“Challenger has neutralized Kren’s vessel. Backtrack and make sure that the Federation ship is not following. If it is, do what you can to hold it in check.”
“Consider them checked.”
Rasmussen was waiting outside the decontamination section when La Forge, Barclay, and Balis emerged, just in time to see Sloe run to greet him. “It’s time for the test.”
Rasmussen clapped his hands together. “I’m on my way.” He turned. “Geordi, Reg, you might want to come along and watch the test.”
“Test?”
“The scientific method, Geordi. You don’t seriously think I’m going to risk flying into the Infinite without first making sure that the trip can be done?”
“You mean Bok didn’t already test it from his ship?”
“He would have attracted too much attention.”
Rasmussen and Sloe led them to the armory, which was now just a gray box, since Commander Hunt had transported most of its contents back to Challenger. The crates that Bok’s men had brought with them were stacked in one corner, cut off from everyone by a portable forcefield generator. La Forge would dearly have loved to know what was in them, and what they had to do with Bok and/or Rasmussen’s plans, but the guards raised their weapons toward him as soon as he took a step in the direction of the crates.
Bok glared at him from the depths of his hollow eyes, and waggled a finger warningly. “Next time, La Forge, the guards will just shoot.”
Stepping aside, Geordi wondered what anything in here could have to do with traveling through the Infinite.
As Bok supervised, two Ferengi maneuvered a torpedo-like probe on a cradle into the room. Unlike a photon torpedo casing, its matte surface was curved and bulging with sensor nodes and lenses. They slid it into the center of the armory, and stopped before Bok. “The probe is ready,” one of them said, somewhat unnecessarily.
“Good. Ras-mew-son?”
Rasmussen handed Sloe a guidance chip. “The course is pre-programmed already. All we have to do is point and shoot.” He made a pistol gesture with his fingers, then blew across the tip of his index finger. Sloe nodded, and slotted the guidance chip into an access panel on the probe’s surface.
Bok drew his phaser and adjusted it to a low setting, then used the beam to scrawl his name across a blank piece of the probe’s surface in Ferengi script. “That should be sufficient as a test.”
“And automatically a collectible,” Rasmussen pointed out.
Bok glared at him for a second, then grinned nastily. “Profit before we even begin. Surely an omen.”
Sloe closed up the access panel and nodded to the two Ferengi handlers, who moved the probe toward the torpedo bay.
By the time everyone returned to the bridge, the probe was reported in position, and ready to fire. Sloe took the tactical position, with Bok and Rasmussen flanking him. La Forge and Barclay waited by the conference table. Bok and Rasmussen were hopping with excitement as Sloe acquainted himself with the tactical controls. “Whenever you’re ready, Sloe,” Bok prompted.
“Well, if I’m reading these controls right—”
“Then you’ll get to live,” Bok intoned through gritted teeth. “Get on with it.”
“Target the Infinite,” Rasmussen said, “but along the vector we already calculated from this position. If we’re even a fraction off, we’ll never know if it works.”
Sloe nodded, manipulating the controls, pausing before he hit the fire button. Intrepid trembled slightly, and everyone on the bridge instinctively looked to the screen. A blazing pinpoint of light streaked away from the ship, and arced gracefully toward the eye-bending multidimensional flower of plasma that bloomed ahead.
“Probe running true,” Sloe reported. “Entering the Infinite in sixteen seconds.”
Rasmussen remained where he was, his gut twisting into tense knots, desperate to know already what would happen. Bok stepped around and sat in the center seat without removing his eyes from the screen.
“Eight seconds,” Sloe said. “This is jolly exciting—”
“Terrifying, you mean,” Rasmussen grumbled.
“Three seconds . . . two . . . one . . . contact with the Infinite.” Sloe’s voice was tight with suppressed excitement. He looked up. “Contact with the probe lost, on course at loss of contact.”
