Interphase Book Two                
By Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the authors' 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

On more than one occasion, mostly during the early
years of her career, Commander Sonya Gomez had
experienced feelings of helplessness in the midst of a
crisis. As she stood on the bridge of the U.S.S. Defiant
and studied the surreal image displayed on its main
viewer, such feelings once again taunted her and
dared her to submit to their stifling embrace.
Along with Captain David Gold and Soloman, she
watched as the interdimensional rift continued to
mend itself, sealing the Defiant inside this pocket of
chaos ambiguously known as "interphase" and sepa-rating
them from the U.S.S. da Vinci and their entire
universe. At the moment, helplessness seemed almost
appropriate.
1
CHAPTER
1
The mission, like so many others Gomez had
undertaken since joining the Starfleet Corps of
Engineers, had started out easily enough. Daunting
and compelling from both technical and historical
perspectives, the task of retrieving the Defiant had
energized the entire da Vinci crew, from Captain
Gold on down. The recovery of the fabled ship, lost
for more than a century after becoming trapped in an
interspatial pocket connecting this universe with
another, presented a unique engineering challenge.
When the ship disappeared in 2268, most scientific
minds throughout the Federation believed that it had
been lost in the other universe with no hope of being
recovered.
That belief had held true until two weeks ago, when
a Tholian vessel had discovered the Defiant, still
trapped in the interdimensional rift but now visible
again for the first time in more than a century. The
circumstances leading to the ship's reappearance
after so long remained a mystery and the Tholians, in
their typical fashion, had not been forthcoming with
any potentially helpful information.
And we could sure use that info now, Gomez mused.
She had led an away team to the Defiant with the
task of restoring minimal power to the derelict vessel.
Working with Kieran Duffy, the da Vinci's propulsion
specialist, she had decided that the Defiant's maneu-vering
thrusters could be used to help extract the ship
2
                
from the rift, with the help of the da Vinci's tractor
beam. Duffy and his team had also modified the ship's
navigational deflector to stabilize the Defiant's hull
and make it easier for the tractor beam to lock onto
the trapped ship.
Of course, it wouldn't have been an S.C.E. mission
if the Defiant hadn't yielded a few surprises of its own.
First had been the condition of the ship itself.
Drained of power, the Defiant was a lifeless hulk, dark
and foreboding as the away team materialized in the
depths of its engineering section. Then there were the
remains of the ship's crew, drifting free throughout
the vessel's interior in the absence of gravity. The
nightmarish scene had caught Gomez off guard and
caused her no small amount of anxiety. Her reaction
to the situation troubled her, but she had managed to
keep her unease at bay to this point by concentrating
on the tasks at hand.
But then the Tholians had inexplicably fired on the
Defiant, disrupting the da Vinci's attempt to pull the
century-old ship from the interspatial void and
instead throwing the Defiant back into the rift. The
action had the further effect of collapsing the pocket
around the ship, trapping it and the da Vinci away
team within the confines of interspace.
"The weapons fire could have disturbed the fabric of
space near the rift," Gomez said as she studied the cen-tury-
old viewscreen. "The area is already so unstable,
3
                
any kind of disruption would probably be enough to
affect it."
Turning away from the viewscreen, Gold said,
"Something similar was reported in the old Enterprise
logs when they discovered the Defiant. It had the
effect of throwing off the interphase timetable. The
Defiant still continued to appear and reappear, but
they had to recalculate the intervals."
"That means the da Vinci can probably still get us
out," Gomez said.
"Maybe," Gold replied as he stepped toward the
starboard side of the command well. "But first we
need to make sure the ship won't fall apart around
us." He turned his attention to the science station.
"Soloman, do we have internal sensors? Can you give
us a damage report?"
The Bynar keyed commands to the science console
as his face was bathed in the soft blue light of the sta-tion's
viewfinder. Several moments passed as he
reviewed the information supplied by the Defiant's
limited sensors.
"There are . . . hull breaches on decks eight, thirteen
and . . . fifteen," he reported. "There is also some
buckling . . . in the port warp nacelle." As he turned
away from the viewfinder, the Bynar added, "The
damage is minor, given the . . . intensity of the attack,
Captain. We were . . . most fortunate."
Gomez sighed in relief. "I'll say. If that's the extent
4
                
of the damage, then we should be okay even under the
pull of the da Vinci's tractor beam."
"If she's still there," Gold said, drawing shocked
expressions from Gomez and Soloman. The da Vinci's
commanding officer didn't acknowledge the looks,
however, instead adding, "She may have been dis-abled
or destroyed by the Tholians, or Mr. Duffy has
obeyed my orders and taken her out of the area.
Either way, we may not be able to rely on the da Vinci
to get us out of here."
"Even if the rift was open," Gomez said, "the
Defiant's maneuvering thrusters aren't enough to push
us out on their own." The generators they had
brought with them from the da Vinci would never be
enough to power the ship's massive impulse engines,
to say nothing about the warp drive.
Gold shrugged. "Then we'll just have to find anoth-er
way, won't we?"
"Captain," Gomez said, "what if we do get out? The
Tholians could be waiting on the other side of the rift
for us. We'd be sitting ducks."
"Given a choice between waiting here for who
knows what to happen or taking our chances in nor-mal
space," Gold replied, "I choose the latter
option."
The chirp of his suit communicator interrupted
their conversation; it was followed by the voice of Dr.
Elizabeth Lense, the da Vinci's chief medical officer.
5
                
"Lense to Captain Gold. I have an emergency situa-tion
and require assistance."
"Doctor?" Gold called out, his voice rising a notch.
"Are you all right? What about Pattie?"
Shortly after beaming to the Defiant, P8 Blue, the
S.C.E. team's resident Nasat engineer, had detected an
odd power source emanating from deep within the
ship. Gold had sent her and Dr. Lense to investigate,
and they had found a strange device of Tholian design
stored in one of the ship's cargo holds. To the best of
Gold's knowledge, Pattie and Lense had remained
down there during the Tholian attack. He had sudden
visions of the pair caught in a maelstrom of cargo
containers and equipment tumbling about the cargo
hold free from the restraints of gravity, and Pattie and
Lense frantically seeking cover from the potentially
lethal assault.
"I am uninjured," Lense replied to the captain,
miraculously maintaining her composed tone of
voice, "but we are not in the cargo bay. During the
attack, a section of the hull destabilized and Pattie fell
out into space. As she was already unconscious, I had
no choice but to follow."
"What?" Gold said. "You mean you're drifting in
space outside the ship?"
"No, sir. I managed to get us back, but by then the
hull had solidified again. I am standing on the exteri-or
of the ship, and I can find no sign of an airlock or
6
                
other entry point. Pattie has sustained a concussion.
She needs medical treatment, and I have to get her
helmet off."
Gold looked to Gomez. "Transporters? Can we
beam her directly to the bridge?"
The engineer shook her head. "There's no power to
the transporters, sir, and no way to remote control
them from up here. Someone would have to be in the
transporter room on deck seven."
Gold turned to the science station to find Soloman
already working at the sensor controls. He didn't have
to wait long before the Bynar looked up.
"I have located them, Captain. The closest entrance
to . . . the ship is a maintenance airlock on the . . .
starboard side of deck fourteen. I can direct her to
that location . . . from here, but the hatch will have to
be opened manually."
Lense's voice carried a note of concern. "I'm not
sure if I can do that by myself and take care of Pattie
at the same time."
"I can meet her there, Captain," Gomez said.
"Soloman can give me directions to the hatch, and I'll
get there through the Jefferies tubes." She knew that
navigating the crawlspaces and maintenance
throughways connecting nearly every point on the
starship would be difficult while wearing her envi-ronment
suit, but that would be offset somewhat by
the absence of the ship's artificial gravity field.
7
                
"Sounds like a plan," Gold said, nodding his
approval. "In the meantime, Soloman and I are going
to do some more detective work. It's pretty obvious
that whatever set the Tholians off has something to
do with that little tchotchke that Pattie and the doctor
found in the cargo bay."
8
                
Today was the last day Kieran Duffy wanted an
excuse to lie down on the job.
Yet mere minutes after his first space battle as the
commanding officer of a Starfleet vessel, he was
sprawled across the deck plates in the main engineer-ing
room of the U.S.S. da Vinci. Scattered to his side
were a number of isolinear chips, once translucent and
operational but now charred black and useless. He
fumbled a few more of the chips in one hand, eyeing
them for telltale signs of burnout, then double-check-ing
his visual survey with the diagnostic reader he
grasped in his other hand. Next to his head was an open
panel, glowing from within and sporting about a dozen
empty sockets waiting for working chips to be inserted.
9
CHAPTER
2
Duffy let all but a pair of the chips slip from his
grasp before craning his head to peer inside the con-sole.
The bright control panels with glowing chips
appeared clean and new, belying the fact that they,
key components in the starship's warp-drive system,
were about as functional as a wet match.
One hit.
That's all it had taken from the Tholian ship to dis-able
the da Vinci's warp drive. It had been bad
enough only a few hours before, when Captain Gold
had tasked him with keeping the warp core's inter-mix
ratios in balance as the starship set about her
mission of extracting the U.S.S. Defiant from the
interspatial rift. The unusual, tenuous connection
that the rift had created between the two universes
had been known to wreak havoc on the warp engines
of ships venturing close to it, and Captain Gold
wanted no such surprises during their recovery
operation.
Thanks to the Tholians, though, all of Duffy's calcu-lating
of formulas and finessing of the magnetic fields
that prevented matter from blending too freely with
antimatter was wasted.
How does that wisecrack go? The fight was two hits
long: The Klingon hit the Cardassian and the
Cardassian hit the floor. Who's the one on the floor
now?
Duffy shoved his hand into the depths of the con-10
                
sole to seat the pair of replacement chips. Straining,
he slipped one chip into place, then maneuvered him-self
to another open slot, gripping the very edge of the
remaining chip with the tips of two fingers.
But just as the chip found a purchase on the rim of
the slot, a sharp blow to the bottom of his right foot
rocked his entire body.
"Yaa!" he shouted, dropping the chip and smacking
his head against the edge of the console's cavity.
Worming his way out of the opening, he looked up to
see Domenica Corsi towering over him, her jaw
clenched and the toe of her boot next to where she
had just kicked him.
"Just perfect," Corsi said. "Ostriches stick their
heads in the sand. You stick yours into a bulkhead."
"Oh, excuse me," he fired back as he felt himself
starting to heat up. "I had the foolish idea that warp
drive might be a nice thing to have before the
Tholians get back. That is, unless you'd like to get out
and push."
Corsi's scowl darkened. "A ship full of engineers,
and you're the only one who can fix it?"
The question made Duffy pause, giving him a
moment to catch his tongue rather than launch
another barb. Yes, he was the da Vinci's top mind on
matters of propulsion, and he acted as the ship's
warp-core watchdog above and beyond even the chief
engineer.
11
                
But now he was in command of the da Vinci. This
was not the time for him to nursemaid a warp-drive
problem, and it had taken Corsi to remind him of it.
Again.
As if to emphasize the point, she said, "You need to
be on the bridge, Commander. Order someone else to
repair the warp drive."
Duffy nodded. "You're right." With a mischievous
smile he added, "You're getting to like keeping me in
check, aren't you?" He was satisfied to see the securi-ty
chief's expression soften a little as her jaw muscles
loosened.
Not much, but it's a start.
After detailing the top-priority repair assignment to
the small army of engineers tending to various tasks
here within the heart of the ship, Duffy smiled at
Corsi again and headed for the door. She followed
him, and the pair made their way quickly down the
corridor.
As they walked, Duffy said, "I need to know exactly
where we are on repairs before Captain Scott tells us
Starfleet's official response to our situation. I'd like
some ideas on reopening the rift, too."
He tried not to dwell on his last conversation with
the seasoned engineer who served as the figurehead
for the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. It was Captain
Montgomery Scott who had dispatched the da Vinci
and her crew to Tholian space in the first place,
12
                
charging them with the challenge of retrieving the
Defiant from the rift, while at the same time entrust-ing
them with the delicate task of working with the
temperamental Tholians. It was he whose face had
fallen as Duffy relayed the events that had erupted
just when the mission seemed to be going so well, and
it was he who was likely getting his aft shields chewed
right now by Starfleet brass as a result.
Corsi's voice brought Duffy to attention. "I assumed
as much, Commander. The team is already waiting
for us in the briefing room."
Duffy couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his
lips, feeling more at ease with the idea that "Core
Breach" Corsi was acting as a safety net for his first
tightrope walk of a command. With her at his side, he
might just survive this mission yet.
They entered the briefing room and Duffy took note
of who was at the table, while at the same time trying
not to think about who was noticeably absent.
Scattered about in their usual seats were other mem-bers
of the team: Carol Abramowitz, their chief liai-son
with the Tholian Assembly; Fabian Stevens, the
ship's expert on tactical systems; and Bartholomew
Faulwell, the team's cryptography and language spe-cialist,
who had stepped in to help brainstorm options
for salvaging their mission, given the current void of
command officers. Duffy mulled taking the head seat
at the table, the one typically occupied by Captain
13
                
