Star Trek: That Which Divides (31 page)

Startled by the shouting of his name, Kyle turned to see Lieutenant Donovan Washburn running toward him. A tall, lanky man, Washburn’s blue uniform tunic seemed almost a size too small as he jogged over the expanse of open ground separating what remained of the
Huang Zhong
from the
Ballard
and the
Heyer
as well as the Dolysian cargo transport, which was perhaps twice the size of the
Enterprise
shuttlecraft. He ran with his right arm extended, and Kyle saw that he was holding a communicator.

“It’s Captain Kirk!” Washburn called out between breaths as he ran up to Kyle. “Something’s happened!”

Kyle took the communicator, hearing the static
emanating from the unit as he adjusted its antenna grid. “Lieutenant Kyle here, sir.”

“
Kyle, we’ve got some serious problems here
,” Kirk said. “
Romulans have infiltrated the facility, and the defense system has reacted by sealing off the complex and closing the hole in the energy field. It’s also initiated a self-destruct sequence. We’re trapped here, so we’re doing everything we can to stop it
.”

“What?” Rideout exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“It’s true, Chief,” Washburn replied. “I just tried to contact the
Enterprise
, and I’m getting nothing but static. We’re trapped here.”

Ceeda also was troubled by this news. “The Pass has already closed?”

Ignoring the side commentary as he listened to the static engulfing the channel, Kyle said, “We’re getting a lot of interference, Captain.”

“We think the Romulan ship may be jamming our frequencies,”
Kirk replied.
“Mister Spock and Lieutenant Uhura were able to punch through that, but I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“What can we do, sir? Do you need us to come and help get you out of there?” As he asked the questions, Kyle was looking to Washburn and motioning for him to start alerting the others about the change in the current situation.

“
No
,” the captain snapped. “
Stay away from here. Whatever happens when this place goes up, it’ll be powerful enough to take out the entire complex, and it might damage the colony, too. Your help might be needed there if we can’t stop it. For now, though, I need you to find that Romulan ship
.”

Now confused, Kyle frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“
I need you to find that ship, and stop whatever they’re using to jam us
,” Kirk said. “
If we can do that, we may be able to use the Kalandan equipment to reopen the rift and contact the
Enterprise.”

“Find a Romulan ship, sir?” Kyle was not sure he could believe what he was hearing. How could he, with two shuttlecraft and less than twenty people, do anything of use against a Romulan vessel?

“
Lieutenant Kyle
,” a new voice said, “
this is Mister Spock. The ship you are seeking is a scout-class vessel, lightly armed and with a small crew. Based on the strength of the jamming signal, I believe the ship is somewhere on the planet’s surface. You should be able to use sensors to track the signal to its source
.”

That part seemed easy enough, Kyle conceded, but that still left one very large and very unexplained part of Captain Kirk’s plan. “And if we find the ship, sir?”

Kirk’s voice, punctuated by bursts of static, now held a new edge. “
Do whatever you have to do, Mister Kyle, but stop that signal
.”

After wishing him good luck, the captain terminated the communication, leaving Kyle to stare with mounting anxiety at Rideout, Washburn, and Ceeda.

“Just when you think it can’t get any weirder,” Rideout said.

Washburn nodded. “Amen to that, Chief.”

Stepping forward, Ceeda held out his hands toward Kyle. “We stand ready to assist you, Lieutenant.”

Appreciating the unsolicited offer, Kyle shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that, Ceeda. If this goes according to the captain’s plan, then it’s liable to be dangerous.”

“I understand,” Ceeda replied, his tone firm, “but these
Romulans threaten my people, too. That cannot stand, and neither can we stand and allow you and your people to accept risk on our behalf. Let us help you.”

Uncertain as to how he might proceed with the aid of the Dolysian miner and his companions, Kyle surveyed the crash scene.
Enterprise
crew members and Dolysians alike were gathering, waiting for their next instructions. What was he going to tell them?

Tell them that the race is on, in more ways than one
.

