Star Trek: That Which Divides (29 page)

“The rift’s closing!” he shouted, turning from the science station to look back to the viewscreen, where it was now quite obvious that the energy barrier had started to contract. The gap in the field was growing smaller with each passing moment.

Rising from the command chair, Scotty asked, “Do we know what’s causing it?”

“No, sir,” Chekov replied. “At least, the sensors aren’t telling us anything.”

Sitting at the helm, Sulu pointed to the screen. “What about that freighter? Does the crew know the rift’s closing?”

“M’Ress,” Scott said, “hail that ship and warn them off.”

“Opening a frequency now, sir,” replied the Caitian lieutenant, turning to her station. After a moment, she added, “They seem to be aware of the situation, Mister Scott, and they are hailing us.”

“On-screen, Lieutenant,” Scott ordered.

The viewscreen display shifted from its depiction of the rift to that of a Dolysian female. She was dressed in a monotone green garment which to Chekov resembled a set of crewman’s coveralls, and her hair was thick and unkempt. Standing at the center of what looked to be a cramped cockpit or bridge, her pale yellow skin looked almost white in the pale glow of the compartment’s recessed lighting and the illumination cast off by the control consoles, which seemed crammed into every centimeter of available space.

“
Federation ship
,” she said, her white eyes wide with
anxiety and confusion, “
I am Matrel Ketran ila Shul, master of the freighter
Yishayyk.
Can you tell us what is happening?
”

Stepping away from the captain’s chair and around the helm console, Scott said, “Captain Ketran, I’m Commander Montgomery Scott, temporarily in command of the
U.S.S. Enterprise
. We registered the rift’s closing at the same time you did. At this point, we have no explanation for what’s happening. If I had more information, I’d happily share it with you. Do you know if there were other ships that might have been caught in the rift while coming from Gralafi?”

The Dolysian shook her head. “
I do not believe any of our ships were actually in the Pass at the time of the closing, but I do know that several freighters were scheduled to leave Gralafi in short order, each carrying full shipments of the erinadium ore produced by our mining facility.
” She paused, casting her gaze downward for a moment before adding, “
The situation would appear to have changed that, however. My ship contains replacement components for Havreltipa’s environmental control and water filtration systems. If we are unable to deliver these supplies, it puts the miners and support personnel living there at risk.
”

Chekov nodded, understanding all too well that the rift’s closure meant a disruption of the tight delivery window of crucial supplies and relief personnel to the Havreltipa colony. He had familiarized himself with the operation, marveling at the precision required to transport people and matériel on such a scale and within such a limited time frame. The process had been perfected over decades of practice, charging experienced hands like Captain Ketran with keeping the operation on its rigid schedule. Now, some unknown element had upset that delicate
program, endangering not only one of Dolysia’s primary industries but also the lives of hundreds of people living and working on Gralafi.

“Rest assured that we’re investigating the problem with every resource at our disposal, Captain,” Scott said to Ketran. “If there’s anything we can do to assist you, please feel free to contact us directly.”

On the screen, Ketran replied, “
Thank you, Commander
.”

As the communication was severed and the Dolysian’s image was replaced once more by that of the rift, Scott turned to M’Ress. “Lieutenant, send a message to Chancellor Wiladra’s office on Dolysia. Apprise her of the situation with the rift, and inform her that we’re doing everything we can to figure out what’s going on.”

“Aye, sir,” M’Ress said.

Turning from his station at the helm, Sulu looked first to Scott and then to Chekov before asking, “Do you think the rift closing might be connected to anything happening on Gralafi?”

“That was my first thought, Mister Sulu,” Scott said, moving past the navigator’s console on his way to the railing separating the command well from the upper bridge deck and the science station. “What do you think about that, Mister Chekov? Could the landing party have done something to trigger this? Can we rule out that the rift simply closed on its own the way it always does?”

Chekov resisted the urge to swallow the large lump that seemed to have taken up residence in his throat. “I’m not sure, sir, but I don’t think the rift closed naturally. According to everything we know about it, the window for it remaining open is supposed to last at least for the next several days, and that’s not even counting the safety margin
the Dolysians factor into their schedule when planning the various transport runs. So long as they’ve been recording the rift’s openings and closures, the window for passing through it has remained consistent.”

“But none of those readings include anything that might have been caused by the passage of non-Dolysian ships,” said Lieutenant Arex from where he sat behind Scott at the navigator’s station.

Nodding, Chekov replied, “That’s an excellent point, sir. Perhaps the Romulan ships or the
Huang Zhong
or even our own shuttlecraft have had some sort of unintended effect on the rift?” He had conducted all manner of scans against the energy field almost from the moment Mister Spock had assigned him to the task of filling in as the
Enterprise
’s science officer on the bridge while the Vulcan was away on Gralafi. No hints or clues to any sort of disruption that might have been caused by the passage of the shuttles had presented itself. Whatever had triggered the energy barrier’s reaction to the ill-fated
Huang Zhong
and the Romulan scout ship seemed not to have had any lasting effects. Chekov had detected no obvious shift in the field’s patterns prior to the closure, and now that the rift itself had disappeared, the barrier’s readings appeared to have returned to normal. “Given that the Kalandan outpost on Gralafi controls the rift, I’m thinking that something there has caused this, either by accident or design.”

“And what if it’s because of something the Romulans did?” Arex asked. “The captain and the others could be in trouble, and we wouldn’t even know it, much less be able to help them.”

“Chances are the captain and the others know what’s going on,” Scott said, eyeing the image of the energy field
on the main viewscreen. “I guess we should be thankful that whatever closed the rift didn’t decide to boot us halfway across the quadrant.”

