SHIP OF THE STARS
A STAR TREK (TOS) / HIS DARK MATERIALS
CROSSOVER FANFICTION
DISCLAIMER:
I do not own Star Trek, His Dark Materials, Dr. Who, The Tomorrow People, Galaxy Quest, Star Wars, or any other television shows or movies named or referenced in my story. There is no intention to make any profit from this story. This is just a hobby. I'm only doing it for fun. I hope this is sufficient for a fan fiction disclaimer.
My "Original Characters" of science-fiction enthusiast Karen Norrington, (Will's future wife,) the as-yet-unnamed 'Eldest Son of the Cassington Scholar' and his 'owl-formed daemon Hypatia,' (Lyra's and Pan's future spouse,) and Will's and Lyra's future children may appear in some as yet unwritten sequel to Ship of the Stars; possibly an HDM / X-Men crossover, though at this time, I am keeping all of my options open.
For the record, I do not really think that Vice President Dick Cheney would knowingly assist alien invaders. If he knew the truth about Sir Charles Latrom and Marisa Coulter, he would undoubtedly order the NSA to quarantine them at Area 51. Also, regarding Madonna and Britney; it can hardly be considered "bashing" them if they are remembered in the 23rd century!
Historian's Note:
This story takes place at the very end of the USS Enterprise's historic "five-year mission," circa 2269, in the Star Trek universe. It intersects with the world(s) of His Dark Materials, circa 1996; at pages 205 and 206 of The Subtle Knife.
Familiarity with the original Star Trek television series would be helpful, but not necessary, although readers with only a cursory knowledge of Star Trek may miss some of the references scattered throughout this story.
Familiarity with Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials, (at least a basic synopsis,) is more important. Readers may want to finish The Golden Compass and get to Chapter 10 in The Subtle Knife to fully enjoy this story. I would highly recommend them, anyway.
The 1996 depicted in Ship of the Stars is a blending of the 1996 of Captain Kirk's and Will Parry's world, and the world we know.
Prologue: The Land of the Dead, Circa 2370
Dr. Leonard McCoy was resting in his favorite chair, reading. His holosuite was programmed to depict an old, private library, complete with a fireplace. He was tired and decided to take a quick catnap. He had been doing that a lot lately; taking afternoon catnaps. But he was over 140 years old now, and just didn't have the stamina he once had. As he closed his eyes, he felt his chair gently move underneath him. He opened his eyes and found himself in a small boat. The fishing program?
But this time, it was different. The lake was dark and misty. He did not have his tackle. And he was not alone. Facing him, working the oars, was a man far older than any man he had ever seen. Despite his obviously great age, the man gently, rhythmically rowed the small boat to an unseen shore. "What the hell . . . ?"
"No, not hell," said the ancient boatman. "Though many I have ferried have thought hell to be their destination."
"Oh. I get it now," said McCoy. "This is the Styx River and you must be Charon."
"I have been called by that name," replied the boatman. "As well as by many others that I have long since forgotten."
McCoy shook his head. If this was someone's idea of a joke, it was not funny. "Computer: end program," said McCoy. But the boatman still rowed and the dark water still lapped against the gunwales of the old boat. "Computer: control arch!" Still, no change. "Well," said McCoy, sighing. "I suppose I had to try."
The two men said nothing more for the rest of the trip. Finally, a small patch of land with an old boat dock became visible through the mist. The boatman guided the small craft to the dock and held the boat so McCoy could disembark.
"Uh, I understand that according to the legend, I am supposed to pay you for your service," said McCoy. "But we do not use physical money anymore where I am from."
"A most unusual custom," said the boatman. "I have no need for money. Though many I have ferried have offered me vast riches to not take them. A simple 'thank you' would be quite sufficient. I rarely get even that."
"Well, thank you, then," said McCoy as he stepped onto the dock.
"You are most welcome." And the boatman began to row back, no doubt to pick up his next charge.
