STAR TREK - TOS - 57 - The Rift

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THE RIFT1

FIRST CONTACT

"Most people are on the world, not in it--h no

conscious sympathy or relationship to anything about

them--undiffused; separate, and rigidly alone

like marbles of polished stone, touching but separate."

--JOHN MUIR

Chapter One

The Captain of the Enterprise stared up at the

shimmering viewscreen and said thoughtfully,

"Opinion, Number One."

After a moment of consideration the first officer

replied, "I'm not alt certain, Captain.

Mr. Spock ... what do you think?"

Mr. Spock had not even looked up from his

science station. "Difficult to be precise without

completed computer analysis, Lieutenant ...

wait. It's coming through now."

Smoothly, noiselessly, the thin piece of

paper slid out from the dispenser and into Spock's

hands. He held it up and studied it for a moment.

He started to frown and then caught himself before the

others noticed it. Silently he scolded himself

--his mental discipline had been exceptionally

sloppy of late, and he was going to have to pay much

closer attention if he had any hope of

conducting himself in a manner befitting a Vulcan

... especially a Vulcan in the highest

position of Starfleet command that anyone from that

planet had ever achieved.

"Computer analysis indicates a variety of

readings that are an agglomeration of several different

energy patterns already known to us," he said.

Number One looked at him with her dark,

snapping eyes. "Specify," she said.

"It shares the spatial displacement traits

of a wormhole," Spock said, studying the

readout. "However, it is giving off subspace

flux that is surprisingly similar to that created

by the time warp generators of our own hyperdrive."

"Time warp?" said the captain.

Number One leaned on her console at the

helm, studying the image on the screen.

"Fascinating."

"A most appropriate term," Spock

couldn't help but note. "It is indeed ...

fascinating." He rolled the ^w around in his 3

mouth. A simple, elegant ^w.

Descriptive, indicating the attractiveness

of a puzzle in human terms without going overboard

into emotionality. Fascinating. He'd have

to remember that.

The fascinating object of their attention was

directly ahead of them as the starship hovered in

space several thousand kilometers away.

The crew of the Enterprise had encountered many

different types of space phenomena before, from

quarks to quasars, black holes to wormholes

to any kind of hole that could be imagined. But this was

something ... unique.

In relation to the starship, it was on a vertical

axis. It seemed to resemble nothing so much as a

large crack, but it was not stable; its length varied

from two to five miles, but no matter how much it

seemed to fluctuate, its length was always greater

than its width. Its center was narrow and dark--s

dark that no light seemed to issue from it. Its

outer edges were thinner, stars shining through. Whether it was

artificial or had grown as a result of some

physical anomaly was something that none of the

observers could guess.

"A rip," said Spock after a moment's

further consideration. "A rip in the fabric of

space. The manner in which reality is being distorted

around it is making it impossible for our sensors

to probe more deeply. A rip or--"

"Or what?" The captain spoke with a sharpness

that seemed to scream of impatience. For someone who

was an explorer, Spock mused, the captain was

tremendously irritable if he did not know all

the answers immediately.

"A portal," finished Spock.

This brought silence to the bridge for a long moment,

and the steady if irritating sounding of the red-alert

klaxon filled the air, as it had been doing for

several minutes since the Enterprise had first

encountered this ... this whatever-x-was.

Clearly it was getting on the captain's

nerves, because he snapped, "Navigator, shut

that damned noise off."

Jos@e Tyler reached over without a ^w and

snapped it off. The red-alert triangle in

front of him went out immediately, and the bridge

settled into blissful quiet.

The captain leaned back in his chair, looking

thoughtful. "A portal," he said slowly.

"To where?" He turned his piercing blue 5

eyes on Spock. "Well, Science

Officer?"

"Unknown with present data," said Spock.

"Take a guess." From another captain it

might have sounded like a gentle gibe, but with the

captain of the Enterprise it came across quite

clearly as a direct order.

Spock fought down the human urge to shrug and

said simply, "It leads to the other side."

The captain sighed and turned back to Number

One in a manner that seemed so dismissive of

Spock that the Vulcan might have taken offense were

he capable of doing so. "Number One, you're the

most experienced officer here. What's your

guess?"

Number One flashed a glance at Spock,

drummed her green fingernails a moment, and then

said, "Mr. Spock is correct. It leads

to the other side. Further speculation would be

pointless."

"Unless we go through," said the captain.

"Yes, sir."

"Is it possible?"

Spock, studying his readouts, now spoke up.

"It would be possible, sir. However, it would be

extremely hazardous. The physical makeup

of the space rip is in flux. It ranges from

two miles in width to as little as five meters.

We could be sheared in half just by the act of passing

through it, if it should happen to close at the wrong

time."

The captain rose from his chair and circled it

slowly, thoughtfully. "Open a subspace hailing

frequency."

