“Battle stations!” came the captain’s voice. “All senior bridge officers, report on the double!”
Suddenly, Gerda’s anger cooled. It was as if she had been dipped in a glacial stream, all negative emotions leached out of her.
She didn’t give any more thought to Refsland or Gerda Idun, or any of her other sources of frustration. She just bolted for the nearest turbolift, absolutely certain that her sister was right behind her.
Chapter Twelve
PICARD GRABBED the armrests on his command chair as a second Balduk volley wracked the Stargazer.
“Shields down twenty-two percent,” Kochman reported from his post at the navigation console.
“No significant damage to the ship,” said Ulelo from the com station.
Fortunately, they had gotten their deflectors up before the Balduk vessel could land any serious blows. But with the enemy on their tail, they were still at a disadvantage.
Suddenly, the turbolift doors opened and Picard’s senior officers flooded the bridge. Finally, he thought. If he was going to get anywhere with the Balduk, he stood a better chance of it with his best people in place.
As he watched, Idun and Gerda took over at helm and navigation. Paxton replaced the ensign at the com station, Kastiigan appeared at the science panel, and Simenon assumed control of the engineering console.
Only Vigo was missing, Ensign Nikolas serving in his place. But under the circumstances, that couldn’t be helped.
“Hail them,” the captain told Paxton.
“Aye, sir,” came the com officer’s reply.
As Picard watched, the Balduk vessel unleashed another bright red barrage. This time, Idun managed to skew the Stargazer past the worst of it, but the ship still shuddered miserably with the impact.
“Sir?” someone said.
The captain saw that Kastiigan had shown up at his side. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“If you have a dangerous, perhaps life-threatening assignment in mind at this time…I just wanted you to know that I’m ready to embark on it.”
Picard nodded, recalling what Ben Zoma and Wu had told him of the Kandilkari’s eagerness to place his life in jeopardy. “I assure you, I will consider you before anyone else.”
Kastiigan smiled. “Thank you, sir.” And he returned to his science station.
“Mr. Paxton?” Picard prompted.
The com officer shook his head. “Nothing, sir. They’re not responding.”
Again, the Balduk ship stabbed at them with directed energy fire. And again, Idun managed to keep the ship from taking too much of a beating.
“Try again,” said the captain.
Paxton bent to the task. But after a few seconds, he had to make the same report as before. “No response.”
Suddenly, the Balduk vessel took a desperate chance for a combatant in so comfortable a position. Instead of continuing to harry the Stargazer from a distance, she put on a blinding burst of speed and fired her phasers at point-blank range.
Picard swore…and braced himself.
Gerda Idun watched her counterparts take off down the corridor, their haste a response to the urgency in Captain Picard’s tone.
And they weren’t the only ones. Refsland and his companions had taken off as well, albeit in the opposite direction. Though they weren’t required to appear on the bridge, they had their own stations to worry about.
Before she knew it, she was on the move as well, pulled along by Lieutenant Joseph. “Let’s go!” he told her.
“Where?” Gerda Idun asked, following him down one corridor and then another.
“To security,” he told her. “It’s not far from here.”
She didn’t have to ask Joseph why he needed to go there. As acting head of that section, he would be charged with directing any emergency procedures.
Gerda Idun wondered what he would do with her. After all, security was a strategically sensitive location, and her chaperone had studiously kept her away from such places.
But more than that, she wondered about Gerda. Though the navigator’s feelings about Refsland had obviously been building for some time, her behavior had been inexcusable—at least, by Gerda Idun’s standards.
And the way Gerda had left the gym after her sister sparred with Gerda Idun…that was strange as well. Was she always so volatile? And if so, why wasn’t Idun like that?
Before she could venture an answer, something happened—something big and bright and much too loud, as if a thousand people were shrieking all at once.
Then it stopped. Everything stopped. And somehow, an impossibly long time later, it started again.
Propping herself up on an elbow, Gerda Idun opened her eyes. Her ears were ringing, her head felt like it was stuffed solid with cotton, and she felt pain when she tried to move—lots of it.
Yet a moment’s inspection told her she was still intact. It was more than she could say for her surroundings.
Looking around her, Gerda Idun saw a corridor swiftly filling with smoke, and a spray of sparks coming from one of the bulkheads. Obviously, the aliens had scored a direct hit on the Stargazer—maybe even breached the hull.
I have to find a more secure part of the ship, she told herself. If the aliens pounded away again at the same place, she would be a goner.
Gerda Idun had already taken several steps down the corridor when she remembered that she wasn’t alone. Joseph, she thought. Where was he?
She scanned the corridor in both directions, but couldn’t find any sign of him in all the fumes. Had the security officer already gotten out of there on his own?
No, she insisted silently. Not if he was anything like the Pug Joseph in her universe. More likely, he was lying on the deck somewhere, injured—or worse.
With that in mind, Gerda Idun started searching for him, waving her arms as she waded through the increasing billows of smoke. She found herself gagging on the stuff, but there was no way to avoid it—not if she wanted to find the security officer.
Damn, she thought. The corridor was only so big, and the blast could have carried him only so far. Where could he be?