Gold, but settled instead for the comfort of his usual
chair next to Abramowitz.
"Okay," Duffy began, placing his elbows on the table
before him and lacing his fingers. "Warp drive is
almost operational again. Everything else is good to
go, right?"
Stevens was quick to answer. "We didn't take it on
the chin too hard, Duff. Weapons are fine.
Communications, shields, the deflector array, life sup-port,
everything checks right on down the line. I'd bet
the warp drive would have been fine, too, if it wasn't
for this space we're in."
Duffy wondered whether that was the rule and not
the exception here. Tholian ships' disruptors could
wreak havoc on unshielded vessels, he was certain,
but it seemed that Federation starships with fully
charged deflector shields usually could shrug off the
initial volleys of such an attack.
"Maybe so, Fabian," Duffy replied, "but here, all
bets are off. Right now I want to dig into the deflector
modifications and see whether we can open the rift
again without waiting for it." He knew that time was
a precious commodity right now. The Tholians had to
know how much damage they had inflicted on the da
Vinci, and they most likely also knew that the starship
wouldn't leave the area unless forced to, so long as
there was a chance to recover the Defiant and the
away team. The chronometer was ticking for those
14
                
aboard both ships, however, so he wasn't willing to be
patient.
Corsi leaned forward in her seat. "Shield harmonics
need to be monitored closely as well, Mr. Stevens, in
case that rift has the same degenerative effect on
them as it does on our warp capability. We need to be
prepared for an all-out attack once that Tholian ship
returns with reinforcements."
Duffy was ready to answer, but instead was cut off
by Carol Abramowitz.
"Prepare all you want," she said, "but we're not
going into battle." The cultural specialist was met
with Corsi's perturbed expression but continued
unheeded. "You can bet that our next orders will be to
head home without the Defiant. No one is going to
throw away the trust that diplomats and ambassadors
have earned with the Tholians during the Dominion
War. Unfortunately, an antique ship and a few engi-neers
will be considered expendable."
Abramowitz's assessment matched his own, Duffy
realized as he hung his head a bit. Captain Gold had
told them all up front that the mission would be scut-tled
should any signs of eroding relations with the
Tholians appear, and an exchange of fire definitely
seemed to qualify as erosion to him. Diplomats were
sure to exercise their influence to pull the da Vinci
from the mission, whether or not her crew was intact.
He had to be ready to say good-bye to his captain,
15
                
his friends, and his . . . his . . .
Oh, Sonnie.
But Corsi did not appear content to keep her views
to herself. "What, we're going to abandon the away
team? The Tholians fired first! We didn't start this
fight, but we damn well better finish it." Duffy
watched as Corsi narrowed her eyes and scanned the
others seated at the table for a sign of support before
adding, "Let them say what they want back on Earth.
Regardless of whether we bring the Defiant home,
we're getting our away team back."
"It is a bold stand you hope to take," Abramowitz
replied, "but I don't think you're being realistic." Her
tone was clipped and polite, and Duffy knew it was a
signal that she was already beginning to lose patience
with the security chief. The women's dueling edginess
would quickly become as volatile as a mix of matter
and antimatter.
"Realistic is a quantum torpedo," Corsi snapped.
"You think sweet-talking a Tholian at this point is-"
"People!"
Duffy was as surprised as everyone else when the
word exploded from his mouth with such force and
volume. All eyes turned to him, and no one said any-thing
for several seconds, the only sounds audible in
the room being that of the ventilation system and the
omnipresent hum of the ship's engines.
Taking a moment to clear his throat, he began again
16
                
in a more reserved tone. "People, don't think for a
minute that Captain Scott isn't doing everything he
can on his end to keep us here. Don't stop believing
that Captain Gold isn't working to get the Defiant to
our side of the rift."
He paused, focusing on Corsi as she sat cross-armed
in her chair. "But we're not disobeying any
order that comes from Starfleet. For now, though,
we'll focus on doing everything we can until that
order comes down."
Silence hung in the briefing room as Duffy asserted
his command over his fellow officers and friends. He
racked his mind for some words of support and con-fidence,
the kind of statements that seemed to roll off
Captain Gold's tongue in tough situations. Now was
the time to be a captain, but all he felt like was a
babysitter trying to quell a squabble between sisters
while Mom and Dad were at the holotheater.
I can't very well send them to their rooms.
A flash of amber light caught Duffy's eye as it
glowed on the tabletop near Faulwell's hand. The lin-guist
tapped a control on the keypad near his arm,
then looked up at Duffy with sympathetic eyes.
"It's an incoming message from Starfleet
Command. Do you want to take it in private?"
Duffy shook his head. "No. Put it on the viewer."
As Captain Scott's wizened face filled the screen on
the briefing room's wall, Duffy felt some of the group's
17
                
tension seep away. The engineer's creased visage, his
friendly eyes, and the hint of a smile were just what
everyone needed at that very moment.
"It's not the worst news I'll be bringin' ye, Mr.
Duffy," the face on the viewer began, "but the situa-tion
isn't good."
Steeling himself for the report, Duffy nodded.
"We're ready."
Scott drew a breath before continuing. "Our
ambassador to the Tholians is recommending that we
scrap the mission. He wants the Federation to for-mally
apologize to the commander of the ship ye fired
on, and to the Magistrates of the Assembly. He says
we're on the brink of losin' it all as far as relations are
concerned, and that the Defiant isn't worth it."
Duffy's mind was numbed by Scott's words, which
echoed those of Abramowitz moments before. Rather
than lose his focus, though, Duffy fell back on his
ready wit. "And exactly how is this not the worst
news, Captain?"
Scott allowed a small smile before replying. "We've
got the support of Admiral Ross, and that carries a lot
of weight with the Federation Council. The admiral is
arguing for the da Vinci to hold its position, saying
that it was poor frame of mind and the effects of
interspace, not a botched cooperative effort, that led
us to this point. He says that it just might be the
Tholians who do the apologizin' once this is all over."
18
                
Releasing a breath, Duffy relaxed a bit. "So what do
we do in the meantime?"
"Tell me how your repairs are farin'."
It was a question Duffy hadn't expected, as he had
explained to the S.C.E. leader in detail during their
earlier conversation just what damage the starship
had suffered. "All systems are operational except for
the warp drive, just like-"
"Ah," Scott said with a sigh that was almost too dra-matic.
"And that's givin' ye lots of trouble to fix so
close to the point of interphase, ye say."
"No, sir," Duffy replied, his puzzlement growing by
the second. "We're almost-"
"It may take hours to repair before ye can even head
back to Federation space."
Realization finally dawned, and a smile spread
across Duffy's face as he began to pick up on Captain
Scott's lead. It was a look that was shared by everyone
else at the table.
"Oh, yes, sir. I'd say at least three-"
"Twelve hours to repair, ye say? I'll let Admiral Ross
know right away." Scott nodded grimly and twitched
a cheek. Duffy almost laughed aloud.
Did he just wink at me?
"Set your team to work, Mr. Duffy," Scott said, then
adjusted his tone to a more serious timbre. "But I'll be
needin' a word alone with ye now."
Here it comes, Duffy thought as everyone else rose
19
                
from their seats, moving with only slightly less speed
than they might exhibit during an emergency evacua-tion
of the ship. Only Stevens paused just long
enough to offer a "thumbs-up" gesture and to mouth
the words "Good luck" before he, too, was gone. In
seconds Duffy was alone in the room, leaving him to
look squarely at the viewer and ready to get called
down by the chief of the S.C.E. himself.
Well, it was fun while it lasted. So long, and thanks
for all the . . .
"Mr. Duffy," the seasoned engineer said, "did I ever
tell ye what the most frightenin' words I ever heard
spoken on the bridge of a starship were?" Duffy shook
his head as the veteran engineer continued. "Well,
here they are: 'Mr. Scott, you have the conn.'"
Duffy laughed in spite of himself, realizing now that
the captain understood his plight all too well. He
didn't know many engineers who had risen through
the ranks of command, at least not the engineers he
perceived as being cut from the same cloth as he was.
After all, why would an engineer want to command a
starship rather than spend that time tearing it apart
and putting it back together?
"An engineer's job isn't just to keep a starship run-nin'.
It's to keep her crew safe," said Scott. "Some of
the best years I had in Starfleet were when I was third
in command of the Enterprise. Keepin' the crew safe;
that's what I kept in mind every time I had to sit in the
20
                
center seat.
"Mr. Duffy, I'm gonna level with ye. That diplomat
Marshall wants to hang this whole mess on you. He
thinks that an immature officer, a mere engineer unfit
for command caused the whole thing." Scott leaned
forward, his eyes fixing on the younger man. "I know
he's wrong. We'll show him he's wrong, Mr. Duffy."
Pride. That's what shone in Captain Scott's eyes as
he spoke. Pride in the Starfleet Corps of Engineers,
pride in the crew of the da Vinci, pride in the engineer
who stepped from third in command to leading a ship
in a mission that now was so much more than sal-vaging
a relic from a bygone era.
I can do this.
"Yes, we will, Captain," said Duffy, now rising from
his chair. "Just buy me the time."
Scott nodded a few times, forcing his lips together
tightly in a small frown. To Kieran Duffy, the old engi-neer
appeared lost in his thoughts.
"Laddie, once I thought I was leavin' my captain in
that same damnable place. I'll push like hell to keep
ye from thinkin' the same. Scott out."
21
                
With only the light from her helmet lamps to guide
the way and the sound of her own breathing to keep
her company, Gomez pulled herself through the
Jefferies tube and deeper into the bowels of the
Defiant. Despite there being no gravity to impede her
progress or to grab her and send her plunging head-long
down a maintenance shaft, it was still difficult
going. Her environment suit, designed for use in open
space or on the exposed surface of an otherwise
inhospitable planet, only seemed to hamper her
movements here. Junctions and intersections were
particularly challenging, as she had to be aware of
snagging her suit on exposed controls or anything
else sticking out from the sides of the crawlway.
22
CHAPTER
3
And on top of it all, the walls were closing in on her.
She was sure of it.
The thought came unbidden, surging to the front of
her consciousness. She knew it was an odd notion
and completely baseless, but she couldn't shake it.
The Jefferies tube was contracting around her. The
walls threatened to crush the life out of her, chased
back only when she shone her light at them.
"The tube is not getting smaller," Gomez scolded
herself. "It's your imagination, so get over it and keep
moving." And so she did, pulling her weightless body
through the crawlspace as quickly as she could, and
doing her best to ignore the oppressive advance of the
walls around her.
Movement ahead caught her attention, along with a
swath of color contrasting with the dull gray domi-nating
the rest of the tunnel. Gomez paused in her
crawling, orienting herself so that her helmet lamps
could illuminate the section of tube ahead of her. Her
eyes focused on the source of the movement, and she
felt a shiver travel the entire length of her body.
It was the skeleton of yet another Defiant
crewmember, dressed in a red jumpsuit and floating
freely in the confines of the Jefferies tube. The bones
of the feet were bare, and there was no sign of the
boots the man had once worn.
Man? Woman? Gomez had no idea what gender the
crewmember might have been. She was only reason-23
                
ably sure that the skeleton was even human. Had this
person been an engineer, toiling away in the depths of
the starship, only to be overcome by the effects of
interspace? He or she had been isolated here, cut off
from the rest of the ship's crew. A maintenance crawl-way
seemed to Gomez to be a particularly lonely
place to die.
However, that thought didn't bother her nearly as
much as the realization that the skeleton of the hap-less
victim was blocking her path through the
Jefferies tube. She would have to maneuver past the
dead crewman in order to continue forward.
"Dear God . . . " she whispered, noticing the shake
in her voice as the words escaped her lips. There was
no way she could allow herself to touch the skeleton.
The very idea of coming into contact with the crew-man's
remains revolted her.
What the hell's the matter with me? Her mind
screamed the question at her. She had to press for-ward,
of course. It was the only way to get to Lense
and Pattie. That's what she needed to focus on, not
the tightness of the crawlspace or the lifeless body
floating before her or . . .
"Stop it!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the con-fines
of her helmet. Then she remained in place for
the additional couple of minutes it took to bring her
rapid breathing down to something approaching nor-mal.
"You can do this," she told herself. "You have to.
24
                
Pattie and Elizabeth need you."
Yes, that was it. She needed to concentrate on Pattie
and Lense and the fact that they were trapped outside
the ship and needed her help to get back inside.
"Gomez to Lense," she called out as she activated
her communicator, painfully aware of the detectable
nervousness in her voice. "How are you making out?
How's Pattie?"
"I'm at the airlock, Sonya," the doctor replied.
"Pattie is still unconscious, but her readings are sta-ble."
She, too, had apparently noticed Gomez's anxi-ety.
"Are you okay? Is something wrong?"
Gomez forced herself to take several deep breaths
before replying. It would do no good to display any
false bravado, she knew, as Lense would see through
the facade with little effort. Better to be open about
what was troubling her.
"I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic, Elizabeth," she
admitted. "I've spent my fair share of time crawling
around Jefferies tubes, but I've never felt like this
before. And there's something else." In halting,
hushed tones, Gomez described the body blocking
her path in the crawlway.
Enough of this! It was time to move, she decided.
Lense and Pattie didn't have all day to wait on her to
get her act together. With a final, cleansing breath,
she reached for a handhold and began to pull herself
forward once more.
25
                
"I'm moving again, Elizabeth," she said, hoping her
voice sounded more confident to the doctor than it
did to her.
"Good," Lense replied. "Sonya, just talk to me if you
start to feel nervous or uneasy again."
"Okay," Gomez said, nodding though there was no
one around to see the action. She didn't care, her
attention instead riveted on the task at hand. She
closed her eyes and focused on the technical
schematic Soloman had shown her, displaying the
memorized route to the airlock in her mind's eye.
Her concentration faltered, though, when she felt
her hand brush across something that was most defi-nitely
not part of the Jefferies tube. It was soft, yield-ing
to her touch, and it moved slightly at her
approach.
The crewman.
Almost immediately Gomez felt her pulse begin to
quicken and her breathing accelerate. Still, she kept
pushing forward, gritting her teeth and clenching her
eyes closed even tighter as she felt the skeleton of the
dead crewmember begin to pass down the length of
her environment suit. Her mind tortured her with
images of bones shifting beneath the material of the
crewman's jumpsuit. Could she actually hear the
sound of those bones rubbing against one another?
And then, the one thing she feared most happened.
She stopped moving.
26
                
Still gripping a handhold, Gomez tried to pull her-self
forward again but failed. She was stuck. Without
thinking, she opened her eyes, only to see the skull of
the doomed crewman plastered against the faceplate
of her helmet.
The scream that tore itself from her throat echoed
in the narrow width of the crawlway.
"Sonya!" Lense's voice called out over her commu-nicator.
"What is it?"
Gomez didn't respond. She tuned out her stranded
teammate as she thrashed about, flailing her arms
and kicking her legs against the sides of the tunnel in
a frantic effort to free herself. One hand swiped at the
skull still leering at her, forcing it away and up toward
the ceiling of the tube. She felt something snap like
brittle wood splintering and then she was free, pulling
herself once more through the tunnel with no thought
as to getting snagged on some projection or slamming
headfirst into a wall or maintenance hatch.
Suddenly the cramped walls of the Jefferies tube
fell away, and Gomez spilled into one of the Defiant's
corridors. She barely managed to throw her arms out
ahead of her, preventing herself from careening into
the passageway's far bulkhead. As her hands touched
the wall, instinct and training took over, orienting her
body so that her magnetized boots could rest once
again on the cold, dusty deck.
"Sonya?" Lense repeated. "Answer me. Are you all
27
                
right?"
Taking a moment to gather herself, Gomez forced
away the lingering images of the crewman's body and
the way the skeleton's fragile remains had given way
under her panicked assault as she fought to extricate
herself from the crawlway.
"I'm . . . I'm fine, Elizabeth. Now, at least. But we're
going to have Soloman find us another way back to
the bridge, if it's all the same to you."
"Right now," the doctor replied, "I'd just be happy
to be inside the ship."
A small chuckle broke through Gomez's remaining
anxiety, bringing a much-needed smile to her face as
she started down the corridor, examining directional
signs on the bulkheads as she went. It didn't take long
to find the room containing the maintenance airlock,
as well as a collection of lockers holding environment
suits and assorted engineering tools. If time hadn't
been an issue, Gomez might have taken a few minutes
to examine the century-old equipment and marvel at
how well it had been preserved by the lack of atmos-phere
on the ship.
Instead, she turned her attention to the airlock
itself. A moment's work with her manual door opener
succeeded in coaxing the airlock hatch open and
revealing the welcome sight of Elizabeth Lense. The
doctor was still cradling the unconscious Pattie in her
arms.
28
                
