The image of the Falcon's bridge vanishes abruptly from the screen, to be replaced after a moment by a picture of the stricken ship herself, hanging in space. No one on the bridge speaks.
After a few seconds, I say, "Unfortunate."
With more than a little asperity, Twosani Dezin replies, "Yes, sir, you could say that."
"I believe I just did." I think for a second, then I touch the intraship address button on my command console.
"Your attention, please." My voice echoes back through the bridge's speakers. "This is Vice Admiral T'Pia. The USS Falcon is incapacitated by Borg computer viruses. With this, and the destruction of the King Estmere, we are effectively alone against Enteskilen Mur and his ship."
I take a deep breath, forcing myself not just to remain calm, but to project it in my voice. "I will not lie to you; our situation is a desperate one. However, I know I can trust you, all of you. I know that you will follow whatever logic of your mind, or your heart, or your spirit, that made you Starfleet. I know you will do your duty - and that, in the face of our efforts, Mur and his Siohonin cohorts will not prevail." Another pause. "We have more facts, possibly the key facts for this situation. We will redouble our efforts to interpret them and develop countermeasures against the Rift entity. This is not a war we can win with weapons, but with our intellects - and there is no finer crew in Starfleet when it comes to such a struggle. Thank you all. T'Pia out."
I stand up. Twosani looks at me, long and steadily. Then she nods. "Thank you, sir," she says.
"If you need me," I say, "I will be in my ready room, reviewing the available data."
---
Words are easy. Results are hard. Hours pass, and I am no nearer my goal.
I am surrounded by a litter of PADDs; it is inelegant and inefficient, my father would reprove me for it. There are urgent queries outstanding to six separate science departments aboard the ship; their answers may or may not help me. The problem obstinately refuses to take shape, in my head, on my PADDs.
I am sighing over the refutation of another hypothesis when the door opens and Twosani enters. "Haven't you slept, sir?" she asks.
"I do not believe there is time for sleep."
"Maybe, maybe not," says Twosani. "Mur still hasn't moved, but the Warhammer is doing something. Main astrophysics say its engines are generating some sort of subspace harmonic. Best guess is, it's opening some sort of channel in spacetime."
"To bring in reinforcements, perhaps."
"That'd be my guess. It would be nice to think that Mur is planning to beat a quick retreat, but -" She shrugs. "We've had another temporary contact with the Falcon. They're still working on the Borg virus, and they've been through standard Borg liberation protocols with Vice Admiral Grau. Still too early to say how well she's responding."
"They are doing all that is possible, then. As are we."
Twosani steps forward, her dark eyes surveying the chaos on my desk, now spilling over onto the floor. "Are you getting anywhere, sir?"
"Candidly, no. The problem is... an intractable one."
"I wish I could help," she says. "But, well, my training is mainly in tactical division...."
"Yes. Your strengths complement mine effectively. On most occasions."
There is a pause. Twosani looks at the PADDs again, and shakes her head. "It looks a mess, sir."
"It is. And it should not be. There is an elegance in physics, in mathematics, just as there is in music. But I cannot find any note of elegance in this data set."
Then I pause. A fugitive thought has just struck me... a flash of insight, half-glimpsed, then gone.
"Music," I say aloud.
"Sir?"
"A thought occurred to me, relating to music. It is relevant...."
I take a deep breath, hold it, concentrate on the mental disciplines. I am Vulcan. I am not just Vulcan, but a Vulcan trained in the Kolinahr. My mind is mine to command. My thoughts are part of me, they cannot flee me or hide from me.
I concentrate, and I focus, and my mind becomes as a temple of clearest glass, and there is no nook or cranny that is hidden from me. All things that I know are known to me.
The flash of memory, of insight, returns, and comes into clear focus, and I know it and understand it.
