Star Trek: The Next Generation - 119 - Armageddon's Arrow (3 page)

Jodis already was aware of this latest damage to the ship, thanks to various status indicators flashing on his own console. The shields were a concern, of course, but so too was the weapons port. Aside from the antiproton cannon, which was its principle offensive armament, the
Poklori gil dara
also carried conventional particle weapons mounted all along its outer hull. With the oversized vessel unable to carry out the sorts of evasive tactics on which smaller craft relied during combat, those ports provided the ship with its chief means of defense. Losing any one weapon opened up a gap in the protective field of fire, allowing perceptive opponents to capitalize on the perimeter breach and perhaps inflict more harm to that undefended area.

The hum of the ship’s engines dropped in pitch as Bnira once more engaged weapons. Studying the targeting scanner, Jodis saw the fifth of what originally had been thirteen icons denoting Golvonek ships turn and move away from the others. “Another hit!”

“Yes,” Bnira replied. “Its forward shields are down, and scans show damage to its forward weapons ports.” A
linzat
later she added, “The ship is retreating.”

“Increasing to maximum speed,” Jodis said, tapping the controls necessary to call for the much-needed acceleration. On the scanner, he saw the larger avatar representing the
Poklori gil dara
moving away from the eight remaining Golvonek ships, but the diminished squadron was falling into formation in pursuit. Beneath his hands, his console trembled yet again, communicating yet another strike from enemy weapons against the shields.

“Shields at the rear manifolds are offline,” Bnira reported. “Any further strikes there will likely damage the hull plating.”

Even the ablative armor covering the ship’s exterior would not be able to withstand prolonged abuse from the Golvonek weapons. The vessel’s sheer size saw to it that there was no place for it to hide, and outrunning the attack squadron without the pulse drive would be impossible. The only option remaining to Jodis and his crew was to continue mounting whatever defense they could muster and buy time for Ehondar and his engineers to finalize their hurried preparations.

Remembering a ploy he had learned while serving on an escort ship earlier in his career that had been assigned to one of the Raqilan fleet’s larger and far less-maneuverable fighter transport vessels, Jodis keyed a new set of commands to the directional thrusters. “I am initiating a roll,” he said, for Bnira’s benefit. “That should help protect the vulnerable section. Program the remaining weapons ports to compensate and engage automated tracking. Full defensive fire patterns.” He hoped that the intensified barrage of fire from the ship’s array of weapons ports would at least keep the remaining Golvonek ships occupied for the next few precious
linzatu
.

“Acknowledged,” Bnira replied. “I do not believe this will protect us for very long.”

“It will not need to,” Jodis countered. “If we do not make the jump, it will not matter.” Shifting his gaze from his instruments to the viewing port, he was able to see how the Golvonek ships were reacting to the roll maneuver. They were altering their attack vectors in a bid to focus their weapons at points along the
Poklori gil dara
’s hull that now were moving even as the vessel itself continued to accelerate on its new course heading. “We are now at maximum velocity. Are the calculations for the chronopulse drive ready?”

“Ehondar reported that Rilajor and Gagil were still making adjustments,” Bnira said, referring to the two members of the engineering team tasked with overseeing the care of the still-untested chronopulse drive.

Engaging the controls which would allow the onboard computer to pilot the ship while compensating for the feeble defensive maneuvers he had enacted, Jodis once more opened the communications channel, this time setting it so that his message was broadcast throughout the ship. “This is Jodis. Secure your stations and report to the suspension cradles.”

Without waiting for any responses, he released the harness holding him into his seat. “It is time,” he said, gesturing for Bnira to follow him from the command deck. He used the cockpit’s weightless environment to propel himself into the connecting tunnel, feeling the first tendrils of gravity seize hold of him as he reached for the conduit’s access ladder.

Reaching for rungs on the ladder was enough to push him through the constricted passage, by which time the effects of the normal gravity plating had taken hold. Jodis emerged headfirst, rising from the open port in the deck plating and up onto the main passageway which ran from front to rear the length of the ship’s habitable areas. He offered a hand to Bnira as she climbed from the tunnel before both of them began running down the larger corridor. Only once was Jodis thrown off balance as another barrage from one or more of the Golvonek ships impacted against the
Poklori gil dara
’s hull. He stumbled and nearly fell to the deck, but he managed to maintain his footing as he and Bnira pressed forward.

They arrived in the suspension chamber, and Jodis saw that three of the room’s eight peculiar cradles already were occupied by members of his crew. Dlyren, Gagil, and Waeno were settling into their suspension cradles, which looked like nothing more than compact beds tucked into transparent cylinders.

