Interphase Book 1                
By Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used
fictiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, liv-ing
or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
 
Nostrene could sense the tension permeating the
room, though he himself refused to display any out-ward
indications except that of perfect calm. His pos-ture
contrasted with that of his crew and the scientif-ic
advisors bustling about the command deck as they
made last-minute adjustments or ran final tests.
Consoles and viewscreens displayed a vast array of
data, each one dedicated to some facet of the monu-mental
experiment currently under way.
"Holding at light speed minus three," reported the
subordinate manning the helm with no attempt to
hide the excitement in his voice. Nostrene could not
blame the younger officer, who was serving aboard
ship on his first assignment and was displaying much
1
CHAPTER
1
of the same excitability and enthusiasm he himself
had at that age.
"Report current status, Dlyax." In response, one of
the scientists stationed near the front of the com-mand
deck turned to face Nostrene, the deep red hue
of his crystalline body reflecting the harsh illumina-tion
emitted from the deck plating.
"Commander, the drive system appears to be func-tioning
normally. Our diagnostic scans show no
anomalies or irregularities. It is our consensus that
the test can proceed without further delay."
Of course they would think that, Nostrene mused.
Their reputations are being tested here today as much
as any new propulsion system.
Tholian ships had enjoyed success with their ability
to attack from positions of stealth and to utilize their
much feared energy web generators, draining the
power and crushing the hull of even the sturdiest
enemy vessel. But it had been Nostrene's experience
that ships controlled by enemies he'd faced in past
battles had possessed definite advantages in speed.
While Tholian vessels had been able to travel faster
than light for generations, they never had been able to
achieve speeds comparable to those recorded by ships
of other races. The vessels most frequently under-scoring
this shortcoming, to Nostrene's chagrin,
belonged to the United Federation of Planets.
This concern had been brought to the forefront dur-2
                
ing the recent war between the Federation and the
Dominion. Alpha Quadrant forces had nearly suc-cumbed
to the might of the so-called "Founders" and
their legions of genetically engineered soldiers, the
Jem'Hadar. The Assembly's tenuous state of peace
with the Federation had strengthened during the con-flict,
allowing the Tholian people to largely observe
the war. That position fit securely with the nonag-gression
pact they had established with the
Dominion. Though it had not been popular opinion to
state publicly at the time, Nostrene was certain that
Tholian forces would have fallen quickly to the vastly
superior strength exhibited by the Dominion.
Fortunately the war had ended, with the Founders
and the Jem'Hadar being forced back into Gamma
Quadrant space before his suspicions could be tested.
Such concerns could soon be put to rest, however,
should the experiment they were conducting here
today prove successful. Tholian vessels would be
regarded as among the fastest in the Quadrant.
Additionally, the ability to channel newly harnessed
stores of power would lend additional strength to the
defenses and armament of their ships.
Satisfied with Dlyax's report, Nostrene said, "Very
well, resume acceleration."
As he gave the order, his eyes shifted from screens
displaying information transmitted by the ship's net-work
of sensors to the command deck's main
3
                
viewscreen. The stars as rendered by the computer
remained still, but he knew that in a few moments
they would twist and distort as their ship crossed the
threshold into subspace.
"Light speed minus one," his helmsman called out,
and Nostrene braced himself for the impending quan-tum
shift. He knew it was an absurd notion, as the
ship's inertial dampening systems prevented him or
anyone else on the ship from feeling the affects of
acceleration. But it was something he had always
done, almost instinctively, since childhood. It added
to the thrill, he thought. In his mind's eye, he saw the
subspace field erupting into reality as the ship
stretched, extended and distended into infinity.
"Plus one," the helmsman said. "Continuing to
accelerate." Except for the subordinate's reports of
the ship's progress, all else was silent on the com-mand
deck as engineers and scientists continued
checking the telemetry fed to them by the ship's sen-sors.
This was the easy part, in actuality, with the dif-ficult
tasks yet to come. First the ship had to acceler-ate
successfully to its uppermost obtainable velocity.
Then endurance tests would begin as the crew deter-mined
how long the ship could sustain that measure
of speed. If those experiments were successful, then
the celebrations would begin in earnest, and merely
wary adversaries would now have reason to fear the
Tholian Assembly.
4
                
Nostrene's reverie was broken by the first in what
quickly became a series of alarms coming from the
observation stations at the front of the command
deck.
"Commander," Dlyax said, "we are experiencing a
power fall-off."
Moving toward the forward stations, Nostrene
replied, "What is causing it?"
The scientist was keying commands into his con-sole
and studying the rapidly shifting patterns of light
on his suite of monitors. "I cannot ascertain the
cause. All systems are functioning normally, but there
is an unexplained power drain in the drive system."
For a moment, Nostrene was worried that the ship
might be rendered inert in space. "How serious is this
drain?"
"It is not severe, Commander, but it is enough to
disrupt our subspace field."
Given the choice between slowing to sublight
speeds on his own or being ripped from subspace by
a malfunctioning propulsion system, Nostrene pre-ferred
the first option. "Decelerate to light minus
eight." Turning back to Dlyax, he said, "Initiate a diag-nostic
check of the drive systems."
Another voice called out from behind him,
"Commander, our sensors are registering some
unusual readings."
Now what? Was the entire ship falling apart?
5
                
"What is it?" he asked as he made his way to the
sensor officer's station.
The subordinate manning the station did not look
up at his commander's approach. "I have detected a
disruption in space at bearing four point nine relative
to our current position. It wasn't there during my ini-tial
scans a few moments ago, Commander."
The report was far too vague for Nostrene's tastes.
"Be more specific."
"I cannot, Commander. The sensors are behaving
quite erratically. They report it as an object, yet I can-not
verify the readings."
If an object had been detected so close to the ship,
Nostrene knew that automated defensive systems
would have alerted the crew to possible danger. That
none of that had happened deepened his concern.
Was an enemy who could render themselves invisible
to sensors attacking them? Was a Romulan ship out
there, attempting a covert strike?
"Is there a flaw in the sensor equipment?" Nostrene
asked.
"Not that I have been able to find, Commander," the
sensor officer replied. "It is as if this region of space
is physically deteriorating."
"A localized phenomenon?" There were no intelli-gence
reports of anything unusual encountered in
this area. It was a lightly traveled region, one of the
reasons it was selected as the site of the experiment in
6
                
the first place.
"Put that area on the main screen," he ordered.
All eyes turned as the image on the forward screen
changed. At first Nostrene saw no discernible differ-ence
from the field of stars that had been there previ-ously.
It appeared tranquil, almost the very image he
carried in his mind even when he was planetbound to
tide him over until he could return to space once
again.
"There," the helmsman said, pointing at the screen.
"Upper left quadrant."
Nostrene saw it too. Amid the blanket of stars beck-oning
to them, a dark area had appeared. It was small
but opaque, and therefore contrasting sharply against
the starfield.
"Magnify that area," Nostrene said, stepping closer
to the screen. The image shifted again and now the
dark area dominated the center of the screen. It was
irregular in shape, its edges fluctuating with no
noticeable pattern. Everyone on the command deck
watched as the patch of darkness expanded, then con-tracted
to almost disappear entirely before repeating
the process all over again.
"It looks like a hole in space," the helmsman said.
Nostrene agreed. In all the years he had traveled
space he had never seen anything like what was dis-played
on the screen.
"I am detecting spiking radiation levels coming
7
                
from that area, Commander," the sensor officer
reported. "They are slight, but there nonetheless."
"Is there a danger to the ship?" Nostrene asked.
The subordinate took an extra moment to confirm
his readings before replying. "Negative, Commander,
at least so long as we maintain this distance."
"Commander!"
Nostrene's attention snapped back to the screen at
the call in time to see the interior of the "hole," as he
had come to think of it, shift as a blue-green field of
energy appeared.
"Enlarge that," Nostrene ordered, and the image
appeared to jump forward. The energy distortion
became more detailed and he could see static dis-charges
and rippling effects as the field undulated
within the confines of the dark area.
"Are you saying the sensors register none of that?"
he asked.
"That is correct, Commander. We see it, but our sen-sors
give no indication that it exists at all."
In front of him, the helmsman nearly came out of
his chair as he pointed to the screen. "Commander,
look!"
On the viewer, the energy field wavered and expand-ed
violently as, out of the nothingness that was the
dark hole amid the stars, an object began to material-ize,
quickly taking on form and substance. With the
image magnified as it was, Nostrene easily made out
8
                
seams between scarred hull plates and areas where
bare metal now shone through what had once been a
brightly painted finish.
A ship.
"Sensor readings?"
Behind him, the sensor officer studied his console
and shook his head. "I have managed to tune the sen-sors
to at least detect the vessel, but readings are
inconclusive at best. There are no signs of life or
power sources. I believe the ship to be a derelict,
Commander."
Nostrene suspected as much, having already recog-nized
the design of the ship as soon as it had become
visible. He hadn't seen such a vessel except in histori-cal
documents, but there was no mistaking the large,
saucer-shaped hull supported by a pylon above a
smaller cylindrical secondary section and the pair of
long nacelles resting on their own support pylons.
Though the design had been refined and improved
over the many years the Tholians had been aware of
it, the basic tenets had remained the same.
Behind him, his weapons officer confirmed his sus-picion.
"Commander, our tactical database identifies
it as a Federation Constitution-class starship.
According to our information, that model of vessel
was retired from active service long ago."
"Are there any indications of other ships in this
area?" Both the weapons and sensor officers replied
9
                
with negative reports.
"So what is it doing in our space?" Dlyax asked,
staring at the ghostly image of the ship.
Nostrene had no answer. Learning of the ship's
presence in Tholian space would certainly put some
government officials on edge. Despite the warming of
relations with the Federation, distrust and even con-tempt
for its principles continued to simmer within
the ranks of the Assembly's elder statesmen.
Seeing the ship on the screen, however, his instincts
told him such worries were unfounded. If the ship
was indeed a derelict, then it was likely that neither
the Federation nor the Assembly had any knowledge
of its whereabouts, let alone the circumstances sur-rounding
its appearance here and now, long after
such a vessel would have been retired from normal
service.
Such judgments, though, were not his to make.
"We must report this discovery," he said finally.
"They will know best how to proceed."
10
                
As he traversed one of the numerous corridors of
Starfleet Headquarters, Captain Montgomery Scott
felt as though red-alert klaxons were sounding but
only he could hear them. His eyes couldn't help but be
drawn to officers mingling or casually going about
their business. He returned a few polite nods but
didn't stop to talk or even smile back when their
glances met his. There was no time for niceties.
It was a key difference between Headquarters and
serving on a starship, he had learned. People here
could be on full alert, but hardly ever at the same
time.
His commbadge chirped for his attention, followed
by a female voice. "Captain Scott, please report to
11
CHAPTER
2
Briefing Room 23 immediately."
"Aye, lassie," he said as he tapped the badge, "and
since we last spoke, where did ya think I might be
goin'?"
The question went unanswered. "I'll tell them you're
still on your way, sir."
"Scott out." He sighed as he severed the connection.
Whatever it was that awaited him in Briefing Room
23 must be important indeed to have his assistant
page him twice in as many minutes.
Probably some politician with his nose all out of
joint.
Scotty didn't break stride as he turned toward a pair
of doors that parted at his approach. As he entered
the briefing room, the first person he saw was a man
wearing civilian clothes and the puckered expression
he normally associated with a typical Federation
diplomat.
Ach. Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed,
he thought as he braced himself for what was sure to
be a long day. As he made his way to one of the empty
chairs surrounding the conference table, Scotty put
on his "admiral's smile." It was the one that allowed
him to bite the inside of his cheek when a politician
inevitably said something to irritate him.
In addition to the civilian eyeing him impatiently,
Scotty noted the unfamiliar Starfleet commander also
seated at the table. An Andorian, the commander's
12
                
rich blue skin contrasted sharply with the dark colors
of his uniform. Scotty decided that the commander,
like a growing number of officers he ran into these
days, looked like he'd just graduated from the
Academy.
Does his mother know he's playin' Starfleet?
As quickly as the thought surfaced, Scotty admon-ished
himself. Not everyone could be an eighty-year
old captain with fifty or more years in Starfleet, after
all.
"Good morning, Captain. Thanks for joining us on
such short notice," said the third person in the brief-ing
room and the only one Scotty recognized, Admiral
William Ross.
The admiral presented an imposing figure dressed
in his dark Starfleet uniform. Jet black hair, cut short
and liberally speckled with gray, added to a severe
expression dominated by piercing blue eyes. Ross was
one of the few flag officers Scotty respected implicit-ly,
due primarily to the fact that the admiral had risen
through the ranks while serving in the fleet instead of
occupying staff positions. He had commanded vessels
and people in peace and in war, and he had earned the
trust of those he led.
Ross also knew that most issues faced by com-manders
in the field rarely if ever resembled the tidy
tactical problems presented to cadets at the Academy.
It gave him a wisdom shaped by experience that
13
                
