by Diane Carey
followed then by several clicks, and I knew somehow
that Scanner was trying to shake the bugs out of the
new intercom system. I was about to punch the trans-
ceiver button beside my berth when his voice franti-
cally crackled through the hastily installed circuits.
"Piper! You better get up here! This danged ship is
warping out of orbit all by itself!"
46
Chapter Four
"Make the most of an uncertain future."
--The Squire of Gothos
"STATUS !"
The command seat sighed as I angled into it and
squared off before a band of flickering instrument
lights.
Scanner was trembling slightly, but trying to conceal
it as he frantically interpreted the readout screen.
"She pulled out of orbit as soon as we reached the
descent plane for the West Coast."
"Malfunction?" I asked as we reeled past the daz-
zling display of Jupiter and her moons.
"Naw, Idon't think so. She's got a mind of her own.
She's powering up to warp. Betcha the computer's
behind it. Looks like this trip is going to take a lot
longer than you thought. We might have to tote
lunch."
The control panel was like the rest of the ship a
sloppy amalgam of new instruments shoved in wher-
ever the old instruments could be moved or rear-
ranged. I felt like a piebe as I tried to familiarize myself
with the controls. "Get into the system. Countermand
what it's doing."
"I tried."
"Well?"
He gave me a desolate look. "It's locked up."
A chill ran through me. I glanced over my shoulder
to the passenger seats, where the two doctors sat in
47
expectant silence. Merete was noticeably stiff. McCoy
appeared relaxed but wide-eyed. I felt uncomfortable
under the sudden weight of responsibility for their
lives, not to mention the self-consciousness of know-
ing how often McCoy had watched James Kirk per-
form under pressure.
No--I couldn't think about that now. I couldn't
waste time and mental energy comparing myself to the
captain. As I turned once again to the blinking control
panel, I noticed with a shuddering apprehension that
Jupiter was already far behind.
Scanner's face was patterned in blues and grays as
he peered into the visual readout screen. "We're about
to warp, Piper."
"Dr. McCoy, Merete, strap yourselves in, please."
"What's going on?" McCoy asked. "Why's it doing
this?"
"You've been here all along, sir. You know as much
as we do. Scanner, confirm that the computer has
navigational control, or the warp could tear us up."
"Computer has full control," he responded. "Rex
knows what she's doing, even if we don't."
"Stupid machine," I grumbled. "Project course and
tell me where we're going."
"How? " he blustered. "He could go flyin' forever at
warp speed. The computer's the only thing that knows
where it'll stop us. How you gonna get it to tell you?"
We glared at each other for a long moment as I
reviewed the fact that I didn't have any real answers.
Something in Scanner's words had awakened the rebel
in me. I shrugged. 'TI! ask it." My hands lingered
over the Controls until I figured out which ones to push
to revive the computer, or at least distract it. "Compu-
ter tie-in, command authorization."
The board began whirring and clicking as though it
didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about.
Then the firm, resonant imitation of a female voice
48
requested, "Specify identification code for authorized
command, please."
I looked at Scanner. He blinked at me,'then back at
the computer console. "O1' Rex has delusions of being
a starship," he said, obviously taken aback.
"But it gives me some power," I surmised, "if it
knows it was to answer to a particular person."
Dr. McCoy leaned as far forward as his safety straps
allowed. "Let's hope it knows that person is you,
Commander."
"Going to warp speed on automatic," Scanner said.
To the instant, the stars before us blended into a segue
of spectral color and we were at warp. A flush of
helplessness caused silence on the cramped bdge.
We waited to see if the ship could stand the strain.
"Warp two," Scanner advised. "Two-point-five...
warp three. Entering cruise mode." He shook his head
and sighed. "Well, here we are."
When my skin stopped crawling, I renewed my
computer access and fed in my personal identification
code. The gratifying result came almost instantly.
"Accepted. Lieutenant Commander Piper, Star Fleet
clearance, Star Date 3988.1, command status ac-
knowledged. Thank you."
I took a deep breath and glanced at Dr. McCoy.
"I'm alive," I told him. He looked a bit dazed, but said
nothing. I tried to think clearly, readjusting my mind to
talk to a computer. "Computer."
"Working," the gentle voice answered with just the
perfect touch of question that invited me to continue.
"Release navigational control to the helm."
"Not possible."
"Why not?"
"Current navigational programming includes a pre-
empt encoding which prevents change of program
until destinational code is satisfied."
"Damn."
49
"At least we know it's not a malfunction," Merete
pointed out. "There is a destination."
