He stared at Universe, a ship he had taken a key role in planning, from its unconventional appearance to its unorthodox employment of cloaking technology. The threatening uncertainty with the Romulans and the Klingons—and particularly with the Romulans ever since they had occupied the Koltaari world—had led him to this perilous course. And although his crew understood that they would be assisting in the final flight trials of the strange ship, Harriman knew that they did not comprehend the full importance of those trials. Billions of lives in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants depended on the success of this mission.
Harriman reached forward and jabbed at a control on the computer interface, blanking the screen. Not Blackjack, not Amina, he thought again. His own knowledge of the importance of the Universe trials was what separated him from his crew.
That, and the fact that he knew that they would only have one opportunity to get this right.
Ensign Borona Fenn sat at her sciences station on the bridge of Enterprise, studying two readouts. With her left eye, she scanned a geographical abstract from the library database, and with her right, the sensor readings provided by a series of class-one probes. Her eyes functioned independently of each other, and the structure of the Frunalian brain allowed her to process both sets of information simultaneously.
The title Bonneville Salt Flats headed the geographical précis, which also included historical notes about the area. Existing in a region of Sol III’s North American continent called the Great Basin, she read, the twelve-thousand-hectare desert formed during the final desiccative phases of an ancient inland lake. The old lakebed continued to be remade annually, though, when a shallow volume of snowmelt evaporated slowly from the salt surface, as winds leveled it into an immense, extremely flat plane. Because of the unusual evenness of the surface, humans had utilized the area four centuries ago to set land speed records; incredibly, wheeled ground vehicles had traveled faster than a thousand kilometers per hour there.
That explained the nickname that had been given to this region of space, Fenn realized. Starfleet traditionally field-tested new starship and engine designs here, with experimental vessels often surpassing velocity benchmarks. Of course, while it seemed reasonable that the word salt had been omitted from the area’s moniker, it made little sense to her that the word flats had been retained; the space-time continuum could hardly be described as two-dimensional.
Humans, she thought, smiling, amused yet again by their proclivity for imprecision. Her roommate at Starfleet Academy, a human himself, had insisted that the proper term for such mental inexactitude was poetic license, but Fenn believed that distinction to be merely semantic, not substantive. Still, despite the recurrent assaults on her natural Frunalian instinct for meticulousness, she remained content with her decision to take her scientific studies into Starfleet. In the seven years since she had graduated the Academy, Fenn had relished her part in conducting scientific exploration—although there had been little of that recently. Her duties aboard Enterprise had required her to function in a wide array of disciplines—including such diverse fields as geology, chemistry, cosmology, and physics—and she had found the experience intellectually and emotionally fulfilling.
On the second display Fenn studied, probes seeded along the Bonneville Flats supplied sensor readings of the surrounding space and of the three other Starfleet vessels there. The small support ships Canaveral and Ad Astra had joined Enterprise to assist, observe, and record Universe’s flight testing. Fenn knew that such field trials typically involved the abetment of more ships and more personnel—Canaveral and Ad Astra each carried crews of only a few dozen—but she surmised that, given the current diplomatic turmoil, Starfleet Command had not wanted to draw attention to Universe. The radical design of the ship not only promised increased efficiencies in warp-field geometries, but also afforded a test bed for a new propulsion system, a development neither the Romulans nor the Klingons would likely appreciate.
Enterprise’s crew had been given few details about Universe, other than the fact of its installation of so-called hyperwarp engines. Fenn assumed that Starfleet intended the new drive as a replacement of the failed transwarp program, which had been initiated a few decades past. If successful, the crew had been told, hyperwarp would revolutionize spaceflight and launch a new era of exploration—goals Fenn found both laudable and exhilarating. Nor was she alone in her views. Since Enterprise had departed KR-3 two days ago, the topic of what the achievement of hyperwarp drive would mean had occupied the crew, and the sense of anticipation and excitement aboard had been palpable. Right now, only moments before Universe would make its first test run, the atmosphere on the bridge felt electric.
