Second Star To The Right

Posted on Thu Sep 6th, 2018 @ 8:26am by Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Sonak

Mission: Holographic Horrors
Location: USS Exeter, Deck 1, the Bridge
Timeline: 2268, The Kelvin Universe

“Sir, confirming contact, nine hundred million kilometers bearing 313 mark 5.”

Admiral Stuart rushed from the turbolift door to his chair, eyes aimed at the screen as if he could already see beyond the whooshing star trails.

“Visual,” he barked without sitting down; “maximum magnification.”

The swirl of starlight shifted to the endtail of a most peculiar vessel. Teardrop shaped, it's trailing hull looked like tentacles revolving around its longitudinal axis as if this was some gigantic space jellyfish instead of a spacecraft. But the metallic reflective coating, the warp glow and the blinking nav lights plainly showed it's artificial nature despite it's organic design and it's unconventional motion.

“That's the stolen scoutship alright,” the helmsman grunted. “Would you look at that! Not another like it in the whole galaxy!”

“Not yet,” the woman at the science station answered cryptically.

Yet, everyone understood.

“Any answer to our hails?”

“None, Sir.” the communications officer sighed.

“But he heard us, whoever it is,” came a voice from tactical. “or at least he detected us on his tail. He's gone to warp 7.”

Stuart sat in his command chair and punched his armrest.

“Go to warp 8; overtake!”

Glances flew towards him but only the chief engineer voiced their concern.

“Sir... a sustained warp 8 will damage our engines; possibly beyond our capacity to repair.”

“Noted, engineer,” the commanding officer shot back curtly without even looking at his concerned face.

The helmsman didn't turn around but he too spoke with a tensing voice.

“Sir... this ship... it is beyond our current technology. She may be faster than we are.”

“She'll have to prove it.”

The hardness in Michael Stuart's voice was unmistakable. And to his crew, it was as clear as any lengthy explanation. The whine of the engines was almost painful to hear and a slight vibration reverberated under their feet, but he would not acknowledge any of it nor the anguished stares of his technical officers. He would not relent until the ship would.

Neither, it appeared, would their prey.

“Sir... the fugitive is now at warp 8.”

Michael refrained from barking at the tactical officer, and instead turned to the woman manning communications behind him.

“Ship to ship; I will speak directly to that maniac.”

She hesitated for a second then activated her console.

“Channel open, Sir.”

The admiral stared at the stern of the strange vessel as if he could lock eyes with whom he addressed in clipped, angry tones.

“This is the starship Exeter! You have illegitimately appropriated this scout vessel, violated all laws and orders of spaceflight and ignored all hails and warnings! By the authority of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, I order you to cut your engines off and stand down! You will comply in the next thirty seconds or we will open fire!”

He did not turn his head nor even blinked when he spoke next.

“Arm photon torpedoes!”

“Torpedoes armed, tubes one and two; target locked,” answered tactical grimly.

“Admiral; you are being personally hailed.”

Stuart looked straight at the comm station.

“Me?”

“Yes, Sir- by name.”

“On screen.”

On the image of the fleeing scout ship appeared the tridimensional representation of a stern pale face with long flowing dark hair, upswept eyebrows over steely grey eyes and an angular clean-shaven face as expressionless as a jade sculpture. The collar of a dark silky garment framed by strange silvery cursive symbols could be glimpsed below this severe countenance.

Everyone gasped, but only Michael found his voice.

“Captain Sonak!”

“Admiral Stuart,” acknowledged the Vulcan with a slight nod of his head. “You are well aware that I no longer hold that Starfleet rank. Even as we speak, you are sitting in what was once my chair.”

The deadpan reply cut off Stuart's breath for a good few seconds. Then he growled through clenched teeth, as if to refrain from bursting with swear words he knew in half a dozen alien languages.

“The Exeter was the only ship available that was fast enough and near enough to intercept that stolen vessel the moment it was reported. What's the meaning of this?”

