Chain of Attack

by Gene DeWeese

  "Unless," Kirk interjected, "they were meant to be hidden. If the Federation had something like this, something we could use to transport Federation ships instantaneously to, say, someplace in the middle of the Klingon Empire, then the one thing we would do is hide it and make it as difficult as possible for anyone other than ourselves to approach or leave."

  "True, Captain, but that requires the additional assumption that these anomalies were created solely for warlike purposes. I would hope that the creators of devices as sophisticated as these, apparently constructed of pure energy, would be beyond such illogical behavior."

  Kirk smiled faintly. "Many humans thought the same thing about warp drive before we met the Romulans and the Klingons. But go ahead, Mr. Spock."

  "Thank you, Captain. You will remember that, with one exception, the probes transported by the other anomalies reappeared at distances no greater than five hundred parsecs, the average being ninety-eight-point-three-seven. The Enterprise, on the other hand, appears to have been transported at least several million parsecs through an anomaly that apparently possessed no trace of surrounding gravitational turbulence."

  "So, Spock?" McCoy said impatiently. "What are you leading up to?"

  "I am leading up to a conclusion, Doctor, the conclusion being that those seven anomalies, with their attendant turbulence, may have simply been erratic and malfunctioning versions of the one that brought us here. The gravitational turbulence, in other words, is perhaps not the cause of the anomalies but the result of their faulty operation. Leakage, if you will. If they do indeed operate by distorting space itself—as does the warp drive in a much simpler and more limited way—that distortion would in all probability manifest itself as gravitational disturbances. Remember that according to certain theories all gravitation is the result of distortion of the space-time continuum by the masses of the bodies producing the gravitation."

  McCoy blinked. "Spock, much as I hate to say this, I think you've got something." He turned to Kirk. "Like automobiles, Jim. You know, those infernal internal combustion surface vehicles they used back in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. When they were new and were operating at peak efficiency, they were fast and quiet. The later models didn't even pollute their surroundings all that much. But if they were neglected, they turned noisy and unreliable, and they poured all kinds of garbage into the air, dangerous garbage. There was a time when doctors could get rich just treating the ailments that resulted from them."

  "Aye, Captain," Scott added. "I recall readin' about those wee monsters when I was a lad in school. It's hard to believe, but their engines could no' be run in enclosed spaces for fear o' poisonin' the operator."

  "Precisely, gentlemen," Spock said. "The analogy is quite apt."

  "Interesting, gentlemen," Kirk said, "but I doubt that these historical sidelights help us in our present situation. Unless you're suggesting that the creators of these—these 'gates,' for want of a better term, are still in existence and that we may be able to locate them more easily than their missing creation."

  "Considering that we have no instruments capable of detecting the gate, as you call it, Captain, and that we have no information that would indicate even a general area in which to search, then a search for those hypothetical creators would indeed seem the most likely avenue to pursue."

  "As usual, Spock, your logic is unassailable," Kirk said, then looked at the others in turn. "Well, gentlemen? Any other theories? Suggestions? Any ideas for a more profitable way to spend our time?"

  When neither Scott nor McCoy replied, except to shake their heads, Kirk continued. "Very well, gentlemen, that's it, then. Mr. Scott, you and Spock determine which of the nearer stars are most likely to have habitable planets. Mr. Chekov, Mr. Sulu, plot a course that will take us to the nearest half-dozen. And, of course, everyone maintain a continuous lookout for other craft and for any indication of areas of gravitational turbulence. And finally, Scotty, give me five minutes, and then explain our situation to the crew."

  "Aye, Captain, but why the delay?"

  "To give Dr. McCoy and myself time to break the news personally to our official observer, Dr. Crandall."

  The chief engineer grimaced and nodded. "I dinna envy you the task."

  When Kirk and McCoy approached Crandall's stateroom, however, it appeared the task might not be as difficult as they had anticipated. According to the two security men at the door, Crandall had calmed down considerably by the time they had finished escorting him to his room, and they hadn't heard a sound from him since. Entering, they saw he was seated at his desk, quietly dictating some notes into his personal recorder. He even smiled when he looked up and saw them.