I pick up a PADD, and begin work, based on the new hypothesis. Twosani says nothing, but leans forward to watch me, her eyes thoughtful. I sketch in equations, compare the results with our known data. The outcome is as I expect. I punch in more equations, following the logical process deriving from the insight, facts and thoughts and consequences falling into place with remorseless, crystalline clarity -
"That looks - weird, sir," says Twosani, after a while. "I mean, I'm no expert in subspace theory, but -"
"It looks wrong," I say. "Yes. That was the crucial insight. Something Tylha Shohl said to me, about music, by that human musician she admired... something about a rhythm that looked wrong, but proved to be right. This set of equations... I believe we have the frequencies of the spatio-temporal warp through which the Rift entity connects with this world. And if that is so -"
I input more parameters on my console, and order, "Run simulation."
Twosani and I watch as wave-forms appear on the screen, merge, and subside into a dead flat line.
"Like the entity at Tiaza Zephora, which was undone by contact with a molecule made in the mirror image of its own key frequency," I say. "This entity's link is stronger, will require more from us than mere contact...."
"Power requirements... look on the high side, sir."
"We are in a position to attack on two fronts. The entity is irretrievably linked to this area of space - because it has been here, and it is non-temporal in essence, it is always here, to some extent. And it is linked to Vice Admiral Grau - the Falcon's crew can rig local generators to surround her with the negative wave. We will need to devote much of Tapiola's power output to this, but it can be done."
"Thank you, Vice Admiral Shohl," murmurs Twosani. I might say the same myself.
"Communicate with main engineering. Establish the technical parameters for generating this waveform via the main deflector dish. We must also attempt to regain contact with the Falcon."
The ready room door hisses open again. Pascale comes in. "The Warhammer is moving," she says.
"In what direction?"
"Towards us, slowly. And it appears to be towing something."
"Towing what?"
The android shakes her head. "I think you'd better take a look for yourself, sir."
---
All fatigue is forgotten as we race back to the bridge. On the main screen, the ominous dot of Mur's ship has grown, until details become clear at even moderate magnifications. It is pursuing an odd, indirect course, generally in our direction - testing for, and avoiding, the invisible energy fields.
Behind it is a shimmering ring, many kilometres wide, obviously insubstantial, equally obviously real... a vast torus of shaped energy fields, through which the starlight beyond is stretched and blurred.
I study the sensor analysis. "Not a wormhole... not quite. A tunnel through spacetime, though, a subspace conduit that will significantly reduce transit times between here and its terminus."
"Wherever that is," says Twosani.
"The energy expenditure involved in maintaining it must be prodigious," I say. "Likewise, the computational power needed to stabilise it. It is beyond our current technology, certainly well beyond that of the Siohonin. The Rift entity must be directly involved. Please program the modifications to the main deflector along the lines I have indicated. And try to raise the Falcon."
"Falcon here." The voice is hoarse, gravelly, but still recognizable, and it is a relief to hear it.
"Vice Admiral Grau. Are you fully recovered?"
"Nowhere near," Ronnie's voice says, "but I'm enough me to fight this thing. I've got a phaser - if it will let me use it...."
"That is a desperate remedy," I say, "and it may yet prove unnecessary. I have the parameters to generate a wave-form that I believe will dissipate the Rift entity. If you can open a data channel to your bridge, I will transmit it."
"Are you kidding?" says Ronnie. "If you've got a - a cure for this damn thing... I'll open the data channels myself."
"Preferable, I think, to let your communication officer handle it. Transmitting on a repeating loop. With luck, you will be able to receive and reconstruct all the data, even if you suffer intermittent connectivity losses."
"Which we might," says Ronnie. "Ship's still in a worse state than I am... and what the hell is Mur dragging after him?"
Nothing good, I strongly suspect. "We must assume it is for summoning reinforcements."
"Well, y'know," says Ronnie, "normally, I'd be, like, hey, skeet. But this is not the best time for shooting. Have we tried talking to him?" There is a sudden burst of static on the channel. Another problem on the Falcon, most probably.
"Perhaps we should try," I say. "Mur might continue to find me amusing."
"Would that actually help, sir?" asks Twosani.
