by Diane Carey
“How lucky that it doesn’t,” Drake said, palming the mediscanner as though he had forgotten about it.
“The trick,” Graff said, “was convening all that power into propulsion. There are only two ways to do that.”
“Which are ...”
“The primitive way is to direct all the energy and particle release out the back of the ship—”
“Don’t tell me! Equal and opposite reaction.”
“Right. Forward movement from aft thrust. Problem is, it’s not efficient.”
“A hundred years ago, they thought it was great,” Graff commented.
“Sure.” Saffire added after downing the last of his potatoes, “if you’ve got days and days to work up to half sublight.” On the edge of his comment he went after the ham, but not before checking to see that none of the pea juice had slipped to that side of the plate.
“Not to mention you can’t put up shields around the ship,” Wood said, “or you catch all that energy inside and cook yourself.”
“What’s the second miracle?” Drake asked as he fiddled with the mediscanner, turning it toward Graff now that the big man was [111] preoccupied with his meal and their explanation of their craft. The lights began to play. Overweight, slightly stressed respiration, good muscle tone ...
“The second way is the way we use,” Saffire said.
Wood hurried to swallow a gulp of orange juice. “We use a quirk in nature. We don’t allow any of the energy to escape. We crush it back in on itself with an artificial gravity field.”
“Our own private black hole,” Graff agreed.
“But the energy has to go somewhere,” Drake complained in defense of the poor crushed energy.
Saffire nodded. “Any first-year physics student’ll tell you the result is spacial distortion.”
“Waves of it,” Wood added. “Each pulse results in a new wave of distorted space.”
“And we just ride the waves,” Graff finished, illustrating with a sweep of his hand.
Drake nodded, then frowned. “Perhaps I’m a baboon about these things, but this sounds like the explanation of warp drive.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Graff said.
“Warp is as far above impulse,” Saffire said, “as impulse is above walking.”
“How do you fellows figure this out?”
“It helps to be seriously demented,” Saffire said, and to prove his point he leaned over and bit Wood’s shoulder.
“Hey!” Wood writhed away. “You’ve had your head up that hole too long!”
“Did I deny it?”
Graff, evidently used to such behavior—and who ever said engineers had to be sane?—turned back to Drake and said, “Warp involves dimensional and time distortion, not just space distortion. We’re just starting to understand it. Trust us. It’s bizarre.”
Wood rubbed his shoulder. “We’re being told that warp nine is the fastest we’ll ever go.”
“Yeah,” Graff grunted. “Ten years ago, they thought warp four was the ceiling.”
“Think that’s bad?” Saffire said, not to be outdone. “How’d you feel being one of those early heavier-than-air pilots who were told the sound barrier’d kill them if they hit it? Sometimes you don’t know how dumb you are till you get a little smarter.”
“Yes ...” Drake wrinkled his nose at the mediscanner. “Say, [112] couldn’t you fellows round up some contamination for me? I’d so hate to return to sickbay without the slightest thing to report.”
“Sure,” Saffire offered. “We could put you in the laser tank for an hour or so. You’d be nice and contaminated.”
Drake sighed and crossed his legs, pretending to give up entirely, though he kept the scanner out and casually aimed it at Saffire. “So, fellows,” he invited, “tell me all about yourselves.”
There was an undertone of tension on the bridge now. No one liked it, but no one denied it either. Luckily for most of the personnel, the impulse cruise out of the solar system kept them busy. The only people not specifically occupied were the two at the tension’s center—the captain and the first officer
“Ready for warp drive as soon as we clear the solar system,” Captain April said from his command chair.
Bernice Hart nodded as she keyed in the engineering station she herself had designed. “All systems read green for warp drive. We’ve triple-checked computer connections. Duotronics tie-in is stable, and the computer is answering. I’d like to suggest warp factor four as cruising speed up to the wall of the ion storm.”
“What would that make our ETA to the ion wall?”
“Roughly twenty-four minutes, sir.”
“Marvelous. Thank you, Bernice. Claw, adjust your sensors to pick up ion activity. We’ll want to make sure we know we’re there when we arrive.”
The big Indian made a little bow of acknowledgment and said, “Yes, sir. Sensors set at maximum read for ion disruption.”
April punched his intercom and keyed in a shipside announcement. “This is the captain. All hands, prepare for warp drive.”
His voice echoed throughout the ship, carrying the bounty of all their efforts, and the promise of salvation for a small ship in trouble.
“All right. Let’s see if Dr. Brownell’s computer can navigate.” He waited until the idea had sunk in, then nodded to Hart. “Engage warp factor one.”
“Warp factor one,” Hart echoed.
At the helm, Carlos Florida touched his controls. “Engaging.”
The hum of impulse drive, which had settled to near imperceptibility, was suddenly topped by a smooth surge of power through the shell of the ship. On the viewscreen, the stars took on a strange distortion. Perhaps in time, state-of-the-art developments would improve to [113] keep the human inhabitants unaware of the vagaries of warping time and dimension in order to get somewhere, but for now the sensation was very tangible and humbling.
