Aftermath

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “Are we there yet?” Stevens asked.

  He, Scotty, and Tev were aboard shuttlecraft Haley(on loan from Starfleet HQ), transporting the Cabochons to Vesta Station in the asteroid belt. The da Vinci could’ve gotten them there faster, but Scotty had insisted on a shuttle; not only would it mean fewer people were at risk, but the shuttle had less mass and fewer energy sources to jostle their microwarp bubbles. The starship was escorting the shuttle, but from a comfortable distance—just within transporter range, in the slim hope of being able to save the crew if the crystals ruptured.

  Even though Tev had done most of the work designing the stasis-field apparatus that now encased the Cabochons and cushioned them against external stimuli, the Tellarite had insisted on sitting in the front of the shuttlecraft alongside Scotty, relegating Stevens to the back, and incidentally putting him right next to what were currently the deadliest objets d’art in the known galaxy. Of course it would only make about a femtosecond’s difference in how soon he’d be killed, but it was the principle of the thing.

  So Stevens had decided that if Tev was going to stick him in the backseat like a little kid, he might as well act the part. He was tired of being at a disadvantage, letting Tev make him angry and frustrated. It was time to take back some control, redefine the terms, and start giving as good as he got. He couldn’t fight back openly without getting himself cashiered out of Starfleet; but there were always passive forms of resistance, and humor was one of the most tried and true. If Tev took himself so blasted seriously, then Stevens’s best option was to stop taking him seriously at all.

  Besides…it’s what Duff would’ve done.

  “Are we there yet?” he asked again, for the fifth time. “I’m hungry.”

  “Quiet back there, or I’ll turn this thing around,” Scotty shot back with a grin.

  “We can’t risk going faster, or the engine emissions will overwhelm the stasis,” Tev said, apparently missing the joke. Well, to be fair, he couldn’t be expected to know hoary Earth clichés. “At this rate we’re several hours from Vesta.” He turned to skewer Stevens with his deep-set eyes. “So perhaps you should consider taking a nap.”

  Ouch! Stevens realized he may have underestimated his opponent. Well, that just made it more interesting.

  As soon as they emerged from the hatch, Gomez hit her combadge. “Gomez to Scott.”

  “Commander Gomez, this is Director Iskander,” came the reply. “Where have you been? Is your team all right?”

  “The team’s okay, sir, but we have an emergency. Where’s Scotty?”

  “Captain Scott is escorting the alien artifacts off-planet. We’ve discovered there’s a risk—”

  “We know, sir, that’s the emergency. The crystal containing the largest Shanial city is still on Earth somewhere, and they can’t stabilize it. If it reemerges like the first one, San Francisco’s off the map and Earth becomes another Cardassia. We need to find that missing crystal, fast!”

  “Wait. You’ve been with the Shanial?”

  “We have their leader and their chief engineer with us now.”

  “Are you able to talk freely?”

  “What? Of course, sir. There’s something else, you have to warn the Nachri off. They lied to us; they invaded the Shanial for their technology, destroyed their world when they refused. They must be trying to steal it again.”

  “And the Shanial told you this?”

  “Who else?”

  “Commander, it’s their word against the Nachri’s, and they’re the ones who blew a fresh hole in San Francisco. I want you to place them under arrest.”

  “Sir, that’s not necessary. They’re not the enemy. Please, warn off the Nachri. At least let us talk to Captain Scott and our people.”

  “These Shanial are a deceptive people, Commander—you’re letting yourself be swayed by them. Bring them in for interrogation so we can evaluate their claims.”

  “We don’t have time! We need to work with them to stop the deterioration, before it’s too late.”

  At that moment, a division of armed agents rounded the bend in the corridor—Federation Security, not Starfleet. “Cooperate with the agents, Commander,” Iskander instructed. “Even if this threat is real, I don’t trust the Shanial to be in control of this power.”

