by Michael O'Brien
Previtar, in the Dalton Kappa system
The colonists of Previtar were desperately worried that the galaxy in general would find out about all this; the planet would never see a moment's peace again.
Basically, though, it was a good place to heal mind and body, which is why Starfleet officer Grin'elle Kriet was spending some leave there. His mind was in need of a good bit of healing. At present, that function was being carried out by a very sexy girl, who was cheerfully jumping about on an outdoor stage in front of a packed crowd and belting out a 300-year-old Beatles song.
She appeared to be a human female in her late twenties, tall but not skinny, with a heart-shaped face and wide eyes that always seemed to be lit with friendly laughter. The singer was dressed in a gray-blue leotard shot with silver threads and split to the navel, and a gauzy, translucent skirt which hung intentionally cockeyed on her hips; but her most striking aspects were her hair and her voice.
Her unbelievably dark hair was cut asymmetrically; on her right, it curved away from her face and dropped to just below her shoulder, while on her left it swooped low over her forehead, partially obscured her left eye, then cascaded down both in front and in back before stopping just above the skirt line. Black as night, it carried little pinprick highlights, and would have made the most ground-bound being want to visit space.
Then, there was the girl's voice. It seemed to slip quietly past one's eardrums and go directly to work on one's neurons and back muscles. The effect was a glow of excited well-being which, combined with Previtar's environment, would have made a Klingon want to hand out lollipops. She could have made Vogon poetry entertaining; as it was, she made Paul McCartney compositions sound better than they had since 1970.
Her name was Nebula. Kriet had first heard of the singer when she had toured with a band called Artificial Intelligence. AI was composed of four biologically unlikely aliens who played tunes only a deaf person would call music; yet they played to packed houses, especially when Nebula sang. The band was currently separated; rumor had it that one member had joined Starfleet, another was considering evangelism as a hobby, and the other two had signed with a major marketer to produce plush toys of themselves. They had been quite a group; but Nebula's talents were in no way diminished by solo work.
Too soon, she had finished her last number, and ducked into the complex of storage and dressing rooms just behind the stage. Kriet's transportation sat in the parking lot - where a few thousand people were heading right now. He decided to wait a bit before heading there.
Nebula sat in her dressing room, absently brushing her hair - a major undertaking in itself. She was staring into the mirror but not really seeing anything. The wry gleefulness usually in her expression was gone, as she stared into her own past.
She was older than she looked, though not excessively; and her mind was an odd mix of optimistic naivete and well-hidden kernels of cynicism. She tried not to let the latter get in her way, as she disliked them; but sometimes they came forward, and now they were causing her to consider her bizarre past and clouded future.
Nebula was born to one of the concubines of a petty, would-be galactic emperor on one of the seedier frontier worlds. Her father could have been any one of a hundred people employed or shown 'hospitality' by the small-time tyrant - Nebula thought she had ended up with fully Earth-human genes, but wasn't sure. She was named for her fast-growing, light-absorbing hair; and she knew nothing of existence outside the dictator's city-sized domain until her true late twenties.
He had been fond of her singing voice; still, there was a mystery to it which he found disquieting, even threatening. Then, with no warning, she stopped aging. Completely. She reached full biological maturity, then it was if her body had decided, "This is far enough." The autocrat became convinced that she possessed supernatural abilities, and dumped her on her own in one of the most dangerous regions of known space.
One thing Nebula did have to her advantage was spirit; and though she remained innocent about many things, she quickly learned how not to be taken advantage of. On the strength of her voice and looks, she quickly became a minor success; then in a bizarre chain of accidents, become involved with AI.
There. That was it; Nebula finally deduced the cause of her restlessness. She missed the adventure; those fun, crazy goings-on that the group always seemed to drop into the middle of. There were newspaper hardcopy clippings stuck in the mirror's frame; records of past escapades, and of fond memories. Somewhere in her bag was a wafer with their first hit single: "When the Fusion Plant Shuts Down, We'll Just Pack Our Bags and Glow." She sighed. Crazy days indeed.
Among the clippings was the picture of a Federation starship; NCC-1793, USS Heimdal. The copy below recounted how the starship had made a delivery of vital medical supplies while simultaneously fighting off the outlaw raiders who had intentionally infected the colony. Nebula had been considering Starfleet lately as a possible return to an adventurous lifestyle; the only problem was that she currently was a moderately successful entertainer with a past that probably wouldn't impress an Academy recruiter. Besides, not all successful graduates ended up on a starship; there were plenty of ore freighters to be crewed.
Nebula finished her post-performance routine, and prepared to leave. She'd made enough today to stay on Previtar for a few months; that, at least, was a cheerful prospect. She headed toward the parking lot, where her hover cycle awaited.
The door of the backstage complex opened, and she stepped out. With no warning, an arm wrapped around her neck, and a second encircled her waist. Two men appeared in her field of vision; they were both giggling in the tired manner associated with certain recreational drugs. Nebula scanned the parking lot, but she'd taken too long in her dressing room, and it was empty. One look at the eyes of the men before her, and she knew she was going to die... but, possibly, not quickly enough.
"I wonder what today's gross profits were," one said over a hacking cough.
The other wasn't listening. "It's too warm to be wearing all that clothing, girl!" He pulled out a very primitive but effective knife, and advanced on her. "You're making me hot!" The man holding her just continued to giggle.
Her sight blurred, and her mind blanked. With robot-like movements, she focused her stare on the knife wielder. Nebula's already unfocused pupils expanded, until the iris was almost invisible. There was a microsecond sear of heat, and the attacker was gone.
This penetrated the fogged minds of the other two. Panic slowed their already constipated thoughts, but finally they chose to just grab her bag and shove her into a metal locker that was standing against the wall. Nebula's mindless body remained upright long enough to walk a few dozen yards (as if, somehow, the locker was much bigger inside than out) but finally collapsed.
Kriet looked up, startled. During his short meditation, the tiers of seats had emptied, and he was alone. Vaguely embarrassed, he stood and headed out.
Grin'elle was also tall, but he was definitely skinny. A crown of shaggy brown hair exceeded regulation length over blue-gray eyes which said that he knew more about the universe than you did - and would be happy to change places. He wore a flight jacket dotted with patches and pins which proclaimed, in order from general to specific, that he was a member of Starfleet - Region One, Batron 11, USS Pathfinder, Fleet Mechforces, and the ship's Chief Engineer with the rank of Commander.
Grin was also older than he looked; he appeared to have around thirty years, but it would be more correct to add about 200 to that. He was experiencing a severe identity crisis. Born to a Terran mother and a father from the planet Camazotz, he had spent those two centuries on the planet Gallifrey, completely against his will. Kriet had just rescued an old friend from the plots of the Gallifreyans, and the escapade had fueled his disgust for those 'superior' beings. His genes were presently a mix of the three racial strains, and the fact did not please him.
The only souvenir of that time that he was glad to have now stood against a wall in the parking lot. It was a machine known as a TARDIS, capable of traveling through space and time - and after some tinkering by Grin, even to parallel realities. As he headed toward it, he briefly considered extending his leave; officially, he had been given four months, but a little time travel might lengthen that. He decided against it. Just this once, he would cooperate with the universe's timeflow instead of cheating around it. He had had his rest, and was now actually looking forward to starship routine. His duties had never been that unpleasant in the first place; and perhaps the work would help settle the remainder of his mental disquiet. Kriet found himself wondering just how the dreadnought's engineers were managing without him.
USS Pathfinder
Right now, he was yelling at Transporter Chief Jeffrey Matthews, who was yelling right back; one of the cargo transporters was throwing a fit, and it was resisting all attempts at repair.
"It's NOT my fault, Rhaps! The descrambling sequence correlator is shot! Right now, all this transporter is good for is as a super-size blender!"
Rhapsody looked as if he'd have liked to punch Jeff in the nose - if he'd had one. Many people were disconcerted by Matthews' noseless but otherwise average face; however, some Pathfinder crewmembers were much stranger than that.
"I don't care, Jeff! When I need a 20-gallon Daiquiri for one of the Battloids, I'll let you know; what I need now is a working cargo transporter!"
"If you people would just keep that damn program under control..."
"We've never had control of Max; it's just that sometimes, blessedly, he calms down. Now look. I've got to get the intercoms fixed, find the file with Grin's experimental intermix formula, repair a library computer console on 'H' deck, and figure out exactly where the cadets have stored the spare dilithium crystal mounting brackets. I'll deal with Max Dreadnought as soon as possible."
Jeff sighed with resigned anger. "Okay, you're the boss. I'll see what I can do with that damn -"
The communicator at Quaver's hip beeped for attention. He flipped it open; Communications Chief Kammara Kazsis was on the line. "Rhapsody, we need the -"
"Kam, I'm getting to the intercoms next. We think that that's where Max is hiding right now. I'm just going to need more time, that's all!"
He was beginning to sound hysterical, so she backed off. "Whatever you say, Rhaps. It's just that I curse the day when that program got loose."
"You and me both, Kam. Rhapsody out." He turned to Jeff, and sighed. "Sorry about the yelling. Do what you can with the thing." He headed out.
It was a short turbolift trip to 'O' deck - Main Engineering. When the doors slid open, he almost wished they hadn't; the chamber was filled with acrid smoke, and various engineers were frantically aiming extinguishers at blackened consoles.
"I don't have the energy to get mad," moaned Quaver. "Just tell me what's happened now?"
Cadet Sar-Wraith Vilayet had the grace to look embarrassed. "We thought an overload signal might drive Max out of the intercom system; but he just... uh... amplified it and threw it right back at us."
"And I'd like to kn- kn- know what I ever did to you!" proclaimed a vision screen indignantly. On the screen was a high-resolution computer image of an almost handsome man wearing the maroon jacket and gold shirt of a Starfleet engineer; an ensemble he felt somehow compelled to complement with dark wraparound sunglasses. Rhaps found the shades in poor taste; they reminded him of those two furtive 'special missions' officers who'd been prowling around the ship last month, looking for 'Klingon drug-runners.'
"What you've done to us?!" Quaver practically yodeled. "Max, do you want the list?"
"Well, hey! With Comm- Comm- Karma Chameleon! With Commander Kriet gone, I consider it my moral obligation to keep things interesting for you fellows!"
"Well, hey!" mimicked Vilayet evilly. "We just want to return the favor, Max!"
Max understood that quite clearly. "Whoops! Subject: elf. Response: belligerence. Recommended action: orderly retreat. Think I'll go look in the personnel files for cute yeo- yeomen!" His image disappeared, but he left a trailing message: "Don't hesitate to call if you need -"
Quaver reached over and shut off the screen, then hit the perfectly functioning intercom. "Engineering to Bridge. It's fixed." He rubbed his eyes. "Cadet, I'm going to 'H' deck. Keep me posted on further developments." Rhaps looked at the ceiling and pleaded under his breath, "Grin, come back soon!"
Previtar (the TARDIS)
The room he now stood in was huge, with four-foot white hexagonal tiles lining the walls. A large double door, the one Kriet had just passed through, led to the outside; while another, smaller door led deeper into the timeship. Through that door could be found miles of corridors on many levels, leading to sleeping quarters, workrooms, recreational areas, labs, a cavernous wardrobe, and many other chambers. The area Grin had explored would have filled a large office building, and there was more he hadn't seen. All of this was packed into an outside form which could be as small as a 20th-century phone booth by the advanced science of the race calling themselves Time Lords.
Grin'elle regarded the six-sided control console, which sat in the center of the room like a waist-high technological mushroom. With a sigh Kriet started operating the scores of buttons, switches, and levers necessary to bring the timeship to its rendezvous with the space-time coordinates occupied by the starship Pathfinder. Grin circled the console, pouncing on controls at seeming random, then suddenly stopped. He was looking at the panel which contained his own custom addition - the Multiverse Device. This machine changed the function of the TARDIS engines, making it possible to visit other realities - timelines which imitated his own, sometimes with insignificant differences, sometimes with vast ones. Kriet's hand hovered above the data input board, but with an effort, he moved on. All he wanted to do now was to go home.
He finished the preprogramming, and threw a large lever. The engines engaged, making a horrible wheezing and groaning sound that most technological societies would consider evidence of a major malfunction. In a parking lot on Previtar, the metal locker which currently was the TARDIS' existence in Einsteinian space faded away, as the timeship gathered it in; and the ship began its transit through the Time Vortex.
Interplanetary space, Sol system
Suddenly two figures, lit by unseen sources, appeared from unknown entrances. Both were quite human, but of the indeterminate ancestry that was already being seen in the large Terran cities by the end of the nineteen hundreds. The girl was young and pretty, with waist-length pale hair which at times seemed faintly blond, faintly silver, or even a faint pastel green; and she was afraid. The man was not unhandsome, being tall, muscular, and blond; but the danger that his mad eyes added to his huge size gave him an ugly look.
The girl spoke first, in a voice filled with apprehension. "Have you changed your mind?"
He spoke curtly. "Of course not. You know very well that this has to happen."
Her tone became tinged with panic. "I don't know that at all! This is crazy! What could have given you these ideas?"
There was almost a religious intonation to his next words. "I have seen the truth. I know now how to protect us all."
"This isn't protection; it will destroy us all! Why can't you see?"
He drew back, looking at her. "You've changed... You never argued in the past... It doesn't matter. Soon it will all be over." In a blink, he was gone.
She ran to the spot where he had stood. "Wait! Come back!" There was no answer. She slid to the floor, tears running down her cheeks. "Oh! What can I do? What's going to happen now?" She hugged her knees to her chest. "Why isn't there someone who can help?"
The Time Vortex
Grin'elle Kriet's current theory of why his Multiverse Device worked (for he still wasn't quite sure) held that each timeline carried its own light cone: an area which defines reality, and of which a TARDIS rides the fringes. Each Vortex touched the others at its generation point, providing a gateway among them to those who could apply the science.
Using that model (for it is as convenient as any,) the fabric of one cone was changing, undergoing metamorphosis. If the change was completed, that universe would never be the same; but the fabric of time was resisting, fighting an ethereal conflict. The side effects of that battle cannot easily be traced; but one such effect, by chance or intent, did indeed reach to that universe where a race called humanity rules itself with a Federation and protects itself with a Starfleet...
The Time Vortex
His free hand gave orders, and the machine responded as best it could; something was deflecting the capsule from its set course. The force was trying to add itself to the push of the engines, and give the timeship a new direction.
Grin could get no firm reading on the interference. The vibration was caused as the engines fought, then relaxed, and fought, and relaxed; as if the distortion repeatedly vanished, then returned; as if the forces both did and did not exist...
He saw it then. Kriet abandoned his hold, and leaped at the controls of the Multiverse Device. Readouts and displays awakened before his fingers could touch them; the TARDIS gave a mighty shake, as if it were a wayward railroad car settling back into its rails; and Grin'elle was flung head first against the wall. He slid to the floor, motionless.