"Possibly, if it gives us time to implement our countermeasure. In any case, I anticipate Mur will wish to communicate at some point soon. He is of that type. He enjoys the sound of his own voice."
"Programming the main deflector," says Nelson Karas. "Sir, this looks... weird."
"It does. It is, nonetheless, correct." And I hope the Falcon has received the data transmission.
"Sir," says Pascale, "there is something in the... tunnel... behind the Warhammer."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Specify."
"Unable to at this time, sir. I am reading low power output, but considerable mass. Whatever it is, I do not believe it is another ship."
"Signal from the Warhammer, sir," says the comms yeoman.
"You were right," Twosani murmurs.
I nod. "On screen."
The viewer shows the Warhammer's bridge; Mur stands in its centre, his face feral in its excitement. "You will surrender Veronika Grau," he says.
"Inaccurate," I reply. "We will not."
Mur glares. "You are ceasing to be amusing, Vulcan. You will surrender Veronika Grau to me, and your destruction will be brief and comparatively painless. If you continue to obstruct me, you will find that there are worse things than death."
"Damn right." Ronnie's voice. The Falcon's comms are back. "And I have a phaser in my hand now, Mur, and I promise you I will take my own life before letting you do what you want."
"You cannot! The god has told me this. You will be stopped."
"Stopped how? The Rift entity can't control me directly. It can't stop me. And I've been through the liberation protocols, it can't pull that stunt again."
"The true god assures me," says Mur, "that you will be prevented from harming yourself."
I think. "If what you both say is true," I say, "the Rift entity must be exerting its power and control to the utmost in order to preserve Vice Admiral Grau's life. It is already heavily taxed in supporting your space-time tunnel, and whatever other demands are being made of it by your priesthood. I do not believe it has sufficient capability remaining to neutralize the Tapiola."
"My ship is adequate for that minor task," says Mur.
"Really?" I say. "I suspect you overestimate your capacities. Against a fully operational Federation starship, without your special weaponry to rely on, your chances are, in my estimation, remarkably poor."
"You do not have the power to defy the god!" thunders Mur. "And now, his tabernacle approaches!" He makes a theatrical gesture at the screens behind him.
"Something's coming through the tunnel, sir," says Pascale. "I have a visual. Sir - there's something else in there, too, a little way behind it. There's a lot of interference, but I think this new one is a ship."
The visual display changes. Behind the Warhammer, a gigantic black sphere is emerging from the subspace conduit. It is caged in an icosahedral framework of metal girders, which is studded with impulse engines, clearly to provide motive power for the sphere itself. I check my readings. No life signs, no energy output except for the impulse engines -
"You are no doubt confused, Vulcan." Mur reappears on the viewer. "This is the tabernacle of the god. Within this crystal sphere, accessible only through a special transporter frequency vouchsafed to me by the god, Veronika Grau and I will meet, and the god will move from her unworthy form to mine -"
"Like hell it will!" Ronnie's voice rasps. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to get this filthy parasite out of my head, but I'm not letting it loose on the galaxy inside an unbalanced religious maniac!"
"Your insults mean nothing to me. The god will not be denied."
"I will open fire on your vessel before you reach transporter range of the Falcon," I say. "The Tapiola will destroy you."
"Filthy females and unbelievers!" Mur shouts. "You pit your feeble will against the god?"
Then he turns, and his shaggy eyebrows are raised in surprise. "Then you will die," he says. "Fortuitous. Gamariden Tal has evidently sent a ship to accompany the tabernacle on its voyage. That vessel will eliminate you, while I fulfil my destiny. Open a channel to that ship!" he shouts at some off-screen minion.
Behind him, one of the many screens flashes and fills with static. After a second or two, a vague shape becomes discernible. I can see a humanoid silhouette, with two protrusions on the head.
"Clear that interference!" Mur bellows. "You! Ship captain! Engage and annihilate this Federation upstart!"
The interference clears, and I am not ashamed to say that my jaw drops. The protrusions are not Siohonin horns - they are antennae -
"I don't think so," says Tylha Shohl.
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