THE CHILDREN OF HAMLIN

by Carmen Carter

  “We are on Yellow Alert,” offered Data after calling out their destination. Unlike La Forge, he was unwinded.

  “Yes, but why are we on Yellow Alert?” persisted La Forge. The positronic components that gave the android his strength and endurance were also responsible for certain lapses in his understanding of human speech. Geordi knew which direction the conversation was taking and patiently played out the game; he had undertaken an informal role in Data’s social education and there was always time for a quick lesson.

  “Presumably, we have encountered a situation that necessitates an increased state of vigilance that—”

  Geordi cut him off. “Just say, ‘I don’t, know, Geordi.’”

  “I don’t know, Geordi,” repeated Data. He puzzled over the verbal exchange. “I see. I was being too literal again.”

  “That’s right, Data.”

  “I shall endeavor to be less literal next time.”

  “That’s what you always say,” sighed Geordi as the lift eased to a halt.

  Yar logged their arrival on the bridge with a curt nod of her head. “Bridge crew complete, Captain.”

  With practiced motions, La Forge and Data exchanged positions with the nightshift helm. The maneuver was seamless in execution, one set of hands lifting from the controls as another settled into place.

  Deanna Troi sensed the heightened anxieties on the ship’s bridge even before the alert signal sounded. Stirring in sleep, her mind drifted upward through the layered textures of unconsciousness, lazily waiting for a summons from the bridge to complete the journey.

  When the call did not come, she pulled herself through the final barrier.

  “Troi to bridge.”

  “You’re off duty, Counselor. And your services won’t be needed for a while.”

  Riker’s reply should have been a relief; instead, the matter-of-fact statement called forth a stab of annoyance. He knew her too well, could anticipate her thoughts.

  “If I can be of any use . . . ”

  “Captain Picard applauds your initiative; we’ll call if the situation changes.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” she replied, but only to herself. On a moment’s reflection Troi admitted her ill temper was due to being awakened from a sound sleep and could not with justice be blamed on Will Riker. She would take him at his word, that the ship’s counselor was probably not needed, and indulge herself in a shower before dressing. Checking her reflection in the cabin mirror, Troi frowned disconsolately at the tangled mass of dark hair that crowned her head. Someone like Tasha Yar might be able to respond to emergencies within seconds, but Troi preferred a few extra minutes to pull herself together.

  The dormant engineering section had been transformed into a storm of activity as off-duty crew tumbled into the room, racing to their reactivated posts. Wesley and Dnnys exchanged looks of pure joy at their good fortune.

  “Do you report to the bridge now?” asked the young Farmer.

  Heady excitement, and perhaps a lack of sleep, made the question sound reasonable. Without thinking, Wesley opened a link to the bridge.

  “Ensign Crusher here—” He got no further than that.

  “Get back to bed, young man,” snapped Captain Picard’s voice.

  Both boys bolted from Engineering.

  As the Enterprise sped nearer and nearer to the USS Ferrel, Picard held himself in check, fighting against any physical movement that could distract him from the reports of his bridge crew.

  “Captain,” said Yar. “Sensors detect energy emissions at source coordinates for the distress transmission. The pattern is unfamiliar, but very powerful to be detected this far away.”

  “Raise shields,” ordered Picard.

  “Rendezvous in three point four minutes,” announced Data.

  La Forge held his hands poised over the helm panel. “Ready to leave warp speed.”

  “Impulse power.” Picard still sat unmoving in his chair.

  Ever so gently, the pilot’s fingers touched down onto the board. With an almost imperceptible shudder the ship’s engines shifted to sublight drive. The universe contracted.

  On the viewer, the pinpoint sparkle of distant stars sprang into relief against a featureless black backdrop. In the center of this static image a blur of movement cast shadows over the fixed lights. Two vessels tumbled through space, locked in a deadly dance of combat. A glowing blue fog enveloped them both.

  Picard leaned forward. “Go to Red Alert.”

  The waiting was over.

  Chapter Two

  ANDREW DEELOR ESTIMATED that the USS Ferrel would last another six minutes before the bridge dome collapsed, crushing him and Ruthe and the ship’s crew within. Which meant that he had five minutes and a handful of very unpleasant seconds left of life. Realization of his approaching death occupied only a small corner of his mind; his attention was fixed on the translucent blue haze that rippled and flowed across the surface of the main viewscreen. The starship was held in the grip of an energy matrix. Minute by minute the matrix contracted like a fist closing tighter, crumpling the hull of the main saucer between its fingers.

