Star Trek: That Which Divides (6 page)

“You’re sure?” Arens asked.

“Absolutely.” Reaching for his console, Boma tapped several of the multicolored buttons in sequence, in response to which one of the monitors began to display a pattern of lights, fluctuating in what Arens quickly surmised was a steady, measured rhythm. “The sensors picked up the repeating pattern,” the science officer explained, “though it’s much slower than what I’m showing here. I amplified the tempo so you wouldn’t have to look at it for an hour.”

Arens smiled. “Thanks for that. Okay, so the big question now is who or what is responsible, and where are
they?” Even as he asked the question, he found himself looking up from the science station to regard the image of the planetoid, the upper third of which was now visible on the main viewscreen. “Anybody care to take a guess?”

“Gralafi makes the most sense,” Boma said, “though I haven’t yet picked up indications of any sort of broadcast or projection coming from it. We’re conducting sweeps of the planet surface, but so far I’m not finding anything that can’t be explained by the Dolysians’ presence.”

Turning at the sound of approaching footsteps, Arens saw Zihl moving toward him, her expression one of confusion. “Commander Boma, are you suggesting that someone other than my people may be living on Gralafi?”

Boma paused, glancing to Arens, who nodded for him to continue. “At this point, Advisor, I’m not prepared to make that determination, though it’s certainly a possibility. So far, our sensor data remains inconclusive.”

“You mentioned that you only caught the initial pattern when you were retuning the sensors,” Hebert said as she crossed the bridge to stand opposite Arens on the other side of Boma’s station. “Maybe whatever you’re looking for is operating on another frequency altogether; something we can’t easily pick up, either.”

“Already on that, Commander,” the science officer replied. “I’m running a program that will cycle through the sensor array with special emphasis on wavelengths we don’t normally use.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I swear it’s like whatever we’re looking for
knows
we’re looking for it, or at least was designed to evade searches like this.” No sooner did he speak the words than an alert tone sounded from his station, and Boma emitted what to Arens’s ears sounded like a grunt of satisfaction. “Bingo.” He tapped another
string of commands to his console, and several monitors shifted their readouts to display what the captain recognized as sensor wavelength patterns.

“What are we looking at?” Arens asked.

“Power readings,” Boma answered, “coming from somewhere on the planet.”

His eyes now riveted to the planetoid on the screen, Arens pondered the mysterious potential it now harbored, if his science officer’s report was any indication. “Can you locate its source?”

“Working on it,” Boma said. “Hang on, I think—”

The rest of his report was drowned out as a new alarm klaxon began wailing across the bridge mere heartbeats before Arens felt the deck shift beneath his feet. He reached out to grip the back of Boma’s chair, just managing to keep himself from being thrown off balance as the entire ship seemed to quaver around him.

“What the hell was that?” Hebert shouted over the siren and the groans of protest that seemed to be emanating from every bulkhead and deck plate. Like Arens, she had grabbed for anything that might keep her from being tossed to the deck, and now held on to one of the rails separating the bridge’s command well from the perimeter workstations. A quick glance around the room told the captain that everyone else seemed to have avoided taking any nasty spills.

Holding on to her helm console, T’Vrel replied, “Something hit us, sir. Attempting to ascertain damage.”

“Shields!” Arens barked.

T’Vrel shook her head. “Nonresponsive, Captain.”

“It wasn’t something that hit us,” Boma called out. “It’s latched on to us. Some kind of tractor beam!”

Tractor beam? What in the name of . . . ?

The thoughts tumbled about within Arens’s mind as the ship lurched again, and this time the attack—if it was an attack—was accompanied by the voice of the
Huang Zhong
’s chief engineer exploding from the intercom.

“
Rideout to bridge! What the hell’s going on up there?
”

Pushing himself away from the science station, Arens dropped into his seat and hit the intercom switch on the command chair’s right arm. “Something’s gotten hold of us, Chief! Where are the shields?”

“The shield generators are being disrupted by the beam,” Boma said, cutting off the engineer. “Unless we can break free, they’re useless.”

Through the intercom, Rideout replied, “
I’ve tried everything to override, but it’s not happening!
”

Before Arens could respond, everything around him shuddered once again, and a new alarm tone blared for attention. “Now what?”