Quite suddenly, the transition evened out and they were cruising at unthinkable speed.
April nodded his approval at Hart. “Engage warp factor two.”
The process occurred again. This time, there was less noticeable change, and the excitement was mostly in their minds, in the human intellect that could conceive of what was happening.
“Warp two,” Florida acknowledged as the necessary energy flowed into his console from Hart’s, after being routed through a thousand tiny computer-to-engine connections.
April waved the process onward. “Warp factor three.”
And again it happened, and then a fourth time, this numb feeling of accomplishment, until Bernice Hart hunched over the engineering console and confirmed their success. “Cruise speed of warp factor four, sir. All systems stable.”
April got up and moved to the upper deck. “Congratulations. It feels wonderful. In fact, I can hardly feel it at all.”
“That’s just what it’s supposed to do, sir,” Hart told him. “ETA to the ion cloud, approximately twenty-six minutes. Sir, I’d suggest dropping back to sublight to actually enter the storm, and kicking warp drive in once we’ve stabilized other systems.”
“Sounds sensible,” April responded. “Thank you so much, Bernice.” He stepped around her and strolled toward the forward deck, then turned again and added, “By the way, did you get that message tape off to your husband? Wouldn’t want him to think you took off without saying goodbye.”
“Oh yes, sir. I appreciate your clearing that.”
“That’s what captains are for,” he said, and continued his stroll. He clasped his hands behind him and wandered around the bridge on the high deck.
Until he came to George Kirk.
He started to turn back toward the bow, unwilling to rehash the uncomfortable subject.
“I didn’t mean to undermine you,” George said with quiet emphasis, “but it had to be done. You can’t ignore the weapons, Robert.”
April shook his head. “This isn’t the place or time, George.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so.�
�
[114] “Robert, you have to accept the fact that you’re in command of a military vessel.”
Now April faced him fully and admitted, “I didn’t find it necessary to thrust a weapons test down their throats at that particular moment.”
George half sat on the library computer console, just out of the way of two technicians who were comparing readouts, and he and April fell into a privacy given only to senior officers. “It’s not profane, you know.”
April buried his hands in his pockets. “Profanity’s a matter of definition,” he murmured, gazing at the deck.
“Then I’ll be more specific, Robert. You’ve got to be realistic,” George insisted.
Now April looked up and held out a hand. “George, there hasn’t been any hostility toward the Federation since the end of the Romulan Wars seventy-odd years ago, and there’s been a slack tide of military movement ever since. This is the perfect time to build a powerful ship with a totally different philosophy. There’s a whole new set of ideals behind her, and I just don’t want her soiled.”
“She’s not going to be soiled by accepting the facts as they stand,” George insisted, still keeping his voice low so the two would not be overheard. “Spraying rosewater all over the truth isn’t going to change things. The Romulans are still out there, the Klingons are still out there, half the Federation doesn’t trust the other half yet, and that’s because there’s no base of protection. We have to be ready to defend the planets we represent, and we have to make it known that we’ll do it if we have to.”
April closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then gazed at the deck again. “Good God, George, so igneous.”
“If you were more of a historian than an idealist,” George pointed out, “you wouldn’t have such a problem. You want to name the ship Constitution, but you’re forgetting the whole basis of having a constitution. It’s being willing to stick your neck out for each other to guarantee the rights you put down. Otherwise, it’s just paper.”
April too leaned on the console and was thoughtfully quiet. He didn’t look up. “I’m dismayed that you think of me as such an innocent, George.”
George turned away. “Damn it, Robert.” He put his hands on the computer board and hung his head. The little blue and red lights flashed happily at him. “This is just like my marriage. It should never have happened in the first place.”
[115] Something in his tone cracked open the door that had clapped shut between them. April shook his head. “No, George—”
“It’s true. The stress is always worse the longer I’m home. Winn and I just aren’t a couple. Maybe you and I just aren’t a command team.”
The words stung. “Why did you stay together, then, George?”
“Habit. We’d been dating since we were sixteen. We flattered each other. You’re a big man if you’ve got a wife when you’re only nineteen. But we made a terrible discovery.”
“What was that?”
“That you change more between eighteen and twenty-two than in any other single period in your adult life. We were different people from the little folks on top of the cake.” He straightened up.
“Why didn’t you end it?” April asked.
“Stupidity,” George said harshly. “Ambivalence. It wasn’t bad enough to stop. We thought it’d get better. Then we had babies. And all of a sudden, the hole was filled with quicksand.”
“You have wonderful boys, George,” April said.
“Yes, I do,” George admitted. “And they’re the victims. All because Winn and I didn’t end what should have been ended.”
A moment of silence fell between them, accentuated by the chirping of the bridge systems and the steady unfolding of a beautiful space panorama in the viewscreen. They watched each other, neither willing to back down, each strong in his own convictions about the purpose and gravity of this mission—what it would mean to the Federation, to the galaxy, if they succeeded, and what message would be showcased when it was all over.
Finally, April broke the challenged silence.
“No, George.”
“I don’t want to make the mistake again, Rob.”
