“How do you work a battle?” asked Veracruz, throwing the question out to the entire group. “Do you like to take the offensive? Or do you prefer to hang back and let the enemy come to you?”
Shastakovich turned to Picard. “Why don’t we start over here and work our way around the room?”
Picard nodded and said, “Well, it depends…”
Kastiigan sat down at his desk in the sciences section and went over the report from the Exeter, which the captain had made available to all his section heads. It was basically a list of newly arrived vessels.
The Hood, commanded by Captain Benderrek. The Valdemar, commanded by Captain Calabrese. And the Etrechaya, which had been commissioned only a couple of days earlier.
That made thirty-two vessels in all. It was already one of the most powerful forces in Starfleet history, and still more ships were on the way.
But then, the invaders were powerful too. Otherwise, they couldn’t have taken those other ships so easily.
Kastiigan sat back in his chair. There would be no negotiating with this enemy—he had heard his crewmates agree on that time and again. The invaders were too vicious, too implacable, too alien. The only way to stop them was to overcome them.
Combat, the science officer thought. Just the prospect of it made his heart beat a little faster. It was what he had hoped for when he signed on with the Stargazer months earlier. It was what he had dreamed about.
Since Kastiigan’s arrival on board, Captain Picard had put his life on the line several times. So had a number of his officers. But never Kastiigan. Not even once.
He had expressed his desire to do so on more than one occasion. He had started out subtly and grown increasingly blunt. And yet, his requests had fallen on deaf ears.
Over and over again, he had watched others assume the risks that should have been his. And with each oversight, his disappointment had gotten a little keener.
It had gotten to the point where Kastiigan was resigned to his fate. He had given up hoping that he would ever have the opportunity he longed for.
Now, with a clash of such huge proportions imminent, his hopes were rekindled. Finally, he stood a chance of seizing the glory that had so far eluded him.
And it might not be at the captain’s behest. In battle, one never knew when the need for sacrifice might arise—a situation where a single death might prevent a great many others.
If it comes, Kastiigan thought, I’ll be ready. The way his stint on the Stargazer had gone, he couldn’t depend on getting a second chance. He just had to make sure he didn’t waste the first one.
Ben Zoma stopped and regarded the collection of containers in front of him, using his palmlight for illumination.
“And they’re the next ones to go?” he asked.
“They’re among the next ones,” said Garner. “But we won’t be able to fit inside any of the others.”
There would be plenty of room for them to fit inside the gigantic specimens before him. There were nearly a dozen of the dark, cylindrical behemoths, each one almost as large as the Livingston. And the aliens had started out with even more of them, judging by the circular dust-marks left on the floor.
Of course, Ben Zoma and his team needed only one of the containers. As big as the things were, there would be more than enough room inside for all of them.
But which one would the aliens grab first? The shuttle team’s best bet seemed to be the container closest to the cargo bay door, which wasn’t more than a hundred meters away—but they couldn’t be certain of it. And the longer it took them to smuggle themselves aboard a warship, the more punishment Starfleet would be forced to endure.
“Just one problem,” said Horombo, using his palmlight to inspect one of the containers. “They’re locked.”
Indeed, the container had four clasps positioned at regular intervals around its lid. They were each about the size of Ben Zoma’s fist, with a small, horizontal readout and a keypad.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said McAteer, uttering his first words since they entered the supply drone.
“Not in terms of getting in,” said Ben Zoma, choosing his words carefully so as not to make the admiral look bad. “But after we’re inside, we’ll have to reactivate the locks.”
“Of course,” said McAteer, as if he had already considered that aspect of the situation.
“I think we’ll be all right,” said Horombo, scanning the locking mechanisms with his tricorder. “They don’t look all that complicated.”
McAteer seemed pleased with the observation. “Didn’t expect they would be.”
It was Chen who finally cracked the code and opened the locks. They opened slowly, with a whirring sound.
Climbing up on Ben Zoma’s back, Garner lifted the container’s lid and used her palmlight to take a look inside.
“What’s in there?” Ramirez asked, her face cast into stark relief by the play of light beams.
“Rolls of something,” said Garner. “Registers organic.” She whistled. “A fair amount of bacteria here. Hard to say if it’s harmful or not.”
It wasn’t the best news. Their suits afforded them their own air supplies, but only for a limited amount of time. And when they arrived on the alien warship, they would want to sacrifice protection for freedom of movement anyway.
As Garner climbed down, she said, “A bit of a problem.”
But there was a solution. “Let’s get that stuff out of the container,” said Ben Zoma, “and put it somewhere else. Then we’ll cleanse the inside of the container with our phasers.”
“We’ll need to record its mass,” said Chen, “so we know how much to add to our own.”
It was a good point. They didn’t want to give the aliens any reason to question what they were bringing aboard.
“That’ll be your job,” Ben Zoma told him.
“Maybe we should keep a little of the stuff,” said Paris, “to line the inside of the container—in case they run a scan.”