“Captain, we are being hailed by the Ad Astra,” Fenn heard Lieutenant Kanchumurthi say at his side of the tactical-and-communications console.
“Put Saren-Sah through,” Captain Harriman said.
“It’s not Captain Saren-Sah, sir,” Kanchumurthi said. “It’s Admiral Harriman.”
Fenn turned from her station and gazed over to where the captain sat in the command chair. Since Enterprise had arrived at the Bonneville Flats, contact with Ad Astra had included Saren-Sah and his officers, but not the admiral, and Fenn wondered how Captain Harriman would react. Although she knew from her long service with him that he did not have a good relationship with his father, she saw now that he did not appear flustered or anxious, but simply professional.
“Then put the admiral through,” he said. “On screen.”
“Yes, sir,” Kanchumurthi said, and worked his console.
Fenn glanced over at the main viewer with her left eye, leaving her right trained on the captain. On the viewscreen, an empty field of stars was replaced by the image of Admiral Harriman. Broader than his son, with a rugged appearance and a head of hair that had silvered completely, the admiral looked very much like a man in charge. Fenn could see the resemblance between father and son, but even before the admiral said anything, she also noted that the two men carried themselves differently. In her time aboard Enterprise, Fenn had always appreciated how accessible and even-tempered Captain Harriman had been, and how his easy confidence had in turn inspired the crew’s confidence in him. By contrast, the admiral’s mien made him appear angry and unapproachable, and though he was likely a man very sure of himself, Fenn doubted that his conviction would motivate her to want to follow him into battle.
“Captain Harriman,” the admiral rumbled, his voice rough and loud, giving the impression that yelling came naturally to him. “What’s the status of your ship and crew?” From the admiral’s lips, the standard question sounded somehow like an accusation.
“Enterprise is in position, Admiral,” the captain reported. “All the probes have been deployed along Universe’s flight path, and my crew have completed all of their pre-test duties.” While Canaveral and Ad Astra would monitor Universe’s field trials from either end of the Bonneville Flats, Fenn knew, Enterprise would hold a position midway along the test route, its crew observing and recording both through direct sensor contact and via the sensor packages on the probes.
“Reconfirm the operation of the probes,” the admiral ordered, unnecessarily, Fenn thought. But she immediately spun back to her station, anticipating the captain’s command.
“Ensign Fenn,” he said, obviously not feeling the need to repeat the admiral’s demand.
“Checking, sir,” she responded. As she scrutinized her readouts, she sent the four fingers on each of her hands racing across her controls, testing the strength of the communication signals traveling to and from the probes. The semitransparent, chitinous membrane that encased her fingers—as well as the rest of her body—tapped rapidly on the console. As quickly as she could, she verified the active status of each of the probes, as well as the stability of Enterprise’s comlinks with them. When she had completed the task, she turned back toward the captain. “Reconfirmed, sir,” she said. “The probes are fully operational and the contacts with them are strong and steady.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” the captain said, nodding in her direction before looking back at the main viewscreen. “Admiral?”
“All right,” the elder Harriman said. “Let’s open the continuous comlink between all four ships. Canaveral, this is Admiral Harriman aboard the—”
To Fenn’s left, the port-side doors opened, drawing her attention away from the admiral. She looked over and saw Commander Sulu step onto the bridge from the turbolift. The ship’s first officer stopped for a moment and looked over at the captain, then turned and walked over to the sciences station. “Borona,” Sulu said, leaning in beside Fenn, “anything to report on the navigational deflector?” Sporadically over the past eighteen months, Fenn’s sensor scans had detected a random dispersion of the force beam that Enterprise projected ahead while in flight, in order to push matter from its path. The cause of the intermittent problem had so far been elusive. Although it was not a threat to the ship, triggering only an infinitesimal and nearly undetectable power drain, Commander Sulu had asked Fenn to be alert for more occurrences of the dispersion.