Scotty usually found lacking in other officers in simi-lar
positions. It also made Ross in high demand at
Starfleet Headquarters, especially during critical situ-ations.
If the admiral was here now, then something
big had to be brewing.
"Aye, Admiral," Scotty said as he settled into one of
the conference chairs. "What have ye got?"
"We have a developing situation that requires not
only your department's expertise, but your own as
well."
Ross indicated the Andorian and the civilian. "This
is Commander Grelin, our liaison with Starfleet
Intelligence, and this is Mr. Marshall of the
Diplomatic Corps."
Considering the presence of Grelin and Marshall,
Scotty hardly believed whatever was happening was
going to be a routine matter for the Starfleet Corps of
Engineers, the department he had been appointed to
oversee by Ross himself.
The assignment had come as part thoughtful ges-ture
and part impassioned plea, with the admiral see-ing
a singular opportunity to take advantage of
Scotty's vast experience and unique perspective. After
all, how many other officers could lay claim to having
served aboard Starfleet vessels more than a century
ago?
After his rescue almost eight years before from
the wreck of the U.S.S. Jenolen, where he had been
14
                
suspended in a transporter beam for seventy-five
years, Scotty had flirted with self-pity at being
removed from his friends and loved ones by nearly
a century. It hadn't taken him long, however, to
embrace this new era and all the challenges it pre-sented.
The offer from Ross had come soon after-ward,
but Scotty really hadn't needed an invitation
to return to Starfleet. In his heart, he had never
truly left.
Ross said, "Captain, Starfleet was contacted earlier
this morning by representatives of the Tholian
Assembly. They reported the presence of what
appears to be a derelict Federation starship within
their territorial borders. I don't think I need to tell you
how upset the Tholians are."
It was an understatement, Scotty knew. The
Tholians had always been protective of their region of
space, only rarely allowing foreign vessels to cross
their boundaries. Relations between the Assembly
and the Federation had improved in recent years, but
they were still nowhere near what Scotty would call
"stable."
"This is of great concern to us," Marshall said,
insinuating himself into the conversation in that
manner all diplomats seemed to employ and which
almost always annoyed Scotty to no end. "Just seeing
one of our ships in their space is enough for the
Tholians to declare all-out war."
15
                
"I don't think the situation is that extreme, Mr.
Marshall," Ross countered. "One of the few good
things that came out of the Dominion War was better
diplomatic relations with the Tholians." He didn't
bother to shield the skeptical look on his face as he
added, "At least, that's what we keep hearing from the
Diplomatic Corps."
"Those relations came at a very high price,
Admiral," Marshall said, bristling at Ross's jab. "We
intend to cultivate them, not jeopardize the peace
every time one of your captains steers a ship where it's
not supposed to go."
Ross didn't rise to the baiting. "Sir, Starfleet has not
authorized any vessel to enter Tholian space. This
incident was a complete surprise to us, just as it
should have been. The ship in question hasn't seen
active duty since stardate 5685.5."
The date struck Scotty with the intensity of a phys-ical
blow. All of the puzzle pieces fell into place as the
completed picture became clear to the seasoned engi-neer.
"The Defiant," he said, his voice almost a whisper.
"That's impossible," Grelin blurted, his antennae
twitching noticeably in alarm. "The Defiant is cur-rently
docked at Deep Space Nine. They couldn't pos-sibly
have traveled to Tholian space in such a-"
"Laddie," Scotty said, cutting the Andorian off, "did
they stop teaching history at the Academy altogether,
16
                
or are ye just too accustomed to hearin' five-digit
stardates?" He turned to Ross. "Now I know why I'm
here, sir."
Ross couldn't suppress a smile. "Gentlemen, in
2268 the Constitution-class U.S.S. Defiant was lost
with all hands when it traveled into an interspatial
rift in an area of space subsequently claimed as a ter-ritorial
annex of the Tholian Assembly. According to
the Tholians, the rift reopened two weeks ago, and
the Defiant has been scanned drifting in and out of it
nine times since its initial reappearance. The average
duration of its visibility is three hours and twelve
minutes, though the intervals are by no means con-sistent.
"In more than a century, just one Federation star-ship
has encountered the Defiant since her disappear-ance.
That ship had the only opportunity to learn
what happened to the ship and her crew." Ross indi-cated
Scotty with a gesture. "We're just lucky enough
to have a member of that ship's crew with us today."
Steely blue eyes fixed on the engineer.
"Scotty, do you want another crack at her?"
The Defiant. It was one of many memorable mis-sions
Scotty had been a part of as a crewmember of
the original Enterprise. It also was one of a handful of
mysteries they'd encountered that remained
unsolved. Leaving the Defiant locked in the spatial rift
had never set well with him. The vessel numbered
17
                
among the original Constitution-class starships, and
it was one of two such vessels that Scotty had seen
lost or destroyed during his tenure aboard the
Enterprise.
Three, counting the ol' girl herself, Scotty reminded
himself.
Constitution-class ships held a special place in his
heart, as such a vessel was where Scotty had served
his first tour as chief engineer. The fleet museum con-tained
a Constitution, and he'd traveled there many
times in recent years. He enjoyed walking the decks
or inspecting the bridge and, on rare occasions, treat-ing
himself to the warm familiarity of her engine
room. Her powerful warp engines may have been
silenced long ago, but Scotty could close his eyes and
almost hear their comforting throb of power.
Hoping his voice wouldn't break, he said. "Aye, that
I do, sir."
"Admiral," Commander Grelin said as he leaned
forward in his chair, "what's to say this isn't some kind
of ploy to lure us into a trap?"
By way of reply, Ross thumbed a keypad on the
tabletop that activated the briefing room's main
viewscreen. It promptly displayed an image of the
century-old starship, glowing a fluorescent blue
seemingly from within and winking in and out of sync
with the universe.
"This was relayed to us from one of our Epsilon
18
                
deep space reconnaissance stations that was retasked
to monitor the region," Ross said. "We've no reason to
believe what we're seeing isn't authentic."
Scotty remembered that day, ages ago, when he had
first laid eyes on the missing ship. "Admiral, that's
just what she looked like from the bridge of the
Enterprise."
"This invitation to reclaim the Defiant doesn't come
lightly," Ross said. "The Tholians aren't excited about
a Federation ship working in their space, but they
want this situation resolved before word of the rift
and the ship spreads to every sightseer and salvager in
the quadrant. They're grateful enough for our assis-tance
during the Dominion War that they're allowing
us an escorted attempt to get the Defiant back. We're
going to take it."
Marshall nodded. "We're looking forward to work-ing
with the Tholians in such an atmosphere of coop-eration.
It is an unprecedented endeavor and could do
much to improve our relations with the Assembly. But
know this, gentlemen: I believe the progress we've
made with the Tholians is far more important than
the recovery of some relic that's remembered only by
history buffs."
Diplomats, Scotty huffed to himself. "Mr. Marshall,
I dinna know about all the political ramifications, but
surely ye'd agree that it's important to bring the ship's
crew home for the final respects they deserve."
19
                
Marshall was unmoved. "I don't think it's important
enough to risk war."
Scotty could sense himself falling victim to what he
dubbed the "Robert Fox Syndrome." It was a term
coined by his longtime friend Leonard McCoy and
used to describe a longing desire to launch an insuf-ferable
politician from a photon torpedo tube.
Whereas Scotty might have been tempted to indulge
that inclination in his younger days, age and wisdom
instead told him he would be better off if he simply
returned his attention to Ross.
"Admiral, I'd like to head out there and help with
recovery. No one alive knows the ins and outs of a
Constitution-class ship better than I do."
"If time wasn't an issue, I'd agree," Ross replied.
"But the Tholians aren't a patient people, and they're
already complaining that we're taking too long. Given
the difficulties we're likely to encounter during the
mission, both technical and political, it's vital that
whomever we send to lead this mission be an innova-tive
thinker as well as a level-headed diplomat. There
are two ships with S.C.E. detachments in range of the
Defiant: the Musgrave and the da Vinci. Your opin-ion?"
"I'd send the da Vinci, sir," Scotty said. "Captain
Gold has the temperament to handle the Tholians,
and if anybody can get the Defiant out of that mess,
it's Commander Gomez and her team."
20
                
Ross stood, signaling an end to the meeting. "Very
well. Proceed as you think best, Captain, and keep us
informed."
Walking toward the door, Marshall halted abruptly
and turned on his heel to face Scotty. "Remember,
Captain, that preserving the peace between the
Federation and the Tholians is more important than
a single starship, whether it's the Defiant or the da
Vinci."
Not replying to the diplomat, Scotty instead looked
to Ross. The expression on the admiral's face con-firmed
to the engineer that he, reluctantly, agreed.
21
                
As he absently swirled his drink, watching a wedge
of lime chase stray ice cubes, Kieran Duffy's mind
drifted for what he believed would be the last few
minutes he might grab for himself until their return
to Federation space.
Not that the mess hall of the U.S.S. da Vinci was the
most intimate of hideaways. Crewmembers popped in
and out for a cup of coffee or a bite to eat as if the
place were each person's home kitchen. Everyone
stopping in took a second to be friendly or at least
acknowledge his presence, Duffy noticed. The da
Vinci carried a lot of camaraderie even for a Starfleet
vessel, but Duffy didn't find that surprising. After all,
there were only forty-two people onboard, and most
22
CHAPTER
3
of them numbered among Starfleet's top engineers.
And there goes one of them now, Duffy thought as he
caught sight of the one person for whom he wouldn't
mind breaking from his reverie. Sonya Gomez's form
flashed past the mess hall door, then reappeared as
she back-stepped into the doorway. Her eyes nar-rowed,
then her smile widened a bit.
"I thought that was you," she said as she walked
toward his table. "I wondered why I hadn't seen you
around."
Duffy shrugged. "Not much for me to do yet, really.
Got a minute to sit?"
"I'll take a minute," Gomez replied. "I'm getting a
drink. Need a refill?"
"Thanks," he answered. "It's quinine water, not
so-"
"Not soda water," she finished for him. "Over ice
and with a lime twist. Same vile stuff you have every
time you sneak away to think."
Gomez returned from the replicator moments later
with a clinking glass in one hand and a steaming mug
in the other. She set Duffy's fresh drink before him as
she took the seat across the table, raising her mug in
a quick cheer before sipping from it.
"We all have our vices," Duffy said, smiling at the
smell of Earl Grey tea coming from the mug. "So, are
you ready to, what were the captain's words again?
'Step aboard history'?"
23
                
Gomez snickered, but only good-naturedly. Captain
David Gold was an even-tempered man who rarely
allowed his emotions free rein. But the news that the
da Vinci crew had been assigned to recover the
Defiant had sent the captain into a near fit of excite-ment.
History, mystery, and legend all converged on
the area of space the da Vinci was rapidly approach-ing,
and Gold had made no apologies for wanting to
be the first one there.
"He hasn't been this keyed up for a mission in a
long time, has he?" Gomez asked. "He's acting like an
ensign on his first assignment. But to answer your
question, we're ready. The captain's been at my side
almost every minute since the initial briefing." She
grinned mischievously. "I did manage to shake him,
though."
"And your lucky successor was?"
"Why, Carol, of course. She's got her hands full deal-ing
with our Tholian escorts, but I don't think it's
helping with the captain talking into one ear while
she listens to the Tholians with the other."
As the team's intercultural relations specialist, it fell
to Carol Abramowitz to guide them through the deli-cate
dealings with the Tholian vessel that had greeted
them at the Federation border to escort them through
Tholian space. Things had been touchy at first, with
Captain Gold exercising more care and diplomacy
than was normal even for him. Given the Tholians'
24
                
penchant for requiring utmost precision and adher-ence
to protocol, however, it made sense to enlist
Abramowitz's expertise and greater grasp of Tholian
idiosyncrasies.
"Oh, and I imagine they're a chatty bunch, those
guys," Duffy said. "Maybe I could tell them the one
about the Tholian, the Leyron dabo girl, and the tun-ing
fork?" Noting the lack of amusement in Gomez's
expression, Duffy grinned and took a sip of his drink.
"Uh, maybe not."
"Not retreating into humor now, are we?" she
asked.
"Meaning?"
Gomez stared at him until he met her gaze.
"Meaning are you avoiding thoughts of what we're
supposed to do here?"
"Sonnie, I'm begging you," Duffy deadpanned as he
grasped her free hand, "don't take the mission. How
will I ever explain to the kids why Mommy never
comes home for dinner anymore? You and your dare-devil
plans. You don't see the looks I get from the
other guys at the tongo club every week." He gave her
a grin.
"Ha ha," Gomez said as she took back her hand.
"Pardon me for trying to connect with you."
"Okay, no more wise guy," Duffy said. "What would
you have me say? Of course I've run through all the
scenarios in my head and yes, I'm nervous for you . . .
25
                
for every one of you who are beaming over to the
Defiant during interphase. But whatever works out . . .
here, well, I think we've both been around long
enough to know the risks and costs to our personal
lives."
The admission, uncertain yet heartfelt as it was,
caught Gomez completely off guard. How long had it
been since she and Duffy had talked, really talked,
like this?
Her giggle came from nowhere, and Gomez found
herself abruptly covering her mouth, struggling to
keep her composure from dissolving completely. It
was too late, though, as she saw Duffy's expression
fall.
"Kieran, you're sweet," she said, choosing her
words carefully. "But that wasn't what I meant at all."
Duffy straightened in his chair, the brush-off sting-ing
him almost as much as it used to back on the
Enterprise. Determined to save the moment, he quick-ly
fumbled for a witty retort.
"Oh, well, this has got to be the first time in my life
I've misunderstood a woman's intentions." Was it
enough of a cover?
He should have known better.
"It seems we have a new issue on the table." Gomez
drew a breath only to giggle again, but quickly rallied
to maintain her bearing. "I can't say I haven't missed
this kind of talk with you, but we really don't have
26
                
time to get into this right now. Can we put it in stasis
for the time being?"
"Consider it frozen," he said, almost too quickly.
For now, he added to himself.
The pause in their conversation threatened to
become too long, but then Gomez pressed forward.
"What I wanted to know was how you're planning
for your end of the mission."
Duffy shrugged again and sipped from his glass,
hoping to avoid looking Gomez directly in the eye. He
felt certain that, had she looked hard enough, she
would see through to the doubt he hid within him.
He hoped to sound nonchalant. "Seems pretty cut
and-"
A tone from the da Vinci's communications system
interrupted him, followed by Captain Gold's voice.
"All senior officers and mission specialists to the
briefing room. We're approaching the rendezvous
point."
"You were saying?" Gomez asked as they both rose
from the table and headed out of the mess hall.
"Oh. It seems pretty cut and dried," he finished as
they proceeded down the corridor. "You guys have the
hard part in prepping the Defiant. I'm just minding
the store."
"But that's just it, Kieran." Gomez dropped her
voice, a tone Duffy knew she used when she wanted
his full attention. He obliged, pausing in his step.
27
                