“Admiral; please, cease and desist. My sensors indicate that your engines are overheating, and your hull is under excessive stress. This vessel I am piloting is capable of speeds well beyond warp 9. You will not be able to maintain pursuit. If you maintain this speed, you will needlessly risk your ship and crew.”

“Sonak! What in hell is going on? You stole that ship?”

“Incorrect, Admiral; this ship does not belong to anyone in this time and place. Therefore, I did not steal it.”

Now the expletives were heard before the admiral recovered his composure.

“Don't start your kolinahr logic master routine with me, Sonak! This ship was in the custody of Starfleet and belonged to Ambassador Spock!”

“Incorrect, Admiral; Ambassador Spock is the one who stole it.”

“Ambassador Spock is dead!” fumed Stuart, his face registering as much confusion now as anger. “This ship was keyed to his genetic code and no one since then was ever able to activate it.”

“Again, and quite obviously, this is incorrect, Admiral,” the Vulcan reiterated impassively.

Stuart blinked.

“Are you telling me Commander Spock is also involved in this?”

“Not directly nor willingly, Admiral. He is not aware that I obtained some of his genetic material on the Enterprise’s last visit to New Vulcan. Hot clay bowls of plomeek soup and cups of Vulcan tea collect sweat and skin samples crudely, but sufficiently well enough to be replicated... and utilized by someone with the proper scientific and technical expertise to fool genetic locks on controls.”

“And I suppose you mind-melded with him to learn how to operate this craft? I know for a fact that you alone among your people are able to do so without even touching someone.”

“Negative, Admiral; that would have aroused his suspicion, made him aware of my project and, as a Starfleet officer, it would have compelled him to oppose my plan. I could not involve him in this. But we did discuss many interesting theories and formulas about time and space and quantum physics. It gave me much to think about. And regardless, Commander Spock does not know more than the basic operations of this vessel. ”

“No one does,” flatly stated Stuart.

“Ambassador Spock did. As well as a great many other things.”

The commanding officer of the Exeter opened his mouth but not a sound was heard. He blinked then frowned.

“I know you are one of the most powerful psionicists of your people since the dawn of your race, but even you can't call back and speak with the dead, Sonak!”

“Unless this dead spirit has been properly preserved.”

Stuart blinked again.

“Ambassador Spock's... katra?”

“As the last kolinahr master, I was of course the one entrusted with it.”

The admiral rubbed his neck as if to chase off a budding headache.

“I’m not sure I ever bought all that Vulcan spiritual mumbo jumbo but… don't tell me he... or what's left of his... consciousness... his spirit... whatever... approves of what you intend to do?”

“Affirmative, Admiral; not all the reasons to be sure, but the need and the deed planned, yes.”

“And what are your intentions?”

At this moment, the tactical officer spoke with alarm in his voice.

“Sir! The Jellyfish's bearing brings it directly towards that star up ahead! It's already accelerating further under its gravitational pull!

“Sonak! Correct your heading! You are on a direct course with...”

“Negative Admiral,” interrupted Sonak; “Course plotted and laid in as planned. All calculations and computations have been considered, verified and validated. My journey leads me precisely to these coordinates... and this course of action. Please do not attempt to follow; even the Exeter, refitted with our current best technology as she is, will not be able to withstand the gravitational pull and direct contact with the radiation and energy output of a red supergiant.”

“He's right, Sir! exclaimed the chief engineer. “We already have microfractures all over the hull because of our sustained high warp! Our warp core is on the brink of a breach! And now even at this distance from this sun, we are registering increasing heat and radiation levels right through our shields!

“Sonak! Veer off! You’ll be killed!”

For the first time Stuart could recall, there was an expression on the jade mask of his former first officer's face. It was almost an expression of bittersweet resolution.

“There is nothing left to justify my existence in this time and space... a time and space that should never have been.”

The words stung Michael so hard he almost fell back in his chair.

“Sonak.... is this... is this because of her? Because of Rita?”

The last kolinahr master nodded imperceptibly. But Michael saw it plainly. Of all people, he knew.