  Gomez cursed to herself. “What was that, sir? I’m losing your signal, it must be the subspace instability.” Catching on, O’Brien started making a kkhhhhhh noise. She glared to make him stop—not only was it entirely lame, but it was threatening to make her giggle. She just cut off the badge. “Come on, back inside!”

  “What about Scotty and the rest?”

  “Good question,” Gomez said grimly.

  “Da Vinci to Haley,” came Gold’s voice over the comm.

  “Haley. Scott here.”

  “Folks, we’ve been hailed by the Nachri Defense Fleet. They’re in-system, and volunteering to have their lead ship join the escort.”

  “Tell ’em to keep their distance,” Scotty warned. “We don’t want any unnecessary emissions clutterin’ up our space.”

  “But we could use their help at Vesta,” said Stevens. “They’ve dealt with these Shanial before.”

  “Aye, so they say,” the Scotsman answered skeptically.

  Tev said, “It might be wise to have another set of transporters for backup.”

  “Like that’s going to matter. Och, very well, they can approach to maximum transporter range. Gently! Tev—any chance o’ raising shields?”

  The Tellarite’s stubby fingers were already at work on his console. “If I ramp them up gradually enough. Stevens, keep a close eye on that stasis field. If it fluctuates more than—”

  “I know what to look for. Sir.”

  “You’d better.”

  “Watch out,” cried Gold, “they’ve fired something!” Moments later, the shuttle rocked, and Stevens’s heart tried to abandon ship through his throat as he watched the readouts fluctuate.

  “My God,” Scotty gasped. “Shuttlecraft to Nachri ship,” he hailed desperately. “We surrender! Hold yer fire! Repeat, hold your fire!”

  “Scotty, what are you doing?” cried Stevens. “We’re in Sol System, there are hundreds of starships around to defend us!”

  “One ship or a thousand, it doesn’t matter—they don’t dare fire, not around the Cabochons. Those Nachri have us with our britches down. We have to surrender!”

  The da Vinci shuddered under another hammer blow. The Nachri had attacked them at the same time as the shuttle, and were continuing their assault even after the shuttle’s surrender. “What are they firing, anyway?” Gold demanded.

  “Some kind of kinetic missiles,” Shabalala answered.

  “They’re shooting cannonballs at us?”

  “At eighty percent of lightspeed. They hit with incredible force. And they’re hard to track at those speeds, even with subspace sensors.” Another blow interrupted him, but Gold didn’t need further explanation. Few starships or torpedoes traveled much faster than a quarter lightspeed in normal space—relativistic effects made it troublesome, and it was more efficient just to go to warp. And natural objects rarely reached a fraction of such speeds. So the sensors weren’t really calibrated for this.

  “Can we return fire?”

  “I can’t lock on for sure,” Shabalala told him. “They’re jamming sensors, and using some kind of decoy drones, giving off the same emissions as their ship.” Before the attack, Shabalala had been confident in his threat assessment, reporting that the Nachri’s shields were downright primitive, a simple point-defense system supplementing their polarized hull plates. Now he and Gold were learning the hard way that their own technology wasn’t really superior to the Nachri’s, just specialized in a different direction—and therefore it had its own limitations. Gold would make sure the crew remembered that lesson in the future—provided there was one.

  “We can’t fire anyway,” Shabalala added. “The discharge could set off the Cabochons.”

&n
bsp; “Damn. That’s what the Nachri are counting on,” said Gold. “They’ll keep firing until we retreat—so we have to retreat.”

  Chapter

  7

  “Gently,” hissed Chief Scientist Mansee as the crew grappled the Starfleet shuttlecraft into the cargo bay. “One untoward bump could destroy us all in a nanosecond.”

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t hover over the crew and make them so nervous,” Jomat suggested. He seemed relaxed, even cheerful, but it was more of a resigned calm—an acceptance that his fate, one way or the other, was out of his hands.

  Mansee couldn’t be so calm—the drawback of knowing just how probable it was that they were about to die, not to mention the precise technical details of how and why it would happen. He drew the first officer aside. “Is the captain mad, firing weapons around those things? We came to liberate our people, not get ourselves ground to molecular dust!”

