Section 31 - Disavowed Read online

  Choska stepped forward. “Thot Tran proved that this parallel quantum universe was the origin of a starship we discovered crashed in Federation space last year.” Sensor images and schematics of the wrecked vessel were added to the holovid. “Based on its engine design and other elements, he deduced that this ship possessed a wormhole-based propulsion system.”

  The commandos leaned back and regarded one another with sly head turns, but none said anything, so Tran pushed on with the briefing. “The tactical value of such a propulsion system cannot be overstated. Not only would it enable us to project force anywhere in the galaxy at a moment’s notice, we could do so without warning. We would be free to strike at any target, at any time, without exposing ourselves to counterattack.” That drew approving nods.

  Trom leaned forward. “Did we salvage the ship?”

  “We tried.” Recounting the greatest failure of his career pained Tran, so he made his best effort to minimize the appearance of catastrophe. “Despite the sacrifice of many assets, we were unable to recover the wormhole drive from the surface of Tirana Three before it was destroyed by the Starfleet vessel Enterprise. Also, because of sensor-impeding compounds in the planet’s surface, our scans of the derelict were incomplete, and insufficient to replicate the drive system.”

  Choska highlighted the dimensional rift in the holovid. “That brings us to now.” She called up an image of the Tajny, a narrow, dartlike starship. “Your ship has been equipped with a Romulan-made cloaking device. As soon as you’ve reached the alternate universe, you will engage the cloak and proceed to the next phase of your operation.”

  Tran moved to center stage. “Your orders are simple, but accomplishing them will not be. You are directed to locate, intercept, board, and capture a wormhole-drive starship and pilot it safely back to this universe so that we may reverse-engineer its technology.”

  The Spetzkar commander sat quietly for a moment. “What’s our exfiltration strategy for the captured vessel? Does this rift of yours work in both directions?”

  “It should,” Choska said. “Theoretically.”

  “Have you made successful crossings in both directions?”

  Tran called up the project’s flight logs. “We have. Just over six hours ago, we piloted an unmanned recon vessel through the rift. After it completed a series of programmed long-range scans, it returned through the rift on autopilot, undamaged and with actionable intelligence.”

  Trom absorbed the report with a sage nod. “All right. How much do we know about these wormhole ships? If we’re to capture one, we’ll need a full tactical profile.”

  “We’ve prepared one,” said the radiant Choska. “It’s available on the station’s comnet. I urge you and all your troops to review it before you deploy.”

  “We will. I guarantee it.”

  Crin, the Spetzkar second-in-command, asked, “What time do we ship out?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Tran said. “You and your company have sixteen hours to load the Tajny and finish your combat prep. We’ve updated your navcomp software and the comm encryptions, but it’ll be up to your team to vet the tactical grid and the drive reactors.”

  Trom stood, stepped into the aisle, and faced his command team. “All right, you heard him. Crin, muster the company in the Tajny’s main hold in one hour. Karn, supervise the weapons check. Solt, I want a full report on the warp and impulse systems in three hours. Rem, make sure all hands download and review the tactical profile before we ship out.”

  The other commandos sprang to their feet and filed out of the auditorium at a quick step. Thot Trom followed them out. The door slid closed after him, leaving Tran alone on the stage with Choska. She turned off the holovid. “I think that went quite well.”

  “It went as well as could reasonably be expected.” He tried to purge his thoughts of the memory of Tirana III and the calamity it became.

  Choska remained inexplicably optimistic. “Cheer up, Tran. All we have to do is get the Spetzkar through the rift and then guide them back again. The rest is up to them now.”

  “I know,” Tran said. “That’s what worries me.”

  * * *

  Morning came all too soon. Trom strode onto the command deck of the Tajny and was pleased to see everyone at their assigned posts, making final preparations for their mission to the alternate universe. Second officer Rem stood beside Karn at the tactical console, where they conferred in subdued tones. Yoab sat at the flight control station directly in front of the command chair. The flight-status indicators that Trom could see as he took his place in the center seat showed all systems fully operational.

