“Help us! This is the Ephrata Institute, requesting immediate assistance. . . .” Crackles and pops obscured the audio, so that only snippets could be heard. “ . . . disaster . . . casualties . . . gravity of the situation . . .”
Kirk thought he recognized the voice. He leaned forward in his seat, trying in vain to make out the figure’s features.
“Elena?”
Doctor Collins was an old family friend from Iowa who had often played bridge with his parents when Kirk was growing up. Last he heard, she had accepted a position as president of the Ephrata Institute. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her in person. Probably at Sam’s and Aurelan’s funeral. As he recalled, she’d come all the way from Alpha Centauri to attend his brother’s and sister-in-law’s memorial services on Deneva. Kirk had been touched by her thoughtfulness.
“Elena!” he said. “What’s happening? What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“It’s no use, Captain,” Uhura said. “This signal was sent days ago. We’re only just now receiving the signal.” She fiddled with her controls. “Unable to establish direct communication with Ephrata at this time.”
“Keep trying.”
Frustration gnawed at Kirk. Out here on the final frontier, remote settlements like the one on Ephrata were often cut off from relief or communication for days, weeks, or even months at a time. For all he knew, the disaster at the Institute had come and gone—and Elena and the other scholars were already dead or dying.
“Emergency!” she repeated. “Gravity . . . the weight of worlds . . . help us. . . .”
The transmission ended abruptly. Nothing but snow and static filled the screen.
“Uhura?”
“That’s all, Captain.” She hit a switch, and an endless sea of open space returned to the viewer. “The signal appears to have been cut off at the source.”
“Understood.” Kirk would have liked more information, but his course was clear. Their routine call on Starbase 13 would have to wait. “Mister Sulu, set a course for Ephrata IV. Warp factor 6.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The helmsman consulted the astrogator located at the helm and navigation stations. “Estimated time to Ephrata system thirty-nine hours, seventeen minutes.”
Damn it, Kirk thought. He found himself wishing that the Institute had chosen a location somewhat less off the beaten track. “Any chance that another vessel might have already responded to that distress signal?”
“Unlikely, Captain,” Spock reported. “As you know, Ephrata IV is isolated by design. The Enterprise is the only Federation starship in this sector, and the odds that a private or commercial vessel would be in their vicinity are roughly seven hundred sixty to one.”
“I was afraid of that,” Kirk said. Aside from the typically precise probability, Spock hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already suspect. The Enterprise was probably the only chance those people had, if they were still alive to be rescued. He turned to his first officer for guidance. “Your thoughts?”
“There is insufficient data to reach any definite conclusions,” Spock said. He called up the latest reports and information on Ephrata from the ship’s memory banks and swiftly reviewed the relevant material. “The Ephrata Institute appears to have been thriving. There is no indication that the settlement was encountering any significant difficulties. A supply ship, the Yakima, visited the planet six months ago and reported nothing untoward. The Institute’s primary output was academic papers and research studies.”
“And then what happened?” Kirk wondered aloud. “An epidemic? A natural disaster? An alien attack?”
“The last is improbable,” Spock said. “The Ephrata system is safely distant from the Klingon, Romulan, and Tholian borders. And the surrounding systems contain no potentially hostile species with warp capacity.”
Kirk wanted to believe him. “What about some enemy unknown to us?”
“Always possible, Captain, but it is uncertain where precisely such a threat would originate.” Spock eyed Kirk with concern, and a hint of compassion. “I take it you know Doctor Collins?”
“Very well,” Kirk admitted, but did not elaborate. There would be time enough to fill in Spock and McCoy on his personal connection to this crisis; the rest of the crew didn’t need to worry about their captain being emotionally compromised. Kirk stared at the distant stars ahead, mentally willing them nearer. Thirty-nine long hours stretched out before him. He briefly considered upping their speed to warp 7, even over Scotty’s inevitable protests, but thought better of it. Warp 7 would place too great a strain on the ship and its resources, and they had no idea what they were in for once they reached Ephrata. He didn’t want to face the crisis ahead, whatever it was, with a ship and crew at anything less than peak efficiency, ready for anything.