  The starship shuddered. The bridge screen went black.

  Over the last hour the ship’s sensors had failed, one after another, until the viewscreen was Deelor’s sole remaining source of information. He had whispered a description of everything appearing within its frame into the palm-size vocoder cupped in his hand. Every brief glimpse of the alien ship, every detail of its structure, every impression of its tactics, was on record, but without the viewer he was blind to what was happening outside the hull.

  Deelor switched his attention to the interior of the Ferrel. From his seat at the center of the circular bridge he could scan the entire room. He described the dropping temperature and dimming emergency lights as the ship’s energy reserves were funneled into the defense shields in a losing battle against the alien force field. He described the glittering flakes of white paint that drifted through the air like snow, and the metal wall panel that blew out from under the inoperative communications station, knocking Lieutenant Morrissey hard against a railing, bending him double.

  The man sagged to his knees, then coughed a bright spot of blood onto the deck. Dr. Lewin jumped to his side with an open field kit. It was a futile gesture to Deelor’s mind and he did not include it in his report. If there were to be posthumous commendations for the crew, they would be based on the captain’s log.

  The screams of compressing metal plates grew louder, threatening to drown out Deelor’s comments. He pressed the grill closer against his mouth, but his voice had grown too hoarse to rise above the background noise. He snapped the protective cover down over the vocoder before slipping the unit into an inner pocket of his jacket. If the record were recovered, his successor would have a detailed description of the penalty for failure.

  His failure. Deelor regretted that epitaph more than his death. He turned to the woman sitting beside him. Ruthe was hunched into a tight ball, her legs drawn up beneath her chin, a gray cloak wrapped tightly around her body. She had buried her face in the coarse fabric. Loose locks of straight black hair fell down over her knees.

  He leaned over, bringing his mouth up against her ear. “We’re about to die,” he told her, not certain if she had realized that yet. “I’m sorry.”

  Ruthe looked up. Her skin was pale, but that was its natural color. “I’m cold. I hate being cold.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  A sudden cessation of activity around them triggered an alarm in Deelor’s mind. The crew had frozen in place, oblivious to the groans and labored breathing of the saucer hull as it flexed in and out. Their faces were turned in one direction, to the rear of the bridge, and he twisted about to follow their gazes. They were watching the captain and his first officer. The two men stood side by side at the weapons console, their backs blocking sight of their actions, but Deelor knew immediately what they were about to do. And why they mustn’t.

  Deelor shoute
d at Manin to stop, but his voice could not carry above the pervasive din of disintegrating metal. He scrambled out of his chair, but the buckling deck surface pitched him down onto his knees. He would never reach them in time. Plunging a hand into the folds of his jacket, he fumbled at the inner pocket. His fingers shoved aside the familiar cylindrical vocoder and closed in on the blunt casing of a hand phaser.

  He fired at both men, but the tremblings of the hull threw off his aim. D’Amelio dropped in place under the impact of the stun beam; the captain was only grazed. Manin whirled about in confusion. When he caught sight of the weapon in Deelor’s hand, bewilderment quickly transformed into a burst of rage.

  “Kill him!” The scream was inaudible, but the shape of the words was clear. And the order was instantly obeyed.

  Andrew Deelor never saw who fired.

  Three centuries of engineering knowledge, the product of the combined efforts of the brightest minds in the United Federation of Planets, culminated in the galaxy-class starship known as Enterprise. The finest metals and alloys, the strongest polymers, the newest computer technology, had been expertly crafted into a vessel designed to travel to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. She was manned by officers and scientists of the highest caliber, dedicated to an extended exploration of that new territory which beckoned so seductively.

  Sometimes the search turned deadly.

  With shields raised and weapons primed, Enterprise dropped out of warp speed in a dazzling screech of light and coasted toward the battle site.

  “Mr. Data, what do you make of that blue aura?” demanded the captain, studying the clouded figure of the USS Ferrel and its attacker.

  “Blue?” exclaimed Geordi. “Looks more like a riot of color to me.”

  The comment reminded Picard of how radically the pilots visor transformed Geordi’s vision to cover the entire electromagnetic spectrum.

  “It’s some kind of fluctuating energy field,” said Data as the ship’s computers displayed a readout on his ops console. “Purpose unknown, but its effects appear to be of limited range.”