Looking to Neline, who was overseeing everyone’s preparations, Jodis asked, “You have completed your updates to the computer for the cradles?”

The medical specialist replied, “The suspension and revival procedures are now set, but I did not have time to run a complete test of the configurations. However, none of those settings were altered before the damage, so the risk should be minimal.”

Bnira said, “Or, at least no more severe than anything else.”

“Correct. The remaining calculations have also been programmed.” Neline was speaking in rapid, clipped tones that conveyed the urgency of the situation. “Once we are in suspension, the ship will nullify forward acceleration and execute the chronopulse jump.”

“And what if the Golvonek lock on to us before the jump?” asked Bnira as she unfastened the closures on her flight suit and stepped out of the garment. Now nude, she held her arms away from her body as Neline’s assistant, Rilajor, began applying small sensors at key points along her bare skin.

“Then our journey will be a short one,” said Neline before turning to Jodis, who also had disrobed, and affixing similar sensors to his body.

Behind Neline, Ehondar turned from a workstation along the room’s far bulkhead, which Jodis could see was being used to maintain constant vigil on the ship’s status. “Another shield generator has gone offline, as have three more weapons ports. We are running out of time.”

Jodis ordered everyone to finalize their preparations for entering the suspension cradles, then stood in silence as Neline completed the process of applying the sensors to his skin. He felt the throes of the ship around him as—guided by the onboard computer—it fought to keep its attackers at bay and give him and his crew sufficient time to complete these final tasks.

Once she was finished, the medical specialist waved him to his own cylinder before she and Rilajor began readying themselves, but Jodis took the brief opportunity to scan the status monitors Ehondar had left active on the nearby workstation. The reports were worrisome, but there now was nothing he could do to affect the situation. Regardless of the outcome, he and his crew were committed to their current course of action.

“Jodis, it is time,” said Bnira from behind him, and he turned to face her. There was nothing more they could do, except trust the ship and its computer to carry out the tasks for which they had been created. Chief among those responsibilities was the care and safety of the crew that soon would trust their lives to this collection of machines.

Reaching for her hand, Jodis pulled Bnira close enough so that he could stroke the side of her face. She smiled, mimicking the gesture. Their relationship had evolved far beyond the tenets of commander and crew owing to the long periods spent ensconced in rigorous training. The strict need for secrecy had seen to it that the eight members of the
Poklori gil dara
’s crew were forced to work and live only with one another, so it was natural that bonds would form. Though counselors had warned of the dangers of such affairs, Jodis and the others paid such cautions no heed. After all, they had no one else.

“I hope yours is the first face I see upon waking,” Bnira said.

Jodis smiled. “I look forward to that.”

At another console, Neline, nude and with a set of sensors now affixed to her own body, touched several controls in rapid succession before moving from the station and to her own suspension cradle. A mechanical voice began reciting a numeric sequence in descending order.

Lying prone in his own cradle, Jodis watched as the transparent cylinder closed and sealed around him before a slight hiss echoed within the closed compartment as the programmed sequence of cryogenic vapors was introduced. Beyond the clear barrier, the now muffled voice of the computer was continuing its countdown. He turned his head and saw the rest of his crew, each of them ensconced in their own cradles, their interiors clouding up with the gases and other compounds necessary to induce hibernation.

A tremendous jolt rocked the entire ship, eliciting a host of new alarms and other warnings from the workstations positioned around the room, but by now Jodis could only lie motionless and wait. Outside his cradle, the computer counted down the few remaining
linzatu
, and as the inescapable tendrils of induced suspension embraced him, his final thoughts turned to the mission that still lay ahead of them.

There will be no war.

NOW

3

“You want to know the problem with going somewhere no one’s ever been? It takes so damned long to get there.”

Sitting at a table near one of the forward viewing ports of the
Enterprise
’s crew lounge, Lieutenant T’Ryssa Chen smiled as she watched her dining companion, Lieutenant Commander Taurik, look up from his breakfast of mixed fruits and regard her with the Vulcan equivalent of a perplexed expression, which consisted of him cocking his right eyebrow. For a moment, Chen was certain she had prompted a lecture on the nature of vast interstellar distances and the limited capabilities of modern vessels to traverse such expanses. Instead, Taurik’s reply was far more understated.

“Indeed.”

His response only made Chen’s grin widen. “That’s it? ‘Indeed’? I lob an easy setup like that, and all you give me is ‘Indeed’? You’re not even trying.”

Despite his self-discipline, she still saw the faintest tease of a smile tug at the corners of Taurik’s mouth. “I saw no reason to refute your statement. Though colloquially stated, your observation is valid.” Then, as if remembering his role in whatever game she seemed bound to involve him in on this occasion, he added, “I should think that you in particular would be excited at the potential our mission carries.”

