by Greg Cox
“God help us all, lads,” he said softly.
Chapter Four
“WORMHOLE!” Sulu shouted as the bridge was suddenly buffeted by a series of floor-shaking jolts. Kirk grabbed his armrests with both hands to keep from being thrown from his chair. He glanced quickly at Spock and Uhura, desperate for information on the status of the ship; despite the turbulence, both officers had succeeded in staying seated at their respective posts. Spock was already studying his monitors with a look of intense concentration on his face. The warning siren went off, for the second time in as many hours, as the ship’s computer automatically went to red alert.
“Ship’s structural integrity intact,” Spock reported. “Shields holding.”
Yet another shock wave hit the Enterprise, rattling the ship and making the overhead lights flicker. Kirk felt the jarring impact all the way through to his bones. “On screen,” he ordered, trying to keep the vibration out of his voice. He didn’t quite succeed.
The main viewer lit up. Instead of the expected starfield, it showed a swirling vortex of cosmic forces directly in front of them. Space-time itself was being warped by the wormhole, churned up into overlapping layers of dimensional reality that disappeared into the voracious black maw at the center of the wormhole like muddy, foam-flecked water disappearing down a drain. Kirk’s eyes widened. He’d heard about wormholes before, read about them in his theoretical physics courses back at the Academy, but he’d never actually seen one before, nor been so dangerously close to its transdimensional boundaries.
“Fascinating,” he heard Spock intone over the rumble of the shock waves. Kirk was impressed once again by the Vulcan’s ability to remain dispassionate and analytical even during the midst of a catastrophe. I can always count on Spock, he thought.
“Change course,” he ordered Sulu. “Keep us out of that thing.”
“I’m trying,” the helmsman replied, strain evident in his voice, “but it’s not working. The gravitational pull is too strong. It’s got us trapped.”
“Full reverse,” Kirk ordered, shouting to be heard over both the siren and the throbbing of ship’s duranium framework. Going from full warp to reverse would be hard on the ship, but safer than getting sucked into the wormhole. Scotty will never forgive me for this, Kirk thought, if we get out of this alive, that is.
Sulu manipulated the helm controls, a line of sweat beading upon his brow. Their ride was getting bumpier by the second; it was like the Enterprise was being carried through white-water rapids straight towards the lip of a cascading waterfall. “No good, sir,” Sulu said a few moments later. “We’re still going in.”
Damn, Kirk thought. Where the devil did this thing come from? Why didn’t our sensors detect the wormhole before we got too close? “Spock?” he called out. “How did this happen?”
“According to my readings,” Spock reported from the science station, “this is not a natural phenomenon. The wormhole ahead was artificially generated.”
“By whom?” Kirk demanded. Were they under attack by some strange new weapon?
“By ourselves, Captain,” Spock said evenly. “The wormhole was created by an imbalance in our own warp engines.”
What? Before Kirk could respond, the Enterprise was rocked by another jarring shock. On the main viewer, the wormhole appeared to be growing at a geometric rate; it was almost impossible to see the surrounding space. The lightless black tunnel filled the screen. We’re getting closer to the falls, Kirk realized. There was no way to avoid the wormhole now. They’d have to ride it out. “Divert power to the deflector screens,” he ordered. “Maximum strength!”
“Affirmative,” Spock said. His voice sounded thin and very far away. As they approached the event horizon of the wormhole, distortion effects permeated the bridge, scrambling Kirk’s senses. Everyone appeared to be moving in slow motion, their bodies stretched and twisted like figures in a funhouse mirror. To his right, Uhura opened her mouth but the words seemed to hang in the air, muffled and mangled beyond comprehension. The wormhole was warping time, light, and sound, even before they passed beyond the point of no return. Kirk saw Spock rise from his chair and step toward the auxiliary control station next to Sulu; the Vulcan’s body seemed to expand, then broke apart into over a dozen separate images of Spock, stretching from the science console to the forward station in a continuous ribbon of Spocks, each one thinner than the finest sheet of paper. Were all these Spocks existing in the same moment, Kirk wondered, or was he seeing several consecutive moments at the same time?