Now McCoy walked up the path leading from the dock to the interior of the island. He had not gone far when a winged being landed in front of him, blocking the path. The being was the size of an Earth vulture, but with the head and breasts of a humanoid female. "You are Dr. Leonard McCoy." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes, ma'am. Were you expecting me?" McCoy had never seen anyone like her before. The only sentient avian life forms he was familiar with were the Skorr, (and she did not look like they did,) and the Xindi Avians, but they were supposed to be extinct. In the end, curiosity got the better of him. "Excuse me ma'am, but are you a Xindi?"
The winged female looked at him quizzically.
"Now, I don't hold it against you if you are, ma'am. That Xindi attack on Earth was a long time ago. I would like to think we are all able to move on."
The winged female shook her head and sighed. "This was so much easier, so much more straightforward, centuries ago. Before space travel. Before warp drive. Don't you find me repulsive? Frightening? No, of course you do not. To you, I am just another 'alien life form' that you would like to learn more about. Establish diplomatic contact and trade with. Invite to join your 'United Federation of Planets.' You are probably more curious about me than anything else."
"I'm dead, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are."
"Well, if it is any consolation," said McCoy gesturing to the surroundings. "This is not what I was taught to expect. But, no, I don't find you especially frightening, no."
"Of course you don't," said the being, with a slight touch of disappointment. "Just to enlighten you, my name is Gracious Wings, and I am a harpy, or you may call me such, if it makes things easier for you." The harpy spread her wings and lifted from the path, hovering in front of Dr. McCoy. "Fortunately for you, my kind no longer craves your fear and shame; it is your stories that we want. It is our price for guiding you through the Land of the Dead that you may move on.
"Normally, any story will suffice, so long as it is a true story. But in your case, there is a specific story that my sisters and I want to hear. It is a story we have craved to hear for centuries. Now, please follow me. My sisters and I await your story. There is also someone who wanted to talk to you. Someone you know very well, indeed."
McCoy followed Gracious Wings as she led him to a large area where others of her life-form (if the term really applied in this context,) sat in a large circle. As the circle parted, McCoy saw a rough-hewn wooden door set into stone. Next to the door stood a man, his back to McCoy. Even before he turned around, McCoy knew who the man was.
"Jim! What in Lucius Beebe are you doing here?" At once, McCoy realized how silly his question was. This was the Land of the Dead. Everyone would come here, eventually. But Jim Kirk died long ago; an accident on the Enterprise-B. Had he waited all this time for McCoy to join him?
"I might have guessed that I would find you surrounded by females," said McCoy. "Though frankly, they don't exactly look like your type."
Jim Kirk smiled. "So, how are you doing, Bones?"
"I'm . . . dead, Jim."
Jim Kirk began a snicker that soon became a hearty laugh. The assembled harpies began to join in as though McCoy just told the funniest joke they had ever heard. In spite of himself, McCoy began to chuckle along as well.
"Guess I kinda, musta had that coming, after all this time," said McCoy.
Kirk told McCoy that the harpies required all who passed through their land to tell them at least one story of their lives as payment for being guided through the Land of the Dead. Any story would suffice; the only stipulation was that the story had to be true. But in Kirk's case, there was one story in particular the harpies wanted to hear above all others, and Kirk said he would need Dr. McCoy's help to properly tell it to them. So, reluctantly, the harpies allowed Kirk to stay and wait for McCoy to join them.
There was a precedent for Kirk's request. When Will Parry had died more than two centuries ago, the harpies told him that Karen, his wife of 62 years, who had died several years before him, had told them her stories and moved on. When he enquired about his childhood friend, Lyra Silvertongue, he was told that she had not yet passed this way; and Will asked if he could stay and wait for her.
Will's request was irregular, but the harpies decided to allow Will to wait, so long as he had stories to tell them to earn his stay. So, like a modern version of Scheherazade, Will Parry kept the harpies' attention with stories of his life as he waited for Lyra to arrive. He told them of his adventures in parallel worlds, of course, but it was the stories of his life after he returned to his own world that the harpies seemed to relish the most.