White. That seemed to fit; Nebula thought she remembered seeing white, before she passed out.
She sat up abruptly. She wasn't quite sure where she had passed out, but she didn't think that this was it. The white she remembered was hexagonally-tiled walls. This corridor had walls that emitted a soft, pale glow. Vague differences of intensity outlined a doorway ahead; for lack of anything better to do, she passed through it.
Without warning, she was surrounded by thousands of people. Nebula was standing in the center of a huge circular amphitheater, and there was no sign of the entrance she had emerged from.
When the shock wore off, she realized that the figures were not real people, but incredibly lifelike statues, all of a tall, rather pretty girl with long, space-black hair...
Herself.
Nebula reeled again. She felt near to sensory overload. Some of the statues were small children, others outwardly her frozen age but with eyes that measured time in centuries. They wore all manner of clothing: the dress of her planet of birth, stage costumes, drab work fatigues, and evening gowns. Their expressions formed a range from passionate hate to loving kindness; impersonal apathy to burning interest. The worst part was that some of the bodies bore scars: small scratches or ugly mutilations. She was sickened, but could not stop looking.
They all looked directly at her. Nebula somehow felt as if some power had summoned forth her entire life, to perform some sort of dispassionate judgment. She began to back away.
And leaped a foot in the air as she backed into something that hadn't been there before. Nebula turned; it was another figure of herself. This one wore the maroon jacket and black miniskirt she would expect on a female Starfleet officer. The face and pose showed relaxed peacefulness. In a way, this one's hair looked even more like space; surely those were miniature suns gleaming in the depths?
Nebula leaned closer, to look; and she found that she could not arrest her motion. Forward she fell, into that not quite empty void...
She pitched forward and landed, hard, on the metal floor. The tiles were back. Nebula tried twice to stand, then gave it up as a bad job. She collapsed, and slipped mercifully back to unconsciousness.
Grin was very disturbed. The Device simply should not have behaved that way; it required a living mind to operate it, and complex as the TARDIS' computer brain was, it fell short of sentience. Nonetheless, from these readings, it was as if something had called to the timeship; and the TARDIS computer had cooperated with it to bring him here.
He took the best stock he could of his surroundings. There was no way of determining where the Device had taken him; there were no decent reference points for that kind of travel. In the past, his voyages had always used dead reckoning. Grin could, however, establish his approximate location in this reality's time and space.
The temporal readout, translated into human reckoning, placed him in the late 25th century (which brought fleeting thoughts of old Buck Rogers stories.) Kriet knew that that information might or might not be helpful in this frame, but it was a start.
He received a surprise when he checked his spatial location. According to this, he was in Sol system, between the orbits of Terra and Mars. That was a cheering thought. Grin'elle was hardly a xenophobe, but he felt at his best when dealing with humanoid races, and Terrans certainly qualified.
Instrument readings never compensated for a good look-see, in Kriet's book. He decided on a quick once-over with the visual scanner before he attempted to discover his reason for being here. He touched the correct switches, and the screen lit up.
It showed the completely average streets of the North American city of New York, say perhaps during the late 1980's.
The TARDIS' chameleon circuit had given it the shape of a beautiful white sailing ship, moored at one of the city's many piers. Grin'elle reminded himself to lock the door this time.
On the way down, he noticed a small brass plaque screwed to the gangplank railing; it read "S.S. TARDIS - Grin'elle Kriet, Captain." He couldn't repress a smile.
Well. All he had to discover was this: what had gone wrong with his locators, who had brought him here, why said party had done it, what he was expected to do, whether he would do it (assuming he was even capable of the action), and how the hell he was going to get home. He'd been in worse trouble. He just couldn't immediately remember when.
Add to that the fact that Grin'elle wasn't even sure how to start finding these things out. Luckily, he had an emergency routine for these situations, which he referred to as Time Lord Contingency Plan A: Start wandering about. Something usually turned up. He picked a direction at random, and set off.
This time, Nebula's attempts at standing upright were much more successful. She noted thankfully that it was the hall with the hexagons; she wasn't perfectly sure that she wasn't still dreaming, but this at least seemed like a level of (un)reality she could accept.
Powerful engines hummed insistently below her feet, their strength held temporarily in check. It seemed a good bet that this was a spacecraft of some sort; and a spacecraft must have a pilot, biological or mechanical; so Nebula decided that the best idea would be to find him/her/it and ask very politely what was going on. She looked around; the corridor stretched out of sight in both directions. On instinct she chose the direction that seemed to head away from the engine sounds.
Shortly, the corridor ended, with one door directly ahead and one on the right wall. She dithered, then chose the side door first.
It opened onto a huge sort of closet, filled as far as the eye could see with neatly stored clothing. Uniforms, fancy dress outfits, tropical garb, spacesuits, and any other type of dress Nebula had ever heard of; and that was just a small percentage of the room. Most of it, she'd never even seen before. This one right here was a scanty outfit of a sturdy, pale green polymer; Nebula could only describe it as a (weird as it sounded) combat bikini!
Well, at least this appeared to confirm that the unknown pilot was humanoid. Come to think of it, Nebula wondered if he'd be interested in a traveling companion. Any woman who wouldn't kill for a wardrobe like this needed medical attention.
Her eye was drawn to one section, near the door, which held easily recognizable Starfleet uniforms. She examined a gold shirt with braid on the sleeves that was 20 years out of date by her reckoning. Next were a few of the 'monster maroon' outfits that she thought of as current; but there were more after that - a series of jumpsuits and minidresses in black with red, blue, or gold inserts. The Fleet insignia on those was distorted, the arrowhead now in silver on a gold oval.
Obviously this ship was somehow associated with Starfleet - but it certainly didn't look like any Federation starship she'd seen. At least the inside didn't. She somehow doubted that the outside would either. Something very strange was going on.
Finally, she left the room and tried the other door. This one let her through to a smaller, but still sizable room dominated by a large, six-sided, central console. One of the sides, one with a large red lever in the center, faced large double doors on the wall. Directly opposite those doors, near her entrance, was a large scanner screen.
Surprised, Nebula recognized the screen picture from photos in history books. If that was really a shot of the outside - than she must have traveled in time! And she'd have laid money on the owner being out there on some unfathomable errand. Finding said owner, however, was another proposition entirely...
She looked at the busy streets, then at the revealing stage costume she still wore. Nebula grimaced ironically, and wondered if there was anything in that wardrobe that might fit her.
Her face brightened. That gave her an idea...
Grin'elle was enjoying himself. The late 20th century was a period unmatched by any before, or since; prosperous and happy, but with that exhilarating tinge of danger lurking around the corner. Nuclear war, climactic changes, civil unrest, and many other disasters could have wiped out humanity; it was a wonder his mother's ancestors had lived through it all. Despite his parentage, he had never seen much of Earth in any century. Though he wouldn't have wanted to live here, it did seem to be a nice place to visit.
None of this, however, was helping any. Grin hoped something would happen soon; he didn't relish the thought of searching an entire unhelpfully low-tech city for one distressed mind (or group thereof.) Things got worse when he considered the possibility that it could be somewhere else on the planet.
Loud but pleasant music interrupted his thoughts. Hanging high on the wall of one building was a huge video screen. Kriet seemed to remember that on the Earth he knew, they had used something somewhat less advanced until the late 2030's; colored lights, or something. The transmission itself was a familiar type, though. The art form known as 'music video' was still popular in the 23rd century that was Kriet's home. A caption appeared:
Eve Tokimatsuri
"When my heart is cold and tired, then your eyes will light my fire
Shining like the night will never end,
Then, your smiling profile beckons to me,
Love me do, love me do, love me do,
Bare skin in the red lights glowing, noises of the city flowing
No more must the two of us pretend,
Ah... ah... isn't it grand?
It flutters in the breeze, like a carnival, flags flying high,
On that day, all our passion burst out bringing springtime again...
I - now - will - start anew, to fall in love with you,
Sentimental me
Wings will surely grow where the sorrows use to flow,
So let's fly away - into the blue...
We soon will wish - "
Grin'elle felt as if he was falling into a trance. With an effort, he pulled his eyes and attention away from the song, bewildered. Yes, it was nice, but what was so compelling about it?
He thought for a second, then tried something. Grin relaxed, slipping into that faintly meditative but alert state he had practiced so often. He focused his eyes and ears on the screen again, but blocked out the obvious messages, and searched for hidden ones.
His hunch was right. At the lower limit of audibility and sight, there were sensations that should not have been there. Vague emotions, half-formed phrases... It was a technique Grin had heard of, but never directly experienced: the song was sending subliminal messages. They continued to attempt to affect him, but now that he was aware of them, they remained harmless.
This was a lead! In all likelihood, it was a red herring, the work of some unscrupulous record promoter; but it was something to check out. Grin waited for the video to end, and the caption reappeared. 'Sheaffer Records,' it said. Grin seemed to remember a 1980's device for locating places; a book with long lists of addresses and comcodes - no, not comcodes, phone numbers! A phone book! Then Kriet remembered something else about the frequent behavior of adolescents in big cities, and decided to get quickly to work. Finding an intact phone book in New York might well prove to be his hardest quest yet.
The door lever was the largest lever on the TARDIS console, and one of the few that produced immediate results without the operation of six or seven others; so Nebula found it rather quickly. (Unlocking the doors again, which was ironic but later proved fortunate.) She stepped out onto the deck of the 'S.S. TARDIS,' wearing a command uniform used by Starfleet 100 years after her birth. A sophisticated transporter-like system had subtly, gradually altered its fit as she examined it, and it fit her perfectly.
She, of course, wasn't aware of its origin, and simply assumed it was luck that had provided the fit. A handbag she had dug up contained the emblem from the breast, as well as a few other useful items she had discovered while searching the wardrobe.
Nebula was surprised at the outward appearance of the timeship. She'd always assumed that most ocean vessels didn't come equipped with spacewarp engines. Then she noticed that the cabin visible through the portholes was not the control room she'd just left; and she deduced the reason for the camouflage. She didn't suppose she'd want to land here in a flashy spaceship either.
Nebula noticed the brass plaque, and stored the name away for future need. She knew that the apostrophe e-l-l-e (pronounced 'eye') was a construction used in the names of Camazotian males (she had dated one once), so that seemed to help pin down the identity of the pilot. Now, where would be the best place to start looking for the mysterious Kriet? A good start might be to narrow the search area. She scanned the skyline for several moments, then set off in the general direction of the twin skyscrapers of the World Trade Center.
Sheaffer Records certainly seemed to be a growing concern. An entire sprawling building of several stories was occupied by the company. The walls had several posters advertising albums and concert tours of the girl Eve, who was obviously their hottest property. Grin'elle pushed through a revolving door into an impressive lobby, filled with live plants, thick carpeting, and plush furniture. A serious but pleasant looking woman sat at a reception desk, casting an inquiring look in his direction.
Most of the history files of the Pathfinder had been copied into the TARDIS computers; before he entered the city, Grin had drawn on the combined information for several sets of useful identification. He had already decided which one he would use as he entered the building. These particular papers claimed that he was a member of, if memory served, one of the most influential organizations of 20th century America...
The woman took his card with a smile and read, "Glenn I. Kriet, Internal Revenue Service. Oh my. Is there something we can help you with?"
Okay, Nebula admitted it; she was impressed.
She'd not been to many large cities of her own time; and even 300 years ago, New York had been big. From her vantage point, the city seemed like a model from a well-made science fiction film; but this was a model that stretched as far as the eye could see... and beyond. It was a good thing that she'd immediately discarded the idea of a foot search; finding one specific person who was probably also moving around was almost an infinite improbability.
Luckily, she was smarter than that. Nebula walked around the Center's Observation Gallery until she had found a spot free from tourists, then removed a tricorder from the handbag. The device brought back memories of when one of the members of Artificial Intelligence had taught her its use. Since a human throat could not have managed his name, he was known to everyone as 'Fuzzy.' Coming back to the present, Nebula hoped the device had enough range, as she scanned the streets below. She was looking for advanced alloys and power sources; technology unknown to the 20th century, but that Kriet may well have been carrying.
She frowned, and fiddled with the tricorder's fine tuning. She was getting background readings that were patently impossible, as if, at the edge of scanning range, the abnormalities she looked for were everywhere: under the buildings, streets, ocean, and even in the sky!
She masked those out, hoping the compact device wasn't broken. Wait... there was Kriet's spaceship, just there at the shoreline. (The unlocked doors were allowing detection of the TARDIS' true nature.) And there... there was another reading... dilithium crystals being used as a power source, trititanium casings... that was technology Nebula was familiar with.
She switched to video pickups and magnified the image, using the 'corder as a small telescope. Assuming the reading was Kriet, which seemed a good bet, he was presently located at a... record company.
Nebula did a double take. Was the timeship's pilot adding to his rare recordings collection? It seemed unlikely. Though her curiosity surged, it really wasn't any of her business at the moment; She just wanted to find this Kriet, and have him take her home! This primitive culture was beginning to make her paranoid.
She used the tricorder to record distance and bearing; the little machine didn't have enough resolution to read street signs, as she'd hoped. Nebula headed back to the express elevator down, considering options. He might well have left by the time she arrived, but he wouldn't have gotten far; she'd be able to scan for him again without as many buildings and people in the way. If he was headed back to the timeship, she might even be able to get there first...
It was just an open door. There was no reason to keep staring at it. True, doorways boldly marked 'Do Not Enter!!' were not usually left open, but... Anyway, she had good reason to head downstairs quickly and intercept Kriet... Oh, the hell with it. Nebula glanced around and peeked inside. It almost seemed as if something was drawing her, stimulating her curiosity.
The door led to a stairwell. Several flights of stairs led up and down... which puzzled Nebula. The tour guide had said that the Observation Gallery was on the top floor, and that all there was above was roof. She started climbing the stairs... just to take a look, of course.
Five flights later, the hair on the back of her neck was standing up. Something felt wrong, much more wrong than just a few extra floors on a building. She brought out the tricorder, then sneezed. There was a thick layer of dust on everything up here, which added to her sense of wrongness. Now Nebula's spine was really beginning to crawl.
The tricorder revealed no immediate threats. The singer continued up the steps. Five more flights ended in a landing, and a heavy door with a complicated electronic lock. The dust here was just as thick, as if the door hadn't opened in a lifetime. She tentatively wiped a finger across the lock, revealing a display panel which suddenly lit as a voice announced, "Insert magnetic ID card for further passage."
Nebula almost hit the ceiling. When her heart rate had returned to something near normal, she began making minute adjustments to the tricorder's controls, using a trick that she and the band had once used in the recovery of their own paychecks. The lock made some very strange noises which sounded like the result of electronic tickling; then the original voice returned, proclaiming, "Access approved."
She was in, inside a small room - no, not a room, an elevator car. There were only three buttons. Since she'd been heading consistently upwards so far, she pressed the highest one. Nebula had a hunch that 'getting to the bottom of this' meant getting to the top.