On the main viewer, the wormhole appeared to pulsate, expanding and contracting like a dilating eye exposed to rapid changes of light. Sulu frantically worked the helm controls, sweat running down his face, his head and upper torso seeming to stretch light-years away from his hands, tapering away to a pinpoint beyond Kirk’s ability to discern, but the wormhole only grew nearer. Kirk braced himself for the impact as the screen went totally black. Here we go, he thought as the Enterprise plunged into the abyss.
There was a blinding flash of light, strong enough to override the safeties on the viewer, and Kirk felt himself starting to black out. Tremendous g-forces pressed him into his chair, pulling his skin tightly over the bones of his face. Kirk forced his eyes open, just in time to see colors of unimaginable intensity burst upon the viewer in prismatic explosions of light. It looked nothing like ordinary space, like nothing he had ever seen. The ship started spinning, rotating around its axis faster and faster until his vision blurred. Nausea gripped him. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from vomiting. He tasted blood upon his tongue. For an instant, his skin felt like it was on fire, then he was so cold he trembled. The deflectors, he thought desperately. Were the shields holding up?
Then the light faded. All Kirk’s blood seemed to rush to his head, and he had to close his eyes for an instant. When he opened them again, the vivid colors—and the brutal g-forces—were gone. He looked around the bridge. The distortion effects had vanished, too; everything looked back to normal. On the main viewer, Kirk was relieved to see ordinary space once more, the stars zipping past the prow of the Enterprise as they usually did.
But which stars? Kirk wondered suddenly. Where are we now?
He checked on his crew. Sulu’s head rested against the helm controls. He appeared to have lost consciousness for a time, but was beginning to stir. He lifted his head and looked around. Elsewhere on the bridge, Kirk saw Uhura shake her head groggily and retrieve her earpiece from the floor. Only Spock seemed to have avoided passing out entirely. He was already back at his science station, observing the readouts on his monitors. They cast a faint blue glow upon his face.
“Captain,” Sulu asked, looking a little dazed. “What happened?”
“We went over the falls in a barrel,” Kirk declared, “but we seem to have reached the bottom intact.” He turned toward his science officer. “Mr. Spock? Any conclusions?”
“A unique experience, Captain,” the Vulcan commented. “I regret that the physiological effects impaired my ability to observe the phenomenon with complete accuracy. Still, a review of the sensor logs should prove most informative.”
“First things first,” Kirk reminded him. “Where in blazes are we?”
“I am attempting to determine that,” Spock said, “by comparing our present readings against the star charts contained in the ship’s memory banks.” He worked with maximum efficiency; using one hand to access the ship’s sensors and scanners while the other hand keyed instructions into the library computer control panel. Kirk heard the hum of information being transferred between the two systems. “We appear to be quite distant from our former location, possibly outside the Federation entirely.”
How distant? Kirk worried. Although their trip through the wormhole had been brief in duration, they could have ended up anywhere in the universe. What if they were lost countless light-years beyond known space? He didn’t like the idea of spending, say, seventy-five years or so trying to get home.
On
the other hand, he thought, that could be quite an adventure. . . .
“Mister Sulu,” he asked. “What is our present speed?”
The helmsman checked his controls. “Er, full reverse, sir.”
Of course, Kirk thought. “Slow to impulse. Let’s not go rushing around until we know just where we are.”
“I believe I can provide that information now,” Spock said. He rose from his station and addressed Kirk. Here it comes, the captain thought. Although Spock’s voice offered only the most minute indications of his feelings at any given moment, something about his tone and bearing told Kirk that this was not going to be good news. After three years in space, Kirk thought, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading that poker face of yours.
“According to my calculations,” Spock continued, “our present coordinates are located well within the boundaries of the Romulan Star Empire.”
