SEVENTEEN
Stardate 4758.4 (0915 hours)
All Scotty could do was watch as the landing party positioned the phaser rifle. He was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was M’Benga’s. “Relax,” the doctor said. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Scotty merely nodded. There was a bright flash, then belching black smoke, which was swept away by an intense jet of air to reveal the remnants of the door. An alarm began beeping on his tricorder. “Commander, are you seeing this?” Scotty asked, as he was running a scan to make sure.
“Yes, Mister Scott.” Spock’s voice was grave. “The power emanating from the tower is fluctuating rapidly. If we do not succeed in shutting it down shortly, it will explode, possibly forcing open a subspace disruption within the planetary atmosphere.”
“Mister Spock, we’ve only got seventeen minutes,” Scotty said, his voice rising in alarm.
“I am aware of the situation, Mister Scott. We are moving with alacrity.”
Captain Kirk’s plan was simple. The ships were still close to the planet. If he reprogrammed the satellites, he could use them to overwhelm the fleeing slavers.
“A very ingenious idea, Captain,” said Chekov.
“Let’s see if it works,” Kirk replied.
“I think it will, Captain.” Chekov, working with Giotto, had connected his tricorder to a partially dismantled communicator that had been wired into the controls of their commandeered ship. “I’ve reprogrammed the control circuits for the Farrezzi satellites, allowing us to transmit to all of them at once. Their reaction control thrusters are under our command.”
“Well done. Transmit now.”
“Aye, sir,” Chekov said. He began keying commands into his tricorder. “Captain, did you know that we are continuing a proud Russian tradition?”
“Do you think this is the time for that?” Kirk asked.
“Ah… no, sir.”
Tilting his head back, Kirk could see that the satellites’ thrusters had activated. “Horr,” he called across the command deck, “can you pull the image back? And follow the satellites’ progress?”
“Affirmation, James-Kirk-Enterprise,” answered the Farrezzi teacher. “Intention of best attempt.”
Small purple dots now flitted across the display. Horr asked, “Desire: explanation of developments.” A couple of his eyes bent to study Kirk.
“We’re about to hit the slavers with the satellites your people placed in orbit around Farrezz.”
“Feeling of surprise. Query: chances of success?”
“Impossible to say. It should disable them if we aim them right.”
“Feeling of disappointment. Lack of patience.”
He wasn’t alone there. “I know that it must be difficult, given that more of your people are—”
The ship shuddered, then flung him to the deck as everything tilted hard to port. Lights flickered; Farrezzi shrieks mixed with human curses.
In the darkness, Kirk could only wonder what had gone wrong now.
When McCoy stepped into his lab, he was surprised to find Padmanabhan and Rodriguez dismantling the computers, and Sulu nowhere in sight. “… we’ll be working with the damage-control party on the bridge, if you need us, sir.”
“Very good. Carry on.” The monitor showed Sulu in auxiliary control. “Doctor, status?” he asked.
“Petriello, Santos, Fraser, and Salah are getting better. Bouchard is dead.” McCoy swallowed. “How’s the Enterprise?”
“She’s fine,” Sulu said. “The ship’s on course, and as we move from the center of the zone, the distortions lessen. There’ll be some turbulence, but the worst is well behind us. We’ll soon be clear.”
Padmanabhan chimed in unbidden. “Amazing—there’s so much out there, we’ve seen—even in just a brief squirt from the shuttle—it’s just like—”
Rodriguez put a hand on the ensign’s shoulder. “Okay, Homi.”
“Can we make it to Mu Arigulon now?” McCoy asked.
“There are still some distortions I’d like to avoid. I’d say we’re two days out.”
“Once we’re on course, Lieutenant, you should get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
Sulu smiled as he replied, “We’re only here because I listened to you, so from now on, I’ll make sure to follow your orders, Captain McCoy.”
The tower’s interior thrummed with power. The room was small, barely large enough to contain the landing party. In the center of the circular chamber was an object resembling a cube, its faces covered with protrusions. Lights blinked, signaling the object’s working state. It did not possess an input screen of any kind.
“How much time do we have?” Saloniemi asked.
“Eleven minutes, forty-nine seconds,” Spock replied. “We must work quickly if we are to stop the overload. Ensign Seven Deers, have you determined the cause of the fluctuations?”
“No, sir,” she said, working her tricorder. “It’s almost impossible to get readings in here. Interference is strong.”
“Ensign Saloniemi, report.”
