Purgatory's Key

by Dayton Ward

  To that end, Anadac had been charged with leading the development of an anti-Key, as it were: a device capable of locking on to any activity initiated by Eljor’s transfer-field generator. Instead of watching its transfer portal evaporate, Woryan instead wanted a way of holding the portal open at hir whim so that s/he might return to the realm from which s/he had been banished. Anadac did not relish the idea of creating a way for a despot and hir military force to invade a single planet, let alone an entire universe.

  An effective scheme, s/he had learned, was to lie, but to do so with restraint.

  “I believe I have determined the necessary frequencies and harmonics for our portal to achieve Woryan’s goal,” Anadac said. “What remains is to test the device, which requires us to be at the site of the incursions.” S/he had succeeded in identifying the likely location of these openings.

  “Excellent,” said Zened. “Woryan will be pleased with this news.”

  Anadac replied, “I would suggest tempering hir expectations. I cannot guarantee success on the first attempt. We still require information that I can gain only from an initial, controlled experiment. Even a failure would provide data I can use to refine the mechanism.”

  The advisor seemed to fret over this notion, hir triangular mouth puckering while hir sensory tentacles quivered in response. “Consider the ramifications any such delay is sure to cause.”

  “I have,” replied Anadac, “and this is all dependent on when such a test can be conducted. That requires the doorway to open, an action that is entirely beyond our control.”

  “Even more incentive to be successful on the first attempt, Anadac.” Zened shifted hir hulking form. “I will inform Woryan of your progress, and I also will inform hir that our return to the Usildar home world is imminent and that our preparations should begin with all due haste.”

  As Zened moved away, Anadac released another sigh. Engineering delays of this sort were becoming more problematic. Woryan possessed little patience, and s/he soon would demand greater progress and irrefutable results.

  Returning hir attention to the image display, Anadac resumed hir observations of the human Una and her companions. The antigravity sled had completed its crossing of the lagoon and now was moving in slower fashion across more rugged terrain. S/he admitted hir scientific curiosity toward Una and the scope of her transformative ability now superseded hir interest in the portal’s development. To meet this human and witness such demonstrations for hirself! What if such a meeting might lead to an unprecedented turn of power and influence across the realm? Might that be worth the risk such a meeting entailed? What if s/he could explain to the humans, and to Woryan, that invasion and conquest was not the only answer to the problems the Jatohr faced?

  Yes, Anadac concluded. Such a goal was very much worth the risk.

  Nine

  “Finally. The last piece of the puzzle.”

  Bending over the antigravity sled, Ensign Pavel Chekov retrieved the sensor module and carried it to the workbench where his creation—his and Mister Spock’s—sat waiting.

  “Do you wish to do the honors, sir?” asked Chekov, holding out the component for Spock, who stood at an adjacent workstation along the Enterprise astrophysics lab’s aft bulkhead.

  Turning from the console, the Vulcan replied, “As you have overseen all of the configurations to this point, it seems appropriate that you complete the task yourself, Ensign.” After a moment, he added, “Although I comprehend and appreciate the sentiment.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Chekov as he turned his attention back to his work. The sensor probe rested horizontally atop the workbench. The bench was not part of the room’s normal furnishings, but supplied for this purpose and currently positioned between the main viewscreen on the forward bulkhead and the central control console. Cylindrical and nearly two meters in length, the probe’s central access panels had been removed, exposing the collection of tightly packed internal components.

  Reconfiguring the standard telemetry probe had taken the better part of four hours, including the time required to transport the device along with the other necessary components from storage. It was Spock who had suggested using the astrophysics lab for this task, as it allowed the science officer to divide his time between assisting Chekov and studying sensor telemetry gathered from Usilde. Data from the Enterprise sensor logs along with Spock’s own tricorder readings had been combined with information previously gathered by Captain Una years ago during her own encounter with the Jatohr transfer-field generator.

  Leaning toward the probe’s outer shell and reaching into the open compartment, Chekov set the sensor module into the small cradle that was part of the larger sensor array and snapped it into place. He finished the final connections before reaching for the small keypad affixed to the array’s housing and activating the unit’s power supply. The rest of the control panel flickered to life, and Chekov heard a low, dull hum as the array came online.

  “That should do it, sir,” he said, admiring his work. “Everything’s installed according to your specifications.”

  Spock stepped away from his workstation and approached the probe. “You fail to give yourself appropriate recognition of your own contributions, Ensign. This was a joint effort.”

  Despite his best efforts, Chekov was unable to restrain a small smile of pride. “Thank you, sir.” Since arriving aboard the Enterprise to serve as one of the starship’s navigators, he had wanted nothing less than to carry out his responsibilities to the best of his ability. At the same time, the ensign knew that such a prestigious assignment would provide all manner of opportunities for expanding both his own continuing education as well as advancing his Starfleet career. While being a starship navigator carried with it no small number of challenges, being assigned to such a lengthy mission of exploration meant that he, along with the rest of the crew, would be among the first to encounter new worlds, new species, and new technology. The excitement of such possibilities was almost overwhelming, and Chekov intended to take advantage of every moment of his tour with this storied vessel.