"Open," said Communications Officer Vincent.

The captain squared his shoulders even more than

usual and spoke in a slightly raised voice.

Spock speculated on what an odd human

trait that was, as if talking more loudly over

subspace made one easier to hear.

"This is Captain Christopher Pike of the

United Space Ship Enterprise," said the

captain. "If there is anyone hearing this

transmission, we are positioned directly

outside what appears to be some sort of

interspatial rift. The fluctuating nature

of the rift makes it impossible for us to pass through.

We wish to know if there is any sentient life

on the other side of this spatial distortion. If

you are hearing this, please reply." He 7

paused and then added, "Send that out on all

frequencies, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," said Vincent.

He sat back down in his command chair and rubbed

his chin thoughtfully. "There have been ships in this area

before, haven't there?"

Spock began to call up the computer

records, but Number One spoke before Spock

could access the information. "Two science vessels

and the Potemkin have traveled this sector in the

past three years. There has been no mention of

any similar spatial rifts in their

reports," said Number One.

Pike looked at her with just the vaguest hint of

amusement, which was the most he ever allowed. "You

carry around in your head the findings of all ships in

any given sector for the past three years,

Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Number One told him

coolly. "The past five years."

"I see," Pike said. If this struck him as

particularly odd, he nevertheless said nothing. "So

it wasn't here before?"

"Either that," said Spock, "or it was in existence

but slightly out of temporal synch with our

universe."

"What?" asked Pike.

"Essentially, it existed a few seconds before

or after the natural time flow of our own

universe. As a result, normal instrumentation

would never have been able to pick it up. But some

occurrence, natural or otherwise, may have

caused it to slow down or speed up and thus be

detectable."

They waited there, hanging in space for long

moments, but no reply was forthcoming, and slowly

Pike shook his head. "All right," he said.

"Let's summarize here We have a temporal

rift that may or may not have been here before. There

may or may not be someone on the other side, and

we may or may not survive trying to pass through.

Is that about accurate?"

Spock and Number One both nodded silent

assent.

Pike rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb

and forefinger. Then he looked up and sighed. "As

intriguing as all this is," he said, "we were on

our way to Vega IX to attend to our injured and

wounded. We've already had one significant

delay in that respect, andfora lot of 9

"mays"' and "may nots"' there is no way in

hell I'm going to delay that mission any

further. Helm, resume course for Vega. Go

to hyperdrive, time warp factor five."

"Course computed and laid in, sir," said

Number One.

He nodded and said briskly, "Engage."

The Enterprise angled away from the rift and

shot off toward Vega IX.

Pike watched the rift recede as he headed

for the turbolift door. As he was about to step into the

lift Yeoman Colt stepped off, apparently

wrapped up in thoughts of her own, and Pike

stopped just short of knocking her over.

"Yeoman," he said in exasperation, "how

many--"

"Fuel consumption report, sir," she said

quickly, holding the clipboard up in front of her

as if it were a shield. "You said that you wanted--"

"Yes, yes," he overlapped her

impatiently. He barely glanced at her as he

flipped through it. He took note of the fact that

he should speak to the engineer about the speed with which they were

depleting dilithium--it seemed the energy curve

was a tad high. Perhaps there was a warped baffle

plate somewhere. If that was the case, there could be a

serious hazard in the making--Pike had once

seen a crewman devastated by leaking delta

rays from a warped baffle plate and had no

intention of such an unpleasant fate befalling

any member of his crew.

He signed the report, checking off the box that

read "Consult with captain," and handed it back

to Colt. She smiled briefly at him and then

looked down as if embarrassed, and Pike sighed

inwardly.

"Strong female drives." The phrase

ech oed in his head, and she stepped aside as he

entered the open turbolift. He made a

conscious effort not to look at her as the doors

hissed shut.

And as the Enterprise shot off into space the

rift began to pulse a bit more steadily. ...

Chapter Two

Pike's fists were a flurry of rights and

lefts as he pounded the punching bag. He

grunted softly every time he made contact, and he

remembered a time when he could have kept up 11

such a volley for half an hour without letup.

Now, after a mere ten minutes, he felt his

breath coming hard in his lungs.

There were several crewmen in the gym concentrating

on fencing or weight lifting or other fitness

pursuits, but they were surreptitiously sneaking

glances at Pike, watching admiringly.

The captain never spoke to anyone when he

came down to work out. Perhaps an acknowledging nod

here or there, but that was all. He was always totally

focused on whatever he was setting out to do, and he

never did the same thing twice in a row. Fencing,

swimming, running, self-defense--whatever it

was, he went about it with an intensity that was

unmatched by anyone in the crew.

Now, as he pounded on the bag, the volley

speeding up with each passing moment, he seemed so

locked in to his target that anyone who happened

to step between Pike and the bag would likely run into the

captain's fist.