“Total population on Ephrata?” he asked.
Spock had the data at his fingertips. “Seven hundred and eighty-six, plus or minus various guest lecturers and teaching assistants.”
“Nearly eight hundred souls,” Kirk repeated. Including Elena Collins.
He wondered how many, if any, of the scholars were still alive. And what exactly he would find on Ephrata IV.
TWO
“Still no luck, Captain,” Uhura reported. “The Institute is not responding to any of our hails.”
“Understood,” Kirk said into the intercom in the ship’s main transporter room. His finger pressed down on the speaker button. “Looks like we’re going to have to get our answers on the ground.”
The Enterprise had entered orbit around Ephrata IV less than half an hour ago. Although the ship’s sensors had detected over a thousand humanoid life-forms on the planet, all efforts to make contact with Elena Collins or anyone else at the Institute had met with failure. Peculiar gravimetric distortions, emanating from the center of the campus, had interfered with the ship’s long-range scanners, making a closer look at the site problematic. All they could tell for sure was that the Institute was still there—and still inhabited.
That’s something, Kirk thought, but he still didn’t like the idea of beaming in blind. Why aren’t they responding?
Nearly forty hours had passed since they had first received the distress signal. He was anxious to find out what state the Institute was in.
“Good luck, Captain,” Uhura said.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Kirk out.”
He stepped away from the intercom to join the rest of the landing party, who were ready to beam down to the planet. Spock and Sulu waited on the transporter platform, accompanied by Ensign Fawzia Yaseen, an experienced security officer who had recently transferred over from the U.S.S. Sally Ride. She was an attractive woman of Middle Eastern descent. Her regulation red uniform flattered her trim, athletic figure.
Also on hand was a notably cantankerous party crasher.
“Damn it, Jim,” Doctor Leonard McCoy protested. “Why won’t you let me beam down with you? There could be injured in need of treatment!”
“We don’t know that, Bones,” Kirk replied. “In the meantime, I need you to take care of those sick crew members . . . and yourself.”
Although treatable, Therbian fever was a nasty bug that had not spared McCoy himself. His weathered face was more haggard than usual. Puffy bags hung beneath his eyes, and he braced himself against the transporter controls as though slightly unsteady on his feet. His voice was hoarse, his nose stuffy, and his chest sounded congested. Wheezes and coughs punctuated his arguments. He had been working himself ragged, over Nurse Chapel’s protests, to take care of his patients, even while getting over his own bout with the disease.
“I have things under control,” McCoy insisted. “My patients are all responding to treatment and should be back on their feet in a day or so. Sickbay can spare me long enough to find out what’s going on down there.”
Kirk believed him, but also knew that McCoy already had a lot on his plate—and could use some rest.
“Just let us get the lay of the land first,” Kirk
said. “If your services are required, you’re only a transporter beam away.”
“I’ve heard that before,” McCoy grumbled, “usually right before some hostile aliens trap you in a force field.”
“In which case, you are safer aboard the ship, Doctor,” Spock pointed out. “Particularly in your present condition.”
“Who says I want to be safe, you cold-blooded, pointy-eared computer? And if I wanted your medical opinion . . . well, trust me, that’s never going to happen.”
“My decision stands, Bones.” Kirk tried to lighten the moment with a quip. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like house calls . . . or transporters.”
“That’s beside the point and you know it,” McCoy said, but knew when to back down. Not even the ship’s doctor could change Kirk’s mind when it was made up. “At least take Chapel with you, just in case.”
Kirk respected the nurse’s abilities, but felt she could better serve the ship in sickbay at the moment, if only to look after McCoy and make sure the doctor didn’t end up in worse shape than his patients. It would be just like McCoy to neglect his health in favor of others.