So, Will told the harpies stories of how he, with the help of his good friend, Dr. Mary Malone, saw that his mother received the proper medical attention she needed to regain her sanity and live a rich, full life.
Will told the harpies stories of how he struggled through the Five Stages of Grief over the irrevocable loss of his boyhood love, Lyra Silvertongue.
He told stories of how he fell in love with Karen Norrington, the smart, pretty young woman that he would marry and spend the rest of his life with. "It was a perfect match, really," Will told the harpies. "Karen wrote science fiction; Kirjava and I were science fiction!" Karen's first novel, Dr. Who and the Mulefas, had won several prestigious awards.
Will told the harpies stories about his children with Karen, the twins Lyra and John. He told stories of how his mother positively loved Karen, and how she doted on her grandchildren, no matter how much mischief they got themselves into.
And Will told the harpies stories of how he never missed a single midsummer's day in the botanical garden at Oxford, where he would sit from noon to one, to be with an old friend, who was doing the same thing in her universe.
Then, just when Will thought he was going to run out of stories to tell his hosts, Lyra Silvertongue arrived. They had been faithful to their spouses in life, just like they promised each other they would be. Now, the two old friends embraced and for a moment, they were children again.
Of course, Lyra had her share of stories to tell. Lyra told Will and the harpies that five years after she returned to her world, she and Pantalaimon fell in love with the eldest son of the Cassington Scholar, marrying him and his owl-formed daemon Hypatia, one day after her nineteenth birthday.
Together, they had five children (she named her first son Will,) and Lyra would entertain them all with fantastic bedtime stories of a brave, handsome boy from another world who helped a beautiful princess save her kingdom from an evil wizard's curse.
Will listened to Lyra tell her stories with profound relief. His greatest fear up to then was that Lyra would die alone, an unhappy, bitter old woman, while sitting on the bench in the botanic garden in her Oxford, and Will felt the immediate slap of shame at his thought. Of course Lyra and Pan would have moved on with their lives! They were made of stronger stuff than that!
Then, when their last story was told, Will and Lyra gave each other one last hug, bade Gracious Wings and her sisters farewell, and together, hand in hand, left the Land of the Dead for their second and final time.
"However," said Gracious Wings. "There is one remaining story about Will and Lyra. One we have yet to hear in its entirety, and they could not tell us because circumstances regarding the effects of time travel did not allow them to remember.
"So, we harpies ask you, James Tiberius Kirk, and you, Dr. Leonard McCoy, to favor us with the Lost Story of Will Parry and Lyra Silvertongue. Gentlemen, in exchange for our service as your guides through the Land of the Dead, please tell us of the days that Will and Lyra spent as your guests aboard the USS Enterprise."
Prologue: Cittagazze, Circa 1996
Will Parry had the Subtle Knife. Lyra Silvertongue had her Alethiometer. And now, Will and Lyra were in the strange world of Cittagazze, safe from the evil Mrs. Coulter and her accomplice, Sir Charles Latrom. And even if Mrs. Coulter and Sir Charles knew exactly where Will and Lyra were hiding; getting to them would be another matter entirely.
No adult could survive long in the world of Cittagazze; the Specters haunting that world would fall upon any adult unfortunate (or foolish,) enough to attempt entry. That was why Sir Charles stole Lyra's Alethiometer in the first place; to force Will and Lyra to retrieve an object from Cittagazze for him: The Subtle Knife. A knife sharp enough to cut anything; even the veils separating the worlds of the multiverse from one another.
But Sir Charles, (actually, Lord Carlo Boreal, a resident of Lyra's and Mrs. Coulter's world, who was passing as a native of Will's world,) had vastly underestimated Will and Lyra. And thanks to Will's plan of counterattack, not only did they recover Lyra's precious Alethiometer from Sir Charles' greedy, evil hands, but Will Parry was now the knife's true bearer, after it was properly passed to him by Giacomo Paradisi, the previous bearer of the Subtle Knife.