  "Captain Kirk," he said, using the designation of rank for the first time, "I feel I must apologize for my unprofessional behavior on the bridge. You were, I fear, quite correct to eject me as you did. Let me assure you, I fully understand your position."

  Standing up now, Crandall offered a beefy hand to Kirk.

  With an almost unnoticeable sideward flick of his eyes toward McCoy, Kirk took the hand briefly. "I'm glad you don't bear a grudge, Dr. Crandall."

  "Of course not. You were only doing what you thought best. And I have to admit, I did let my emotions run away with me for a moment. But tell me, what is our status? I take it that, since you are away from the bridge, the situation is not as serious as it might first have appeared. And that you have been able to pinpoint our location?"

  "In answer to your last question, while we have hardly pinpointed our location, we do have a better idea than before of just how far we've traveled," Kirk said.

  "Good, good, I knew you and your people would come through. Tell me, just how far have we gone?"

  Kirk hesitated, knowing that Crandall's shell of seeming calm wouldn't last. "We appear," he said, "to be farther from the Federation than we at first thought."

  Crandall's smile faded. His brow wrinkled in the beginnings of a frown, and his eyes darted from Kirk to McCoy and back. "And?" he prompted. "Just how far is farther than we thought? A hundred parsecs? Five hundred? What?"

  "A minimum of several million, Doctor. The Enterprise has been transported several million parsecs."

  The color literally drained from Crandall's previously ruddy face. McCoy stepped forward to support him in case he started to fall, but Crandall caught himself and leaned back against the desk.

  "Several million? Surely that's impossible!"

  "I wish it were, Doctor, I truly wish it were. But it obviously isn't, because that's precisely what happened." He nodded at the intercom on the stateroom wall. "Mr. Scott will be giving everyone the details in a few seconds."

  "But how—what happened? I thought you said these—these anomalies could only throw us a few hundred parsecs!" He blinked. "And the detectors my labs built—why in God's name weren't you using them? Why did you blunder into—"

  "We were using them, Doctor. The anomaly that took us here apparently had no attendant turbulence."

  "But—"

  "It's a long story, Doctor," Kirk cut in. "I suggest you listen to Mr. Scott, and if you have any questions when he's finished, we'll answer them as best we can."

  Crandall looked as if he were going to continue protesting, but then the chief engineer's voice, the tension of the situation accentuating its Scottish burr, crackled over the intercom. Still pale, Crandall dropped into the chair behind the stateroom's trapezoidal desk and listened.

  When Scott had finished, Crandall was even paler. "He's saying we're trapped here! Isn't he? Isn't that what he's saying?"

  "We appear to be, at least for the moment," Kirk said, adding, after another glance at McCoy, "but we've been in what appeared to be worse situations than this before, and we've always managed to come out of them all right."

  "But there's always a first time, isn't there, Kirk? Isn't there?" For a moment, it looked as if Crandall were going to rise and grasp at Kirk's throat, but then he slumped back. He waved a hand in a limply dismissive ges
ture.

  "Go on, get out of here, you incompetent fools!" His voice was as weak as the gesture, but still it was filled with anger. "Just get out and leave me alone!"

  McCoy stiffened and started to speak, but Kirk put a restraining hand on his arm. "Very well, Dr. Crandall," he said quietly. "If there's anything you need…"

  Crandall only snorted derisively and slumped lower in his chair.

  Kirk, his hand still on McCoy's arm, turned and stepped into the corridor. As the door hissed shut behind them, he said, "Stick around here a few minutes, Bones, just in case. If he goes off the deep end, I'd sooner one of your sedatives calmed him down than a phaser on stun."

  "After the way he talked, I'm not so sure," McCoy snapped. "He had no right—"

  "You know better than that, Bones. Look at it from his viewpoint. He's a lot worse off then we are."

  McCoy frowned, shaking his head. "Come on, Jim! What's that supposed to mean? We're all in the same boat, literally."