Another good point. But then, they were back to square one with regard to the bacteria. Or maybe not….
“Let’s try this,” said Ben Zoma. He indicated the container’s immediate neighbors with a sweep of his hand. “Check these other monsters for bacteria. If they’re germ-free, we can transplant some of their contents into this one.”
“Sounds good,” said McAteer, apparently feeling he had to say something.
As it turned out, the next container they opened was free of the bacteria. Luck, it seemed, was still on their side.
Ben Zoma assigned three of the security officers—Horombo, Ramirez, and Garner—to empty out the first container. Then he, Paris, and Chen undertook to empty the second one.
The cargo they handled was pale, flat, and flexible. It was packed in rolls as Garner had indicated, each of them half a head taller than Ben Zoma and probably just as heavy. Being organic, it seemed likely that it was a foodstuff of some kind.
McAteer, to his credit, didn’t stand around and watch everyone else work. Joining the first team, he pitched in and worked as hard as anyone.
Little by little, they created two stacks a good forty meters apart from each other, to minimize the possibility of cross-contamination. Then Ben Zoma’s team went to work on the first container, scouring it with wide-angle phaser beams.
When their tricorders stopped registering bacteria, they began filling the container with germ-free cargo, using approximately half the stack they made—enough to reach the mass level that had existed in the container before.
Meanwhile, the first team filled the second container with the stack of bacteria-infested cargo. By the time they finished and were ready to lock the lid down, Ben Zoma’s team was distributing the excess from the germ-free pile to the other containers—not just the second one, but also those that were previously unopened.
That way, they could hide the cargo they were displacing. And unless the aliens scrutinized the contents of each container, they would never know what had happened.
After Ben Zoma and his team finished, they took out their phasers again and used the same low-level, wide-angle setting they had used on the container to burn germs off each other. Otherwise, they might have contaminated the bacteria-free cargo and undone all their hard work.
The only thing left to do was figure out how to reset the locks after they climbed into the container. While Chen and Garner worked on that, Ben Zoma told the rest of his team to take a break.
He had intended to take one himself. However, as he watched Chen and Garner work on the problem, he heard McAteer’s voice in the confines of his helmet.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?” the admiral asked. He tapped his helmet with a gloved forefinger. “Without these?”
Ben Zoma understood the implication. As it was, they could speak over the group com link or by putting their helmets together. But neither way afforded them any real privacy.
“Of course,” said the first officer.
He cast his palmlight about until he found a likely collection of containers. After all, there was more to privacy than keeping their choice of words to themselves.
He tilted his head. “Over there would be good.”
McAteer nodded. “Fine with me, Commander.” Then he led the way, forcing Ben Zoma to follow.
When they reached the far side of the cluster, the admiral took off his helmet, and Ben Zoma did the same. As their tricorders had indicated, the air was warm and breathable.
“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Ben Zoma asked, getting straight to the point.
“You,” said McAteer. “And the way you’ve conducted yourself since we entered this ship.”
The first officer wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear, but it wasn’t that. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“You’ve been giving orders as if I weren’t around. As if I weren’t the ranking officer on this mission.”
“With all due respect, Admiral, I thought you were happy to let me take the lead. You certainly didn’t give me any indication to the contrary.”
“Well,” said McAteer, “I’m giving you an indication now. I’m the one who’ll be giving the orders from now on. And if you have a problem with that, you’ll have to cope with it.”
Ben Zoma felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Still, he managed to keep his composure. “I have no problem with it, sir.”
The admiral chuckled derisively. “Really, Commander? You bear me no ill at all?”
The first officer saw now what McAteer was getting at. But just because the admiral was dangling the bait, he didn’t have to rise to it. “None at all, sir.”
McAteer scowled. “Come on, Commander, you can say it. You don’t like the fact that I’ve called your captain to a competence hearing.”
Ben Zoma shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I like that?”
“Because he’s your friend, for one thing. And because if he’s demoted, there’s a good chance his first officer will be knocked down as well.”
Obviously, Ben Zoma had considered that possibility. But truthfully, he didn’t want to serve under anyone except Picard. If his friend were stripped of his command, Ben Zoma would be happy to leave with him.
“I suppose you think you have good cause to call for a hearing,” said the first officer. “Well, I don’t.”
“Really,” said the admiral. “I’d like to hear more.”
“Permission to speak freely?”
“Granted,” said McAteer.
“From where I stand, Captain Picard has done pretty much everything you’ve asked of him. If he’s been deficient at all, it’s in his reluctance to tell you where to get off.”
McAteer’s face suffused with blood. “I’ve bent over backward to be fair to your captain, Commander. Despite his inexperience, I’ve treated him like any other captain in my sector.”
“You’ve given him two kinds of missions, Admiral—the kind in which he can’t possibly succeed and the kind that pushes him out of the way. Don’t tell me you call that being fair.”
“I wanted to trust him,” said McAteer. “But after the mess he made of his contact with the Nuyyad, what was I supposed to do? Give him another chance to screw things up?”