Chekov nodded, recalling how the ship had been transported hundreds of light-years away from the other Kalandan outpost by the technology buried beneath the surface of that planet. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat, considering how the process had almost led to the ship’s destruction.

“The captain might need our help,” Sulu said, nodding toward the main viewscreen, “but with the rift closed, he can’t reach us.”

Scott sighed as he crossed his arms. “Aye, and vice versa. That field’s not letting anything through, all right. So, we’ll just have to figure out a way to get in touch with them, anyway.” Eyeing Chekov once again, he asked, “Any thoughts on that, lad?”

“Not yet, sir,” he replied, swallowing another nervous lump, “but I’ll get on it right away.” As Scott moved away from the railing on his way back to the command chair, Chekov turned to see Lieutenant M’Ress rising from her seat and walking toward him. She smiled, nodding to him as though offering encouragement.

“If you require any assistance,” she said, “let me know.” The offer and her tone were enough to cut through at least some of his anxiety, and for a moment he thought he might blush.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and trying not to look around the bridge to see if anyone was watching their exchange, he nodded and offered in what he hoped was a composed voice, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be sure to do that.”

M’Ress, either oblivious to his anxiety or else reveling in
it, smiled again before bringing her right hand from behind her back and extending it to him. When he looked down, he saw that she was holding his Academy-issued and never-returned personal eating utensil.

“For its good luck properties,” she said, her eyes wide with amusement, though Chekov knew she was not mocking him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took it when I left this morning.”

Now, he did blush. Taking the PEU from her, he again cleared his throat as M’Ress regarded him in silence for one final moment before turning and moving back to the communications station.

Chekov watched her go. Then, something made him glance toward Sulu, only to see the helmsman making an immense effort not to look in his direction. Was that a thin, knowing smile fighting to work its way onto his friend’s face?

Wonderful.

Setting aside the distracting thoughts—and sights, welcome as they were—Chekov forced himself back to the matter at hand, and framed the issue in the simplest terms: until he solved the communications problem, the landing party was cut off from the ship and unable to request or receive aid, assuming they needed it. That was all the motivation Chekov required. While his skills and experience were no match for Spock’s, he was comforted by the knowledge that the
Enterprise
’s science officer would not have placed him in this position of responsibility if he did not think him up to the task.

All I have to do now
, Chekov mused as he tapped the PEU on the edge of the science station console,
is not let him down
.

Leaning into the tunnel so that her head and upper torso were exposed, Vathrael aimed her disruptor at the weapon turret mounted in the corner of the corridor intersection and fired. Heat from the pistol warmed her hand, and the energy discharge howled in the tunnel’s narrow confines as the bolt slammed into the turret. A shower of sparks erupted from the weapon, and Vathrael saw part of it fall to the ground.

“So,” she said, looking to where Subcommander Atrelis stood along with her centurions and nodded with approval, “they can be beaten.”

Her science officer nodded as he reached up to brush a lock of damp, grayish-black hair from his face. “Based on the scan data I have collected, Commander, the defense system, while quite sophisticated, appears designed to operate within rigidly defined parameters. It seems to remain passive if not directly confronted, or if it fails to register threats against whatever it is programmed to protect.”

“If not directly confronted,” Vathrael repeated, stepping into the corridor and taking another look at the now-destroyed weapons mount. “Are you saying I didn’t need to shoot that turret just now?”

Atrelis shrugged. “One can never be too careful, Commander. For all we know, there are additional weapons
which remain hidden, waiting to be triggered by some careless action on our part.”

Sighing, Vathrael shook her head. Whatever was behind the activation of the automated weapons turrets had also seen fit to disrupt communications, inhibiting her ability to contact her ship and preventing her from summoning reinforcements. This new complication only served to heighten the anxiety she felt as she regarded the tunnel walls and ceiling, which were far too close for her taste.

Enough
, Vathrael thought, irritated with herself for allowing such distracting thoughts to gain any purchase within her mind. There were far more urgent matters demanding her attention, not the least of which was finding an exit from this underground maze. Finding and seizing control of the alien technology at work here was still of prime importance, but she already was beginning to wonder if that goal remained attainable. It was obvious that the Starfleet team had acquired some measure of knowledge and command of the mechanisms operating down here, but how far did that influence extend? Vathrael recalled the look of surprise on the human commander’s face at the moment the door to the control chamber closed. Had he not been expecting that to happen? It was possible that the ancient equipment was operating with complete autonomy, and the humans were as powerless as she and her people to affect anything.

An interesting notion
, she decided.

Stepping closer to her, Atrelis held up his scanner. “Commander, I believe I’ve located other areas within this complex which might offer us access to the facility’s computer systems. If these readings are correct, then there
are other chambers containing equipment similar to that within the room the humans currently occupy.”

Vathrael’s eyes widened at this new information. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, Commander,” replied the science officer. “There is considerable interference with my scans, but I was able to determine the location of one such chamber that is within a short walking distance. The others are at points farther away or deeper in the complex, and would require more time to reach. I was able to plot a path through the tunnels to take us to the chamber closest to us.”

“Excellent,” Vathrael said, already considering the potential of Atrelis’s report. “If we can access this chamber, do you think you’ll be able to interact with the technology we might find there?”

Atrelis glanced at his scanner before replying, “I believe so, Commander. I was able to collect some information during our skirmish with the humans. It is not much, but I think it is enough for me to begin deciphering the alien language, though I admit it likely will take some time.”

“Not too much time, I hope,” Vathrael said. Her next thought was interrupted by a string of chirps from the communications device on her belt. Retrieving the unit, she pressed its activation control and said, “This is Vathrael.”

“
Commander?
” said the voice of Subcommander Sirad, much clearer and more free of static than was the case during her previous attempt to contact the
Nevathu
. “
Are you able to hear me?
”