“Now comes the interesting part,” Rasmussen said. “And by interesting I really mean boring and laborious.” He took the science station, and beckoned Barclay over. “You can help me out here. If our calculations are right, we need to scan an area from ten to fifteen thousand kilometers off the port beam, but we don’t know what’s happened in this system over the past two hundred years, so something might have thrown it off even if we’re right . . .”
Leah hadn’t wanted to leave the ops position, not while Intrepid was still missing, with Geordi and the others aboard. Eventually, Scotty had pointed out to her that she’d be no good to anyone if she fell asleep at her post, and sent her to rest and eat. All of the bridge crew had stayed on duty well past what should have been the end of their shifts, and her going was the trigger for everyone else to realize that they were allowed to stand down and trust the beta shift team.
Without thinking about it, Leah found her way to Nelson’s, where Guinan was sitting by the huge windows, leaving her shaven-headed and maroon-blazered deputy to look after the few people who needed anything.
“You look like you’ve got a lot of weight on your shoulders,” Guinan said.
“Eleven people and a historical treasure in the hands of a time-traveling conman and a vengeful Ferengi mercenary. I’d call that cause to worry.”
Guinan nodded sympathetically.
“It’s just that . . .” Leah shrugged. “If it was a drive technology problem, or an engine design problem, I know I could do something. Find a solution. But this . . .” She rested her head in her hands. “This makes me feel like the most useless person on the ship.”
“Would you be surprised if I told you Scotty feels that way?”
“I don’t know that I’d believe you.”
“It’s true. I hear you’re doing well with the sensors. You knew what the Split Infinite was.”
“I just hope Geordi’s all right. And Reg, and the others.”
“I think they’ll be just fine. For now, anyway.”
“For now?”
“I think . . . I think things are going to become difficult for Geordi, and I think that’s why I came on board.”
“You think?”
“I feel, rather than think. It’s a long story, Leah.”
Leah thought about what she’d heard about why Guinan left the Enterprise. “The Nexus, right?”
“A part of you never leaves the Nexus. I see, hear, and have memories of things that have happened, and of things that haven’t happened yet, but could. And I remembered a moment of being on a starship with Geordi, when he learned . . . Well, never mind. It wasn’t a memory of today.”
“At least, you don’t think so.”
“There’s an old quotation that ‘Time is like a river.’ In the Nexus, I learned the river can change course. In the Nexus, it can flow uphill.”
“I always thought—” Leah was interrupted as the Red Alert klaxon began to blare, cutting through Nelson’s like phaser fire, and sending everyone out of their seats.
“Senior staff to the bridge,” Carolan’s voice called.
Leah and Guinan could see what the source of the alert was. Hurtling right towards Nelson’s huge bay windows, the first torpedo was already blazing in the direction of the Challenger.
Intrepid gleamed as it heeled around, turning its dorsal surfaces toward the rippling late glow of the Split Infinite. She had spent several hours moving away from the Infinite, in a tireless search pattern.
La Forge ignored the beauty on the main viewer, concentrating on the sensors. He was using a low-band active sensor, and directing as much power to the lateral arrays as possible without being noticed. It was pr
obably too much to hope that the sensors would be detected by Challenger, but a slim hope was always better than none.
Something pinged on the monitor he was using. He was disappointed to see what it was. He considered not calling it out, but Sloe was moving toward the monitor anyway, so he announced, “Sensor contact off the port bow! Seven thousand kilometers.”
“Sloe?” Bok asked.
Sloe nudged La Forge out of the way and double-checked the reading. “Whatever it is isn’t generating any energy, but it is about two meters long and its composition matches that of our probe.”
“Beam it aboard,” Bok ordered hungrily.
“Klingon battle-cruiser decloaking! Firing torpedoes!”
Scotty couldn’t help feeling that Tyler Hunt’s words were something of a blast from the past, and immediately regretted it as the first shattering photon torpedo exploded under the saucer section, rocking the ship upward like a boxer on the receiving end of an uppercut. The shields held, but Scotty knew there would be more than bruises on the forward decks.