Her eyes burning, she made her way back and forth from bulkhead to bulkhead, methodically covering as much ground as she could. If Joseph was there, she told herself, she would eventually stumble over him.
But it was rapidly becoming harder for Gerda Idun to breathe. Her throat and chest already felt like they were on fire, and it was only going to get worse. She estimated that she had another thirty seconds—no more—before she succumbed to the smoke and lost consciousness.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave without Joseph.
Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of something red and black and low to the floor. But it was only for a moment. Then the smoke roiled over it.
Darting in that direction, Gerda Idun found what she was looking for—the prone form of a man in uniform. Turning him faceup, she saw that it was Joseph, all right.
But he wasn’t moving, and his temple was awash with blood. Not good, she thought, hauling him up and dragging his arm across her shoulders. Not good at all.
Struggling with the burden of Joseph’s deadweight, Gerda Idun lowered her head and plowed along the corridor, praying that she would find breatheable air before she passed out and doomed the two of them.
Picard pulled himself back into his center seat and regarded the Balduk vessel on his viewscreen.
Idun had managed to maneuver them off the enemy’s bull’s-eye. But the Balduk commander had gotten a telling shot in, hammering the Stargazer at close range.
As someone rushed to put out a sparking, flaming aft console, Picard turned to Gerda. “Damage report!”
“Shields down fifty-eight percent!” she told him.
“Hull breaches on Decks Eight and Nine!”
He bit his lip. It was too soon to know about casualties, but he was sure there would be some of those as well.
Picard eyed the viewscreen again. He didn’t like being run off by those who
had no more claim to this area than he did. However, he wasn’t going to further endanger his ship and crew without a compelling reason to do so.
Turning to Idun, he said, “Take us out of here, Lieutenant. Full impulse.”
His helm officer, who had the heart of a Klingon warrior, had to like the idea of retreat even less than he did. However, she followed his orders without hesitation, bringing the Stargazer about and withdrawing at the speed the captain had indicated.
Picard shook his head as he watched the Balduk ship diminish on his viewscreen. His adversaries weren’t making even a token effort at pursuit. But then, why should they? By their lights, they had accomplished their objective. They had driven off the Federation invader.
At least, he added silently, for now.
Ejanix frowned as he returned to the storage room that Kovajo was using as an interrogation facility.
It disappointed him greatly that he couldn’t make Vigo see the need for rebellion. But then, as he himself had pointed out, the weapons officer had been born into an Elevated Caste. He hadn’t witnessed what Ejanix had witnessed.
And on top of that, he had been steeped in Starfleet philosophy. Ejanix had only been an instructor, not a cadet. It was easier for him to break the habit.
Still, the engineer couldn’t help feeling he might have swayed his old friend if he had been more eloquent—if he had painted pictures with his words the way Kovajo and some of the other rebels did.
But rhetoric had never been Ejanix’s strength, and politics had always seemed as distant to him as the stars. So it was difficult for him to convey what others had so aptly conveyed to him—the misery, the injustice, and the despair of living a Lesser Caste life.
He would have known of the situation firsthand, but for the government’s desire to nurture his superior intellect. Ever since he could remember, both he and his family had been insulated from the life of the Lesser Caste.
It took a friend, who introduced him to Kovajo and some of the other rebels, to make him see the truth. After that, he would never look at his homeworld the same way.
Ejanix sighed. Perhaps it been foolish of him to think he could open Vigo’s eyes.
Once, he and Vigo had been friends. They had agreed on most everything. But under the circumstances, it was doubtful they would agree on anything ever again.
There was a rebel outside the interrogation room, a phaser in his hand and a suspicious expression on his face. But then, Kovajo was the only rebel who had met Ejanix prior to this venture. It was only natural that everyone trusted him less than they trusted each other.
Ejanix nodded to the man. Then he went inside.
Kovajo and a couple of the others had pulled chairs into the center of the room and were talking about something in harsh whispers. When they saw Ejanix, they fell silent.
“I spoke to Vigo,” he said. “But I didn’t get very far.”
Kovajo made a face, then glanced at the others. “Too bad. We need to get that shuttle back in the air.”
The way he said it, it wasn’t just a goal. It was an absolute necessity, to be achieved at any cost.
“And we need to do it quickly,” he added, “before someone in the Federation realizes what we’re up to.”
“But Vigo won’t tell us what he did,” said Ferrak, Kovajo’s second-in-command, “and neither will the other weapons officers—if they even know.”
“Then we’ll have to make our interrogations a little more productive,” said Kovajo.
“They’re Starfleet,” Ferrak noted. “Sometimes they die before they crack.”
Kovajo considered that. “All right,” he said. “We’ve got a number of engineers in hand, haven’t we? If the weapons officers won’t help us for their own sakes, maybe they’ll do it for the flower of Federation genius.”
Ferrak nodded. So did the others.
But Ejanix wasn’t nodding. Kovajo speared him with a glance. “You disagree?”
Ejanix saw the look in Kovajo’s eyes—a significantly more feral and dangerous look than when they first took over the installation—and shook his head.
