[81] Without warning, a score of spinning, tentacled creatures came hurtling through the confetti of debris, striking their shields and splattering like paint balls. They looked like giant starfish to Picard, and they sizzled on the shields like fried eggs on volcanic rock.
“Shields failing!” exclaimed Kaylena.
“How can that be?” asked Picard in alarm.
“Something in the composition of those creatures,” answered the Romulan. With sure motions and no hesitation, she brought the shuttlecraft to a spinning stop, then applied rear thrusters in an attempt to drive off the attackers. The tentacled beings seemed to be intent upon streaking toward their position and sacrificing themselves to weaken the shields.
“They appear to be coming from that black cloud,” noted Picard, “if I can trust my vision.”
The craft shuddered as it began to hit debris, and Kaylena fired forward thrusters to slow them down. “Shields are gone!” she exclaimed with frustration. “I can’t escape without incurring too much damage.”
The starfish creatures continued to perish on their aft thrusters, but the thruster burns were causing them to move too fast through the dense field of rubble. Without shields, a moderate collision could be disastrous.
“I’m shutting down everything but life-support,” declared Kaylena.
“Do you think they’re attracted to our energy sources?”
“They seem to be, but without power, perhaps we can blend in with the debris.” She gazed at the captain with wide, brown eyes. “I’m sorry to have gotten you into this situation.”
“I came of my own free will,” he answered.
seven
Captain Picard waited tensely but silently as the Romulan commander worked the controls of the shuttlecraft. Suddenly the instruments at every station went dark, all sound stopped, and the lighting in the cabin switched to a dim blue, Thrusters no longer fired, but Kaylena had done a good job of matching the approximate speed of the debris around them—so they could drift on their momentum among the glittering wreckage. More importantly, the starfish creatures were no longer attracted to the shuttlecraft, and there was just the occasional thud as they brushed against debris. It was almost peaceful drifting among the sparkling remains of the two starships, the Barcelona and the Petrask.
“Do you have environmental suits?” asked Picard. “Without shields, we’re vulnerable to radiation. We can’t tell if it’s increased, but it probably has.”
“Good point,” answered the commander. She rose from her seat and stepped to the rear of the craft, where she opened a locker and removed two black, hooded suits.
As she approached Picard with the suits, Kaylena frowned [83] apologetically. “Once again, Captain, I’m sorry to have put you in danger. As humans say, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ ”
“It was a good idea,” replied Picard. “We’re the only ones out here ... the only ones who know what’s happening, even if we don’t have any answers.”
“My crew knows where we are, so I assume we’ll be rescued.” Kaylena handed him an environmental suit, keeping one for herself. “You’ll have to remove your uniform to put this on. At least I will have to, because of the design of these shoulders.”
“I understand,” said Picard with a comforting smile. “The light’s dim in here.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Kaylena as she began to unbutton her tunic.
The captain managed to keep his eyes cast downward as the two of them stripped and put on the environmental suits, but contact was hard to avoid in the cramped confines of the shuttlecraft. Even with the dim light, he couldn’t help noticing that Commander Kaylena had a fit, statuesque frame to go with her regal bearing. When they had finally donned the suits, they sat at the dark controls and gazed at the remains of the two great starships. At least one of them had been empty, or inhabited only by a handful of unidentified poltergeists. It was numbing to think how many Romulans had been lost aboard the Petrask.
“What do you suppose happened?” asked Kaylena, her whisper amplified in his hood. “What aggravated this anomaly and destroyed these two ships?”
Picard shook his head. “We knew very little about it before, and now we know even less. I wonder if it would be possible to capture one of those flying creatures? I don’t see them now, but there must be more coming from that rift, or whatever it is.”
“We have to join forces.” Kaylena turned to look at him, and her ebony eyes blazed into his, even through their faceplates. “I failed in my primary mission—to search your ship—and now I’ve lost a warbird ... with all hands onboard. I will have to pursue this to the end.”
[84] “Why did you want to search our ship?” asked Picard.
She leaned back in her chair and tried to put her hands behind her head, but it was an awkward maneuver in the bulky suit. “To see what you discovered on the moss creatures’ base, in that fake asteroid. We also have a legitimate complaint about our technology, which you used without our permission. Even if millions of those phase-shifting suits were handed out, you did promise to return the technology. A high-profile example of the Enterprise returning the suits would be useful to our campaign.”
“Consider it done,” said Picard.
The commander motioned out the window at the all-encompassing cloud of metallic dust and gleaming shrapnel, and her voice took on an edgy tone. “Of course, that mission pales beside this carnage. The immediate question is—how much help do we ask from our superiors?”
“I have help coming,” admitted Picard.
She sighed. “I assumed as much. Well, you can send some of them back, because we’re one ship less.”
“They won’t be here for about twenty hours, at best,” said the captain, “and it would probably take longer for you to get reinforcements. So we’re on our own.”
“Literally,” she answered, settling back in her seat. “If you hadn’t been with me when the ships exploded, I probably would have blamed you.”
“And I you.”
