Miracle Workers

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “We will attack and disable them,” he said. “The Magistrates want prisoners, but if necessary we will destroy them.” Taking captives from enemy vessels was not standard procedure, nor was it something Nostrene himself preferred to be involved with. Prisoners were troublesome, even discounting such things as providing sustenance and environmental conditions when other races were involved. He would rather just destroy the Federation vessel and be done with it, but he knew there were larger concerns here.

  The Starfleet crew undoubtedly would have contacted their parent command about their current situation. There was also the possibility that they had passed on information regarding the web generator that the salvage team had discovered aboard the derelict. Though it was doubtful that the crew of the recovery ship had learned the true nature of their find, Nostrene had to proceed as if that were the case.

  There was also the matter of obtaining or destroying the web generator itself. Once he had taken prisoners from the rescue ship, Nostrene merely needed to wait until the vessel trapped in the interdimensional pocket reappeared. If, at that time, the generator could not be retrieved via transporter, then he would simply order the entire ship destroyed, along with any Starfleet personnel still aboard it.

  “Commander,” called out the subordinate manning the communications station, “the Starfleet ship is hailing us. Its commander wishes to speak with you.”

  Nostrene waved the report away. “No response. I am not interested in anything a human would have to say.”

  “We are entering weapons range,” Taghrex called out. After a moment he added, “The Federation ship has energized its defense shields and weapons.”

  Studying the central tactical display before him, Nostrene noted the Starfleet ship’s movement, orienting itself to face the incoming attack.

  Apparently, the human commander is going to make a fight of it.

  Nostrene was pleased at that thought. He had heard of the tenacity displayed by Starfleet in combat situations and had seen reports of their actions during the Dominion War. Those who fought aboard Federation ships showed remarkable resolve, even in the face of certain defeat. It was a trait Nostrene could admire even in nonTholians. He knew that the brief skirmish he had experienced earlier with the Starfleet recovery vessel had not been a true test of its crew’s mettle, so it was with great anticipation that he greeted the coming battle.

  The subordinate overseeing the tactical scanners suddenly turned from his station. “ Commander, I am detecting a fluctuation in background radiation readings. The interspatial pocket is opening.”

  “How is that possible?” Nostrene demanded. According to the readings obtained by his science advisor, the rift was not expected to reopen for some time yet. “Put it on screen.”

  The image on the command deck’s main viewer shifted in time for Nostrene and everyone else to see the mysterious black void appear once more, a gaping hole in the fabric of space. Seconds later, part of the rift was itself blocked out as a blue-green shape erupted from its center.

  “The other ship,” Taghrex exclaimed. “It has returned.” Turning to Nostrene, he said, “Should we alter our attack course? It would be powerless to defend itself against us.”

  Indeed, Nostrene thought. Even as it emerged from the rift and shed the multihued cocoon of energy enshrouding it, the Defiant appeared to be nothing more than a powerless hulk. Its warp nacelles were dark, as were the numerous portholes that pockmarked its surface. It was inconceivable for it to be capable of mounting any kind of defense.

  “Negative,” he decided. “It poses no threat. We will dispatch the other vessel first. The derelict will still be there when that task is complete.” Turning back to the row of tactical scanners, he said, “Target the rescue ship’s weapons banks. Stand by to attack.”

  That was when the derelict opened fire.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Alarms wailed on the bridge of the da Vinci as an electric-blue phaser blast sliced through the viewscreen’s image of the Tholian attack formation and connected with the ship anchoring the lower-left corner of the pulsating, hexagonal web.

  Kieran Duffy watched in awe as the stricken enemy ship reeled from the blow of raw energy and wavered in its flight. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he found himself in his second battle at the helm of the da Vinci.

  But I know damn well I didn’t give any order to fire.

  “Who the hell is shooting?” Duffy shouted as he saw the web flicker in intensity. It quickly resolidified as the five remaining ships moved into a pentagon of offensive power, leaving the injured craft to drift away from the group.