“Not since just after we left KR-3,” Fenn said. Shortly after Enterprise had departed the starbase, the problem had recurred, but it had lasted only a few seconds before resolving itself. “I’ve been working all shift with the probes we sent out to monitor Universe, though,” she added, “so I haven’t inspected the logs today. Let me check them now.”
“Thanks, Borona,” Sulu said with a smile.
Fenn worked her console to locate and then access the sensor logs. As she pressed one control surface, pain suddenly shot through her hand and up her arm, as though a knife had been thrust into her palm and then dragged through her flesh up to her shoulder. She suppressed the urge to cry out, but could not prevent a quick expulsion of breath. Sulu must have heard her, because she asked, “Are you all right, Borona? Are you—”
The first officer stopped abruptly, and when Fenn looked down at her own hand, she saw why. A five-centimeter section of her exomembrane had fallen off of one of her fingers and now lay atop her console like a dead insect. Where the exomembrane had fallen away, her gray-green flesh had been completely exposed.
“I’m all right,” Fenn said, although she doubted that she sounded very convincing. The sharp pain had already subsided to a dull ache, but the shock of seeing her bare skin remained. It’s too soon, she thought. She was too young to be starting the Shift—
—except that wasn’t true. Fenn was young for the process to be commencing, but not too young. A small percentage of Frunalians did undergo the Shift this early in their lives, and she certainly could not dispute the evidence of a piece of her exomembrane falling from her body.
“Do you need to see Dr. Morell?” Sulu asked, the concern in her voice plain. Fenn knew that the first officer had been informed about the metamorphosis Frunalians underwent during their lives, and Fenn had even spoken with her about it on two occasions. Sulu must therefore have understood the significance of what had just happened.
“I’m all right,” Fenn repeated, though still without much conviction. She felt anxious and even scared, despite the amount of education she had received throughout her life about this event and how she could and should deal with it. One of the things she knew, though, was that the first shedding of a section of exomembrane preceded the main stage of the Shift by three to six months. For now, at least, she could continue to function in her duty.
Sulu leaned in very close to Fenn. “Borona,” she said gently, “you don’t sound or look ‘all right.’”
Fenn wanted to protest, wanted to stay at her post, a means of attempting to deny what had just happened, she supposed. Instead, she said, “I do think I need to go to sickbay.”
“Go ahead,” Sulu said at once. “I’ll let Dr. Morell know you’re on your way. We’ll cover for you here.” She reached a hand up and grasped Fenn’s forearm reassuringly. “It’s going to be okay, Borona.”
Fenn forced a smile onto her face, then stood and headed for the turbolift. Her thoughts and emotions whirled. She would have to take a leave of absence from Enterprise. She would also have to find the strength to endure the pain of the Shift, a menacing prospect that, until now, had always been safely hidden away in the remote future. How am I going to get through this? she asked herself as she entered the lift. How would she be able to cope with the complete loss of her exomembrane, or with any of the other numerous changes both her body and mind would experience? Her skin would toughen, she would lose the raised ridges on the backs of her shoulders—the vestigial remnants of wings, some Frunalian biologists believed—her quartet of mammary glands would mature, as would her internal sexual organs, and she would develop a new sensory appendage, which would stretch from her brow, across the top of her head, and down her spine, like a fleshy mane. And she could not even begin to know how she would be able to deal with the major hormonal and chemical changes that would occur.
“Sickbay,” Fenn said in the turbolift, and now she could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Uncertainty, and fear. And as the lift doors slid closed, one question glowed in her thoughts like a supernova in a dark nebula: when her Shift was complete, would she still be herself, or someone else?
Sulu thumbed the comm channel closed after letting Dr. Morell know about Ensign Fenn’s situation. Sulu liked Fenn a great deal, and appreciated the consistently high quality of her work, as well as the enthusiasm with which she carried out her duties. She hoped that the young woman would be all right. Years ago, when Ensign Fenn had been assigned to Enterprise—the only Frunalian aboard, then and now—Captain Harriman had been told about the hemimetabolous phase that she would one day go through, and he in turn had enlightened his senior staff about the process. Sulu therefore knew something of what Fenn would be facing—and she’d also spoken with Fenn herself about it—but she certainly could not comprehend what it would be like to live through such an experience. Childhood and puberty were hard enough, she thought wryly.