  First Officer Crin entered from the port-side turbolift and crossed the deck to stand beside him. “All hands aboard and accounted for, sir. The ship is ready for service.”

  “Well done, Crin.” Trom used the panel beside his chair to open an internal comm channel to the Tajny’s engineering deck. “Solt. Status report.”

  “All systems nominal, sir. Ready to launch.”

  “Good. Look sharp down there. The lab rats say we might be in for some chop.”

  Solt sounded confident. “Can’t be any rougher than the beating we took on Mazlas.”

  “We’ll know in a few minutes. Command out.” Trom closed the channel and looked up at Crin. “Signal the station and tell Thot Tran we’re ready to depart.”

  “Yes, sir.” Crin stepped away to the communications panel and sent the message. Several seconds passed while the first officer awaited a reply from the station. Then he raised the volume on his vocoder to address the entire bridge crew. “Thot Tran confirms he is ready to open the rift. He requests that we depart and move the ship to position one.”

  “Acknowledged,” Trom said, knowing Crin would relay his confirmation to Tran. “Yoab, detach umbilicals, seal exterior hatches, and back us away from the station.”

  Yoab entered commands at the helm. “Moorings cleared. We are free to navigate.” The edges of Ikkuna Station drifted beyond the frame of the forward viewscreen as the ship maneuvered to its designated starting position. The starfield outside slowed to a crawl, then settled into a static view. Yoab throttled back the impulse drive to standby. “Holding at position one. Ready for full impulse on your mark, sir.”

  “Good work, helm. Karn, charge the shields and stand by for final nutation settings from Doctor Choska.” Trom sat back and did his best to project quiet confidence. There was nothing more for him or his crew to do until they received the order to proceed. All the pressure was now on Tran and his Tzenkethi partner to open a stable passage to the alternate universe.

  Trom held out little hope of a prompt departure. Given how timid the lab rats are, maybe I should return to my quarters until they—

  His train of thought derailed as a band of crimson fire tore an uneven scar across the face of the cosmos on the forward viewscreen. Within moments the wound in space-time ripped itself wide open and became an amoeba-shaped pocket of emptiness, a portal into a formless void. Then another gash formed inside that alien darkness and pulled itself apart, opening a window on another universe. Trom stared at the spectacle for several moments before recalling his orders.

  “Rem, full-spectrum sensor sweep. Yoab, confirm the coordinates on the far side of the rift. Karn, verify the nutation settings from Thot Tran and compare them against the energy emissions at either end of the rift, as well as the null space between portals.” Trom opened an internal comm channel. “All decks, this is the commander. Secure for dimensional crossing and stand by. Command out.” He pointed his mask’s empty snout at Karn. “Anything?”

  “The nutation settings are coming over now.” Karn entered new data at the tactical console. “They check out. Simulations look stable. Energy levels are within rated norms.”

  Yoab reviewed the new intel on the navigation console. “Coordinates on the far side of the rift appear to be coterminous with those of our universe. The quantum signature of the other universe is a match for the one in the mission profile,
and for the ship found on Tirana Three.”

  “Excellent.” Trom swiveled his chair toward Crin. “Let me talk to Thot Tran.”

  Crin punched in a command on the communications panel. “Channel open.”

  “Tajny to Thot Tran. Are we clear to proceed?”

  Muffled conversation filtered over the comm channel before the scientist replied. “A few moments, please. We need to make sure both ends of the rift are in phase.”

  Rem turned away from his post. “Sir, we’re picking up signs of debris on the far side of the rift. It looks like the wreck of the recon ship Tran lost a couple of days ago.”

  “Does it pose a navigational hazard for our trip through the rift?”

  “Maybe. I recommend we adjust our flight plan and deflector configuration.”

  This was the kind of petty complication for which Trom had no patience today, but it had to be addressed. “Coordinate with Yoab and Karn—and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The trio of Spetzkar hurried through a series of improvised changes to their flight plan as Tran’s voice returned via the overhead speakers. “Rift apertures are stable. Proceed.”

