Serpents Among the Ruins

by David R. George III

“Alert,” a stilted male voice announced loudly in Romulan, accompanied by the short blasts of an alarm tone. “Singularity containment malfunction. Containment will fail in twenty-nine minutes.” The words rang in the enclosed space.

  Vaughn quickly rose to his feet. An artificial quantum singularity—a microscopic, synthetically created black hole—powered the warp drive of Romulan starships, he knew. A complex containment field about the extremely efficient power source prevented the black hole from devouring the vessel, but once the singularity had been enabled, it could not be deactivated. If its containment failed, the ship would be doomed.

  “Alert,” the voice repeated, obviously part of an automated warning system. “Singularity containment malfunction. Containment will fail in twenty-eight minutes and forty-five seconds.”

  Vaughn shined his beacon around the junction well and picked out the right access tunnel, fortunately wider than the one from which he had just emerged. He jumped over to it and dove inside, racing to meet Commander Gravenor and Captain Harriman before Tomed collapsed into nonexistence.

  Sulu marched through the arc of a corridor on Space Station KR-3, her feet pounding rapidly along the deck, her thoughts and emotions whirling. The briefing she’d just received from Admiral Mentir had delivered to her unexpected and even shocking information. Her perspectives on recent events—the treaty negotiations with the Klingons and Romulans, the loss of Universe, Captain Harriman staying behind on Algeron, her unearthing of incongruities in Starfleet personnel files—had all shifted dramatically during the meeting. Likewise, her feelings had slipped their moorings, drifting not only from the surest of her convictions, but also to unanticipated extremes. She understood what had been done—and what would be attempted—even as some of those actions had injured, and would injure, her and others. She felt conflicted and aimless, despite that she would do what had been asked of her.

  A corridor intersected with the curve of KR-3’s central hub, and Sulu turned right into it. She had left Admiral Mentir’s office headed for Enterprise, forty-five minutes short of its departure for Foxtrot XIII, but partway to the airlock she had changed direction. Right now she did not know if she would ever see John Harriman again, but whether she did or not, there was something she felt she needed to do for him.

  Sulu slowed when she reached the infirmary, padding quietly through the main room and into the intensive-care section. A thin, long-limbed man sat working at a console off to the right, and he turned when she entered. “I’m Dr. Van Riper,” he said, rising and walking over to her. In his hand, he held a long, silver device, tapered at one end—some sort of medical instrument, Sulu assumed, but one she did not recognize. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m Commander Demora Sulu, executive officer of the Enterprise,” she said. “I wanted to check on the condition of Admiral Harriman.”

  Van Riper’s expression changed little, but it was as though a gloom had settled across his face. “The admiral is not doing well,” he said. “Our expectations for his recovery have diminished.”

  Those expectations, Sulu knew, had never been particularly high in the first place. “Is he awake?” she asked. “May I see him?”

  “He drifts in and out of consciousness,” the doctor said. “I can take you to him, but I’ll have to ask you to stay no more than five minutes.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Sulu said.

  Van Riper reached back to a console and set the silver device down, then moved past Sulu and led the way to an alcove at the far end of the section. They stopped at the threshold, and Sulu looked in to see the admiral’s indistinct shape beneath a sheet, the low arch of a respirator circling his chest; she could not see his face. “Five minutes,” the doctor whispered gently, and then left.

  Sulu moved slowly into the alcove, making her way to the head of the biobed. As she passed the respirator—the sighs of its operation haunting in the quiet room—the upper section of the admiral’s body came into view. Sulu’s hand automatically came up to her mouth, as though stifling the gasp that she consciously held back.

  Gone was the Blackjack Harriman of her memory. The sturdy, broad-shouldered admiral had been replaced with a fragile skeleton of a man. His robust features had slackened and paled, the medical coverings wrapping his head and one side of his face seeming to have more substance than did his sickly flesh. His one visible eye was closed.

  Sulu peered down at the admiral with a mixture of horror and pity. She had come here for her friend, not with any specific agenda in mind, but simply because she believed that she should. As she stood here, though, she felt grateful that she’d found the admiral sleeping.