“Not necessary,” he said. “Yaseen here is a trained combat medic. Isn’t that so, Ensign?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, standing stiffly at attention. A fully equipped medkit, slung over her shoulder, accompanied the type-2 phaser pistol at her hip. “If you say so, sir.”
“At ease, Ensign,” Kirk said. “Your record speaks for itself.”
He had reviewed her file when her name had turned up on the duty roster. Yaseen had performed admirably during a siege on Brubaker Prime, keeping several injured crew members alive until reinforcements could arrive. She had been rewarded with a commendation—and a transfer to the Enterprise.
“Well, I still don’t like it,” Bones said. “No offense, Ensign.”
“None taken, sir,” Yaseen said.
“Your preferences are not material, Doctor,” Spock added, taking advantage of the opportunity to tweak McCoy. “The captain has made his decision.”
“Easy for you to say,” McCoy groused. “You’re not being left behind like a broken hypospray.”
Kirk decided to cut the banter short. “We need a doctor, you’ll be the first to know.” He hopped onto the platform beside the others. “Mister Kyle, you have the coordinates for the Institute?”
“Yes, Captain.” Kyle manned the transporter controls in place of Scotty, who was currently in command of the bridge. “I should be able to place you right in the middle of the campus.”
“Good,” Kirk said. “Beam us down.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The familiar whine of the transporter effect arose as the landing party dissolved into energy. The sound lingered in Kirk’s ears as he rematerialized on the planet below.
It was dark.
Although it had been midafternoon by shipboard reckoning, it was the wee hours of the morning in this time zone on the planet. Ordinarily, Kirk would beam down to a hemisphere facing the sun, or else delay his arrival until it was a decent hour at a planet’s main population center, colony, or capital, but that had not been an option this time. He’d needed to go where the Institute was, and he wasn’t about to wait for dawn to rise in this part of the world. If that meant disturbing the Institute in the middle of the night, so be it.
They were greeted by a cool autumn breeze upon materializing. As predicted, they had touched down in a large courtyard in the center of the campus. Although it was quiet now, it was obvious that some manner of catastrophe had struck the Institute in the recent past. The square’s outdoor lamps were dark and/or toppled, so that only a crescent moon provided any light to see by. Peering about, Kirk saw that several of the surrounding buildings had undergone significant damage, with evidence of both fires and explosions. Rubble was strewn across the square. A heap of mangled metal and crystal looked as though it had once been some sort of sculpture. An empty pedestal had been stripped of whatever statute had once posed upon it. Scorch marks, resembling those left behind by disruptor blasts, blackened cracked walls, overturned trees, and even portions of the pearly tiles beneath their feet. The floor of the square was pitted with craters and shattered masonry. Kirk was reminded of Cestus III . . . after the Gorn attack.
No bodies, he noted with relief. Although, judging from the scenery, it was hard to imagine that there hadn’t been some fatalities.
“My God,” Sulu said, gazing about at the wreckage. His hand went instinctively to the type-1 phaser on his belt. “What do you think happened here, Captain?”
“That’s what I mean to find out,” Kirk said. “Spock?”
The Vulcan was riveted by a bizarre structure in the center of the square. An elaborate apparatus, which appeared to have been cobbled together from various cannibalized bits of technology, framed a shimmering triangular void filled with coruscating lights and colors that hurt Kirk’s eyes to look upon. A touch of vertigo made him feel slightly dizzy.
“Fascinating,” Spock observed.
If the strobing colors caused Spock any discomfort, his lean, ascetic features betrayed no sign of it. Simple Vulcan stoicism, Kirk wondered, or were Spock’s inner eyelids providing him with an extra degree of protection from the disturbing spectacle?
Probably a bit of both, Kirk guessed.
“What is it, Spock?”