  "No, Bones, we're not. Many of our friends are here on the Enterprise with us. Virtually the entire four hundred and thirty men and women aboard are, in some ways, an extended family, even the dozen or so new ensigns on their first mission. But Crandall's family and friends, his entire world, is millions of lightyears away. A lifetime away, Bones. A large part of ours is right here with us."

  McCoy's scowl faded. "All right, Jim. I understand. I'll—"

  "Captain Kirk, ta the bridge!" Scott's voice crackled over the intercom.

  Kirk slapped the button on the nearest corridor intercom. "On my way, Scotty. Kirk out," he snapped, then turned back to McCoy for an instant. "Remember, Bones, whether we like Crandall or not, he's going to need more help than any of the rest of us."

  Then he was loping down the corridor to the turbolift. Seconds later he stepped onto the bridge.

  "What is it, Mr. Scott?" he asked even before the doors hissed shut behind him.

  Scott, standing and vacating the command chair, pointed at the viewscreen. "We've picked up somethin', Captain, I canna be sure what."

  His eyes on the screen, Kirk settled into the command chair. The object on the screen, a hexagonal cylinder, was turning slowly, not about the axis of the cylinder but not quite end over end either.

  "Details, Mr. Spock."

  "Mass approximately one hundred thousand kilograms. Range approximately fifty thousand kilometers. No life forms indicated on board, and it is not under power."

  "A derelict?"

  "Perhaps, Captain. There is, however, an operating power source on board, and a primitive sensor field surrounds it, maximum range of ten thousand kilometers."

  "Mr. Chekov, can you determine its point of origin?"

  "No, sir. It is moving less than one hundred kilometers per second, and its flight path does not intersect any star within two parsecs."

  "To travel that distance at that speed, Captain," Spock volunteered, "would have taken twenty thousand standard years. Additionally, there is no indication that the object contains a propulsion system, either impulse or warp drive."

  "Could it be a beacon of some sort, Mr. Spock? One that has gone dead for one reason or another? A warning beacon, perhaps?"

  "It is possible, Captain."

  Kirk nodded thoughtfully. "Any signs of gravitational turbulence in the object's vicinity?"

  "Negative, Captain. I take it, however, that you are suggesting a possible connection between this object and the missing gate?"

  "Not suggesting as much as hoping, Spock. I was thinking in terms of lighthouses and rocky coasts, actually. Or, more optimistically, navigation markers."

  "A possibility, Captain, but a remote one, considering the apparent instability of the gates."

  "I know, Spock, but it's worth looking into."

  "Of course, Captain."

  "Very well. Mr. Sulu, impulse power. Take us in to ten thousand kilometers."

  "Impulse power, sir."

  As the Enterprise moved forward, the object grew on the screen. Soon, blemishes began to appear on its surface, discolorations that might have come from age or radiation or both. Here and there, openings appeared, some jagged, some smooth, as if designed into the object. None was larger than a meter in diameter.

  "There are remnants of a second power source, Captain," Spock said as he studied his sensor readings. "Primitive hydrogen fusion, if I am interpreting the residual readings correctly."

  "And the one still operating?"

  Spock made a small adjustment to a control. "Antimatter, Captain, though of comparatively low power and very low efficiency. And it would appear to be unshielded."

  "Unshielded? By design or the result of damage?"

  "Impossible to tell, Captain. But it is operating, which would indicate that any damage to the antimatter core itself is minimal."

  "How close is it safe to approach?"

  "With our deflector shields up, Captain, no limit. Otherwise, I would recommend maintaining a minimum separation of one hundred kilometers."

  "Ten thousand kilometers, Captain," Sulu reported. "Holding position on impulse power."

  "Anything else in sensor range, Mr. Spock?"

  "Nothing, Captain."

  Kirk studied the screen another moment, and then: "Take us in another thousand kilometers, Mr. Sulu."

  "Aye-aye, sir."