Saloniemi was running his tricorder over the glyphs on the device, moving from one to another. “It’s all technical terminology,” he said. “The UT is still working on it. This one”—he pointed to a prominent symbol on the top of the cube—“is marked ‘playback.’”
Seven Deers was right next to him with her own tricorder. “It connects to a set of holographic circuits,” she said.
“Press it,” Spock ordered. Saloniemi did, and the lights on the cube dimmed as a hologram appeared above it.
“That’s a Farrezzi!” Seven Deers exclaimed—unnecessarily, since the image matched the landing party’s recordings.
The image of the Farrezzi was frozen, but a voice emerged. “Occupants of this chamber have been identified as not of the Community of the Children of Farrezz. This message is for visitors to our world.” The voice stopped, and the image continued to hold still.
“That’s not Farrezzi,” said Saloniemi quietly. “It’s one of the Orion trading creoles. Yrevish.”
Spock nodded. It was logical to leave a message for off-worlders in a language that they would likely know.
The holographic Farrezzi began to move, its tentacles flexing slightly. A new voice, a little higher-pitched, began: “I am Benshor-Ka-Morafe, head of the Deep Burrow Project. If you have analyzed Farrezz, you have discovered that its atmosphere has grown toxic after centuries of industrial pollution. We traveled into space to find a solution to this problem, but found nothing and no one to help us. We lacked the technology to evacuate our world. The only solution was to avoid further disruption, while returning the planet to its natural state. The entire Community of the Children of Farrezz has gone into hibernation while our satellites work to repair the planet’s atmosphere. When it has been restored, we will return to the surface. We will take care of the planet from that point on. If you have—have—have—”
The image paused, hanging in place. “It’s trying to continue the playback,” said Seven Deers.
“The statements of Benshor-Ka-Morafe verify our hypotheses,” said Spock.
The playback continued. “—have made it here, then you have bypassed the defenses we built before we entered our slumber. Knowing that a world of sleepers would present a tempting target for some of the species we have encountered, we designed a system—powered by warp reactors across the continent—that would project distortions in subspace, making it impossible for any vessel to approach this planet at warp speed. The projector is designed to respond to the warp bubbles it encounters; the more powerful the engines, the more powerful the distortions. We do not know how you managed it, but you have made it here. Please, let the Community of the Children of Farrezz slumber in peace. Do not loot our world. We have gone through much to ensure its continued survival.”
The Farrezzi raised three of its tentacles into the air, balancing on the two remaining. “Please, go back to the stars. We are defenseless, we have only our pleas. I ask you to go back to your home so that we may keep ours.”
The image faded out. “This explains a great deal,” Spock said to the assembled team. “The distortions the Enterprise encountered were caused by this device.”
“Why is the projector so unstable?” Saloniemi asked.
“The warp engines of a Constitution-class starship are massive,” said Seven Deers. “If the projector tried to match their power, the distortions would be enormous—far more than this system would have been designed to accommodate.” The engineer shook her head. “It’s reached its maximum, and it’s now caught in a deadly feedback loop.”
“Correct,” said Spock. “The Farrezzi did not anticipate more advanced technologies. The power the Enterprise can generate would be enough to create distortions not only in subspace, but in normal space as well. Possibly even projecting into other realities. Fascinating.”
“What about the overload? We need to stop this!” Tra was frantic.
“Correct, Crewman.” Spock consulted his tricorder. “Additional ships have activated their warp drives, overtaxing the system—the two ships we detected in orbit. This system will overload in four minutes. We must stop it or the Community of the Children of Farrezz will no longer have a world.”
The lights flickered back on, but dimmer than before, making it hard to see. Kirk pushed himself up off the deck—and suddenly felt no resistance. The artificial gravity was out.
Kirk needed to remember to push gently to propel himself. He spun slowly toward what his brain was telling him was up, but now was just a surface like any other.
“Everybody okay?” he shouted.
“Aye, sir,” came the somewhat strained reply from Giotto.
Kirk called out, “Chekov?”
“Yes, sir,” said the ensign, sounding as though he was halfway across the command center.
The Farrezzi had fared better, their many limbs proving to be an advantage, but they were scared. Horr-Sav-Frerin had pulled itself into a ball, eyestalks retracted, two thin appendages wrapped around a pole to keep itself from floating away.
The captain instinctively hooked his foot on the ring that connected the computer display to the support poles. He pulled himself “down” along the pole, so he could take in the HUD. He needed to find out what had hit them. It turned out to be a swarm of Farrezzi satellites, floating outside. “Mister Chekov, you hit the wrong ship!”