"How is she?" Gomez asked as she helped lower the
Nasat to the deck. She held Pattie's still form down as
Lense reached for her tricorder, but to Gomez's sur-prise,
she was the first object of the doctor's scrutiny
rather than Pattie.
"Just as I suspected," Lense said as she snapped the
tricorder closed and reached for the medical kit on
her belt. "The theragen I gave you has begun to wear
off. You've started to feel the effects of interspace."
Gomez's sigh was a mixture of relief and apprehen-sion
as she allowed herself to relax somewhat and sag
against the nearby bulkhead. At least now she knew
that the feelings of panic and uncertainty she'd been
experiencing had an external cause, and weren't due
to her own failings. On the other hand, she hadn't
expected the inoculations Lense had given them all to
lose their effectiveness so quickly.
As if anticipating Gomez's question, Lense said,
"Being in the rift might be having a more intense
effect on us than merely being in proximity to it. I
should give the entire away team another dose as
soon as possible."
With hypospray in hand, the doctor reached for
Gomez's right shoulder and placed the injector into
the pressurized receptacle located there. The connec-tion
was designed expressly for the purpose of allow-ing
injections into a suit's occupant when circum-stances
didn't allow for the removal of the helmet,
29
                
making it easy to provide medical treatment in almost
any environment. Once she had administered the
theragen to Gomez, she repeated the process on her-self.
"I didn't expect to have to give booster shots so
soon, if at all," Lense said. "If we can't get out of the
rift before my supply of theragen is exhausted, we
could be in serious trouble."
Gomez thought about the near hysteria she had
endured in the Jefferies tube. Knowing that those
feelings were nothing compared to what she might
experience should the away team be exposed to the
full effects of the rift now filled her with a pro-nounced
sense of dread.
30
                
His thoughts concentrated somewhere beyond the
image displayed on the da Vinci's main viewer, Duffy
sat in the captain's chair, staring into the reaches of
starry space. His eyes followed a glowing ribbon of
energy projecting from the starship's deflector dish as
it lanced outward, then narrowed to a point near the
center of the viewscreen. Somewhere out there, he
hoped, the beam would find a crack or seam, any-thing
that could be seized upon and forced open and
give the da Vinci access to the interdimensional rift
that had reclaimed the Defiant, along with their own
away team.
As a young boy on Earth, Duffy had sometimes
entertained himself with thoughts of contacting a
31
CHAPTER
4
passing ship of alien spacefarers. Armed with the
biggest portable beacon his father owned, he would
slip from his home in the dark of night and settle him-self
on a grassy rise in the backyard. There he would
activate the beacon and point it into the night sky.
Sometimes his fingers fiddled with the beacon's
switch, making the beam of light pulse at random.
Other times he would allow it to burn steadily for
what seemed to him like hours. He would sprawl in
the grass, paying little mind to the closely shorn
blades prickling the back of his neck as he looked sky-ward
and hoped that maybe this would be the night
that the captain of a Vulcan science ship or a curious
Pygorian trader would stop by for a visit.
Duffy's posture slumped a bit in the center seat as
he recalled the night he had told his father that he
wouldn't need the beacon anymore. His father had
patted him on the shoulder and encouraged him to
keep it at his bedside, should he ever change his
mind. The response of his young voice rang in Duffy's
memory.
That's okay, Dad. You can keep it. I'm tired of just
watching the light. No one ever comes.
He tried to fend off the ironic ring of his memories
as the deflector beam pierced the blackness. He con-tinued
to watch it for a few seconds longer, then
turned reluctantly from the viewscreen toward the
science station.
32
                
"Anything?"
"No detectable changes," Fabian Stevens replied.
When he volunteered for a duty shift on the bridge, he
typically had his eye on the tactician's seat. Now he
had taken the post of the ship's science officer, moni-toring
the area of the rift for any effect from the
deflector beam's attempt to influence it. "I've got
nothing, Duff, but the rift is hard enough to read
when it's open."
"I'm not asking for much here," said Duffy to no one
in particular, letting his frustration saturate his words.
It was their third attempt at massaging the area of
interphase into a premature opening, and Duffy's
hopes for success were fading. With the Tholians
bound to return to the area at any time, he knew that
merely idling here for three more hours and awaiting
the rift's next predicted opening was not the most pru-dent
course of action.
"I don't want the fabric of space torn wide open," he
said. "I'm just looking for a little rip. Even a snag."
Stevens smirked at Duffy. "Maybe we could send in
a torpedo loaded with a batch of P-38s?"
An unexpected yet quite welcome laugh burst from
Duffy's mouth. Despite the seriousness of their cur-rent
situation, he couldn't help but recall their recent
and memorable mission involving the "fabled" P-38s.
It had happened a few months before, when the da
Vinci had come across a drifting Pakled craft. At first
33
                
the vessel appeared to have been disabled after an
attack of unknown origin. Duffy, Stevens, and a few
da Vinci technicians had beamed over to lend a hand,
only to learn that the Pakled crew was trying to repair
practically every onboard system. Their ship, Duffy
quickly learned, had suffered a cascading circuitry
overload following the crew's attempt at adapting an
"official Romulan cloaking device" to their ship's
computer defense systems.
Both Duffy and Stevens had then been forced to
exercise every scrap of self-control they possessed so
as not to fall over laughing when the captain of the
Pakled vessel told them that a Ferengi businessman
was the source of the supposed cloaking device.
The electromagnetic pulse that resulted from
engaging their new contraption had fried practically
everything connected to a power source, including
life-support systems, distress beacons, and even
handheld devices hooked to charging ports. It was
fortunate happenstance that the da Vinci had stum-bled
upon the dying craft at all, and the S.C.E. team
had been viewed by the Pakleds as a mixture of magi-cians
and divine agents.
What dazzled the stranded crew the most, Duffy
and Stevens noted, seemed to be the team's use of
what Starfleet personnel called a P-38. When gripped
between thumb and forefinger, the small device
could, at the press of a button, emit focused frequen-34
                
cies of light and sound that were perfect for freeing
the covers of circuit panels fused shut from the elec-tric
backlash of the contraband "cloaking device."
Neither of the officers had the heart to tell the
Pakleds that their wondrous P-38s were basically glo-rified
Starfleet-issue can openers.
Duffy brought his smile under control long enough
to mimic the Pakled captain's words to Stevens. "'You
make things open. That is good.'"
The two laughed again. "That's us," Duffy said,
curbing his laughter. "The Starfleet Corps of
Engineers: Miracle Workers for the Alpha Quadrant
and beyond."
Duffy's face sobered a bit as he looked to the
viewscreen again.
Nothing.
If anything qualifies as "beyond" right about now, it's
the Defiant.
"It's not working," he said, his words tinged with
disgust. "Shut it down, Fabian." Duffy paused as he
watched the golden-hued ray snap out of existence
with not a shimmer of the rift he had hoped against
hope to see. "Analyze the latest set of sensor readings
and let me know when you're ready to try it again."
"Sure, Duff," Stevens replied as he turned back to
his console. "Fourth one makes the charm, right?"
"That's what the Andorians always say."
Duffy's attention was drawn by the opening of the
35
                
turbolift doors, from which emerged another
reminder of the masked dangers awaiting those who
merely occupied this area of space. Armed with a
hypospray, Nurse Sandy Wetzel stepped onto the
bridge and cut a path directly to Duffy.
"Commander," she said, "I need to administer ther-agen
boosters to everyone. Dr. Lense's orders were for
the shots to be given out if she wasn't back by 1600
hours."
Duffy nodded, remembering Lense's report from
her earlier briefing. The effectiveness of the theragen
treatment received by the entire crew would weaken
over time and require bolstering through additional
inoculations.
"Fire away," he said, craning his neck to allow the
nurse access. As the spray hissed below his ear, he had
a momentary pang of concern as he thought once
more about the substance being pumped into his
bloodstream.
Actually a Klingon nerve gas that was instantly
lethal in its purest form, the theragen derivative was
also the da Vinci crew's best defense against slipping
into the same space madness that had gripped those
aboard the Defiant a century ago. Duffy, for one, was
thankful for the medicine. The last thing he needed
right now, on top of everything else, was to have to
cope with a mentally unstable crew.
As Wetzel finished inoculating him, Duffy said,
36
                
"Thanks, Sandy. How's Songmin doing?"
Wetzel had been the first of the medical team to
report to the bridge during the Tholian attack that
had interrupted the da Vinci's recovery operation and
sent the Defiant plunging back into the interspatial
rift. She had arrived to find the usual assortment of
bumps, cuts, and bruises except for the more serious-ly
injured helmsman, Ensign Songmin Wong.
"We're treating him for a concussion," she replied.
"He'll be released for duty after a night's rest."
Duffy nodded thankfully as Wetzel moved to the
helmsman now seated at Wong's usual position. Then
his attention was drawn to the communications sta-tion,
where an animated discussion looked to be tak-ing
place between Carol Abramowitz and Bart
Faulwell. The two had been hard at work since Duffy
had returned from his private conversation with
Captain Scott. He'd been too busy to wonder what
they'd been up to before now, but as he watched their
exchange for several more seconds, he decided that
this was the time to find out.
He walked toward them, trying to be obvious about
his approach, but the two didn't flinch. Abramowitz
leaned forward in her seat, occasionally keying com-mands
as the tall, lean Faulwell stood beside her, both
remaining intently focused on their work. Then Duffy
noticed that they were both straining to listen to small
Feinberg audio receivers plugged into their ears. Who
37
                
were they talking to? What in the hell was going on?
Speaking softly, he said, "Hello? Heh-LO-oh."
The best comparison Duffy could make to the
sound that came out of Abramowitz's mouth was that
of a tribble freshly tossed into a Klingon's lap. The
cultural specialist's eyes widened in momentary shock
as she registered Duffy's presence, her surprise nearly
jerking her against the back of her chair. Duffy chuck-led
at her response, but neither she nor Faulwell
seemed amused at the interruption.
"I'm sorry, Commander," she said, regaining some
of her composure. "I guess we were somewhere else."
"Where?"
Faulwell couldn't seem to help the hint of a proud
smile starting to creep onto his face. "Truth be told,
Mr. Duffy, I was giving Carol here a lesson in Tholian
cryptography. We've been reviewing some of the
coded messages between the commander of the
Tholian ship and his contact on their homeworld. You
may find this interesting."
Duffy didn't try to hide his surprise as he looked to
Abramowitz. "Coded messages? You mean you
tapped into their communications?" He couldn't help
but be amused when Abramowitz didn't reply imme-diately,
but instead actually shuffled her feet, as if
uncertain how to answer his question.
"Um, I kind of intercepted and recorded all of the
transmissions to and from the Tholian ship while we
38
                
were maintaining contact." She shrugged her shoul-ders
and widened her eyes, the very picture of inno-cence.
"Maybe I hit the wrong button?"
For nearly every moment since the attack, Duffy
had been gripped with apprehension that he had
somehow unwittingly prompted the Tholians'
actions, and that something he had done or ordered
had resulted in the Defiant and his teammates being
lost in the rift. He saw now that his friends had prob-ably
harbored similar concerns, and had channeled
that anxiety toward finding an answer. Maybe the
true motivation behind the attack was somewhere in
these transmissions, just waiting to be discovered.
"That's very, um . . . damn, Carol. You're good."
Abramowitz smiled. "I listened in once or twice, but
I couldn't make sense of any of it. Tholian speech
sounds like someone grinding glass, let alone whatev-er
scrambling protocols they add. I thought it would
be useless to us, until I talked to Bart."
Aside from being a master linguist, Bartholomew
Faulwell had been steadily carving a reputation for
himself in Starfleet circles as a crack cryptographer.
One of the oldest members of the da Vinci crew,
Faulwell had been one of a legion of minds tapped by
Starfleet brass during the Dominion War to aid in sift-ing
through enemy communications. His quick and
accurate translations of garbled or encrypted trans-missions
had proved vital to admirals planning strate-39
                
gic moves for the allied forces. Had the war still been
waging, Duffy knew that the S.C.E. would most cer-tainly
not be reaping the benefits of Faulwell's skills.
Faulwell let his smile grow a bit as he patted
Abramowitz on the shoulder. "We don't know much,
but it's a start. Tholian communiqués are typically
brief, probably out of fear that somebody will try to
do just what we're doing. We can tell you one thing
for certain, though. Our escort ship was ordered to
fire on the Defiant, and on us, by the Assembly."
Duffy's brow knit in confusion. "So they didn't just
go space-happy, then. Any clues as to why they
attacked us?"
"Absolutely," Faulwell replied. "The last thing sent
to the Assembly before returning the order to fire was
the same tricorder information that Captain Gold
sent to us from the Defiant about whatever it was the
away team found."
Of course, Duffy thought. The away team had found
a mechanism of Tholian design stored in one of the
Defiant's cargo bays. After recording detailed scans of
the device, Captain Gold had notified the commander
of the Tholian ship, Nostrene, about their discovery.
And naturally, things had gone to hell shortly after-ward.
"So what is it about that gadget that has the
Tholians all worked up?" he asked. Based on the
information P8 Blue had gathered and on the theory
40
                
she had put forth, Duffy and Stevens had figured out
that the strange device found by the away team was
some sort of power emitter. Using that as a starting
point, they had scoured the da Vinci's databanks for
all references to Tholian encounters by Starfleet
ships. Sensor scans recorded by various vessels dur-ing
those engagements supported Pattie's hypothesis
that the mechanism she had found was similar in
design to those employed by Tholian ships to gener-ate
their infamous energy webs. But what was so
secret about that? The Federation had known about
the Tholian's web technology for more than a century.
What was so special about this particular piece of
equipment?
Duffy shook his head in growing frustration. He
wasn't used to not having all the pieces to a puzzle
within easy reach. As an engineer, he prided himself
on being able to see to the heart of any problem based
solely on the evidence available to him at the time.
The answers were here, he knew, somewhere in the
midst of the data gathered by the da Vinci's sensors or
by the away team. It would simply require more time
to sift through it. Time, however, was something he
was quickly running out of.
Still, he did have enough time to show his gratitude
to a pair of specialists willing to take the mugato by
the horn. It was just such initiative that made Duffy
appreciate the rewards of command.
41
                