  Stevens’s answer was awash with excitement. “Duff! She’s back! The Defiant’s back!”

  The news shocked Duffy, then the thrill of it immediately infused his body. The center seat felt electrified to the young commander as he spat order after order to the bridge crew.

  “McAllan! Fire a spread on your predetermined targets! Helm, angle us toward the rift! And put the Defiant on the viewer, for God’s sake!”

  As Duffy tried to regain his perspective of the battle with its new participant, the viewscreen’s angle now assisted him with a view of the newly configured Tholian force and the glowing U.S.S. Defiant. The century-old starship was moving through the doorway of its interspatial cage under what appeared to be its own power. Duffy gasped as the ship’s secondary hull and finally its twin nacelles cleared the rending of space just in time to be called back to active duty with a vengeance. He squirmed in his seat as he felt the tide of the battle turning more in their favor.

  Oh, Sonnie! You and your timing!

  “Direct hit!” Gold called out from the sensor console in the Defiant’s auxiliary control center. “Nice shooting, Soloman.” Peering into the viewfinder mounted against the room’s rear bulkhead, the da Vinci captain could see that, although the antiquated ship had managed to produce a mere half-strength phaser blast, it had proven enough to pierce the defensive screens of the Tholian vessel.

  After studying the Tholians’ odd formation, Gold played a hunch that spoiling the trajectory of one or more of the ships might have the effect of disrupting the energy net generated by the group. Watching the sensor readings on the net flicker and readjust as it compensated for the spoiled flight path of the ship the Defiant had just fired on, he was pleased to see his instincts proven right.

  “The damaged ship is . . . breaking formation, Captain,” Soloman reported from the auxiliary helm controls. “The remaining vessels are . . . maintaining their attack vector toward the da Vinci.”

  His eyes not moving from the viewfinder, Gold said, “Then we’ll have to do it again. Target another of the ships and stand by to fire.”

  “Engineering to Captain Gold,” Gomez’s voice filtered through his communicator. “Sir, I need a moment to reroute power. The generator’s overloading, and I can’t feed power to the phasers without sacrificing something else.”

  “Route power from the shields, Sonya,” Gold said without hesitation. “Take whatever you need for the phasers, then put everything you have left into the forward screens.”

  “Captain,” Soloman said as he turned from the helm, “with only thrusters to . . . maneuver the ship, we will be at a distinct . . . tactical disadvantage.”

  Shrugging as if he was used to taking a vastly outclassed ship into combat on a daily basis, Gold replied, “If the Tholians finish the da Vinci off, our defenses won’t matter.”

  During a career of nearly fifty years, Gold had served aboard and even commanded some of the most advanced vessels the Federation had to offer. It therefore seemed ironic to him that his last assignment would be going into combat aboard a dilapidated, hundred-year-old starship that had spent its entire lifetime confined to the pages of history.

  Lifting his face from the viewfinder, Gold took an extra second to look around the auxiliary control room, taking in its archaic design and yet once again admiring how vibrant and full of life it seemed to be. Aft
er so many years locked away from the rest of the universe, all but forgotten, the Defiant had emerged proudly from its prison. Even though it limped and struggled to overcome its decades of captivity, the once-mighty starship would still head valiantly toward its one final mission.

  Only in Starfleet, he decided. I guess weird really is part of the job.

  “Come on, people! We’re not going to let Captain Gold take the lead here!” Duffy pitched forward in his seat as a thought struck him.

  The Tholians are going to turn on the Defiant!

  The irony of being so close to saving the away team, only to see them die as the Tholian web savaged the woefully outmatched vessel ripped at Duffy’s brain. Time narrowed for the commander as he tapped into every resource of strategy he could recall: every old Starfleet Academy course, every holographic simulation, every past conversation with Gold or anybody who ever steered a starship into battle.

