Headlong Flight

by Dayton Ward

  “Good to have you with us, Mister Paabell,” said Picard.

  Swiveling his seat away from his console, the lieutenant nodded. “Thank you, sir. I was just about to report that the sensor array is reinitializing. We have partial capability for the moment, but that is only sufficient for short-range scans.”

  Picard’s reply was cut short by the sound of a tactical alert, and he turned to see that Lieutenant Šmrhová had returned to her station.

  “Deflectors are attempting to activate,” reported the security chief, “but they’re only at twenty-two percent. They’re firming up, but it’s going to take time.” She looked up from her instruments. “Sir, sensors are detecting three ships in orbit around the planet. They’re . . .” She paused, as though uncertain of the readings as she dropped her gaze back to her panel. Shaking her head, she said, “They’re Romulan, Captain. One is a class of ship I haven’t seen outside of a history book or a ­museum, and the other two are smaller escort vessels.”

  “Older ships, converted for civilian use?” asked Picard.

  Šmrhová replied, “No, sir. According to sensors, the warship could’ve been built a year ago. The smaller ships are a little older, but only by a few years. They’re adrift just out of visual range beyond the curve of the planet, and I’m picking up signs of system failures and overloads, similar to ours though not nearly as extensive.” She snorted. “I guess they got lucky, but I don’t have a clue as to what they might be doing all the way out here. I can’t even believe they slipped in here without our noticing it. Sensors should’ve picked them up long before the planet showed up.”

  Tabling that thought for the moment, Picard moved to the science station and leaned closer to Paabell. “Are you detecting any life signs?”

  “Scanning.” The console seemed to all but disappear beneath the Capellan’s huge hands. “All three vessels show Romulan life signs, sir. Numbers are consistent with what the library computer has on file for . . . such older vessels.”

  On one of the station’s display screens, Picard studied the computer-generated schematic of the Romulan vessels. The escort ships were unfamiliar to him, but the Vas Hatham–class warship was immediately recognizable, being a class of attack craft that saw extended service during the mid- to late twenty-third century. Such ships had been labeled as obsolete decades before Picard was born, and like Šmrhová he had only seen one at the Starfleet annex to the Smithsonian Space Museum in San Francisco. There were also numerous references to such vessels in Academy history texts, including detailed accountings of several notable meetings between ships of the Romulan Empire and various Starfleet captains.

  But what the hell is it doing here?

  That the Romulans might choose to expand in this direction was not unreasonable, given the proximity of the Odyssean Pass to the far boundary of space claimed by the Empire. The largely unexplored and unclaimed expanse skirted that territory as well as that of the Kling­ons and the Federation, and was one of the few directions in which the Romulans could expand without much interference from either of those rival powers. The Empire’s involvement in the Typhon Pact only served to complicate its relations with the Federation, but for now, at least, the current Romulan praetor, Gell Kamemor, seemed content not to challenge any Starfleet exploratory missions into the vast region.

  Had that changed? If so, why send a relic to carry out such a mission?

  What if it’s not a relic? What if it is a brand-new vessel, just not from here?

  The implications of those wayward questions were just beginning to shape Picard’s thoughts when another alert tone sounded from Šmrhová’s tactical station. He turned and once again saw his security chief with a perplexed expression.

  “Okay, I have to be imagining things. Sensors have picked up another ship in orbit, on the far side of the planet. At least this one’s Starfleet. Scans show it’s a Galaxy-class starship, but I don’t know how it managed to sneak up on us either. It’s making its way toward us. We’ll have visual in a moment.”

  Compared to the Romulan ship, this development at least sounded normal. A number of Galaxy-class vessels were still in Starfleet service, constructed upon spaceframes designed with intended life spans of a century or more.

  None of that served to explain what the ship was doing here.

  Picard watched as Šmrhová tapped a short sequence of keys, then saw her jaw slacken before she looked up at him.

  “Sir, I just accessed its registry. It identifies itself as U.S.S. Enterprise . . .”

  U.S.S. Enterprise-D

  “NCC-1701 . . . E?”

  His eyes still stinging as a result of smoke from the overloaded console that had exploded at the back of the bridge, Riker turned and regarded Tasha Yar. The side of her face was still reddened from where she had impacted against the deck below the tactical station, and she was favoring her left arm, but she was otherwise uninjured.

  “Can we see it?” he asked, still trying to process the information the security chief had given him seconds earlier regarding the appearance of the strange ship now orbiting the far side of the planet, which bore all the marks of a Starfleet vessel that—so far as Riker knew—was still being developed.

  Yar replied, “Yes, sir. It’s entering visual range.” A moment later, the image on the bridge’s main viewscreen shifted to display what Riker recognized as a Sovereign-class starship. He was only able to identify the vessel because he had seen the technical schematics during a visit to the San Francisco Fleet Yards while the Enterprise was still undergoing its own refit at Earth Station McKinley. As he had when first reviewing the construction plans, he marveled at the advanced starship’s sleek lines, which suggested speed and power even as it drifted in space.