  "The power usage within the object is increasing, Captain," Spock said, not looking up from his instruments. "I would say that it has detected our presence."

  As the science officer spoke, the image on the forward screen began to slow its tumbling motion.

  "All stop, Mr. Sulu," Kirk snapped. "Let's see what it's up to before we move any closer."

  "Power usage still increasing, Captain," Spock reported. "And the object's sensor beams are strengthening. They are being brought to a focus on the Enterprise."

  On the screen, the tumbling continued to slow. One end of the hexagonal cylinder was now pointing in the general direction of the Enterprise. It could not seem to eliminate a small, circular wobble, however.

  "Extreme power buildup, Captain," Spock announced.

  "Deflector screens up, Mr. Sulu," Kirk ordered.

  "Deflector screens up, sir."

  A moment later a concentrated beam of light lanced out of one of the openings on the end of the cylinder.

  "Laser discharge, Captain," Spock said calmly. "It appears to be attacking us."

  "So I noticed. Analysis, Mr. Spock."

  "Primitive laser weapon, Captain, similar to early Federation equipment, but more powerful and longer range than anything the Federation ever produced. It is much less effective, of course, than phasers of the same power. Also, unless the object can stabilize itself further, the discharge will not touch the Enterprise."

  "Any other weapons indicated?"

  "None operational, Captain, though there appear to be a number of fusion devices in addition to the malfunctioning power source. They could be weapons, but if so, their propulsion systems are inoperative."

  "Can the laser be disabled without destroying the object?"

  "Since the object has no deflector screens, Captain, I would estimate that a phaser burst of approximately three-point-eight milliseconds would accomplish that objective."

  "Mr. Sulu, lock phasers on target."

  "Locked on, sir."

  Frowning, Kirk hesitated. On the screen, the object suddenly lost what little stability it had displayed and began tumbling end over end, the laser beam flailing even more wildly through space than before.

  "Indication of further malfunction, Captain," Spock said, speaking rapidly. "The output of the power source is increasing exponentially. Overload and consequent instantaneous conversion to energy of all antimatter will occur—"

  Spock's voice cut off as the forward viewscreen erupted in a flash of light. The Enterprise, though safe behind its deflector screens, shuddered before the massive release of raw energy.

  "—occurred five-point-nine seconds ago," Spo
ck concluded when the deck had steadied once again.

  "Damage report," Kirk snapped. "Engineering."

  "Momentary overload to deflector screen circuits, sir, but no apparent permanent damage," came the voice of MacPherson, Scott's chief assistant.

  "Tell him I'm on m'way, Captain," the chief engineer called over his shoulder as the turbolift doors hissed open and he stepped in. "Just ta be on the safe side."

  Kirk complied as he listened to the other sections report in, slowly relaxing as it became apparent that, aside from a brief shakeup, the explosion had produced no lasting consequences anywhere on the Enterprise.

  Chapter Three

  IN HIS STATEROOM, Dr. Jason Crandall still sat in the chair where Kirk and McCoy had left him minutes before, but now, instead of slumping in despair, he sat bolt upright, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the edge of the desk and waited for the next tremor to rumble through the ship.

  What now? his mind screamed in silent fury and terror. What in God's name are they doing to me now? He started to rise to his feet, but the trembling in his knees stopped him, and he dropped back into the chair, letting despair grip him once again. Whatever was happening, it didn't really matter what he did. He was beyond help.

  Several lifetimes, that brainless captain had said!

  Several lifetimes at maximum warp factor to get back to the Federation and earth! And even that was possible only if, by some miracle, they managed to find out where earth was! The only bright spot, he thought bitterly, was that, with any luck, he wouldn't last out the decade.

  As far as his friends and family—for once in his life, he was glad that he had not married—he was as good as dead right this minute. Dead and buried in a four-hundred-man, warp-drive coffin several lifetimes away from everyone and everything he knew. Everything and everyone that meant anything to him. Not that he had had many intimate friends, but at least he had known people, hundreds of them. They had been familiar, often friendly faces, not like these four hundred hostile strangers.