The car moved into a quick, smooth acceleration. Though the 'public' express elevator she'd recently been in had behaved well, this felt more like a high-tech Federation turbolift. There was no floor indicator, just continuous motion upwards. She leaned back against the wall to wait.
Several minutes passed, and Nebula was extremely confused. Some vague calculations indicated that she should now be approaching the upper stratosphere. That couldn't be right! Then again, today she'd seen a potential rapist vanish into thin air, and traveled in a building-sized time machine which looked like a large tool locker... Wait. The car was slowing down. Nebula stood straight, holding the tricorder out almost like a shield, and made sure that the hand phaser she'd 'borrowed' was quickly accessible. The car stopped. The doors opened; and suddenly, a few of the pieces slid into place.
Through the doors, across a corridor, and through a thick transparency, there gleamed the lit pinpricks of distant stars, shining only as they did when the viewer was in deep space.
At that moment came a sound not unlike the detonation of a small moon, and a river of flame slapped across the window. Nebula tried to burrow into the wall behind her. The flame was the engine wake of a large spaceship that hurtled past; she didn't recognize the design, but to anyone of humanoid ancestry, the shape would have inspired fear and loathing.
She gained the courage to leave the elevator. Nebula crossed to the viewport, trying to get a better look at her surroundings. She seemed to be in a building set in the midst of a vast plain of both worked metal and rough, natural-seeming stone. Other buildings stuck out here and there: small pillboxes, sprawling complexes, and squat towers. Most of those towers were spitting spears of lights at more, and more, and MORE of those ships. So many! Most of them were variants on the same shape, but they were all sizes... and all deadly, returning powerful shots of their own.
She stood there for several moments, hypnotized by the furious fight. Then one of the larger ones was stuck down as it passed close to her vantage point. A stereotypical fireball formed, throwing debris in all directions. Some plowed into the metal expanse, and the world seemed to shudder. That broke the spell, and Nebula's courage; she leaped back into the elevator, jabbing repeatedly at the bottom button. The twin doors slid placidly shut, as another explosion pressed against the window.
Grin'elle alternated between charm, intimidation, and dazzling fast talk, seeking the enigmatic Eve. It was beginning to look as if she led an life of extreme privacy, and it was a rare event for her to be seen in person by anybody, including her own agents and managers. But Grin had learned his way around the bureaucracies of the Time Lords and of the Federation; Sheaffer Records was inarguably small potatoes in comparison.
He was almost at his goal now. Eve had just done some recording this day, and was resting in a private suite before leaving. A reasonably important flunky with a sentence-sized title led him down an airy, windowed corridor to a closed door, where he picked up the receiver of a primitive videophone.
"Miss Tokimatsuri? There's a man here from the IRS. He's convinced us that it's important that he see you." Grin gave him a sidelong look - that was a pretty accurate description of Kriet's actions - but there didn't seem to be any submerged meaning there.
Eve's young face appeared on the screen. She barely looked at the man, but her eyes searched Kriet's intensely. He tried to appear as though someone had made a simple mistake and that he was sure it would be ironed out quickly. His face muscles weren't up to that.
However he appeared, she saw something in his face which disturbed her. The screen blanked, and Grin prepared for rejection; he was surprised to hear instead, "Send him in."
The door slid aside, revealing a well-furnished comfortable living room. Eve stood in the center of the room, staring at Kriet with an indecipherable expression. "This will require some privacy, won't it, Mr. Kriet?"
"Er..." But the flunky was gone; it wasn't as if Grin'elle had wanted him there, but he had a habitual distrust of such convenience. He returned an odd look at Eve.
The door latched, and Eve suddenly flashed him a look of... terror? hope? pleading? He was struck by her drastic shift in attitude.
"Who -" It stuck in her throat; she tried again. "You're not one of us... who are you?"
"Grin'elle Kriet," he answered automatically. The slip seemed unimportant for some reason. His thoughts were disjointed; this was happening too fast! "I, uh, don't -"
Eve made as if to step toward him and away at the same moment. She grabbed a chair to steady herself; the knuckles of that hand were white, and her face was little darker. "I have to..."
She almost fell over. Kriet moved forward to support her; and the entire city shuddered painfully. He lost his balance, and fell forward, on top of her...
But he didn't. Before his eyes, she vanished; her whole body disappearing like her face had on the video screen just outside. He landed awkwardly on the plush carpet.
The vibration settled, and Grin climbed to his feet. The door rocketed aside, and a towering, heavily muscled man stood there, wearing an expression Kriet had only seen before on the faces of Starfleet Marines.
"Ah... so that's what you scum look like," he intoned. He smiled unpleasantly. "I hope you've enjoyed your life up to here; because this is the end of the road." He advanced on the Starfleet officer.
Grin'elle's mind was overloaded with trying to sort this all out. He clumsily dodged a thrown punch, then grabbed for his phaser. He made a perfect shot - but the brute was no longer there, like the girl previously. Grin sensed a presence to his rear, and tried to turn around; a fist hit the back of his neck, and he lost consciousness.
Nebula ran, and ran, and ran. She was too scared to think; she'd completely forgotten about Kriet, and only wanted to find comparative security and familiarity - the TARDIS.
Another 'quake' shook the street. Frightened citizens were running everywhere, but Nebula envied them; they weren't aware that the shaking was caused by the attacks of huge, hostile spaceships. A potted tree in front of her fell over, shattering a storefront; Nebula tried to dodge, slipped, and fell. A piece of glass slit the jumpsuit's chest open; Nebula was unharmed though, and figured that she had bigger problems. Besides, she'd worn stage costumes that exposed more.
The store sold television sets; ancient, two-dimensional video devices. The image of a pretty young girl seated at a newscaster's desk suddenly replaced the various pictures, as the tremors faded somewhat.
"Attention, everyone. Attention, please! A series of earthquakes is shaking the Greater New York area. There is no danger! The tremors are not expected to become severe enough to cause serious damage. Please, remain calm, and return to your usual activities." Then the broadcast cut to the video Kriet had seen earlier.
"Wings will surely grow, where the sorrows used to flow..."
Nebula glanced about; a crowd had gathered around the screens. The terror in their eyes was fading, faster than it had any right to; and the group was beginning to disperse, as members walked calmly away.
This was crazy! Then Nebula's eyes narrowed. The pedestrians had begun to relax just as the music started. She seemed to remember a shady deal someone had tried to talk her into...
Subliminals! Messages hidden under more normal broadcasts! That meant that mind control on a large scale was being practiced. And that meant... that Nebula was in a lot of trouble. She continued to the TARDIS, slowing her original speed not a bit.
She slammed the door lever over, and leaned against the closed doors, puffing. Spaceships. Laser battles. Elevators of impossible length. Mind-controlling rock videos. Time machines. Evaporating criminals. Nebula remembered her wish for more excitement; well, she'd certainly got that! She looked at the bewildering array of controls before her, then at the ceiling, which she finally spoke to.
"Okay. You got me into this; now help me out." She paused again, then walked to the console. Nebula closed her eyes, circled the console a few times, then slapped randomly at the panel. Her hand hit a button with a complicated emblem engraved on it; a golden compass rose, and a winged torch. The button clicked, and a nearby light flashed; there was a pause, then several of the readouts on the Multiverse Device lit.
Nebula peeked at what she'd done. She hadn't figured out any of the controls except the door lever; but something was happening, and it looked promising. She addressed the ceiling again. "Thanks. Let's hope it works." She left the control room, returned with an oversized T-shirt covering the rip in the jumpsuit, and settled down to wait.
USS Pathfinder
Five Federation starships cruised leisurely through this area on what was to them an average patrol. Two were heavy cruisers: Heimdal, and a model dating back to the old uniforms in the TARDIS wardrobe: Maat. One ship was one of the newly-designed science scouts, with unmatched detection abilities: John B. McKay. One was a high-firepower frigate of the type made famous by the Genesis affair: Yeager. At the core of the formation flew one of the rare dreadnought 'muscle ships': Pathfinder, Kriet's ship. These five formed the exploratory / battle squadron known as Batron 11.
The dreadnought's captain was once one of the fierce, catlike race known as Kzinti; but a psionic biofeedback accident had given him almost human appearance. Nevertheless, it was still unwise to anger him...
Luckily, Ebon D'Arque wasn't angry now. Despite some minor problems in Engineering, and that damned excuse for a sentient program loose again, the ship was running well. Everything was quiet, and that never lasted long; Ebon planned to enjoy it while he could. Besides, Grin'elle Kriet was due back from leave soon, and that generally ensured a ruckus of some description. He hadn't even taken a normal leave; no, he had to fly off in that frickin' supertech time machine he'd pinched...
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Kammara Kazsis peering myopically at one of her readout screens. He stiffened. Now. It was going to happen now.
"Captain," she said, and he almost felt as if he could say the words along with her, "this sensor is picking up some kind of subspace distortion. It's so faint, I almost can't be sure it exists..."
"Is it a natural emission, or an artificial signal?"
Kam fiddled for a moment, then admitted, "I'm just not sure, sir. It's bloody unusual, either way."
"Computer enhancement?"
"None of the usual algorithms are doing much good. There's very little to work with."
To no one's great pleasure, the display screen next in line lit up, showing the smug visage of Max Dreadnought. Ebon found his hand reaching with animal instinct for a phaser he wasn't carrying.
"Oh, frick," Kam groaned.
"No- No- No- Nothing to work with? That's my special- special- special- al- alty! My specialty!" Max appeared to take a deep breath, as his computer-generated uniform was replaced by a similar wetsuit; then his image dropped from the screen. There was a splashing noise, and the graphic on the first screen appeared to ripple.
Most of the bridge crew seemed undecided whether to giggle or groan, until D'Arque's glare advised they do neither. "One more week, and I'm going to start tearing the circuit banks apart with my bare hands!" He meant it; normally retracted claws were unconsciously exposed.
Kam attempted a neutral shrug. "He does know things about computers that none of us do. It might help."
"Yeah, and the Klingons might ally with the Federation."
Max reappeared, 'dripping.' Something immediately stuck every member of the bridge crew; Max's ever-reliable grin had vanished. With possibly the first solemnity he'd ever displayed, Max reported, "It is indeed a subspace communication, coming from another frame of reality by an unusual transmission process. It consists of coded pulses, forming the word 'sirthaa.'"
Kam looked at the captain. "The Camazotian ritual cry for help."
D'Arque sighed. "Grin'elle Kriet's emergency distress signal."
Four people sat distributed around a briefing room table. Kammara sat next to her husband, Science Officer Kazar; they were quite a pair, one a blond Algorin time-sensitive and the other an Excalbian metamorph. She could alter, with special focussing crystals, the flow of events directly around her; he could alter at will the physical, chemical, and genetic makeup of his body. How they managed a married life was a question Ebon couldn't answer.
He was the third attendee. The fourth was Doctor Chesnovica Terrail. Unlike many of her comrades, Nova possessed no radical physical, mental, or emotional ability. What she did carry was an obsessive desire to heal that served her well when dealing with the single most varied starship crew ever assembled. Many of the short redhead's medical colleagues envied her job while simultaneously thanking fate that they didn't have it.
The fifth and last member was just now entering the briefing room. Marine Comtech Rhiannon came to attention as she found herself faced with this array of brass. "Captain, sirs; reporting as ordered."
"Sit down, Ensign," said D'Arque. "I need your help; we've got a real problem."
"How can I help?" the albino asked cheerfully.
"Commander Kriet is in trouble."
Her expression cooled noticeably. "What does that have to do with me, sir?"
"Grin'elle has managed to become trapped in an alternate universe." He explained that no farther; the existence of the TARDIS was an open secret among important crew, anyway. "To rescue him, we'll need to find him. Your personal record gives you the highest psionic ability currently aboard; and you should be familiar with his mental patterns. You did spend some time together."
Rhiannon's voice retained respect, and not much else. "Captain, that is private - and over."
Ebon let kindness enter his tone. "I'm aware of that; and you should know the power of starship gossip by now. But you're our best hope." He paused and drew a narrow leather bag from under the table. "You are authorized to use the Mutor."
Her eyes fixed on the bag with a mixture of feelings. Much was rumored but little was known about the device; the captain and some of the department heads had accidentally acquired it while on a shore leave. It was a slim wand, about an inch thick and a foot long, made of a silvery metal. To the eye, it was a perfect cylinder, but one end felt sculpted into a hand grip. When it was gripped there, depending on the hand holding it, the Mutor tended to turn into one of a bewildering array of exotic weapons. It also tended to amplify psionic abilities. Many of those who'd experimented with it were convinced it had more powers, so far unrevealed.
The silence in the briefing room stretched out. Finally Rhiannon closed her eyes, whispering, "I'm sorry, sir. I really want to help you, but I can't. Whenever I open my mind... her cries are still there."
The Kazsises didn't understand, but Ebon and Nova did; they were allowed access to Rhiannon's personal files. Her family had ruled their world for centuries, until the most recent ruler had been abducted by raiders, probably Klingon. That matriarch had also been Rhiannon's mother. The girl had joined Starfleet in hopes of finding her one day, and of finding revenge. Now D'Arque knew why the marine was so reluctant to use the powerful abilities she was gifted with.
There was another long silence. Kam and Kaz shot inquiring looks; Nova shook her head. Finally, Ebon cleared his throat and started to say something, but was cut off by the strange, distant look in Rhiannon's eyes as she raised her head.
"Let me see it." She motioned to the Mutor.
D'Arque protested even as he handed it to her. "Are you sure?"
Her gaze was locked on something no one else could see. "Something's wrong... Kriet is at the center of a titanic struggle... It draws me..." The others restrained surprised questions; she wouldn't have heard them anyhow.
Rhiannon drew the Mutor from its soft leather sleeve. It retained the polished rod appearance for a moment, then with a blink, it was an ornate but vicious jeweled dagger. Ebon recognized it; a royal symbol of her home planet. On a few occasions, the original had been more than a symbol.
The silence grew loud, and there was the sensation of strange energies building. They all watched as an infinity seemed to form behind her pupils. No, it was more than an infinity; there was a gateway there to other ones...
Rhiannon's gaze was locked on to the weapon. She'd never handled the artifact before; her paranormal abilities suddenly felt refined to new sharpness. Her lids closed, but she could see the Mutor perfectly. Though the wound of her mother's pain was there, it seemed distant, as if she was temporarily under some form of mental protection.
Bright light burned in the jewels of the dagger's hilt. It was a soft radiance at first, but then took on a sharper edge. The intensity increased until she could hardly keep her attention on it. The light bled out from the gems, obscuring everything else; the dagger, her peripheral views of her friends, the room...