  “Keep after those targets! We have to kill the power to that web!” Duffy studied the Tholian formation and it became clear that the enemy ships had no intention of engaging the practically defenseless Defiant. They were bearing down on the da Vinci, and this moment was their last to act.

  And suddenly, he knew what to do.

  “Helm, full power to aft-Z axis thrusters, now!” To her credit, the ensign manning the helm didn’t hesitate in the face of the unusual order. Instead, she quickly fed the string of commands into her console, and the da Vinci responded with comparable speed.

  Though the ship’s inertial dampeners protected the crew from feeling its effects, the result of Duffy’s order was evident on the main viewer. The stars on the screen spiraled dizzyingly as the da Vinci’s thrusters fired, pushing the ship on a perpendicular trajectory from the direction it had been facing.

  “Bring us about, helm,” Duffy called out. “Port thrusters only.”

  The ensign responded, and Duffy imagined he could feel the ship rotating as it pivoted on its axis. On the viewscreen, he saw the Tholian battle group hurtling past the point where the da Vinci had been an instant before. Then the image shifted as the ship reoriented itself, and instead of sitting in the path of the menacing energy net, Duffy now had his best shot at the Tholian ships as they overshot their mark.

  “Fire!”

  Phasers blasted from the da Vinci, catching a Tholian ship square in its propulsion unit. A second ship took a fresh blast from the Defiant, and the energy web sparked once before fading entirely from view.

  “That’s it, Duff,” Stevens called out from the science station. “The formation is scattering and the web has deteriorated completely. It looks like the Tholians are retreating.”

  Duffy rose from the command chair, his expression one of unmasked pride. They had done it! “Looks like it’s all over except for the bragging. Nice work, people. Open a channel to the Defiant, and let’s see about—”

  “Commander,” McAllan said, “one of the Tholian ships has lost all power. It’s heading directly for the rift.” Turning his attention back to the viewer, Duffy saw the lone enemy vessel spinning without control toward the dark area and the chaotic area of space behind it.

  “Helm, intercept course,” he ordered. “Mr. McAllan, ready the tractor beam. Lock onto that ship.”

  At her station, Corsi made no effort to disguise the shock in her voice. “Commander?”

  His attention focused on the viewscreen, Duffy ignored her as the tractor beam enveloped the Tholian ship, instantly stopping its tumbling descent into the rift.

  “Got her, Commander,” McAllan reported.

  “Pull them out of there, McAllan, nice and slow.” Looking over at Corsi, Duffy added, “And let’s hope somebody’s paying attention.”

  Corsi nodded in agreement, the corners of her mouth turning upward as she realized what Duffy was after. No matter what action the Tholians might take against the two Federation ships, it didn’t justify consigning the disabled Tholian ship to the unpleasant fate awaiting them in the depths of interphase.

  McAllan looked up from his tactical console. “We’re clear of the rift, sir. We can release her without danger.”

  Shaking his head, Duffy instead asked, “What’s the status of the other Tholian ships?”

  “The undamaged ships are moving to assist the others,” McAllan replied. “They have broken off their attack.”

  “Well, then let’s extend an olive branch,” Duffy said. “Angle the tractor beam to send that ship in their direction. Helm, lay in a course that will back us away from the Tholians and toward the Defiant.” Taking one last look at the viewscreen, he added, “And Mr. McAllan, deactivate all weapons.”

  “What?” The single word exploded from Corsi’s mouth, but she must have realized her grievous lapse in protocol because she drew a deep breath before continuing. “Commander, that may not be our best course of action right now.”

  Duffy nodded. “I understand your concerns, but somebody has to take a chance here.” On the viewer, he watched as the Tholian ship they had rescued, still guided by the da Vinci’s tractor beam, moved toward its companion vessels. After a moment the beam faded, leaving the damaged ship to move forward under its own momentum.

  “One of the other ships is moving toward it, Commander,” McAllan said. “No sign of a regroup for another attack.”