  After a few moments spent in silence while he examined the modified probe and its reconfigured innards, Spock said, “This is impressive work, Mister Chekov. Your cross-training and additional study efforts have served you well.”

  “Thank you, Mister Spock. Your guidance has been invaluable.” He still did not fully understand why the first officer had taken such a keen interest in him, along with several other junior members of the Enterprise crew. Chekov had only recently made the switch from beta to alpha shift, putting him on the bridge when Captain Kirk and several other members of the starship’s command crew were on duty. The bulk of his responsibilities revolved around the navigator’s station and working in concert with Lieutenant Sulu and other helm officers, but Spock had with increasing frequency called him to the science station. There, the ensign had begun a sort of informal instruction as he monitored incoming sensor telemetry as well as assisted with requests to the ship’s main computer. Chekov guessed that the Vulcan had reviewed his personnel file and noted his interest in bridge operations, with emphasis on sensors and ship security, and decided the young officer would benefit from additional training in these areas.

  “Now that the probe reconfiguration is complete,” said Spock, “our next step should be a thorough diagnostic test of our modifications. The multiple phase emitters in particular will likely require fine-tuning.”

  Chekov nodded. “I was just about to perform those tests, sir. I’ve already written a new program for the computer to execute.”

  “In such a short time?” Spock’s right eyebrow rose. “That is impressive.”

  Chekov felt his cheeks reddening. “I must confess I didn’t do it all on my own, sir. Given the mission parameters you supplied, I instructed the computer to provide me with anything from the data banks that might help me quickly create both navigation and diagnostic procedur
es for the probe. The computer didn’t take long to find something.”

  Crossing to the main console at the center of the room, Chekov dropped into the station’s single chair and began activating a series of controls. In response to his commands, a pair of panels on the probe’s outer hull slid aside. From within these recessed compartments emerged an angular strut, each bearing a cluster of sensor arrays. The struts rotated and locked into position, the motion accompanied by an affirming tone from Chekov’s console. He input another set of instructions, and one of his station’s display screens flared to life and began displaying a scroll of text as the ship’s computer interpreted the signals now being transmitted by the probe.

  “I do not recognize all of these modifications,” said Spock. “Where did you get your additional information?”

  Chekov replied, “I adapted the sensor configuration from other examples stored in the memory banks. At first I concentrated on standard Starfleet long-range reconnaissance probes, but then the computer gave me a model I hadn’t considered.”

  He tapped another set of controls and the image on the console’s monitor changed to a schematic of a sleek, almost arrow-like construct. The image was not from a current Starfleet technical database, but instead an older diagram the Enterprise’s computer had extracted from its memory archive.

  “Interesting,” said Spock. “The Nomad MK-15c. You based your configurations on this?”

  Chekov nodded. “Partially, sir. The probe’s original data-assimilation encoders and selective amplifiers are based on older technologies, of course. However, they were designed for long-duration deep-space exploration and the probability that the probe would encounter hazards during its journey.”

  He had spent several hours poring over all of the information the ship’s computer could provide about the original Nomad probe, launched from Earth in the early twenty-first century to travel interstellar distances in search of other intelligent life. Most of what Chekov had reviewed was a refresher, as he had conducted a similar study when the Enterprise encountered the probe several months ago. The crew was startled to learn that the device had chanced upon a similar automated drone craft dispatched by an alien species, and the two probes had somehow combined to become a single unit. This merger had corrupted each device’s internal programming, resulting in a flawed amalgamation that became destructive to anything it found and perceived to be “inferior.” Captain Kirk and Mister Spock were forced to destroy the hybrid probe, but not before the first officer succeeded in collecting detailed sensor scans of the device’s internal configuration.

  “The acquisition sensors, predictive tracking screens, and amplifier screens of the original Nomad probe are very close to what we decided we needed for this probe,” said Chekov. “I requested engineering and the quarter­master to supply me with similar components using modern materials. We’re still making an educated guess as to what the probe will encounter once we send it through to . . . the other side, but based on what little information we have, I think she’s ready, Mister Spock.”

  The Vulcan replied, “Agreed. Proceed with the diagnostic tests.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Returning his attention to the control console, Chekov entered the necessary commands to begin the diagnostic procedure. Within seconds, the probe’s responses to interrogation by the Enterprise’s computer began scrolling on the workstation’s screen.

  “Sir, are we sure this is even going to work?”

  His gaze fixed on the viewscreen as he reviewed the diagnostic data, Spock replied, “There remain several variables with respect to the Transfer Key, Ensign. Mister Scott is completing the process of interfacing it with our power systems.”

  Chekov glanced to the workstation that had been the focus of Spock’s attention these past few hours. A portion of the console had been removed, offering the first officer access to its internal power conduits and relays. Cradled within the maze of circuitry and other components was a box that was somewhat larger than an oversized book, and inside that box sat the Transfer Key, the alien technology that was at the heart of everything Chekov and Spock were doing here. Running from the box was a collection of power and optical data cabling that Chekov knew was not a normal part of the console’s internal configuration; it had been installed by Spock with the assistance of the Enterprise’s chief engineer. For the moment, the Transfer Key appeared inert and wholly incapable of the feats for which it had been responsible.