  “That’s incredible,” said La Forge, and Riker noticed for the first time that the chief engineer had moved down to the command area. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

  Originally conceived as a new version of long-­duration, deep-space exploration vessel, the ship design underwent a revision following the Enterprise’s initial encounter with the Borg two years earlier. The recent Borg incursion and the heavy losses suffered at Wolf 359 were already having an even greater impact on the Sovereign design. People like Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Shelby were putting those hard lessons to good use in the next generation of Starfleet vessels, ensuring they could stand against adversaries like the Borg while still being equipped to carry out their primary mission of pushing ever outward the boundaries of knowledge and discovery.

  That was all well and good, but none of that was supposed to be real. At least not yet, but the evidence on the viewscreen told Riker otherwise.

  This, and we still have three Romulan ships to deal with.

  “Time travel?” he said aloud. “Is that what happened?”

  Behind him, still seated in her chair, Troi said, “If that’s true, then who’s out of place?”

  It was a good question, Riker conceded, but it was not the pressing issue at this particular moment. The planet and its dimensional shift had done its level best to overload every shipboard system. Backup processes were already laboring to lighten the strain on the impulse engines that were now responsible for generating power, as the warp core had deactivated as a consequence of quantum energy bombardment.

  He also could not stop one thought from nagging him about the new ship. If that was a future Enterprise, then what had happened to his ship? Who was in command over there? Would it be a future version of him? Data? Or, some other member of the crew who had advanced to captain’s rank? It might well be someone else entirely, which would beg the question of what happened to this ship’s crew?

  I hate time travel.

  “Captain,” said Data. The first officer had moved from his seat to stand next to Riker. “A scan of the ship shows that its quantum signature differs from our own, as well as the planet and the Romulan vessel
s.”

  “It gets worse, sir.” La Forge, having moved down to the command area, pointed toward the viewscreen. “That Enterprise’s quantum signature is consistent with this dimension.”

  At least now it was making a kind of sense. “So, we got pulled along with the planet to here.”

  “Precisely, sir,” replied Data. “The Romulan vessels appear to have suffered a similar fate, having been transposed not once but twice during the planet’s shifting between multiple dimensions. Their quantum signatures are also different from the planet as well as our own.”

  “Time travel, on top of moving between dimensions?” Riker shook his head. “Jellico’s going to love this.” He looked to Data. “Any idea where . . . I mean when . . . we are?”

  The first officer said, “I have attempted to access a Federation time beacon, but there are none within sensor range. However, the main computer has ascertained our current position using navigational charts, and we are currently positioned within the nebula NGC 8541, which lies in a region known as the Odyssean Pass. In our time period—and dimension—this area has only been explored by unmanned survey probes.”

  Riker frowned. He was sure he had read something about the Odyssean Pass, but it had been years. The region had once been highlighted as a promising area for exploration and possible expansion, but that initiative had been set aside as the Federation continued to face an increasing number of interstellar threats. The Klingons, the Cardassians, and especially the Borg, just to name the prominent obstacles, had all seen to it that Starfleet’s mandate evolved to incorporate ever greater defense responsibilities. While protecting Federation interests had always been part of Starfleet’s mission, there was a time when that mandate had walked in step with its larger focus of exploration. Now it seemed that balance was tipping too far toward more martial concerns, and there were times Riker questioned whether this was still the Starfleet that had so enamored him as a child.

  We haven’t lost sight of who we are, and we won’t. Ever.

  Behind him, Yar said, “They look to have suffered damage similar to what we’re dealing with, sir. The Romulan ships have some damage, but overall they’re better off than either us or . . . the other Enterprise.”

  “That figures,” said Riker.

  La Forge replied, “It could be that their vessels’ less sophisticated technology wasn’t as susceptible to the quantum energy fluctuations that hammered us.” He released a small grunt. “Lucky them.”

  “Are they a threat?”

  “Toe to toe? No way, sir,” said Yar. “However, if they wanted to pick a fight, they might give us some trouble in our present condition. They seem content to keep their distance for the moment, though.”

  Riker nodded. “They’re probably just as confused about all this as we are, and are sizing up the situation and us. It’s what I’d do. Data, how much time do you figure we have until the next dimensional shift?”

  “Unknown, sir. A scan of the planet shows that the quantum energy output has fallen considerably. Whatever caused the spike and the rapid succession of shifts seems to have dissipated, at least for the time being.”

  “Keep monitoring. I don’t want to get blindsided like that again.” There also was the added concern that the Enterprise might want to tag along with the planet when it shifted again, in the hopes of returning to their proper dimension.

  And time. Don’t forget that.

  The familiar tone that signaled an incoming communication sounded from Yar’s tactical console, and the security chief looked to Riker. “We’re being hailed, sir, from the other Enterprise.”

  “I was wondering which of us might do that first,” said Troi as she rose from her chair to stand next to Riker.

  Still staring at the image of the futuristic yet oddly familiar Enterprise on the viewscreen, he replied, “I admit I thought about it, but if we really are from different times, then any interaction we have with each other could be dangerous.”