“I’m glad you were persistent in your desire to see me.” The Romulan turned to him, and her high cheekbones were softened by the dim blue light and the shadows from her hood. “I want to work closely with you on this ... until I’m relieved.”
He frowned back at her. “Do you think there will be such serious repercussions?”
“Oh, yes. At this moment, the underlings who covet my post are reporting the loss of the Petrask, and that we failed in our mission. [85] But I’m in charge until then, even if I spend the time floating with a human who doesn’t answer to me.”
“If I can intercede on your behalf,” he replied, “please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“I wish you could intercede to rescue me first,” she muttered. “Although we might chance using our personal communicators.”
She touched her neck and intoned, “Commander Kaylena to the Javlek. Attention: Kaylena to the bridge of the Javlek.” The commander waited, then shook her head when there was no response.
Picard tried his communicator, too, but he got no answer. He gazed out the window at the closest objects, several of which seemed to be moving at new speeds and angles. He rubbed his faceplate, thinking that perhaps he wasn’t seeing it correctly, then he realized that the gravitational fields must not be stable.
“The debris is bouncing around out there,” reported Picard. He pointed out the window just as they were abruptly jolted and nearly knocked out of their seats. The shuttlecraft spun around, resulting in several serious thuds as they struck debris, sending it colliding with other rubble, creating a ricochet effect of crashing shrapnel.
“Where are we going?” asked the Romulan, leaning forward. “Toward that black cloud?”
“Something has got us,” agreed Picard. “But it may be ours ... yes, a tractor beam! Out there, you can see a ship coming closer, trying to get us within their shields.” Both of them peered through the window into the swirling fog of metal bits, and they could see running lights, blinki
ng rhythmically, although nothing else was clear.
“Your ship?” said Kaylena.
“I would think so, yes.”
The star-shaped creatures had also seen the ship enter the debris field, and they massed into a steady stream, headed toward the intruder like a line of ants at a picnic. This created more chaos in the whirling mass of rubble.
“Can we do anything to help them?” asked Kaylena.
[86] “Not that I can see, but perhaps we should move to the rear—in case there’s a hull breach.” He looked urgently at his companion and saw a flush of excitement in her cheeks.
“Good idea.” She grabbed his gloved hand and bounded from her seat, leading him to the rear, where the cool blue light was even weaker. They crouched down in a tiny space and held each other, protected by the anonymity of the bulky suits they wore. This was a welcome distraction; because the craft started moving again, and the hull was pummeled by debris.
Despite the beating, the shuttlecraft held together, and they could see the amount of rubble lessening. Within a few minutes, which seemed longer, the pummeling stopped altogether, and Picard assumed they were finally inside the protective bubble of the Enterprise’s shields.
A familiar voice crackled over his combadge, “Bridge to Picard. Captain, are you all right?”
“Yes, Number One, I presume we’re all right.” Reluctantly, he moved away from the comforting body next to him and rose to his feet. He offered a hand to Kaylena and helped her to get up, but she stumbled and fell into his arms.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling away slowly.
Riker’s voice continued, “We have you in our tractor beam, and we’re pulling back to a safe distance to transport you. The Javlek vaporized some of the wreckage for us, and they were ready to back us up. They want to know if their commander is all right.”
“She’s fine,” answered Picard. “We’ll want to collect information and call a staff meeting as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. You’ll be aboard in just a few seconds,” said Riker. “Stand by to transport.”
He looked again at his Romulan cohort, and she was deep in thought. “We must have a memorial service for the crew of the Petrask,” she declared, “and the others who have died.”
“I have officers to honor, too,” said the captain.
[87] “Can you return to my ship in four hours?” asked the Romulan. “We can honor our dead and discuss a plan of attack.”
“Yes,” he agreed. Then the captain bent down and picked up their hastily discarded uniforms. “Don’t forget your clothes.”
With half a smile, she took the bundle from him. “The last time someone said that to me, we became very close friends.”
“I hope that’s the case,” answered Picard, matching her uncertain smile. The moment ended when the transporter beam seized their molecules and whisked them back to reality.
“Captain on the bridge,” intoned the tactical officer importantly. The captain strode from the turbolift onto the semicircular bridge and glanced with satisfaction at the fully staffed consoles. Backup staff waited attentively at auxiliary stations. They all looked younger than the captain remembered, and more sure of themselves than they ought to be.
“Report.”
“We are cleared by station ops to depart,” answered the ops officer, a Bynar who worked closely with his partner, the conn officer.
“Course laid in for Lomar,” reported the other Bynar.
Alynna Nechayev nodded. “Estimated arrival time?”
“Eighteen hours from now at maximum warp.”
“Captain Nechayev,” said the tactical officer, “there’s a hail for you from Admiral Whitcleff.”
The newly appointed captain pointed to her ready room. “I’ll take it in private. Make ready for launch.”
“Yes, Sir!” came a chorus of replies, all of them sounding a bit too eager to please. They seemed to be convinced that her assignment to the Sequoia was temporary, and if they were real nice to the slumming admiral, she would go away and make room for a real captain, perhaps their first mate, whose resentment was palpable.