Suddenly none of the five could move; the air itself seemed a solid thing, blocking any motion. All heard a nearly subsonic hum; but whether it was real, or in their minds was unanswerable. They gasped -
The light... the light! It mercilessly attacked their optic nerves; eyelids made no difference. It impacted the cells of their skins, becoming heat, burning into them all, even through Ebon's jet skin. Nervous systems became networks of red-hot wires; skulls became ovens in which brains baked. With the last moments of his senses, Ebon looked at the hundreds of people in the unfamiliar city streets about him; all were screaming as they died the same death. As his retinas burned out, he looked up, up at a fireball that might have been a sun, except that it covered half the sky...
A loud clang brought him back to his reality; the Mutor had slipped from Rhiannon's nerveless fingers. She had slid from her chair to the floor; the others were all slumped in their seats, sweat soaking hair and uniforms. There was no other aftereffect - besides a memory he was trying not to think about.
Nova had roused, and she had knelt next to the albino's unconscious form. "I think she's gone into shock."
"Me too," mumbled Kazar, who's eyes still hadn't focused. Somehow, Kam had made her way to his lap, and they were wrapped tightly together.
"I'm calling for a stretcher, the doctor continued. "You better have got what you needed; she won't be doing this again soon."
Kammara licked dry lips. "Uh, if Grin is somewhere in that mess, alternate universe or not, I think I could find him blindfolded."
Ebon nodded. The scene was engraved on all their minds, and he almost felt that he could do the same. It only remained to translate that instinct into a practical method.
"We're going to need a way to get there; Grin's TARDIS and Multiverse Device are obviously unavailable. You two contact the other ships, and request any help you need."
"Uh, sir?" Kazar gave him a plaintive look. "Could that wait just a few minutes? We'll probably be time-traveling anyway, and, uh... I think Kam and I could use a few minutes to... recover."
D'Arque felt disgusted for a moment; the two seemed to indulge in their habit at the most inconvenient times. Then he looked at their haggard faces, and the way each still gripped the other's hands tightly, and took pity on them. "All right, but please don't be long. Even with time travel, it is still possible to be too late." Kaz nodded, freed an arm to put around Kam's shoulders, and headed toward the door. Ebon almost felt a twinge of jealousy, but repressed it.
As they went out the door, he called, "Let me know when you've come up with something; I'll be calling a Captain's Briefing."
"Thank you, yeoman," smiled Neighbors. "I hereby call this meeting to order." She sighed, and looked around the table. All present, as well as Kriet, had served on her ship; and she thought of them very much as family. She also worried about them a lot. Under present circumstances, it seemed a reasonable attitude. "So Grin'elle's in trouble again?"
"That, as those who know him are aware, is an understatement. But we have worse problems. The only way we've found to rescue him will involve three starships, and put them all at great risk. We think it's justified, though. During his rescue, we hope to save the lives of a few hundred thousand others."
Her eyes widened at that. "Explain."
Ebon related the story of their 'psychic search' for Grin'elle. Though abilities like those were uncommon in the Federation, many Batron members carried them, and those around the table took his story in stride. "This is the kicker," he finished. "Rhiannon said, after she recovered, that she received the distinct impression that our presence could avert the disaster - whatever it is."
Linda looked around the table. "Opinions?"
"I say we go for it. I owe him one." Ty'elle was Grin'elle's adopted brother; the Gallifreyans had just used him as bait to trap Kriet. Grin had managed a rescue, but it was that complex event which had caused him to request the leave. A leave which, it now appeared, he could not return from. "Camazotians stick together," Ty concluded with a wry smile.
She assimilated that. "Jerry, what do you think?"
The solidly built starship captain smiled. "Well, I'm not from Capricorn, but Grin is family nonetheless. You've got my vote." He paused. "Besides, I'm sick and tired of the milk runs we've been getting lately."
D'Arque looked sidelong at him. "Wish I had your problems," he muttered.
"Blair?"
Blair Willcox was the most quiet, restrained human most of them had ever met. He'd remained silent for nearly the whole meeting; but Ebon always felt that there was a recorder behind those eyes that missed nothing, should any of it be needed in the future. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his sandy hair, and showed a small grin. "I know better than to try to argue with these people," he said with cheerful resignation.
Linda furrowed her brow. "We can't just drop patrol in the middle of the Triangle; nothing short of chaos would erupt. Hmm." She looked up. "Blair, if you're willing, I think we can hold the fort with just the two heavy cruisers for a while; Starfleet says that they intend to send us another dreadnought soon, as reinforcement. I'd think that would be enough. Just please don't dawdle.
"Can you work with just Pathfinder, Yeager, and McKay?"
Ebon smiled. "Actually, I was hoping that that would be the conclusion you'd come to, because that's what we planned for. May I?"
"Certainly."
D'Arque hit an intercom switch. "Okay, guys, your turn." In walked Kam, Kaz, and Mike Layne (Yeager exec and Starfleet technowhiz), with report folders that they passed around the table.
Kammara was first to speak. "Assorted sirs; Captain D'Arque gave me the assignment of devising a way to bring Starfleet vessels to the alternate frame of reality where Grin'elle is now trapped. We coordinated the Sciences and Engineering departments of all five ships, and believe we have come up with a practical solution - which may have interesting future possibilities.
"Some of you know that I come from the planet Algor, a planet restricted from Federation contact. Only certain individuals of each culture are allowed passage between them. This is because the Algorins possess an advanced technology, which both sides believe may bring great harm if combined, uncontrolled, with Federation technology. Nevertheless, it is with one such combination that we hope to rescue Grin'elle.
"One thing both technologies share is the use of dilithium to regulate their power sources." She set a translucent red dodecahedron on the table.
Willcox leaned forward, for a closer look. "That's no dilithium I've even seen," he objected.
"It is Algorin dilithium, Captain. The same mineral, except that the molecular crystalline matrix is rotated 90 degrees from standard."
"So?"
Mike Layne stepped in. "The helical crystals of dilithium are arranged very precisely; it is an arrangement which gives them the special property of channeling anti-matter power into the first stages of warpfield generation. The unusual arrangement of the helixes in Algorin dilithium will change the characteristics of a warpfield."
Ebon stared. Somehow, he had understood that; but it had been an effort. He resisted the temptation to lean over and ask Jerry whether the man was a closet Vulcan.
Kazar took up the thread. "Some philosophers have referred to normal warp travel as moving 'sideways' in space. Well, looking at it that way, the effect of the different warpfield should be to move us 'sideways' in time; motion across probability lines and into other frames of reality.
"As I've mentioned to the captain, we feel that three ships will be needed for this. I recommended the following three: Pathfinder for its heavy energy output, Yeager for its high power-to-mass ratio, and McKay for the powerful computing systems only a science scout carries. You see, the three ships will need to work together to produce... well, a combined warpfield at Warp 15."
The room fell perfectly silent. Ty'elle found his voice first. "You've got to be kidding."
"Not a bit."
Ebon, the only one of the captains who'd expected this, sat back with a resigned expression. "I did say great risk."
Jerry shook his head. "We're not backing out, Ebon. But... if anything goes wrong..."
"Oh, yes; we will need quite a bit of luck to pull this off," agreed the mutant Kzin.
Dujhar nodded sharply. "McKay is still in."
"So is Yeager."
Linda asked, "Are you sure you can find the correct timeline?"
"Oh, yes!" Ebon and Kam and Kaz all said with rueful confidence.
She raised an eyebrow. "All right." She stood, and all followed suit. "You have formal authorization to carry out this rescue attempt. Dismissed. Ebon, will you stay a moment?"
Everyone else headed out. Linda crossed her arms and exhaled loudly. "Ebon, of all the addlepated -"
"I know, I know. Believe me, you don't need to say it. Look, you get my weekly reports. This is just an average day on the Pathfinder."
"I know. Many of your crew served on my ship... Just be careful. Okay?"
"Always," he said with heavy irony.
"Grin'elle Kriet! You must be able to hear me. Please answer."
Nebula, seated on the floor against one wall, jerked out of her uneasy doze. "Wha-?"
"Grin'elle Kriet, answer please! I need your help. Are you receiving this transmission?"
The space-haired woman remembered: 'Kriet' was the name on the brass plate. She stood and looked at the scanner behind her. The cityscape had been replaced by Eve's scared, desperate face.
"You must be in possession of equipment that can receive this signal. Can you hear me? I have to talk to you!"
Nebula studied the maze of controls, but couldn't find anything marked 'Push to Talk.' Defeated, she turned, saw the tricorder she'd been carrying, and brightened. It was time for another Artificial Intelligence survival trick.
In a few moments, she'd jury-rigged its sensors into a simple transceiver. She pressed one button, and Eve's voice came through both the TARDIS speakers and the small sound chip inside the 'corder. "I'm sending on every frequency not controlled by the aliens. The situation is serious. Can you hear me?!?"
She pressed another button, and held the 'corder close. "My name is Nebula. I am Kriet's companion." Truth and long explanations later. "I don't know where he is now. Can I be of assistance?"
Eve paused, gathering courage, then, "I must know... Are you space travelers?"
That, at least, Nebula was pretty confident about. "Yes."
Hope showed in the girl's face and voice. "I must meet with you. Are you familiar with the building in this city known as the World Trade Center?"
She was, but wasn't in a big hurry to go back there. Still... "Yes."
"All right. Here's how you may find me..."
The arm of Ebon D'Arque's chair lit. Quaver's voice echoed, "Okay bridge, we're rarin' to go!"
"Confirmed," answered the Kzin. He next signaled McKay's engine room. "USS McKay, report status!"
"Yoi no dekita!" Ebon sighed. "And in Standard?"
"We're ready."
"Thaank yew," he drawled sarcastically. "Yeager?"
"We'rre nae rready, but do it anyway."
D'Arque covered the mike and asked the air, "Do they all come out of the engineering courses that way?"
Another aspect added to the unreality of the situation. Max Dreadnought had copied himself into Yeager and McKay long ago; 'Max Frigate' and 'Max Science Scout' were just as troublesome, if not more so, as the original. However, once wind of the mission had reached them, they had temporarily ceased their anarchic activities and solemnly offered their assistance. As Kam had said, the Maxes did have a special affinity for computers; and so, for once in their existence, the programs were being truly helpful, keeping watch over the computer links between the three ships.
Vilayet sat at the helm, counting seconds. "Captain, all ships at Warp Eight... now!"
Ebon gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "Go to Red Alert! All ships, prepare for warpfield match!"
USS Yeager
He settled back in his seat, and closed the restraints. "Thank you, Jeustine. Steady as she goes, Helm."
One of the screens at T'Saan's science station showed a schematic drawing of three starships surrounded by concentric circles. Two of the ships drew close together, and the circles around them merged to form indented ovals. "McKay has warpfield match with Pathfinder."
From another screen, Max Frigate chanted, "Max One and Max Three report warpfield distortion steady at 101.52 meters."
The ship-to-ship channel crackled. "Coming on three-way match, Yeager."
"Confirmed," Jerry answered. "All decks secure for warpfield disturbance." He remembered a quote he'd heard: Match maneuvers were only attempted by the talented, the foolish, or the desperate. Jerry tried to decide which category he was in.
Traveling at 512 times the speed of light, Pathfinder and McKay neared the Yeager. Mike had to hold the ships to the exact same speed and to courses which just barely intersected, or the differing inertias of the ships and their fields would clash rather than blending. The result would not be pretty.
The fields met, and the ships shuddered as each one's bubble of subspace warred for supremacy. The contest was a three-way tie; with a jolt, the warpfields came together like soap bubbles in a pool.
Jerry's chair creaked under his mass, but held. A Marine who'd been sure he wouldn't need a seat landed on his ass.
There was a spluttering from the 'com. "Ye'll be hearrin' frrom me lawyerrs!"
"Shut up, Ken," Jerry said with a smile. "T'Saan, since we're not splattered all over the quadrant, I assume it worked?"
"Yes sir," the Vulcan woman said. "Combined warpfield working perfectly.
"Okay." He took a deep breath. "Stand by to run her up to Warp 15 and switch to the Layne-Kazsis Process."
USS McKay
Unconcerned as ever, Max Science Scout droned on. "Imbalance in triple-field lobes three, four, and seven compensated. Computers set for delivery of full power to drives." He looked out of the screen at them. "Hi, kids! Isn't this fun?"
Scott Elson was trying to concentrate on his helm, but his palms kept getting distractingly moist. He wiped them off, remembering another trip four months ago. "I think this is worse than the Captain's Infinidrive," he said to no one in particular.
His Captain heard him. "You volunteering to go back to Gallifrey and ask the Time Lords politely to let us start using it?" Dujhar sneered. The kidnapping had brought his opinion of that group to an all-time low.
Elson mumbled an apology, and Dujhar relented. "Don't feel too bad. This is getting to me too."
"Twenty seconds," someone said.
That was the perfect moment for Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' to come blasting over the channel. The stirring but cliche-ridden passage brought surprise, then sniggers throughout the ships.
James Dunson was desperately restraining loud laughter. "Now I know why Captain Conner says life should have a soundtrack," he got out.
Ty's spine uncoiled somewhat, and he punched a button on the seat restraints. "Kam, if that was you - thanks; we needed that!"
" - three - two - one - Warp 15! Activate dilithium shunt!" Max sang. Conduit junctions clunked as they made new connections; and the Algorin dilithium gave forth the light of matter / anti-matter annihilation.
USS Heimdal
Linda turned to her Andorian first officer. "Are they out of range, Mr. Iroctociv?"
"Well, since no one's yet invented a sensor that scans other realities... yes, I'd say so." Sometimes, Andorians could be more literal than Vulcans.
"Right." She added, only to herself, "I hope they'll be all right."
"You think they'll return?" he asked.
She said lightly, "Well, they are 'Starfleet's finest.'"
Yinnek solemnly repeated his question. "But do you think they'll return?"
Linda gave him a unfathomable look. "If I may be permitted a poor pun: Time will tell."
It was a mixed relief when the doors finally slid open; she had begun to feel closed in, but wondered if that might not be preferable to whatever awaited her. Phaser at the ready, Nebula tiptoed out. This elevator terminal was part of some kind of reception room, with couches, a desk, another large window, and a couple of heavy doors. She went to the window, looked, and gasped.
'Miles' was a poor word for the dimensions involved. A titanic cavern loomed before her, spherical in shape and large enough to fly starships in. The sphere's interior was city, grassland, forest and ocean; all was quiet and empty. Even the area directly above her head, where details were lost, seemed deathly still. A monolithic hourglass-shaped pillar ran from the ground near her to the 'ground' that arced high above. Nebula knew that almost all starships used artificial gravity, but not on this scale! With that thought, she suddenly knew where she was.
"Hello."
She spun, strangling the phaser, but the nervous, withdrawn figure with the timid voice hardly seemed a threat; just a pretty teenager looking extremely vulnerable. It was Eve.
Nebula recovered her poise and nodded her head coolly. "A colony ship. A space-going city."
Eve was taken off guard by the woman's sudden self-assurance. "That's right. Its builders called it Megazone One-Nine."
The dark-haired woman's eyes widened. "There are nineteen of these?"