“With only some of them,” replied the ensign matter-of-factly. “Look, Captain!” He pointed at the heads-up display.
The viewer showed the slaver transport, bombarded by a swarm of satellites. Its warp nacelles were pitted with holes from the satellites’ impact.
“Good work, Ensign,” Kirk said. “Even if we did take a few hits ourselves.”
“My apologies, Captain. It appears my targeting parameters were not quite specific enough.”
“Are they dead in space?” Kirk asked.
Giotto answered, having floated back to the sensor controls. “Yes, sir. Unfortunately, so are we.”
Ensign Saloniemi was studying the holographic projection above the control cube, which now displayed several rows of Farrezzi text.
“Status report, Ensign,” said Spock.
“Well, sir,” Saloniemi began, “I’ve managed to translate all the text.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“It’s very confusing. This is an incredibly complex system.” He shook his head. “I’m matching it against what we know about Farrezzi technology from the matter/antimatter reactor we found, and information in the database, but it’s going to take some time.”
“Will you figure it out in three minutes?” asked Spock.
“No, sir.” He slumped to the ground, but continued to pore over his tricorder nevertheless.
Seven Deers was working her way through the system. “I’m making small changes to the settings,” she said. “With trial and error, we should be able to trace all the circuits.” She sighed. “But it’ll take too long.”
“Continue working,” Spock ordered.
The crackling energy was growing louder and louder, its pitch varying wildly as the system tried in vain to stabilize itself. Spock opened his communicator. “Mister Scott, have you been following everything?”
“Aye, Mister Spock.”
“Mister Scott, the projector must transmit its distortions via subspace. If we can deprive it of access to subspace, we may be able to shut it down.”
“Is it possible to configure the Hofstadter’s warp drive to generate a bubble of normal space?”
“Well—”
“Mister Scott—”
“—it is, but it would take hours to put into practice. And I’m not rounding up, sir.”
“Lower the millicochranes into the negative,” Scotty ordered. “That should do it.”
“You told Spock it would take too long,” M’Benga called back.
“Worth a shot,” said Scotty. He was going to do something, broken legs or not. “What’s it doing?”
M’Benga tapped away at the controls. “I’m getting an error message.”
“Hit ‘ignore.’”
Scotty checked the tricorder. They had sixty seconds.
“There’s no ‘ignore’ button!”
“Let me see that!” What was the doctor talking about? Of course there was an “ignore” button. “We dinna have time for this.” Scotty couldn’t remember ever feeling this helpless. “All of us will be dead—”
“Fine.”
Suddenly Scotty felt himself being wrenched upward, M’Benga’s arms around him. “This is going to hurt,” he said. It did. Moments later he was lowered into the pilot’s chair—gently, but he winced nonetheless.
There was the sodding error message. M’Benga was right, there was no “ignore” button.
How was he supposed—
“Fifteen seconds.”
Scotty could figure out a way around it, but he needed time.
The Farrezzi scientists’ miscalculations had doomed their planet. If only they had been logical—Spock stopped himself: what if they had been logical? The scientist had pleaded for visitors to the planet to leave. To impede the departure of visitors from the world would be illogical.
Spock scanned the “playback” button. It was connected to two circuits: the holographic device and an adjacent button whose connection had burnt out, a victim of the power surges running through the device. Sending an energy pulse from his tricorder, Spock activated the circuit. A single word appeared on the button: “DEACTIVATE.”
He raised an eyebrow. Logical. His hand pressed it.
A loud crack rang through the interior of the tower.
Seven Deers said something, but not even Spock’s Vulcan hearing could make it out. The crackling sound of the energy projector had become overwhelming. He glanced down at his tricorder. The projector was fluctuating wildly, climbing and then plunging.
Zero.
The crackling stopped. Everything shut down. They were standing in darkness.
Tra activated a flashlight, flicking it from person to person. All were present and accounted for.
Spock flipped his communicator open. “Mister Scott, we are still here. Were we successful?”
“Just a second, Mister Spock,” came the voice of M’Benga. “I’m afraid Mister Scott… One moment.”
While Spock waited, he consulted his tricorder. The tower was blocking exterior scanning.
“Scott here, Commander. The whole thing is shut down.” The engineer’s exuberance was impossible to miss over the comm channel. “The projector is deactivating. All the sensor and shield interference is gone, and so are the distortions in this system.”
“That is welcome news,” Spock said, suppressing the relief he realized he was feeling.
“There is one strange thing, though.”
“Please elaborate.”
“The satellites in the northern hemisphere are gone. I canna find any trace of them. It’s as though they’ve been scooped up by some powerful force.”