  Data said, “As it appears we are from a different dimension, the Temporal Prime Directive would not strictly apply in this instance, sir.”

  “Besides, they may be able to help us get back to where we belong.” La Forge offered a small, humorless smile as he nodded toward the viewscreen. “Assuming their chief engineer is as good as ours.”

  The comment was enough to alleviate some of the tension of the past few minutes, and Riker grinned. With renewed energy, he looked to Yar. “Open a channel. Let’s say hello.”

  17

  U.S.S. Enterprise-E

  It was like staring at a photograph, or recalling a vivid memory. The uniforms, the bridge stations, the familiar faces.

  Though he had anticipated confronting a somewhat younger version of himself, Picard was unprepared for the sight of William Riker standing on the bridge of ­Enterprise-D, captain’s insignia affixed to the collar of his maroon and black tunic. Behind him were other ­familiar faces—Deanna Troi and Geordi La Forge, the latter wearing the VISOR he had used for so many years before acquiring his more advanced ocular implants. They both looked so young, as did Worf, and Wesley Crusher, who occupied the conn position while wearing civilian attire.

  Then there was Data, wearing a maroon uniform, and a commander’s rank.

  And Natasha.

  It was Yar’s face that held Picard’s attention. Data’s death had been traumatic for him and the rest of the ­Enterprise crew, but he had been returned to them. The loss of Tasha Yar, however, still haunted Picard. Her death, during the Enterprise-D’s first year of service, had been as sudden as it was tragic and useless. That she was killed almost as an afterthought by the cruel alien entity that had struck her down was a wound that had never fully healed.

  Now she stood before him and with the rest of her shipmates. The bruise on the side of her face spoke to whatever recent injury she had sustained, perhaps as a consequence of their abrupt transit from . . .

  . . . wherever they’d come from?

  “Captain Riker, I presume?” Picard offered the greeting with a gentle smile, while trying not to dwell on the obvious question: Where was his own counterpart? “This is an unexpected surprise, but . . . it’s good to see you.”

  Standing ramrod straight at the center of his bridge, Riker nodded. “It’s . . . good to see you, too, sir, even if the circumstances are a little . . . unusual.” There was something in his voice—surprise, certainly—but also another aspect that felt out of place, and one Picard could not identify.

  They’re dealing with this just like you are. It’s strange for all of us.

  “By now, I’m guessing Mister Data has confirmed that your ship has journeyed with the planet to our dimension.”

  On the screen, Riker nodded. “Yes, sir, and it’s obvious that there’s a temporal element in play here, as well. That’s a wrinkle I’m sure they’re going to love hearing about when we get home and file a report to Starfleet Command.” A bit of his trademark humor seeped around the edges of his reply, and Picard noted the almost mischievous glint in the other man’s eyes.

  Stepping closer to the screen, Picard said, “I can only imagine you have a number of questions.” His gaze flickered once more to Lieutenant Yar. “And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had some of my own, but for the moment, I think we can agree we have more pressing concerns. I have an away team down on the planet that we’re unable to communicate with, and there are our Romulan friends to consider.”

  “Agreed. We have damage here, and our sensors show you took a bit of a beating too. As for the Romulans, their ships are a century out of date, but they seemed to come through all of this in pretty decent shape. I was considering an attempt at communication, but I’ll defer to you on that.”

  Picard nodded. “As it’s my people on the surface, I’ll make that overture, Num . . . I mean Captain.” He offered another uncertain smile. “Congratulations on your promotion. I h
ave no doubt it was well-deserved.”

  In response to the praise, Riker appeared uncomfortable, his eyes looking downward for a moment before he returned his attention to the screen. “Thank you, sir. As you say, it’s a . . . long story.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have a chance to hear it. Right now, however, I think we should concentrate on our repairs while I attempt to retrieve my away team.”

  On the screen, Data moved to stand next to Riker. “Captain, if you have been conducting your own sensor scans of the planet, then you likely know that it shifts between dimensions at irregular intervals with little or no warning.”

  “We are aware, Commander. We’ve attempted to devise a means of predicting the shifts, but so far we’ve been unsuccessful. If it happens again, we may be better off allowing it to transition while maintaining a safe distance. We’ve acquired enough information to feel confident that it will eventually return.”

  Riker said, “Staying here might not be the smartest move for us, Captain, given the time travel aspects of our situation.” He paused, glancing around his bridge as though considering his ship and the space beyond its hull. “On the other hand, if we hide in this nebula for a few days while we figure this out, we should be able to reduce the chances of our introducing any temporal contamination.”

  “Let’s just hope the Romulans are feeling similarly charitable.”

  If the Romulan ships and other Enterprise truly had come from different dimensions, then the chances of there being an effect on the timeline, here or anywhere else, seemed to Picard a remote possibility. It was obvious that at least some things had unfolded in quite a different fashion in the reality Captain William Riker called home. The questions he wanted to ask threatened to overload his thoughts, and Picard forced himself to set aside that curiosity.