Now the two tired and frightened children sought shelter in a white house a short walk away from the window Will had just closed, gleaming in the full moon over Cittagazze. Lyra helped Will walk to the house, for he was tired from combat, and weak from loss of blood. Lyra fretted over the blood-soaked bandage on her friend's left hand. Will had lost the two small fingers from his left hand, though Will tried to take it stoically, for according to Giacomo Paradisi, it was the Mark of the Bearer; and to prove it, Giacomo showed Will his own left hand with the same two fingers missing.
As Will and Lyra approached the house, they saw some odd-looking shapes lying in the garden. Cautiously, the children came closer. What they first thought were fallen statues, they soon realized were dead bodies. Dead, adult bodies. Lyra gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Her daemon, Pantalaimon, who had been walking beside them in the form of a cat took the form of a small bird and flew to Lyra's shoulder.
"Wh-who were they, Will?" whispered Lyra. Pan also looked over at Will, cocking his little head quizzically.
"Dunno," said Will. "I better take a closer look."
"Oh, Will, be careful."
Though Will and Lyra could not have been more than ten meters away from the bodies, the distance seemed much greater as Will slowly approached. A few times, he stopped and looked back at Lyra and Pan. Partially to reassure them, mostly to see if they were alright. The second time he looked back at them, Pan had changed from a bird into a mouse.
I'll never get used to this, thought Will. A few days ago, determined to set out and find the truth about his father's disappearance, Will had left his mentally-ill mother in the care of Mrs. Cooper, his old piano teacher. Since then, he had barely escaped from intruders in his home, crossed over into a parallel version of Earth, met a girl from yet another parallel Earth, where people's souls walked beside them in animal-spirit form, and came to be the bearer of a knife with amazing powers.
Help! Thought Will. I've fallen into an episode of The Tomorrow People, and I can't get out! Oddly, he thought of Karen Norrington, a girl who attended the same Comprehensive he did. Poor Karen was always getting into trouble with the teachers due to her obsessive love of science-fiction. The most recent incident was only last week. Karen had received detention for 'being cheeky' to their stuffy literature teacher. How dare Karen claim that Sir Arthur C. Clarke was a better writer than Charles Dickens?!
When Will reached the bodies, the first thing he noticed was that they were all dressed alike. There were five of them, and they all had on black trousers and boots and red shirts made out of a velour-like material. One of them, apparently female, had blue skin, white hair, and what looked like antennae protruding from her head.
"Who were they, Will?" Will jumped; not realizing that Lyra and Pan had came up next to him.
"More to the point, how did they get here?" replied Will. These people just seemed to be here, with no indication of how they had arrived. "Maybe they know how to make windows. Maybe they are from another world, just like us."
"Look, Lyra," said Pan, who now took the form of a bird again. "They have pistols!"
Will knelt beside the nearest body, a woman with brown hair. Gently, Will took the weapon from her hand. It came out easily, so rigor mortis had not yet set in. These people had died recently, probably not long after they arrived in Cittagazze.
Will examined the pistol. It was not like the 9mm pistol he saw his father wearing in some of his pictures. Were it not for the solid weight of the weapon in his hand, Will could almost mistake it for a child's Star Wars toy.
"Be careful," said Lyra.
"Let's see what this does, then." Will shifted from both knees to one. He pointed the business end of the odd weapon towards a marble statue in the garden, and gently squeezed the trigger. A beam of blue light shot out, striking the statue. The statue glowed white for a second, then vanished. Lyra gasped and held Pan close to her.
"Bloody-hell," whispered Will. "This is a ray gun! I just fired a ray gun!"
Carefully, Will set the weapon down and crawled over to the next body. A man, as he felt uncomfortable at the thought of removing a woman's belt.
"Will, your bandage!" said Lyra. "You're bleeding very badly!"
For the moment, Will ignored Lyra. He also ignored the large assault rifle-type ray weapon lying next to the man. Instead, he fumbled to remove the dead man's utility belt, but found the task nearly impossible with only one good hand.