"It's not standard procedure for the captain and me
to be off the ship at the same time. We both know that
the da Vinci's center seat is not where you want to be."
For the second time in their conversation, Duffy
hoped that his wince was more internal than external.
During his time on the da Vinci, Duffy had worked his
way up the chain of command, earning the confi-dence
of Captain Gold to the point of his being rec-ognized
as third in line to the big chair. But that line
had never stretched so far as to put him in command
during an actual S.C.E. mission. Duffy had taken the
conn on a few occasions, his previous one lasting less
than an hour as Captain Gold accompanied Sonya to
a debriefing on Starbase 42. When he was in charge,
Duffy himself had joked, the da Vinci might as well be
on autopilot.
I've never even recorded a captain's log entry.
Duffy shifted on his feet as Gomez's words hung in
the air. Everyone on the da Vinci saw Duffy as a light-hearted
but skilled officer, one who led more by
example than authority. It was an image he had
worked hard to project. He never wanted to be one of
those engineers who thought he knew a ship better
than its captain did. He didn't sit at his station on the
bridge, secretly hoping for a catastrophe or crisis that
might place him in the center seat.
Was his attitude merely avoidance? Or was it fear?
Even he didn't want to plumb for the answers to
28
                
those questions, at least not now, lest he wonder
whether Captain Gold's confidence in his abilities was
warranted.
"You know that I'm in this whole thing for the puz-zle,
Sonnie. I like cracking the nut, coming up with
answers in the nick of time, and doing what I'm told."
He paused to swallow, maybe a bit too hard. "Captain
Gold told me that I'm sitting in command on this end,
so that's what I'm going to do. I'll be fine."
"You don't have to say that for my benefit, Kieran. I
know you will." Gomez reached out to give his hand
a squeeze. "I just want to be sure you know you will."
"The big red button on the chair fires the phasers,
right?" He smiled at her generous laugh, which put
him more at ease. "Thanks, boss."
Gomez dropped his hand and walked toward the
briefing room's door, turning her head just enough so
Duffy could hear her whisper.
"You know, I'm liking the sound of that 'boss' stuff
more and more."
He followed her into the room and saw that, save
one other, the meeting was waiting on them. Then he
felt a small shove against his calf.
"Excuse please, many pardons," P8 Blue said as she
pushed her hard-skinned form almost between his
legs. Skittering in on all eight limbs as she was wont
to do when hurried, the Nasat then shot up to her
hind legs and walked to her specially designed seat at
29
                
the table's end opposite Captain Gold.
"You may begin now," she said to Gold, who
smirked at Duffy and gestured him to the remaining
seat with a nod of his head.
Once everyone was settled, the captain said, "Thank
you all for your efforts these past hours, and for
indulging my hands-on curiosity. I'm sure it's obvious
to you that I've more than a passing interest in our
rescue of the Defiant. Commander Gomez, let me reit-erate
that this is your mission. You have the final say
as to whether I beam over with you or stay here and
direct things on this end."
Duffy almost laughed aloud at the thought of Sonya
actually telling the captain he should sit this one out.
"Sir," Gomez began, "I'm counting on your knowl-edge
of that class of starship to help once we get
there. You're hardly just a sightseer, and I'm going to
put you to work."
"In other words, no putzing around," Gold said,
laughing.
With a final gesture to Gomez, Gold said, "Lead us
through the final check, if you would, Commander."
Gomez turned to glance up and down the table as
she spoke. "Well, we've already covered the historical
and political aspects of this mission with Captain
Scott. Now it's time to get down to the nitty-gritty."
She looked over at P8 Blue. "Pattie, why don't you
bring us up to speed on what we're facing."
30
                
Consulting her padd, the Nasat said, "Everything
we have gathered through long-range scans corrob-orates
the data provided by the Tholians. The
Defiant, for all intents and purposes, exists simulta-neously
within our universe and another. The ship is
drifting in a rift between the two. As it moves in and
out of this rift, it appears to lose molecular cohesion.
Consoles, deck plates, everything on the ship gives
up its physical qualities in one universe to regain
them in the other. We will have to exercise extreme
caution while moving around over there. I cannot be
more precise, as this is as much as I have been able
to determine from the data available to us. Many
pardons."
"That's fine for now, Pattie." Gomez turned her gaze
to the ship's chief medical officer. "Dr. Lense, just
what is this going to do to us physically?"
Elizabeth Lense leaned forward in her chair. "I've
reviewed the medical logs from the Enterprise and
determined that we have two issues to deal with.
First, those of us on the Defiant will get the full expe-rience
of interphase, which is sure to bring on nausea
and dizziness, muscle weakness and slowed response
times to all outside stimuli."
Duffy couldn't help himself. "Sounds like what hap-pened
to me after breakfast."
Ignoring Duffy, Lense did not even give him the sat-isfaction
of an irritated look. "Based on what I
31
                
learned from the Enterprise logs, the humanoids
among us on both ships have an added concern. Our
proximity to the area of interphase puts us at risk for
irregular, paranoid and ultimately psychotic behavior,
something we might as well call space madness."
Lense glanced at Duffy, as if she expected him to
chime in again. He held his tongue as she rose from
the table.
"Dr. McCoy believed it was this condition that killed
the Defiant's crew, but he was able to develop a coun-teragent
to the interphase's effects on his ship, one
that my team has already begun to administer to our
crew." She held up a hypospray. "I can give all of you
your first inoculations now, if that's not an interrup-tion,
Commander."
With Gomez nodding assent, Lense rose from her
chair and walked first to Duffy and placed the
hypospray to his neck.
He leaned to one side and asked, "So what's in this
stuff, Doc?"
Lense grinned slightly, thumbing the hypo before
answering Duffy's hanging question. Through the hiss
of the spray, she said simply, "Theragen."
Duffy's eyes widened in shock and he slapped his
hand to his neck, nearly toppling his chair over in his
haste to scramble to his feet.
"What? That stuff's pure poison!" Basic Starfleet
combat history was rife with accounts of 23rd
32
                
Century Klingon biochemical warfare and their use of
theragen as a nerve gas, one quickly and painfully
deadly to humans. Not an honorable way to fight a
foe, Duffy believed, but times were different then.
Gold laughed aloud, as did Gomez and the others in
the room. "Mr. Duffy, Dr. Lense has assured me that
it's merely a derivative. It's perfectly safe and may
even carry a slight intoxicating effect."
"That's correct," Lense added. Her right eyebrow
rose in an almost Vulcan fashion as she added, "Dr.
McCoy also saw fit to include a recipe for mixing the
counteragent with Scotch, based apparently on field
testing by the ship's engineer, whom we all know, of
course." The doctor's deadpan delivery evoked anoth-er
chorus of laughs from the group.
"Well, if it's good enough for Captain Scott," Duffy
said, "far be it from me to say no to a nip of the hard
stuff, Doc." He tried to laugh it off but his adrenaline
needed another moment to simmer.
As Lense made her way around the others, she
paused at P8 Blue's seat. "Pattie, I want to monitor the
interphase's effects on you before your inoculation. I
don't think the theragen is necessary."
"I will report any irregularities at once, Doctor."
Satisfied with Lense's report, Gomez turned her
attention back to the group. "So those of us headed to
the Defiant are ready. The plan is for Soloman and me
to install a series of portable generators to the
33
                
Defiant's systems, as she's sure to be completely
drained of power. It won't restore full functionality,
but we should be able to activate the maneuvering
thrusters and gain limited control of some shipboard
systems. Pattie will verify the ship's systems to make
sure they can handle the power and prepare ship's
thrusters to help coax us out of the rift, assuming they
will still work.
"Dr. Lense, your job is to keep an eye on us and
gather what data you can on the physiological effects
of the interphase phenomenon." The physician con-firmed
the instructions with a single nod.
"Captain, I need you to get whatever information
you can from the Defiant's logs and pass anything to
me that might help us."
"That's hardly an order, Commander," said Gold
and smiled. "You have no idea how much I want to
hear the answers to our questions about the Defiant in
the words of Captain Blair himself."
She then turned to Duffy. "Commander, what have
you got for me?"
He almost stammered, knowing she playfully chose
those words to catch him off guard before the whole
team. It went a long way toward calming the fresh
wave of butterflies that had formed in his gut.
"I wish I could say we're going to be as busy as your
team. We've modified the da Vinci's tractor beam to
work in conjunction with a molecular stabilizing
34
                
beam emitted from our navigational deflector. The
specs come from Starfleet, and all of our computer
models match what we were told to expect from
them. Captain Scott worked on the calculations him-self,
and he hasn't let us down before. We're good to
go, Commander."
Gomez smiled just enough for him to take it per-sonally,
then turned to the ship's cultural liaison.
"Carol, what's your take on the Tholians at this
point?"
Carol Abramowitz shrugged her shoulders just a
bit as she drew in a breath. "This is my first time
dealing with a Tholian who wasn't a training holo-gram.
My contact on the Tholian ship is curt border-ing
on rude, guarded with information beyond any
specific requests, and quite snippy when I don't
report regularly and precisely according to his
timetable." She shrugged. "In other words, business
as usual."
Gomez stifled a snicker. "We all appreciate your
extreme patience here, Carol. Your role in keeping the
Tholians calm and informed on our actions is as
important as anything any of us will be doing. I might
sug-"
A tone from the comm system silenced Gomez and
Lieutenant Commander Domenica Corsi's voice fol-lowed
it from the speakers.
"Captain Gold? This is ahead of schedule, but we're
35
                
in visual range of the rendezvous point."
Gold answered, "We're on our way." Duffy turned to
catch the captain's eyes widening and a hint of a grin
creeping across his mouth.
Duffy was one of the first to step onto the bridge,
only to stop in his tracks and fixate on the da Vinci's
main viewer. A pair of hands on his shoulders guided
him to one side and without looking he could tell the
touch was Sonya's. At any other time he might have
reacted or commented on her touch, but his attention
was riveted to the viewscreen and the captivating
image cast upon it.
The area of torn space itself was unremarkable,
unless one stopped to notice that no stars shone
there. What seized Duffy was the shimmering lines
and apparition-like form of the starship drifting with-in
the rift, hanging askew in relation to the da Vinci,
with the top of its primary hull flat enough to clearly
read the dead ship's name and registry number: U.S.S.
Defiant, NCC-1764.
The low number bespoke the antiquated status the
vessel held, Duffy knew. Here was a vision straight out
of history, a physical manifestation of the challenges
and adventures that had more than likely inspired
every member of the da Vinci's crew to enter Starfleet
and see what mysteries the universe held for them-selves.
The electric-blue glow infusing the century-old star-36
                
ship bathed the da Vinci's bridge and the dozen or so
people gathered there. As they watched, the Defiant
continued to fade and solidify, winking in and out of
existence.
As far as this universe is concerned, thought Duffy,
the Defiant is both real and unreal.
"Sensor scans are inconclusive," Corsi said as she
vacated the command chair, "but readings indicate
she hasn't been there too long. We can't confirm any
power sources or atmosphere." She directed a wry
smile toward Gomez. "I'd watch my step if I were you,
Commander."
"Away team, to the transporter room," Gold said.
"It's time to go to work. Mr. Duffy, you have the conn.
Take care of my ship."
The order from Captain Gold raised a chill on
Duffy's skin, but one fueled by responsibility, not
alarm. His attention turned to Gomez as she and the
others moved toward the turbolift. His eyes found
hers as she smiled just a bit and held his gaze.
Just for her, Duffy puffed out his chest and winked.
As the doors closed, Duffy blew out a long breath.
For better or worse, the bridge was his.
37
                