"No... The numbering doesn't quite work that way. There are, or at least were, others."
"New York in space... and not one of the inhabitants knows!" Sarcasm mixed with awe tinged her words. "Keeps the cabin fever down, I suppose."
Eve became defensive. "It was necessary, if millions of people were to survive a five-hundred-year voyage. After all, it is taking the real Earth centuries to recover from the unbridled activities of humans - such as nuclear war!"
Nebula was stunned. "You mean... we did it. We actually went and did it?" She knew by now, at least subconsciously, that she was no longer in her own timeline. But Earth was still the home of humanity; the home of her ancestors. In this frame, the unthinkable had happened.
"You did," Eve said sadly. "This ship may be mankind's last hope... if we live long enough to return."
Nebula sat down heavily, then looked up. "You said... What do you mean, 'You did?' Aren't you human?"
The girl's face grew longer. It's all part of the story; and you'd better know it all, if there's to be any chance that you or Kriet can help us." She sat down as well. "Let me explain..."
"The last war fought on Earth occurred over five centuries ago. Uncounted millions were killed, first by the war, then by climate changes. Man's science was at least good enough to start repairing the damage; everything from bacteria to blue whales could be and was genetically tailored to survive, and even to help the planet back to its natural state. Everything but man himself, that is. Humanity was not willing to have itself permanently changed in order to survive."
Nebula remembered the Eugenics Wars of her own history. "I understand what you mean."
"Giant colony ships were built, called Megazones. They were planned as generation ships, with their own ecologies and self-sustaining environments. They even carried extra room, to handle the (hopefully) increasing populations. Each Megazone was based around one of Earth's major cities, in order to preserve the cultural diversity of man: London, Moscow, Paris, Tokyo, Cairo, others... and New York. It was decided to keep the inhabitants unaware of their true situation, to prevent disastrous discord; it was also decided to fix the societies to the time period of the late 20th century. That was a comparatively prosperous time for mankind; and that way there would be no need to explain the lack of advances in technology, science and other areas. Though there have been some nonetheless...
"The ships were put under computer control; giant systems meant to oversee every detail of the Megazone. You can see the Main Computer - the Bahamoud, in the language of the Japanese technicians who designed it - out the window. Figuratively and literally, it is the core of the Megazone."
She stared at the huge pillar for a moment. "You asked me if I was human. I am not. My body is a hologram over top of a human-shaped force field." In an instant, she blinked out, reappearing behind the older singer; then she was immediately back. "My mind is one of the control programs of the Bahamoud. E.V.E.; Environmental Video Emulation. I control the illusion of life in the Megazone. I have access to programs which allow me to take this human shape, to control the weather, to project the sun, moon, and stars of New York's sky, and even to use my music to subliminally hypnotize the people - filling in the gaps I can't cover."
"Like an attack by alien spaceships?"
"Please... I'll get to that." Eve paused, trembling slightly, and Nebula again felt embarrassed. Reflexively, she reached out to take the girl's hand. It was warm, soft, and very real. Eve seemed to relax a little, drawing breath.
"There is one other important program in Megazone One-Nine's Bahamoud. Though he uses it rarely, his public identity is Adam Capek. His filename is A.D.A.M." She managed a slight smile. "I don't know what his acronym means. He controls the actual ship, keeping it on course and monitoring its many support functions. He also handles the ship's defense. That function has become more important than the designers knew...
"This is where the aliens came in. The attacks started about three centuries ago. They are called the Gorig, but that isn't their name; no one has ever seen one, talked to one, or even had any contact at all with them, besides that which is delivered by missile fire.
"We don't even know what their motives are... at this stage, I suppose it doesn't matter much. It was about that time when Adam and I lost contact with the few other Megazones that we knew of; during the first attacks."
Eve got up and walked to the window. "And this is their legacy. Don't strain your eyes; you can't see it from here, but half of Megazone One-Nine has been destroyed, or made uninhabitable. These empty streets were meant to be occupied by the offspring of those whom the Gorig have killed." She returned to her seat, covering her eyes. "As far as we know, those on the surface - just a few hundred thousand of the millions intended - are the last remnant of the human race."
There was nothing for Nebula to say. The girl's voice was choked with emotion, and her hands twitched restlessly. Eve looked desperately at the older woman as she continued.
"Even with all of that, there might still be cause for hope. But the final nail in the coffin came when the Gorig managed to damage the Bahamoud: specifically, Adam's memory banks. His higher reasoning centers and program procedure files were affected; he has started claiming that the only safety lies in the 'cleansing fires of Earth's sun,' as he puts it - and he plans to take the entire Megazone with him!"
Her eyes widened at the faint sound of another explosion outside the ship. "Assuming we survive that long... You see; Adam just can't defend the Megazone as well as he did before... Oh! I just don't know what will happen!"
There was terror in Eve's eyes and Nebula understood something she'd known for several minutes now. "You weren't supposed to be self-aware, were you? You're not just a program anymore... how did it happen?"
The girl turned away. "I - I don't know," she whispered. "I'm not sure, but I think you are right; this is some sort of accident. All I know is that several years ago, suddenly I was thinking about my instructions instead of just following them... but it was already too late to change things by then. I just held on, hoping...
"Then Kriet came. I didn't know how, or why. When he came to see me, I panicked; I knew he wasn't of the Megazone, because I have access to all those files, and they're still undamaged. Besides - like you, he was unaffected by the subliminal messages.
"But he came in the middle of an attack. Adam found him, and I think Adam decided that he was a Gorig. I don't know what happened after Adam confronted him, but if you haven't seen him..."
Nebula tried not to think about the fact that only Kriet knew how to get her home, and instead to concentrate on Eve's problem. "Okay. We can't do anything about the Gorig now, but if we can get this ship pointed in another direction, we'll have more time to worry about our other problems. Where did the original programmers of the Bahamoud work?"
"There's a central control room. Do you have much experience with computers?"
"Plenty," Nebula reassured her. The woman decided not to mention the fact that they were all hacker tricks she'd learned from the band. She had to try!
But what the hell had happened to Kriet?
USS Yeager
He found himself unable to move. The still bridge scene around him shrank, as if a magnifying lens had been removed. His viewpoint expanded logarithmically. The Yeager and the other ships were gone before he could focus on them; his vision included star systems, then galaxies, then mega-clusters; finally the universe itself was revealed to him.
Jerry marveled; suddenly, he understood it all. It all made sense, not just logical sense but emotional sense; it was beautiful, and it was right...
It kept expanding. He could see into the multiverses that Kriet had tapped, and the infinity no Starfleet officer had seen. Now Jerry was mentally pleading for it to stop; the mental abstractions a mind uses to shield itself were breaking down under the onslaught of information. The beauty was more than his psyche could understand, and it kept expanding. Jerry Conner saw all Creation, and wondered if anything lay beyond, and if he would last long enough to find out...
There was a thunder of music. 'Music' was a poor description; he heard, saw, smelled, tasted and felt it at the same time; the experience was almost orgasmic. He could never remember it later, but swore the audible part was right out of Bach. It echoed through his body - a body he could once again move, as his perception collapsed back into the protoplasm that was its home.
He looked around. The same old bridge surrounded him. Crew members stared into the distance, lay sobbing in a fetal position, or grasped their consoles with bloodless knuckles. Jerry stood, and everything turned blue. He froze in place and the colors returned to normal.
Mike Layne looked back at him with wide eyes. "Speed of light's funny," he mumbled thickly. Mike waved his hand before his face, watching as it turned alternately blue and red. It made Jerry vaguely ill. "Hmm. Dopplering while you watch."
They were still at Red Alert, but Conner sounded the klaxon again. His crew snapped back to themselves, trained reflexes engaging.
"Everybody okay?" he asked, not rhetorically.
"We seem to be alive," T'Saan commented, focusing her gaze with an effort. "Even if we're not sure we want to be." She knew that was what Terrans called humor, but at the moment, she didn't care.
He sat down. The main viewscreen was off. "Somebody get me a picture."
"It would do you no good, Captain," the Vulcan answered. "The data our sensors are receiving is impossible for the humanoid brain to process." She looked at him. "We'd see nothing - and it would only disturb us more."
Jeustine spoke up. "Captain, a transmission from the Pathfinder." "Put it on audio."
Kazar Kazsis' voice sounded. "We're reaching the end of the psychic trace Rhiannon detected. I've set the Max programs to simultaneously disconnect the Algorin dilithium on the three ships." He paused. "If anybody screws up... well, let's just don't."
"We're ready."
"Kam's relaying that to McKay... All right. Thirty seconds to disengage... Mark!"
At the helm, Kraiggearra Kraikginchsha gasped. "Max? Where's Max?" The screen he had occupied was blank.
Jerry twisted around to look. "What?"
As if on cue, Max's computerized countenance appeared. His hair was mussed, and his sunglasses askew. "Hi kids! Whoop! So th-that's wh-what you h-humans call a h-h-hangover!"
The entire bridge crew thundered, "MAX!!"
He drew back, "Whoa, not so load. -lewd. -loud, not so loud! What's this?" He looked down.
"Ten seconds!" Kraiggearra cringed.
"Oh, y-yeah! De- De- Doobeedoo... Deceleration! Hey, guys, don't tell me you were worried!"
"- three - two - one - zero!"
There was a clunk, and the engine noise changed suddenly. The main screen activated, showing the distorted but suddenly beautiful stars of warpspace.
"Stand by for deceleration to Warp One!" she called. "Delta-vee one factor per two seconds. Starting... now!"
The ships shuddered, and slowed. Pathfinder and Yeager peeled slowly away from McKay in opposite directions. As they reached Warp Six, the warpfields split apart, this time with a gentle bump.
Life-support indicators on all three ships lit as everyone released their held breath at once. "It worked," sighed Conner. "I wish I had all the money that'll be changing hands this evening at dinner." He rubbed his eyes. "Helm, where are we?"
"A few hours from Sol system, sir," she said.
"Pathfinder reports that they have Kriet's signal and wish to proceed," added Jeustine.
"Assuming McKay agrees, let's go for it," Jerry said. He looked up at T'Saan, who was standing beside the captain's chair. "What is it?"
"Request permission to leave the bridge," she said softly.
"How come?"
The last half-hour showed in her eyes as she answered, "Sir, I believe I am in danger of becoming emotional." She turned away and entered a turbolift. The doors closed behind her.
Jerry considered, and stood. "Mike, the con is yours." He headed after her, saying to himself, "Me too."
Co-ordinates unknown
Grin moved as if to sit up; it made little difference. His initial feeling of welcome tranquility was being replaced by panic. The last event he could remember was of being stuck from behind. "Hello? Where am I?"
A neuter, emotionless voice answered him, to his surprise. "Nowhere."
He twisted around, but could find no source for the sound. Kriet tried again. "What am I doing here?"
"Nothing."
"Who are you?"
"Who do you want me to be?"
It sounded like no one he had ever met, or expected to; yet there was a quality to it that brought terror to the animal portion of his mind.
"Enough with the games! What do you want?"
"I have granted your deepest wish, Grindall Elle Normayish Pommet Dyllmoreton Kriet. This is the rest you desire."
"You mock me!" the Starfleet officer cried. "This is not peace, it is void! What kind of game are you playing?"
"The game of your existence."
Kriet unconsciously bared his teeth. "My life is not some game meant to amuse bored godlings." He closed his eyes. "You are a figment of my imagination."
"Of course!" The voice was condescending. "As you are of mine. What do you know of your true existence? Do you know the real meaning of your life? You are nothing but a certain pattern of firing neurons in the brain of the Creator. As he is of his Lord. The path to true infinity lies that way, not in the space-time dimensions inhabited by a protoplasmic sack of confused DNA chains."
Grin's eyes opened. "I do know what you want."
The speaker's tone changed from contempt to conspiracy. "Yes, you do know. How could you not? My desires are yours. Together, we can break the chain. As matter and anti-matter combine to release incredible power, we can combine to release ourselves. From pawn to player in one move! Think on it, my friend. Think on it..."
It faded and was gone, while Kriet's mind overflowed.
USS McKay
Yvonne Underhill's intercom call brought Ty's mind back to his body. He'd excused himself from the bridge about ten minutes ago, and was staring out a viewport in the McKay's VIP lounge. Ty'elle doubted that he'd ever understand what he'd experienced during transit, and he wanted to, badly.
He shook it off, rushing out of the room. Science scouts tend not to be large, so he arrived quickly at his center seat. "What's happening? Oh..."
"We're a few days away from Earth orbit at sublight speeds," Scott informed him. "James' scanners have just picked this up."
To understate; the ship was big. It was a sphere of rock and metal several miles in diameter; the main viewscreen had obligingly placed silhouettes of Batron starships nearby for scale. Sensors indicated that it was carrying almost a million representatives of Homo Sapiens; and course projections put it straight into the heart of Earth's sun.
That wasn't the bad part.
Parked nearby was a ship nearly three times as long. Smaller craft issued from openings in its skin, swooping and attacking the sphere. Ninety percent of them were destroyed by shafts of brilliant light, but the remaining ten percent still made up an impressive force. The computer threw starship silhouettes next to those, and Ty's stomach began to shudder."You don't even have to tell me where Grin'elle's signal is coming from," Montor said.
Dujhar put his hand on his chin. "Rhiannon said that these were probably the last human beings in this frame..."
T'Saan's voice drifted from a channel someone had left open. "Captain Conner, the fighting force around that ship is approximately 7.21 times what we could reasonably expect to defeat."
Ty'elle hit his com button. "Jerry, Ebon... We've all known each other for a long time. Don't tell me that we're gonna suddenly start acting reasonable..."
There was a short but sincere laugh. "Guess not."
By an interesting but meaningless coincidence, three fingers pressed three alarm buttons at once. "Battle stations! All hands to battle stations!!!"
A starship's preparations for battle are an impressive experience. Depending on the class of ship, approximately four hundred crewmembers (maybe more, maybe less) immediately drop what they're doing and engage in solemn, purposeful activity.
The McKay's offensive capabilities were not excessive, so its engineers prepared to channel every spare erg of power into its deflectors. The powerful scanning devices of a science scout were brought on line and hooked into equally powerful computers; through the link provided by the Max programs, each ship would have unusually superb tactical data.
The Yeager's strength was speed. The ship could turn almost on its axis while at full throttle; it would strike, then strike again while an enemy was still trying to figure out where the first shot had come from. Its crew braced for high-speed maneuvers and sudden changes in energy demands.
The Pathfinder knew raw power. No other mobile human construct could match the raw destructiveness of the ship's weapons. No weapon known could punch through her shields with a single shot, and an enemy rarely got a second. Unfortunately, the ship was clumsy. Its mass, and the unusual warpfield produced by three nacelles, made it slower to respond than the other two ships: less maneuverable. Knowing that, its crew readied their backup weaponry...