Ben Zoma met his gaze. “Picard handled the Nuyyad the way any good captain would have handled them. They were out for our blood from the moment we laid eyes on them. If you had been there, you would have seen that.”
“If the Nuyyad were out for blood, it was because you were in their space.”
“We were in their space,” said the first officer, “because they lured us there.”
“If I recall correctly,” said McAteer, “it was your friend Santana who lured you there.”
“Under orders from the Nuyyad.”
“You didn’t know that at the time.”
“We were attacked,” said Ben Zoma. “We defended ourselves.”
“And went on defending yourself, even when you had to look high and low for someone to defend yourselves against.”
“What should we have done?” Ben Zoma asked. “Abandoned a colony full of human beings?”
“You should have done your job,” said McAteer, “which, if I recall correctly, was simply to reconnoiter and report to Starfleet Command.”
“Is that all you expect of your captains? Reconnaissance? Even when there’s a clearcut danger to the Federation, and it’s in their power to eliminate it?”
“Clearcut to whom, Commander?”
“To the man who was there, Admiral. Certainly clear to him, and to anyone who was fighting alongside him.”
“Then,” said McAteer, “I question all your judgments.”
Ben Zoma laughed. “Why not? It’s a lot easier than questioning your own.”
The admiral gave him a hard look. “My judgment is based on decades of experience.”
“So is Admiral Mehdi’s,” said Ben Zoma, “and he’s given Captain Picard a vote of confidence. Why can’t you?”
“Why?” The admiral snorted. “Because it’s not my job to make someone else’s bad decisions look good. Making Picard a captain was a bad decision.”
“Nothing like keeping an open mind.”
“Open minds,” McAteer snapped, “are for people who lack conviction.”
Ben Zoma stared at him. How could he argue with someone who believed that?
“In any case,” said McAteer, “this is the wrong time and place to debate the wisdom of your captain’s decisions. If you want to defend him, you can do it when his case is heard.”
“I will,” said Ben Zoma, putting his helmet back on.
If we live that long, he added silently.
Chapter Thirteen
PICARD SWORE BENEATH HIS BREATH as he read the information on Paxton’s monitor screen.
Two more starships had dropped off the subspace communications map. One was the Yorenda, whose Vulcan first officer had graduated from the Academy just ahead of Picard. The other was the Gettysburg, commanded by Tabitha Jenkins, ahead of even Sesbella in terms of longevity.
Neither vessel had been much farther out from Earth than the Stargazer when Command lost contact with them. If the aliens were responsible for the disappearances, they were a good deal closer than anyone had expected.
Close enough to clash with Starfleet’s line of defense sometime in the next few hours. It was a daunting thought.
And it had to be even more daunting to the rank and file, Picard reflected. No one knew that better than he, who had been one of them until a few short months ago.
He looked around his bridge, noting the air of tension that pervaded the place. Expressions were strained, shoulder muscles taut, postures painfully erect.
Not one of his officers was taking the enemy lightly. Nor could they. Not with the stakes so terribly high.
The captain wished he could say something to lift everyone’s spirits. Had Ben Zoma been there, he would have found a way—perhaps with a word, perhaps with just a gesture.
But Picard didn’t have his first officer’s knack in that regard. All he could do was move from station to station and let his people know they weren’t alone.
“Thank you,” he told Paxton.
“No problem, sir.”
Picard regarded the com officer. “How are you holding up, Lieutenant?”
Paxton smiled in his full, dark beard. “Well enough. I just can’t help thinking…” He shrugged.
“What?” said the captain.
“That I could possibly have prevented this. If I’d caught Ulelo before he sent out those specs, the invaders wouldn’t have gained an advantage over us.”
“None of us noticed what Ulelo was up to,” said Picard. “You, at least, have an excuse—you were absent from the bridge when he was transmitting his data. I was here almost all the time, just a few meters away from him.” He looked around. “So were Idun and Gerda, and Commander Ben Zoma, and Commander Wu.”
Paxton sighed. “Yes, but if I’d checked the com logs a little sooner, I would have seen that something was wrong.”
Picard dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “It is to your credit that you checked them at all. As you know, most com officers do not bother—and if I had had one of them instead of you, Ulelo would still be sending out his messages undetected and unimpeded.”
That seemed to make Paxton feel better about himself. “Well,” he said, “when you put it that way…”
Picard clapped him on the shoulder. “Forget about Ulelo. Just keep the lines of communication open during the battle, and you will have done all I can possibly expect of you.”
Paxton nodded. “Thanks, sir.”
“For what?” Picard asked with a wink. Then he moved aft to see to Urajel, who had been chosen to man the engineering station in the event of a battle.
He would ask her how she was doing, and try to answer any concerns she might have, and let her know that he had faith in her—just as he had done with Paxton. It wouldn’t accomplish much—the captain knew that. But it would be better than nothing.
As Horombo had predicted, it didn’t take long for Ben Zoma’s team to devise a way to relock the container lid.
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