As the transporter beam released her, Sonya Gomez
experienced a momentary feeling of weightlessness
before the magnetic locks of her boots pulled her
back to the deck.
"No gravity," she said, confirming her suspicions
that many of the Defiant's systems would be off-line or
without power. That was to be expected, of course.
Not even considering that the ship had been out here
for over a century, log reports from the Enterprise had
described the draining effects of the rift on their own
power systems. It made sense that after so many
years, the unprotected Defiant would have ultimately
succumbed to the influence of spatial interphase.
The only illumination in the engineering section
38
CHAPTER
4
was that provided by the helmets of the five away-team
members' environment suits. As powerful as
they were, the lamps didn't do enough to drive away
the enveloping darkness of the large chamber for
Gomez's taste. Dust and dirt floated all around them,
free from the restraint of gravity. It gave the room a
murky feel that Gomez likened to disturbed silt on an
ocean floor.
"What was that?" Gold called out, detecting move-ment
from the corner of his eye and jerking around in
response. As his helmet lamp shone on the source of
the movement, he felt bile rise in his throat.
Drifting unencumbered in the open space of the
cavernous chamber was a skeleton, what Gold pre-sumed
to be the remains of a Defiant engineer. It still
wore the black pants and red shirt common to engi-neering
and security personnel on Federation star-ships
in the 2260's, though the boots that completed
the uniform had fallen away from the skeleton's feet.
No doubt they were still floating elsewhere about the
room.
"Oh my God," the captain whispered.
"Captain, there's something else," Lense added, her
tricorder beeping in her hand. "The majority of what
we see floating around us isn't dirt or dust. It's what's
left of the decomposed bodies of the people who died
in this compartment. I'm picking up similar readings
throughout the ship."
39
                
Gomez shuddered at the thought of maneuvering
through the interior of this dead ship, the remains of
its crew floating all about her, stepping through it and
having it settle on her suit as she walked. She had pre-pared
herself to deal with looking at the bodies of
dead crewmen during the mission, even decomposed
ones. This unanticipated twist, however, made an
already tense and depressing situation even more
morose.
Perhaps sensing the pall that had been cast over the
room by their discovery, Gold said, "If we weren't sure
why we came here, then we should be now." He indi-cated
the drifting skeleton. "If nothing else, our job is
to make sure that these men and women finally get to
go home."
"Only trace amounts of oxygen in the atmosphere,"
Gomez said as she consulted her tricorder. "We won't
be able to work without our suits if we can't restore
life support."
Gold nodded. "The ship's been out here a long time,
so there's no telling what long-term effects the rift had
on her. Plus, we don't know what she's been exposed
to on the other side of the rift."
"Perhaps the ship's computer . . . recorded data
received by automatic sensors before power . . . was
lost," Soloman said. Formerly known as 110, the
Bynar had changed his name after finally coming to
terms with the tragic loss of his mate, 111, during an
40
                
earlier mission.
110 had wrestled with the question of whether or
not to return to his home planet and seek out anoth-er
mate, but had finally decided against it. No other
would ever be able to replace the one with whom he
had shared so much. So rather than do something
that would, in his eyes at least, diminish the memory
of his life's love, 110 elected to remain with the da
Vinci. But a Bynar without a mate was not a normal
occurrence and by remaining unbonded, the use of
his designation would not have been proper. 110
therefore decided that a new mode of address was
needed. Captain Gold had inadvertently provided that
by referring to the Bynar's unique status as a "solo
man."
"We'll have time to examine the computer records
later," Gomez said. "But first we have to get some
power back into this old girl." She activated her suit's
communicator. "Gomez to da Vinci."
"Da Vinci. Duffy here."
"Kieran, everything's clear here. Send over our
equipment."
"Aye, aye, Commander. Stand by."
A few seconds passed before transporter energy
flared into existence and a group of cargo containers
materialized. Equipped with magnetic locks, each
crate remained on the deck instead of floating freely.
In addition to the collection of tools and instruments
41
                
she had insisted on for the mission, Gomez's expres-sion
brightened at the sight of the five portable gen-erators.
"How did you manage the fifth one?" she asked
Duffy. She could almost hear the smile coming over
the comm circuit as he replied.
"Hey, an engineer isn't supposed to reveal all of his
secrets. At least, that's what Captain Scott always
says."
When Duffy had asked about her equipment needs
for the away team, Gomez had decided that four of
the generators would probably be sufficient for their
plans, but five would be better. It had been necessary
to outfit each of the devices with special shielding to
protect them from the detrimental effects of the rift, a
time-consuming procedure. That Duffy had expended
the extra effort to prepare a fifth generator, especially
with the limited amount of time he'd had to complete
his original tasks, pleased Gomez to no end. She was
thankful to have the added cushion, just in case.
"Well, thanks just the same. Dinner's on me when
we get back. Gomez out."
As she severed the connection, Gomez noticed P8
Blue studying her tricorder, a frown creasing her face.
"Pattie, is something wrong?"
Looking up, the Nasat replied, "I have detected an
anomalous reading. It appears to be a shielded power
source. The indication is very faint, but it is there."
42
                
"Where is it?" Gomez asked.
"Deck 20, portside cargo hold."
Frowning, Gold said, "Odd place for a power read-ing
on an otherwise dead ship. Why didn't we detect
it from the da Vinci?"
Gomez turned so that her helmet lamps cast illumi-nation
past the heavy mesh grating separating the
main engineering deck from the ship's massive
impulse engines. She found it an odd sensation to
stand in the heart of a starship and not hear the com-forting
hum and feel the pulse of the vessel's engines.
The silence only seemed to strengthen the aura of
death surrounding her.
"The rift might be acting as a kind of dampening
field," she said. "The Enterprise logs detail how they
were unable to get worthwhile sensor readings, also."
She turned to Pattie. "You didn't find other power
sources anywhere on the ship?"
The Nasat shook her head. "I am sorry, no. The
warp core is completely inert and will require a cold
restart to bring it back on line."
"No, thank you," Gomez countered. "After a hun-dred
years, I'm not doing anything with those engines
until they've been thoroughly checked out, preferably
by a starbase dry-dock crew. Our first order of busi-ness
is restoring partial power, enough to maneuver
us out of the rift. We'll also try to get enough power to
the main computer and access the databanks con-43
                
taining log entries."
"The best place to accomplish that is the science
officer's library computer station on the main bridge,"
Gold said. "I can have Mr. Duffy transmit the Defiant's
prefix code from the Starfleet tactical database and
give me direct access to the whole shmeer."
Gomez wasn't sure who had come up with the idea
behind the prefix code, which allowed a ship com-mander
to assume remote control of another starship
by establishing a link between the vessels' computers.
It had proven to be a tactical advantage on certain
isolated occasions, she knew, but she was convinced
it provided a much greater use for engineers, espe-cially
those sent into an abandoned or derelict ship
such as the Defiant had unfortunately become. Once
the code gave Captain Gold access to the ship's main
computer, he would be able to retrieve anything con-tained
within its vast memory banks, including
secured sections containing Captain Blair's personal
log.
"But you'll have to get there the hard way, sir,"
Gomez told Gold. "I won't be able to spare enough
power to access the turbolift control network." She
looked around the immense engineering chamber.
"They built these old Constitutions tough enough, but
their original duotronic systems were never intended
for exclusive automation."
"Dr. Richard Daystrom did attempt to . . . rectify
44
                
that shortcoming," Soloman said, "but his multitron-ic
computer project was . . . a failure."
"That's certainly an understatement," Gold replied.
He remembered reading how Daystrom's lauded
attempt to follow up his revolutionary duotronic
computer systems had ended in fiery tragedy. During
an experiment in which the original Enterprise had
been outfitted with Daystrom's prototype multitronic
system, the M-5, the new computer had experienced
massive malfunction. After locking the Enterprise
crew out of the ship's critical systems, M-5 took the
vessel on a murderous rampage. It had ended with
the near destruction of four other Constitution-class
starships and the deaths of nearly a thousand
Starfleet personnel.
"Well, we're not out to automate the Defiant,"
Gomez said. "We just want to be able to generate
enough thrust to help the da Vinci pull us out of the
rift, if necessary. Besides, I don't like the idea of not
being able to move under our own power if the need
arises."
She turned back to P8 Blue. "Pattie, I want you to
check out that power reading on Deck 20. Take Dr.
Lense with you."
Lense looked up at that. "Commander, I was hoping
to investigate sickbay and see if the ship's doctor
recorded any useful information about the physiolog-ical
effects of interphase on the crew."
45
                
Shaking her head, Gomez replied, "I haven't forgot-ten
about you, Doctor, but I'd rather not have Pattie
roaming the ship alone until you're certain the rift
won't have any adverse effects on her. Besides, any-thing
the Defiant's doctor recorded will be accessible
from the bridge."
Having stepped away from the team to consult his
tricorder, which Duffy had prepared by downloading
the technical schematics of the Defiant into it, Gold
looked up and asked, "All the way from engineering to
the bridge by way of the Jefferies tubes?" The smile he
directed to Lense was good-natured enough, though.
"Oy, I guess I should have seen that one coming. Well,
at any rate, the good doctor here will be thrilled to see
me get my week's exercise quotient during this mis-sion."
* * *
The access panel opened with minimal effort on his
part, swinging away to be swallowed by the darkness
beyond the hole it revealed. David Gold directed the
illumination from his helmet lamps through the
opening, becoming the first person in over a century
to gaze on the abandoned bridge of the U.S.S. Defiant.
He'd toured the Constitution-class starship that was
interred at the Fleet Museum several times, of course.
With its display placards and directional signs to
guide visitors, however, the vessel on exhibit had
seemed to be exactly that; an elegant mock-up rather
46
                
than a functional ship of the line. This was different,
much different.
The consoles, the turbolift doors, the railing sur-rounding
the command well, everything was infused
with bright colors that were only slightly diminished
by the layer of dust covering everything. It was a strik-ing
contrast to the bridge of the da Vinci and other
ships on which he had served. By current Federation
standards, the Defiant's systems were hopelessly out-dated,
but Gold could see in the archaic equipment
how the various systems had evolved over the centu-ry
separating this ship from her modern-day descen-dants.
He could almost feel the history of the era from
which this vessel hailed wash over him.
"Gold to Gomez," he said as he activated his com-municator.
"I've made it to the bridge. What's the sta-tus
on power?"
"Almost there, Captain," Gomez said over the con-nection.
"Soloman should have the main computer on
line a few minutes after that."
"Excellent," the captain said as he stepped from the
access crawlway onto the starboard side of the upper
deck next to the main viewscreen. His boots made a
satisfying clank as their magnetic seals attached him
to the deck.
As with engineering, thick dust hung in the air. At
least, that's how Gold preferred to think of it. The
bridge appeared deserted, but he knew better. He'd
47
                
read the reports filed by Captain Kirk on their inves-tigation
of the Defiant and so was prepared when his
light fell on the two skeletal bodies floating near the
bridge's far bulkhead.
Gold figured the skeleton swathed in the gold shirt
was the decomposed body of the ship's commander,
Captain Blair, the golden braids on the sleeves of the
dust-coated, century-old uniform shirt providing the
only hint. The other skeleton wore a red shirt, with no
other clues to its wearer's identity.
Gold idly wondered where the rest of the bridge
crew might have gone. Did they abandon their posts
while in the grips of the madness brought on by the
interphase phenomenon? Were they lying some-where,
their fallen bodies bearing silent witness to the
carnage that had eventually overtaken the rest of the
crew? Gold was surprised to feel himself shiver at the
thought.
And then he nearly had a heart attack when the
lights came on.
"Gottenyu!" The exclamation burst from his lips as
the overhead lighting snapped on and consoles all
across the room began their various start-up
sequences. True to her word, Gomez had restored
power to the bridge. Life flowed through the Defiant's
nerve center once more.
"Gomez to Captain Gold," the engineer's voice
sounded in his helmet. "You should have power
48
                
restored up there."
Gold sighed as he chuckled to himself. "Thank you,
Commander. Now I just need a moment to get my
own power source restarted."
"In a few more minutes I'll have life support
restored to that deck, Captain," Gomez said. "It'll
make working up there easier and allow us to con-serve
the oxygen supplies in our suits."
Taking another look at the bodies of Captain Blair
and the unknown crewman hovering in the absence
of gravity, Gold's expression sobered, though there
was no one around to see it. The restoration of the
Defiant's normal atmosphere was sure to have a debil-itating
effect on any decomposed remains exposed to
it.
"Stand fast on that for the moment, Commander,
and send Soloman up to the bridge at his earliest
opportunity. We have one task to complete before we
get started."
The mission, Gold decided, could wait. Captain
Blair and his crew deserved at least that much.
49
                
Deep in the bowels of the Defiant, Dr. Lense and P8
Blue succeeded in forcing open the reinforced double
hatch. Unlike most of the other doors they had
encountered on their journey from the ship's engi-neering
section, this one had proven more difficult to
get past. That wasn't surprising, considering its dou-ble
thickness and magnetic seal designed to hold even
in the event of a ship-wide power loss.
It was also heavy.
"That's some door," Lense said, accentuating the
fact.
"It has to be," Pattie replied as she retrieved the
manual opener from the surface of the door. "In the
event of an explosive decompression in the cargo bay,
50
CHAPTER
5
this door is the only thing separating the rest of the
ship from vacuum. This class of ship was in service
long before automatic safety forcefields became com-mon.
They are strong, but not too strong for us." She
hefted the door opener one last time before returning
it to its carrying pouch on her belt. Normally used in
emergency situations, the device was also one of the
many helpful implements employed by engineers on
starships to carry out their normal range of duties. It
was a standard component of every S.C.E. team
member's tool kit.
"Lense to away team," the doctor said into her
communicator. "We have arrived at the cargo bay."
"Understood," Gomez replied. "Be careful in
there. There's nothing that says a hatch or two can't
fail unexpectedly if the ship is tossed around by the
rift."
Lense directed a questioning look at Pattie, who
shrugged in reply. "It has been known to occur on
derelict vessels."
"Wonderful," the doctor sighed. "Let's just get this
over with."
As with the rest of the ship that they had traversed
so far, this area of the Defiant was devoid of any
appreciable atmosphere and was wrapped in dark-ness.
Getting here from engineering hadn't been the
most pleasant of journeys, either, as they had been
forced to walk past more skeletal remains of
51
                
crewmembers drifting in the zero gravity as well as
the particles and residue saturating the air. Though
Lense was a physician and used to seeing bodies in all
manner of decomposition, she would be more than
happy to return to the da Vinci and its quite living
crew.
The pair swept the immense chamber with their
helmet lamps, chasing the black away as the illumi-nation
shone across the bizarre sight of cargo con-tainers
drifting freely about the chamber. Dust lit-tered
the air as well, further hampering their vision,
and in some instances the grime covered shipping
labels and other markings on various containers.
Pattie's eyes widened as one reading on her tri-corder
changed. "I have located the anomalous power
source." She pointed off into the depths of the cargo
bay. "That way."
With Lense following, Pattie stepped cautiously
into the hold, her attention riveted on the information
being relayed by her tricorder as the pair continued
past containers and other equipment. While some of
it was still strapped to the deck or fastened to storage
shelves, the majority of the room's contents floated
about the room free of any restraint.
Inspecting the label on one container, Lense shook
her head. "This one is full of replacement components
for computer workstations." She pointed to another.
"That one has parts for engineering control systems.
52
                
This stuff could fill a museum exhibit."
"Perhaps it will, one day," Pattie said as she contin-ued
to consult her tricorder. "Starfleet may see fit to
honor the Defiant's crew by interring the ship in the
Fleet Museum as part of a memorial. Such an action
would seem appropriate." She turned a corner and
headed toward the bay's far bulkhead. Moving in and
around more drifting containers and components, the
insect-like engineering specialist abruptly stopped.
"This is it," she said simply. It was an understate-ment.
Unlike the drab gray square and rectangular con-tainers
dominating the rest of the cargo hold, the
object Pattie and Lense now beheld was octagonal in
shape and painted in a dark black that shone through
the thick dust covering it. Pattie guessed that the
object was half again as long as a Starfleet standard
quantum torpedo tube while being nearly twice as
wide. Secured to the deck with restraining bands, the
item sat atop a suite of six stocky legs. Bending down
near one end of the squat device, Pattie waved her tri-corder
over one of the legs.
"Soil residue," she said as she examined the unit's
readings. "Whatever it is, it was intended for use on
the surface of a planet or moon."
Lense wiped dust from the surface of the object,
looking for some clue to its origin or purpose. "There
doesn't seem to be any external markings. Do you
53
                
have any idea what it might be?"
"Components of this device look similar to technol-ogy
possessed by the Tholians," Pattie said. "Or at
least the configurations carry basic Tholian tenets of
design." She pointed to one of the object's eight side
panels. "These appear to be energy emitters of some
kind." She shook her head. "It is remarkable that its
power cell is still functioning after all this time, and
despite the debilitating effects of the rift. We may be
able to learn something useful about the protective
aspects of its internal shielding."
Lense frowned as she studied the squat device. "No
means of propulsion, nothing that appears to be a
weapon. What could it be?"
For that, Pattie had no answer. Lense mentally filed
their exchange among her reminders as to why she
preferred medical science to engineering: At least her
patients could assist in their own diagnoses.
* * *
Sitting at the engineering station on the bridge of
the Defiant, Sonya Gomez couldn't deny the feeling
that she'd stepped backward into history.
As she ran her hands along the glossy black console
and let her fingers trace over the rows of multicolored
buttons, she realized how Captain Gold had been
enamored with the idea of boarding this vessel. The
sensation had begun to assert itself earlier, down in
the engineering section, but it was nothing compared
54
                
to what she had felt when she set foot on the bridge.
Her trained eyes had inspected every station, every
control, and come away impressed. The design of the
Defiant's nerve center, like many of the systems she'd
seen so far on the ship, were ones that held up sur-prisingly
well despite the gap in technology they rep-resented.
She had been very satisfied with what she
had found in engineering.
"So you're saying she'll hold together?" Gold asked,
a childlike grin dominating his features.
Gomez nodded. "Most definitely, sir. The maneu-vering
thrusters are operating well within acceptable
parameters, even though they've been out of commis-sion
for a century. It'll be more than enough to help
the da Vinci pull us out if necessary. They certainly
knew how to build these old ships."
In addition to restoring power to the thrusters,
Gomez had also returned power and life support to
the bridge, allowing the away team to remove their
environment-suit helmets. Of course, Gold had let her
activate the automatic air scrubbers first, while he
and Soloman had taken the time to remove the
remains of Captain Blair and the unknown crewman
he had found on the bridge. Gomez for one had been
thankful for that. During the time it had taken her
and Soloman to install the generators, they had
encountered more skeletons of the engineering crew.
The ghastly sight had begun to unnerve her more
55
                
than she wanted to admit.
"Captain," Soloman said from where he sat at the
science station, "I have obtained access . . . to the
ship's main computer. We now have access to the
entire data storage network, including the . . . cap-tain's
logs."
"Excellent," Gold replied. "Maybe now we can final-ly
find out what happened to this ship. See if you can
find anything in the logs about the rift." He paused
for a moment before adding, "Or Tholians, while
you're at it." Noticing Gomez's questioning look, the
captain shrugged. "A hunch."
She turned to watch Soloman set to his task. Bynars
as a race interacted with computers as easily as
humans conversed with one another. On their home
planet, the central computer system was highly
regarded throughout the Federation as one of the
pinnacles of information processing capability. Like
others of his species, Soloman was used to computers
possessing far greater power and speed than those of
a century-old starship.
Despite his best efforts, however, Soloman was still
adjusting to working as a lone entity, rather than
being able to divide responsibilities with his bond-mate.
In the weeks following 111's tragic death,
Soloman had at times found himself confused, hesi-tant,
even resistant to the idea of working alone. Tasks
once regarded as routine while working in tandem
56
                
with 111 suddenly seemed insurmountable. Gomez
knew that it had taken no small amount of courage to
rise to the challenge of continuing on without 111's
support. That was one of the things she admired
about the Bynar.
She also wondered idly if Soloman would experi-ence
any additional frustration at being forced to deal
with the Defiant's antiquated equipment. The com-mander
couldn't suppress a smile at the image of the
Bynar throwing up his hands in exasperation and
loudly announcing his refusal to work under such
intolerable conditions.
Soloman did no such thing, of course. Instead, he
turned back to Gold after only a few moments of
scanning the Defiant's computer records.
"Captain, I believe I have found . . . what we are
looking for." He keyed a series of controls and was
rewarded with the main viewer's activation. The
image on the screen coalesced into the figure of a
human male who Gold recognized as Captain
Thomas Blair.
"Captain's log: stardate 5684.7. Sensors have detected
a trio of Tholian vessels on an intercept course. We can
outrun them, but long-range scans indicate other ships
in the region. We are plotting an evasive course to get us
back to Federation space. The area we're traveling
through is uncharted, but sensors have detected noth-ing
that might present a threat to the ship."
57
                
"Little did he know what he would find," Gold said
as the image froze.
Gomez nodded knowingly. "Our sensors have trou-ble
detecting the rift, and we have better equipment
and know what to look for. The Defiant never had a
chance." She could almost feel her blood chill as she
regarded the image of Captain Blair. After studying
the man's service record during the journey here,
Gold had mentioned that Blair had been about fifty
standard Earth years old at the time of his command.
But the log entry made the Defiant captain look older
still.
From the science station, Soloman said, "Captain,
there is more."
"Let's have the whole megillah, then," Gold replied.
After a brief pause, the image of Captain Blair reap-peared.
"Captain's log: supplemental. The ship has come into
contact with an unidentified phenomenon unlike any-thing
on record. Science Officer Nyn believes it to be
some kind of interdimensional corridor that may actu-ally
connect our universe with a completely different
one. In addition to affecting our onboard power sys-tems,
Dr. Hamilton reports that members of the crew
are being struck with what she describes as a frantic
paranoia. Her medical scans show that in all of the vic-tims,
an area of the brain has been affected in a similar
fashion. She hasn't isolated the cause yet, but the
58
                
attacks didn't start until we entered this rift. We need to
leave this place, but our sensors can't seem to detect an
exit from this hole in space we've fallen into."
In the next entry, Gold and the others could now
clearly see the exhaustion and near panic on Blair's
face.
"The incidents of unrest are escalating, both in num-ber
and violence. Four crewmen have been killed and
Dr. Hamilton was severely injured when she was
attacked by one of her own nurses. Without her help, I
don't think we'll be able to find a cure for whatever is
affecting the crew. Science Officer Nyn is unable to find
a way out of this rift. We have been pulled into and out
of our universe on three separate occasions, but in each
instance we were unable to break free from whatever is
holding us here. Nyn has a plan to-"
On the screen, a crewman wearing a red shirt sud-denly
lurched into the picture, his hands lunging for
Blair's throat. The captain bolted from his chair to
parry the attack, but the crewman had the advantage
in both speed and strength.
"Oh my God," Gomez breathed. Like Gold and
Soloman, she too was transfixed by what quickly
became mortal combat on the viewscreen, with
Captain Blair fighting futilely against the onslaught of
the obviously crazed crewman. None of the away
team could bring themselves to speak another word
as the struggle continued onscreen.
59
                
Finally, Captain Thomas Blair succumbed to the
greater strength of his opponent, his body sagging in
defeat before he and the crewman fell out of view. The
log entry continued to play, the only thing discernible
being the unpleasant sounds of struggle continuing
out of range of the log recorder's visual pickup. That
only lasted for a few moments, though, before it mer-cifully
ended.
Soloman was the first to speak, his voice quiet and
tentative. "They never had a chance . . . trapped in the
rift as they were. What a tragedy."
"That explains why Starfleet never learned what
happened to the Defiant," Gomez said. "First they
were hiding from the Tholians, probably maintaining
communications silence. Then they fell into the rift
with no hope of getting a signal out. And the
Enterprise never had the chance to review the cap-tain's
logs." She paused momentarily, gathering her
composure when she realized how profoundly the
images on the viewer had affected her.
"What a terrible way to die."
Gold nodded. "Well, we mustn't let our emotions get
the better of us. There will be plenty of time later to
answer all the questions the Defiant and her crew
have left us. For now the best thing to do is to con-centrate
on getting the old girl out of this mess and
heading home."
Gomez agreed, upset with herself at allowing what
60
                
they had encountered to bother her. It wasn't normal
for her to react in such a manner to the unexpected or
the unpleasant. Why should now be any different?
Her attention was drawn to the chirping sound of
their suit communicators and the voice of P8 Blue.
"Captain Gold, we have found the source of the
power readings," the Nasat said. "I think you will find
this to be most interesting."
Gold couldn't help a small smile as he replied.
"What on this ship isn't?"
61
                
Despite the reports from the Enterprise and from his
own colleagues-reports of lunacy and bloodshed
that he supplemented with horrific images in his own
mind-Duffy could not look upon the Defiant as a
dead ship anymore.
His eyes surveyed the century-old starship's glowing
image on the da Vinci's main viewer. Hanging silently
in space, the all but powerless craft shimmered in its
eerie blue shroud, more of a specter than a starship.
Duffy propped himself against the bridge railing,
vaguely recalling stories of ancient sailors on Earth's
seas and their reports of phantom schooners sailing
not on the waves but in the skies. Had more people
the same opportunity to view this hapless ship as did
62
CHAPTER
6
he and the da Vinci's crew, he thought, the Defiant
surely would become the stuff of legend.
But the surreal ship now housed very real members
of his own crew, whose mission was to restore life to
the Defiant. At least, they were to restore enough of it
to allow his team to pluck the ship from more than a
century of interspatial limbo.
If nothing else, we'll bring home some answers to
questions that have baffled Starfleet officers for decades,
including Captain Gold.
As he thought of his captain, Duffy swung his
glance to the empty command chair in the center of
the da Vinci's bridge. Technically in command of the
vessel for almost three hours, Duffy still had not
brought himself to sit in that chair. When he wasn't
working, he lingered around it, appraising it as he
used to size up the antique sofa in his grandmother's
home as a child. Every holiday, his family would take
the shuttle to Denver for a big meal and overnight
stay. During each visit Duffy would find a way to
sneak into the sitting room and plop down on that
rickety sofa when no one was looking, just to know
that he did it. Duffy smiled to himself as he eyed the
seat cushion of the captain's chair. His little game
dulled some of the tension in his mind.
Hey, Grandma, take a look at little Kieran now, he
thought as he sauntered over to the chair, turned
around, bent his knees and-
63
                
"Mr. Duffy," called Fabian Stevens from one of the
science stations at the rear of the bridge. "I've got the
latest structural integrity readings from Commander
Gomez if you want to see how they fit the models."
Duffy's rear hung over the seat for a moment before
he straightened and wondered if Grandma had been
watching after all.
Fabian Stevens was the one crewman on the da
Vinci who Duffy had the most fun with, whether it
was knocking back a synthebeer in the mess hall or
puzzling out the answer to a technical problem.
Stevens struck Duffy as, for lack of a better term, the
most regular guy on board. He had also confided to
Duffy his own personal interest in this mission as the
da Vinci sped through Tholian space.
The tactical expert's assignment previous to S.C.E.
had been to Deep Space Nine and its attending star-ship,
which bore the same class designation and
name of the very ship they intended to salvage. Upon
receiving that posting, Stevens had studied with keen
interest the logs and history of the original Defiant
and had been caught up in the mystery and tragedy
surrounding the vessel's loss. As an engineer, he rel-ished
the idea of applying his technical prowess and
that of his fellow teammates to retrieve the fabled
ship and finally bring her home.
Stevens likened their mission to the ongoing
effort by Lieutenant Reginald Barclay and the
64
                
Pathfinder project to contact the U.S.S. Voyager,
stranded in the Delta Quadrant with her crew
valiantly trying to get home. While the stakes for
this mission certainly weren't on the same level,
Fabian Stevens felt as strongly about this mission as
Barclay had about bringing the Voyager's crew home
safely.
As he made his way toward the science station,
Duffy decided to put Stevens's question back on him.
"Well, how do things look to you?"
"How technical do you want to get, Duff?" Stevens
grinned. He tapped several commands into his con-sole
to bring up a graph with a series of fluctuating
bars. "We've finished our modifications to the deflec-tor
dish, and with even a low-strength infusion from
the beam, we should have a nice stable area of the
Defiant's hull to latch onto with the tractor beam."
Stevens tapped once more and the bar graph dis-solved.
"Curse me for being overconfident, Duff, but
this ought to go pretty smoothly."
Duffy nodded to Stevens and smiled, shrouding his
sincere hope for a trouble-free mission in a quip.
"Smoothly? That would be a refreshing change." As
he turned away from the science station, he became
aware that he was the object of someone's attention,
and that someone wasn't happy.
Of course, I'd have to consult a calendar to figure out
the last time ol' Core Breach was happy, Duffy joked to
65
                
himself as he turned his attention to the da Vinci's
security chief, Domenica Corsi.
"Concerns, Commander?"
Corsi maintained her stiff stance near the securi-ty
console, moving no muscle except those needed
to deepen her frown. Duffy decided to meet her
there rather than forcing her to call across the
bridge; that would be the more "captainly" way to
handle it. As he took one step toward her, however,
Corsi made it clear she wasn't above raising her
voice.
"You seem pretty relaxed, Commander Duffy."
He hustled his step to meet Corsi, hoping his prox-imity
might prompt her to tone down. "I want every-one
to relax, Corsi, including you. Okay, mostly just
you." He decided to add a smile in order to ease the
remark's effect.
Unfazed, she replied, "Never mind that we're in
hostile space with a Tholian ship off our bow. You
don't even have our shields up or our weapons
charged."
"That's at Carol's and Captain Gold's recommenda-tions,"
he countered. "We do that, and the Tholians
will be sure to get curious. And just what would we
say in response? That we're nervous?"
"You know it's against regulations." As if sensing
her own breach of protocol, Corsi lowered her voice.
"I want people to be prepared on the bridge, not calm
66
                
and folksy as you would have them."
Bristling at the implied criticism, Duffy snapped
back, "Tell you what, Commander-next time, you
can sit in the big boy's chair."
He caught himself, his ears ringing with reminders
of Sonya's advice against getting baited by Corsi. On
the surface, the crew almost universally saw the secu-rity
chief as a hard-nosed stickler for protocol and
procedure. But, as Sonya said, a person such as Corsi
was never bad for a captain to have at his or her dis-posal.
Duffy knew that in a pinch, he could turn to
Corsi for advice and that he could count on her to act
quickly and correctly.
And one thing he did not want now was her notic-ing
his unease with command.
"Wait a minute," Duffy said and stalled. "That was
uncalled for." He tried another smile, holding his
hands out in supplication. "Listen, I'll toe the com-mand
line if you remind me of regulation breaches
later, okay?" Corsi nodded, seemingly placated for
the moment, and Duffy again noted one of the rea-sons
that he would never pine away for the center
seat.
It's not a starship that a captain has to manage so
much, he reminded himself. It's her crew.
A hail from the Defiant pricked up Duffy's ears. The
voice was Sonya's and she was just whom he wanted
to hear, if only as a mental pick-me-up.
67
                
"Defiant to da Vinci. Commander Duffy? We're
ready on this end."
Duffy smiled. "And ahead of the Tholians schedule
by, oh, twelve minutes and change. They ought to
appreciate your efforts, Commander."
He looked in the direction of Carol Abramowitz,
who was seated at the communications console. As a
cultural specialist, she was pretty used to the post
although it wasn't her usual one. Duffy had seen her
talk the crew's way through plenty of encounters
before; Carol's background made her the perfect
blending of a diplomat and a crewperson with
Starfleet training at heart.
"Carol, alert the Tholian commander that we'll be
starting our operation momentarily," Duffy said, sti-fling
a more natural urge to phrase things as requests
rather than orders.
She nodded and tapped the console before her.
"Commander Nostrene, this is the da Vinci. I know
this is-"
"You are twelve minutes and eleven seconds prema-ture
for your next scheduled communication," came a
reply in a synthesized voice that Duffy recognized as
the echoing timbre assigned by the computer to all
Tholian communications. He'd had plenty of oppor-tunities
to hear the native tongues of races across the
Alpha Quadrant: the guttural barking of Klingon, the
almost lyrical qualities of Vulcan and Romulan, and
68
                
the clicks and grunts peppering High Tellarite that
almost always made him chuckle. But he had never
heard the actual sounds of the Tholian language.
Sonya once likened it to the screech of a tritanium
blade on glass.
"Yes, Commander, but forgive our haste as we need
to inform you that we are ready to begin the salvage
operation," Abramowitz said in an even, almost
apologetic tone. "Our away team is prepared, and we
know that time is of the essence for you and the
Assembly."
"Understood," replied the computer voice that
Duffy assumed was Nostrene. He figured the Tholian
commander must have drawn this plum assignment
from his higher-ups through to the bitter end, as
Nostrene's name was attached to the Tholian reports
passed through Starfleet Intelligence to the da Vinci.
Nostrene's ship had been the first Tholian vessel on
the scene of the rift's reopening and the Defiant's reap-pearance.
"Just to remind you, Commander," Abramowitz
said, "we expect this to be a routine maneuver. We
will project a pair of beams from the da Vinci. A nar-row,
bluish one will be our tractor beam and will
come from the front of our ship. The wider, yellowish
beam that will stabilize the molecular integrity of the
trapped ship will come from our deflector dish.
Neither beam will affect your ship. With any luck,
69
                
we'll need just a few minutes to pull the Defiant free.
Then we'll be on our way."
"Proceed," was all Nostrene said before cutting the
channel.
Duffy exchanged an amused look with the cultural
liaison. "I'm really going to miss these stimulating
conversations when this is all over." He was about to
order Stevens to begin when his commbadge chirped,
startling him from speaking.
"Gold to Duffy. I need to interrupt your operations
a moment."
Duffy felt his pulse quicken at the captain's words.
Had something gone wrong? Not according to read-ings
on their end. He tipped his head toward the
bridge's ceiling, as if that might make him more audi-ble
to the crew on the old starship. "What is it,
Captain?"
"Have Carol patch me through to the Tholian com-mander,"
said Gold. "And feel free to listen in. You all
may find this interesting."
Duffy and Abramowitz met each other's gaze as if
on cue. He nodded once to her as she tapped com-mands
on the console before her. "Commander
Nostrene, please prepare for communications from
Captain Gold on board the Defiant." She paused for a
moment until the Tholian commander signaled his
readiness to proceed, then said, "Captain Gold, go
ahead."
70
                
"Commander Nostrene," Gold said, "we've discov-ered
something onboard the Defiant that I believe will
make this operation one of historical significance for
both our peoples. We are transmitting for your inter-pretation
our tricorder readings of a device we found
stowed here. We'll be pleased to turn it over to you for
return to the Assembly as a token of our appreciation
for your help in retrieving this starship."
Duffy noted Abramowitz's quick tapping as she not
only forwarded the tricorder data to the Tholians but
recorded it in the da Vinci's memory banks as well.
The speakers rang with the computerized timbre of
Tholian voice. "Received and acknowledged."
Abramowitz, focused on readings from her console,
said, "Captain, the transmission's been cut from their
end."
Duffy smirked and spoke up himself. "I'm sure
there's a Tholian word for 'thank you' somewhere in
our linguistics records. In any event, Captain, we're
definitely interested in seeing everything you've found
over there."
"Maybe not everything, Mr. Duffy." The sober tone
of his captain's voice gave the engineer pause before
the full realization of Gold's remark hit home. The
Defiant was, after all, more than simply an unsolved
mystery or engineering challenge. The ship was also a
tomb, the final resting place of more than four hun-dred
men and women who had given their lives in
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service to Starfleet. Above all else, Duffy reminded
himself, that one fact could not be forgotten in their
haste to accomplish the recovery mission.
Gold's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Commander,
if you're ready on your end, let's get this show on the
road."
Duffy tried to exude some confidence, for Gold's
benefit as well as his own. "Once more unto the
breach and all that, Captain. We'll have you out in no
time."
"Mazel tov, Mr. Duffy."
As the connection was severed, Duffy started
toward Stevens's station, then paused. A quick check
of the bridge showed that everyone was at their sta-tions,
ready to go. They all knew their jobs and had
everything under control. With that taken care of, he
realized it was time for him to step up and do the job
Captain Gold had given him, and there was only one
place where that could be accomplished.
Tightening his lips, he turned instead to the steps
leading to the captain's chair. Without a hesitation or
flourish, he settled into the center seat. He imagined
the chair embracing him, the authority and responsi-bility
it represented reaching out to envelop him and
fuel him with the confidence he needed to see this
mission through.
Hey, this doesn't feel so bad.
"Mr. Stevens," he said, not looking away from the
72
                
viewscreen, "ready the navigational deflector."
As Stevens tapped at his console, Duffy spoke again.
"Da Vinci to Defiant. Commander Gomez, alert the
away team that we're bringing you out. Prepare your
thrusters, please."
Gomez was quick to reply. "Ready on your mark,
Commander."
Stevens signaled his readiness as well. Duffy paused
a beat to center himself, then, "Go with the deflector,
Mr. Stevens."
Duffy watched the main viewer as a wide, sparkling
beam burst from the bottom of the screen and shot
arrow-straight to the Defiant. The gold hue of the
beam mingled and swirled with the neon-blue glow of
the trapped ship's saucer section, stirring colors and
flashing energy in ways that Duffy had never seen. In
the center of the maelstrom grew a patch of dirty
white. As he stared, the white took on definition as
precisely spaced crosshatches of black appeared with-in.
He watched the very hull of the Defiant integrate
at the deflector beam's touch.
"Commander," Stevens's voice broke across the
nearly soundless bridge, "she's emerging from the rift
and the hull is phasing as projected. We have enough
room now to grab her."
Duffy spoke more loudly than even he expected.
"Tractor beam at maximum, Fabian. Now!"
He watched a thin blue beam etch a path across the
73
                
gold of the existing one. While they appeared inter-twined
from the bridge, the tractor beam actually
skated meters above the dish emission, narrowing its
proximity to the integrity field as it approached the
Defiant and struck the ship exactly where the white
hull plates coalesced within the colorful swirl. The
patterns worked to soothe Duffy a bit as he turned his
attention to the pair of consoles before him.
"Pull us back, Mr. Wong. One-quarter impulse."
Ensign Songmin Wong tapped Duffy's orders into
his helm console and Duffy felt the da Vinci lurch,
rocking him forward in his seat. As he leaned back in
the chair, Duffy saw the integrated area of the
Defiant's saucer growing at a much faster rate than
before. The ship waxed into whiteness as if emerging
from an eclipse.
Could it be this simple, even after all these years?
Duffy called out to the viewscreen, "Sonya, how are
you doing?"
The speaker came to life with a laugh. "We're fine,
Kieran. Even with the heads-up, you guys still man-aged
to knock Pattie off of her feet. You need
thrusters?"
"Seems to be good on our end without them," Duffy
said, nearly able to read the markings on the under-side
of the Defiant's saucer section, faded but still
stark against the white of the hull. "We've almost got
the pri-"
74
                
Wong interrupted. "Commander, I'm getting some
resistance now. It's growing, almost as if something's
pulling harder the farther we get the Defiant out."
Here's where the fun begins, Duffy cracked to him-self.
"Is this new?"
Stevens answered first. "Not new. The pull from
inside the rift was slight from the very beginning and
was almost undetectable." He checked more readings.
"Yeah, it's growing exponentially, Duff. We'll have to
fight to get her free."
"Kick it up to half-impulse, Mr. Wong," Duffy said,
"and intensify that deflector beam, Fabian. I don't
want to rip a chunk out of the saucer just to win a tug-of-
war."
Duffy didn't want to contemplate a stalemate just
yet as he hoped the away team could help. "Stand by
on thrusters, Sonya. Seems as if we'll need all of the
kick we can get."
75
                
