, suddenly remembering.

  “Exactly, sir. The Klingons and the Romulans both experimented with cloaking devices incorporating interphase generators. They hoped to not just cloak their ships but to shift them to a different spatial plane. That way they could not only become invisible but could travel through other matter like a ghost.” He shuddered briefly at the memory of when he and Ensign Ro, as a result of an accident involving one of the Romulan experiments, had themselves been partially shifted into another plane. They had wandered the corridors of the Enterprise like technological ghosts, desperately searching for a way to communicate with the “real” world.

  “But they both abandoned it,” La Forge went on, “apparently because it was too dangerous. Well, in this timeline someone—the Klingons, from the look of that thing that was carrying the torpedo—must not have abandoned it.”

  Pi
card looked doubtful. “You’re saying that that massive energy display before the device appeared was all part of the decloaking process?”

  The engineer nodded. “That’s one reason the process is so dangerous. At least the process this bunch uses. Whatever plane they displace these torpedoes to, it must exist at a much higher energy level than ours—also much higher than the one the Romulans were using. Ro and I would’ve been fried if they’d been using this one. Anyway, when they open a portal to send something through in either direction, some of that energy is forced through to our plane. It’s like trying to move between the pressurized interior of a ship and the vacuum of space without using an airlock. If you open a door, the pressure is going to drive some of the air through the open door while you’re going through. Only here it’s pure energy, not air. They could never cloak an actual ship, with people in it, without massive amounts of protection to keep them from being incinerated whenever the ship transferred from one plane to the other. But for photon torpedoes…”

  He shrugged. “They’re kind of hard to destroy, but even so the sensor records show that there was a protective shield around the one that nearly got us, a shield even more powerful than the Enterprise’s.”

  “It’s no wonder this technology was abandoned in our timeline,” Picard said. “But now that you know what you’re looking for, can you devise a way to detect them, the way we can detect ships using standard cloaking? Or at least to warn us before another one starts to ‘decloak’ inside the Enterprise—which I am assuming is what this one was trying to do?”