Spock was about to reply when his communicator indicated an incoming transmission. “Stand by, Mister Scott.” He switched frequencies, calculating the odds that it was Captain Kirk. “Spock here.”
“Spock! Music to my ears.” It was the captain, and he sounded almost as animated as Scott, which Spock took to be a good sign. “Status.”
“We have successfully eliminated a subspace distortion projector.”
“Succinct. I look forward to your detailed report.” There was a pause. “D’you think that you could come and pick us up? Giotto, Chekov, and I are on a Farrezzi transport ship we captured, and there are some slavers we need help with.”
“The shuttles are damaged, but spaceworthy. We will leave as soon as possible,” Spock said.
“Try contacting the Enterprise again. With the field down, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting through to Sulu. Tell him we need them here.”
“Aye, sir. We will contact you when we are in position to board the Farrezzi ship.”
“Good work, Mister Spock. Kirk out.”
Four Hours Later
Stardate 4758.5 (1302 hours)
“You took your time, Mister Spock,” Kirk said as he stepped onto the Hofstadter. The shuttle looked a little the worse for wear.
Spock looked up briefly from the shuttlecraft’s controls and raised an eyebrow. The Hofstadter was sitting in the loading bay of the captive transport ship. The shuttle had dropped Giotto, Kologwe, and Tra on the other transport to round up the slavers and wake the sleepers. Neither ship was in any condition to land now, but Scotty and Seven Deers were confident that they could fix the vessels.
“Captain,” Doctor M’Benga called from the stern of the shuttle. Kirk saw he was standing in front of a cryopod.
Yüksel. The exobotanist was floating in water, wires and tubes running from the rim of the large pod into his skin. His expression was frozen in agony as he bobbed up and down gently—a disconcerting sight.
Kirk turned M’Benga. “Doctor?”
M’Benga wore a somber expression. “The cryopod is designed to sustain a Farrezzi. It’s slowly killing him.”
“Can we get him out of there?” Kirk asked.
“I don’t want to risk it without the facilities of the Enterprise’s sickbay.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Kirk said. Would the ship arrive in time? “Mister Spock?”
“I have the Enterprise on standby, Captain,” Spock reported. “The spatial distortions are closing now that the projector has been disabled.”
“Good work, Mister Spock.” Kirk crossed to the navigator’s seat and sat down. “Kirk to Enterprise.”
“Enterprise here. Captain, this is Lieutenant Kelowitz.”
“Lieutenant Kelowitz,” said Kirk, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice, “what are you doing in command?” Rogelio Kelowitz was in tactical.
Kelowitz sounded haggard. “Sir, I’m relieving Mister Sulu. The bridge is damaged.”
Spock had estimated that the distortions were sizable, but—“Will you make it to Mu Arigulon?” Kirk asked.
“Aye, sir,” Kelowitz said, “Probably another three hours of repair work, and then we’ll be two days out. Is it safe to proceed?”
“The spatial distortions have cleared almost entirely, Lieutenant,” Spock replied. “Passage will be completely normal.”
Kirk contented himself with, “We’ll see you then, Mister Kelowitz.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll keep you updated on our progress. Enterprise out.”
“Doctor M’Benga,” Kirk called back. “Two days okay?”
“I can adjust the nutritional feed, sir—he’ll be safe.”
Kirk spun his chair to face Spock, who was still working diligently at his controls. “Well, Mister Spock,” he said, “it looks like we’re on our own for a while.”
Spock only raised an eyebrow again. He really must be tired.
“Have you determined why the Farrezzi didn’t wake up even though the atmosphere of their planet had been restored?”
“The information Neff-Bironomaktio-Frerish gleaned from the captured members of the New Planets Cousins indicates that they reconfigured the master purge mechanisms to release them first. They made an error and reactivated only when the Enterprise’s arrival triggered the distortion projector and an emergency reawakening protocol.”
“The shuttles didn’t do it?” asked Kirk.
“Negative,” said Spock. “The power of the shuttles was below the threshold. Only the arrival of a starship could trigger the system.”
“So if we’d never come here,” said Kirk, “the Farrezzi would be sleeping still, unaware their planet was waiting for them to reclaim it.”
“Correct, Captain.”
“Lucky for them we came along,” Kirk said, bringing up an image of Farrezz on the central console.
The first sight of a new world always offered him a thrill, but seeing a planet he and his crew had rescued was even better. “Let’s get to work, Mister Spock. We’ve got a planet to wake up.”