"Lyra, help me get this man's belt off."
"What?!"
"We'll need a way to carry one of these ray guns, Lyra. I don't see a proper holster, but their weapons must adhere to their belts somehow, just like the other stuff they're carrying."
Lyra dropped to her knees beside Will, speaking firmly. "Let me retie your bandage first, Will. You're loosing so much blood! Then I'll help you with the belt."
Lyra began retying Will's bandage. Before they saw the dead people, Lyra had hoped to find some clean material in the white house to make Will a new dressing, but that would have to wait. After all that they had been through; Lyra could not bear the thought of sleeping in this house knowing there were dead bodies outside.
"Do you think these people came from your world, Will? We en't got anbaric weapons like that in my world."
"We don't have anything like that in my world either, Lyra." Or blue-skinned people with antennae for that matter, thought Will. "But with all we have been through, I'll want one of those ray guns to protect us! We'll take the lot, come to think of it. I wouldn't want to face Angelica and her gang again if they got their hands on one of these ray guns also. Hang on; what's this . . . ."
Will reached for a small black and silver box on the man's belt. It came off with a firm tug. "I know what this is, Lyra! This is a mobile phone. People in my world use them all the time."
The mobile opened with a flip of the wrist, making a small chirping sound. But instead of the familiar keys numbering 0 to 9, with a and # symbol, there were only two buttons and three lights.
What's wrong, Will?" said Lyra.
"There are no keys to dial a number." And Will thought: who would he call if there were? 999? Not likely; the police were after him, in all probability. Will pushed the buttons, and the red light began to flash on and off. He set the mobile, or whatever it was, aside for now, and made another try to remove the man's belt.
Now Pantalaimon, still in bird form, flew from Lyra's shoulder and landed next to the body Will was examining. "Lyra, there is some writing here!" Pan hopped over to the book-sized object slung by a strap around the man's neck.
"Let me see, then," said Will. He waited for Pan to hop off of the object before he attempted to pick it up. It was electronic, probably some form of computer notebook. Will turned the object to reflect the moonlight so he could read the inscription:
U.S.S.VOLYNOV
NCC-1803
UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS
'Volynov' sounded like a Russian name. But USS Volynov sounded like the name of an American ship. Did a version of America exist here, in the world of Cittagazze?
Suddenly, Will felt queasy and his ears began to ring. He looked over at Lyra and saw that she was doubled-over like she had a bad stomach cramp. Will saw what looked like water droplets shimmering all over Lyra's body in the moonlight. He could see Lyra call desperately for Pan to come to her, but could not hear her voice over the ringing in his ears. Will's vision began to blur, and the last thing he saw was bird-formed Pantalaimon flying over to Lyra, crashing into her chest without even attempting a proper landing . . . .
The sensation was over as abruptly as it had started. Will realized that he and Lyra were no longer kneeling on wet grass. Instead, they were on a red platform with six metal circles. And they were not alone. There were two men and a woman, dressed similar to the dead bodies they had found.
The man standing behind a pulpit-like instrument panel was the first to speak. "Transporter room to bridge; we have them. They are not from the Volynov; they are children."
Chapter 1
Captain's Log, Stardate: Classified. The USS Enterprise has returned to Earth orbit at the conclusion of our five-year mission. But before Enterprise could enter space dock where she is scheduled to undergo a major refit, new orders arrived from Starfleet Command. The Enterprise is needed for a rescue mission, one that my crew and ship are uniquely qualified to perform.
Thirteen days ago, the Miranda-class Starship, USS Volynov, was authorized by Starfleet Command to employ the Light-Speed Breakaway Factor maneuver to conduct historical research in the year 1996. The Volynov's mission: to properly document the conclusion of the Eugenics Wars, including the escape of twentieth-century warlord Khan Noonien Singh and fifty of his genetically enhanced followers on the sleeper-ship, SS Botany Bay.