  “Freedom requires risk, Mansee,” came Zakash’s deep voice, making the scientist cringe. “There is no safer place than a prison, provided you accept your bondage. You are sheltered, provided for, rescued from the peril of having to make choices, to bear responsibilities, to make mistakes. Rejecting that security, fighting against it to claim a hard, uncertain existence out in the cold…well, you have to be a little insane to do that.” The captain smiled charismatically. “Our people will never be free without lunatics like us to show them the way. And since I’m your leader, I must be the maddest one of all.” He moved in close to Mansee, looming over him. “See that you remember that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good man!” Zakash clapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him down. “Now let’s go claim our prize.”

  Zakash’s strategy, Jomat had to admit, was extremely effective, provided it didn’t kill them. The Starfleeters understood the delicacy of the situation and knew better than to put up any struggle. They obligingly opened the shuttle’s rear hatch as he, Zakash, and Mansee approached. But the shuttle’s three occupants stood in the doorway, blocking it symbolically at least. “If you value your lives at all, you won’t tamper with the Cabochons,” said the central figure, establishing himself as their leader—confirming the impression Jomat had already gotten from his advanced age and considerable girth. Surely someone that well-fed was a member of the ruling elite. Jomat recalled seeing him with the Earth official and the admiral—Scott had been his name. The Tellarite behind him, also well-fed and showing moderate age, was presumably next in the hierarchy, and the young, skinny human was surely a mere subaltern.

  Zakash smirked. “And what exactly were you planning to do with them, if not ‘tamper’? Our military scientists have been attempting to re-create this technology for two centuries. Federation arrogance aside, we are the ones best qualified to neutralize the threat.”

  “Aye, ‘qualified’ enough to nearly blast us all to our rewards with that daft attack! No thank you. We don’t need that kinda help.”

  “Wait, I seem to be missing something,” Zakash frowned. Then he brightened. “Ahh, yes. It was the part where you had any say in the matter.” He signaled the guards to advance and bodily move the Starfleeters aside. He had Scott brought over to him as Mansee delicately entered the shuttle to examine the stasis generator. “We are a once-glorious people, now downtrodden into virtual slavery by tyrants your Federation put into power. We are not the ones who have anything to lose here.”

  The human met his gaze with equal confidence, his own devil-may-care cheer making Zakash’s seem a pale imitation. “I must say I’m impressed, Zakash. Most fanatics let their followers do all the dyin’ for them. How refreshing to see a leader who’s willing to be one o’ the very first to die.”

  Zakash smiled back, unintimidated. “Then maybe I’m not a fanatic. Maybe not every government the Federation backs is ethical, and maybe not everyone who fights it is insane. Maybe they simply have good reason to be desperate. You should think about that.”

  “Aye, you’re revoltin’ because o’ your oppressive rulers, who revolted against their oppressive rulers, and so on and so on. You’re just more o’ the same, if you ask me.”

  Zakash’s retort, if any, was cut off by Mansee’s return. “Their stasis generator is excellent, but the crystals are very unstable. I think we can move them to the lab using antigravs—provided we shut down all nonessential power to minimize emissions.”

  “Very well,” the captain nodded. “That means the brig will be offline, so seal the Starfleeters in their shuttle. They won’t risk firing engines or weapons, or using their transporters.”

  “If ye’re goin’ to try stabilizin’ the Cabochons, at least let us help,” Scott insisted.

  Zakash decided quickly. “Since we have a common interest in this at least, very well. You may help, Scott. The others stay in the shuttle.”

  “Scotty, no!” the young subaltern cried.

  “Pipe down, Mr. Stevens. We’re hardly in a position to bargain. Both of you, do your duty. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir,” the Tellarite replied crisply. The one named Stevens nodded more reluctantly.

  “Good,” Scott said, and he allowed the guards to escort him to the lab while Mansee delicately began moving the stasis generator.

  As soon as the hatch shut them off from the Nachri, Tev spoke. “Let’s get to work, Stevens.”