Here we go
, Chen mused, claiming victory. “Me in particular?”

Taurik nodded. “You are a contact specialist. With few exceptions, our assignments since your arrival aboard the
Enterprise
have not provided you with many opportunities to perform the duties for which you were trained. Our current mission promises to offer at least some prospects for making first contact with new civilizations.” He returned his attention to his meal, but only for a moment before adding, “I am happy for you, T’Ryssa.”

“You’re
happy
?” Chen caught herself, realizing her voice had raised in volume enough to attract glances from crew members at nearby tables. For his part, Taurik seemed unperturbed by her near outburst. “
You’re
happy?” she pressed. “You’ve been hanging around me too much.”

Without hesitation, the engineer replied, “It is not unreasonable to hypothesize that prolonged contact with you may be inflicting as yet unidentified effects on my thought processes, emotional reactions, and responses to various external stimuli.”

Chen bobbed her eyebrows. “Tell me more about the various external stimuli.”

After glancing around them as though confirming that no one was overhearing their conversation, Taurik leaned closer. “No, I do not believe that I will.”

“Then I’ll just have to come up with my own.” Chen eyed him with no small amount of mischief.

Taurik used his fork to spear a piece of yellow-orange fruit she could not identify. “I suspect that your imagination will provide no small number of possibilities,” he said, before bringing the fruit to his mouth. He punctuated the remark with another lifting of his eyebrow, a simple gesture that threatened to send Chen into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Teasing and—occasionally—even flirting with the Vulcan engineer had long ago become one of her favorite hobbies, though it really had become fun only after Taurik began playing along. Despite the composed façade and rigid emotional discipline expected of anyone possessing their joint heritage, and which Chen herself tended to eschew, he harbored a gentle and even shrewd sense of humor and wit. She found those traits appealing, even alluring, and it was but one of many reasons she had come to admire him in the time they had known each other. This remained true even after their brief, clumsy attempt at a more intimate relationship before settling into a comfortable, mutually respectful friendship.

“Why are you smiling?”

It took Chen a moment to realize Taurik was talking to her, and that she had allowed herself to become lost in a host of pleasing memories. Feeling her cheeks warm in embarrassment, she reached for the glass of water next to her plate.

“Oh, nothing,” she said before sipping her water.

“According to Commander La Forge,” Taurik said, changing the subject, “you are assigned to engineering today.”

“Looks that way,” Chen replied. “I volunteered to run level one diagnostics on the shuttlecraft and install software upgrades to their onboard computers. According to Commander La Forge, it’s time for it to be done, and will probably take a few days to complete.” She shrugged. “Fine by me. At least it’s something constructive to do.” Waving toward the forward viewing ports and the kaleidoscopic maelstrom of stars streaking past as the
Enterprise
pushed through space at high warp speed, she added, “At least until we get where we’re going, anyway.”

For Chen, the prospect of the
Enterprise
’s chief engineer assigning her to several duty shifts’ worth of meaningful if not glamorous work was not an issue. She long ago had grown accustomed to such realities, given the obvious lack of need for a contact specialist during the bulk of her tenure aboard ship. Choosing to view the situation as a chance to expand her skills and experience in a variety of areas and disciplines, Chen had volunteered to assist any department that requested additional personnel, for whatever tasks that might entail. Since arriving on the
Enterprise
, she had acquired hands-on training in nearly every major system, from the main computer to the warp drive and everything in between.

She had received plenty of opportunities, as only on rare occasions had her specific job role and accompanying training and skills been called into action. Such was the case, she knew, with contact specialists on any number of starships, as much of Starfleet’s resources in the wake of the final Borg Invasion of the Alpha Quadrant focused on rebuilding efforts on worlds across the Federation. To that end, Captain Picard and the
Enterprise
had been assigned a variety of missions during the ensuing three years that had called upon everything from the captain’s diplomatic expertise to the military capabilities of the starship itself, particularly with the rise of the Typhon Pact and the rapid spread of its influence. Though casting itself as an “alternative” for nonaligned worlds seeking the security to be found in a larger community, the unlikely alliance of six interstellar powers—the Romulans, Gorn, Tholians, Breen, Tzenkethi, and the Kinshaya—had since its forming caused no end of strife for the Federation.

One of the Pact’s earliest victories had come from stealing top-secret schematics for slipstream drive technology from the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards. Although the damage from that theft ultimately had been mitigated, it showed that the Pact was not a rival to be underestimated or trusted. Later, the Tholians’ cast Starfleet and the Federation as willing to stand by and allow the Andorians to suffer extinction rather than offer classified data that might save their endangered civilization. This had resulted in Andor’s unsettling—though temporary—secession from the Federation, which it had helped found more than two centuries earlier.