Though scheduled to spend nearly a year in the past, the Volynov was due back three days from their original time of departure. Ten days have since passed, and Starfleet has authorized Enterprise to employ the Light-Speed Breakaway Factor maneuver and return to 1996 Earth, locate the Volynov, and render all necessary assistance.
During the five years that Captain James T. Kirk had been in command of the USS Enterprise, the Light-Speed Breakaway Factor time travel maneuver had been performed a total of four times, and that was four times more than any other ship in all of Starfleet.
The first time was purely accidental, and nearly resulted in the destruction of Enterprise in the year 1969 by a United States Air Force F-104C Starfighter interceptor. The other three times were intentional. The first intentional usage, of course, was to return to their proper time from 1969. The third and forth times were for historical research in the year 1968. As such, there was no captain, crew and ship in all of Starfleet possessing as much experience with the tricky time travel procedure.
It was because of this experience that when the Enterprise first arrived in 1996 Earth orbit, Captain Kirk immediately realized this time felt different than the past four other times. This time, something was wrong.
Captain Kirk studied the blue-green sphere on the main viewer. No doubt about it, the planet they were orbiting sure looked like Earth. He could just make out Australia and Asia through the cloud cover below them. "All stations report," said Kirk.
"Standard Orbit upon arrival implemented, as per your orders, sir." Said Lieutenant Sulu. "Sensor masks and holographic 'duck-blind' screens are operational. We are hidden from all detection technology available to 1996 Earth, sir."
Lieutenant Chekov reported. "I have located the USS Volynov, sir, but . . . ." The freshly minted lieutenant swiveled his chair to face Kirk. "But . . . Captain?"
"Yes, Ens-, uh, Lieutenant Chekov?" Said Kirk, correcting himself. Even though he had put Chekov in for his promotion, old habits died hard.
"Captain, according to all instruments, we are orbiting Earth, and based on the position of the planets and stars relative to our own position, this is 1996. But captain, other than the Volynov, I am not detecting any near-Earth space traffic whatsoever. I am unable to locate the Mir Station, the Hubble Telescope, or any other satellites. There is no Soyuz, Space Shuttle or DY-100 traffic. Sir, near-Earth space is completely, absolutely empty! It looks more like what you would expect to find in 1956; not 1996!"
Then Spock delivered his report. "Captain, surface scans of the planet indicate a global population of approximately 430 million, mostly in small, scattered settlements and numerous groups of nomads. Major population centers appear to be abandoned." Spock looked up from his scanner. "Interesting. Captain, sensors detect no indication of nuclear, chemical or biological warfare, nor do biosweep scans detect any naturally occurring pathogens or toxins in the ecosystem. At this time, I am unable to ascertain the reason for this planet's lack of expected technology and diminished population."
Now, Lieutenant Uhura reported. "Captain, I am not detecting any audio or visual signals from the planet other than sporadic transmissions in what used to be called the 'short-wave' and 'citizen's band' frequencies."
Kirk sighed at Uhura's report. Though broadcast media was notoriously inaccurate, it would still have provided some idea of the planet's condition at the very least. "Anything from the Volynov, lieutenant?"
"They do not respond to hails," said Uhura. Then, more soberly, "But, I am receiving an automated transmission from the Volynov on all Starfleet frequencies, sir."
Kirk was afraid of that. He nodded grimly. "On audio, lieutenant." Uhura activated a switch on her console.
". . . TEMPT TO BOARD. WARNING: THE USS VOLYNOV IS A QUARANTINED VESSEL; DO NOT ATTEMPT TO BOARD. WARNING: THE USS VOLYNOV IS A QUARANTINED VESSEL; DO NOT ATTEMPT TO BOARD. WARNING: THE USS VOLYNOV IS A . . . ."
Kirk nodded to Uhura and the communications officer turned the bridge speakers off.
"Captain," said Spock. "I am not reading any humanoid life signs aboard the Volynov, however, sensors are detecting the presence of what appear to be . . . non-corporeal entities of unknown type and origin."