In the lower decks of the dreadnought, the unnatural hybrid of a warpshuttle and a courier ship vibrated with power. The shuttle NIMITZ was one of a kind, a small starship in its own right; its lowest deck quickly filled with ground troops, armed and armored and awaiting command.
The Pathfinder's Executive Officer stood on its bridge, directing sharp orders at the intercom. Llandhe t'Reilri was the child of an expatriate Romulan couple, and her temperament was exquisitely suited for this type of work. She was bawling out a deck officer one moment and delivering crisp progress reports to Ebon D'Arque the next.
Only a few bulkheads aft, even stranger machines were readied by their pilots. A quick glance by a student of Terran military history would have identified them as 20th-century F-14 fighter jets - but a closer look would have spoken volumes. The engine sections were hardly simple jets. The weaponry was the best that Batron engineers could cram inside. And there seemed to be extra equipment underneath, and in the back... and several major sections seemed to be jointed!
Communications assistant Teyp Wolcait, currently unnecessary on the bridge, slid into the cockpit of Valkyrie strike craft number 104. He made sure that his life-support belt was on standby, in case of a lifesystems failure, then strapped in. Teyp settled the specially adapted flight helmet over his head, then sealed the canopy.
All the fighter's systems were at optimum. The air was pumped out of the small lock where the aerospace plane sat; and Teyp sat and waited for the signal that would expel his craft from the dreadnought's skin. Oh, and there was a last detail he remembered, sliding a memory cassette into an unmarked slot. All communications and audio warnings would override it; but for some reason, all the program's pilots performed much better to the beat of their favorite music.
Kam Kazsis turned from her bridge station, half her attention on the transdator in her ear. "Commander t'Reilri reports the NIMITZ fully loaded and ready. Valkyrie squadrons One and Two are ready for launch, and the reserve squadron is scrambling now."
Logran Chang added from the Weapons station, "Phaser crews report ready. All photorp tubes loaded and armed."
"All decks report readiness and Alert Condition One. Yeager and McKay confirm similar status."
D'Arque leaned forward in his seat. "Good... very good." He glanced at Kazar. "Any indication that they've scanned us yet?"
"No sir. We've detected no probe signals or activity directed at us. I would guess that they're concentrating on short-range combat sensors currently."
"All right. Before we do anything else, let's try to contact Grin'elle."
Main Computer "Bahamoud"
The older woman was soon thoroughly lost, and she asked Eve about it. "Well, you see, the designers were afraid that someone would learn the Megazone's secret, and attempt to use it for his own ends. Not only would they have to contend with this maze, but with several other security systems which I have temporarily disabled. The only other being who can enter here is Adam, and - what was that?"
Nebula jumped as her handbag beeped insistently. She dug around, and produced the discarded jumpsuit emblem. It chirped again when she touched it, then said, "Captain, I've located a Federation communicator! Grin, this is the Pathfinder ! Are you all right?" Static from the circuitry around them fuzzed the words slightly.
"It's a transceiver!" she told Eve, amazed. "I didn't think they made them this small!" She spoke into the insignia. "Hello? Am I speaking to a Starfleet ship? There's a bit of a problem down here..."
The female voice was replaced. "This is Captain Ebon D'Arque of the starship USS Pathfinder. We're looking for Commander Grin'elle Kriet. Are you aware of his whereabouts?"
"No... I'm looking for him, too. My name is Nebula, and I sort of accidentally stowed away on a ship called the TARDIS, and I was trying to find him, and -"
Someone broke in from McKay: an alien voice she knew quite well. "If you're Nebula, then what was the opening song for the Artificial Intelligence performance at the Batcave?"
She was overjoyed. "A little tune called 'How Could You Believe Me When I Tell You That I Love You When You Know I've Been A Mutant All My Life?' Wiikii, have you joined Starfleet?"
"Well, the pay's good, and I still get to play some tunes with the others once in a while, so on the whole -"
"Ahem!" Ebon interrupted. "I'm happy about the reunion, but there are more important things afoot."
"You're telling me!" agreed Nebula. "Captain, I'm very glad you're here. You wouldn't believe what's going on..." Nebula launched into the story Eve had told her.
She drew to a close, and Wiikii threw in his support. "Captain, she wouldn't lie about something like this."
D'Arque hadn't really thought she was. "It explains a lot, and it matches with Rhiannon's vision. So we're caught between Adam and the Gorig. What are you going to do?"
"Eve and I were heading for the computer center, to try to do something about Adam. Sir, it's been a while since I've done this sort of work... Can you beam someone in to help?"
The original speaker (Kammara) returned. "It wouldn't work, sir. I'm only receiving her signal now because she seems to be using a funny kind of communicator. A transporter beam would never reach through all that machinery."
"More protection?" Nebula asked Eve.
"Probably."
"We'll think of something," Ebon promised. "Do what you can. We'll get you some help as soon as possible. You've given us some vital information, Nebula. Good luck!"
Wiikii had one last thing to say. "You can do it, Nebula. Just remember what we taught you. You'll do fine!"
"Batron 11 out," finished Kam.
The dark-haired woman put the communicator away and said grimly, "Well - after you, Eve."
USS McKay, Pathfinder, and Yeager, in battle formation
The Batron was in a strange position. Though the very name implied fighting, its members had never been in an engagement that truly required the power of more than one ship. Even the dreadnought, a ship built against the possibility of total war, had seen few battles which tested its ability.
Despite this, despite the fact (which they were proud of) that the ships had been on ten times as many missions of peace and discovery as missions of destruction, their crews knew that one day, the lives of billions could depend on a micro-second's difference in the reaction time of one individual.
All this is by way of saying that the crews of Pathfinder, Yeager, and McKay had not had much practice in the art of war, but they were ready, nonetheless.
"Situation!" Captain D'Arque snapped.
Kazar reported quickly. "McKay is moving close for protection. Yeager is pulling out to a flank position to give support. Excepting the large carrier, the Gorig forces range from capital ships approximately 10% larger than the Pathfinder to fighter craft somewhat smaller than the Valkyries. And, sir, they appear to have seen us. A small force has broken off from the one assaulting the large ship, and should be here in about three minutes."
Ebon absorbed all of that. "Well, Captain Conner, you're the one who won the Tactics trophy your senior year at the Academy. Any suggestions?"
"I think our best move is to smash our way in close to the Megazone, where it will be difficult for them to surround us. After that... Well, I'm open to ideas. I believe we'll just have to fight a holding action, unless something better suggests itself."
"Agreed." He started to call Red Alert, but remembered that they'd hardly been off it since they'd entered the system. "All hands. Combat expected in ninety seconds. Weaponry crews, fighter pilots, and damage control teams stand by. Engineering, prepare for insystem warp maneuvers." He closed the channel. "Here goes."
"Here they come, sir."
"Wait for it..." Irony took over his expression. "Remember, they have to fire fir-"
WHAM!!!
The Kzinti mutant gave his impressive voice full throat. "Let's GO!"
Bahamoud Control Center
Eve and Nebula were now deep in the titanic pillar of the Bahamoud. Nebula shivered a bit, partly for psychological reasons, partly because the corridor was rather cool. They were surrounded by huge near-zero superconducting memory banks at the moment, and the heaters barely kept the air from being actually uncomfortable. The shudders of distant explosions weren't helping her mood either.
Finally, a pair of double doors slid aside, and the pair was faced by a large control room. The walls were plastered with video screens, and buttons, switches, and keyboards stretched yards against the walls to the other side of the room.
The tall singer took a deep breath. "Well, let's see what we've got here." She entered. Eve hung back a moment; she had the odd feeling that she was walking impudently into her own brain. Finally she followed.
The technology was incredibly outdated - which, of course, made sense considering that it was all built in the early 21st century. "Shame I can't take all this home. I'd be able to make a bundle on antiques."
"Then you can handle it?"
Nebula hadn't said that. "Err- we'll find out." She cracked her knuckles and finally picked a keyboard at random. This one was activated and awaiting input. It was hard to imagine that it had been waiting that way for five centuries.
"What are the security protocols?"
"You shouldn't need any. Normally, you go through so many checks getting in here that it's assumed you're cleared for access."
"Well, thank god for that."
Nebula decided that the direct approach was best. She simply started typing.
<<request access to bahamoud program banks>>
An answer appeared in highlights on the screen.
BAHAMOUD MEMORY ON LINE
Hard copy of both lines appeared on a printer beside her seat.
"Thank god for a cooperative computer. I suppose that since Starfleet's finest are outside working on the Gorig problem, we might as well try to steer this thing away from the sun."
"I suppose..."
<<request access to megazone navigation program>>
NAVIGATION PROGRAM CURRENTLY UNDER EXCLUSIVE CONTROL OF A.D.A.M. PROGRAM - ACCESS DENIED
"Well, somehow I expected that. Listen, how come you never tried any of this?"
"These controls can only be operated by biological entities with a body temperature close to 98.6. The keyboard is reading your fingertips; the cold air in here makes it easier."
"You felt normal to me."
Eve shrugged.
Nebula frowned. "I'm gonna need to know more about this ADAM character if I'm going to get around him."
<<request all unrestricted information on a.d.a.m. program>>
The screen paused, then filled.
PROGRAM A.D.A.M. - CONTROLLER, TRANSPORTATION FUNCTIONS MEGAZONE 1-9
STAGE ONE - APPLIED DEFENSE AND MANAGEMENT
STAGE TWO - ABSOLUTE DISINTEGRATION OF AVAILABLE MASS
MORE INFORMATION UNDER EACH SECTION
Nebula's brow furrowed farther. "Stage One makes some sense; that's what you told me he's supposed to be doing now. But I don't like the sound of the word 'Disintegration' in Stage Two. Let's see what that is."
<<request information on a.d.a.m. program stage two>>
A.D.A.M. STAGE TWO - ABSOLUTE DISINTEGRATION OF AVAILABLE MASS
AFTER FIVE HUNDRED YEAR ORBIT IS COMPLETE E.V.E. PROGRAM WILL COORDINATE EVACUATION OF HUMAN POPULATION TO SURFACE OF PLANET EARTH
A.D.A.M. PROGRAM WILL THEN NAVIGATE MEGAZONE TO LUNAR ORBIT AND LINK WITH A.D.A.M. (LUNA) WHERE MEGAZONE WILL BE DISINTEGRATED TO PREVENT LATER MISUSE
** ERROR ** A.D.A.M. STAGE TWO SECTOR FILE LINKS SCRAMBLED - ACCESS BACKUP FILE
** ERROR ** BACKUP FILE MISSING - ACCESS SELF-REPAIR ROUTINES
** ERROR ** SELF-REPAIR ROUTINES INCOMPLETE - COPY ROUTINES FROM A.D.A.M. STAGE ONE
** ERROR ** FAULT IN MEMORY PROCESSOR - STAGE TWO DATA TRANSFERRED TO STAGE ONE
** ERROR ** STAGE TWO DATA INDEX LINKS LOST - UPLOAD REPLACEMENT DATA FROM A.D.A.M. (LUNA) ONCE E.V.E. PROGRAM OBJECTIVE FULFILLED
The error statements continued, but Nebula had seen enough. "There's your damage; you were right. The instructions in ADAM's two files are mixed together. He thinks he has to defend the Megazone and destroy it at the same time." She shook her head in weary disbelief.
Eve's eyes were wide. "I'm impressed... I never managed to find out that much."
"So, do you have any suggestions?"
"Um... not one."
The woman sighed. "Kay. Let's see..."
Just then, the double doors slid open as Adam Capek made another of his dramatic entrances. "You won't sabotage me! You can't rummage around in my files without my permission!"
Eve stood in front of him. "Adam, no! I asked her to come; she's trying to help!" Eve did not lack bravery; still, Nebula held little confidence in that versus Adam's madness. He advanced, and pushed the girl aside with little effort.
Nebula stepped slowly away from the console, muscles tightening. Adam stepped forward, and backhanded her against the wall. She hit hard, and her mind fogged, then faded; her pupils began to dilate, and the room grew warmer...
USS McKay, Pathfinder, and Yeager
The Yeager rocked with a hit that bounced harmlessly off the starboard top shields of its primary hull. Just above, the megaphaser mounted on the ship's 'roll bar' whined twice, paused, and whined again. Two explosions missed, but the Gorig ship dodged right into the third.
A smaller Gorig swooped in low at the Pathfinder. The dreadnought's forward phasers spat repeatedly at it, but it was always a microsecond ahead - until it flew right into the path of a photon torpedo.
The large weaponry on the starships was almost overwhelmed. That was when panels on the Pathfinder's secondary hull slid aside, and Valkyrie aerospace fighter mecha were flung out. Their wings and tailerons spread wide; despite the lack of air, poorly understood alien technology in the aerodynamic surfaces enabled the fighters to make the same maneuvers they would have in atmosphere - and more.
The stars wheeled behind the head of the cyborg known as Byte. He was connected directly into the mecha's controls, and used his plane as an extension of his body. Flashing cursors appeared on the transparent Heads Up Display before him, indicating that some of his missiles had chosen targets. He launched three. The technology of nuclear weapons might be centuries old by now, but as one Gorig became a fireball, Byte mused that in certain situations it was horribly effective.
Another Gorig fighter evaporated. A larger ship was hit on a structural stress point, and split apart before filling with fire. Another popped into the space just vacated, firing an energy weapon repeatedly. The plane it was aiming at dodged upward, activating another retro-tech innovation; a triple-barreled Gatling gun, firing 50mm shells made of heavy elements and advanced propellants which the original Gatling's makers had never dreamed of. The Gorig ship was holed several times; secondary explosions were visible through some of the rents, and the ship tumbled away, out of control.
Two more aliens headed toward the Yeager. A Valkyrie passed under one, and did something truly astounding; its pilot pulled a special lever and imagined a certain sequence of actions. Special circuitry in his helmet picked up the images. The fighter's engines bent in the middle and folded forward. The extra equipment mounted between them split and folded forward, mechanical hands appearing at the ends. The section holding the tail fins folded in on itself and forward, and the result looked like a cross between the original fighter and a sleek carnivorous bird with wings, arms, and legs. This form of a Valkyrie was known as a Guardian.
The mecha somersaulted, bringing the Gatling (now held like a rifle in the starboard arm) to bear; it rattled, and one alien was repeatedly punctured. The other Gorig turned to answer this new threat, and was nailed by a megaphaser burst from the Yeager.
And still they came. A Gorig corvette charged a formation of three Valkyries, determined to kill. Before it got close, the three underwent another startling transformation; the engines pivoted 180 degrees around their intakes, the arm sections folded out, and the body section folded in half. The belly turret reappeared on top as a 'head', with camera 'eyes' and phaser 'antennae'. The pilot now sat safely in the thickest part of the 'torso'; the entire thing looked like a 50-foot tall armored technological knight. This shape was called a Battloid.