“The beam’s strength is increasing,” Boma replied, his tone one of shocked disbelief. “We’re being pulled out of orbit!”

“Reverse course!” Arens shouted. “Full impulse power!” For the first time, it occurred to him to look toward the main viewscreen, where he now saw the image of Gralafi beginning to move as the
Huang Zhong
shifted on its axis from its orbital course and began to head toward the planetoid itself. “Engineering, I need everything you’ve got transferred to propulsion!
Now!
”

Rideout’s voice erupted from the intercom, “
I’m rerouting everything I can get my hands on, Skipper!
”

“It won’t be enough,” Hebert yelled from where she had retaken her station. “Not without warp drive!”

Slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair, Arens hit the switch to silence the alarms. The action did nothing to soften the growing whine of the ship’s engines as T’Vrel fought to break free of whatever had ensnared the
Huang Zhong
.

“Captain,” the Vulcan said, “even with full impulse, I am unable to maneuver against the beam.”

Over the comm speaker, Rideout shouted, “
Impulse engines are starting to overheat! Either we break away or power down, or we lose everything!
”

His eyes glued to the planetoid, which now filled the viewscreen and was continuing to come closer, Arens gritted his teeth at the report. “T’Vrel! What’s the story?”

“The beam is too powerful, sir,” replied the helm officer while keeping her attention on her console.

“
Bridge!
” Rideout’s voice was tight with strain. “
We’re at critical!
”

Clenching his fists in mounting anger, Arens snapped, “Reduce power!” No sooner did he give the order than he could hear the whine of the impulse engines begin to subside as the
Huang Zhong
stopped its futile struggle against its unseen attacker. Was it his imagination, or did he feel the ship accelerating toward the planetoid? The image on the screen certainly seemed to be growing larger at an increasing rate.

“I think I’ve got something,” Boma called over his shoulder, and before Arens could respond he added, “I’m tracking the beam to its origin point. Whatever it is seems to be masked from our sensors, but there’s no mistaking the beam’s coming from there.”

“Is that where we’re being taken?” Commander Hebert asked.

Boma shook his head. “I don’t think so. As far as I can tell, the beam’s main purpose seems to be just yanking us down from orbit.”

“Our speed is increasing,” T’Vrel reported. “At our present angle and rate of descent, we will crash on the planetoid’s surface.”

From where she still sat at a workstation adjacent to Hebert’s, Advisor Zihl said, “It cannot be anything belonging to us. We possess no technology capable of such feats.”

In truth, Arens did not believe the Dolysians to be capable of an assault of this nature on his ship. Every briefing he had read or received on the civilization and its level of technological advancement supported that contention. Not that such things mattered at the moment. Struggling to maintain his composure, he asked, “T’Vrel, time to impact?”

“Fifty-eight seconds,” the Vulcan replied.

Enough of this!
If they were going down, Arens decided they would go down swinging. “Engineering, stand by for maximum thrust to the impulse engines! Transfer all remaining power to structural integrity and inertial damping!”

“
Aye, sir!
” Rideout acknowledged.

T’Vrel said, “Forty seconds to impact.”

“Helm,” Arens continued, “target the beam’s origin point with full phasers. On my mark, fire the full spread and then take us at full impulse on a lateral course away from the beam.” Heartbeats seemed to stretch into eternity as he waited for the helm officer to complete her preparations, finally turning from her console long enough to meet his gaze.

“Standing by, Captain.”

Hebert called out, “Twenty seconds!”

“Fire!” Arens ordered, leaning forward while gripping the arms of his chair. “T’Vrel, full power breakaway, now!” Subtle tremors vibrated from the deck plates into his boots as the phaser batteries released their first barrage. On the viewscreen, two glowing spheres of energy sailed out ahead of the ship, arcing down toward the surface of the planetoid, which was now much too close for the captain’s comfort. Two more phaser salvos followed, and seconds later the strikes registered on the screen as brilliant plumes of orange-white heat. Arens had only an instant to see the results of the attack before the
Huang Zhong
’s trajectory shifted with such abruptness that he could feel everything shift as the inertial damping systems struggled to compensate.