I cleared my throat. "Computer, specify destina-
tion."
More clicking. "Tau Ceti Quadrant, Ciatella Star
System, planet Argelius."
"What?" McCoy blustered.
"The plot thins," Scanner drawled.
I sat back. "Argelius? Why Argelius? It's the sleep-
iest planet in the Federation! There's no place in the
known galaxy where less goes on. Why would he send
us there?"
All three of my hijacked "crew" blinked at me like a
gaggle of curious birds. Then Merete and Scanner
chimed, "Who?"
My brows lowered over my eyes in a scurrilous
frown. "Who else?"
They backed off. Space was black, velvety, deco-
rated, and ominous as we streaked through it, the old
ship reveling in a mission that included no anchoring
or pulling. For the first time in her existence, an ugly
old tug had a chance to fly. Aside from a few shaking-
down tremors, Rex took to the new warp capability
with unexpected grace, maintaining her cabin warmth
and keeping us all in quiet comfort despite the unaes-
thetic surroundings. I felt that, somehow, this old dog
loved her new trick.
"What's our ETA?" I asked.
"Ninety-two hours," Scanner said. He watched the
control board, his expression sunken, as though his
old friend had betrayed his trust. In that moment of
helplessness, when I could do absolut
ely nothing to
change the situation, my senses finally opened up to
someone's feelings other than my own.
"It's not a mistake, Scanner," I said mildly. "It isn't
your fault."
He shook his head, brows knitted in perplexity. "I
50
wish I knew what was going on. I dunno what to say. I
helped put in all this equipment. It wasn't pro-
grammed, I swear it wasn't."
I slouched in the command chair. "You feel bad
about being outwitted by Mr. Spock, and I feel bad
about allowing myself to get dropped into this by
Captain Kirk. I knew he had something on his mind,
but I never had the nerve to ask until it was too late. If
this is anybody's fault, it's mine." "Yours?"
My lips pressed into a mockery of a grin. "Privilege
of command."
"Aw, that stinks."
I shrugged. "But it's one thing they kept grilling into
us at command school. Command is more than getting
all the credit. It also means getting all the blame."
Scanner sighed and got to his feet, casting one
pathetic look back at the computer console and instru-
ment panel before saying, "I'm gonna get some sleep.
Nothing else to do. Poor Rex... first space mission
and all we can do is sit here like a buncha Dunsels."
My first command. I'd dreamed about it since enter-
ing my senior year at Star Fleet Academy, when I was
offered the privilege of choosing whether or not I
wished to go on to command candidacy. A singular
honor, given to only a handful of graduates each year.
Not just a chance for high rank, but a chance to
command a Star Fleet space vessel. Then along came
the mangle of events that had led me into the Rit-
tenhouse conspiracy and finally to the Federation
Medal of Valor, and I knew the meaning of being
plunged into the unexpected. How long ago? How long
had I served aboard Enterprise--a matter of weeks? It
seemed like years. And I wasn't ready to have that
feeling of years.
I glanced surreptitiously around the dull little com-
mand area of Banana Republic. I was alone now.
51
Merete had retreated to her cabin, McCoy to the one
he and Scanner must share. The computer and instru-
ment panels had settled down into a humming elec-
tronic euphoria of knowing exactly what they were
supposed to be doing and quite simply doing it.
Ninety-two hours. Almost four days before I would
hax, e any answers. Four days of being Dunsel. Not exactly a command dream.
The hours crept by, each one ridiculing me, until I'd
finally had enough and something snapped.
Scanner jumped about twice his height when 1
whacked him out of a sound sleep. "What--what? Red
Alert? Whassa matter? he babbled.
"Scanner, get up," 1 said. "We've got work to do."
He raked a hand through his hair and mumbled,
"Are we there already?"
"Hardly," I said, trying to cut through his disorien-
tation.
On one of the other berths in the crowded cabin,
once part of a storage compartment, Dr. McCoy rolled
to his feet. "Is something up?"
"Yes, sir," I answered. "My patience."
Scanner shook himself out and got up, wobbling
slightly as he asked, "l hope you got a good reason for
wakin' me up from that nice shore leave I was taking."
"I do. We're going to break into that navigational
program. I want control of this ship."
If he hadn't managed to wake up completely, the
shock of that statement brought him fully around.
"You're gonna what? Are you fishin' in the right
crick? The computer's been programmed by Com-
mander Spock on Captain Kirk's orders !"
I straightened my shoulders, despite the low ceiling.