  “Acknowledged. We are navigating into the rift.” Trom leaned forward, eager to meet this bold new mission head-on. “Helm, take us into the rift, one-tenth impulse.”

  “Ahead one-tenth.”

  The crew tried to pretend they all were paying attention to nothing but their own consoles, but Trom knew they all were stealing long looks at the main screen as the Tajny ventured through the first aperture, into the null space of the rift—each of them no doubt eager to see what it would look like to be outside of normal space-time, even if only for a moment.

  Then everything turned to fear and fire. Horrific wails of stressed metal resounded inside the ship, and alarms cried out from every panel. The primary lighting system faltered and failed, leaving the command deck lit by the staccato flickers of malfunctioning companels. All of Trom’s men barked out reports. They overlapped one another and reduced the moment to pure chaos. Trom turned his vocoder’s volume to maximum and cut through the clamor with a distorted bellow: “Quiet!” He pointed at Karn. “Report!”

  “Shields failed as soon as we hit the void! We’re losing power.”

  Trom bolted from his chair to the flight-control station and loomed over Yoab. “Increase power! Divert emergency batteries to the inertial dampeners!”

  Crin called out, “Sir! Thot Tran says to turn back!”

  Then came a panicked shout from Rem. “Don’t do it, sir! The rift is destabilizing behind us, and it’s converging on us!”

  Trom pointed at Rem. “Aft view, on-screen!” He turned to see the aperture behind the Tajny fold inward upon itself—and on them. That was all he needed to know. He slapped a gloved hand on Yoab’s shoulder. “Full impulse! We need to reach the other side before the rift closes!” The deck pitched and heaved as he struggled back to his chair, staggering like a drunkard. On the main viewscreen, the far end of the rift was contracting; its angry red wound stitched itself shut. Trom fell back into his seat and clutched one armrest for support while he used a control panel on the other to open an internal comm channel. “All decks! This is the commander! Brace for—”

  His last order was lost in the din as the far aperture of the rift snapped shut on the Tajny, and everything Trom knew turned to darkness and thunder.

  Nine

  The Alternate Universe

  Consciousness returned to Trom in painful fits and starts. Deep aches suffused his limbs, and even the smallest shifts of his weight made him aware of the blunt-force trauma that had racked his torso. The holovisor inside his mask was dark. He knew he wasn’t blind because he saw brief glints of light through some of the cracks in his helmet. To test the vocoder, he cleared his throat. The speaker embedded in the snout of his mask spat out staticky noise.

  He heard the shuffling of boots on a starship deck. Then he was greeted by the vocoder-parsed voice of the company’s surgeon, Doctor Nev. “Are you all right, sir?”

  Trom waved his hand in front of his mask. “Holovisor’s broken.”

  “We know. It’s dark on the outside, too.”

  Trom nodded. When operating correctly, a holovisor emitted bright green light over its exterior sensors. This light was engineered to be invisible from inside the helmet; as far as Trom had been able to determine, the exterior light’s only function was to prevent others from perceiving even the slightest clue to the species of the individual inside a Breen suit. This, Trom had long ago deduced, was how equality was enforced when administered by a committee: with brute force and identity-crushing mandatory anonymity. He kept his criticisms of the social order to himself, of course. To mention them aloud was tantamount to branding oneself a traitor.

  Better to suffer in silence, he reminded himself.

  He pointed at his mask. “How long to get it fixed?”

  “Solt has a damage-control team making the rounds. I’ll—wait, here’s one now.” He lifted his voice to draw the mechanic’s attention. “Over here! The commander’s visor is out!”

  Running steps and the clatter of tools reassured Trom that something was being done to address his dilemma. He felt bumps and prods against his head as the mechanic fixed his helmet. Meanwhile, with or without his eyesight, he had a job to do. “Crin!”

  The first officer replied from a short distance away. “Yes, sir.”