  Still, she didn’t want to leave right away. She glanced around and saw a chair against the wall, and she picked it up and set it by the head of the admiral’s bed. She sat down to spend the five minutes here that the doctor had granted her.

  The rise and fall of the respirator’s sounds filled the small area, an elegy meted out in mechanical breaths. For the first time in a while, Sulu thought of her mother, thought of sitting by her sickbed, keeping a vigil night after night. The hours had seemed interminable at the same time that they’d raced unflaggingly toward her mother’s death.

  Next to the admiral’s respirator, Sulu saw several of his fingers not covered by the sheet. She considered taking his hand, just as she had so often taken her mother’s during those final days. She wanted to do it, thinking that it might somehow serve her friend, but she couldn’t. Not only did she feel no connection with this man, but she had built a strong resentment of him over the years, knowing how he had willfully failed his son. On so many occasions—

  A sound like sandpaper rasping against wood interrupted her thoughts. She looked over to see that the admiral had awoken—or perhaps he had been awake, but had only now opened his eyes. Sulu met his gaze, but he couldn’t seem to focus on her. His eyes—rather, the one eye not covered—appeared glassy and vacant. As she watched, his thin, grayish lips parted, and another scratchy mutter issued from them.

  “Admiral Harriman,” she said quietly.

  His lips moved again, and this time, they emitted a weak voice. He seemed to speak a single, unintelligible word, something that sounded to Sulu like Fron.

  “It’s Commander Sulu,” she said. “From the Enterprise.”

  Blackjack’s mouth slowly formed the last word she’d said, though he only gave voice to the third syllable: “Prise.”

  Inane questions such as How are you? and Can I get you anything? crossed Sulu’s mind, and she discarded them at once. “I’m here—” she started, but couldn’t complete the statement because she really didn’t know why she’d come here.

  “Enterprise,” Blackjack said again, most of the word audible this time. “Sulu.” His eye seemed at last to find her.

  “Yes,” Sulu confirmed. “That’s me.”

  “Your father,” Blackjack said, “violated regs.”

  Sulu couldn’t stop from smiling. She understood the incident to which the admiral was referring—the incident that had resulted in the estrangement of Blackjack and his son—but her amusement came from what she knew she would say.

  “Yes, my father violated Starfleet regulations,” she agreed. “Many times.”

  “A cancer,” Blackjack said.

  Sulu felt the smile fade from her face. In an instant, she thought of countless ways to respond to the admiral, from citing the details of her father’s long and illustrious Starfleet career, to simply saying how much she loved him. Instead, she decided to give the dying man before her another chance to find peace. “I’m here,” she said, “for your son.”

  Blackjack said nothing for a moment, and Sulu thought that he might not have heard her, but then: “Johnny.”

  “Yes,” she said. “John Harriman Junior.” She paused, and then said, “He’s worried about you. He wants you to get better.” She waited for the admiral to respond, but when he didn’t, she added, “He loves you.”

  Blackjack remai
ned quiet. As Sulu watched him, though, a spark of life seemed to enter his eye, and she realized that a tear had formed there. Joy filled her heart at this moment that she could bring to her friend—if the captain returned from his mission.

  “Johnny,” the admiral said again. “Weak. Undisciplined. Un grateful.”

  Sulu’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Immediately, though, shock gave way to anger. She had come here for her friend, but she had also tried to ease the senior Harriman’s suffering, to bring him some closure with his son. She thought she’d reached the admiral, but…

  Sulu stood up. Once more, a myriad of things to say to Admiral Harriman occurred to her, and again, she said none of them. “Goodbye, Admiral.” She turned and left the alcove, stopping briefly to thank Dr. Van Riper before exiting the infirmary.