  At the communications console, Abramowitz turned in her seat. “Mr. Duffy, we are being hailed by Commander Nostrene.”

  Still wary that the Tholian ships might attempt to resume their offensive, Duffy nevertheless knew that he was obligated to pursue a peaceful resolution here. He’d already initiated such an attempt by rescuing the drifting Tholian ship. He wondered now what that action had purchased for them.

  “On screen, Carol. Let’s see what the commander has to say.”

  The now-familiar image of the Tholian leader appeared on the viewer, the reddish hue of his crystalline body dominating the roiling spectrum of color that filled the picture.

  “Federation vessel,” Nostrene said, “your presence in Tholian space is no longer welcome. Retrieve the derelict you came for and depart our territory immediately. This concludes our cooperative effort.” With that, the image faded and was replaced by the starfield once more.

  Stevens was the first to react. “That has to be one of the most heart-wrenching apologies ever offered by a Tholian.”

  “Any bets on how much that hurt him to say?” Corsi asked. Turning her attention to Duffy, she said, “Well done, Commander.”

  Duffy’s first impulse was to respond with one of his usual flippant comments, but he checked himself. Domenica Corsi didn’t hand out compliments lightly, and coming from her, the simple statement was high praise indeed. He decided not to undercut the moment and instead accept her words in the spirit he was sure they were intended.

  Indicating McAllan with a nod of his head, he said, “Keep your eyes on the Tholians until we’re out of range. In the meantime, contact the Defiant. I think it’s high time we got the hell out of here.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and someone ask Captain Gold which big chair he wants to sit in for the ride home.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Normally a hive of activity, as it had been since first entering service more than two centuries ago, operations aboard the primary SpaceDock facility orbiting Earth had come to a virtual standstill. Observation galleries overlooking the station’s interior docking areas were crammed to overflowing with spectators, and every available viewscreen had been tied into the bays’ visual feeds. A similar image was also being transmitted on subspace frequencies throughout the Federation, offering a view of history to anyone who might be interested.

  And Admiral William Ross couldn’t imagine anyone not being interested.

  For years it had been a common complaint among the older, more seasoned members of Starfleet that respect for tradition and history seemed to be waning among younger officers and enlisted personnel. The explorers and defenders of peace from those bygone eras had supposed
ly exhausted all that they could offer to those who now wore the uniform. It had been said that many outside Starfleet had also outgrown the need to honor and appreciate those who had forged trails through the cosmos in the Federation’s early days.

  However, looking down at the throng of people gathered in SpaceDock’s main observers’ gallery, Ross smiled in satisfaction at the fervor he saw. He could almost feel the energy washing over the room in the anticipation of the next few moments. Maybe the arrival of the Defiant would engender only momentary fascination among the masses before they all returned to their regular lives, he decided. Then again, perhaps respect and interest in the past would be reclaimed here today, if indeed it had been lost at all.

  “Mighty flashy party we’ve got here today, wouldn’t you say, Admiral?”

  The voice was gravelly and weathered, much like its owner, Ross discovered as he turned to face the speaker. His expression brightened at the new arrival, nodding with enthusiasm of his own. On a day that would play host to legends, it seemed only fitting that he be visited by one of their living representatives.

  At nearly one hundred fifty years of age, Admiral Leonard McCoy still presented an imposing figure, though his shoulders slumped and his skin was little more than a waxy film covering the bones and muscles of his withered body. None of that seemed to matter, however, as Ross could still see the fiery determination in the admiral’s eyes that had been captured countless times in biographical databases and historical narratives. The former chief medical officer of the original U.S.S. Enterprise represented the same history as the ship approaching Space-Dock, and Ross felt it more than appropriate that he should be here on this day.

  “Admiral,” Ross said, extending his hand to the aged McCoy, “it’s good to see you. Couldn’t resist coming out to see the Defiant’s homecoming?”