"This is great, you two," he said, returning his atten-tion
to Faulwell. "I'll make sure to report this to
Captain Gold after I buy you both dinner at the best
restaurant aboard this ship." He smiled again. "Once
this is all over, Bart, you'll have plenty of new materi-al
to write Anthony about."
"Commander Duffy!"
It was Lieutenant David McAllan. More so than the
words themselves, the sound of alarm coming from
the da Vinci's typically reserved tactical officer caught
the entire bridge crew off guard and made Duffy jerk
his head in the direction of the tactical station.
"You need to see this," McAllan said, his face not
turning from his console viewer. As Duffy started in
that direction, he was followed not only by Stevens
but also by Domenica Corsi, whom Duffy knew was
just waiting at her security officer's post for any sign
of trouble. Duffy hoped this would end up disap-pointing
her.
Looking up from his console, the tactical officer's
face was pale as he said, "It's the Tholians,
Commander. Long-range sensors have just picked up
six ships heading this way at maximum warp,
and . . ."
"And what, Lieutenant?" Duffy looked down at the
console's tactical viewer, which depicted six solid
blips, representations of Tholian ships, flying in a
hexagonal configuration. Amid the configuration was
42
                
something that Duffy had a hard time discerning
from the viewer.
"Sensors read it as pure energy," McAllan reported.
"It's fluctuating slightly in intensity, but keeping pace
with the Tholian ships."
Judging from the readings, Duffy saw that the ener-gy
output was intense, incorporating the power of a
dozen photon torpedo explosions in a stable field or
cloud. . . .
Or a web.
Stevens elbowed his way past Duffy to get a look for
himself, tapping a few commands on the console's
smooth surface and pausing to read the streams of
data now scrolling next to the tactical image. He
laughed in spite of his assessment of it all.
"Now that's pretty clever!" Stevens looked back up
at Duffy, his smile evident but quickly fading. "Clever
strictly from a tactical point of view, I mean. Sorry,
Duff."
Duffy decided not to dampen Stevens's enthusiasm.
It was just that kind of appreciation for the enemy
that would motivate the tactical expert to calculate
the appropriate defense against them. "Fabian, is that
what I think it is?"
"It is, if you think it's an energy field capable of fry-ing
the systems of several starships at once." Stevens
studied the tactical viewer once more and nodded.
"Those ships are generating a net of power that's a
43
                
thousand meters in diameter, Duff. Think of it as a
massive butterfly net, and guess who the butterfly is."
Duffy weighed his options for the da Vinci: Hold the
ship's position and become ensnared in the Tholians'
deadly web, or retreat and lose their fix on the inter-spatial
rift, as well as their away team, for good.
"How much time do we have, Fabian?"
Stevens's expression was grave as he consulted his
console one last time. "If they maintain their speed,
the Tholians will be here in about an hour."
44
                
" Captain's log: stardate 5683.9. My engineer and sci-ence
officer have spent the past twelve hours examining
the alien object recovered from the destroyed Klingon
colony on Traelus II. They theorize that, when com-bined
with other similar devices we found deployed at
equidistant positions around the colony's perimeter, it
generated an energy field enshrouding the entire settle-ment.
Residual energy traces recorded by the landing
party indicate the field was lethal to any living being
within its sphere of influence. Judging by the condition
of the Klingon bodies we found, it wasn't a particularly
pleasant way to die, either."
David Gold could almost feel his blood chill as he
once again regarded the image of Thomas Blair, the
45
CHAPTER
5
late captain of the Defiant. Unlike the log entries they
had reviewed earlier, the Blair in this excerpt didn't
possess the haunted, exhausted expression that would
dominate his features in those later recordings.
Then again, Gold mused soberly, he didn't know he
was going to die at this point.
"Well," he said, "this would certainly go a long way
toward explaining why the Tholians were so upset
earlier."
Gomez replied, "So the Defiant crew found the
colony, took the web generator for study, and then fell
into the rift while evading Tholian vessels and trying
to get the evidence back to Starfleet Command."
At the science station, Soloman said, "There is no
evidence to . . . suggest that the Tholians had knowl-edge
of the Defiant's actions before it became . . .
trapped in the rift."
Gold shrugged but nodded in agreement. "Perhaps.
It's never been discussed in an open forum, that's for
sure."
"It would not be a . . . wise course of action," the
Bynar replied. "According to sensor data I have exam-ined
. . . along with reports filed by the . . . landing
party, the colony was defenseless, particularly by . . .
Klingon standards. The Tholians attacked a . . . group
of unarmed civilians."
From where she knelt next to a seated and now con-scious
P8 Blue, Dr. Lense looked up from tending the
46
                
Nasat's head injury. "Why would they do that? I mean,
the Tholians are aggressive, but isn't that a bit
extreme?"
Gold shook his head. "We know that the Tholians
have always been fiercely protective of their space. I
guess we just didn't realize at the time to what lengths
they would go in the interests of that protection."
"All this time," Gomez said, "the Defiant held the
key to a terrible secret."
"It still does," Gold replied. "The Klingons never
found out what happened at Traelus II, and by all
reports they were more than a bit upset over the inci-dent.
If word of the Tholians' involvement reaches the
Klingons now, some in the Empire may well want
vengeance."
"So the Tholians try to destroy us, only we get
pulled back into the rift," Lense said. "Lucky us."
"What about the da Vinci?" Pattie asked, her voice
weak and tired.
Gold strolled around the bridge's upper deck in the
Nasat's direction, talking as he went. "Well, either Mr.
Duffy followed orders and evacuated the area, or he
was forced to fight. In that case, the da Vinci disabled
the Tholian vessel . . . or she didn't."
The statement hung in the air for several seconds,
with no one on the bridge wanting to respond.
Realizing the somber mood he had inflicted on his
people, Gold rallied quickly.
47
                
"At any rate, I'm afraid we have more pressing con-cerns."
Turning his attention to P8 Blue, he asked,
"Pattie? How are you feeling?"
Pattie nodded slowly. "I will recover, Captain."
Turning to Lense, she added, "Many pardons for the
trouble I caused you, Doctor."
Lense patted the Nasat on the nearest of her eight
limbs, then rose to her feet to face Gold. She ran a
hand through her matted hair, thankful for finally
being able to remove her environment suit's helmet.
"I've treated her concussion, Captain. She'll have a
headache for a bit, but it's the best I can do until we
get her back to the da Vinci."
Gold nodded. "We'll see to that as best we can,
Doctor."
The attention of everyone on the bridge was caught
as the overhead lighting dimmed and the displays on
the various consoles flickered. Gold could even hear
the mild hiss of the air-circulation system fade
momentarily.
"What's that about?" he asked.
Soloman was already examining the sensor data
being relayed to the science station. "We are experi-encing
. . . a power fall-off. It is affecting all . . . of the
generators we brought with us from the da Vinci."
"How bad is it?" Gomez asked as she moved to the
bridge's engineering station.
"At the current rate of drop-off," the Bynar replied,
48
                
"the generators will be completely drained . . . of
power in less than two hours."
"Damn," Gomez spat, drawing a questioning look
from Gold and the others. With an embarrassed
expression on her face, she said, "Kieran suggested
that we bring along backup power supplies for the
generators, but I decided against that." She shook her
head in disgust. "The generators can normally oper-ate
for days without interruption, and I figured we'd
be here for eight to ten hours at most. By then, the da
Vinci would have pulled us out of the rift."
"Something tells me that Mr. Duffy will have plenty
of colorful observations about all of this when we get
back," Lense said. Looking at the viewscreen and the
matte of darkness that had once been the opening to
the rift, she added, "That is, if we get back."
"Enough of that," Gold snapped. "We've just been
given a deadline for getting out of here, people, and
we can't afford to waste time with defeatist gabbing."
Turning to the science station, he asked, "Soloman,
can you calculate the time until the next interphase?"
The Bynar spent several moments peering into the
console's viewfinder before turning back to the group
with a troubled expression on his face.
"According to the data I have . . . at my disposal, the
next interphase should occur in . . . three hours and
twelve minutes."
Gold absorbed the report. It was simple to under-49
                
stand, really. The power supplies of the generators
would be exhausted more than an hour before the
next interphase.
"Why didn't we register the power drain before?" he
asked.
It was Gomez who replied. "Up until the attack, the
Defiant was always on the threshold of the rift. Now
that we're completely enveloped in interspace, the
negative effects associated with it must be intensi-fied."
"What about the power cells in our suits?" Pattie
asked. "They should be affected as well."
Gomez activated her tricorder and quickly scanned
her suit's control panel, located on her left sleeve.
"There is a minor power drain, but it's not alarming."
She frowned at the tricorder readings. "They should
be fine at least until the next interphase, but I'm not
sure I'd bet on them."
"Well, it's all we have for now," Gold said. "So rather
than worry about it, I think we'd be better served by
finding a way out of here." Looking over at Soloman,
he said, "Give me a scan of the rift opening, or at least
the area where it used to be."
Soloman turned to the sensor displays once more,
his small hands playing over the controls of the sci-ence
station. Gold noted with satisfaction that the
Bynar had become so fluent with the antiquated con-trol
panels that one would think he had been born to
50
                
serve on this ship. Soloman seemed quite at home
there, the da Vinci captain thought, toiling away at
the science station with the viewfinder's telltale blue
glow washing over his face. It was in stark contrast to
the rest of the bridge illumination that reflected off
the back of his pale, bald head.
The Bynar's head . . . so small and fragile. Gold
imagined he could feel the smooth texture of
Soloman's skin beneath his fingers, could almost feel
the curve of his skull as he at first caressed, then
pressed harder, yearning to hear the final satisfying
crack of the slim neck supporting-
What?
Gold wasn't aware that he'd fallen until his tailbone
struck the deck and the back of his head smacked
against the side of the captain's chair. The dull ache
from the dual impacts had barely begun to assert
itself before he felt a hand on his arm.
"Captain, are you all right?" Lense asked, already
waving her tricorder near the area of his head that
had struck the chair.
Reaching up to wipe his brow, Gold blinked several
times in an attempt to reorient himself. He looked up
to see the entire away team staring down at him,
nearly identical expressions of concern etched on
their faces.
"Am I? I . . . I don't know," he said, his voice
unsteady. "One minute I was watching Soloman
51
                
working, and the next I was . . . I was imagining . . ."
The murderous anxiety he had felt only seconds
before threatened to wash over him again, and he bit
down on the rest of the sentence, leaving the remain-ing
words unspoken.
Lense lowered her tricorder. "The theragen in your
system has begun to lose its effectiveness." She
retrieved a hypospray from her medical kit and
checked its setting. "It's as if we're all building up a
tolerance for the drug." Shaking her head, she added,
"I'm going to increase the dosage for all of us, but at
this rate, my supply won't last more than a few
hours."
Gold cast a final, guilty look at Soloman as he drew
a deep breath to calm himself. The horrid vision that
had filled his mind only moments before continued to
burn in his memory. Even as the theragen took hold
in his bloodstream and he felt the anxiety that had
gripped him begin to dissipate, he knew that the
image of his hands closing around the Bynar's head
would haunt him long after this mission was over.
"Soloman," he said in a subdued voice, "what did
your sensor scans reveal?"
"There are . . . residual energy traces indicating the
rift's entrance, sir," Soloman replied. "I am able to
determine the boundaries of the opening."
"If we can detect it," Gomez said, "then maybe we
can find a way to force it open."
52
                
Rising from his seat, Soloman said, "Opening the
rift may not present . . . much difficulty, Commander.
A great deal of force may not . . . be required."
"How so?" Gold asked.
"I see what he means," Gomez cut in. "When the da
Vinci's deflector and tractor beams were locked onto
us, the interspatial pocket seemed to react in the
opposite direction, exerting more and more force to
hold us here. But we might be able to overcome that
resistance by pushing ourselves through the rift from
within."
Gold frowned, not entirely convinced. "With what?
The Defiant's maneuvering thrusters couldn't possibly
be strong enough to push us out."
It was Pattie who provided one possible solution.
"Perhaps the warp drive could be used."
Gomez made no effort to hide the skepticism on her
face as she regarded the Nasat. "The warp engines are
as cold as ice, Pattie. The dilithium crystals have
decayed to nothing, and even if we had one, we'd still
have to find the right intermix formula. It would take
at least thirty minutes to initiate a restart of the warp
core. And then there's always the possibility that the
engines won't stand the strain of restarting and will
buckle completely."
Pattie shook her head as she rose from her seat at
the bridge's communications console. "No, no. My
apologies for not explaining myself. I was thinking
53
                
that we could use the generators we brought with us
to provide a quick start to the warp drive. The action
would almost certainly drain the generators within
seconds, but it should be enough to provide a short-duration
warp pulse that could push us through the
rift."
"Why does that sound as crazy as I think it does?"
Lense asked.
But Gomez was nodding at the Nasat's idea. "No, it's
not crazy. I've seen something like it done before,
when I was on the Enterprise." She quickly relayed the
story of the time that Geordi La Forge, the Enterprise's
chief engineer, and the son of the ship's doctor had
devised a scheme to jump-start the warp engines of
an eighty-year-old starship. They had used a minute
amount of dilithium and some antimatter that the
boy had retrieved from one of his ongoing science
experiments. The "warp pulse" had lasted only two
seconds, but it was enough to get the old ship out of
harm's way when a renegade Ferengi marauder
showed up and attempted to hijack the vessel.
"The generators might be able to provide the neces-sary
power for such a pulse," she said. "But even if we
can manage that, is there any antimatter down in
engineering?"
"Anything in the warp core itself would have been
automatically ejected from the ship once power was
lost," Pattie replied. "But there may still be some in
54
                
magnetic storage bottles."
Gold had until this point stood silently, observing
with unabashed admiration as his engineering spe-cialists
talked out their makeshift plan. Watching his
people in their element always gave him the feeling
that there was no problem they couldn't solve, no
obstacle they couldn't overcome.
"What do you think, Commander?" he asked
Gomez. "Can we do it?"
Gomez rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "We'll need to
use at least three of the generators to trigger the warp
engine restart. That will leave two to provide power
for the thrusters and the bridge systems."
"We can use the thrusters to maneuver closer to the
edge of the rift," Pattie added. "The effect of the warp
field's abrupt activation should provide enough dis-ruption
to open the rift and push us through."
Gomez shook her head slowly. "We'll only get one
shot at this, though. If the restart is successful and
doesn't shred the warp engines, it will drain the power
from the generators within seconds."
Gold liked the bold plan being presented by his offi-cers.
Given a choice between actively seeking a way
out of their predicament or simply waiting for their
power systems to deplete themselves, he preferred the
more aggressive option. He had never been one to sit
idly by and wait for fate or luck to visit him, not when
he had the opportunity to fashion his own course of
55
                
action.
Besides, he wasn't ready to abandon the Defiant just
yet, not while any chance of salvaging her still
remained. He knew that the ship held a political pow-der
keg in its cargo hold, but he refused to accept
that, after all they had ultimately sacrificed, the
deaths of the men and women aboard the Defiant
would amount to nothing more than the spark to
ignite an interstellar war.
Maybe it doesn't have to be that way.
The thought came unbidden, catching Gold by sur-prise.
Did it mean what he thought it meant? Could
he bring himself to destroy the evidence the Defiant's
crew had recovered and tried to bring home when
fate had cruelly intervened?
It would be so easy to do, ordering the ship to trav-el
deeper into the rift. Maybe they'd tumble into the
other universe, forever lost to any recovery attempts
from their own side of interspace. He could give the
necessary orders, and he was confident that his crew
would understand his reasoning. The greater political
good would be served.
But not Captain Blair and his people, Gold reminded
himself. They wouldn't be served at all.
No matter the consequences, it would do the
Defiant crew a tremendous disservice to cover up the
details of their last mission for the sake of political
expediency. Therefore, he would do everything in his
56
                
power to see the vessel, and its crew, returned safely
home.
Dismissing the troubling thoughts, Gold said, "Let's
get started, then. Sonya, take Pattie and Dr. Lense to
assist you. Soloman and I will remain here and guide
the ship to the edge of the rift." He smiled grimly at
his team. "Work quickly, people. Time is most defi-nitely
not our ally today."
"Like it ever is," Lense said as she donned her hel-met
in preparation for the journey down to engineer-ing.
Gomez smiled to herself as she added, "It just
wouldn't be an S.C.E. mission without a time
crunch."
57
                