Nog and Qat’qa ran in, relieving their beta-shift counterparts, who immediately went to standby consoles at the rear of the bridge, to give support to any section that needed it.
“It must be the one Kren told us about,” Nog said.
“No kid gloves this time, Nog. Try to disable them, but if ye have to destroy them, do it.”
“Understood,” Nog acknowledged solemnly.
Qat’qa had already thrown the Challenger into a wide barrel-roll, neatly dodging the second and third torpedoes.
Nog couldn’t quite get a bead on any vital systems, so he settled for testing their shields with a selection of phaser blasts as they passed. The enemy shields were quick to react. “Kat, their shields seem to be weakest below the neck section.”
“I will line you up.”
Challenger side-slipped under the enemy ship as it tried to come around for another attack run, and Nog let rip with full phasers and torpedoes, concentrating on the underside of the long neck-boom. The mercenary ship’s shields flared and dropped. “Shields are down. I’ll try Odo’s trick again.” Nog reached for the link to the transporter controls, but they didn’t work. “They’ve got a transporter inhibitor running.”
“Ye know the best way to kill a snake,” Scotty said, pointing at the Klingon vessel on screen. “Cut off the head, and the body will die.”
Qat’qa looked around at him, and grinned like a jungle cat at the watering hole. Scott ordered, “Nog, treble the strength of the forward shields. Use power from the ventral and aft shields if you have to.”
“Sir, you’re not thinking of . . . ?”
“Aye, lad,” Scotty said, with a look to match Kat’s. “That I am!”
The Klingon ship started to roll, her shields flickering back to minimal life, but too late. Her crew doubtless expected another phaser exchange, and perhaps an attempt at capture.
They did not expect the leading edge of Challenger’s saucer to hurtle toward their ship’s neck like a guillotine blade.
Leah, Guinan, and the few other people in Nelson’s leapt for whatever cover they could find, knowing that it wouldn’t do them any good if the shields failed, but they were unable to stop themselves from taking the action anyway.
Grabbing on to whatever was fixed down, and holding on for dear life, they had a first-rate view of the approaching flame-painted neck section of the enemy craft. Searing phaser fire stabbed out from above and below the windows, and a couple of burning torpedoes soared up from below, converging on the neck of the Klingon battlecruiser.
The Klingon’s shields flickered out, and hull plates began to peel off, hurled toward Nelson’s by spreading explosions. Then the burning gases dissipated into the vacuum as Challenger’s triple-strength forward shields punched into the exposed corridors and conduits.
Their shields flared white hot, blinding them for a moment. Then structural spars and charred corpses flew above and below the windows, as Challenger severed the other ship’s command section from its larger secondary hull.
Then there were stars in front of the windows again, and Leah could scarcely believe that she, and everyone else, was unharmed.
The ancient twenty-second-century transporter sparkled and spat, whining as it tried to bring something on board for the first time in centuries. Barclay shuddered. He had just about gotten over his transporter phobia, but such an ancient machine was quite likely to bring on a relapse.
After several agonizing seconds, a cylindrical shape materialized on the pad. It was cold and dark, but recognizably the same probe they had so recently launched.
Bok approached cautiously, tracing his finger over the signature he had carved into it. “It is the same probe . . .”
Sloe opened an access panel on the surface, then removed and examined the probe’s internal chronometer. “The internal chronometer records that the probe was active for forty-seven standard years, and ceased to function some hundred and twenty years ago.”
“Perfect! It’s here—still here at the correct time!” Bok exclaimed as Rasmussen whooped for joy.
“It works! It works!”
“As soon as the nonessentials are removed back to the marauder, we can make the transit ourselves.”
Rasmussen let the thought wash over him, bathing in its beauty. “It’s time to go home.”
17
Barclay scrubbed some chemical cleansers from his hands in the decontamination section, while La Forge took the chance to perform some maintenance on his eyes. “Something’s bothering me about all of this.”