After another three minutes of punching Pike

stepped back, his face covered with sweat and his thin

shirt plastered against his chest. He tapped his

boxing gloves together a couple of times and shook out

his muscles, but his heart was still pounding.

He turned and glanced around, the adrenaline

racing through him. There was no one else with boxing

gloves on, though, and he had started to turn

away when Jos@e Tyler entered, gloves on his

hands, glancing in the direction of the punching bag.

Tyler stopped when he saw Pike standing nearby

and then cast an involuntary look over his

shoulder, apparently trying to decide whether he

could get out without being noticed.

"Mr. Tyler," said Pike with a wave of his

gloved hand, "I could use a sparring partner."

"Oh, well, sir," said Tyler, and he

quickly looked to the other crewmen for help. None

seemed forthcoming. "I--uhm--actually wasn't

planning on boxing. ..."

Pike inclined his chin slightly in the direction

of Tyler's hands. "Why the gloves then?"

"My hands are cold, sir."

"Come on, Tyler," said Pike, and he

gestured to the mats in the center of the gym. There was

no boxing ring set up, but that was the area used for

any type of hand-to-hand combat. "It'll be good

for both of us."

Tyler sighed, trying to ignore the smirks from

the crewmates around him. "If you say 13

so, sir."

They moved to the center mats, and now the rest of the

crewmen gave up any pretense of ignoring

what was going on. From the supply cabinet one of the

crewmen stepped forward with mouthpieces that were quickly

inserted into Pike's and Tyler's mouths.

Protective headgear was strapped on moments

later.

Pike's appraising gaze flickered over

Tyler, assessing the young, lithe Latin

navigator--not as a crewman, but as a

potential foe. Tyler was balanced lightly on

the balls of his feet, and Pike saw genuine

concern in his eyes.

"All right, Tyler," he said, working to make

himself understood through the mouthpiece. "Just relax.

Watch your footing. We're just having a workout,

just two guys in the gym. Happens every day. No

need to worry, just so long as you remember ...

I'm your captain."

It was difficult to tell if Pike was joking,

since he did it so rarely. Even when he was

joking he tended to keep his face deadly serious.

Tyler sighed once more and started toward Pike,

trying to move lightly from side to side, keeping

his guard up.

The tactical computer that was Pike's mind

quickly processed information about Tyler. He was more

limber than Pike, and younger, of course. He was

already hopping around a good deal more than the captain

was capable of doing--Pike tended to take a stance

and just start pummeling. He had the edge on Tyler

in experience, and he also had a devastating right

cross. He could take him.

Pike brought his guard up as Tyler suddenly

launched an attack, a couple of quick rights

followed by a left. Pike hardly felt them.

"Come on, Mr. Tyler," he said in annoyance,

and he drove a quick uppercut to Tyler's chin that

rocked him. "You can do better than that."

Tyler stepped back out of Pike's reach and

moved along the perimeter, watching his captain

carefully. He did not resume his attack,

however, and after thirty seconds of pussyfooting

around, Pike began to get annoyed. He came

in quickly, landing several fast, powerful blows on

Tyler's body, each accompanied by a

satisfying thud, and Pike said, "For crying out

loud, Mr. Tyler, this is sparring, not a square

dan--" 15

Pike never even saw the shot that snapped his

head around. He wasn't even aware that he was

falling. All he knew was that the world seemed

to shift at a forty-five-degree angle, and then

he was on his back.

He found to his surprise that he hated the

color of the ceiling, and then Jos@e Tyler was

looking down at him with sheer terror in his eyes.

"Capped in!" Tyler seemed to be saying, and

Pike was wondering what was capped in what.

Then the world hazed out for a moment, and when it

returned Dr. Phil Boyce was standing over

him, shaking his head. The middle-aged man with the thin

blond hair did not seem particularly

sympathetic to the fact that Pike was moving his mouth

and nothing was coming out. An agitated Tyler was

next to him. "What was it again?" Boyce asked.

"A left hook," said Tyler. "Doctor

... what should I do?"

"Offhand, I'd say work on your right hook.

I doubt your left needs any improvement."

Boyce shook his head, and then he raised his fist

and extended his thumb, index finger, and middle

finger. "Chris ... how many fingers do you see?"

"I'm not sure," said Pike thickly.

"Does the thumb count as a finger?"

"You'll be fine," Boyce said. He put an

arm under Pike's forearm and, with the help of Tyler

and another crewman, hauled the woozy captain

to his feet. Pike was surprised at the amount

of strength in the doctor's grip.

"Captain, I'm so sorry--" began

Tyler.

Pike shook his head and then had to remind himself

not to do so again, as the swaying motion made him

dizzy. "That's quite all right, Mr. Tyler. Quite

all right. It's comforting to know you're on our

side." He held his jaw for a moment and moved it

from side to side. "I'd hate to have you as an

enemy."