The last time Duffy had sat in the da Vinci's briefing
room, he had been thankful for Captain Scott's words
of advice. He'd also been buoyed by the captain's
attempts to buy them the time they needed to salvage
their mission and come home from Tholian space
with a lost starship, or at least with every member of
the da Vinci's crew. Now all Duffy could think was that
the veteran leader of the engineering troubleshooters
had wasted his efforts.
Within half an hour the six Tholian ships they had
detected would be here, bringing with them their
massive energy net and looking to snare anything in
their collective path, most notably the da Vinci.
It wouldn't have mattered now if ol' Scotty had
58
CHAPTER
6
bought us a year. If we're not out of here before long,
we're done for.
He shook off the thought and focused his eyes once
again on the briefing room's main viewer and its pro-jection
of the tactical image that had burned itself
into his mind not more than thirty minutes earlier.
"Okay, let's go over it one more time. Run it again,
Fabian."
Stevens entered a series of commands into the key-pad
next to the viewer and the image reset itself. Six
cones representing Tholian ships en route to the da
Vinci's current position now glowed a threatening red
in the screen's upper-left corner.
Amid the cones was an amber-colored grid, seem-ingly
innocuous on the screen but representing the
potential to destroy the da Vinci in one fell swoop.
Just below and to the right of the screen's center was
a soft blue dot for the da Vinci, which Duffy's ever-wicked
mind underscored with the caption "You are
here," just to lighten his mental load. To the virtual da
Vinci's right was a field of blue, a computer-simulated
haze marking the area of interphase that, up until
now, had drawn the bulk of Duffy's attention.
Stevens tapped once more and the tactical image
sprang to life. The six cones bore down on the da
Vinci in formation.
"This variety of the Tholian web has never been
observed in the field by anyone from Starfleet," he
59
                
said as he pointed to the configuration of red and
amber shapes. "It differs from the web employed by
Tholian ships for more than a hundred years, which
was literally spun around a craft, then constricted.
Once the energy field made contact, the trapped ship
was powerless at best, or destroyed."
"That seems like a lot of energy to maintain among
those ships," Domenica Corsi said, her brow knitting
in confusion as she studied the computer model.
"Why did they engage the web so far from our posi-tion?"
Stevens shrugged. "Who can tell? Maybe they
hoped it would act as a deterrent. If I were in a
Tholian ship, I'd rather scare an enemy away than
engage one in combat. Even with the web drawing its
energy from their ships' warp fields, as I'm guessing it
does, flying around at high warp with that thing glow-ing
hot is still a safer alternative for the Tholians than
getting shot at."
That made sense to Duffy. The Tholians probably
charged their energy web many more times than they
actually used it. Even theories on the widespread
damage such a web would be capable of wreaking on
a snared craft would shoo away the most wizened
combat veteran.
"Deterrent? They obviously don't know what kind of
thickheaded people they're dealing with today," he
said in a deadpan voice.
60
                
Stevens laughed in response as Corsi scowled.
Duffy couldn't help but smirk a little himself. There
was nothing like knowing your audience.
Corsi studied the screen for another moment before
saying, "It's pretty obvious that we either fight or run.
How do we fight it?"
Stevens reached for the keypad once again, the
image on the screen responding to his commands. "I
don't know how many ships we really need to disable
in order to shut the web down. I recommend target-ing
no less than three of them, but I'm hoping that
getting two might be enough for us to slip through
their fingers. That is, if Tholians have fingers."
On the viewer, the image's perspective jumped as
the distance tightened between the Tholian cluster of
ships and the da Vinci. Suddenly a line of white
lanced from the Federation ship's position, connect-ing
to one of the red cones. Two more lines quickly
followed it, each one homing in on a ship directly
adjacent to the first target. As the animation played
out, the Tholian ships broke from their hexagonal for-mation
and swooped past the dot representing the da
Vinci.
"Looks good in theory, Fabian," Duffy said as Corsi
nodded her approval.
Stevens's expression was appreciative, yet he main-tained
his attitude of concern. "That's not to say,
though, that the remaining ships can't just regroup
61
                
and come back at us with a smaller web." He paused
for the others to digest his assessment. "What we real-ly
need is another ship on our side."
Yeah. Wouldn't that be nice, Duffy mused.
He had an idea of what to expect, should things not
go in their favor, but he voiced the question nonethe-less.
"And when, uh, if we're hit by the web?"
Stevens entered the command to freeze the tactical
animation on the viewer. "Again, Duff, I'm just guess-ing.
It might smoke all of our systems, and that could
just shut us down, or it might force us into a warp-core
breach. Hell, that thing might cut through us like
an exoscalpel."
To Duffy, it was obvious from the silence that sud-denly
descended upon the room that his two com-panions
were envisioning their own worst-case sce-narios
for the da Vinci's entrapment. Before Duffy had
much of a chance to mentally unspool his fate for
himself, however, Stevens took a step toward the
briefing room's door.
"As much as I hate to break up this party, Duff, I
need just a couple of minutes to run the last check on
my deflector equation."
Duffy nodded his head. "Sure. Hey, Fabian, try not
to blow us up before the Tholians get here. They'll be
upset if we take all the fun out of it for them."
Stevens just smiled and left the room, leaving Duffy
with Corsi and the still-illuminated tactical display.
62
                
The security chief visibly stiffened in her seat, and
Duffy knew that she was about to unload her true
feelings about their current situation to him. He held
up his hand to her, cutting her off just as she opened
her mouth.
"Okay, it's not as bad as it sounds," he said.
Corsi didn't ease up. "What is Stevens planning to
do?"
"Fabian says he's thrown just about every combina-tion
of stimuli he can channel through the deflector
dish at the rift. Everything except a warp field." Duffy
paused, noting the frown on Corsi's face. "I know
you're not an engineer, and most times you could give
two bloodworms about tech talk, but bear with me
here. Fabian thinks that maybe the rift shows some of
the same characteristics as a wormhole. He's going to
siphon off some plasma from the warp nacelles, mix
it with some artificial veteron particles, and channel
it all through the deflector dish. It's risky, but the
upside is that the rift could flash open like a Bolian
skyfire."
Corsi seemed unconvinced. "And the downside?"
Duffy's gaze faltered, and he looked away before
replying. "We could blow out the deflector and short
out the warp drive."
"Commander, that is as bad as it sounds."
Despite her response, Corsi's expression wasn't
nearly as fierce as Duffy had anticipated it would be.
63
                
Of all the unexpected twists that this mission had
thrown at him so far, one thing he never, ever would
have bet on was that he'd find a supportive ally in
Domenica Corsi. He had to admit that heading into
battle against the Tholians didn't seem as fearsome a
prospect with her at his side. Corsi had kept a level
head when he himself had come close to losing all
composure. In her eyes, Duffy saw the desire to
believe in the plan, to try one last time to pull the
Defiant, and more importantly their friends, from a
fate even worse than death at the hands of the
Tholians.
"Nah, it's no big deal," Duffy lied. "You'd under-stand
it all with a little more training in warp theory.
And you know, I could steer you toward some good
texts on the subject if you need a little night reading."
"That would not be the way I'd choose to spend my
nights, Mr. Duffy." Corsi cracked a hint of a smile as
the ship's intercom sounded its hailing chime. In the
moment before the chime was followed by a voice,
Duffy chastised himself for wondering just how Corsi
did spend her nights.
"Duff? I'm ready to go out here and time's a wastin'."
The two rose from the oval table without answering
Stevens's invitation. As they moved to take their posts
on the bridge, Duffy noticed himself crossing almost
too naturally to the center seat. However, as he settled
into the chair, he gripped its armrests a little too tight-64
                
ly, feeling as though it was he who would be fired into
the rift instead of the deflector's delicate intermix.
Boy, will I be glad when this is over.
"Mr. Stevens, engage the deflector beam," he said,
hoping that the trembling he thought he heard in his
voice was strictly in his imagination. Duffy's eyes did
not leave the main viewer as Stevens activated the
deflector.
He saw no beam.
What he did see was a shower of sparks and fire
erupting from the science console, and Stevens
throwing himself away from the billowing smoke and
hungry flames.
"Fabian!" Duffy shouted, leaping from his seat and
bolting to where his friend had landed on the deck.
"I'm all right," Stevens said, rolling onto his side
and grimacing slightly from the abrupt impact.
Looking at Corsi, Duffy called out, "Damage
report!"
The security officer's fingers were almost a blur as
she fed commands to her console. "I can't get any diag-nostics
from the deflector relay system. The dish is
either damaged or destroyed. I'm routing a damage-control
team there now." After another few seconds
she looked up from her station. "The warp drive is off-line.
There was feedback from the deflector to the
plasma conduits from the warp nacelles and it caused
an overload. Engineering reports they may have to
65
                
shut down the warp core."
Everyone on the bridge knew what Corsi's words
really meant. With the Tholian ships only minutes
away, the da Vinci was, for all intents and purposes, a
sitting duck. There was no way they would be able to
outrun the enemy vessels without warp drive.
"Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!" Duffy launched him-self
from where he had knelt next to Stevens and
raced to the turbolift's doors. He was carried at first
by instinct, but his sense of duty to the da Vinci's crew
kicked him into an even higher gear. As it was, he had
to brake himself so as to avoid slamming bodily into
Corsi, who had materialized between him and the tur-bolift
with the efficiency of a transporter.
"Where the hell are you going?" she demanded, her
eyes boring into Duffy's.
"I can have warp back on-line in three minutes," he
said, moving to push past her. The turbolift doors
hissed open at his approach, but he was halted by
Corsi's hand clamping down on his arm with the
strength of a vice.
"You can't leave this bridge," she said, her icy-calm
voice belying the force she was exerting to keep him
in place. "The Tholians will be here any minute."
Duffy wrenched his arm free from Corsi's grip and
backpedaled into the waiting turbolift. As he stepped
into the car, he met the gazes of the bridge crew and
at that instant felt certain that he was doing the right
66
                
thing. Captain Scott had said it himself: An engineer's
job was to keep his crew safe.
Well, that was a captain's job as well, Duffy decided.
The da Vinci was hardly safe from the Tholians with-out
the power to jump to warp speed, and no one
knew those engines better than he did. Acting as cap-tain
or engineer, Duffy knew there was only one place
for him to be right now.
"Three minutes!" he said to Corsi, hoping the
urgent volume in his voice would slow her down.
When it didn't, he finally resorted to the words that
would stop her dead in her tracks.
"Commander Corsi, you have the conn."
And stop she did.
With a grim smile on his lips, he called out
"Engineering!" and the turbolift's doors slammed
shut. He felt the customary lurch in the pit of his
stomach as the car dropped him from the bridge into
the bowels of the ship.
67
                
Sonya Gomez regarded the master systems display
panel in the Defiant's engineering section and mar-veled
once again at the antiquated controls. Though
the systems she was used to overseeing were vastly
more advanced, she still perceived the echoes of func-tion
and purpose in the consoles around her. The
admiration she felt for the engineers of this vessel and
the bygone era it represented grew with every hour
she spent here. More than once during this mission,
she had imagined a younger Montgomery Scott, more
than a century before he would come to lead the
Starfleet Corps of Engineers, proudly riding herd on
massive engines like the ones that had once powered
the Defiant. The thought brought with it a momentary
68
CHAPTER
7
twinge of envy.
The 23rd century, Gomez decided, had to have been
a more challenging time to be an engineer. With ships
out of contact with command bases for weeks and
sometimes months at a time, no SpaceDock facilities
or starbases could be relied upon for repairs. Ships'
engineers were the ultimate masters of their vessels'
fates. The crews of ships like the Defiant had pushed
back the frontiers of unknown space and expanded
the storehouse of knowledge that she and many mod-ern-
day Starfleet officers took for granted.
"The modifications to the generators are complete,"
Pattie reported, moving from the main engineering
area to stand next to Gomez. "They are tied into the
warp drive, and I have programmed a new start-up
sequence into the main computer."
Gomez nodded in satisfaction. Their preparations
were finished, and with any luck they would all be
back on the da Vinci within thirty minutes. She, for
one, would be glad for that. Despite what she might
feel for this ship and the 23rd century, she had grown
weary of traipsing around the derelict ship in near
darkness and chancing upon the scattered remains of
the Defiant's crew. She had also grown tired of being
forced to listen to the echo of her own breathing
inside her helmet. If she were granted one wish, she
decided it would be to never wear an environment
suit again for the rest of her life.
69
                
"Thanks, Pattie," she replied, turning to smile at her
Nasat companion. Despite having what must surely
be a splitting headache, thanks to her concussion,
Pattie had plunged into preparing the generators for
the unorthodox task they would shortly undertake. It
hadn't been a simple proposition, either. Tying the
modern-day components to the century-old power
distribution systems had required even more finess-ing
than Gomez had used to install the generators to
begin with.
And assuming they succeeded in pushing the
Defiant out of the rift, what was waiting for them on
the other side? Was the da Vinci . . . was Kieran
standing by to help them? To help her? What had
happened after the Defiant had been forced back into
interspace? Had Kieran made a stand and tried to
protect the away team, or had he been forced to
retreat? Had he managed to disable or destroy the
Tholian ship, or . . . ?
Gomez couldn't bring herself to complete the
thought. It was probably just as well, she decided. The
coming minutes would require her complete atten-tion.
She couldn't afford distractions, especially now.
The telltale sounds of a tricorder made her turn
around to see Dr. Lense waving the device over
Pattie's head.
"Problem, Doctor?" Gomez asked.
Lense shook her head. "Just checking for signs that
70
                