Kirk heard an involuntary gasp from Uhura. He didn’t blame her. He was also shocked to discover that they were on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone, deep behind enemy lines—right where Seven wanted them. “That arrogant bastard,” Kirk cursed, suddenly realizing who had to be responsible for the wormhole.
“Captain,” Uhura announced, interrupting Kirk’s bloody-minded musings. “It’s Chief Engineer Scott again. He says there’s been a disturbance in engineering. Something about an intruder.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Kirk said, clenching his fist. The Romulan Empire, he thought, appalled. Why couldn’t Seven have sent us someplace safer, like maybe the heart of a nova! “Lieutenant, contact Security. I want to see Gary Seven. Now.”
* * *
There was an empty chair at the head of the conference table, but Kirk remained standing. He was too angry to sit down. “I should lock you up and throw away the key,” Kirk barked at Seven, who stood at the opposite end of the table, flanked by two unsmiling security officers, “or, better yet, turn you over to the Romulans myself. What were you thinking, tossing my ship into an wormhole?”
“For that matter,” Scotty said, sitting at the table, “I still want to know how he did it?”
Seven, still clad in a blue Starfleet uniform, did not look contrite. His pen-shaped weapon rested on the tabletop in front of Kirk and out of Seven’s reach. “I apologize, Captain, but I had no alternative. As I explained earlier, my mission is extremely urgent.”
“Your mission,” Kirk said. “Your priorities. I’m getting pretty tired of hearing about your secret agenda. You’ve used trickery and violence to put my ship in a very hazardous situation. It will be a miracle if we make it back across the Neutral Zone without being detected by the Romulans. For a so-called peacemaker, you don’t seem to mind bringing both the Federation and the Romulan Empire to the brink of war.”
Déjà vu, he thought. It had been less than a year since he had been in Romulan territory on an unusually dangerous assignment. Even though he had succeeded at his mission of espionage, it had been a damn close thing. I never expected to be back here again so soon.
“You overestimate your importance, Captain,” Seven replied, “in the overall scheme of things.” He ignored the two guards looming over him. “Peace is a delicate thing. Sometimes it requires risk to preserve it.”
A third security officer stood watch over Roberta, who looked very uncomfortable, under the circumstances. Seven’s black cat rubbed against the young woman’s legs until she finally bent over and picked the cat up. “Okay, okay,” Roberta muttered. “This better?”
The cat watched the proceedings with wide yellow eyes.
Kirk glanced around the table. McCoy, Chekov, and Scotty had all testified as to Seven’s activities. McCoy rubbed his eyes, still looking a bit groggy, despite a stimulant administered by Nurse Chapel. Chekov, wearing a fresh uniform to replace the one stolen by Seven, glowered at the unflappable time traveler. Kirk guessed that the ensign was probably furious at letting Seven ambush him so easily. Scotty looked angry as well, and anxious to get back to his engines and inspect them for whatever damage the trip through the wormhole may have caused.
Yawning loudly, McCoy picked up Seven’s silver device from the table and inspected it. “I don’t know what he’s got in this thing, but it sure packs a punch.”
“I assure you, Doctor,” Seven commented, “that the tranquilizer beam has no negative side effects.” He turned his attention back to Kirk. “Captain, you must believe me. My mission is too important to let your anger over this incident distract you from the larger picture. The future is too important.”
“I don’t have time to debate philosophy with you,” Kirk told Seven. “I have a ship in jeopardy and a mission of my own to complete.” He had left Spock in charge of the bridge, but he didn’t want to stay away too long. The Romulans could discover the Enterprise at any minute. “Mr. Chekov,” he said, giving the ensign an opportunity to regain some lost face, “see to it that Mr. Seven is confined to the brig for the time being.” He shot a glance at the sleek black animal nestled in Roberta’s arms; Scotty had sworn that, back in the Engineering, the pet had actually followed Seven’s commands. “Without his cat,” Kirk added.
“Captain.” Seven started to step forward, but was restrained by the guards. “Since we are here already, we ought to proceed to the coordinates I can provide. If I induced the wormhole correctly, and I believe I did, it should not be too far away. I respect your feelings on the matter, but you should not allow this opportunity to go to waste.”
Kirk ignored Seven. He had made his decision, and his first priority was to get the Enterprise back to Federation space as quickly as possible. Seven had proven himself untrustworthy; Kirk wasn’t inclined to listen to the man’s self-serving warnings anymore. “Gentlemen,” he said, heading for the exit, “I will be on the bridge.”
“Captain Kirk, wait!” Roberta said. “What about me?”
Good question, Kirk thought, pausing to contemplate the young woman in the red yeoman’s uniform. She had kicked her boots off for some reason, and was now barefoot. To tell the truth, he wasn’t quite clear on her exact relationship to Seven. When he’d first met them both, either several months ago or three hundred years ago, depending on how you counted it, she and Seven had seemed like fairly recent acquaintances; indeed, she had appeared almost as suspicious of Seven as he had been. Yet, according to Spock’s historical research, conducted shortly after Kirk’s first encounter with both Seven and Roberta, the pair had later enjoyed a long association, although how far that association may have developed at the time Seven brought her forward into the future was not clear. One thing seemed certain, though; unlike Seven, she had not been raised by manipulative aliens from an unknown planet. She was a native-born Earthwoman, circa the late 1960s.
“Honest, Captain,” she insisted, “I had no idea what he was planning. I was as surprised as anyone.” She gave a nervous sideways glance at the massive security guard standing beside her. “I don’t even know what a wormhole is, aside from something you find in bad apples.”
She sounds convincing, Kirk thought. Then again, as McCoy never failed to remind him, he had a definite weakness for a pretty face. “The question is, Miss Lincoln, would you have stopped Seven if you’d known what he was up to?”
She looked guiltily at Seven, who stared calmly at a sloping blue wall, seemingly unconcerned by the question. “Well,” she hedged, “he—Mr. Seven, that is—goes a bit far sometimes, but he usually knows what he’s doing. Most of the time. I think.”
A triangular computer node rested in the center of the conference table. A yellow light flashed on all three sides of the node, attracting Kirk’s attention. “What is it?” he asked.
Spock’s voice emerged from the lighted terminal. “Captain, forgive the interruption, but our long-range scanners have detected several Romulan ships in this vicinity, although they do not yet appear to have detected us.”
Damn, Kirk thought. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. I will be with you shortly.” He looked back at Roberta. I don’t ha
ve time for this. “Confine Miss Lincoln to her quarters. I’ll deal with her later.”
“Yes, sir,” the security guard said. He took Roberta firmly by the arm. At first, she looked relieved to have gotten off so lightly, then she recalled the cat in her arms.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Wait, Captain, please. You can’t lock me up with . . . her.” She glared balefully at the animal, who looked back at her with an equally disdainful expression. “It would be cruel and unusual punishment.”
“You don’t like the cat?” Kirk asked, amused despite the ongoing emergency.
“We don’t get along,” Roberta explained. She lowered the cat onto the table. “Please, I’d much rather have solitary confinement.”
The cat stared at Kirk with unblinking yellow eyes. It kind of made his flesh crawl, especially when he remembered how a similar black tabby, albeit several times larger, had nearly had him for lunch on Pyriss VII. That, he thought, as a certain shape-changing alien witch came to mind, was enough to turn me off cats permanently.
Especially black ones.
“Fine,” Kirk informed Roberta. “You don’t have to keep the cat.” He nodded at the security officers, who escorted both her and Seven out of the conference room, leaving the feline in question resting atop the table.
“Well, I’m not going to take her,” he declared to all concerned. He looked at McCoy and Scotty. The engineer shook his head. Kirk wasn’t surprised; the only pets Scotty approved of came with circuit boards and blueprints. “Bones?” he asked.
“Me?” McCoy asked, looking askance at the feline in dispute. Then a crafty smile appeared on his face. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll take her.” He lifted the cat from the table and draped it over his shoulder. “I know just what to do with it: put it in Spock’s room.”