  “On what?”

  “Our escape plan, of course. You heard the captain.”

  Stevens frowned. “When did he tell us to escape?”

  “‘Do your duty,’ ” he said. Stevens stared blankly. “Something they teach at the Academy. ‘The first duty of any prisoner is to escape.’ ”

  “I thought our first duty was to the truth.”

  “And we truly need an escape plan. Unless you prefer Nachri hospitality?”

  “No,” Stevens conceded, hating it when Tev was right.

  “Good. Now what do we have to work with?”

  “One Type-8 shuttlecraft and all its systems. None of which we can use without setting off the Cabochons.”

  “For now. If we get an opportunity, I want us ready.”

  “And what about Scotty? How do we get him out?”

  “Captain Scott can fend for himself.”

  Stevens was shocked. “Just like that? All that man’s done for you and you’d just abandon him?”

  “We can only work with what the situation gives us,” Tev replied coolly. “Do you really think two engineers can fight their way through hundreds of trained warriors to retrieve the Captain?”

  “No,” Stevens was forced to admit.

  “That’s why Scotty ordered us to arrange our own escape.”

  Stevens grimaced. “Understood. But you could try being a little less cold about it.”

  Tev sighed with impatience. “Look, Mr. Stevens. You don’t like me, I don’t like you. Fine. Can we just stipulate to that and work together?”

  Stevens really hated it when Tev was right. “Okay. Now what have we got?”

  With outside help not an option, Gomez had turned the group right back around—fixing the Shanial tech from the inside was the only choice now. “I do not understand,” Varethli told her as they hurried to the control room. “Why can we not get help from outside?”

  “Bureaucracy,” O’Brien said, his tone conveying volumes.

  Faulwell frowned. “I’m not sure how to translate that.”

  “Oh, it’s a universal constant.”

  Gomez made another attempt. “Some of our leaders believe you attacked us. They…they’re afraid,” she finished simply, honestly. “So they don’t see the real danger. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand,” Varethli said. “Just as we feared you when we first saw you. Yet now we see you offer us hope, and the chance to discover a rich new universe beyond our dreams. Fear blinds us all. It is in balance.”

  Faulwell listened carefully to her original words. “I think that means ‘don’t worry, we’re even.’ ”

  “Sadly, the warp
fields are not in balance,” Rohewi said as they reached the main console and surveyed the readouts. “The external stabilizing field is now the only thing holding the other warp fields from collapse. They are being subjected to emissions…scans of some sort.”

  “Scotty wouldn’t be that reckless,” O’Brien insisted. “Would he?”

  “With Scotty,” Gomez replied, “it can be hard to tell. But I don’t think so.”

  As usual, it fell to Corsi to propose the worst-case scenario. “Maybe the Nachri have captured them.”

  “If so, we face even greater urgency,” Varethli declared. “They will risk much to obtain this technology, putting us all in grave danger. More—if they do break our secrets, they will do to other worlds what they did to ours. This is not a direction we wish to travel in.”

  “The resonances are affecting our field stability,” Rohewi interrupted. “Oscillations are worsening! I am trying to compensate.”

  “With what?” O’Brien asked, trying to interpret the displays. “Looks like tetryon fields.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll never get enough particle density built up at the warp interface in time. Can you generate more massive exotics, like verterons?”

  “What are verterons?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Commander,” Corsi suggested, “perhaps we should begin evacuating the Shanial.”

  “To where?” Gomez asked. “If this thing goes up, the whole planet’s devastated. And we’d never be able to beam enough people off-planet in time.”

  “The other warp fields’ oscillations are worsening,” Rohewi called. “Resonance is increasing.”

  “Can we at least sever our link with them?” Sonya asked. “Maybe we can’t save them, but we could at least save the Earth.”

  “It would not halt our own field decay. We—” He stopped. It was hard to tell, since they had eyes all around their bodies, but it seemed that he and Varethli exchanged a significant look. “Yes. There is a way. A way to prevent the collapse of all the warp fields.”