  Such a small thing, causing so much trouble.

  “So far, we’ve only seen the Key used to transfer individuals.” Chekov gestured to the probe. “This is obviously quite different.”

  Spock replied, “Based on what we know of the Transfer Key’s abilities, as well as those of the transfer-field generator on Usilde, the process is somewhat similar to our transporter systems. Of course, there is the extradimensional aspect of the Jatohr technology, which we still do not completely understand.” He reached over to tap one of the console’s controls, halting the progression of the diagnostic data. “Power requirements may also prove problematic. Based on our observations, those requirements increase in relation to the size and location of the targeted subject. The greater mass of the subject or the farther the target from the device, the more power is needed.”

  There was also Spock’s current theory that the realm the Jatohr called home may well be subject to physical laws different if not incompatible with those of this universe. Though Chekov had been the first to voice the suggestion of using a probe, he suspected Spock had already been thinking along these lines, yet had allowed his protégé to reach that conclusion on his own.

  “There’s still one outstanding issue, sir,” he said, nodding toward the probe. “We can send it, but we don’t have a way of calling it back.”

  “Nor will we be able to communicate with it once it is transferred,” replied Spock. “We may be able to program an onboard interface with the Transfer Key and embed an instruction to send the probe back after a predetermined span of time, but that would require our sending the Key along with an untested probe.”

  “And risk never getting it back,” Chekov said.

  The first officer spared him a glance. “That thought had occurred to me, Ensign.”

  For a moment, Chekov chided himself for his comment. Hikaru Sulu, who was fast becoming his best friend aboard ship, had more than once kidded with him for his habit of “stating the obvious,” and his apparent need to talk just to hear his own voice. Was this Spock’s version of the same joke?

  “What we really need is a second Transfer Key.”

  Spock replied, “I have studied the device enough to understand that we are unable to duplicate its functionality with our current level of technology. However, we may be able to use our technology to replicate at least some of its processes.”

  Chekov frowned. “I don’t understand. You’re saying you know how it works?”

  “In theory. My review of Captain Una’s original tricorder readings and her subsequent reports put forth a hypothesis regarding molecular harmonics. Atomic-level vibration frequencies are a constant in our universe. As a result, everything we experience exists on the same physical plane.” Spock crossed his arms. “Speculate on the consequences of adjusting those frequencies within an object.”

  Pondering what he had just heard and restraining himself from offering a comment about how he was beginning to feel a headache coming on, Chekov replied, “The object would no longer be compatible with this universe. It might even cease to exist, at least as we know it. Like being subjected to a phaser set to maximum or a transporter beam interrupted midstream.”

  “Nothing so drastic, I hope,” said Spock, “but hopefully similar to the properties exhibited by the Transfer Key. If we are able to replicate the harmonics utilized by the Key, even at a small, localized level, we may be able to align with the constants of existence in another universe, a realm present o
n top of our own but unreachable to us, just as communications are undetected on any frequency except for those to which we are tuned.”

  “You’re suggesting we retune the atomic vibration frequency of the probe? Is that even possible?” It sounded farfetched, and Chekov was actually surprised to hear such a seemingly outlandish theory offered by someone of Spock’s scientific renown.

  “There are always possibilities, Ensign. How would you suggest proceeding?”

  You mean besides bending the laws of physics?

  Swallowing the nervous lump that had formed in his throat, Chekov replied, “Well, we would need to determine if there is such a perceptible shift in the physical state of someone or something sent by the Transfer Key. We’d need to know what frequency the device uses and try to match it.”

  “I will attempt to determine the necessary harmonic frequency,” said Spock.

  Looking to the probe, Chekov added, “We’d also need to modify the internal communications system so that the probe can transmit a programmed harmonic sequence.”

  The change in Spock’s expression was so slight and so fleeting that Chekov almost missed it.

  Is that approval?

  “That seems a simple enough task,” said Spock. “Begin those modifications immediately.”

  His gaze lingering on the probe, Chekov considered his next action. Yes, the modifications to the probe would be simple. It was just hardware, after all. Then his gaze fell once more upon the open console and the Transfer Key nestled within it.

  What about those laws of physics you’re hoping to bend?

  That, Chekov knew, would be a much more formidable challenge.

  Ten

  Sighing in momentary contentment, Joanna McCoy rested with her back against the large tree that, like everything else in this place, was both familiar and yet alien. She pressed her spine against the tree’s trunk, stretching her shoulder blades and enjoying the kneading of her muscles. It was a habit she had acquired while taking in the open air of the campus back on Centaurus, relaxing for a few precious moments between classes. The tree as well as the memories it prompted were comforting, but as she looked up through the branches toward the sky and its twin suns, she was reminded once again that she was a long way from home.