Set on the refit USS Enterprise, NCC-1701, between “The Motion Picture” and “The Wrath of Khan.”
Captain’s Log, Stardate 7354.4
The Enterprise remains engaged in routine missions of exploration and maintenance. Currently, we are orbiting Outpost K-23, a warp field research lab, to resupply the station. However, a troubling issue has arisen in the transporter room. Over the last several days, we have experienced unpredictable, fleeting malfunctions during transport. Crew members have reported feelings of dizziness, disorientation, and in one troubling instance, rematerializing with an unsettling shimmer or their uniforms partially transparent—phenomena that have never occurred under normal transporter function. My chief engineer is working around the clock to identify and resolve these anomalies, but so far, the cause remains elusive.
Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott stood over a disassembled panel near the transporter console, trying to determine why the normally reliable system had been acting up. Captain Kirk watched him work, arms crossed, as Scotty vented his frustration.
“I swear, it’s like tryin’ to catch a greased-up gremlin in a zero-gee chamber. No discernible reason why we keep gettin’ these glitches—transport beams should be clean as a whistle.”
Kirk frowned thoughtfully. “Scotty, could it be the warp field experiments on Outpost K-23? Maybe some kind of interference from their research?”
Scotty shook his head firmly. “Nae, Captain. Those warp field experiments are confined to the station’s reactors, nowhere near the frequencies we’re dealin’ with here. Besides, the transporter’s phased beam is isolated enough not to pick up on any warp anomalies unless they’re right in our face. Whatever this is, it’s comin’ from our own systems. Just cannae figure out what.”
At that moment, Commander Spock entered the transporter room with a handheld scanner. “Mr. Scott, I believe I may have a hypothesis as to the source of these malfunctions,” he said, lifting the scanner toward the transporter pads.
The scanner beeped as it detected a trace signal. Spock’s eyebrow went up slightly, the classic Vulcan expression of curiosity and satisfaction, as the scanner confirmed his suspicions. “I have observed that these malfunctions occur predominantly during times when engineering personnel are conducting routine maintenance checks—specifically, running ‘smoke tests.’”
Scotty’s eyes widened. “Smoke tests, ye say? Aye, I suppose it’s possible, but I cannae figure how such low power output could affect the transporters so badly.”
In the 23rd century, the term “smoke test” had evolved from its 20th- and 21st-century roots, where it referred to a basic, initial test of a new piece of electronics—essentially powering it on to see if anything short-circuits or “smokes.” It had become shorthand for any routine testing or validation of equipment, particularly the initial powering on of new circuits, devices, or subsystems.
Spock continued, “Whenever a smoke test is initiated in the transporter room—often to validate beam emitters, pattern buffers, or power relays—there is a noticeable spike in electromagnetic fields. These tests emit bursts of low-level electrical signals, which interfere with the transporter’s phase transition matrix during materialization. In layman’s terms, the transporter is exceptionally sensitive to this type of field disturbance during a beam cycle.”
Scotty rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then added, “An’ that explains why we’re only seein’ this now. Y’see, Captain, our mission to Outpost K-23 is the first time since leavin’ Spacedock that we’ve put the refit transporters through this much strain—constant back-and-forth beamin’, freight transport, crew shuttlin’. Normally, there’s enough downtime between cycles for the compensator fields to stabilize properly. But these last few days, they’ve been runnin’ at peak capacity, and the auxiliary quantum phase inducers musn’t have been able to neutralize the transient harmonics caused by smoke tests.”
“In essence,” Spock elaborated, “the increased transporter activity has amplified an inherent design flaw that was not previously evident. Under continuous use, the transporter’s quantum stabilization matrix cannot fully discharge the residual electromagnetic buildup from a smoke test before the next transport cycle. As a result, the interference accumulates, disrupting the matter stream.”
Kirk realized what Spock was getting at. “So, you’re saying when Scotty’s team is testing a relay or power coil, running their smoke tests—it’s disrupting the transporter signal?”
“Precisely,” Spock said. “The transporter’s molecular pattern buffers are vulnerable to transient electrical fields, particularly those of high frequency emitted during a smoke test. The problem was exacerbated only once the transporter was used so frequently and consecutively. Such interference can disrupt the matter stream in unexpected ways.”
As Kirk, Scotty, and Spock discussed the problem, Ensign Polumya, a newly assigned crew member in the engineering division who was assisting Scotty with diagnosing the transporter problem, quietly entered the transporter room and approached one of the pads with an MVR-72 scanner. Once the device was attached to the pad’s diagnostic port and running, Polumya looked up.
“Commander Scott, sir,” Polumya said, “I’m starting the diagnostic on pad three. Just finished re-aligning the beam emitters.” The transporter console began emitting a low-pitched whine as the pad’s beam emitters powered up for validation.
Just then, a call came in from the bridge: an emergency transport request to beam up Lieutenant N’Vell, who was trapped and severely injured beneath a malfunctioning anti-grav cargo pallet on the research station.
Kirk reacted immediately. “Hold off on that test for a moment, Ensign,” he said, as he tapped the intercom on the transporter console. “Kirk to Sickbay.”
“McCoy here,” came the doctor’s voice, full of its usual gruffness.
“Bones, prepare sickbay for an incoming wounded. Lieutenant N’Vell is injured—severely.”
There was a brief pause, then McCoy’s unmistakable drawl cut through. “Aye, aye, Jim. Guess I’ll cancel my plans for a leisurely afternoon. Sickbay ready to receive. McCoy out.”
Kirk’s attention turned back to the transporter pads. The situation was dire; there was no time to wait. But Polumya was still there, attempting to cancel the diagnostic he’d initiated.
“Laddie, shut down that test now!” Scotty shouted. Polumya, panicking, fumbled to disconnect the scanner from the pad’s diagnostic port. As he rushed to detach the cable, his hand brushed against the manual relay switch—a failsafe that was rarely used, meant for manually activating the transporter pad in case of a console malfunction. The relay clicked as Polumya’s fingers brushed the switch, inadvertently pushing it down.
The transporter cycle engaged on pad three—the same pad that was being tested. Polumya’s eyes went wide with terror as the familiar shimmering light of the transporter beam enveloped him, and the sound of the pads powering up filled the room.
Spock and Scotty rushed to the transporter controls and immediately tried to compensate for the interference, but it was too late. The pad’s emitters, still in the midst of ending the diagnostic test, interacted catastrophically with the transporter’s dematerialization sequence. The phase coils fluctuated violently, sending wild surges through the matter stream, and the pattern buffers struggled to maintain Polumya’s form.
Kirk, Scotty, and Spock stood helpless as Polumya’s silhouette flickered and warped, his atoms failing to stabilize. Within seconds, his form splintered into a burst of light, then dissolved into a static haze—the transporter unable to hold him together.
The console’s readings flatlined as Polumya’s signal collapsed, and Spock lowered his gaze in grim acknowledgment. Kirk, visibly shaken, leaned over the controls, but the buffers had already lost the pattern. Polumya was gone.
Scotty’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It was the smoke test… the interference disrupted the molecular stream… poor lad didn’t stand a chance.”
Spock spoke solemnly. “A regrettable tragedy. And one that highlights the necessity for immediate precautionary measures.”
Kirk’s jaw tightened as he stepped back. “Scotty, put a warning sign up immediately—‘No Smoking’ in the transporter room. And make sure every single one of your engineers knows: no smoke tests within transporter proximity while we’re beaming in or out. Not ever.”
“Aye, Captain,” Scotty replied, his voice heavy. “We’ll see to it.”
Within hours, new signs adorned the transporter room in bold lettering: “NO SMOKING.” To anyone unfamiliar with the situation, it might have seemed an outdated prohibition, harkening back to the days of open flames and cigarettes. But to the crew of the Enterprise, it carried a grim reminder of Ensign Polumya’s fate: a warning against running electrical smoke tests near the transporter pads.
The Enterprise continued on its missions, but whenever crew members glanced at the “No Smoking” signs in the transporter room, they were reminded of how a simple maintenance check could mean the difference between life and death in the unforgiving dance of matter and energy.
Further investigation revealed that under specific conditions—such as when the ship was traveling at warp speed while recalibrating its navigational sensors—similar interference could overload the navigation console on the bridge. As a result, identical “No Smoking” signs were posted on the bulkheads next to the bridge turbolifts; a silent warning to every crew member passing through that even the smallest flicker of electrical disruption, like a puff of smoke, could compromise the entire ship and the safety of everyone aboard.