“Sonak, Rita is gone; she's gone and you have to accept that! Gone! Not even in this dimension, man! This is no reason for you to end your life! Come on man, this is illogical!”

“I must agree Admiral; but if there is one thing that Rita Paris taught me, it is that there are things that transcend logic; life for one. And... love.”

“Admiral! His ship is about to enter the star's corona! At present speed if we don't veer off...”

Stuart cut off the helmsman with an impatient gesture. Already the translucent image of his friend was starting to fizzle and fade, the communication signal being affected by the mounting radiation around both ships.

“Sonak! I order you to come about! Now!”

“Negative, Admiral; I have no requirement to comply with your orders. I resigned my commission as a Starfleet officer months ago.”

“Because Starfleet would not allow you to use the Exeter to try and find a way to bring her back!” shouted the admiral, again jumping to his feet. “Or to hear out some of your outlandish schemes like using time travel to attempt to change what happened on that planet, when she was transported away from our reality! Come to your senses, man! You're about to plunge into a solar flare as powerful and erratic as that fatal ion storm back then!”

“That is a precisely proper estimate, Admiral.”

“Damn you, Sonak! Is this some Pon Farr crisis finally hitting you? I won't let you kill yourself out of love for a ghost!”

“No one ever dies, so long as we remember them. And there are always... possibilities. In this life... and beyond.”

The image was rapidly fading and the voice of Sonak became eerily echoed as his face dissipated.

“Live long and prosper, Michael.”

Stuart punched the helm console in front of him.

“Tactical! Fire those torpedoes at his engines. Lock on phasers! Disable that ship! “

“Sir, phasers are useless at warp! And all this growing radiation risk detonating our warheads prematurely. They are liable to either miss or obliterate it!”

“If we are not destroyed ourselves! Shields gone, hull buckling! Core is about to breach!”

Michael ignored his engineer and glared at the tactical officer.

“Destroy it if you have to but stop that ship! Bridge to transporter room; lock on the pilot of the vessel ahead and beam him out the moment his shields collapse!”

“Sir,” came back the reply, “there is another shielding signal surrounding the target; a pattern I have never seen before. We cannot lock at all through it, let alone...”

“Admiral! Thirty seconds before we start a core breach!”

“Eject the core! Keep our momentum to match his speed and ready tractor beam! With luck we might make a connection...”

But the helmsman sighed.

“Sir... he's gone to warp 9 and still accelerating. The gravitational pull of the red supergiant is amplifying his velocity beyond our instruments. We can never hope to match him.”

“Contact lost, Admiral,” reported the science officer. “He's entered the corona!”

“We'll be consumed like wax if we go in there...” commented the pilot, sweating as if he was already inside the blinding fire of the reddish star burning right before their eyes.

“We'll not be that lucky!” shouted the chief engineer. “Warp core breach in ten seconds! Nine! Eight...”

“Hard about! Drop us out of warp! Emergency impulse away from that star!”

The admiral's orders were followed but terse shouts from all the stations on the bridge.

“Emergency shutdown!”

“Going sublight!”

“Hard about bearing 73 mark 265!”

“Moving at zero point nine of C! Prepare for relativistic effects!”

The groan in Michael Stuart's voice was echoed by the entire hull of the Exeter as it went sublight, veered heads and tails and shook against the gravity of the gigantic star, still quite far away yet letting it's monstrous pull almost shear off the nacelles from the main hull of the Constitution class refit. Inertial dampeners almost failed for a split second so that everyone on board was thrown like rag dolls. As lights flickered, blinked off, then back on everywhere, the ominous chaos of shouts, groans and broken bones was heard from bow to stern as the great starship finally limped away from the red supergiant like a wounded beast.

It took a few minutes before anyone could gather back their wits. Stuart was the first to do so.

“Report!”

“Warp engines offline. Estimated time of reactivation thirty minutes... and in the shape the engines are, you will not get anything beyond warp 5, Admiral,” the sluggish voice of the chief engineer answered first. “Impulse steady, emergency power on standby. Inertial dampeners steady. Deflector field and shields coming back online. We're pretty banged up, Sir; let's hope we will not meet any Klingons or Romulans for a day or two.”