Sulu sat down at the sciences station and took a quick inventory of the readouts. She familiarized herself with the data being transmitted to Enterprise by the probes, noted Universe’s unique sensor profile, along with the life signs of its skeleton crew of fifty-one, then turned and looked toward the captain. He was already peering in her direction, evidently having noticed Ensign Fenn’s departure from the bridge. The captain raised his eyebrows, asking a question without having to speak it: Is everything all right? Sulu nodded her head.
“All right,” she heard a voice say—a deep, harsh voice she immediately recognized as belonging to Admiral Harriman. “Confirm four-way comlink and ship readiness. Universe?”
“Universe confirms comlink,” said a voice Sulu did not know, but that must have been that of Adrienne Kuwano, whom they’d been told would captain Universe during the flight trials. “We are at full readiness and await final confirmations.”
“Acknowledged,” Admiral Harriman barked. “Canaveral?”
“Canaveral confirms comlink and ship’s readiness,” said Captain Jack Breshar, an old space dog Sulu had known for many years, and who had once been a colleague of her father.
“Enterprise?” the admiral asked.
Captain Harriman responded in the affirmative, then asked Sulu to establish a visual of Universe from the probe nearest to it. She turned and operated the controls of Fenn’sconsole, then looked up at the main viewer to see the unusual form of the experimental starship sitting motionless in space. Finally, the admiral called out the name of the ship on which he was himself stationed; the repetition of his words made him sound to Sulu like an automaton. The captain of Ad Astra, Saren-Sah, gave the appropriate confirmations.
“All right,” Admiral Harriman said. “It’s your show, Universe.”
Sulu felt her stomach jump with excitement. Once these test flights had successfully been completed, dramatic and thrilling changes would be in store for interstellar exploration. And although she had not spoken to Captain Harriman about i
t, she understood that a significant improvement in warp-engine performance, even short of hyperwarp drive, could easily have a positive impact on the precipitous state of affairs with the Romulans and Klingons.
“Universe acknowledges,” said Captain Kuwano. “All our boards show green. Engineering, helm, and navigation preparations are complete. We are beginning sixty-second sequencing to hyperwarp…now.”
As Universe warped out of sight on the main viewer, Sulu turned back to the sciences console and checked the readouts. “The first probe has begun telemetering data,” she reported. “The Enterprise has the Universe on long-range sensors.”
“Warp one,” Sulu heard a woman say, and she assumed it was Universe’s helm officer, Lieutenant Seaver. Sulu had taken a glance at Universe’s personnel roster earlier today.
“All three hyperwarp computers are engaged,” came another voice, a man’s, probably that of Universe’s chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Chernin. “Primary and secondary hyperwarp computers are in synchronous operation.”
“Fifty seconds to hyperwarp,” Captain Kuwano said.
Sulu felt her heart race, gripped by the moment. Fifty seconds away from a revolution, she thought. She did not know the specifications of hyperwarp, but her imagination sent her soaring across the Milky Way.
“Warp two,” said Seaver.
“Articulated dilithium matrices are focused and aligned,” Chernin said.
“Forty seconds.” Captain Kuwano.
Sulu saw another set of readings begin to register on her panel. “The second probe now has the Universe in range,” she said.
“Warp four.” Seaver.
“We have matter entering the flux chamber. Warm-starting antimatter flow.” Chernin.
“Thirty seconds.” Kuwano.
In these breathless moments, Sulu thought of her father. She recalled how, when she’d been attending Starfleet Academy, he would send her recorded messages telling her stories he had wanted to share with her: the first sustained powered flight by the Wright Brothers at Kill Devil Hill, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin setting down on Earth’s moon, Verna Mitrios surviving the first landing on Mars, Zefram Cochrane traveling at warp in Phoenix.
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