How to Break the Prime Directive (and get away with it)

Part 14: Anomalies

Suvok waited for a reply, but none came. It took considerable mental effort for Suvok to ensure his brow remained smooth and unfurrowed. His lack of emotional control was deeply disturbing.

The captain looked away from the blue creature for a moment to stare at Suvok. Suvok wondered if his uncertainty was showing. He took a deep breath.

"Bridge?" He tried again. "Please send Mr. Grax down."

This time Suvok got a reply, albeit a distorted one. "The ship appears . . . Tokal . . . this is Lieutenant Commander . . ."

Captain Williams wrinkled her nose. "What is Tokal playing at, Reya?" She asked her Chief Engineer.

Reya shrugged as a second call came from the bridge.

"Bridge to Mr. Suvok," a tentative voice began, "Do you mean to say that you're trying to get me down there?"

"That certainly was my intent," Suvok confirmed. An image of his friend's anxious face forced him to add, "Any Betazoid would prove useful."

"He'd better get down here quickly," Williams muttered.

~*~

The moment the turbolift doors slid shut, Tokal turned to Ylmaq.

"Transfer communications to your console, and reopen the channel Mr. Grax was working on."

Ylmaq felt the hot blood run into her cheeks. She could transfer control easily enough, but unless Sabian had already established a decent channel, she was rooked. She was trained on helm, not communications. He had once described subspace frequency adjustment as flying a shuttle among a series of moving ribbons. Each ribbon moved with its own rhythm - and each might suddenly snap, the frequency madly and unexpectedly hetrodyning. Grax knew how to pilot through all that, finessing his way to those smooth, strong patterns that could carry the signal. Ylmaq could fly a shuttle through an ion storm wearing a blindfold, and she wasn't sure she found Sabian's metaphor at all enlightening. It didn't make her any better at subspace communications, anyhow. Broadcasting at that level was an art, and Sabian Grax had a gift for it. Ylmaq did not.

"Sir, wouldn't it be better to call in lieutenant NAME?" she asked, naming the ship's professional communications officer.

"No time, ensign," the commanding officer replied. "So to speak. Do you have that communication channel ready for me?"

"I - " The communications data began to stream across Ylmaq's console. Sabian had at least begun to tease out a viable channel, but it was weak, wavering even as Ylmaq watched it. "I'm not sure, sir?"

Tokal looked over at her now, mild amusement turning up one corner of his lip. "Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good, ensign. Let's see what Mr. Grax left you. Open the channel."

Ylmaq reached for the button on her console. She hesitated for just an instant, her hand hovering above the button. Then, with another glance back up at Tokal's patient expression, she pressed it. "Open."

Tokal cleared his throat. "This is Lieutenant Commander Tokal. The ship appears to be experiencing -"

The ship lurched to a halt, both Tokal's voice and the low rumble of the engines suddenly silent.

"Helm?" Tokal demanded.

Ylmaq swept the communications off the console with a single, rapid gesture. "The engines aren't responding at all, sir. They've come to a dead stop, and we're drifting - "

The ship lurched forward again, the engines kicking in.

"Sir - " Ylmaq began.

"Hold our course," Tokal said, without so much as turning in her direction. "More importantly, open that channel again.

"Open, sir."

"Again, this is Tokal." The first officer spoke quickly, a slight tremor in his voice. "The ship appears to be experiencing a series of temporal anomalies."