Nechayev ducked into her private office, walked behind the desk, [88] and activated her flat screen. Up came the welcome visage of an old friend; he was gray-haired and heavier but still handsome.
“Good morning, Alynna, getting squared away?” asked Admiral Whitcleff.
“Hello, Jeremy. Yes, we’re ready. Here to give the Sequoia an official send-off?”
“Not exactly.” The admiral’s smile vanished, and his face turned downcast. “You’ve been out of the loop, but we’ve been dealing with some very strange anomalies since the Genesis Wave ... disappearing ships and crews, strange creatures, unidentified radiation poisoning—”
“I saw that in the hospital,” she cut in. “I can tell by your face that it’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?”
“All of a sudden,” he answered, shaking his head puzzledly. “Within the last hour, it’s gotten quantitatively worse, with reports coming in from all over. And we’ve got no explanations whatsoever.”
“Have our orders changed?” asked Nechayev.
“No, not at the moment. They desperately need you on Lomar, where it’s something of a mess. However, Lomar is not an emergency, and this other thing might turn into one. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that the Sequoia may be uprooted and sent elsewhere on short notice. Don’t get too comfortable there, Alynna.”
“I’m never too comfortable,” she replied dryly. “Is Lomar one of the places where you’re seeing these phenomena?”
“Oddly, no,” answered Whitcleff. “We’ve seen it mostly in regions along the path of the Genesis Wave, but there’s no direct correlation. Some of my advisors doubt whether the two are even connected.”
“Look for patterns,” said Nechayev. “Have you done a spectral neutrino analysis?”
Whitcleff smiled. “If you were still in the admiralty, Alynna, you’d be deeply involved in this. But now you’re a ship’s captain with a single mission. Concentrate on that, but be ready to make a change.”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Nechayev smartly, almost saluting.
[89] Admiral Whitcleff cleared his throat and glanced at a padd on his desk. “I see that you’ve requested to keep your black-box account open ... for covert operations. You know, it’s not common for a ship’s captain to have undercover operatives.”
She managed a smile. “I just have a few long-time informers who I’d like to keep on the payroll. I don’t want to lose them, that’s all. You never know when they’ll be useful.”
“Then I’ll approve it,” answered Whitcleff, tapping his padd. “Just remember your new role, Alynna. You don’t want to turn into one of those rogue captains you always criticize—the ones who run off on their own. Whitcleff out.”
“Yes, Sir,” she grumbled, tapping off the screen. Taking a deep, bracing breath of air, she walked to her door, waited for it to open, then strode back onto the bridge.
Her first officer, Commander Marbinz, was now present, and the blue-skinned Benzite gave her a fishy look as he rose from the command chair. Of course, it was hard for him not to look fishy with those pale eyes, scaly face, and blue tentacles around his mouth. It didn’t help that Marbinz was the highest-ranking Benzite in Starfleet and expected to become the first of his race to captain a ship after the Sequoia’s skipper retired. He had not gotten his wish, as the post was usurped by Nechayev. The problem was that the entire crew was distracted by their ongoing drama, and Nechayev often caught them watching her and Marbinz whenever they were together on the bridge, anticipating fireworks.
She was going to disappoint them, if it killed her. For a long time, Nechayev had been used to getting her own way without playing politics; but she was the newcomer to this crew, so she was the one who would have to prove herself. She would have to deal more thoroughly with Marbinz—but at an opportune time, and this wasn’t it.
“Ops,” said Nechayev, crossing to the
captain’s chair, “has Mission Specialist Teska reported onboard?”
“Yes, Sir,” answered the Bynar.
[90] “Two and a half minutes ago,” replied the other Bynar.
“All personnel are accounted for,” added the first.
“Begin launch sequence,” she ordered, “and take us out to warp distance at one-eighth impulse.”
“Yes, Sir.” Even if they thought one-eighth impulse was rather slow, no one said anything.
The stately Galaxy-class starship began to move away from Space-dock, leaving the repair facility in Earth’s orbit for the twinkling vastness of space. The Bynars kept up a running commentary of reports while the Sequoia soared into the starscape, passing within hailing distance of an incoming ship.
At optimum distance, Nechayev gave the command to enter warp, and they began the longest leg of their journey. It felt oddly freeing to be the captain of a great starship, as if she were finally master of her fate. If only it weren’t for the two hundred eighty lives directly under her guidance, this would almost be a vacation. Those lives—and the well-being of this ten-year-old ship—had just become her biggest responsibility. Nothing else seemed to matter.
She turned to Marbinz and tried to make amends. “Commander, I want to familiarize myself with the crew, so I’d like to look over your crew reports. So far, I’ve found them very complete and well-organized. Continue course for Lomar, and I’ll be back at the end of your shift. At that time, Commander, I would like you to have lunch with me, if you’re available.”
“Yes, Sir,” he answered with a startled expression. Recovering, the first officer bowed politely. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Admiral.”
Another dig, thought Nechayev as she strode toward the turbolift, when he called me admiral instead of captain. I’ll have to bite my tongue and live with it. Imagine having to mollify an underling just to keep the peace. I’m definitely not in Starfleet Command anymore.
STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Three Page 9