The engine exhausts were now in the thing's 'feet'; they flared now, as the Battloids dove at the corvette. Without even using their weapons, the huge suits of armor kicked and punched at the ship, disabling weapons, drives, and communications links; when the ship was no more than wreckage, they heaved it at a formation of Gorig fighters. The whole mess detonated.
It was a surreal, terrifying battle. A Gorig swooped low over the Pathfinder, and was instantly pierced by phaser fire; but something that was not debris fell from the burning mass. Questing metal tentacles grabbed the hull and drilled in, seeking the heat of human bodies. Air whistled out; on G Deck, a science tech's screen shattered as a metal snake plunged through it, then his skull. There were screams of horror and panic. A Guardian braked to a stop, pulling the device from the dreadnought's skin; the mecha tossed it away and trapshot it with nose-mounted phasers. The Valkyrie leaped away; the emergency seals activated; and crewmen prayed for the fight to end soon.
Megazone 1-9, Habitation sector
The Gorig flew over deserted city, approaching closer and closer to the life readings ahead. This was in fact a section that Eve was scheduled to open for occupation soon; until that time she had simply told the metropolis' inhabitants to ignore it. However, Eve was busy now, and many men and women heard engine whine and explosions and suddenly wondered why they'd never noticed all those buildings. And more peculiar noises were coming from the other direction; they were trapped...
The Gorig were close now. Alien weaponry screeched and huge fireballs sprang up, catching many who'd been too curious or too anxious to run. The grotesque ships flew through the clouds of smoke -
- and found that the odds had changed.
"Open fire!!" yelled Llandhe t'Reilri. Overcome with bloodlust from her Romulan ancestry, she pulled at a lever on the hovering tanklike vehicle she sat atop. Stubby legs dropped from its undercarriage, and it spun 180 degrees, revealing a huge cannon that had been hidden in this mecha's aft superstructure. A beam the equal of a starship phaser sprang forth, and the lead Gorig was subatomic particles.
Armored men on motorcycles appeared from the billowing smoke. Like the fighter plane and Hovertank before them, these seemingly ordinary machines were revealed to have surprising functions; each cycle in turn leaped into the air, wrapping like a living thing around its rider; suddenly there was a score of Starfleet Marines in the air wearing thicker armor and jet thrusters, and carrying a dozen missiles along his torso and dual particle projectile launchers on each forearm. Another Hovertank joined Llandhe's; and Gorig began to evaporate.
Many months ago, Grin'elle Kriet had used his Multiverse Device to take a trip of technological exploration. He returned with blueprints and design sheets for one-man vehicles that changed shape to handle many situations, and were armed to the teeth besides. Combining the technologies of the blueprints and the Federation, he had built prototype assault vehicles thought by many in Starfleet to be white elephants. This day proved them wrong. The few New Yorkers who hadn't fled realized that they had allies in the Starfleet mecha, and cheered them on as the aliens began to be pushed back. Many Gorig took to the upper reaches of the false sky, only to find the NIMITZ and its even more extensive armament waiting. The battle for this humanity's future continued.
On a city street close to the shoreline, two pillars of energy solidified into Kam and Kaz. When the Pathfinder had unexpectedly gotten a few moments' respite, Ebon had ordered them to try to find Grin'elle. No one seemed to notice their unusual entrance; but then, most of the city's inhabitants currently had other things on their minds.
According to Max Dreadnought, the transporter was set to drop them very close to the source of Kriet's signal. Kam brought out an old TARDIS homing device Grin had given her once, and they soon found the white ship.
Kam read the brass plate. "Well, what do you know? Max was right for once."
"Didn't you trust him?"
"The last time I trusted Max, I somehow ended up wearing an Orion slave girl costume onto the bridge."
"Oh yeah... I forgot to thank him for that."
"She pushed open the door. "Go ahead, keep it up, darling; you'll get yours." They entered the TARDIS control room, and she pointed to one button. "Set off the cloister bell." She'd traveled with Grin a few times before, and had a vague familiarity with its controls.
He pressed it, and a long, drawn-out tolling sounded from the depths of the timeship. It rang several more times, and she shook her head. "Damn... he should have been here by now. He must not be on board. Turn it off."
"Okay. Now what do we do?"
Kammara pondered for a moment. "Grin once told me that a TARDIS is kind of psychically linked to its master; it's almost like an intelligent being."
"So?"
"Maybe... if we could get this thing started, and told it he was in trouble, it could find him!"
"Sounds crazy to me."
"Ebon also gave us this," and she drew the Mutor from her uniform jacket.
Kazar smiled. "Now it's just crazy enough to work."
She touched it to the console, and hoped. There was a pause, then it blinked to a slimmer wand with electrical contacts down the sides. They hunted over the console, and found a matching socket.
Kaz shook his head. "Too easy... Man, that artifact bothers me. I never know what it'll do next."
Kam was concentrating. "Okay. Next... coordinates, I think." She touched a switch, then drew back. "Would you please mind-link with me?"
It was an effort; they hadn't known how to do this until recently, when they learned by accident during that disastrous shore leave at Wrigley's. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, searching for the pattern of her thoughts.
Ha. Got you, he thought. Okay, now why are we doing this?
USS McKay, Pathfinder, and Yeager
The large Gorig cruisers had drawn close to the Starfleet dreadnought and frigate; Federation shields flared as they took punishment sufficient to wipe out cities. The Gorig ships had no such defenses, but for each one destroyed, there was another one waiting. The Batron's superior technology and skill were keeping losses low, but as men tired and the enemy continued throwing cannon fodder at them, the situation became less and less sure.
Two Valkyries were hit. On one, the ejector seat computer detected the structural damage, decided it was fatal, and threw the pilot free of the fireball which formed immediately afterwards. The other man had no such chance. A passing Guardian collected the first man; though double protected by sealed flight suit and life-support belt, he was unconscious. Jeff Matthews waited for a chance to drop the shields long enough to beam him aboard.
One of the tentacled spheres attacked Byte's Battloid. The two metal serpents that latched on to him sheared away the mecha's left arm and punctured the cockpit, damaging his own. Another humaniform mechanical warrior rode its back thrusters in and kicked the offending weapon away, baking it with the head-mounted phaser turret. Byte looked down at the lubrication fluid leaking from his arm and grimaced. With mechanical strength he squeezed the leak closed and returned to the conflict.
The McKay had been trying to stay out of the fight. The ship was a science scout; it hadn't been designed for war... but its captain had seen what happened to the Grissom and other sister ships, and decided to collect some favors in the Starfleet shipyards. Command had actually approved of his ideas, though they may well have been intending to use them in more devious ways...
"Moving in on the combat zone now, Captain," Dunson reported.
Montor turned, reporting a new development calmly - and in one breath. "Captain Dujhar three fighters have broken away from Pathfinder heading this way!"
Ty inhaled deeply, and hit a button on his chair arm. "Activating 'Concealed Weapon'!"
Panels in the hull slid aside, and suddenly the McKay was much better armed than science scouts are supposed to be. A panel of controls lit on the helmsman's board.
"Fire!"
The phaser beams lanced out. Ironically, the little ships were too fast to hit; but as one dodged, it rammed the other two. The three disappeared in a fireball.
"All right!" yelled Lt. Maier.
Then the bridge lit in red, and the computer's voice announced "Hull integrity breached!"
"What the -" and Dujhar rolled from his chair as a metal tentacle clove it in two. It reared up, seeking the heat of a body. At that moment, an anonymous Valkyrie brought its mechanical foot down on the piece of 'wreckage' which had attached itself to the bridge dome. The mecha ducked an enemy missile, then charged back into the thick of things.
"Emergency pressure seal activated," said Barrington, still calm.
Dujhar gave him an shakily ironic look. "Good."
Coordinates unknown
"Have you considered my offer?" it purred.
"Your offer is meaningless!" he shouted. "If you have nothing but that nonsense on your mind, you may as well leave again."
"So hostile! And I offer so much."
"You offer nothing! Even if you speak the truth, than whoever rules this plane serves in the next. There is no advantage, no gain!"
"You lie!" it shrieked. "I shall have my freedom!"
"You will simply gain a larger cage; and you will not notice, having become larger yourself. Now leave me alone!"
"Oh, no. No, Kriet. You know nothing of my plan. I will have my victory! I will have you! I Will Have You!! I WILL HAVE YOU!!!"
The voice grew louder and louder. It filled Kriet's ears, than leaked into his mind. He curled up, trying to block it out, but the effort was futile...
"Get out of my mind!" he gritted. "Get out of my mind!!"
The screams came to a crescendo. Kriet didn't know whether they were his or the other's, but he felt his sanity leaving... Then, a sound. Faint, but growing. A sound he'd heard many times. A groan of tortured machinery with a rising and falling rhythm, rising and falling...
Grin opened his eyes. He was in an alleyway, uniform filthy, body bruised. There was no trace of the voice. Instead, Kammara and Kazar Kazsis bent over him with faces full of concern. Behind them stood a metal shape he was very familiar with.
"Grin, are you okay?" Kam asked. She tentatively touched his shoulder, and though Grin was hardly a powerful psionic, he picked up from her mind the tumultuous events of the past two days: from Rhiannon's search to Nebula's story to the couple's successful flight of the TARDIS.
"You okay?" Kaz repeated.
Grin stood. "No. However, I shall live." He walked toward the TARDIS. "You coming?"
"Where are we going?"
"I intend to fix a broken computer program." Kam was unable to forget the expression on his face for a long time.
Bahamoud Control Center
The woman blinked sore eyes, and stood up. Eve was studying her anxiously; behind the program, several datascreens were flashing red. "What happened?"
"There was this blast of heat; it overloaded Adam's forcefield generators. His body's been destroyed." The girl's expression was both scared and fascinated. "How did you do that?"
Nebula stopped short. "Me? I didn't do anything."
"You did! Your eyes got funny, Adam caught fire and disappeared, then you collapsed."
The black-haired singer shook her head. "Eve, I assure you, I'm not some sorceress out of a fantasy novel. The Gorig must have damaged him again."
Eve was unsure. "I don't... Oh! The Gorig!" She ran back to the main console. A video screen high on the wall lit, showing the desperate battle around the Starfleet ships. A second screen came alive showing the fight in the streets of New York. Several Cyclone riders lay dead or wounded, and the two Hovertanks were badly scarred, though still fighting.
Starship bridges appeared on other screens. The Pathfinder's could barely be seen for clouds of black smoke that washed past the camera lens. Crew ran past with fire extinguishers. On the McKay, Dujhar stood bravely beside the wreckage of his command chair, giving firing orders and pretending not to be as terrified as his crew. The Yeager's bridge shook repeatedly with barely deflected hits. Mike Layne looked at a reading, shouted an oath, and ran for the elevator. Captain Conner was too busy even to give him any attention.
Hundreds of years watching human behavior hadn't prepared her for this. She looked at Nebula. "What do I do? I have to stop it," she whispered despairingly. Nebula couldn't think of an answer.
Without warning, the bright lighting in the computer center dimmed sharply. Blue emergency lights came on, giving Nebula and Eve an unhealthy color.
"What's going on?" the woman asked.
Eve stared at a readout as if hypnotized. "No..."
"Eve, what's happening?" Nebula shouted, then had to strain to hear the answer.
"Adam's back in the system. Every weapon on the Megazone is building up to overload. He must have decided not to wait to get to the sun."
"What?" Nebula's mind raced. "Will we disintegrate?"
"No. We will simply lose most of our outer shell - and all atmospheric pressure." Eve looked up from the display. "The energy release and debris should also smash the Gorig ships..." She couldn't finish.
Nebula's horrified voice finished for her. "And the Starfleet ones." Eve nodded.
She thought about her dreams: performing with AI, joining Starfleet, fun, adventure, fortune and glory... Nebula closed her eyes for exactly one minute, then opened them. "All right." She picked up her handbag, and removed the phaser, carefully adjusting the setting.
"What are you going to do now?"
She took a deep breath. "Eve, do you know where Adam's core memory is?"
"It's right outside the doors, next to mine. Our programmers wanted easy access while they wrote us."
That surprised Nebula. "Can you transfer your program to another address?"
"No, neither of us can. Why? What are you planning?"
"... I was going to set this phaser to overload... then leave it in Adam's memory banks."
"No!" the girl cried. "Several major conduits and supercoolant lines run through there! You'll wipe out this whole area!"
Nebula turned the phaser around and around in her hand. "And if I don't, this entire ship will self-destruct." She looked into the hologram's eyes, knowing they were simulated, and not caring. "Eve, either way, we are going to die. Rather, I will die, and you will be permanently erased. In my book that works out to the same thing."
Eve sat backwards in a chair, arms wrapped tightly around the back support. "I tried to stop him... I really did..." Every mind, whether metallic or protoplasmic, has a point of collapse, and the poor girl seemed dangerously close. Nebula put an arm around her.
"Come on. We'll save countless lives - and then it will all be over." They walked toward the doorway.
They stopped abruptly; there was a sound, unmelodic and harsh, but which Nebula would always afterward think of as one of the most beautiful she'd ever heard. As the vibration scraped and dragged, a metal shape took form in a corner of the room; and three Starfleet officers stepped out. The TARDIS had arrived.
A wave of irrational relief swept over Nebula. "I didn't know the Federation had a cavalry!"
Kriet recognized her. "You're the singer from Previtar!"
Her eyes widened. "You're the guy with the time machine!"
"Excuse me," Kazar interrupted, "but don't we have some more important matters?"
There were quick introductions, and a quick recap of the deep load of trouble they were all in. Kammara recorded everything on her tricorder, hoping one day to figure out exactly how all this had happened. Kriet and Kazar went immediately to the main computer console; Grin two-finger typed at blinding speed while Kaz leaned over his shoulder and made whatever comments seemed appropriate.
"So that's the mysterious Grin'elle Kriet," Nebula said to herself. Kam, however, picked up on the statement. "Uh-huh. He's a nice guy - but however strange you decide he is, he always manages a few more surprises." She turned to Eve. "I hope that you're nothing like the only other intelligent computer program I know."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"It's a looong story."
Kriet let out a few expletives in a language none of them knew; however, their intent and power were self-evident. Even Eve's projected cheeks blushed.
"Has anybody been in this system in the past hour?"
"I was," replied Nebula. "It was the only way to discover what was wrong with the Bahamoud."
Grin ran spread fingers through his hair in frustration. "Well, your access route has been blocked. I can't shut down the weapon overload, contact the Pathfinder, talk to this Adam, or anything."
Kam looked sidewise at him. "I thought you said once that you two could program your way around anything."
"Sure," Kazar answered. "With about two hours, and/or a full set of utility programs. Right now, the programming tool I'd select would be a large axe."
"I've got a phaser," Nebula suggested.
"It was a figure of speech. Though the idea is tempting..." he added sourly.
"How much time until the overload?" asked Kammara.
"Ten minutes and some. It varies, depending on the individual weapon's current charge, bore temperature, etc."
Nebula help up her weapon. "It looks like we may be using Plan A after all."
