Uhura and the Separated Man         

Her temporary duty as commander of the Marco Polo had gotten into her blood, and she accepted the fact that she would miss it when Admiral Kirk finally found her a permanent position aboard a larger starship, preferably one he was commanding.

Uhura looked around the crowded room of Yergg’s Liquids and recognized a face she would rather have forgotten.  She saw his face change as he recognized her.  Theoretically it was a handsome face--square jaw, blue eyes and aquiline nose--expertly hiding the inner callousness that Uhura had personally experienced.

He joked with his shipmates as he looked in her direction, obviously relating his own encounter with the beautiful captain.

Not many months before, she had been walking down a space dock corridor enroute to her new ship.  Her thoughts had been on her upcoming temporary assignment as Captain of the USS Marco Polo, a transwarp scoutship, and not on a tall, tanned man who suddenly appeared in her path.

“Commander Uhura!”  His voice was unjustifiably harsh.

Uhura stopped, wary of the Federation officer barring her way.

“May I help you, Captain... Stirling?”  She recalled his name slowly, remembering the stories she had heard of the ambitious young man on his way up.  Fortunately a lowly communications didn't have an opportunity to encounter the brash captain.  Unless she got in his way.

He frowned at her.  “What do you think you're doing with my ship?”

“Your—” Uhura realized why he was angry.  She would've been angry, too, if she'd been promised a command position and then had it taken away from her.  “I’m sorry, Captain,” she explained, “but as soon as this emergency mission is over, I'll return your ship to you safe and sound.”

“Who are you trying to fool?” he asked.  “You're getting old and this in your only chance at being a starship captain.  Once you get your hooks into it, you'll never let go.”

Uhura tried to reassure him, but it was obvious that he was in no mood to be placated.

“It took me a long time to got this position, COMMANDER, and if you think you're getting away with anything, forget it.”  He smiled suddenly, revealing too-white teeth.  “I've got friends in high places, too, and even though I’ve never slept with Admiral Kirk—“

Uhura's hand lashed out of its own accord, triggered by her own rising anger, and slapped the sneer off his face.

He stepped back, stunned by her physical reaction. He started toward her, but Uhura stepped back, ready to defend herself.

“Mister," she said, “I don't know what your problem is, but if you think I slept my way to my rank, you're a bigger fool than you act.”

“I'll have you busted for this, striking a superior officer!”

Uhura pointed to her new captain's insignia.  “Superior?  I've seen more superior primordial slime.  If you have a problem, take it up with the Admiral of Star Fleet.  If you don't have a problem, get the hell out of my way!”  She stalked off; afraid she'd lose what little control she had left.

Ironically (months later), she had kept the captaincy of the Marco Polo far longer than she had originally intended.  One mission led to another and that one led to another and... Uhura smiled at her empty glass, not regretting her 'temporary' duty.

“Captain Uhura?” a soft voice pulled her back to the bar, and she looked up to see the large, familiar form of her Amerindian first officer standing beside a stranger.

“Well, Mr. Grayhawk,” she said as she stood.  “I was beginning to worry about you.  In an hour our shore leave will be over.”

Grayhawk introduced the stranger.  “This is Ambassador Tomac of Tremayne.  He would like to speak to you.”  He offered the ambassador a seat without further explanation.

The ambassador, noted Uhura, appeared human except for the presence of slightly pointed ears.  He looked vaguely Vulcan except for the lack of upswept eyebrows.  His skin was pale, his hair dark and pulled back to reveal a thin, triangular face.  He had very dark eyes and a quick smile.

“Pleasesit down,” she said.  She noticed Captain Stirling watching then as they took their seats.

“I understand you have completed repairs on your vessel,” the ambassador said.

“Yes, our ship was damaged during a little misunderstanding with a Drek diskship.  We've had a short vacation here at Starbase 13 while the starbase engineers repaired our ship.  Why?”

Ambassador Tomac reached inside his robes and extracted a plastifilm folder.  He laid it on the table for Uhura to read.  “I need a ship,” he said simply.  “I want yours.”

Uhura picked up the folder with a mild surprise.  Emblazoned across the folder was the symbol of the President of the Federation.  Inside was an authorization for Ambassador Tomac to use any Federation or Star Fleet resource to fulfill his unspecified mission.  Uhura raised her eyebrows appreciatively and passed the folder to Grayhawk.

“I have been traveling a long time,” continued the ambassador, “and I need to get to the Scorpion Sector to complete my mission.”

“The Scorpion Sector has no planets,” Grayhawk said respectfully.  “What do you intend to do there?”

“I am not at liberty to explain at this time,” Ambassador Tomac confided, “but when we arrive there, I will explain.”

Uhura considered the proposal that was actually a directive from the head of the United Federation of Planets.  She nodded.  “All right, let's go.”

The ambassador and Grayhawk followed her from the congested room, but one person across the room watched them with curiosity.  Absently he rubbed the cheek that Uhura had slapped and took another drink.

Uhura, Grayhawk, and Tomac entered the bridge to find everyone busily preparing to depart Star Base 13.  Grayhawk left them to take his security position.  His was a dual role aboard the Marco Polo; not only was he the second-in-command, but he was also responsible for the twenty security personnel known as the First Contact Team, essential to the mission of every scoutship.  Grayhawk’s team was comprised of scientists, survival experts, and alien life form specialists.  After the sensor scans and electronic mapping were completed by ship personnel safely in orbit, the actual legwork of scouting a new planet from the ground up was accomplished by the FCT.  Grayhawk ran through the duty rosters, noting the typical shore leave injuries and afflictions common to ground troop veterans.  With a look of concern, he discovered a conspicuous absence among his team members--Chief McNamara, the ground leader of the First Contact Team.

“Welcome aboard the USS Marco Polo, Ambassador,” Uhura told him as she took her position in the command chair.  “We'll be underway soon, and then I'll give you a complete tour of the ship.”

The man looked around the bustling bridge, stepping back to avoid a passing technician.  “I'm looking forward to it, Captain,” he said earnestly.

A blonde lieutenant handed Uhura the ship's official maintenance log.

“How did the repairs go, Lieutenant Howard?' Uhura asked her chief engineer.

“Not too badly, Captain.  They have three warp engineers stationed here on Star Base 13, and that made the repairs easier.”

“Does that mean you didn't have to sleep with your engines during your entire shore leave?” Uhura asked.

“No,” Lieutenant Howard said with a slight blush, “not every night.”

“I'm glad to hear it, Amanda,” Uhura handed her the signed status board with a grin and turned her attention to the helmsman.

“Ensign T'Challa,” she said, motioning the ambassador forward, “this in Ambassador Tomac.  He will give you the coordinates to our destination in the Scorpion Sector.”

The black Kumasian nodded respectfully to the small man and brought up the necessary star charts on his navigation screen.  Soon both men were engaged in plotting the most direct course.  If T'Challa felt any distaste toward the alien, he didn't show it, and Uhura was relieved.  Her stoic ensign was well known for his intolerance of other species and races; however, his tenure as the Marco Polo’s expert navigator/helmsman had made him more tolerant of non-Kumasian life forms.

“Captain Uhura,” her communications officer summoned her.  “All personnel have reported for duty except for two people.  We are trying to locate them now.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Heisenberg.  Who are the two individuals?”  She waited while he checked the roster, his youthful face lit by the computer screen.  It seemed only a short time before she'd forced him into a closet at phaser-point, but the adventures they'd shared since then had increased their respect for each other.

“One in Chief McNamara and the other is—“ He paused and looked at his captain.  “The other is Dr. Chapel."

Uhura frowned.  McNamara she expected, but it wasn't like Christine to be tardy.  She was usually the first one aboard, checking her sickbay before reporting to the bridge as acting science officer.  “Contact Starbase security,” Uhura ordered.  “They'll find them.”

“Aye, Captain,” he said, returning to big console controls.  As if activated by some off-stage cue, the turbolift doors parted to reveal an unusually disheveled chief medical officer.

“Permission to come aboard,” she said, straightening her uniform and pushing her brunette hair back off her face.

Uhura arched an eyebrow at her old friend, but all she said was “Permission granted.”  Turning back to Heisenberg, she continued, “Status on Chief McNamara?”

“Captain,” Christine said from her position, “he came aboard with me.”

Grayhawk glanced at Lieutenant Howard, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.  Everyone knew that the captain had warned Chief McNamara that if he had to be hauled aboard by security one more time, he’d be in charge of the Marco Polo's Janitorial Corps of one.  Chief McNamara liked to relax on shore leave.  He also liked to drink to relax.  Sometimes he got so relaxed that he didn't move for days.  Obviously, Dr. Chapel had taken it upon herself to ensure that the crusty security chief made it back to the ship.

Lieutenant Heisenberg got her attention.  “Captain, Star Base 13 is requesting destination and authorization.”

Uhura looked at T'Challa and Tomac.  “Mr. T'Challa, relay our course coordinates and use Ambassador Tomac's Star Fleet code for authorization.”  T'Challa did as he was instructed, and the Marco Polo received the necessary clearances to depart Star Base 13.

“Transwarp standing by,” offered Lieutenant Howard from her engineering position as the revolving form of the starbase fell behind them.  The transwarp drive was her pride and joy, and few Star Fleet engineers could match her experience with the newly developed machines.

“Transwarp two,” Uhura instructed, and the viewscreen blurred momentarily as the scoutship slipped into transwarp drive.

She stood to join the obviously intrigued ambassador.  “Whenever you’re ready for your tour, sir,” she told him.

“I've been looking forward to it, Captain, and please call me Tomac.”

The deeply tanned man smiled at him superior officer.  “You were right, sir.  I checked with a lady in control and the Marco Polo is definitely on some hush-hush mission.”

“Did you find out where she went?”  The blond captain was well aware of his communications officer's powers of persuasion with the fairer sex.  Obtaining 'hush-hush' information wasn't much of a challenge to the romantic Martian.

“Somewhere in the Scorpion Sector,” Carter replied.  “But, Lieutenant West, the duty officer, said there was a problem with their authorization.”

“What sort of problem?'

“The authorization code that Captain Uhura used to confirm their mission wasn’t recognized by Star Fleet computers.”

Not recognized?  Stirling was suddenly interested.  Anything that implicated Uhura with wrongdoing was of possible use to him.  Although his assignment as captain of the Federation Science Vessel Curie was prestigious, he couldn't forgive or forget his perceived defeat at Uhura's hands.  “Why did they allow the Marco Polo to leave if the code was unauthorized?”

“That's the funny part,” said Carter.  “When Honey, I mean Lieutenant West, ran the code through the first time, while the Marco Polo was in port, the code was accepted as a valid authorization for an ambassador from Tremayne.  It was only later that the code was rerun and its true status discovered.  By then, the Marco Polo was out of this sector, and Star Base 13 had to channel the discrepancy up to Star Fleet headquarters.”

“Where it will conveniently got lost in the shuffle.  Anything on the ambassador?” asked the captain.

“No record of him anywhere.  Tremayne doesn't even have an ambassador to the United Federation of Planets.”

Captain Stirling finished his drink.  “Okay.  We’ve got a starship using an unauthorized mission code, a fake ambassador, and a starship crew obviously involved in an illegal activity.  It seems to me that our ship could do with a little test run to check out its new equipment.  And if we happen to run across the Marco Polo...” He poured himself another drink and made dark plans.

The USS Marco Polo was designed to scout new worlds and new civilizations, to categorize new planets and introduce them to the security of the Federation.  The ship was manned by approximately fifty individuals, each an expert on his, her, or its job.  The ship looked like a narrow version of a cruiser's primary hull and was capable of planetary landings.  Uhura led the interested ambassador through the ship, pointing out the modified transwarp engines and the First Contact Team's quarters.  They passed several conference rooms full of attentive people.

“What is happening in there?” inquired Tomac, indicating a group of people listening intently to an excited speaker.

Uhura peered into the room.  “Training classes,” she explained.  “The First Contact Team spends much of its time inactive while on the ship.  Their real work starts when they beam down to a planet.  While they are on the Marco Polo, they teach each other different skills.  A medical technician can learn about Vulcan philosophy or Andorian architecture, xenobiology, or karate.  Most of the team members have several occupations.  The ones who know most, survive the longest.  They also teach art and music classes.  I am asked occasionally to lead the orchestra.  Right now I suspect they’re swapping shore leave war stories.”

Tomac shook his head in wonder.  “Wherever I travel, I am always amazed to see cultures working so well together.  Where I am from, isolation is a way of life.  Working together is unknown to us.”

Uhura shook her head in disbelief and proceeded down the hallway to the engineering section.  “Tomac, can you explain to me yet exactly what we are doing in the Scorpion Sector?”  He studied her face a moment before answering.  “Yes, I can.  I am waiting for something.”

“A ship?” she asked.

He paused again.  “Yes, a ship.”

 “A rendezvous then,” she said.  “How long will we have to wait?”

“Not long,” he said.  “Soon my mission will be complete and you and your excellent crew have made it possible.”

Uhura continued the tour, realizing that the ambassador wasn’t going to divulge more information until he was ready.

*****

The Federation Science Vessel Curie oscillated through empty space at its maximum speed of warp 11.  Most of the vessel's crew believed that they were testing the new, partially installed telemetry equipment.  The Star Base 13 maintenance technicians had complained about the unexpected field test, but Captain Stirling had managed to charm them into a brief trial run.  He had every intention of testing the new equipment, but not on some worthless scientific endeavor; his goal was to find the Marco Polo.

Captain Stirling sat at the helm going over the story he'd tell Star Fleet command upon his return to Star Base 13 with the Marco Polo in tow.  He'd accidentally ran across the scoutship while on a routine test run, and, recalling some 'difficulties' the Marco Polo had experienced with its authorization code at Star Base 13, he'd queried the scoutship and detained the false ambassador.  If he were really lucky, Uhura would be involved with some nefarious activity.  Let her explain that to Star Fleet and see how much help she got from her precious Admiral Kirk!

Lieutenant Carter approached, ensuring that no other crewmembers were within listening distance.  “Sir, it will take us twice an long to reach the Scorpion Sector as it will take the Marco Polo to got there.  They could be done with their business and be gone before we arrive.”

Captain Stirling frowned slightly at his doubtful lieutenant.  “The Scorpio Sector is not far from here.  With any luck, we'll get there in plenty of time to observe what Miss Uhura in up to.”

Lieutenant Carter looked skeptical.  “If we’re forced to use the new equipment and the ship's defenses at the same time, the power interfaces won't hold up.”

“Then we'll just have to make sure we don't use them simultaneously, won't we?” He smiled unconvincingly.  “Now let's test that now equipment.”

Carter returned to him position, uncomfortable about their mission.  His experiences had shown him that Captain Stirling was a man of passion, but how far would he go to carry out him revenge?

*****

“Entering the Scorpio Sector,” reported Ensign T'Challa.

Uhura stared at the screen, black with the emptiness of space.

Chapel replaced the viewscreen scene with a computer generated star map containing only two stars.  There were no indications of space dust or accumulations of interstellar games.  It was a dead region of space.

“No planetary bodies,” observed Grayhawk, obviously satisfied with himself for remembering correctly.  Uhura made a note to herself to ask why he was so familiar with this area of space.  Perhaps one of his ex-“wives” lived nearby.

“True,” agreed Christine, “however, the gravitational shifts are highly unusual for an unoccupied area of space.”  As she spoke, she graphically displayed the gravity fields passing through the sector.  Lines of force flowed across the screen apparently emanating from an invisible source.

“Why hasn't this gravitational activity been noted earlier?” inquired Uhura with a glance at Commander Grayhawk.  Apparently his wellspring of astronomical information had dried up.

Dr. Chapel consulted her computer.  “It appears to be a recent phenomenon of unknown cause.”

Uhura didn't like the looks of the shifting lines on the viewscreen.  “Are these fields dangerous?”

“At current levels, no.  It's no more dangerous than traveling through our own solar system.”

As if taking offense to her casual prognosis, the Scorpio Sector lashed out at them, rocking the Marco Polo.  The artificial gravity generators had difficulty compensating for the ship's sudden changes in direction.  Crewmembers hold onto their monitors, and Ambassador Tomas braced himself against a nearby console.

“Gravity fluctuations have increased 100 percent,” Christine reported.  “Uhura, we can't go any further into this sector.  It'll rip us apart.”

“Ambassador, are we close enough for your rendezvous?  Ambassador!”

In the middle of her sentence, Tomac had pressed his palms to his head, obviously in great pain.  His knees buckled and he sagged to the floor.

Lieutenant Heisenberg managed to reach him before he hit the floor.  He carefully lowered the unconscious man to the floor and checked for a pulse.  “Dr. Chapel!  His heart is beating like crazy.  I think he's having a heart attack!”

*****

Chief McNamara sat on the edge of his bed in his Spartan quarters, convinced that the antitox injection Dr. Chapel had given him was worse than the alcohol it had tried to remove from his abused system.  His mouth felt like the Subudan desert.  He was getting too old for the booze, he decided, but it was a decision he made after every inebriated shore leave and conveniently forgot prior to the next one.  Only his uncanny ability to survive hostile environments had enabled him to reach the rank of ground chief of the FCT despite his inability to conform to petty regulations.  Only Mr. Grayhawk saw him for what he was--a valuable FCT veteran.  McNamara believed they couldn't survive without him.

“Let the Old Lady do her worst,” grumbled McNamara.  Mr. Grayhawk would talk to her, but it had been nice of Dr. Chapel to make the effort of getting him aboard.

Suddenly, his small room was lit by a bright flash of light, and a large object dropped out of the ceiling to land with a thud on the floor beside his bed.

“What the—” He jumped up to look on the man lying curled up on his floor, a man with his eyes closed tightly in pain.  He was a pale man with dark hair and a dark beard.  He wore a black cloak over a black tunic and pants.  As human as Chief McNamara except for slightly pointed ears, the FCT leader checked him for vital signs before hitting the intercom button.

“Bridge here,” responded Heisenberg.

“Lieutenant, this is Chief McNamara.  We have an intruder onboard.”

“An intruder?” Heisenberg paused, determining what condition the chief was in.  “Where in the intruder?”

“In my cabin,” came the cool reply.

“In your-- McNamara, if this in another one of your tall tales...”

“Lieutenant, you'd better get the troops in here, he's waking up.”

A second later the intruder alarm went off, and the chief sat down to await the sound of boots running up the hallway.

*****

The sickbay of the Marco Polo was a circular room located on the aft deck.  It was supervised by Dr. Chapel and operated by two med techs from the FCT.  Relinquishing her science position temporarily, Dr. Chapel accompanied the stricken ambassador to sickbay.  His weakened condition seemed to improve on the way, and Lieutenant Heisenberg's diagnosis had proven wrong, but the experienced chief medical officer wasn't taking any chances.  Something had caused his collapse.  Fortunately, the unusual shifts of gravity had ended for the moment, and she’d managed to get the awakening ambassador to sickbay without mishap.

The pale man looked up at Dr. Chapel as she ran the portable scanner over his medbed.

“Ambassador Tomac,” she asked, “have you ever had anything happen to you like this before?”

“No,” he said slowly, “for a moment there I felt like I was being torn apart, but I feel fine now.”

Chapel frowned at the scanner's results.  “Well, according to this, you've just experienced severe physical shock.  Your body in still trying to compensate for it although there seems to be no permanent damage or apparent cause.  I think I'm going to keep you here for a while; we don't want this happening again.  Are you sure you don't know what caused this?”

“I have no idea,” he insisted and closed his eyes, signaling that the conversation was over.

Christine turned his care over to one of the med techs and returned to the bridge sure of one thing, Ambassador Tomac was a poor liar.

Upon her return to the bridge, the gravity fields had completely returned to normal.  Or at least to the levels her sensors had previously recorded.

“Anything?” she asked her relief, Mr. Barrett, as she took over the science station.  She noticed that Grayhawk was gone from his adjoining position to assist in the intruder alert investigation.  She had heard the alarms on her way to sickbay.

Ensign Barrett answered in a low voice.  “Chief McNamara reported an intruder in his quarters.”  Christine tried not to look too concerned.  Maybe she’d made a mistake dragging him back aboard instead of shipping him off to the nearest substance abuse hospital.  She stole a look at Uhura but the captain was busy confirming that her ship wasn’t damaged.

 “The gravitational shifting has subsided,” continued Barrett, “'but the captain had us pull back a safe distance from the Scorpion sector in case of another upheaval.”

Christine studied the strange sensor readings.  “I don't understand how there can be gravitational tides in an area of space with no planetary bodies.”

Barrett had no information to offer.  “I've done scans of both suns in this quadrant,” he said, pointing at a nearby terminal.  “Negative readings on sunspot and core degeneration.  I doubt if even the famous Mr. Spock could solve this one.”

Christine gave him a cool look.  “I wouldn't bet on it, Ensign.”

Captain Uhura chose that moment to ask about the ambassador, and Ensign Barrett took the opportunity to slip below decks to his biology lab.

“Captain Uhura,” Heisenberg interrupted Christine's report, “Mr. Grayhawk is on the monitor.  He has the intruder.”

“Put him on the screen, Lieutenant.”

Commander Grayhawk's angular face appeared on the main viewscreen.  He was standing outside the brig, and two security personnel were standing behind him.  “Captain, we have the intruder, but you'd better take a look at him.”

As he spoke he pulled the stranger into the monitor's scanning range.  Uhura heard Christine gasp as the dark-haired man came into view.

“Isn't that—“ began Lieutenant Howard but stopped herself when she realized it couldn't be who she thought it was.  It appeared  to be Ambassador Tomac but it was an older, boarded version of the one lying in sickbay.

Perhaps he’s a close relative or a clone, thought Uhura.  “What's going on, Mr. Grayhawk?”

Grayhawk reappeared on the screen.  “We don't know, Uhura.  This man claims to be Ambassador Tomac although we already have one Ambassador Tomac onboard.  Chief McNamara says he fell through the ceiling of his cabin.”

Uhura considered his statement.  “Take him to sickbay.  Maybe our Ambassador Tomac can explain what's going on.”  Before the Amerindian could carry out his orders, the ship experienced another upheaval caused by gravity fields gone wild.  Uhura, beside Chapel's science station, was thrown to the floor.  “Full astern, T'Challa!” she shouted.  The ship tossed and turned as giant unseen waves slapped it about.  Over the monitor, they could hear screams coming from the new Ambassador Tomac.

As abruptly as the violent activity began, it ended.  The bridge crew gathered damage reports and helped their fallen comrades.

Christine assisted Uhura to her feet.  “Are you all right?” she asked, concerned about the way Uhura was holding her left arm.

“I'm okay.  What the hell happened?”

The science officer checked her monitors.  “It was another shift in the fields surrounding us, but this time it extended outside the Scorpion Sector.”

“Damage report,” Uhura ordered, making her way to her command chair.

“Minor stress damage,” reported Howard.  “Power levels down thirty percent but full power will be restored in two hours.”

“Sickbay reports numerous crew abrasions and bruises, but no casualties,” added Chapel.

“Captain Uhura!” exclaimed Heisenberg.  “I've got Chief McNamara on the line again.  He says a little boy just fell into his room!”

T'Sue, his Vulcan science officer, looked unusually perplexed at the data provided by her sensors.  “Impossible to determine at this time, Captain.  Gravitational forces are similar to those generated by a nova and are being felt throughout the quadrant.  Cause unknown.”

Stirling looked vexed but he was familiar enough with T'Sue to know when she was stumped.

“All decks report green, Captain,” Carter said, turning from his communications console.  “At the most, it knocked some people out of bed.”

“Thank you for that piece of enlightenment, Mr. Carter.  Commander T'Sue, keep monitoring for the next shock wave.  Use the new equipment and postulate the likelihood of this being an artificial phenomenon, perhaps caused by another ship.”

T'Sue arched an eyebrow at the unlikely prospect but  followed out her orders.  Carter caught the captain's eye and looked inquiringly at him.  Did he really believe the Marco Polo had something to do with this?

“Captain,” T'Sue said, “I see no logic in proceeding with this flight test in view of the gravitational disturbances we've been experiencing.  To continue on our present course, toward the probable source of the disturbance, in a less than operational vessel could be dangerous.”

“Noted, Lieutenant,” Captain Stirling said evenly.  “The record will show your official protest.” Carter hoped they would live long enough for someone to hear the protest.

T'Sue returned to her scanners and located a stationary vessel ahead of them.  “Positive identification from this distance is not possible; however, there is an 81.32 percent chance that the ship in the Marco Polo.”

“Stop engines.  Hold present position,” Stirling ordered him helmsman.  Now that he had caught up with the scoutship, he wanted to see what she was up to.

The maintenance cables deep beneath dock 14 quietly smoldered as the hungry telemetry equipment increased its power demands through lines unable to handle the voltage.  The internal heat sensors designed to alert the bridge and automatically turn on the fire fighting system were overloaded and the backup system mat on a shelf on Star Base 13.

“We're not brothers,” Tomac II corrected her impression.  “I am who they are going to be.”

“And I am who he was,” explained Tomac I.

Uhura looked to Dr. Chapel and Grayhawk, her advisors.  “How is such a thing possible?  One person who is three?”

“Let me tell!” begged Tomac III.

“Don't bother,” said Tomac II with his arms crossed.  “It's almost time.”

“Time?” queried Dr. Chapel.  “Time for what?”

The older man answered her question with another question.  “How much time elapsed between my appearance and the child's appearance?”

Chapel checked her records.   “One hour.”

“Correct.  And how long has it been since the child appeared?”

“Almost 45 minutes.”

“Minutes from now, Tomac IV will appear on the Marco Polo.  Thirty minutes after that, Tomac V; fifteen minutes after that,
Tomac VI; and so on and so on until your little ship bursts wide open from the pressure of our bodies.”

“That's not possible!” exclaimed Uhura.

“I'm afraid it is, Captain,” said Tomac I.  “And it won’t stop there.  Theoretically, each millisecond of my life’s time stream could create another Tomac, all of them existing at the same time in the same place.”

“And how many of these time-spawned Tomacs will appear?” asked Christine.

Tomac I looked at her sadly.  “The number is infinite.”

“You mean the entire universe will be overtaken by Tomacs?” Grayhawk sounded incredulous.

“Of course not,” Tomac II said, “you'll all be destroyed by the increasing gravity fluctuations long before we overpopulate the universe.”

“Why are you doing this?” Uhura sat down to contemplate the incredible things they had told her.

“It was all a mistake,” Tomac I explained.  “I did not realize my returning here would accelerate the discordance between our universes.  I only wanted to go home.”

Before anyone could question him about his home, the ship shuddered and everyone was forced to find something to hang on to.  The three Tomacs writhed in pain until the wave passed.

Down in his cabin, Chief McNamara managed to catch the baby before it hit the floor.

“What's causing that?” Uhura demanded, jumping to her feet.

Tomac III looked hesitantly at his other selves and tried to explain.  “Before your universe began with what you call the Big Bang, another universe existed here.  It died as its mass slowly compressed towards its center.   The scientists realized that our universe was dying.  They also postulated that a new universe would exist and that a flaw would exist between the two universes, a passageway that they could use to inject a lifeform from the old universe into the new, thereby insuring some form of life after death.  Unfortunately they did not know how radically different the two universes were.  Time and space were different.  The lifeform they transferred through the flaw only served to enlarge it to a crack, and now that passageway is destroying your universe.”

“How do you know this?” asked Christine.

“I am the lifeform they selected to escape the destruction of the old universe.  I grew lonely over the long years and decided that death with my own kind was preferable to escaping my universe's destruction.”

“But the scientists didn't understand the flaw well enough,” continued Tomac II.  “I spent an eternity transversing it, and now my entire timeline is being ejected into your universe.”

Tomac I nodded sadly.  “My return to this area of space has caused the deterioration to accelerate.  Soon the crack will become a hole and both of our universes will be destroyed as they strive to occupy the same space.”

The conference room was understandably quiet as each person considered the enormity of the situation.  Eventually Uhura summoned security personnel from outside the room to escort the three Tomacs to sickbay; it was almost time for them to separate  again.

“Admiral Kirk told there would be days like this.” Uhura confided in her two senior officers as they entered the turbolift.  “A multiplying man, a flaw in the universe, and gravitational flows that could, and probably will, destroy us before we can come up with a solution.”

Chapel and Grayhawk ware silent.  They know better than to try and argue with their captain when she was being deliberately negative.  As soon as she decided that the odds were insurmountable, she'd roll up her sleeves and prove the odds wrong.

Uhura sighed.  “What else can go wrong today?”

Her question was answered as the turbolift doors opened to reveal a disturbing might--the Marco Polo was nose to nose with a Federation Science Vessel.

Heisenberg turned to address his captain as she moved to her chair.  “Captain Uhura, the captain of the Science Vessel Curie is demanding we surrender!"

Chief McNamara moved to another cabin and had sleeping mats placed across the floor of his original room by the time the old man fell through the bright hole in the ceiling.

“We have contacted Star Fleet command, Uhura,” he said smoothly.  “Until we get higher headquarters direction, we're going to have to keep you under defensive surveillance.”

Uhura fought her rising anger and the urge to wipe the smug expression off his pretty face.  “Understood, Stirling.  Captain Uhura out.”  She broke the connection with more force than necessary, flinching as her left arm gave her another twinge of pain.  The arrival of Tomac V had caused her to hurt it again, and the throbbing did nothing to improve her disposition.

“Exactly what armament does the Curie have?” she asked T'Challa.  If getting Ambassador Tomac away from the Scorpion Sector was their only option to stop the gravity storms, she wasn't going to let Stirling stand in her way.

T'Challa didn't need to refer to his screens for the answer.  “Standard science vessel armament: two phaser banks of sufficient fire power to breech our shields in three full-contact barrages.”  Uhura nodded.  Even science vessels had to be armed in the uncertainty of space.  If it came to a fight, however, the Marco Polo stood a good chance of riding out the first attack and escaping at transwarp speed.  The sooner she got Tomac away from the disturbed area, the better she'd like it.

“Captain,” Lieutenant Howard interrupted her silent planning, “'the Curie is not fully operational.”

“What do you mean?”

“My sensors show that the Curie has severe power reduction, unidentified equipment, and what looks like half complete preventive maintenance.”

“Good,” Uhura said with a smile.  “It appears that Captain Stirling was a little too anxious to get here.  How long until the next gravity shift?” she asked Chapel.

“Approximately two minutes,” came the ready response.

Uhura turned back to the helm.  “Mr. T'Challa, when the next gravity shift begins, warp us out of here.”

“Shields?” asked Grayhawk and she nodded.

“Transwarp?” inquired Howard.  Another decisive nod.  Uhura was rolling up her sleeves.

Something incredibly powerful registered on Lieutenant T'Sue's monitor.  “Captain, we have long range telemetry of the source of the disturbance.  It appears to be an opening in the fabric of space.”

Captain Stirling didn't have an opportunity inquire further.

“The Marco Polo in pulling away!” shouted the helmsman.  Simultaneously shock waves rocked the Curie, sending crewmembers scrambling for more secure supports.

“After them!” Stirling roared above the noise as the alert sirens came on.  Without warning, the noise and lights died and the emergency lights flashed.

“What's happening?” Stirling was momentarily surprised.  Had the Marco Polo attacked them?

“Massive power drain, “engineering reported.  “Crews have to physically check all power cables.  Sir, the maintenance team on deck 14 reports a major fire on decks 12, 13, and 14!”

“Emergency procedures!' Stirling commanded.

T'Sue turned to look at the excited human.  “Fire suppression systems are inoperative.  Backup systems are not online.

Stirling covered his face with his hands.  “Carter! Get fire-fighting teams on deck 14 immediately.  Engineering, I want a full damage report.”

“What about the Marco Polo?” asked the helmsman.

Captain Stirling stared at the empty screen with defeat in his eyes.  “Forget her, we've got our own problems to take care of.”

“Can they maneuver?” asked Uhura.

“Not very far,” replied the engineer, “and they won't be able to without extensive repairs.  Power levels are dangerously low.”

“There have been no distress calls to Star Fleet,” said Heisenberg, monitoring the Curie's communications.

“Open a hailing frequency,” Uhura told him.  “Ask them if we can provide evacuation assistance.”

“But Captain Stirling—“ said Heisenberg.

“Is in trouble,” finished Uhura.  “Now contact them before another shockwave hits us.”  Gone was the option of getting Tomac out of the Scorpion Sector.  She couldn’t leave the wounded Curie behind with survivors aboard that needed help.

Heisenberg tried to contact the injured vessel, but the Curie refused to respond.  Their communications equipment seemed to be working but no one was answering.  He kept trying.

The turbolift opened and Tomac I, II, III, and V (the two younger Tomacs had remained in the sickbay) stepped onto the bridge.

“What are they doing here?” Uhura asked the accompanying guards.

They looked surprised at her question.  “You sent for them, ma’am,” insisted a guard.

She stared at Tomac I.  When he glanced away she asked, “Did you need to come to the bridge, Tomac?”  She wondered just how much control he had over the 'physics' of his adoptive universe.

“Yes,” he said apologetically, “the crack in growing.  If you don't leave now, you may not get out of here at all.”

Uhura excused the guards.  “We can't leave the Curie here.  Besides, what difference does it make where we are if the universe is destroyed?”

“The universe in a big place,” answered a Tomac with a long white board and flowing white robes.  “In this ship you could go far and live many years before the end.”

“The other ship is not important,” the negative Tomac informed her. “They are responsible for themselves.”

“No,” disagreed Uhura, “we are responsible for each other.  What would I do with all of you?  Shove you out the airlock?”

The original Tomac looked at his brethren.  “I told you they have great cultural responsibility.  They do not turn their backs even on their enemies in times of need nor do they abandon strangers.  Can we do any less?”

“No,” said the old man, “we can do no less.” Even the obstinate Tomac agreed.

Tomac I smiled at Uhura.  “There is a place for us to go that we may be able to do some good.” He looked up at the crippled Curie on the viewscreen.  “If we board that vessel and enter the flaw, we may slow down its widening.”

Uhura returned the smile.  “You are a brave man, Tomac.  Are you sure you want to do this?” The ship shook and all the Tomacs weakened perceptibly.

“Yes,” said Tomac I. “Think of us as a first contact team for an entire universe.”

Uhura turned to Lieutenant Howard.  “Find out how many crewmen are on that vessel and set up an evacuation plan for the transporter team.  Tell the FCT I'll need them to help manage Stirling's crew.  Heisenberg, tell Captain Stirling that I'm going to start beaming his crew over in ten minutes, with or without his permission.”

Her officers went to work as Dr. Chapel prepared to escort the Tomacs to the transporter room.

“What's going to happen to you?” Uhura asked them.

Tomac I smiled encouragingly.  “If we transverse the flaw, we may be able to reduce the forces that are pulling it apart.  In any event, we'll be able to keep you from being flooded with me.”

Uhura grinned at his attempt at humor.  “There are worse people I could be flooded with,” she said.  “Good luck.” She held out her hand and he shook it with a strong grip.

“Thank you,” he said.

Chapel and all the Tomacs beamed over to a crowded transporter room on the Curie.  Stirling, finally realizing that the fire fighting teams were not enough and that his ship was truly lost, had ordered his people to start beaming over to the Marco Polo.  It would be a tight squeeze, but everyone would live--at least temporarily.

Dr. Chapel led the way to the frenzied bridge and repeated Tomac's plan to Captain Stirling.

“In this some kind of joke?” he asked.

The bearded Tomac stared at him.  “Do we look like a joke, little man?  If you're not off this vessel in ten minutes, you're going with us into oblivion.  It's your choice.”

Stirling stepped down from is command chair and stared at the duplicates without a word.

“What in this equipment?” the little boy asked T'Sue, indicating a newly installed console.  He called the old man over and she explained the deep space equipment to them both.

The old man held a sleeping baby in his arms and peered at the new sensor machine.  “It works on your warp drive principle?” he asked.

“Yes, but instead of going through subspace like the ship does when it travels, it good through superspace which up to now has contained only star-generated static.”

“The stars talk,” the old man said cryptically.  “This machine could help us, but it will take some modifications.” He summoned his other selves, and, assisted by T'Sue and Chapel, got to work.  Their job was made easier by the fact that more Tomacs kept appearing at an accelerated rate amid increasing buffeting.

“Exactly what are we doing?” asked Chapel as she spliced backup power cables to the console.

T'Sue handed her another bundle of wires.  “It appears to be some type of warp sewing machine.”

“Sewing machine?”  Chapel stopped.  “You mean they’re going to fix the crack between universes?”

“If the gravitational forces don’t destroy them and if they have sufficient power, yes.”

“It doesn't sound like very good odds to me."

“Approximately five million to one against.”

“That's what I said.  Hand me that splicer.”

Soon they were finished and Chapel joined Stirling and T'Sue on the transporter pad.  “Good luck, Tomac,” she said.