Scott shifted in the captain’s chair on the
Enterprise
bridge, as always feeling self-conscious about occupying the most powerful position on the ship. In truth, he had never been comfortable assuming command, no matter how short the duration. He did not like sitting and watching while others performed their assigned duties, waiting for those same fellow crewmates to report to him as circumstances required. Instead, he preferred to preside over the vessel’s inner workings from the welcoming environs of the engineering decks or, if circumstances warranted, the network of crawlways and Jefferies tubes that gave him unfettered access to the ship’s most sensitive systems. There, he could put his hands directly on the source of a problem and solve it through the measured application of knowledge, experience, and—in some rare instances—even blunt force if the situation called for such action. It was there that Scott was in his element.

Here and now, however? He never failed to feel as though he were casting about, searching for the proper solutions to problems better addressed by those more competent than he. Whereas training and experience had taught him how to lead the engineers and technical specialists he oversaw as part of his primary duties, such skill was not a natural aspect of his character. Other officers, James
Kirk in particular, harbored within them an innate ability to seize command of a situation and guide with unwavering confidence any who would follow them. Scott, on the other hand, had always found such demands a struggle. Indeed, he recalled with some amusement the first time Captain Kirk uttered to him the most frightening words the engineer had ever heard on the bridge of a starship: “Mister Scott, you have the conn.” Once he had pushed past his own anxiety, Scott realized on that first occasion that Kirk would never leave him in command of his ship so long as he possessed any doubts about his chief engineer’s ability to carry on in his absence.

So, carry on, then.

Drumming the fingers of his right hand on the arm of the command chair, Scott leaned back into the seat as he studied the main viewscreen and its image of the roiling sphere that was the energy field encircling the Gralafi planetoid. At this moment, the field was indeed a barrier in every possible sense, not only separating the
Enterprise
from Captain Kirk and the rest of the landing party, but also preventing Scott from contacting them, as well.

Then there was the much larger issue of the impact the closing of the rift was having on Dolysian shipping traffic. Reports from the Jtelivran Mining Conglomerate as well as the Unified Leadership Council were coming at regular intervals, each one more anxious than the last. Given the limited window of opportunity to transit the Pass, every shipment was critical, and the schedule to move ships through the rift in both directions was coordinated to an exacting degree. Any delay carried with it the potential to disrupt the schedule for hours or days at a time, increasing the risk of needed personnel and matériel not making it to
Gralafi. If the rift could not be reopened, the planetoid’s mining colony would be denied equipment and other supplies it needed in order to sustain itself for the nearly three years it would be cut off from the Dolysian homeworld. Further, what if whatever had closed the rift in the first place had done so in such a manner that it could not be reopened? What would that do to the Dolysians?

That just won’t happen. Captain Kirk won’t allow it. Not while there’s breath in his body.

“Are we ready to launch the buoys?” Scott asked.

“I believe so, sir,” replied Ensign Chekov as he rose from his seat at the science station. “Lieutenant M’Ress has completed her modifications and is on her way back to the bridge.”

Scott nodded, satisfied with the report. While he had been the one to suggest the use of a subspace relay buoy to enhance the strength of any signal broadcast via the ship’s communications system, it was M’Ress who had figured out the necessary modulation requirements for the device’s transceiver array. The Caitian officer also had been the one to figure out that using two such buoys, each programmed to broadcast via different yet complementary oscillating frequencies, might provide the variations in signal strength and clarity necessary to punch through the energy field. M’Ress had likened the idea to harmonizing different musical instruments, about which Scott at first had expressed skepticism. The lieutenant’s computer models had convinced him of her idea’s merits, and she set to work making the necessary modifications to the pair of buoys Scott had ordered pulled from cargo storage. It was a lot of effort, he knew, but without any other means of contacting the captain or the other members of the
Enterprise
crew on Gralafi, he saw no other alternative.

We might as well try every crazy idea anyone can come up with
, Scott mused,
because I’m not leaving here without the landing party
.

He heard the doors to the turbolift opening behind him, and he swiveled his chair to see M’Ress emerging from the car.

“All modifications are complete, Mister Scott,” the lieutenant reported by way of greeting. “We can proceed whenever you’re ready.”

“Excellent work, Lieutenant. Thank you,” Scott replied, letting his chair return to its normal forward-facing position. “Seems like now is as good a time as any. Let’s see if all our jury-rigging has bought us anything. Mister Arex, transfer navigational data to the buoys and stand by to launch.” While M’Ress saw to the tasks of making the physical modifications and software configuration changes for the subspace relays, it had been up to the navigator, with Chekov’s assistance, to plot the best placement of the relays in proximity to the energy field.

As he tapped a series of controls on his console, Arex nodded without looking up from his station. “Aye, sir. Coordinates have been fed to the buoys. Standing by.”

“Lieutenant M’Ress?” Scott prompted, looking over his shoulder to the communications station. “Ready?”

The Caitian turned in her seat. “Yes, Mister Scott. All monitoring systems are on line, and I’ve established the link to both buoys’ frequencies.”

“Send them on their way, Mister Sulu,” Scott ordered. As he watched the helmsman carry out the order, he imagined the pair of compact devices leaving the
Enterprise
from their launch tube on the underside of the secondary hull, careening away from the ship as they followed their
prescribed courses toward their designated positions near the energy field’s outer boundary.

Arex said, “Both buoys on course. Estimate reaching final positions in twelve seconds.” The Triexian pressed another control, and the image on the main viewscreen changed to a computer-animated representation of the energy field and the pair of buoys as they described independent arcs toward their prescribed coordinates.

“Is the field reacting to their approach?” Scotty asked, frowning as he eyed the viewscreen.

Hunched over the hooded scanner at the science station, Chekov replied, “I’m not picking up any new fluctuations, sir.”

“It could be that they’re too small to attract any attention,” Sulu offered.

“That could be,” Scott replied. He had not thought to consult any of the reports regarding Dolysia’s space exploration efforts as submitted by the Federation first-contact team. Perhaps there was something in there detailing the Dolysians’ initial studies of the energy barrier with unmanned probes and the field’s reactions to those attempts.

It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?

An indicator tone sounded on Arex’s console, and the lieutenant said, “The probes have reached their designated positions and are now station-keeping.”

“M’Ress, open a channel to Captain Kirk,” Scott ordered.

“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant replied, entering the necessary commands to her console. With her left hand, she reached for her Feinberg receiver and inserted it into her ear. “Frequency open. Sending the hail now.”

Instead of a response from the captain, there was only
the sound of a wailing alarm. Scott flinched as it bellowed from recessed speakers around the bridge, loud enough to make him grit his teeth.

“Turn that thing off!” he snapped, rising from the captain’s chair and looking to Chekov. “What’s happening?”

The ensign was dividing his attention between the scanner and the science station’s other status displays. He dropped into his seat, both hands moving across the rows of controls as he worked. “Some kind of fluctuation in the buoys’ communications relay, sir. It’s like the signal’s being reflected back, but at an increased strength.” Then, Scott saw the younger man’s entire body tense before he shouted, “M’Ress, cut the signal!”

Though she moved with startling speed, the Caitian’s response still was not quick enough. Just as she was reaching for her own console to sever the communication, status indicators at her station changed from green to red, and a litany of alert tones clamored for attention. M’Ress ignored them as she tapped several controls, and a moment later the annoying warning signals fell silent. As he moved around the captain’s chair and stepped toward her station, Scott was still able to see several of the status displays flashing in alternating shades of harsh crimson.

“What went wrong?” he prompted, leaning past her and punching several controls as he called up a series of diagnostic protocols.

M’Ress said, “Some form of feedback loop, sir.” She pointed to one of the status monitors. “The signal was refracted when it came into contact with the barrier. It generated a feedback pulse that almost overloaded our entire communications array. I was able to sever the connection, but it still managed to damage some of our systems.”