"Yes, sir," said Tyler, breathing a visible

sigh of relief.

Leaning a bit more heavily on Boyce than

he would have liked to let on, Pike allowed himself

to be helped into the hallway and to his cabin.

Boyce had the tact not to say anything to his

captain until the door of Pike's quarters

had closed behind him.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?"

asked Boyce. 17

Pike was studying himself in the mirror and already

saw the beginnings of a bruise on his jaw.

"Sparring, Doctor. A way of keeping in

shape."

Boyce folded his arms and looked at Pike

skeptically. "Most ways of keeping in shape,"

he noted, "don't entail almost losing

consciousness."

"It was just a lucky punch."

"Lucky punch my butt," snorted

Boyce. "From what I heard, he tagged you good.

The one who's lucky is you--lucky that he

didn't dislocate your jaw."

"Ah"--he waved off Boyce's concerns--?y

worry too much, Phil. Tyler's ten years

younger than I am. He couldn't have hurt me too

badly."

"If you were thinking straight, Chris," said

Boyce, "you'd realize that the ten years'

difference actually makes it damned lucky that he

didn't take your head off." Still shaking his head,

Boyce opened up his bag and started pulling out his

mixes.

Pike turned and eyed the quickly assembled

minibar without comment. Boyce didn't even look

at Pike but simply said, "The usual?"

"Someday," said Pike, "you'll pull a hypo

out of there and give me a heart attack."

"Thank God you'll have a doctor nearby in

that case." He proceeded to mix a martini for

Pike. "That's not like you, Chris. Sparring with your

junior officers. Mixing it up. You've always

been ..."

"Aloof?" Pike finished for him.

"I was going to say "reservedea"'" said

Boyce, and he handed the drink to Pike.

"Rooms are reserved," said Pike.

"Library books are reserved. I'm aloof.

Removed from my people. From their feelings. Maybe from

my own."

"Oh, nonsense," said Boyce. "A few

days ago you sat right on that bed and told me that you

were thinking of quitting. That you were tired, worn out,

sick of making decisions. And now you're saying that

you're unfeeling, when before you were feeling too much.

You're concerned about how you deal with your crew?

Different captains have different approaches,

Chris. What works for you--and your crew--is for you

to possess a great deal of formality and

"aloofnessea"' if that's what you wish 19

to call it. Have you noticed that, particularly on the

bridge, you tend to address your crewmen by their

positions far more frequently than by their names?"

Pike frowned slightly. "No. I hadn't

noticed."

"Everyone else you address by Mister followed

by surname, with the exception of my humble self,"

continued Boyce with a slight, modest inclination of

his head. "And some people not even that. Since Number

One is your first officer, naturally she can be

addressed by the title of Number One. But you

never call her anything else. Why is that?"

"I can't pronounce her name."

"What? Why, it's ..." His voice trailed

off, and he frowned. He'd seen it written in

records but never tried to say it out loud before. The

woman hadn't engaged in small talk on the

occasions of her physicals--simple nod s had

sufficed. He tried to frame the syllables.

"Son of a gun."

"You see? Not everything has deep meaning," said

Pike. Then he stared down at his boots. "You

want to know how in touch with my crew I am?"

"Sure."

"We were just discussing Number One. Well,

she"--he took a sip of his martini, as if

steeling himself for an ordeal--?she has sexual

fantasies about me."

Boyce went slack-jawed, and it took him a

moment to realize that some of his drink was trickling

down his chin. He quickly wiped it away as he

said, "May I ask ... uh ... how you know?"

"The Talosians said so."

"I see. And what was your response to this?"

"To her? Nothing. I was threatening the

Talosians at the time."

"And since you've come back, have you spoken to her

about it?"

Pike pursed his lips. "No."

"How ... uh ... how do you feel about it? Do

you have ... uhm ... reciprocal feelings in this

matter?"

"I don't know," admitted Pike. "It

goes back to what I was saying before. I feel

removed from my crew's feelings, and from my own.

I thought of Number One as cold, methodical,

even utterly passionless. The ideal woman."

"Oh, really?" said Boyce in amusement.

"Of course. The trouble with most women is that

they let their hearts rule them instead of 21

their heads. Decision making is an

intellectual process. Women are--"

"A distraction?" offered Boyce.

Pike pointed in triumph. "Yes!

Exactly. They distract you with their emotional

reactions and--"

"The way they look? And smell?"

"There's that."

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THERIFT1FIRSTCONTACT"Mostpeopleareontheworld,notinit--hnoconscioussympathyorrelationshiptoanythingaboutthem--undiffused;separate,andrigidlyalonelikemarblesofpolishedstone,touchingbutseparate."--JOHNMUIRChapterOneTheCaptainoftheEnterprisestaredupattheshimmeringviewscreenandsaidthoughtfully,"Opinion,N...

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