Pattie might be starting to feel the effects of inter-phase.
So far, she's fine." She smiled at the diminutive
engineer. "Must be that sturdy Nasat constitution."
"Too bad she can't share any of that," Gomez said
with a grim smile of her own. Her mood turned seri-ous
again, however, when she asked, "Elizabeth, how
much longer do you think your supply of theragen
will hold out?"
"I really don't know," the doctor replied. "The inoc-ulations
are continuing to lose their potency and the
effective period for each successive dose is decreasing
rapidly. I'd give us another couple of hours before it
loses its effectiveness altogether."
Gomez had no intention of being around when that
happened. She had no desire to revisit the panic and
sheer terror she'd experienced earlier in the Jefferies
tube. So long as there remained options that would
let her fight to avoid it, she refused to consign herself
to such a fate.
"Well, I'm ready to see about getting us out of here,"
she said as she activated her communicator.
* * *
"Gomez to Captain Gold. We're all set down here, sir."
On the Defiant's bridge, David Gold smiled in satis-faction
to himself. As good as her word, Sonya Gomez
and her team had completed their modifications well
within the time remaining to them before their power
supplies succumbed to the effects of interphase. They
71
                
would indeed get their one chance to push the Defiant
from the rift.
"Excellent work, Commander," he said. "Stand by."
Stepping down into the bridge's command well, the
da Vinci captain moved to stand next to Soloman,
who was seated at the ship's helm. Putting a hand on
the Bynar's shoulder, Gold asked, "Are we ready?"
Soloman nodded. "Thrusters are continuing to . . .
function normally, Captain. They should provide suf-ficient
power to . . . maneuver us out of the rift
once . . . Commander Gomez triggers the warp pulse."
"Fine," Gold replied. Of course, he couldn't stop
from asking himself what they might expect to find
on the other side of the rift. If they were successful,
would they be greeted by the welcome sight of the da
Vinci, or the ominous presence of a Tholian battle
fleet?
As if hearing the unspoken thought, Gomez said,
"We might not be able to see what's waiting for us,
Captain, but I might be able to give us a bit of insur-ance.
I can divert power from our remaining genera-tors
to the shields and maybe one phaser bank. We'd
have to sacrifice access to the main computer and life
support to the bridge, though."
Gold needed no time to consider his options. "Take
whatever power you need, Sonya, but make sure we
retain sensor control and the thrusters." As he spoke,
he indicated for Soloman to don his helmet. Moments
72
                
later, both of them were once again ensconced in their
environment suits.
"Let's do this, Commander," Gold said. "Throw the
switch."
"Aye, sir," Gomez replied. "Brace yourselves up
there. This might get a bit bumpy."
No sooner had Gold moved to the Defiant's com-mand
chair than he was thrown bodily into it as the
mighty starship suddenly surged forward. There was
only the briefest of rumblings from the deck plates as
the ship's massive warp engines received the single
concentrated burst of power from the away team's
portable generators.
In his mind's eye, the da Vinci captain pictured the
spike of energy instantaneously traveling the conduits
that connected the generators to the ship's warp drive,
improvising an intermix reaction in the absence of
dilithium. Gold didn't pretend to understand the
mind-numbing complexity that enshrouded the con-cept
of warp propulsion, but he was content in the
knowledge that he commanded people who did. He
knew he could best serve the specialists comprising
the rest of the away team by staying out of their way
and allowing them to do what they did best.
The main viewer registered the Defiant's sudden
explosive acceleration as crackling, multihued energy
playing across the screen. It was felt in the ship's hull
as well, as deck plates and bulkheads groaned in
73
                
protest at the vessel's abrupt movements.
"Look at that," Gold said. "The rift is reacting to the
warp pulse."
Just as quickly as it had begun, the sounds of the
ship's struggling warp engines died out. Their effects
on the peculiar interspatial pocket surrounding the
Defiant were still being felt, however. The frenzied
collision of energy continued on the main viewer, its
intensity increasing as the ship hurtled closer to the
edge of the rift.
Gold moved to the science station and activated the
sensor controls. "It's working," he said after consult-ing
the viewfinder. "The rift is beginning to open.
Hold us on course, Soloman, steady as she goes."
At the helm, Soloman said, "Guiding the ship is . . .
proving much easier than anticipated. It seems
that . . . our theory about the rift's resistance was cor-rect."
The relative quiet of the bridge was abruptly shat-tered
as the engineering station erupted in a shower
of sparks and flame. A deafening explosion echoed in
the confines of the ship's nerve center, throwing metal
shrapnel and shards of plastic composites across the
bridge. Both Soloman and Gold instinctively ducked,
throwing their arms up and turning away from the
explosion to protect their helmet faceplates. Gold felt
the outside of his suit peppered by debris and prayed
its rugged construction would withstand the bom-74
                
bardment.
"Soloman! Are you all right?" Gold called out as
another console near the front of the bridge blew
apart, sending both officers scrambling for cover yet
again.
"Captain Gold!" Gomez's voice called out over his
communicator. "We're getting massive feedback from
the warp pulse. It's overloading our circuits."
Gold's reply was cut off as sparks burst from the
helm, causing the lights and indicators on the panel
to flicker wildly as the systems contained within the
console fought to retain control.
"Get away from there!" he yelled to Soloman, but
the Bynar needed no such prodding as he bolted from
his seat and jumped out of the command well. An
instant later the helm console was enveloped in a
vicious ball of flame and exploding circuitry.
"Sonya, we've lost helm control up here," Gold said
into his communicator. "We can't steer the ship."
"Captain," Soloman called out, drawing the cap-tain's
attention. "Look!"
Gold turned in the indicated direction, and his
mouth fell open. Beyond the bulkheads flanking the
main viewer, the hull was losing its solidity and he
could see stars and the roiling energy streams com-prising
the rift.
"We're shifting out of interphase," he said. Without
thinking, he looked to the deck at his feet and saw
75
                
that the plating had begun to lose its cohesion there
as well. Wiring and conduits were already clearly vis-ible.
"It's getting too dangerous to stay here," he said.
Soloman nodded. "Phase shifts will be occurring . . .
throughout the ship, sir."
Gold moved to the turbolift, pulling his manual
door opener from a suit pocket as he went. "We can't
do anything more from here, so we might as well
move. Sonya, are you listening?"
"Yes, Captain," Gomez replied.
Forcing the turbolift doors apart with the opener
revealed the darkened walls of the turboshaft.
Leaning in, Gold directed the lights of his helmet
downward and they illuminated nothing except more
of the vertical conduit. Only a pair of narrow mainte-nance
ladders, one on both the front and rear walls of
the shaft, interrupted its smooth texture.
"Sonya, where's the auxiliary control center?" he
asked.
Gomez's response was immediate. "Deck seven, sir.
I've already begun routing power to that location. All
you have to do is get there. We can . . ."
The rest of the engineer's report was drowned out
by the sounds of rushing air. Even muffled as it was
through his helmet, Gold immediately recognized the
source of the sound.
Decompression!
76
                
Spinning around, he saw that a section of bulkhead
near the main viewer no bigger than a desktop
LCARS terminal had disappeared entirely. The area
was expanding rapidly and the sounds of escaping
atmosphere were growing louder.
"That's it," he shouted over the rush of departing air.
"Time to go!"
Grabbing Soloman by the arm, Gold pulled the
Bynar close to him and hurled them both into the
yawning darkness of the turboshaft.
* * *
Sonya Gomez and P8 Blue worked feverishly at the
master systems console in main engineering, trying to
divert power from damaged or unresponsive areas of
the ship to those that could still be useful. Alarm indi-cators
illuminated across the board, bearing mute tes-timony
to the severity of the situation.
"Bridge systems have gone totally inoperative,"
Pattie reported as she consulted one display. "I am
seeing power fluctuations in the remaining genera-tors."
"Cut the feed," Gomez ordered. "Stand by to route
whatever's left to deck seven, section 21-Alpha." With
three of the away team's five generators committed to
the ship's warp engines, the remaining units were
being tasked with providing power for the other sys-tems
Gomez had determined were necessary to con-trol
the ship and complete their mission. Now more
77
                
than ever, the vessel's design was working against her.
Though well-constructed and possessing a perform-ance
record nearly unmatched in the annals of
Starfleet history, Constitution-class starships had
never been intended to rely on small, localized power
distribution schemes. The huge power plants normal-ly
used to drive the ship and its multitude of onboard
systems were, of course, unavailable to her, so she
would simply have to make do with what she had.
"Sonya," Elizabeth Lense called out from the other
end of the bank of consoles, "I'm reading a massive
feedback in the other generators."
It had been a gamble, Gomez knew, tying the gen-erators
directly into the warp drive. Forcing the
momentary burst of energy required to jump-start the
ship's mighty engines was definitely not something
the power units were designed to do.
A massive explosion rocked the engineering room,
slamming Gomez and the others into consoles and
bulkheads. The concussion wave was still washing
over them when two more blasts erupted in the cham-ber,
sending flame and shrapnel in all directions.
Gomez could hear it burrowing into the walls and the
control panels around them, but they were partially
protected from the explosions by a wall separating
the master console from the rest of the engineering
area.
"Is everybody all right?" she called out as she
78
                
regained her feet. No one reported any injuries as
Gomez tentatively stepped around the wall and
peered into the main engineering area. A scene of
utter destruction greeted her.
The overloaded generators ultimately had suc-cumbed
to the tremendous energy impulses forced
back into them from the Defiant's warp engines,
unleashing a sizable portion of their considerable
power into the room. The resulting explosions had
decimated the chamber, destroying consoles, power
distribution nodes, even hurling debris into the ship's
impulse engines. Gomez doubted that more damage
could have been inflicted had the room been subject-ed
to the detonation of a photon torpedo. It was sad-dening
to see the once-vibrant heart of the starship
reduced to near ruin.
At the master console, Pattie had already shaken off
the effects of the explosions and had returned to
work. "Power has been rerouted to auxiliary control,
Commander."
Gomez acknowledged the report, knowing that the
two remaining generators were the only things pre-venting
the Defiant from reverting to the lifeless hulk
they had originally discovered. Already burdened
with the requirements of supplying power to essential
systems, the surviving units might also be needed to
deal with whatever awaited them on the other side of
the rift.
79
                
As if sensing her troubled thoughts, Lense said,
"You've done all you can, Sonya. It's up to the captain
and Soloman now."
The sentiment, well-intentioned as it was, did little
to ease Gomez's mounting frustration. What she real-ly
heard was: There is absolutely nothing more you can
do about it.
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Okay, so it's taking more than three minutes.
A bead of perspiration rolled into Duffy's right eye
as he lay on his back, his head once again shoved
through a bulkhead opening and into the mesmeriz-ing
glow of the da Vinci's warp-drive control system.
He squinted and blinked the sweat from his eye, try-ing
to refocus his sight on rerouting circuitry paths.
When he first stormed into main engineering and
tore open an access panel seemingly at random, other
engineers looked at Duffy as if the space madness had
finally caught up with the young commanding officer.
He now chuckled to himself as he thumbed the con-trols
of his handheld nanopulse laser and sealed the
last of the shorted connections. Even a seasoned engi-81
CHAPTER
8
neer might have needed precious minutes simply to
track down the problems keeping the da Vinci's warp
engines from functioning. But Duffy had suspected
just where to start looking in the system for effects
from the deflector dish feedback loop, and his
instincts had been correct.
He squirmed his way out of the bulkhead and
pushed himself to his feet. Pointing to one of the
engineers standing nearby, he called out, "Conlon!
Finish up here!" The ensign rushed to work as Duffy
sped out of engineering, calling over his shoulder,
"And let me know the instant it's ready!"
Though his work in engineering wasn't complete,
Duffy knew he had to be elsewhere. Never in his life
had he wanted to be on the bridge of a starship as
badly as he wanted to be now, he realized as he sprint-ed
down the corridor. His momentum nearly carried
him into the nearby turbolift's doors before they
could whisk open with their signature pneumatic
hiss.
"Bridge!"
Come on, come ON!
The car began to move and he stared at the ceiling,
as though he could urge the turbolift to travel faster
through sheer force of will. After a handful of seconds
that seemed to last an eternity, the doors finally part-ed
and he didn't so much step onto the bridge as he
hurled himself onto it. Panting, he looked at the main
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viewscreen, ready for anything.
Nothing was there but black, empty space.
His breathing slowed somewhat as he whirled to
face Corsi, who stood almost where he had left her
just . . .
"Six minutes, thirty-seven seconds," said the securi-ty
officer after a glance at her console. "Welcome
back, Commander."
He gasped at her, trying to regain his composure.
"We still don't have warp, but we will." He moved to
the center seat and plopped himself into it. "Fabian,
keep working. I'm playing a hunch that we'll have
time for one more shot at this."
McAllan spoke up from his tactical station.
"Commander, the Tholians are approaching. They're
in viewing and communications range."
The final grains of sand were falling through the
hourglass, and the crew of the da Vinci was out of
options. Duffy wanted to get a real look at the threat
that had hung in his mind's eye for what seemed like
forever.
"Put them on screen."
The dark of space vanished in a flash as an amber
glow radiated from the main viewer. There it was: A
deadly hexagon of Tholian ships linked by the power-ful
energy web, burning with what seemed to be a life
of its own. The formation did not waver from its
course as it bore down on the da Vinci.
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Duffy didn't blink. He stared at the viewer, refusing
to let the web scare him from saving his crew.
His crew.
"Hail them," he ordered. "And get ready for a fight."
* * *
The Defiant's auxiliary control center was a room
pulsing with life, energy, and purpose as its doors
parted to admit David Gold and Soloman.
"Bless you, Sonya," the da Vinci captain said as the
pair moved to the room's central control console. A
quick glance of the display readouts there showed
that they would be able to control all available sys-tems
from this point.
That's good, Gold thought, because we're running
out of places to go.
The journey from the bridge had been an interest-ing
one, with Gold and Soloman using their suits'
small maneuvering thrusters to control their descent
into the turboshaft. By comparison, forcing the doors
to deck seven had been easy, after which Soloman's
tricorder had guided them here.
Intended for use only in the event of the main
bridge being destroyed or otherwise compromised,
this room harbored none of the aesthetic niceties that
so characterized the ship's primary nerve center. It
was designed solely with function in mind, and at that
moment such efficiency suited David Gold just fine.
"Activate the viewscreen," he said. Soloman found
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the necessary controls and seconds later the screen on
the far bulkhead flickered to life, its blank slate
replaced with the now-familiar chaos that was the
rift. But it wasn't all that was visible.
"Stars," Gold whispered. Indeed, the fabric of
space, with its millions of stars, was growing more
distinct with each passing second. The bold plan put
into motion by Gomez and her team had worked, and
the Defiant was emerging from the rift.
"Captain," Soloman said, "sensors are detecting the
da Vinci. She is holding station . . . just within trans-porter
range." Continuing to consult the limited infor-mation
provided by the ship's scanners, the Bynar
added, "I am also reading six Tholian vessels . . . on
an approach vector."
Looking at the displays himself, Gold pointed to
one that displayed a large, undefined energy reading.
"What's that?"
"It is similar in configuration to . . . the energy webs
normally created by . . . Tholian vessels," Soloman
replied. "Though it is not a deployment . . . I am famil-iar
with."
"They're pulling it like a big fishing net," Gold said,
experience and instinct giving him the answer. "They
mean to snare the da Vinci with it."
Soloman nodded. "It is of sufficient strength to . . .
overcome the da Vinci's shields."
"Stand by on the thrusters," Gold said before tap-85
                