"Well, you just get ready to unprogram it. He might be
Captain Kirk," I said solidly, "but this is my ship."
I turned, strode out of the cabin, and stepped onto
the interdeck ladder, not staying to examine the look
of abject amazement the two men exchanged. It really
52
wasn't meant to be a dramatic exit; I just wanted to get
out of there in case they started laughing.
Scanner and Dr. McCoy followed me back to the
bridge. As we passed Merete's cabin, she too realized
something was up and hurried into the corridor. In a
way, I was glad they followed. Their presence forced
me to stay in the mode of defiance I'd reached, and
gave me no opportunity to reconsider. I had to be in
control of the ship. Suppose there was trouble? What
ff we were attacked or damaged? How would I live
with myself ff all I could do was shrug and say it was
Kirk's problem?
I kept thinking about Captain Kirk, my mind divid-
ing between trust and rebellion, obedience and insur-
gence. I respected him, certainly, but could I ever
respect myself as much if I settled back and accepted
whatever he or anyone dished out to me without so
much as an explanation? Possibly I could have done so
this time, if another element, deeper and harsher,
hadn't been eating at me. Sarda.
Lieutenant Sarda, recipient of the Silver Palm and
Star for Conspicuous Bravery. Young Vulcan techni-
cal scientist, a weapons specialist. In fact, a weaponry
pioneer, much to his own embarrassment. My fellow-
classman at Star Fleet Academy. The only person
who'd stayed relentlessly at my side during the dread-
nought affair just weeks ago---I kept saying that to
myself just weeks ago, only weeks.
What was happening to him? Was this computer
setting carrying me farther away from helping him? I
had to know the entire truth. I couldn't get it here, on a
space ship streaking toward passivity. My Vulcan
friend had somehow strayed from the route back to the
Vulcan teachings to one lined with suspicion. Theft of
Federation-owned technology, the security lieutenant
had said. Which technology? Sarda hadn't been work-
53
ing on any particular project that I knew of, not after
the destruction of the dreadnought that carried the
image projector he'd invented. That episode had been
enough to drain the inventive urge out of anybody, at
least for a while. Especially poor Sarda. He kept
trying to turn his talent for weaponry to devices for
defense, and Star Fleet Command, in its unending
military wisdom, kept interpreting Sarda's inventions
to be used aggressively if necessary. They kept giving
him awards and commendations that did nothing more
than shame him before his Vulcan culture. So far none
of his inventions had been used punitively, except by
Vice Admiral Rittenhouse. But Rittenhouse was dead
now, and his dream to force galactic war was dead
with him.
So what had happened? What had changed since I'd
gone to sea with the intrepid James T. Kirk?
I forced myself back to the immediate p
resent,
jabbing a finger at the computer console. "I want to
know how that thing's tied into the navigational sys-
tem. I want every circuit examined until we find a way
to interrupt the programming. You're the electrical
specialist," I said to Scanner. "Start tracing. I'm going
to get into the mechanics. I want control of this ship
and I don't care how we get it."
Scanner gaped at me, hands on hips. "It must be
autumn in Piperland, 'cause the leaves are dropping
off your tree !"
I struck him with a cold glare. "I'm not joking,
Scanner. I'm not going to be anyone's pawn. Not even
Kirk's."
Dr. McCoy caught my arm as I stepped past him, on
my way to the engine area. "Do you know what you're
doing? The computer program may be tied into other
things. Life support, engine control..."
"We'll have to find out," I said.
"But if Jim did this on purpose---"
"I'm not letting anyone dictate my command with-
54
out an explanation. I'm going to get control of this
ship's helm."
Scanner grasped the back of the command chair and
shook it. "Piper," he whined, "don't you get it? This
is Captain James T. Kirk you're dinkin' around with!"
If I ever doubted my decision, the last lingering
regrets now dissolved away as I gazed into Scanner's
desperate annoyance and realized that I had neither
control of the ship nor control over those who were
supposed to be my crew. To him and Merete, I was
merely a fellow Academy graduate. To Dr. McCoy, I
was a talented upstart. The obstacles before me grew
as I began to perceive them. Control of the ship;
respect of my crew. The weight kept my shoulders stiff
as I squared them. "That's exactly right," I said
coolly. "And he wouldn't let anybody do this to him."
By the look in Dr. McCoy's face, I could tell that I
had hit upon an unmoving truth. I took my note of
victory and escaped to the engine room.
For the next forty hours I drove them and myself to
every physical and mental limit, making demands
upon them that strained both their patience and my
own. McCoy set himself up as Mess Officer, and, true