Spock scanned the void with his tricorder. “If my readings are correct, this appears to be a dimensional rift of some sort. It is also the source of the exotic gravimetric distortions we detected from orbit.” He perused the readouts on the tricorder. “Further study is required, but preliminary data suggests that some variety of artificial gravity is being employed to tear open a gap in the space-time continuum, possibly opening a passage to another reality.”
Kirk tensed. On rare occasions, the Enterprise had encountered such phenomena before. Danger had usually resulted.
“Is that possible?” the captain asked.
“Theoretically,” Spock said. “Gravity itself, from a certain perspective, is simply a curvature in space-time. That being the case, it is more than possible that applied gravity could distort or even rupture the fabric of reality. However, the amount of energy, and control, required to create and maintain such a rift is staggering to consider—and currently far beyond the abilities of the Federation or any of its rivals.”
Kirk cautiously circled the rift. Oddly, it appeared as a triangular portal from every angle, rising up from a cracked black mirror that darkly reflected the iridescent colors within the rift. Sulu and Yaseen watched his back as he inspected the portal, even as their curious eyes were drawn to the puzzling phenomenon as well. None of them knew quite what to make of it.
“What about this apparatus?” Kirk asked. “Can you tell who built it?”
“Negative, Captain.” Spock inspected the mechanism from a safe distance, taking care not to touch it. “The technology is unfamiliar to me.”
That’s saying a lot, Kirk thought. There wasn’t much that his science officer didn’t know when it came to high-tech hardware, both conventional and exotic. Spock had often been known to figure out the operation of alien computers and control panels on a crash basis, which had saved the Enterprise’s bacon on more than one occasion. Like that time on Miramanee’s world.
“This is a research facility,” Sulu observed. He glanced at the darkened buildings surrounding the square. “Maybe some sort of experiment that went awry?”
“Doubtful,” Spock stated. “During our voyage here, I reviewed the most recent scientific papers and reports generated by the Institute. There was nothing of this nature under way.”
“Perhaps an unpublished discovery or breakthrough?” Kirk suggested. “That hadn’t been made public yet?”
“Possible,” Spock said, “but unlikely. As I said, the technology does not conform to any known scientific disciplines or engineering principles. It is as though it sprang out of nowhere.” He eyed the rift speculatively. “Or p
erhaps from somewhere unknown to us.”
“Another dimension?” Kirk said.
Spock nodded. “With its own technology and sciences.”
“I see.”
Kirk was both intrigued and alarmed by the prospect. He recalled Spock’s observation days ago that there were no hostile alien races in the vicinity of Ephrata. But what if an attack had come not from across space, but from an adjacent reality? Stranger things had happened. Kirk himself had once exchanged places with his counterpart from a brutal mirror universe. And then there was that business with Lazarus . . .
Yaseen glanced around the deserted square. “But where is everybody?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Kirk said grimly. Even considering the hour, it was worrisome that there appeared to be no activity going on in any of the surrounding buildings. You would expect at least a few dedicated researchers or academics to be burning the midnight oil . . . unless something had shut down the Institute entirely. Back at the Academy, there was always somebody working or studying, no matter the hour. Ditto for the Enterprise.
Where is Elena? Did something happen to her?
Turning his attention away from the triangular rift, he contemplated the faculty housing on the hills. Cozy bungalows, pagodas, and geodesic domes reflected a range of architectural styles and cultural influences. He gestured toward the western slope.
“According to the ship’s computer, Doctor Collins’s residence is that way. Let’s start there.”
“That may not be necessary, Captain.” Spock lowered his tricorder and squinted into the shadows surrounding them. “We appear to have company.”
Dozens of figures entered the square from all directions, emerging from the damaged buildings and unlighted pathways. In the faint moonlight, it was difficult to make out their faces, but they appeared humanoid enough, and were dressed in worn civilian attire. Kirk estimated at least seven hundred survivors.
Looks like those life-forms readings were accurate, he concluded, relieved by the sight of the survivors. Perhaps the disaster had not been as devastating as he had feared, and there had been fewer fatalities. I could live with that.