ping his communicator. "Gold to Gomez. Sonya, I
need whatever power you have left for the deflector
shields, and that phaser bank if you have it."
The engineer's reply was most definitely lacking in
enthusiasm. "I was really hoping you wouldn't say
that, Captain. This ship can't go into combat."
Gold was well aware of what he had at his disposal.
One hundred years ago, this vessel was the match of
just about anything the Federation's known enemies
could throw at her. Now, however, she was a shell of
what she had once been, barely able to move at a limp
and with no real weaponry. Realistically, the Defiant
stood no chance of withstanding any sort of pro-longed
battle.
But that wasn't what he was after. He knew his team
of engineers wouldn't understand immediately, but
that was only natural. After all, he was out of his ele-ment
in the midst of most engineering problems. But
now they were on his turf, playing a game he had
more experience at than he liked to readily admit.
"I know, Sonya, but hopefully we won't have to. I
just need the old girl to come through one more
time."
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As he studied the bank of tactical displays dominat-ing
the forward bulkhead of his ship's command cen-ter,
Nostrene could not help but be amused at the
readings they conveyed. Scans showed that the
Federation ship was still maintaining station near the
last known position of the derelict vessel that had led
Starfleet into Tholian space. It now hung broadside
and vulnerable to the energy net.
The human in command of the rescue ship had to
know that any attack against a Tholian ship would
not go unanswered. Further, if he had paid any atten-tion
to the intelligence briefings Starfleet had surely
provided regarding the Assembly, the human would
also know that when attacked, Tholian vessels always
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9
retaliated without mercy. Any competent commander
would almost certainly realize that a single ship stood
no chance of survival when faced with such a situa-tion.
The prudent course of action would be to flee
rather than risk capture or destruction.
And yet, the Federation ship remained.
"Are they damaged?" Nostrene asked.
Overseeing the subordinates at the sensor and
weapons stations, Taghrex replied, "Not severely,
Commander. Their hyperlight drive appears nonfunc-tional,
but they have full use of weapons and defen-sive
systems."
"Can they outrun us at sublight speeds?"
The second-in-command turned to study the sensor
displays once more before replying. "For a time, but
ultimately we can overtake them, and then the energy
net will do the rest."
Nostrene nodded at the report. Even though their
six ships could deploy only weakened defensive
shields while generating the energy net, he was not
concerned. Once ensnared in its confines, the force of
the mesh would quickly deplete the power reserves of
the enemy ship and leave it helpless against Tholian
weapons. The Starfleet crew would be at the mercy of
their captors within moments.
Taking another look at the scanner readings for
himself, Nostrene shook his head and tried to under-stand
the thought processes of the Federation ship's
88
                
commander. Even without hyperlight capability, the
human surely must know that being a moving target
was more desirable than being a stationary one.
Nostrene decided that he must either be a reckless
maverick or a naïve fool.
"We will attack and disable them," he said. "The
Magistrates want prisoners, but if necessary we will
destroy them." Taking captives from enemy vessels
was not standard procedure, nor was it something
Nostrene himself preferred to be involved with.
Prisoners were troublesome, even discounting such
things as providing sustenance and environmental
conditions when other races were involved. He would
rather just destroy the Federation vessel and be done
with it, but he knew there were larger concerns here.
The Starfleet crew undoubtedly would have con-tacted
their parent command about their current sit-uation.
There was also the possibility that they had
passed on information regarding the web generator
that the salvage team had discovered aboard the
derelict. Though it was doubtful that the crew of the
recovery ship had learned the true nature of their
find, Nostrene had to proceed as if that were the case.
There was also the matter of obtaining or destroy-ing
the web generator itself. Once he had taken pris-oners
from the rescue ship, Nostrene merely needed
to wait until the vessel trapped in the interdimen-sional
pocket reappeared. If, at that time the genera-89
                
tor could not be retrieved via transporter, then he
would simply order the entire ship destroyed, along
with any Starfleet personnel still aboard it.
"Commander," called out the subordinate manning
the communications station, "the Starfleet ship is
hailing us. Its commander wishes to speak with you."
Nostrene waved the report away. "No response. I
am not interested in anything a human would have to
say."
"We are entering weapons range," Taghrex called
out. After a moment he added, "The Federation ship
has energized its defense shields and weapons."
Studying the central tactical display before him,
Nostrene noted the Starfleet ship's movement, orient-ing
itself to face the incoming attack.
Apparently, the human commander is going to make
a fight of it.
Nostrene was pleased at that thought. He had heard
of the tenacity displayed by Starfleet in combat situa-tions
and had seen reports of their actions during the
Dominion War. Those who fought aboard Federation
ships showed remarkable resolve, even in the face of
certain defeat. It was a trait Nostrene could admire
even in nonTholians. He knew that the brief skirmish
he had experienced earlier with the Starfleet recovery
vessel had not been a true test of its crew's mettle, so
it was with great anticipation that he greeted the com-ing
battle.
90
                
The subordinate overseeing the tactical scanners
suddenly turned from his station. "Commander, I am
detecting a fluctuation in background radiation read-ings.
The interspatial pocket is opening."
"How is that possible?" Nostrene demanded.
According to the readings obtained by his science
advisor, the rift was not expected to reopen for some
time yet. "Put it on screen."
The image on the command deck's main viewer
shifted in time for Nostrene and everyone else to see
the mysterious black void appear once more, a gaping
hole in the fabric of space. Seconds later, part of the
rift was itself blocked out as a blue-green shape erupt-ed
from its center.
"The other ship," Taghrex exclaimed. "It has
returned." Turning to Nostrene, he said, "Should we
alter our attack course? It would be powerless to
defend itself against us."
Indeed, Nostrene thought. Even as it emerged from
the rift and shed the multihued cocoon of energy
enshrouding it, the Defiant appeared to be nothing
more than a powerless hulk. Its warp nacelles were
dark, as were the numerous portholes that pock-marked
its surface. It was inconceivable for it to be
capable of mounting any kind of defense.
"Negative," he decided. "It poses no threat. We will
dispatch the other vessel first. The derelict will still be
there when that task is complete." Turning back to the
91
                
row of tactical scanners, he said, "Target the rescue
ship's weapons banks. Stand by to attack."
That was when the derelict opened fire.
92
                
Alarms wailed on the bridge of the da Vinci as an
electric-blue phaser blast sliced through the
viewscreen's image of the Tholian attack formation
and connected with the ship anchoring the lower-left
corner of the pulsating, hexagonal web.
Kieran Duffy watched in awe as the stricken enemy
ship reeled from the blow of raw energy and wavered
in its flight. He couldn't believe his eyes as he found
himself in his second battle at the helm of the da
Vinci.
But I know damn well I didn't give any order to fire.
"Who the hell is shooting?" Duffy shouted as he saw
the web flicker in intensity. It quickly resolidified as
the five remaining ships moved into a pentagon of
93
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10
offensive power, leaving the injured craft to drift away
from the group.
Stevens's answer was awash with excitement. "Duff!
She's back! The Defiant's back!"
The news shocked Duffy, then the thrill of it imme-diately
infused his body. The center seat felt electri-fied
to the young commander as he spat order after
order to the bridge crew.
"McAllan! Fire a spread on your predetermined tar-gets!
Helm, angle us toward the rift! And put the
Defiant on the viewer, for God's sake!"
As Duffy tried to regain his perspective of the battle
with its new participant, the viewscreen's angle now
assisted him with a view of the newly configured
Tholian force and the glowing U.S.S. Defiant. The
century-old starship was moving through the door-way
of its interspatial cage under what appeared to be
its own power. Duffy gasped as the ship's secondary
hull and finally its twin nacelles cleared the rending
of space just in time to be called back to active duty
with a vengeance. He squirmed in his seat as he felt
the tide of the battle turning more in their favor.
Oh, Sonnie! You and your timing!
* * *
"Direct hit!" Gold called out from the sensor con-sole
in the Defiant's auxiliary control center. "Nice
shooting, Soloman." Peering into the viewfinder
mounted against the room's rear bulkhead, the da
94
                
Vinci captain could see that, although the antiquated
ship had managed to produce a mere half-strength
phaser blast, it had proven enough to pierce the
defensive screens of the Tholian vessel.
After studying the Tholians' odd formation, Gold
played a hunch that spoiling the trajectory of one or
more of the ships might have the effect of disrupting
the energy net generated by the group. Watching the
sensor readings on the net flicker and readjust as it
compensated for the spoiled flight path of the ship the
Defiant had just fired on, he was pleased to see his
instincts proven right.
"The damaged ship is . . . breaking formation,
Captain," Soloman reported from the auxiliary helm
controls. "The remaining vessels are . . . maintaining
their attack vector toward the da Vinci."
His eyes not moving from the viewfinder, Gold said,
"Then we'll have to do it again. Target another of the
ships and stand by to fire."
"Engineering to Captain Gold," Gomez's voice fil-tered
through his communicator. "Sir, I need a
moment to reroute power. The generator's overload-ing,
and I can't feed power to the phasers without sac-rificing
something else."
"Route power from the shields, Sonya," Gold said
without hesitation. "Take whatever you need for the
phasers, then put everything you have left into the
forward screens."
95
                
"Captain," Soloman said as he turned from the
helm, "with only thrusters to . . . maneuver the ship,
we will be at a distinct . . . tactical disadvantage."
Shrugging as if he was used to taking a vastly out-classed
ship into combat on a daily basis, Gold
replied, "If the Tholians finish the da Vinci off, our
defenses won't matter."
During a career of nearly fifty years, Gold had
served aboard and even commanded some of the
most advanced vessels the Federation had to offer. It
therefore seemed ironic to him that his last assign-ment
would be going into combat aboard a dilapidat-ed,
hundred-year-old starship that had spent its entire
lifetime confined to the pages of history.
Lifting his face from the viewfinder, Gold took an
extra second to look around the auxiliary control
room, taking in its archaic design and yet once again
admiring how vibrant and full of life it seemed to be.
After so many years locked away from the rest of the
universe, all but forgotten, the Defiant had emerged
proudly from its prison. Even though it limped and
struggled to overcome its decades of captivity, the
once-mighty starship would still head valiantly
toward its one final mission.
Only in Starfleet, he decided. I guess weird really is
part of the job.
* * *
"Come on, people! We're not going to let Captain
96
                
Gold take the lead here!" Duffy pitched forward in his
seat as a thought struck him.
The Tholians are going to turn on the Defiant!
The irony of being so close to saving the away team,
only to see them die as the Tholian web savaged the
woefully outmatched vessel ripped at Duffy's brain.
Time narrowed for the commander as he tapped into
every resource of strategy he could recall: every old
Starfleet Academy course, every holographic simula-tion,
every past conversation with Gold or anybody
who ever steered a starship into battle.
"Keep after those targets! We have to kill the power
to that web!" Duffy studied the Tholian formation and
it became clear that the enemy ships had no intention
of engaging the practically defenseless Defiant. They
were bearing down on the da Vinci, and this moment
was their last to act.
And suddenly, he knew what to do.
"Helm, full power to aft-Z axis thrusters, now!"
To her credit, the ensign manning the helm didn't
hesitate in the face of the unusual order. Instead, she
quickly fed the string of commands into her console,
and the da Vinci responded with comparable speed.
Though the ship's inertial dampeners protected the
crew from feeling its effects, the result of Duffy's
order was evident on the main viewer. The stars on
the screen spiraled dizzyingly as the da Vinci's
thrusters fired, pushing the ship on a perpendicular
97
                