“No,” he assured the other Pandrilite. “I was just…thinking.”
Kovajo tilted his head. “About what?”
“A better way,” said the engineer. “One that doesn’t require us to inflict any more pain.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Kovajo replied slowly and thoughtfully, “I would think you’re putting your friend’s welfare ahead of our cause.”
Ejanix shook his head. “I’m not, believe me. I’m just—”
“Good,” said Kovajo. “Then we’re all of one mind.” He glanced at Ferrak. “Grab one of the engineers and bring him to the weapons officers’ room. I’ll meet you there.”
Ferrak nodded. “Done.” Gesturing for one of the other rebels to follow him, he left the room.
Kovajo eyed Ejanix, as if to gauge his reaction. But the engineer remained silent. He was afraid that if he protested again, he might end up under guard himself.
He recalled something Vigo had said to him, his face battered and bruised. Take a good look, Ejanix. Is this justice?
It’s regrettable, the engineer told himself. Highly regrettable. But if we don’t get off this world, our cause may be forfeit.
What was the pain of a few colleagues compared with the prospect of true justice on Pandril? He could live with it if it brought them victory in the end.
Yes, he thought, I can countenance a little more blood, a little more suffering.
Or so Ejanix insisted to himself. But it took an effort for him to make himself believe it.
Vigo looked up when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. This time, he could tell from their cadence that it wasn’t Ejanix who was making them.
A moment later, he saw Kovajo and one of the other Pandrilites join the guards at the entrance. It didn’t bode well for the weapons officers.
“There’s your pal,” said Sebring, “back for another go-around.”
“Vigo!” Kovajo called out.
The Stargazer officer got up and went over to the transparent barrier. Only then did he see that someone other than the rebels was standing in the corridor.
Riyyen was there too.
He looked pale, even for a Dedderac. But he didn’t plead with his captors. He just stood there, as stoic as any Pandrilite observing the Third Virtue.
Kovajo grabbed Riyyen by the front of his tunic. “You see him?” he asked Vigo. “Take a good look. The next time, he won’t be standing on his own.”
Vigo’s teeth ground together. “Why?” he asked. “He doesn’t know anything about your shuttle.”
“But you do,” said Kovajo. “And if you don’t tell me how to fix it, your friend here will have to pay the price.”
Vigo didn’t want to put the engineer in jeopardy. But he couldn’t give the rebels the information they needed—no matter what price they exacted.
“All right,” said Kovajo. “Have it your way.” He twisted the front of Riyyen’s tunic in his fist. “I just hope I don’t get carried away and do something foolish.”
Then he pushed the Dedderac down the hallway and followed him out of sight, leaving Vigo and his comrades to think about what he had said.
“I wish they would let this barrier down,” said Sebring, “just for a second or two. I would make certain a few of them got carried away.”
Vigo didn’t say so, but he felt much the same way.
Chapter Thirteen
PICARD LOOKED DOWN at Gerda Idun. She was lying on one of Greyhorse’s biobeds, her face a mask of soot streaked with threads of perspiration.
He turned to his chief medical officer, who was standing beside him. “Will she be all right?”
“She’ll be fine,” Greyhorse told him. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And so will Joseph, thanks to her pulling him out of that corridor in time.”
“Yes,” said Picard. “I heard.”
Not so long ago, he had looked
at Gerda Idun with a healthy amount of suspicion. It was a lot more difficult to do so now, after she had saved the life of the man who was supposed to be watching her.
Had she been up to no good, she had certainly had her chance to demonstrate it. With the ship in a state of battle alert and her escort unconscious, she could have accessed any of several systems and done all kinds of damage.
Instead, she had rescued Picard’s security chief. And judging from the reports he had received, she had done it at great risk to her own life.
If Gerda Idun had been one of his officers, he would have placed a commendation in her file. As it was, all he could do was thank her.
“Would it be a problem to wake her up?” the captain asked Greyhorse.
The doctor produced a hypospray. “Actually, I was about to do that anyway.” Pressing the device against Gerda Idun’s arm, he released its contents into her system.
A moment later, her eyelids fluttered open and she looked around. “Pug—?” she groaned.
“He’s all right,” said Picard.
“Thanks to you,” Greyhorse added.
The captain noted the look on the doctor’s face as he regarded Gerda Idun. Clearly, Greyhorse admired what the woman had done—and he was a hard man to impress.
Their guest took a deep breath and let it out again. Her brow wrinkled. “No pain.”
“Your lungs took a beating,” the doctor told her, “but I was able to prevent any serious damage. You may have some discomfort when the painkillers wear off, but nothing you won’t be able to handle.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Picard knew two things.
One was that Gerda Idun had earned a good deal more freedom. He would no longer insist on having her escorted about the ship. A combadge that would let him keep track of her whereabouts would suffice.
The other thing was that he would get her back to her own universe, Balduk or no Balduk.
Nikolas breathed a long, heartfelt sigh of relief as he stood at Vigo’s weapons console.
When he heard that Gerda Idun had been hurt, that she had been taken to sickbay, he had gone numb all over. It was almost as if he were the one who had been stricken by potentially lethal EPS explosions.
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