“I'm more worried about Vulcans at the moment... one in particular,” the admiral grumbled as he went limping to the science console. “Anything on sensors?”

“Nothing Sir.”

“Scan for residual warp trail... or... debris...”

“Already on it, Sir; but, Sir, there is no debris except some fragments from our own hull. There is another warp trail besides ours but... Sir, it ends abruptly, very very close around the orbit of that star. It's as if... as if... the scoutship... skimmed the surface, right through it's corona... and vanished.”

“That's what happens to ships going through an ion storm... or a solar flare,” grumbled the tactical officer, pointing at the massive fiery ejections that gave the star the look of an angry lion.

Admiral Michael Stuart, commander of the starship USS Exeter looked at the screen, his eyes burning like the fires of the red star where his former first officer and friend had disappeared, he suspected forever. His voice was barely audible, soft like a prayer.

“I wonder... I wonder...”

Admiral Michael Stuart would spend the rest of his lifetime wondering if Sonak died that day, throwing his life away in a mad pursuit of a woman long gone. Or if perhaps the last kolinahr’s mad scheme had succeeded, and somewhere out there in the multiverse, the star-crossed lovers had been reuinited. He would never know, but in his heart of hearts, he always held out hope for them.



* * *



“Status report.”

He had to repeat himself twice because of the hoarseness of his voice making his words unintelligible to the computer. But finally a soft female voice answered him.

“Minimal hull damage from gravitational, caloric and radiation stress. Warp core pre-heating from last shutdown as programmed, full power available in point four seven hours. Reserve power depleted, full recharge in fifty-three hours. Minimal shields available. Deflector field active, impulse power on standby. Inertial dampeners, gravitational field and life support nominal. Weapons systems offline but fully operational. Metaphasic shielding online and fully operational.”

Around him there was a swirling chaos of fire and light that had forced his inner eyelid to fall on his eyes to protect him from the glare.

“Travel status and present coordinates.”

“Parabolic chronal trajectory completed as per calculations. Quantum displacement completed at original starting frequency 001. Surrounding quantum signature a hundred percent match with recorded signal provided as template. Temporal displacement completed at pre-calculated stardate 70578.3. Spatial coordinates Alpha Quadrant, Gamma Crucis sector, within the corona of Gacrux, coordinates 12-31-9.9 by 57-6-48.”

“Confirm rounded-up distance at first decimal and and time of arrival at sector 001, Nevasa star system, T’Khasi planet’s orbit, maximum warp.”

“Distance to Omicron 2 Eridani triple star system, planet Vulcan’s orbit, is seventy-one point five light years. ETA at warp 9 is eighteen point eight standard solar days.”

Sonak nodded absently to the confirmation of his own mental calculations and sat more deeply in the adjustable chair to enter the Vulcan deep trance.

“Activate alarm and electric shock to this chair in case of sensor contact or communication signal.”

“Activated.”

“Engage as soon as warp engine are nominal to input coordinates.”

“Computed. Departure in zero point forty hours.”

Sonak closed his eyes and started reducing his metabolism to the barest minimum. A starship sensor would barely register his lifesigns once he entered the Vulcan trance that was their equivalent of a vacation. He would require no water or food and little air and heat while in this comatose state for most of the voyage to the Vulcan solar system. His own internal clock would awake him in time.

Sonak could not sense Rita's presence; well, not really, not definitively. He realized it could be as much the echo of his longing as a true distant mating contact. That slightly surprised him. But this was more than a simple time displacement; it was a different quantum universe, and here even his powerful psionics might have been altered, simply because of his quantum vibration differential. It was a fascinating problem to ponder. But that would be for later.

At least he had... more than a conviction; a feeling of her. That, he mused, would please her immensely to know that from her cold, unfeeling partner.

It might just be his imagination... but he didn't believe that was so. He was here... and she too was here, somewhere out there.

He would find her, all in due time.