trajectory from the direction it had been facing.
"Bring us about, helm," Duffy called out. "Port
thrusters only."
The ensign responded, and Duffy imagined he
could feel the ship rotating as it pivoted on its axis.
On the viewscreen, he saw the Tholian battle group
hurtling past the point where the da Vinci had been an
instant before. Then the image shifted as the ship
reoriented itself, and instead of sitting in the path of
the menacing energy net, Duffy now had his best shot
at the Tholian ships as they overshot their mark.
"Fire!"
Phasers blasted from the da Vinci, catching a
Tholian ship square in its propulsion unit. A second
ship took a fresh blast from the Defiant, and the ener-gy
web sparked once before fading entirely from view.
"That's it, Duff," Stevens called out from the science
station. "The formation is scattering and the web has
deteriorated completely. It looks like the Tholians are
retreating."
Duffy rose from the command chair, his expression
one of unmasked pride. They had done it! "Looks like
it's all over except for the bragging. Nice work, people.
Open a channel to the Defiant, and let's see about-"
"Commander," McAllan said, "one of the Tholian
ships has lost all power. It's heading directly for the
rift." Turning his attention back to the viewer, Duffy
saw the lone enemy vessel spinning without control
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toward the dark area and the chaotic area of space
behind it.
"Helm, intercept course," he ordered. "Mr. McAllan,
ready the tractor beam. Lock onto that ship."
At her station, Corsi made no effort to disguise the
shock in her voice. "Commander?"
His attention focused on the viewscreen, Duffy
ignored her as the tractor beam enveloped the
Tholian ship, instantly stopping its tumbling descent
into the rift.
"Got her, Commander," McAllan reported.
"Pull them out of there, McAllan, nice and slow."
Looking over at Corsi, Duffy added, "And let's hope
somebody's paying attention."
Corsi nodded in agreement, the corners of her
mouth turning upward as she realized what Duffy
was after. No matter what action the Tholians might
take against the two Federation ships, it didn't justify
consigning the disabled Tholian ship to the unpleas-ant
fate awaiting them in the depths of interphase.
McAllan looked up from his tactical console. "We're
clear of the rift, sir. We can release her without dan-ger."
Shaking his head, Duffy instead asked, "What's the
status of the other Tholian ships?"
"The undamaged ships are moving to assist the oth-ers,"
McAllan replied. "They have broken off their
attack."
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"Well, then let's extend an olive branch," Duffy said.
"Angle the tractor beam to send that ship in their
direction. Helm, lay in a course that will back us away
from the Tholians and toward the Defiant." Taking
one last look at the viewscreen, he added, "And Mr.
McAllan, deactivate all weapons."
"What?" The single word exploded from Corsi's
mouth, but she must have realized her grievous lapse
in protocol because she drew a deep breath before
continuing. "Commander, that may not be our best
course of action right now."
Duffy nodded. "I understand your concerns, but
somebody has to take a chance here." On the viewer,
he watched as the Tholian ship they had rescued, still
guided by the da Vinci's tractor beam, moved toward
its companion vessels. After a moment the beam
faded, leaving the damaged ship to move forward
under its own momentum.
"One of the other ships is moving toward it,
Commander," McAllan said. "No sign of a regroup for
another attack."
At the communications console, Abramowitz
turned in her seat. "Mr. Duffy, we are being hailed by
Commander Nostrene."
Still wary that the Tholian ships might attempt to
resume their offensive, Duffy nevertheless knew that
he was obligated to pursue a peaceful resolution here.
He'd already initiated such an attempt by rescuing the
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drifting Tholian ship. He wondered now what that
action had purchased for them.
"On screen, Carol. Let's see what the commander
has to say."
The now-familiar image of the Tholian leader
appeared on the viewer, the reddish hue of his crys-talline
body dominating the roiling spectrum of color
that filled the picture.
"Federation vessel," Nostrene said, "your presence
in Tholian space is no longer welcome. Retrieve the
derelict you came for and depart our territory imme-diately.
This concludes our cooperative effort." With
that, the image faded and was replaced by the
starfield once more.
Stevens was the first to react. "That has to be one of
the most heart-wrenching apologies ever offered by a
Tholian."
"Any bets on how much that hurt him to say?" Corsi
asked. Turning her attention to Duffy, she said, "Well,
done, Commander."
Duffy's first impulse was to respond with one of his
usual flippant comments, but he checked himself.
Domenica Corsi didn't hand out compliments lightly,
and coming from her, the simple statement was high
praise indeed. He decided not to undercut the
moment and instead accept her words in the spirit he
was sure they were intended.
Indicating McAllan with a nod of his head, he said,
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"Keep your eyes on the Tholians until we're out of
range. In the meantime, contact the Defiant. I think
it's high time we got the hell out of here." He paused,
then added, "Oh, and someone ask Captain Gold
which big chair he wants to sit in for the ride home."
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Normally a hive of activity, as it had been since first
entering service more than a century ago, operations
aboard the primary SpaceDock facility orbiting Earth
had come to a virtual standstill. Observation galleries
overlooking the station's interior docking areas were
crammed to overflowing with spectators, and every
available viewscreen had been tied into the bays' visu-al
feeds. A similar image was also being transmitted
on subspace frequencies throughout the Federation,
offering a view of history to anyone who might be
interested.
And Admiral William Ross couldn't imagine anyone
not being interested.
For years it had been a common complaint among
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CHAPTER
11
the older, more seasoned members of Starfleet that
respect for tradition and history seemed to be waning
among younger officers and enlisted personnel. The
explorers and defenders of peace from those bygone
eras had supposedly exhausted all that they could
offer to those who now wore the uniform. It had been
said that many outside Starfleet had also outgrown
the need to honor and appreciate those who had
forged trails through the cosmos in the Federation's
early days.
However, looking down at the throng of people
gathered in SpaceDock's main observers' gallery, Ross
smiled in satisfaction at the fervor he saw. He could
almost feel the energy washing over the room in the
anticipation of the next few moments. Maybe the
arrival of the Defiant would engender only momen-tary
fascination among the masses before they all
returned to their regular lives, he decided. Then
again, perhaps respect and interest in the past would
be reclaimed here today, if indeed it had been lost at
all.
"Mighty flashy party we've got here today, wouldn't
you say, Admiral?"
The voice was gravelly and weathered, much like its
owner, Ross discovered as he turned to face the speak-er.
His expression brightened at the new arrival, nod-ding
with enthusiasm of his own. On a day that would
play host to legends, it seemed only fitting that he be
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visited by one of their living representatives.
At nearly one hundred fifty years of age, Admiral
Leonard McCoy still presented an imposing figure,
though his shoulders slumped and his skin was little
more than a waxy film covering the bones and mus-cles
of his withered body. None of that seemed to mat-ter,
however, as Ross could still see the fiery determi-nation
in the admiral's eyes that had been captured
countless times in biographical databases and histor-ical
narratives. The former chief medical officer of the
original U.S.S. Enterprise represented the same histo-ry
as the ship approaching SpaceDock, and Ross felt
it more than appropriate that he should be here on
this day.
"Admiral," Ross said, extending his hand to the
aged McCoy, "it's good to see you. Couldn't resist com-ing
out to see the Defiant's homecoming?"
Taking Ross's proffered hand in his own frail grasp,
McCoy nodded in greeting. "Wouldn't have missed it
for anything. Not a whole lot excites me anymore, you
know, but this is somethin' special. I'll bet Scotty is
champin' at the bit to get into the Defiant's engine
room. He'll be like a newborn Horta in a rock quarry
once he starts diggin' around in there."
Ross smiled at the thought of Captain Scott con-tentedly
pulling himself through the depths of the
antiquated starship. "Well, I'd imagine you're anxious
to take a tour yourself, aren't you?"
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His face taking on a somber expression, McCoy
replied, "Maybe after all the work is done." He nod-ded
in the direction of open space beyond the plexi-steel
viewing port. "I've volunteered to lead the foren-sic
detail going aboard the Defiant. It'll take several
weeks to identify all of the crewmembers, based on
what I've read of Captain Gold's report. It's a sad duty,
but one I couldn't in all good conscience leave to
someone else." Ross saw McCoy's eyes begin to water
as the admiral cast a glance downward before contin-uing.
"I've always felt a bit guilty that I was able to fig-ure
out how to counteract the effects of that interspa-tial
nonsense where the Defiant's doctor couldn't.
Maybe if she'd had more time, she would've come up
with something like the theragen cure eventually. We
were lucky we only had to deal with the effects of that
space from outside the rift, but they were stuck right
in the middle of it. They never really had a chance."
He paused for a moment before returning his atten-tion
to Ross. "The least we can do now is make sure
the crew gets to their final rest as best we can."
Ross nodded quietly in agreement before the
SpaceDock intercom system attracted their attention,
along with that of everyone in the observers' gallery
and, in all likelihood, the rest of the station.
"Attention, all personnel: Incoming starship on
approach vector. Stand by for docking."
* * *
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"Ye've done a fine job, Captain. My compliments to
your crew."
In his ready room aboard the da Vinci, David Gold
absorbed the praise from Captain Montgomery Scott,
noting a glint of satisfaction in the legendary engi-neer's
eyes that he hadn't seen in quite a while. Like
himself, Scott had only barely been able to contain
his enthusiasm at the idea of stepping aboard the
Defiant to revel in the history it represented. Of
course, Gold knew that his friend's desire to examine
the fabled starship was more personal, more deeply
ingrained from life experience than he himself would
ever know.
"All the credit goes to Commander Gomez and her
team," Gold said. "In addition to her figuring out a
way to get the Defiant out of the rift, Commander
Duffy played a large part in straightening out the rest
of the mess we managed to get ourselves into."
"Ah, Commander Gomez," Scott replied. "Yes, I've
read her report, and I mean to have a conversation
with the lass once she's finished aboard the Defiant.
Of all the areas of that ship to blow to hell, did it have
to be engineering? I was so lookin' forward to gettin'
in there and pokin' around." Gold could see that Scott
was joking, naturally, though he couldn't help but
wonder how much truth lay behind the playful words.
"As for Mr. Duffy," the S.C.E. commander contin-ued,
"I must tell ye, Captain, I know somethin' about
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bein' thrust into a command situation when ye don't
feel qualified to do the job. Your Mr. Duffy comport-ed
himself remarkably well for a lad who's not lookin'
for a command of his own. His quick thinkin' to save
that Tholian ship went a long way toward avoidin'
severe damage to our relations with the Assembly.
The bloody politicians are still foamin' at the mouth
over the whole thing, but I suspect they'll eventually
get over it."
Gold couldn't resist a small chuckle at that. "Well,
they need something to keep them busy. On that note,
though, what's the word on bringing the Tholians and
the Klingons to the negotiating table?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Scott replied, "There's no
tellin' what those popinjay diplomats are plannin'.
Ye'd think that with the information your team dis-covered
aboard the Defiant that the Diplomatic Corps
would want to get everyone into negotiations now,
while the situation can be contained. From what I
hear, that's exactly what Ambassador Worf is pushin'
for."
Gold nodded in agreement. Revealing the secret of
the web generator and its use on the Traelus II colony
to the Klingons would have to be handled with
utmost delicacy if any good were to come from it.
While the Federation could not continue to allow neg-ative
feelings to dominate their relations with the
Tholians, they could ill afford to lose the valuable
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alliance they had cultivated with the Klingon Empire
after decades of tension and mistrust. He hoped that
Worf, the Federation ambassador to Qo'noS could
pull it off.
"Perhaps something positive can come from all of
this," Gold mused. "If the Federation can get the
Tholians and Klingons past a very dark chapter in
their history, and if we gain new allies in the bargain,
then the sacrifice made by the Defiant's crew won't
have been for nothing." Not many people could claim
that their actions would have such far-reaching rami-fications
more than a century after their deaths, after
all. Gold mentally saluted Captain Thomas Blair and
the men and women who had served under him.
The whistle of the da Vinci's intraship communica-tions
system and the voice of Domenica Corsi inter-rupted
their conversation.
"Bridge to Captain Gold. Sir, the Defiant is
approaching SpaceDock."
"Thank you, Commander," Gold replied as he rose
from behind his desk. He indicated the door to Scott.
"Well, Captain, shall we play witness to one more bit
of history?"
* * *
With her main power plants restored to partial
operation, the Defiant no longer resembled a ship of
the dead. Instead, the majority of her portholes were
brilliantly illuminated, and her running lights shone
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brightly against the scarred and pitted surface of her
tritanium hull. Her warp nacelles remained inactive,
though, the Bussard ramscoops still dark rather than
the vibrant crimson they had once pulsed. Except for
that detail, the Defiant looked as though she might be
an active ship of the line.
Space traffic controllers throughout the solar sys-tem
had found themselves burdened with the
demands of tracking thousands of Starfleet and civil-ian
spacecraft converging on Earth, their crews all
clamoring to see the return of the legendary starship.
A swarm of smaller vessels shadowed the course
being followed by the Defiant, many carrying journal-ists
from worlds spanning the Federation and all
working diligently for impressive visual images of the
ship to transmit to their home planets.
Sitting in the command chair on the bridge of the
Defiant, Sonya Gomez could not shake completely the
temptation to be overwhelmed by what she was see-ing.
At first the crowd of vessels bearing curious spec-tators
and well-wishers had unnerved her, but that
had quickly faded. Now she allowed herself to give in
to the enormity of the moment. After all, how often
did something like this happen?
With partial power restored throughout the ship,
the da Vinci's crew had spent the past several days
carefully transferring the bodies of Defiant personnel
into portable stasis containers, where they would
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remain until Starfleet forensic teams completed the
arduous task of identifying each crewmember.
Automatic atmosphere scrubbers had removed the
worst of the dust and pulverized remains of the
Defiant's crew, though Gomez doubted she would ever
forget the dank smell that had greeted her the first
time she had removed her suit helmet.
She had suggested that Captain Gold guide the
Defiant into SpaceDock, but he had declined the
honor, deferring it to her instead.
It was your team that got her out of that hellhole,
Sonya, he had said. It's only fitting that you finish the
job you started.
Gomez was grateful he had made the offer. With its
brightly lit consoles and assortment of background
noises, she could easily lose herself in the ambiance
of the bridge and believe that she was serving on a
ship of the line in the 23rd century.
"It really is something else, isn't it?" Duffy said from
where he sat at the communications console. More da
Vinci crewmembers manned other bridge stations as
well, providing Gomez with navigational, sensor, and
engineering information. Below decks, other engi-neers
were nursemaiding the Defiant's engines on
their final cruise.
Though the ship had been towed by the da Vinci
back from Tholian space to the edge of the Terran sys-tem,
Gomez had requested that the Defiant travel the
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last leg of its journey under its own power. She and
Duffy, along with Pattie and several other S.C.E. spe-cialists,
had toiled for two days to ensure the ship's
ability to make the trip. Seeing the response from
onlookers as they traversed the solar system, Gomez
was glad she had pushed the idea.
"It's something, all right," she replied. "And it
should be. The men and women who served on this
ship deserve nothing less." Turning the command
chair to face Duffy, she said, "I haven't had the chance
to say this before now, Kieran, but I wanted to thank
you for all you did. We couldn't have completed the
mission by ourselves."
Duffy attempted to wave the praise away. "Thank
Fabian, or even Corsi for that matter. They had as
much to do with it as anyone." His features took on
an odd quality, one that Gomez couldn't remember
seeing before as he added, "They helped get me
through the tough spots."
At the helm where he was trying, without success,
not to enjoy this occasion too much, Fabian Stevens
turned in his seat. "Don't listen to him, Commander.
Ol' Duff there is on the verge of becoming a real 'lead-from-
the-front' kind of guy. Captain Gold might have
to watch out for his job." With a mischievous smile he
added, "Or maybe you should."
Gomez laughed, happy that her friend had per-formed
so well under such trying circumstances.
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More than instilling added confidence in his ship-mates,
as well as Captain Gold and even herself, she
knew that the experience would do much toward
allowing Kieran to eventually realize his ultimate
potential.
Still, she couldn't let Stevens's crack go uncontest-ed.
Her response was cut off, however, by a hail whis-tle
from the communications console, followed by a
female voice full of enthusiasm.
"U.S.S. Defiant, this is SpaceDock Approach
Control. Stand by for docking maneuver."
It was a straightforward message, Gomez knew,
conveying nothing behind the magnitude of the occa-sion.
But she also knew that the time for reflection
would come later. For now, there were the simple yet
necessary obligations to tend to.
Nodding to Stevens, Gomez waited until he entered
the necessary commands to transfer the ship's
maneuvering control to SpaceDock, then reported,
"Approach Control, this is Defiant. We have trans-ferred
guidance to you. She's all yours."
"Affirmative, Defiant. SpaceDock confirms control.
Welcome home."
Her duties aboard the legendary ship finally at an
end, Gomez replied, "Defiant confirms. Thank you,
SpaceDock."
* * *
Under the guidance of automated maneuvering sys-113
                
tems, the resurrected starship aligned itself with
SpaceDock's main entryway. With thousands of spec-tators
looking on in the station's observation areas
and billions more watching over subspace video
feeds, the ship quietly entered the orbital facility,
sinking into the welcoming embrace that it hadn't
known for far too long.
After more than a century, the U.S.S. Defiant had
finally come home.
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Dayton Ward has been a fan of Star Trek since conception
(his, not the show's). After serving for eleven
years in the U.S. Marine Corps, he discovered the private
sector and the piles of cash to be made there as a
software engineer. His start in professional writing
came as a result of placing stories in each of the first
three Star Trek: Strange New Worlds anthologies. In
addition to co-writing the two Interphase books for
the Star Trek: S.C.E. series with Kevin Dilmore,
Dayton is also the author of the forthcoming Star Trek
Original Series novel, In the Name of Honor, to be
published in 2002. Though he currently lives in
Kansas City with his wife, Michi, he is a Florida
native and still maintains a torrid long-distance
romance with his beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneers.