• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Anything?”

“No detectable changes,” Fabian Stevens replied. When he volunteered for a duty shift on the bridge, he typically had his eye on the tactician’s seat. Now he had taken the post of the ship’s science officer, monitoring the area of the rift for any effect from the deflector beam’s attempt to influence it. “I’ve got nothing, Duff, but the rift is hard enough to read when it’s open.”

“I’m not asking for much here,” said Duffy to no one in particular, letting his frustration saturate his words.

It was their third attempt at massaging the area of interphase into a premature opening, and Duffy’s hopes for success were fading. With the Tholians bound to return to the area at any time, he knew that merely idling here for three more hours and awaiting the rift’s next predicted opening was not the most prudent course of action.

“I don’t want the fabric of space torn wide open,” he said. “I’m just looking for a little rip. Even a snag.”

Stevens smirked at Duffy. “Maybe we could send in a torpedo loaded with a batch of P-38s?”

An unexpected yet quite welcome laugh burst from Duffy’s mouth. Despite the seriousness of their current situation, he couldn’t help but recall their recent and memorable mission involving the “fabled” P-38s.

It had happened a few months before, when the da Vinci had come across a drifting Pakled craft. At first the vessel appeared to have been disabled after an attack of unknown origin. Duffy, Stevens, and a few da Vinci technicians had beamed over to lend a hand, only to learn that the Pakled crew was trying to repair practically every onboard system. Their ship, Duffy quickly learned, had suffered a cascading circuitry overload following the crew’s attempt at adapting an “official Romulan cloaking device” to their ship’s computer defense systems.

Both Duffy and Stevens had then been forced to exercise every scrap of self-control they possessed so as not to fall over laughing when the captain of the Pakled vessel told them that a Ferengi businessman was the source of the supposed cloaking device.

The electromagnetic pulse that resulted from engaging their new contraption had fried practically everything connected to a power source, including life-support systems, distress beacons, and even handheld devices hooked to charging ports. It was fortunate happenstance that the da Vinci had stumbled upon the dying craft at all, and the S.C.E. team had been viewed by the Pakleds as a mixture of magicians and divine agents.

What dazzled the stranded crew the most, Duffy and Stevens noted, seemed to be the team’s use of what Starfleet personnel called a P-38. When gripped between thumb and forefinger, the small device could, at the press of a button, emit focused frequencies of light and sound that were perfect for freeing the covers of circuit panels fused shut from the electric backlash of the contraband “cloaking device.”

Neither of the officers had the heart to tell the Pakleds that their wondrous P-38s were basically glorified Starfleet-issue can openers.

Duffy brought his smile under control long enough to mimic the Pakled captain’s words to Stevens. “‘You make things open. That is good.’”

The two laughed again. “That’s us,” Duffy said, curbing his laughter. “The Starfleet Corps of Engineers: Miracle Workers for the Alpha Quadrant and beyond.”

Duffy’s face sobered a bit as he looked to the viewscreen again.

Nothing.

If anything qualifies as “beyond” right about now, it’s the Defiant.

“It’s not working,” he said, his words tinged with disgust. “Shut it down, Fabian.” Duffy paused as he watched the golden-hued ray snap out of existence with not a shimmer of the rift he had hoped against hope to see. “Analyze the latest set of sensor readings and let me know when you’re ready to try it again.”

“Sure, Duff,” Stevens replied as he turned back to his console. “Fourth one makes the charm, right?”

“That’s what the Andorians always say.”

Duffy’s attention was drawn by the opening of the turbolift doors, from which