In and around these and other events, Captain Picard and the
Enterprise
had undertaken a handful of missions that dealt in one manner or another with the Pact or other issues plaguing the Federation, including the assassination of President Nanietta Bacco and the hunt for her killers. Following the exposing and arrest of those responsible for the heinous act, including no less than Ishan Anjar, the Bajoran official selected to serve as president pro tempore until a special election could be held to choose Bacco’s successor, there remained numerous issues requiring attention. Searching for anyone else who may have played a role in Bacco’s murder, as well as the ongoing concerns raised by the Typhon Pact, along with continuing the process of healing the rift between the worlds of the Federation and her allies, were just a few of the challenges faced by the new president, Kellessar zh’Tarash, and Starfleet.

And yet, here we are, heading for the far end of nowhere
.

The
Enterprise
had spent weeks traveling at high warp, with the most exciting part of the transit for Chen being the deployment of subspace buoys that would aid in communicating with Starfleet Command. Now the starship was closing on the first of the star systems it was assigned to explore in this region beyond Federation territory, which until now had only been reconnoitered by automated survey drones. According to data collected by the probes, the system—designated as System 3955 in the stellar cartography database—contained two planets capable of sustaining life, as well as indications of intelligent, even advanced civilizations on both worlds. If they possessed faster-than-light propulsion technology, then chances were good that Captain Picard would initiate first contact procedures. This meant that Chen would be assigned to any away team sent to the surface to meet with representatives of whatever government or authorized body was honored to be the first to greet visitors to their world from beyond the stars. Chen could feel anticipation mounting at the prospect.

“You appear preoccupied,” Taurik said, and when Chen looked up from her breakfast, she saw him studying her. How long had she been lost in thought? A glance to Taurik’s plate told her that it had been at least a few moments, as the Vulcan had finished his meal.

“I’m sorry,” Chen replied. “I was just thinking again how it feels so odd for us to be out here when there’s still so much to do back home.” In truth, not a single day had passed since the
Enterprise
’s departure from Earth that she did not ponder their new assignment, and whether the ship, its crew, and in particular its captain were not better utilized elsewhere. Following the arrest of Ishan Anjar, Picard had notified Admirals Leonard James Akaar and William Riker of his concerns with Starfleet’s role as an instrument of Federation policy, and how more martial endeavors—though necessary—had threatened to supplant its primary charter of exploration and the expansion of knowledge. To the surprise of many, Picard had returned to the
Enterprise
not to announce his retirement or promotion and reassignment, but with orders directing the ship to a new region of space. After a few brief delays, owing mostly to requests from Admiral Riker for the
Enterprise
to assist in tasks requiring the special expertise of its captain and crew, the starship had departed the familiar cradle of Federation space in search of the unknown.

“There are those who would say that the ideals upon which the Federation and Starfleet were founded have been tested,” Taurik said, “and that our ability and even willingness to honor those principles has fallen short. I believe that dispatching ships to undertake missions such as the one assigned to the
Enterprise
, along with the other initiatives President zh’Tarash has set into motion, will do much to dispel such perceptions.”

Chen nodded. She had entertained similar thoughts, and it was comforting to hear Taurik give voice to them. If a buttoned-down, ever-logical Vulcan could see the good in what they were doing, then it had to be the correct course, right?

I guess we’ll find out
.

The lounge’s casual atmosphere was interrupted by the familiar sound of an alert, and indicators mounted around the room began flashing in time to the new signal. Both Chen and Taurik, along with everyone around them, straightened in their seats and all of the various conversations died as a high-pitched tone was piped through the ship’s internal communications system.

“This is the first officer,”
said the voice of Commander Worf over the intercom.
“The ship is now on yellow alert. This is not a drill. All personnel report to your stations. Captain Picard and senior staff officers, please report to the bridge. Lieutenant Chen, report to the bridge
.
”

Hearing her name, Chen frowned. “Me?”

“That is what the commander said,” Taurik replied.

She tapped her combadge. “Chen to bridge. I’m on my way, Commander.” As Taurik rose from his seat, she added, “I guess I’m on my way to the bridge.”

“I am going to engineering,” replied the Vulcan.

As they moved toward the door, falling in with the rest of the officers and other crew members making their way from the lounge to their duty stations, Taurik said, “Perhaps this means the captain will have need of a contact specialist.”

Forcing a smile, Chen shrugged. “And I was so looking forward to upgrading the shuttlecraft.”