Tholians were not known as a race that wasted a lot
of movement. Their unusual physiology, evolved over
millennia spent on their home planet, did not lend
itself to ease of mobility beyond the confines of that
world. Conditions aboard ship favored their life sup-port
needs, of course, but generations spent exploring
and colonizing other planets had long since condi-tioned
Tholians to conserve their energy for only the
most appropriate of occasions.
Nostrene, however, cared for none of that as he
paced the length of his private quarters. He had deci-sions
to make, and precious little time to make them.
His analysis of the data supplied by the Starfleet
engineers regarding the device they had found in the
76
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7
abandoned ship's cargo hold had led him to believe
that the mechanism was of Tholian origin. However,
he had not recognized it, and his surprise was com-pounded
when a search of his ship's computer yield-ed
no useful information. That revelation had
prompted him to transmit the data and his report to
the High Magistrates personally.
Their response had been alarming.
"We are to destroy the derelict?" asked Taghrex,
Nostrene's second in command. From where he stood
near the computer station terminal set into one wall
of the room, he studied the message Nostrene had
just received from the High Magistrates on the home
world. He made no effort to hide the astonishment in
his voice.
"That is the command of the Magistrates," Nostrene
replied. "As soon as we are able to achieve a weapon's
lock, we are to either capture or destroy it as circum-stances
permit. Either of these options will obviously
require us to destroy the recovery vessel as well."
"We risk retaliatory action from the Federation,"
Taghrex said. "Is that truly a wise course?"
Nostrene did not reply immediately, instead taking
an additional moment to study his subordinate. Like
Nostrene, his body was of a similar reddish hue as
befitting someone of noble upbringing. Taghrex had
served with distinction under him for many cycles,
more than the Tholian commander could easily
77
                
remember. He would make a fine leader one day, of
that Nostrene was sure, once he learned to curb his
rash impulses to openly question the wisdom or dic-tates
of those superior to him.
Taghrex was correct about one thing, Nostrene
decided. Their next action could well anger the
Federation, perhaps endangering the fragile peace
that had been established between the two govern-ments.
As if sensing that he may have overstepped his
bounds, Taghrex said, "If the Magistrates are willing
to risk such a response, then the situation we face
now must be dire indeed."
Much better, Nostrene mused. There was potential
in the young officer yet. "You are correct," he said. "It
seems that the Starfleet engineers have stumbled
across something that should not exist, at least not
any longer."
Part of a prototype defensive system, the land-based
web generator had been designed to capture the
inhabitants of a planetary installation without harm
to them or the structures they occupied. At least, that
was what the Assembly's official position had been.
Once seized, prisoners from captured areas could
then be easily transported to facilities properly
designed to detain them while Tholian forces moved
in to occupy the newly acquired territory. However,
the system had only been employed once outside of
78
                
strictly controlled testing environments, and the
results had been catastrophic.
The official conclusion from the investigation fol-lowing
the incident was that the system's designers
had not adequately foreseen the radical physiological
differences encountered in the wide variety of life
forms in this region of the galaxy. Having read the
report that the Magistrates had sent along with their
message, Nostrene considered the findings to be ludi-crous.
How could scientists of such caliber create a
revolutionary nonlethal weapon, designed for use
against all manner of species, and not take into
account the biological varieties inherent in such an
attempt? It was incomprehensible to him, though it
was an opinion he doubted he would ever share with
anyone else.
In this particular case, the "radical physiological
differences" encountered had been Klingon, and not
even a military target, but instead a civilian agricul-tural
colony. The Empire had been furious to learn of
the settlement's destruction, swearing vengeance on
those who had been slaughtered. The true nature of
what had happened had never been discovered by
anyone, and the Magistrates had kept it that way all
this time.
"Only now, the secret is threatening to be revealed
because of the Starfleet engineers," Taghrex conclud-ed,
absorbing what his commander had told him with
79
                
degrees of awe and uncertainty.
Nostrene nodded. "During their investigation, the
surveyors of the colony discovered that one of the
generation system's emitter arrays was missing. We
now know that the Federation ship currently trapped
in the rift took it. Reports did place the vessel in that
part of space. They must have come across the colony,
investigated it, and found the destruction wrought by
the web generator."
"And since Federation scientists like to study every-thing
in painstaking detail," Taghrex said, "they took
the emitter array with them, having no real idea as to
what it was they carried."
"And they remain ignorant, it seems," Nostrene
replied, knowing that it had fallen to him to take max-imum
advantage of that ignorance to in order to pro-tect
the Assembly's interests.
He knew that the political ramifications of the next
few moments went far beyond the simple angering of
the Klingons. While the Empire might very well
respond with hostility to the news, the Assembly
could ill afford to alienate the Federation at this time.
Diplomatic relations had reached a critical juncture,
and the Magistrates feared that negative repercus-sions
from any revelations made here today could put
the Federation into a difficult position. They could
well be forced to choose between their alliance with
the Klingons and the progress they had made with the
80
                
Tholians. It was not difficult to believe that any deci-sion
would not be in the Assembly's favor.
Avoiding such a predicament seemed the only logi-cal
choice to make, the Magistrates believed. They
considered the destruction of one or even two
Starfleet vessels a small price to pay, and had issued
the order to Nostrene.
But being a seasoned commander, Nostrene would
not act rashly. In order to succeed, his plan of attack
would have to be bold and focused, with the first pri-ority
being the destruction of the derelict ship and the
emitter array. That way, even if he failed to defeat the
recovery vessel, the damning evidence harbored by
the trapped ship would no longer be an issue.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the
intraship communications system.
"Commander," the sensor officer called out from
the command deck. "The Federation ship has
increased power to their tractor beam. They seem to
be experiencing difficulty pulling the other vessel
free."
So the operation is turning out to be more difficult
than anticipated, Nostrene thought. Perhaps the
Starfleet engineers would fail in their attempt to
retrieve their trophy. If that were to be the case, he
would not be surprised. Nostrene had always consid-ered
it the height of arrogant presumption for anyone
to think that mechanical devices created by fallible
81
                
beings could have any real influence on natural phe-nomena
such as the interdimensional anomaly hold-ing
the forsaken starship.
Of course, he fully expected arrogant presumption
to win out today, and for that he knew he must be pre-pared.
Moments later, he and Taghrex walked onto the
command deck. His eyes scanned the main display
screen and saw that the Starfleet recovery vessel's
tractor and deflector beams were still active and con-centrated
on the center of the rift.
"What is the status of the trapped ship?" he asked
the sensor officer.
"It is difficult to be certain," the subordinate
replied. "The rift is still blocking our scans. But the
ship is approaching the threshold of the opening, and
the Starfleet engineers tell us that there will be a
moment of molecular disruption as it moves through
that barrier. Once that process has begun, our sensor
readings should improve."
How much time would he have before he was
forced to act? He could not risk attempting to arm
weapons until he was certain a lock could be obtained
on the trapped ship, otherwise he risked alerting the
recovery vessel's crew. Likewise, he could not even
order the ship's defensive screens activated, as that
would also make their Starfleet counterparts suspi-cious.
82
                
"Commander," the sensor officer called out again,
"scans of the Defiant are improving. She has engaged
low power thrusters. They have managed to restore
limited power to the vessel and it appears they are try-ing
to assist the rescue operation." The subordinate
spent several moments studying the sensor informa-tion
before issuing his next report. "The forward edge
of the vessel's primary hull has begun to emerge from
the rift, Commander."
Nostrene did not have to look to know that Taghrex
was staring at him, waiting for his instructions.
Though he may have voiced concerns over the
Magistrates' directives earlier, the Tholian com-mander
knew that his second in command would
carry out his orders without question when the time
came to act.
That time, Nostrene admitted, had come.
* * *
Gomez took one final look at the status readings
displayed on the bridge's engineering console moni-tors
before nodding in satisfaction. The power gener-ators
they had brought with them were working per-fectly,
and thruster power was available. It wasn't
much, but with the da Vinci already applying the full
force of its workhorse engines and tractor beam, it
should be enough.
"I'd find a seat, everyone," she said as she stepped
down into the command well and made her way to
83
                
the helm console. "This could get bumpy."
Gold heeded her advice and lowered himself into
the captain's chair. It wasn't as comfortable as his
chair on the da Vinci, a fact compounded by the bulky
environmental suit he still wore. Looking to his right,
he saw that Soloman remained seated at the science
officer's console, his wide eyes watching the main
viewer.
And for good reason, too. The sight on the screen
was a kaleidoscopic furor of energy as the Defiant
struggled against the interdimensional forces holding
it inside the rift. Gold thought he could faintly see
stars beyond the multihued chaos dominating the
screen, though. He told himself that it wasn't his eyes
playing tricks on him. They were making progress.
He continued to tell himself that even as the deck
beneath his feet, already vibrating noticeably since
the da Vinci had locked on with her tractor beam,
began to tremble with increasing fervor.
"You weren't kidding," Gold said to Gomez as his
hands instinctively grabbed onto the arms of the cap-tain's
chair.
Gomez replied without turning her attention from
her console. "It will probably get worse as we start to
cross the threshold. That's when the molecular shift
will occur as we move out of the rift and back into
normal space. Besides, I couldn't spare the power to
the inertial dampening field. We'll feel pretty much
84
                
every bump in the road from here on out."
"We are approaching the barrier, Commander,"
Soloman reported, his face bathed in blue as he
peered into the science station's viewfinder, which fil-tered
and displayed all relevant sensor data at the
command of the person operating it. "Transition
should occur in five seconds."
Gold found himself counting to himself as the inter-val
passed, the bucking of the ship continuing to
increase with each passing second. On the screen, the
stars he thought he had seen earlier were now quite
distinct. Another few moments and they would be
free of the rift.
It's going to work.
The thought came, of course, just before everything
went to hell.
Gold felt his stomach lurch and his teeth rattle as
something seemed to reach out and smack the entire
ship, hull plates and bulkheads rattling and shaking
as the Defiant twisted first one way and then another.
The sounds of protesting metal were nearly deafening
in the small confines of the bridge.
"What the hell was that?" Gold yelled above the din.
Knuckles white as she held onto the helm, Gomez
shook her head. "I don't know. It felt like-"
"We are under attack," Soloman interrupted, fight-ing
to read the sensor telemetry even as he too
gripped onto his console for support. "The Tholians
85
                
are firing on us!"
"What?" Gold replied, scarcely believing his ears
even as his mouth formed around the words to order
evasive action, experience and instinct beginning to
take over. His brain took an additional instant to
catch up and remind him that the Defiant, even if not
in the grip of the da Vinci's tractor beam, currently
had all the maneuverability of an elephant in a closet.
"Gold to da Vinci," he called into his communicator,
his thoughts quickly turning to his ship and the vul-nerable
position they were in so long as they main-tained
their hold on the Defiant. Duffy would have to
disengage if he were to have any chance of protecting
the da Vinci should the Tholians attack her.
There was no response to his call.
Repeating the attempt achieved the same results,
and Gold turned to Gomez. "I can't raise the ship."
It was Soloman who replied, still continuing to
study the sensor displays. "The Tholians' weapons fire
has caused a . . . disruption in the rift, Captain.
Communications have been . . . disabled."
Damn. Gold wondered about Duffy and the pres-sure
he must be feeling right now. It was one thing to
learn the rigors of command from classroom study
and even from time spent aboard ships in space. It
was quite another thing to be tried by fire under com-bat
conditions. Many hopeful commanders had failed
this particular type of test. How would Duffy respond
86
                
to the challenge dropped so unceremoniously into his
lap?
Before he could consider that answer, the ship
shuddered again as the Defiant's unshielded hull
absorbed the brunt of another attack. The shock tore
Gold from the chair and tossed him forward without
warning. He threw his arms out in a desperate effort
to protect himself from the impact of being thrown
into the unmanned navigation console.
It never came.
Air was forced from Gold's lungs as he crashed into
the deck, coming to rest at the foot of the stairs lead-ing
to the bridge's upper deck.
"Captain!" Gomez cried as she bolted from her seat,
moving around the helm console to kneel next to
Gold.
Rolling onto his side, the captain realized with
astonishment that he was lying in front of the naviga-tor's
station. He looked at the console that he was sure
he should have fallen into and was stunned at the
sight before him.
"Sonya," he said, his voice a horrified whisper,
"look."
Before them, the captain's chair was clearly visible
through the surface of the helm console, itself looking
like a hazy, semitransparent film draped across the
command well.
"Molecular shift," Soloman called out from the sci-87
                
ence station. "They're occurring . . . all across the
ship. I suspect it is a reaction to . . . the weapon's fire
inside the rift."
The ship rocked again under yet another assault
and Gomez was knocked from her kneeling position
to the deck. Everyone reached for handholds as the
Defiant endured the latest round of punishment,
shaking violently once again.
"We can't take much more of this," Gomez said.
"Without shields, they'll cut us to pieces."
Gold pulled himself to a sitting position. "Any
chance you can divert power?"
"The shield generators are completely inert and I'd
have to go to engineering to get them back online. We
don't have that kind of time."
"Captain," Soloman said. "The da Vinci has severed
her tractor beam." The Bynar turned from the con-sole,
his expression one of deep concern. "We are
being pulled back into the rift."
88
                
"They're firing! The Tholians are firing on the
Defiant!"
A backhand from an enraged Brikar could not have
spun Duffy around in the da Vinci's captain's chair
with more force than did the voice of Ensign Wong.
He had turned away from the viewscreen for only a
moment to better focus on data coming from Fabian
Stevens at the science station. But in that moment,
his worst-case scenario, the one he had tucked even
deeper in his mind than thoughts of phaser-cutting
the Defiant's primary hull free from the ship should
the rift pull too tightly on its warp nacelles, leapt fully
formed from his imagination to the main viewer.
Duffy felt time slow as he stared at the screen,
89
CHAPTER
8
watching the inevitable. A reddish blob of energy,
writhing and expanding, closed on the Defiant's
saucer section and spread across it. The crippled star-ship
rocked a bit in response, jostling hardly at all in
the perspective provided by the viewer.
But with no shields? That had to hurt.
"They've gone space crazy!" Wong shouted. Duffy
wasn't so sure about that, but he was willing to let the
whole bridge crew assume that the Tholians had fall-en
prey to the effects of the interspatial rift. He saw
no immediate need to speculate on the true motiva-tions
of the inscrutable race of crystalline beings.
What the hell is going on? What did we do wrong? As
the Defiant reeled from her blow, the Tholians struck
again, this time with a disruptor burst that appeared
even more intensely red than the first. Words stuck in
his throat as Duffy saw the old ship rock even more
violently than it had from the first attack.
"Duff, I'm having trouble holding the tractor beam
on her," called Stevens from the science station.
"Then don't hold it."
The words were Corsi's, startling Duffy nearly as
much as had the Tholians' attack. His head snapped
around and he stared at the security chief, his mouth
already open to ask her if she was out of her mind.
But he reined in his words before they could be
uttered. He just as quickly dismissed his first instinct
that Corsi was challenging his authority and instead
90
                
remembered Sonya's advice to hear Corsi out, espe-cially
in a fight. Duffy had always thought she meant
the next time they laid over at a club on Argelius II.
He scolded himself. Don't joke; listen to her. She
doesn't think you're weak, she's just trying to help.
"What do you mean?" he asked Corsi.
"The Defiant has no shields. They'll be ripped apart
out here, but maybe they'll be safer in the rift." She
kept her tone civil, Duffy hoped out of respect for his
command. "And besides, we won't be able to maneu-ver
as long as we're locked on with our tractor beam."
Duffy knew where she was going, and cursed him-self
for not reacting sooner. The rescue operation was
transforming rapidly into a tactical situation. The fate
of the Defiant as well as the da Vinci could well rest on
the decisions he made in the next moments.
"Shields up!" he yelled before attempting to temper
his voice with the same confidence he heard in
Captain Gold's orders under fire. "Fabian, disengage
the beams. Mr. McAllan, lock weapons on the Tholian
ship, but hold your fire."
Without missing a beat, the da Vinci's tactical offi-cer
tapped the commands into his console. "Aye, sir."
As he directed a final glance at Corsi, Duffy hoped
his next words were tinged with enough appreciation
for her to pick up.
"Recommendation noted, Commander."
Corsi did not give him the smug look he half expect-91
                
ed from her, but instead offered a nod and a grim,
tight-lipped smile. "Let's just hope it works."
* * *
In the cargo hold on deck 20, the attack on the
Defiant was felt with an even greater intensity than on
the bridge.
P8 Blue and Lense found themselves in a hellstorm
as cargo containers and equipment across the bay
began to shift and tumble in response to the second
assault on the ship. The lack of gravity, protective
forcefields, and inertial dampening systems only
exacerbated the situation as boxes sailed around the
room, bouncing off the deck, bulkheads, the ceiling,
and each other.
"Look out!" Lense cried, pulling the Nasat out of the
path of a cargo crate as it rushed past where she had
been standing the instant before.
"What is going on?" Pattie asked as the pair rested
against the bulkhead, catching their breath while try-ing
to keep an eye on the legion of errant debris per-vading
the chamber.
"Somebody's shooting at us," Lense said. "Probably
the Tholians."
Pattie looked at the doctor askance. "Why? How
can you be sure?"
Cursing for what seemed like the hundredth time at
her helmet interfering with her ability to wipe the
perspiration from her face, Lense replied, "I don't
92
                
know why they'd want to attack us, but I've been on
ships that were shot at enough to know what it feels
like."
And she'd certainly had her fill of that during the
Dominion War, a course of events she had not count-ed
on after graduating first in her Starfleet medical
class. Such an accomplishment normally allowed the
honored individual to choose their first duty assign-ment,
and Lense had opted for Starfleet Medical
Headquarters on Earth. She'd enjoyed that posting
for a few years as she concentrated on research before
deciding on a change of pace and requesting assign-ment
to the U.S.S. Lexington. But then valedictorian
status and personal preference gave way to the needs
of the service as war erupted between the Federation
and the Dominion. She'd always felt more than capa-ble
of handling any situation that life might confront
her with, but that resolve had been sorely tested as
she faced enough death and desecration against living
tissue to last her several lifetimes.
You signed on with the da Vinci to get away from war
and the horrors it inflicts on the body, Lense reminded
herself. So how did you end up here?
"Unless Gomez can figure out a way to get enough
power for the shields," Lense said, "we're a sitting
duck out here."
Any reply Pattie might have had was stifled as the
Defiant shuddered against a third vicious impact to its
93
                
hull. The shock from the attack sent the pair stum-bling
again for something to hold on to.
"Pattie!" Lense yelled out. The Nasat turned in her
direction too late to avoid the cargo container careen-ing
off the deck and heading directly for her. She was
directly in its path, trapped between it and the bulk-head.
The tumbling box was moving fast enough and
was of sufficient size that Lense feared Pattie would
be severely injured if not crushed by its impact.
The Nasat's eight limbs went out in a futile attempt
to stop the wayward container, but could offer no
resistance as it struck her full on. Lense saw Pattie's
head snap back, the box having struck her in the hel-met
and upper body and driving her toward the bulk-head
behind her with the container in fervent pursuit.
Lense lunged forward to help, reacting instinctively
rather than with any real course of action in mind. As
she moved, she looked to the bulkhead that Pattie was
about to smash into.
She saw stars.
"No!" was all Lense could shout before Pattie and
the cargo container made contact with the bulkhead.
And passed through it as if it wasn't even there.
For a split second, Lense's mind refused to accept
what she had just seen. The Defiant's hull had begun
to destabilize around them, and Pattie had fallen out-side
of the ship itself!
"Pattie? Do you read me?" she called into her com-94
                
municator, but received no response. Was the Nasat
injured, or worse? Had her suit sustained damage in
the collision with the cargo container? Was she losing
oxygen?
Don't just stand there, her mind screamed at her.
Move!
And before she realized what she was doing,
Elizabeth Lense leapt straight from the figurative fry-ing
pan into the proverbial fire.
Though the bulkhead's surface had turned trans-parent
with the consistency of a membrane or thin
gauze, she noted no strange sensation of passing
through any such barrier as she leapt through the
destabilized hull section and into open space. The
first thing she saw as she emerged from the ship was
Pattie, her body limp as she drifted slowly away from
the Defiant.
"Pattie, can you hear me?" she called out even as
she activated her suit's maneuvering thrusters, puls-ing
the small jets of compressed gas. It took a
moment to orient her body so that she was moving in
the correct direction as she called on skills that she
hadn't given a second thought to since her days at the
Academy.
The Nasat did not respond to her latest call, and
Lense concluded that she must have been knocked
unconscious. How serious was the injury? Did she
have a concussion? Could she be treated here, or
95
                
would she require transport back to the da Vinci?
All of these questions and many others flooded
Lense's mind as she closed the gap. After another
moment, she was able to reach out and grab an errant
leg, her gloved hand closing around the fabric of
Pattie's environment suit.
"Gotcha," she whispered, sure that Pattie was
unconscious when the Nasat did not react to having
her leg grabbed. "Don't worry, we'll get back to the
ship and . . ." The sentence faded away incomplete as
she reoriented her body to face the Defiant.
Elizabeth Lense had never been outside a starship
before. The closest she had come was an observation
port at SpaceDock orbiting Earth, looking through
plexisteel windows at vessels berthed in various park-ing
slips. While those ships looked big from that per-spective,
the derelict before her now was positively
huge.
"What the hell am I doing out here?" she asked
aloud as she pulsed her thrusters again, pushing her
and Pattie closer to the ship. Lense stretched a hand
out as several more seconds of maneuvering brought
the vessel's hull within reach.
Then it and the rest of her body made contact with
the tritanium surface, discovering that the hull was as
solid as a starship's skin was supposed to be.
Of course, her mind taunted, reminding her that
even in the 24 th Century, Murphy's Law still applied:
96
                
Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.
They should make that the S.C.E. motto, Lense
decided as she set her feet and activated the magnet-ic
seals on her boots. Once secured to the hull, she
surveyed the area of the ship in her range of vision.
She had returned to the Defiant near the midpoint of
the secondary hull, yet there were no signs of airlocks
or other entries into the ship that she could see.
Where were they located? Other than the shuttlebay
doors at the rear of the ship, she had no idea. She
hadn't consulted the Defiant's technical schematics
prior to beaming over.
Adjusting her hold on Pattie, she turned the Nasat
in order to look into her helmet and saw that she was
still unconscious. An area the size of a fist appeared
to be swelling over her left eye, and Lense saw that
the bruise was already beginning to turn a dark blue.
"Pattie, can you hear me? I need you to wake up." A
moment's scan with her tricorder confirmed her sus-picion:
Pattie did indeed have a concussion. She
would need medical treatment, and soon, something
Lense would not be able to provide so long as they
were stuck outside the ship.
"Damn it," she whispered, turning her head to face
the front of the ship when her attention was caught
by something else. It was the rift, the barrier marking
the entrance to interspace. Unlike the black void sur-rounding
the Defiant, the rift itself was a spectacular
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clashing of colors, colliding and mixing to form a
frenzied chaos.
And it was shrinking. The rift was closing back up!
While Lense stood by, a powerless spectator, the tear
that had brought together two spatial planes was
slowly healing itself. They and the Defiant would be
cut off from their companions and in fact from their
entire universe.
"Well, this was certainly a bright idea."
* * *
"The rift is sucking them back inside?" Duffy spoke
to no one in particular. The question was unnecessary,
though, as everyone on the da Vinci's bridge could
easily see the Defiant's regression into interphase.
The numbing sight almost made Duffy not notice
that there was still a Tholian ship nearby, and that it
was at this very moment turning itself toward the da
Vinci. As Corsi had predicted, things were about to go
completely to hell.
"We're not shooting first," he said, willing to tele-graph
his strategies to the bridge crew in the hope
that they might better understand his command deci-sions.
Turning his attention to Abramowitz at the
communications station, he said, "Carol, open a
channel and find-"
"Incoming fire!"
Wong's warning drowned out the rest of Duffy's
order as the ensign frantically punched commands
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into his console in an attempt to move the ship out of
the line of fire. On the screen, the hellish red burst of
energy grew until it washed over the entire image.
The next instant the da Vinci pitched upward,
throwing Duffy nearly out of his command chair and
catching Wong completely off his guard. The ensign's
head slammed into his console with a sickening
sound that Duffy heard even over the klaxons and
warning signals erupting across the bridge. He rushed
forward, catching Wong's slumping body before it
dropped to the deck.
Even as he eased the ensign to the floor, though, it
struck Duffy that no orders were being given to
respond to the attack.
That's because you're not giving them. The realiza-tion
jerked him back to his first priority.
"Corsi, take the helm. McAllan, fire phasers. And a
torpedo." He paused. "Hell, two torpedoes."
Frustration and confusion enveloped every word that
left Duffy's mouth. "And turn off those damned
alarms!"
As McAllan tapped out the necessary commands,
Duffy continued tending to Wong. He tapped his
commbadge. "Bridge to sickbay. Copper? Wetzel? One
of you, up here now!"
From the tactical station, McAllan called out,
"Looks like we got them, Commander."
Duffy turned to the viewer in time to see the
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Tholian ship listing to its portside, shunted from the
offensive position it had held only seconds before. He
could see an ugly black puncture wound on the side
of the vessel's hull, evidence of the damage the da
Vinci's barrage had caused.
"Nice shooting, Mr. McAllan," he said. "Carol, open
a channel. I want to know what . . ."
The words died in his throat as, on the viewscreen,
energy glowed from the stern of the Tholian ship.
Reorienting itself in a sluggish maneuver, the vessel
pivoted on its axis and pulled away from the da Vinci,
moving quickly out of the viewscreen's coverage.
"They're moving off," Corsi said from the helm. She
turned to look at Duffy, her eyes asking the obvious.
"We're not chasing them," he said simply.
Though he noticed the mild slump in her shoulders,
Corsi's tone was all business. "They'll be back, you
know, and they'll bring reinforcements. Tholians
don't like getting their butts kicked."
"It's worse than that," Abramowitz added as she
stepped down to assist Duffy with Wong. "They'll view
the attack on them as an act of aggression. We may
have just caused an interstellar incident."
"Well, that'll certainly make Captain Gold's day,"
Duffy said as he rose to his feet. The attempt at
humor fell flat, he knew, almost flinching at how
weak the words sounded even as they left his mouth.
Getting into a political hotbed with the Tholians was
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no laughing matter, and he imagined how the
Federation Diplomatic Corps would blow its collec-tive
stack once word of the altercation got back to
them.
No time for that now. Get it together, Duff.
"Our first priority is to get the Defiant out," he said.
"Fabian, reestablish the tractor be-"
His voice fell off as he focused on the main viewer.
The Defiant, and the rift, were gone.
To be continued in
Interphase: Book Two!
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