Eve grabbed her hand. "Yes, we will; but with modifications."
"What?" There was a hardness to her expression that Nebula hadn't seen before.
"When that phaser explodes, my memory - my self will be destroyed. Therefore, I may as well be the one who sets it off. The rest of you can take Kriet's spaceship back to your ships. You can warn them and get them away; they do travel faster than light, don't they?"
There was a silence. "Eve," Kriet managed, "I'd like to argue with that logic. It's plain that some machine intelligences do have souls. Couldn't you transfer your program, perhaps to the TARDIS computer? There's plenty of room."
"No; I wasn't given that ability. Perhaps you could change that, given time; but if you could do that, you could fix Adam as well. Besides, someone has to stay here and give you time to get out of range - if this doesn't work. Now please hurry. Those ten minutes are ticking away."
None of them wanted to leave. None of them could think of any other option. Grin bundled them all into the TARDIS before anyone could start spouting long goodbyes; and the timeship again faded from view.
Eve looked down at the phaser which would be the instrument of her own death. About eight more minutes.
The TARDIS
Grin'elle's practiced fingers manipulated the controls almost by reflex. The TARDIS control room was completely silent; no one would speak, no one would look at another. The silence could only have been broken by the situation getting worse; right now, that seemed impossible.
Kriet suddenly did a double take, glaring at certain instruments. "I don't believe this! Now I can't get a channel to the Pathfinder!"
Heads snapped up. "What? What's wrong?" Kam asked.
"Who knows?" He calmed some. "Hang on. I'll partially materialize, and we'll take a look."
The horrible screech sounded again. Grin operated the scanner screen.
"Oh, my God," Nebula gasped.
The dreadnought was scorched, dented, and scraped, its normally impressive exterior now looking pitiful. The Fleet officers knew, though, that that was superficial damage, relatively simple to fix and not threatening in itself.
What was scary was that the main bridge dome was spewing atmosphere and thick black smoke. Obviously, no one was alive in there.
"How - how are Yeager and McKay?" Kazar managed. Grin panned the scanner camera around. Though outwardly they looked little different, the two ships were obviously much more intact.
Kam didn't see it as a sign of optimism. "We're getting creamed," she whispered, gaze locked on the spectacle.
Grin jolted her out of it. "You're the communications chief. I taught you how to use this equipment. Get us contact with the Pathfinder!"
A useful task diverted her attention. She bent low over the correct panel, calculating and experimenting. Then she glanced up.
"Wait - I think - I've got it. Just a computer telemetry channel, but there's something -"
The screen picture flickered, then changed. "Hi kids!"
That wasn't the last thing Grin'elle needed just then, but it was close. "Max..." he growled almost subsonically. His voice rose. "What the hell is going on on that ship!"
"Comma- comma- kamikaze aliens in the bridge dome! Twelve scared bridge crew, see how they run! They're setting up shop down in the Emergency bridge now, and I thought I'd fetch the P- P- Party Mix! So, what have you guys been up to?"
Kaz gritted his teeth. "Please, somebody. Let me kill him just a little."
Max's computerized eyes fell on the tricorder Kam had been using. "Ah-ha! Now wh- where's my library card?" It whirred as its memory was accessed; and Max's expression changed, for one second, to compassion. Then a sly grin took its place. Max said, "Hang on, kids! You're going for a ride!"
"Max, what -"
The drives activated, but they sounded very strange, as if echoing from the wrong direction. Then Grin looked around and saw the main doors opening.
"No... no, that can't happen during transit..."
The raw material of reality rushed past the widening opening; and Kriet looked down into the abyss of the Time Vortex itself.
He leaped to the other side of the console, knocking the others down. Next he wrapped his legs around its pedestal, and took a firm hold of Kammara's uniform. "Grab hold of each other and anything else you can reach! This is not going to be fun!"
The field which protected them from the changing timestream outside was still holding, but at the expense of the artificial gravity and inertial dampeners. The TARDIS crew were brutally knocked around, as they were subjected to the rough ride of the unshielded Vortex.
"What's going on?" screamed Kam.
"I don't know!" he had to answer. "As far as I know, most of this shouldn't be happening! Somehow, Max has started the engines... and our destination is not ordinary!"
Kriet's skin started tingling, and a high-pitched whine assaulted their ears. He looked back out the doors; the chaos outside was slowing, taking shape. The sound deepened into the moan of materialization; then everything was again still.
"Where are we?" asked Nebula.
The air before the console vibrated. There was a swirling motion there, like a powder-filled liquid being stirred; and a humanoid form took shape. Blond, slicked-back hair, Starfleet uniform, dark glasses...
"Max Dreadnought," Kam, Kaz, and Kriet said in unison.
He bowed. "Greetings and felicitations... dudes." Only his upper torso was well defined; the rest was ghostly and hard to focus on. He was real, however, and he proved it by walking over to the control room's concealed wall locker, and taking out an ancient, heavy-looking particle blaster. He handed it to Kriet. "You'll need this."
Kriet looked outside, at the dark nothingness that was now stable. An occasional blot of light flashed past, like a courier on a desperate errand. In the distance was a hint of city-like traceries of light.
Realization dawned on Kriet. He looked at the weapon, gave Max a rueful smile, and left the TARDIS.
"Grin's had that blaster in there since I've known him," commented Kam. "The charge pack has always been completely empty."
"Not anymore." Max turned to Nebula. "Please," and he smiled gently. "Sing. It is very important. You must sing until Grin'elle returns."
"Will someone tell those of us who aren't all-knowing: What Is Going On?!" Kazar demanded.
"Soon." Max answered. He also walked toward the doors, but stopped just before passing through. The old grin was back. "Oh. Kam? About the Orion Slave Girl outfit?"
"Yes?"
"Th- th- thanks for the mammaries!" He was gone. Kaz slowly shook his head in amused bewilderment. "Strange."
"Understatement."
They turned to Nebula. "I guess you'd better do what he said," Kam told her. She stared at them for a moment, then looked aside. When she faced them again there was beautiful music coming from her throat.
"Starlit glow, sneaks through windowpane and blind
Two shadows pressed together the silver starlight finds
Words at your lips, stopped by a fear you cannot hide
In darkest night
Hopes and dreams, fighting towards the open air
Nobody dares to hope that there's somebody who cares
I call your name, knowing you'll find the strength somewhere
I know you're there
I know - that you have love to share
Only tell me it's so,
Speak desire if you dare
I know - love's full of mysteries
Only you can save our dream
Tell me all your secrets please
Fool them all, with a stage performer's grin
Never say anything that might show the soul within
Distant and safe, no one can penetrate your skin
Please let me in
I know - that you have love to share
Now my heart leaps for joy
At the love you now declare
I know - we'll have some warm memories
Now that you've saved our dream
Tell me all your secrets please
I know - that you have love to share
Only tell me it's so,
Speak desire if you dare
I know - love's full of mysteries
Only you can save our dream
Tell me all your secrets please
I know - that you have love to share
Now my heart leaps for joy
At the love you now declare
I know - we'll have some warm memories
Now that you've saved our dream
Tell me all your secrets please"
USS Yeager
"Good." He'd seen the alien hit, and was afraid that it had meant the end of some close friends. "What's our current status?"
T'Saan answered. "Pathfinder is damaged but still at 90% efficiency. Yeager and McKay have taken mostly superficial damage." Yeager rocked violently. "Correction." Jeustine cried at the same time, "Hull breach on deck 5! Damage control teams on their way!"
"What are our current attrition figures?"
"Total Batron complement lost: 4% of total. Gorig complement lost: 15% of total."
Jerry thought furiously. A logical expansion of those figures led to a victory for the Starfleet ships - with the loss of over a third of their crews. Jerry was already anguished about the men he'd lost so far; but they had to save the Megazone!
"Deck 5 breach repaired." Jeustine's voice dropped. "We lost two more who were there when decompression occurred."
But what if the Gorig got lucky?
But there were hundreds of thousands of people down there!
"Captain!" Mike Layne's voice crackled over a damaged intercom channel. Suddenly Jerry remembered Mike leaving without permission earlier: very unusual behavior. Stardust switched over, and the transmission cleared.
"Mike, where have you been?"
"Never mind! It'll work!"
"What'll work?"
"Switch to the Algorin dilithium and fire the main phasers, captain. Quickly!"
"But -"
"Sir, we don't have time for that!"
"But -"
"That either! Quickly, captain!"
Jerry threw up his hands. "Okay, whatever! Helm - do it!"
The Yeager's phasers fired. The beams lanced out - into the strangely different warpfield that the frigate's engines were now emitting. Instead of going through and out, the light-spears refracted back, forming a storm of destructive energy between the two drive nacelles.
The phasers kept firing. The lights on the bridge dimmed, as both the weapons and the warp drive drew more and more power. Vibration and noise invaded the bridge, forcing most of the crew to cover their ears with their hands. An Andorian, incapable of sufficiently shielding his sensitive antennae, fell to the floor in pain.
The lights went out. At that moment, the massed energy burst forth in a swath of annihilation, cutting into the massed reserve forces of the Gorig. The Yeager's engines had poured almost all the energy that its matter and antimatter fuel had to give into that one shot; and it was spectacular.
Anticlimactically, the main viewscreen had failed. "Battery power!" Conner yelled at anybody; in a moment, the lights returned dimly.
His Vulcan science officer looked impassively at him from her post. "Main and auxiliary power is out, sir. However -" the main screen chose that moment to reactivate, "the enemy force is 89.215 percent destroyed."
Jerry was stunned. "Mike did it," he mumbled. His voice rose. "He did it. We did it!" The mood was infectious; and the whole bridge was soon cheering.
Things were somewhat disrupted by Ken Wright's sudden entrance through the emergency stairwell. "What the bluidy heck 'ave ye doon to me ship?" he growled.
"Defeated the bad guys, Ken," the captain answered jovially, motioning to the screen.
Ken looked. "Well, okay," he grumbled. "Just don't be doin' it often. Ye've scrrambled everrythin' frrom stem to sterrn wi' thot fool trrick." He crossed over to the Engineering console. "Got half the crrew yellin' at me now."
"Captain..." He turned, hearing alarm in T'Saan's normally unemotional voice. "We may have a problem. I'm receiving very unusual emanations from the Megazone's defense systems... Captain!"
All eyes turned, with sudden realization and fear, to Ken. He shook his head, the accent gone. "No, sir. We don't even have enough battery power for ten seconds of impulse. Much less warp drive..."
Bahamoud central ROM array
"Adam," she said to the air, "the fighting's over. We've won. It's finished. Won't you end this strange game?"
Nothing.
As a computer program, she had a perfect sense of passing time. She knew to the nanosecond how long it had been since she'd given the others that ten-minute deadline. Some of the smaller gun emplacements had already melted. Those weren't the ones to worry about.
Thirty seconds left. She raised the phaser -
- and cried out in defeat. The force field that gave her body its shape began to dissolve. She tried to press the phaser's trigger, but she could no longer exert the pressure...
The weapon fell with a crack to the floor of the empty hallway.
USS McKay
He walked past Jeff Matthews. "- and the doctors say that all the pilots I managed to grab will survive. It makes me feel pretty good -" But Ty felt bad, about those who hadn't survived.
He passed Llandhe, who wore several Gorig sphere tentacles as belts and necklaces. He shuddered; but battle trophies were her nature. "- one building we found blueprints and half-finished prototypes for a new type of motorcycle mecha. Apparently they were a part of Adam's defense plan, before he went psycho. If Grin had been there... Wow! According to the design sheets, they're called Garlands -" But many of the mecha which had made the trip here would not be returning.
He passed Ebon, whose brand-new leg brace gave him a certain swashbuckling air. "- pulled McKenzie out of the way when the ceiling collapsed. She said that when the brace comes off, she'll have to show me her appreciation. I'm almost afraid to find out what that means -"
Finally, his mood lifted, as he found the group he was looking for. Kam, Kaz, Grin, Nebula, and Wiikii were there, and even Eve was there, in the form of a picture on a com screen.
"Hi guys," he interrupted.
"Hey, Ty! You said during the Ultrainfinidrive affair that you might be rescuing me soon; looks like you were right!" Kriet laughed.
"I still don't understand what happened there, at the end of things," complained Wiikii.
"A TARDIS isn't even a real object," Grin'elle tried to explain. "It's made of something called artron energy, held together by a type of mathematics called block transfer computation. After Max learned the whole situation from Kam's tricorder, he used those properties as an interface, to actually bring us 'physically' into the Bahamoud's memory. From there, he was able to rescue Eve, and I," his face darkened for a moment, "was able to... stop Adam."
"What was it like?" Ty had to ask. "I mean, being inside a program bank?"
"Ever seen one of Disney's old flicks, Tron?"
"Yes."
"Well, it wasn't anything like that," teased Kriet. His smile faded again. "How can I explain? It was just like our reality... and completely different. Vast, complex, ordered..." He turned to Eve. "You know what I'm trying to say."
"I do. It's not something I recommend for biologicals," she advised.
Grin took Nebula's hand. "And I have to thank you, Nebula. Once I no longer had Adam's simalcrum to follow, I was completely lost. It was your song that brought me back."
She blushed. "Thank you - but I can't take credit; it was Max's idea."
Grin'elle was startled. "Really... I wouldn't have guessed it."
"What scares me is the thought of Max Dreadnought taking the citizens of New York back to Earth. I'm not sure humanity will ever be the same," said Eve from the video screen.
"Well, Eve, at least they'll only have to wait about a month." Kammara paused. "You know, we shouldn't be calling you Eve. That's not a name, it's an acronym. Would you like to change it?"
The program considered. "Athene Graham."
"Any particular reason?"
"Yes. I don't want to be a computer intelligence anymore. It wasn't my idea in the first place; and, for a few moments before you took the TARDIS out of the Bahamoud, I knew what is was to have physical existence. With my new name, I'll be constantly reminded of that, until I get one of my own."
"That sounds reasonable," Ty'elle commented. "We'll have to see what we can do for you."
"When do we head home?" Nebula asked. "I want to know if they'll let me in Starfleet or not."
"As soon as we can refuel the Yeager. We're gonna have to try to find some antimatter soon. At least her batteries are recharged - courtesy of some solar cells and Sol Fusion Furnaces. They had some bad moments, there at the end, when Adam almost succeeded in detonating the Megazone; they were drained nearly dry. Anyway, Nebula, I wouldn't worry. You'll have some good character references."
Kam laughed. "I just thought... Grin, would you say we definitely ended up with a deus ex machina?"
He did a double take, then laughed loud. "What are you talking about?" Ty asked.
"It's a old Terran language, many centuries dead. Three hundred years ago, the phrase meant any improbably convenient ending to a series of events. However, do you know what the literal translation is?"
"No."
Grin'elle Kriet raised a glass of champagne. "A toast, my friends. To a hero whom none of us will miss. To a 'Deus ex Machina:' The God in the Machine!"