“We’re free!” Boma shouted. “The beam’s gone!”

Arens ignored the report, his attention riveted on the movements of T’Vrel at the helm. Her fingers were a blur as she fought the console, and from his vantage point the captain saw several status indicators change from yellow to red just as new alarm sirens began to sound.

“T’Vrel, what is it?”

“The helm is slow to respond,” the Vulcan replied. “I am having difficulty arresting our speed.”

On the screen, Gralafi’s surface was now highlighted by a reddish-purple sky occupying the image’s upper third. The ground continued to rush past, and terrain features now were clearly visible, growing larger and more ominous with each passing second. A single thought echoed in Ronald Arens’s mind.

We’re not going to make it.

“Helm control is failing,” T’Vrel reported, and this time
even her stoic demeanor seemed to be cracking around the edges. “Captain, I cannot prevent a crash landing.”

Without hesitation, Arens once more hit the intercom switch with his fist. “All hands, this is the captain! Crash protocols! Brace for impact!” Then, looking to Hebert, he said, “Launch the buoy.”

As the first officer moved to comply with the order, Arens could do nothing except watch as the last sliver of sky disappeared from the top of the viewscreen, leaving only the barren, uninviting surface of the planetoid to draw ever closer.

Leonard McCoy hated waiting.

“All right, that’s it,” he said, reaching for the control to deactivate the computer terminal on his desk and swinging the tabletop unit so that its display screen faced away from him. “I’m now officially bored.”

Entering the room from the doorway leading to the sickbay’s adjacent laboratory area, a data slate tucked into the crook of her left arm, Nurse Christine Chapel regarded him with a look of amusement. “You’ve finished reviewing the
Huang Zhong
crew’s medical records?”

“Three times,” McCoy replied. “It’s easy when they only have fourteen people.” He had spent the better part of the past two days preparing for whatever might be found once the
Enterprise
was finally able to rendezvous with the
Huang Zhong
. “Where are we with the trauma team?”

Chapel consulted her data slate. “Everything you requisitioned has been staged in Cargo Bay Two,” she replied.

Nodding in approval, McCoy recalled the hour he had spent earlier in the day, reviewing the details of the manifest he had prepared for the trauma team. It was one more endeavor that had kept the doctor’s mind from envisioning ever more dire scenarios with respect to the
Huang Zhong
and its crew. By far, the worst thing that might happen upon the completion of the mission would be having to put
every item he had requested back into ship’s stores, unused because no one remained for him to help.

Always the optimist, aren’t you?

Still consulting her data slate, Chapel looked up and said, “Oh, and I forgot to tell you earlier, but Doctor M’Benga has volunteered to lead the team.”

Shaking his head, McCoy said. “I appreciate that, but tell him I’ll be taking this one. I’ve got more field medical experience than he does, and this might end up being a tricky situation. According to her record, the first officer has a rare blood condition that might require an organic surrogate if she’s lost a lot of blood or was exposed to some infection.” Based on his review of the geological and climatological reports pertaining to the Gralafi planetoid, he did not expect to find anything like that when he finally had the chance to diagnose and treat the
Huang Zhong
’s first officer, but he felt better preparing for such eventualities.

On the other hand, any medical aid she might be receiving from Dolysian doctors, despite their best intentions and given their understandable lack of knowledge in the areas of space medicine and xenobiology, might end up worsening an already delicate situation. Broken bones could be set and lacerations could be sutured easily enough, McCoy knew, but from what he had read, physiology varied widely between the Dolysians and any one of the four distinctions of humanoid aboard the
Huang Zhong
. Ministrations of anesthetics or even simple pain relievers, let alone other medications deemed necessary by Dolysian physicians, would at best be pharmaceutical guesswork. Transfusions would be risky, assuming anyone else among the crew was a compatible donor, or if there were sufficient quantities of the right blood types in the ship’s stores, and
surgeries nearly impossible. Once there, he knew that he and his trauma team would act quickly and skillfully to aid those in need, but the thought that any one of
Huang Zhong
’s crew might be enduring pain or even dying without appropriate care unsettled him.