  As she strode through the corridor, headed for the hatch that would take her to Enterprise—and beyond it, to Foxtrot XIII—she thought of John and his long estrangement from his

  father, thought about the complex and unreconciled feelings her friend had been dealing with lately. She didn’t know why the admiral was the way he was, but she understood that there must be a reason. A terrible sense of sadness swept over her—not for John, but for his father, a joyless, pitiable man who, even as he lay dying, could not find a place in his life for love.

  Time grew short.

  Admiral Aventeer Vokar sat in his raised chair at the rear of Tomed’s bridge, staring ahead at the becalmed starscape on the main viewscreen. At the first indication of containment failure, he’d directed the ship dropped from warp and brought to station-keeping. With the engines shut down and the great thrum of their operation now absent, Tomed lay in space like a voiceless, wounded animal.

  Below Vokar, the bridge crew searched for answers. He had ordered the grating automated alerts silenced, leaving only the sounds of the officers working their consoles. The yellow glare of the emergency lighting threw the scene into bleak contrasts, imparting to it a cold, two-dimensional aspect. Vokar observed, quiet and utterly still, waiting for the information that would dictate his next actions.

  Inside, he raged.

  He did not suspect Federation subversion; he was certain of it. The sudden deterioration of the singularity containment field would have been indication enough, but the simultaneous breakdown of the ship’s external communications provided virtually unassailable proof. The two systems—containment and communications—shared no common circuitry, flouting the realistic possibility that they would go down independently and at the same time, along with their backups. He did not know how the sabotage had been perpetrated, but he knew beyond doubt the identities of the perpetrators.

  “Admiral,” Subcommander Linavil said, her voice just loud enough, just untamed enough, to betray her dread. Vokar looked down and to his left, to where she stood beside an engineer feverishly operating his console. “They can’t stop it,” she declared. “They think they might be able to slow the loss of containment, but it will fail completely.”

  “For how long can the engineers delay it?” Vokar asked.

  “They’re not sure,” Linavil said. She took several steps away from the console and toward Vokar. “Minutes, maybe hours. But they may not have even enough time to determine if they can delay it.”

  Vokar nodded, carefully keeping his fury in check. He glanced at the chronometer set into a small display in the arm of his chair. If nothing could be done, then twenty-five minutes remained before the quantum singularity that powered Tomed would be free of its cage, an insatiable force that would demolish the ship.

  No crewmember was more than seven minutes away from an evacuation pod, Vokar knew. That left a margin of safety, but a small one. After the crew had escaped, there would still have to be time enough for the ship, via preprogramming, to be sent out of the area and then stopped somewhere; the singularity could not be permitted to slip its bonds while at warp velocity, for the resultant devastation would easily reach back far enough to obliterate the crew.

  Vokar looked back up at the viewscreen, barely able to stifle the scream forming behind his lips. Reluctantly, he gave the order. “Abandon ship.”

  Linavil acted immediately. “Navigator,” she said as she strode purposefully across the center of the bridge, her body movements now reflecting decisiveness and strength, Vokar noted, and not concern or fear. “Plot a course away from here, and away from any space lanes. Helm, preprogram the ship to travel the new course at warp eight, beginning six minutes prior to projected containment failure, and ending one minute prior.”

  The officers acknowledged the orders and set to operating their consoles. “Intraship,” Linavil said, continuing across the bridge until she reached the communications station. As the officer there worked her controls, Vokar made another decision.

  “Subcommander,” he said.

  “Sir?” Linavil said, turning to peer up at him.

  “Myself, you, Akeev, and Elvia and her top two engineers,” he said, “we go last.” He would provide Elvia, Tomed’s lead engineer, and Akeev, the ship’s lead science officer, as much time as possible to find any kind of a solution. If the containment failure could be delayed until they reached the nearest repair base, then another containment field could be erected about the singularity.

  “Yes, sir,” Linavil said, and she looked over to where Lieutenant Akeev manned his sciences station. Vokar saw him acknowledge with a nod the unspoken question: Did you hear the admiral’s order? As Akeev returned his attention to his panel, Linavil reached across the communications console and touched a control. “Bridge to Lieutenant Elvia,” she said.

  Several seconds passed. “This is Elvia,” a female voice finally said, sounding beleaguered.