“It’s not a mistake.”
“Take me off the duty.”
“No.”
“Robert—”
“No. It’s not a marriage, George. I didn’t choose you for compatibility.”
“There has to be some kind of symbiosis, or we’re shot,” George insisted. “We haven’t even had a real crisis yet, and we’re irritated with each other already.”
“No. I’m sorry. We’ll just have to learn to compromise.”
[116] “Compromise is a weak stand. You won’t like it.”
“I’ll take that chance.” April folded his arms and crossed his ankles, dismissing the subject, or at least the harshest part of it. “I’m the wrong captain for such a vessel, all in all. I just want to get her off on the right foot. Then I’ll bow out.”
Eyes flaring, George swung his arm and grimaced. “You know that’s not what I want. That’s not what I mean.”
Softly April said, “It’s exactly what you mean.” Unexpectedly he smiled with a sentimental tilt of his head and said, “I’m not the captain of this ship’s destiny, George. I know that perfectly well. The empress needs to make use of the wild ones in the human race, the ones who need special purpose to fit her special existence. What a wasted potential they are,” he murmured wistfully, “those unleashable ones ... the mavericks who could conceivably go off in space with a great principle behind them, and make decisions on their own that would stitch the fabric of the future—no, I’m not one of those.”
They were still looking at each other, George suddenly aware of the damage he’d done, when Drake appeared on the bridge and gracelessly interrupted them. “George, sir. A word avec vous, please.”
George’s dark gaze hung on April for a belated moment, then he turned to Drake. “What’ve you got?”
“I’ve got a shipload of engineers, George, that’s what I’ve got. Have you ever tried to make chitchat with engineers? What you get is circuitry, George, pure circuitry and poor little else.”
“You’re telling me they all check out?”
“Happy as clams, to the very last of them.”
“No hint of dissatisfaction or anything? Nothing?”
“Clams, I say.”
Disappointed and unconvinced, George brushed his hair out of his face and sighed. “Okay. But keep your eyes open.”
April peered around George’s shoulder. “What are you two up to?”
“Nothing,” George said, turning. “Robert—”
“No, please.” April held up his hand. “Let’s not bedevil it, shall we?”
“All right, but as long as we’re talking about destiny ...”
“Yes?”
“And adventure ...”
“Yes.”
“And protection ...” George hesitated, feeling suddenly on the [117] spot and not as sure of himself as he had intended to be. “About the name of the ship ...”
“Say it, George.”
“Enterprise.”
The word hung between them. For a moment no one but George knew what he was talking about. Then April held a finger to his lips and nodded. “Ah,” he uttered. “Sounds a bit financial, doesn’t it?”
George heaved an impatient breath. “I was thinking about the naval tradition of ships named Enterprise.”
“Oh. Those.”
“All right, it was just an idea.”
“No, really, George, I want to hear it. Please. Go on. Please.” If April was insincere, he was hiding it skillfully. He sat on the edge of the computer console again and waited for the pitch, carefully controlling his expression.
Even Drake settled onto the bridge rail, becoming part of the audience.
Suddenly George felt self-conscious, insecure about what he’d rehearsed for this particular moment. Well, he might get another chance someday, but not necessarily a better one.
&nb
sp; He steadied himself and plunged in.
“The first Enterprise,” he began, “was a twelve-gunned sloop captured from the British during the Revolutionary War, and for two years she sailed with the patriots. She harassed the British when they tried to march through New York State, and in 1777 she was burned in order to avoid capture.” He paused to let that sink in, but not too much. “The next one was an eight-gunned privateer schooner bought by the Continental Congress and used to protect Chesapeake Bay. And after that came a bigger schooner Enterprise, eighty-five feet of warship. They called her the ‘Lucky Little Enterprise,’ and for a quarter century she made the United States Navy a serious consideration. During the war with France ... Robert, you’re laughing at me.”
April clapped a hand over his heart and protested, “Laughing? George! On the contrary, I’m amazed at you. Please do go on. Please do.”
“Yes,” Drake pleaded. “I’m also riveted.”
April ignored him. “Please, George.”
Suspicious, George narrowed his eyes and glared a threat at them, then paced around April before going on. “Where was I?”
“At war with France,” Drake supplied.
[118] “I’m not making this up, you know,” George shot back, his eyes suddenly volcanic.
“We know,” April assured. “Drake, leave the man alone and learn something. George ... please.”
His lips slightly pursed, George forced himself to continue.
“That Enterprise captured eight French privateers and recaptured eleven U.S. merchantmen. She served in the Mediterranean squadron on the Barbary Coast, fighting pirates, captured a British brig during the War of 1812, and worked against smugglers and slavers in the Caribbean before she was run aground and lost. Then—”
“Now, wait,” April interrupted. “Even I’ve heard of the next one. An aircraft carrier. Second World War. Very famous. Very decorated. The ... ‘Big E’?”
George scratched the back of his head and sighed.
Leaning toward April, Drake melodramatically appealed, “Don’t rain on his thunder, sir.”
“Oh,” April said. “So sorry, George. I couldn’t resist.”