  “Damage and casualty reports.”

  More footfalls. Based on the ambience and the echoes off the bulkheads, Trom knew he was still on the Tajny’s command deck. He heard the abrasion of fabric and the subtle interplay of armored plates as Crin squatted beside him. “No fatalities. Multiple injuries, most of them in engineering. The medics report all hands will be ambulatory within the hour.”

  “And the ship?”

  “Not nearly so resilient as her crew. We’re in an uncontrolled spin. Impulse and warp drive are off-line. Tactical grid is overloaded, so no weapons, shields, or cloak. Backup computer core and life support are operating on emergency battery power. Hull breaches in the aft sections of Decks Fifteen and Sixteen.”

  “Communications?”

  “Rem says the subspace transceiver is intact. He’s trying to raise Ikkuna Station.”

  A flicker of pixels teased Trom with a ghostly afterimage of the scene around him. The mechanic tinkering with his helmet gave something a few more pokes and twists. “Hang on, sir. This should just about—”

  Trom’s holovisor switched on, its wraparound view rendered in crisp detail and full color. He nodded and clapped his hand on the mechanic’s shoulder. “Nice work.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The mechanic gathered his tools and hurried off to his next task. Trom stood and assessed the situation on the command deck. Ruptured plasma relays in the overhead rained intermittent sparks on the crew working beneath them. The forward viewscreen was dark. So were most of the duty stations. Adding insult to injury, his command chair was now ever so slightly crooked atop its pedestal. His sense of pride wanted to prioritize its repair. How could he be expected to command a company of Spetzkar while sitting tilted to the right?

  The more pragmatic side of his nature prevailed. I’ll just have to lead while standing. He turned to face Crin. “Are the EVA pods working?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell Solt to have operators for those pods standing by. As soon as we recover impulse power and helm control, we’ll maneuver back to the wreckage of that recon ship Tran and Choska lost yesterday. Then we’ll deploy the pods and use them to salvage anything we can from the debris. Tell them I want everything—hull plates, wiring, spare parts, all of it.”

  Rem pivoted away from the communications post. “I have Ikkuna Station.”

  Trom moved to stand beside Rem. “Patch me in.” Crin joined them while Rem opened the channel on the dedicated speaker at his console. A nod from Rem was Trom’s cue. “Ikkuna Station, this is Thot Trom. Do you read
me?”

  Thot Tran answered, “Affirmative. Go ahead, Commander.”

  “You first. What the hell just happened to my ship? You said the rift was stable.”

  “It was, until your ship tried to cross it.”

  “You have a keen grasp of the obvious. Can you explain why the rift destabilized?”

  Choska responded, “Our current hypothesis is that the more intense energy signature of the Tajny, coupled with a feedback loop created by its shields, triggered an uncontrolled collapse of the apertures toward the highest energy point in the null space between them—specifically, your vessel’s warp core.”

  The beast of Trom’s anger threatened to slip its reins. He tightened his grip on his temper before he continued. “I thought the adjustments to our shield frequency nutation were supposed to prevent that. Or did I misunderstand?”

  After an awkward pause, Tran pushed on as if Trom’s question hadn’t been asked. “What is the status of your ship and crew?”

  “Serviceable.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  Trom nodded at Rem, who transmitted a quick data burst on the channel’s subfrequency. “I’m sending you our damage and casualty reports. We expect to recover attitude control within the next five minutes. After that, we’ll initiate salvage operations, followed by full repairs.”

  “Understood. The micro-rift we’re using for this comm signal will close in a few minutes. It will be at least another day before we can reopen the rift to facilitate your return.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Once the ship is repaired, we’ll be continuing the mission.”

  Choska sounded concerned. “Are you certain that’s feasible, Commander?”

  “Positive. You sent us here to steal a wormhole ship. That’s what we’ll do. All we need from you is a stable rift in place when we get back. But once we have your ship, if we jump back here only to find this thing closed, I’ll make you both wish you were never born. Understood?”