“What is it, Reg?”
“Bok . . . he wants to go back in time, right? And he’s found a spatial phenomenon that will work as a Tipler object, to enable him to do it without having to worry about acquiring technology that’s too well-guarded . . .”
“Yeah, so?”
“Why the Intrepid? I mean, I know Rasmussen is happy with a ship from his time, but what about Bok?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he has modern-day ships. A D’Kora-class marauder, fitted with a Klingon cloak, a K’T’inga-, and Vor’cha-class, so . . . So, why is he so bothered about taking this fossil ship back? If he took his own ship back, it would be decades—centuries, even—in advance of everyone else.”
“I think because he’s paranoid,” La Forge said slowly.
“Paranoid?”
“Think about it, Reg: he got this whole idea from Rasmussen, who was able to time travel after stealing a vessel from the future. I think Bok’s being very cautious to make sure that the same thing that happened to that twenty-sixth century professor doesn’t happen to him.”
“His ship being stolen.”
“Exactly. The Intrepid is from the era he’s going to, so it’ll blend right in. If he took a modern ship back, there’d be too much risk of someone else using it to mess with the timeline in a way other than what he has in mind. And since he wants to change things with his knowledge, he doesn’t need twenty-fourth-century hardware to do that.”
“It sounds like all the more reason to—” Barclay looked unhappy, but continued, “all the more reason to stop him.”
“There’s definitely no time like the present,” La Forge said, all too aware of the irony.
“Bok’s thugs are right outside, and they seem pretty trigger happy.” Barclay paced in an irritating fashion, as he always did when he was thinking something through. La Forge let the irritation slide off of him; anything that helped them work things out was fine with him. “I know it’s irrational, but I felt that coming over here was a bad idea.”
“Yeah, you did, Reg.”
“It’s a ghost ship. I remember I said that too.”
“Yeah, you did. But Reg . . .” La Forge stopped. Something about that phrase struck a chord.
Ghost ship.
Ghost.
He felt a shiver run through him. He had been a ghost once. Literally so. “That’s it! You’re a genius, Reg
!”
“I am?”
“This is a ghost ship, and it needs some ghosts to haunt it.”
Reg looked at him uncertainly. “How . . . do we get some ghosts?”
“Adapt the transporter’s phase inverter to produce chroniton interference from the cloak.”
“Make ourselves out of phase with the ship?” Barclay grasped the idea at once.
Geordi nodded. “It happened to me once on the Enterprise. No one could see or hear me, and I could walk through walls. Ro Laren was with me, and it happened to her too, and to a Romulan. We could interact with each other, but nobody else could.”
“Isn’t that a bit like . . . being consciously dematerialized?” Reg went pale.
“Look on the bright side, Reg: you won’t have to worry about remembering to step over those door lintels every time we walk into a room on this ship.”
“But how will we get back to being . . . solid?”
Geordi was remembering the event in more detail as he thought about repeating it. “When Ro and I were put out of phase, it took a bombardment of anyon particles to combat the effect of the chronitons and bring us back into phase.”
“But we won’t be able to touch any consoles, or trigger an anyon bombardment. Unless we already had something like a timer set up. Then we could pre-program it to sweep the ship—”
“And risk being caught in the middle of a wall when the anyon field comes online?” La Forge shook his head. “Uhuh. What we need is a portable device that can itself be phased, which we can carry and use to generate the anyon particles when we’re ready.”
“Would that work? I mean, if the device was phased already, would it still function?”
“It should. The Romulan who was phased at the same time as us had a disruptor that worked fine, even though it was phased as well. It would only work on phased matter, but that’s perfect for our purposes.”
“So, what sort of device do we need for the anyon field? A tricorder?”
“I’m not sure a tricorder could generate a dense enough field to bring us back into phase. What we need is a phaser or disruptor that we can modify to fire an anyon beam.”
Star Trek: TNG Indstinguishable From Magic Page 20