"Try scanning the planet," said Kirk. "See if you detect any of these entities on the surface."
"Adjusting sensor arrays," replied Spock. "Affirmative, captain. I am getting the same readings from the planet that I get from the Volynov, though in both cases, I am unable to determine an accurate count of the entities."
"Could these . . . entities . . . be responsible for the loss of life on the Volynov and the planet's less-than-anticipated population?"
"Insufficient data," said Spock. "Though this is my current working hypothesis."
Kirk rested his right elbow on the arm of his seat, his right thumb and forefinger forming a cradle for his chin as he assumed the classic Thinker pose while he studied the planet on the main viewer. The Eastern Seaboard of what on Earth would be North America was just coming into view. By now, Kirk was certain that the planet they were orbiting was not Earth. At least, not the Earth they knew.
Kirk needed answers. "Mr. Sulu, bring us along side the Volynov and match our orbit with hers."
"Aye, sir."
"Mr. Spock, enter the prefix code for the Volynov and take control of her. Use Volynov's own internal scanners to learn whatever you can about those non-corporeal entities."
"Yes, Captain."
"Lt. Uhura, monitor the radio traffic on the planet. I am authorizing you to attempt contact, but be discrete. Learn whatever you can about what is going on down there."
"Aye, sir." Uhura decided to begin with the 'citizen's band' or 'CB' frequencies. If this world developed anything like their own Earth, the short-wave or 'ham' frequencies would be more formal and procedure driven. She would need a 'call-sign' to make any inquiries and talk to other operators.
But if the history of Uhura's own Earth was any guide, 'CB' operators would be more relaxed and anonymous. A (preferably humorous) name, or 'handle,' would be all she would need to 'ratchet-jaw' with other operators.
Uhura began to adjust the Enterprise's communication's array to pick up and enhance the weak CB signals from the planet's surface, when a red light began to flash on her console. Immediately, Uhura swiveled her chair to address Captain Kirk. "Sir, I'm receiving a Starfleet emergency beam-up signal from the planet!"
Kirk turned the center seat to face Uhura. "Location?" Survivors from the Volynov?
Uhura adjusted her Feinberg receiver. "The source of the signal corresponds to what on Earth would be Southern Italy."
"Are you able to raise them?"
"No, sir," said Uhura. "This type of distress signal is used when spoken transmissions are not possible."
"Mr. Spock, can you pick-up anything on your scanner?"
"The source of the signal appears to be two humanoid life forms. One is male, the other; female." Spock checked his scanner. "This is most unusual, captain. I am reading an intermittent 'sensor echo' on the female. However, internal diagnostics indicate no anomalies with scanner hardware."
Kirk activated the intercom on his chair. "Bridge to transporter room."
"Aye, sir," replied Lieutenant Kyle.
"Lock on to the source of the communicator distress signal and stand by."
"Sir, I'm having difficulty achieving transporter lock on one of the targets," said Kyle.
"Let me guess," replied Kirk. "You are getting a 'sensor echo' for that individual?"
"Uh, yes sir," said Kyle. "It appears to be some kind of 'double-image.' But I can't explain it; all the equipment checks out."
"Do the best you can, and stand by. Kirk out."
Now Spock added, "Captain, I am now detecting an indeterminate number of non-corporeal entities; thirty meters from the source of the distress signal and closing."
"Transporter room," said Kirk. "Get those people out of there, now! Bridge to Sickbay."
"McCoy here."
"Meet me in the transporter room. We are initiating an emergency beam-out of personnel under less-than ideal conditions."
"Is that so?" said McCoy. "Well, if you ask me, there is no such thing as 'ideal conditions' when your atoms are being scattered by that damn gadget!"
Kirk rose from his seat and stepped into the turbolift. "Mr. Spock, you have the bridge." Kirk took the turbolift control handle and the doors to the bridge closed. With any luck, whoever they beamed up could shed some light on this multi-layered mystery.