“Thank you,” one of them in the transporter room said.  “Live long and prosper.”

They transported before Christine could ask him where he had heard that salutation.

“Come on, Stirling,” Uhura cajoled when he joined her on the bridge, “you're going to come out of this a hero, the man who saved the universe.”

He stared at her without comment.  She was right.  If he hadn't run across the Marco Polo in its time of need, then the aliens wouldn't have been able to attempt to seal the opening.  He grinned at Uhura.  “I guess I am a hero,” he said.

“Among other things,” she said.

“The Curie in pulling away,” T’Challa informed her.  No one asked how Tomac had developed the skills necessary to pilot a starship; he was a man of many surprises.  “It should reach the source of the disturbance in fifteen minutes."

“They’re steadily losing power,” Christine sounded concerned.  Uhura noticed a tall Vulcan woman standing beside the shorter doctor.  Apparently the stranger was Stirling’s science officer and seemed to have no trouble working with Dr. Chapel.

It was a long fifteen minutes, interrupted by increasingly strong waves of gravity.  Uhura ordered the Marco Polo to pull back again and again, but she was hesitant to desert the Tomacs entirely.

“The Curie has entered the opening,” T'Challa reported after seemed like an eternity of waiting.

“But it's still growing,” Chapel said.  More long minutes followed.  Uhura envisioned the brave man and children battered to bits by the increased gravity or sucked into a universe they were no longer a part of.  She had tried to talk Tomac out of taking the infants, but he insisted that all of him must enter the flaw.  Otherwise, the separations would continue.

“The crack has stopped growing!” Chapel shouted triumphantly.  Grayhawk and the Vulcan woman leaned over her console to see for themselves.  Captain Stirling peered at the dark viewscreen, trying to see the men striving to save the universe.

“The opening is definitely shrinking.” Chapel relayed the welcome news.  The shockwaves were dying down and Uhura began to have hope.

“I have indications of space debris,” T'Challa said reluctantly.  Even he seemed concerned for the welfare of the alien.

“The debris is metallic and identified as pieces of the Curie,” supplied the Vulcan woman.

“Opening reduced 50 percent,” Chapel said.  A slight tremor jarred the Marco Polo.

“Now 75 percent,” she added a moment later.

“More debris,” noted T'Challa.

At 95 percent closure, the tremors stopped completely, and crewmembers were beginning to breathe again.

“Standby transwarp," instructed Uhura.  If the Curie miraculously appeared back in her universe, it wouldn't last long in its battered condition.  If it existed in any condition.

Chapel looked at Uhura.  “The crack is completely sealed.”  There was a moment of sadness for the lost heroes, strangers in a strange land who had sacrificed themselves for the good of the many of two universes.  Uhura felt her eyes water momentarily and someone in the back of the room cursed, but she knew Tomac and his brothers had died with a purpose and she would ensure that they were never forgotten.

“Captain!” exclaimed Chapel, “sensors are picking up several small vessels—lifepods!”

“Anyone onboard, Christine?”

“Fifteen lifeforms, Captain.  Tomac made it!  And apparently he was wrong about any of him being left on this side causing the rift to remain open.”

The announcement was met with cheers and jubilation on the bridge.  Somehow Tomac had survived the maelstrom and chosen to return to his adopted universe.  She guessed it was because he was no longer alone.  He had fourteen brothers now.

“Tractor beam,” Uhura said, suddenly realizing that her arm felt better.

“Good Job, Captain,” Stirling told her begrudgingly.  “You've got a good crew here.  I wouldn't mind having a crew like this for myself someday.”

Uhura smiled and held her fist in his face.  “Mister, if you even think about commandeering this ship, you and I will have a little business to take care of.  Do I make myself clear?”

He laughed.  “Perfectly clear, Captain.”  Uhura thought he probably wasn't all bad once you got to know him, but she didn't intend to find out.

“Lifepods on the hangar dock.” T'Challa sounded like his old self, all business.

“I'll go down and make sure they're all right,” offered Chapel and Uhura nodded.  The Vulcan woman slid naturally into the science position.

“Captain,” Grayhawk moved to stand beside her, “the FCT doesn't have much room left for the Tomacs.  Do you have any recommendations?”

Uhura was silent for a moment.  “Yes, Mr. Grayhawk.  Move me in with Lieutenant Commander Howard, and put as many of them as you can in my cabin and the adjoining conference room.”

“What about me?” asked Stirling.

Uhura looked at Grayhawk.  “Oh, Captain, I believe that we have room for you with Chief McNamara.  He's a very colorful character; the two of you should get along very well.  He's really quite easy to get along with as long as he takes his medicine.”

“Medicine?” Stirling looked concerned.

“Yes,” Grayhawk picked up the ball, “he’s got a phobia we have to monitor closely.”

“Phobia?”

“Fear of authority figures, Captain Stirling,” explained Uhura, “especially weak ones.  He believes that Star Fleet is filled with new, ineffective officers.  Just make sure you're a very commanding presence and you won't have any problems.  Did I mention that he's hard of hearing?  Mr. Grayhawk, take the conn.   I'm going to check on Tomac myself.  We may have to be a little creative with his relocation process.”

As Uhura left the bridge she could have sworn she saw a tiny smile on the Vulcan woman's face, but it must have been her imagination.  It was going to be an interesting trip back to Star Base 13.

THE END                                           May 1987                                   Published in Likely Impossibilities III