  “This is Linavil. We’re about to abandon Tomed. You and your top two engineers will remain aboard and continue to work on slowing the containment collapse until ten minutes before it will fail.” Vokar knew, as Linavil must also, that several evacuation pods were within a minute of main engineering. “Report any progress immediately.”

  “Acknowledged,” Elvia said. “I’ll keep T’Sil and Valin with me.”

  “Out,” Linavil said, and then she told the comm officer once more, “Intraship.” When the channel had been opened, she made the announcement to the crew. “This is Subcommander Linavil. By order of Admiral Vokar, all hands abandon ship. I repeat: All hands abandon ship. This is not an exercise.”

  Vokar watched as the crew—but for Linavil and Akeev—quickly secured their stations and began an exodus for the evacuation pods. Vokar waited until the last of the departing officers—helm and navigation—had left, and then he stood from his command chair and descended to the deck. In just moments, the bridge had been deserted.

  “Normal lighting,” he said. He did not see who, but either Linavil or Akeev complied with the order. The illusory quality lent to the bridge by the yellow emergency lights vanished, as though reality had somehow been injected back into the scene.

  Vokar walked forward, past the flight-control consoles, and glared at the main viewscreen. He concentrated on controlling his wrath. How did they do it? he asked himself in frustration. He had been right not to trust the Federation, of course: not about the test of metaweapons that they denied; not about the so-called hyperwarp drive; and not even to travel to and from Algeron within Romulan space. No, he hadn’t trusted them—had never trusted them—but neither had he believed that the security of the flagship could be compromised like this.

  On the almost-empty bridge, the tap of Akeev’s fingertips on his panel, and the occasional tones emitted by the sciences station, failed to fill the void left by the absent crew. Vokar waited to hear something from Akeev, or from the engineers working directly on the containment field, but he knew that he wouldn’t. Before long, they would all have to flee the ship too.

  Minutes passed.

  Why? he asked himself. Why would the Federation want to destroy just one Romulan vessel? Yes, Tomed was the flagship, but the
risk that they must have taken to attempt this within Romulan space seemed too great. Unless Tomed wasn’t the only vessel attacked. Perhaps the Federation has commenced a war, perhaps—

  Movement streaked across the viewscreen. Vokar saw the cylindrical evacuation pods—half a dozen, a dozen, more—as they rushed away from Tomed, taking the crew to safety. “Time,” he said.

  “Fifteen minutes until containment failure,” Linavil answered from somewhere behind him.

  “How did they do it?” Vokar asked as he watched more evacuation pods racing out into space. He heard the metallic toll of footfalls, which ended as Linavil stepped up next to him.

  “I don’t know, Admiral,” she said, clearly understanding who he had meant by they.

  “How?” he asked again. He turned toward the first officer.

  “We never docked at Algeron. We stayed in orbit about it specifically to maintain ship’s security.”

  “I know, sir,” she said. “The shields have been raised from the moment Enterprise crossed the Neutral Zone into our territory until the moment it crossed back. They couldn’t have—”

  The instant Linavil stopped speaking, Vokar knew that she had figured it out. “What?” he demanded.

  “When Enterprise suffered the problem with its sublight engine,” Linavil said, “we prepared to transport their crew aboard. I lowered the shields, for just a few moments, until the crisis had passed.”

  Vokar resisted the urge to strike her where she stood. He saw Linavil’s fear of him in her eyes. “Decoyed,” he said. He peered past Linavil. “Akeev.”

  “Sir?” the science officer said.

  “How long would it take to do this in this way?” he asked.

  “To sabotage the containment field and its backups, external communications and its backups?”

  “I’m not sure, Admiral,” Akeev said. “I’d have to—”

  “Minutes?” Vokar spoke over him. “Hours? Days?”

  “Hours at least,” Akeev said. “Probably days.”

  Vokar looked back at Linavil. “They’re still aboard,” he asserted. “Which means that they’re not attempting to destroy the ship; they’re attempting to seize it.”