  “Captain, I still can’t raise either ship,” announced Yar. “All communications channels are silent.”

  “The Ferrel may be unable to respond,” said Data. “Its control systems appear to be inoperative or barely functional.”

  “Mr. La Forge, set a direct course for the hostile,” ordered Picard tersely. He had only a few seconds in which to decide his course of action against the unfamiliar alien vessel. The explorer in him was exhilarated by the thought of a possible first contact, but as a Starfleet commander his first duty was to defend a fellow starship and the Ferrel was definitely on the losing side of its struggle. “Prepare to fire phasers at my next command. Perhaps a change in the odds will deter the Ferrel’s assailant from continuing its attack.”

  Tasha Yar signaled Worf from the aft stations to the tactical console and the two officers divided defense and assault responsibilities with short telegraphic gestures.

  Picard tensed. “Fire phasers,” he said.

  Lieutenant Worf splayed broad hands over the surface of the weapons console. Each twitch of a finger triggered a phaser blast from the underbelly of the Enterprise. Most of the pulses dispersed harmlessly into space, but two hit squarely on target.

  The effect was immediate. The blurred haze enveloping the two battling ships vanished, revealing the ravages of their conflict. The large saucer section of the Constellation-class starship was distorted, its frame twisted and warped. Hovering close beside the Ferrel, apparently undamaged, was a densely packed cluster of spheres, translucent orange in color. The ships were of an equal size, but the Enterprise dwarfed them both.

  “Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant Yar.” Picard rose from his command chair. “This is Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the USS Enterprise. Identify your vessel.” He waited patiently as the seconds passed. Riker moved silently to his side as the silence continued.

  “No response,” concluded Yar at last.

  “No verbal response,” said Data. “But they are reacting.” He was the first to detect movement from the cluster.

  The irregular mass of the alien ship had no discernible features that marked one end of the structure from another, but the entire group of spheres had started to revolve slowly on an internal axis. As the back side of the ship rolled into view, one spot of deep purple appeared nestled amid the orange. The rotation accelerated, whipping the odd-colored bubble out of sight, then back again.

  Still spinning, the ship began to float toward the Enterprise.

  Picard signaled another communications broadcast. “Alien vessel, if you do not respond, your approach will be considered a hostile action.”

  The cluster did not slow its progress.

  “I would have preferred a nonviolent conclusion to this conflict,” admitted Picard in a whispered aside to his first officer. “But it seems this life form doesn’t share my view. So be it.” His dropping hand signaled Lieutenant Worf to release another round of phaser fire.

  A cascade of disrupting beams raked over the approaching ship. The surface of the spheres crackled and sparked, but only for the split second of actual contact. When the glow of the phasers had faded, the bubbles were intact. Worf loosed another volley, to no greater visible effect.

  “Evasive action,” ordered Picard tersely.

  Geordi La Forge sent his hands dancing over the console and the Enterprise swerved in its course. “They’re gaining on us, sir.”

  “Maintain phaser fire.”

  Throughout the barrage, Data announced the rapidly closing distance between the two ships. “Ten kilometers, five kilometers, one kilometer.” His chant stopped. “One kilometer.”

  “Too close for our photon torpedoes,” declared Yar. “At this range the explosions could damage the Enterprise as well as the target.”

  If we move any farther away, the Ferrel will be vulnerable to a renewed attack,” said Picard bitterly as he studied the alien ship. Time for counteraction was quickly running out.

  And then it was gone. Having finally met some unknown parameter, the purple sphere whipped away from the spinning main cluster.

  “It’s coming directly toward us,” warned Data. “Prepare for impact.”

  An explosion of violet light seared the crew’s eyes, but there was no accompanying jolt, only a faint trembling that could be felt on the consoles and in the deck beneath their feet. Rivers of pale blue crackled over the main viewer.

  Data relayed the information from his sensors. “The energy field covers the entire outer surface of the saucer section.”

  “It’s a net,” exclaimed Geordi, and Picard knew he was describing his unique view of the field. “A matrix that’s been woven out of charged filaments; I can see the separate strands. And one thin umbilical current is still attached to the mother ship.”

  Yar studied the tactical console closely. “Shields holding without strain. The power output of this net is not very high.”

  Picard frowned. “Then why is the Ferrel so badly damaged?”

  A low-pitched hum was added to the vibration.

  “The field is contracting, increasing pressure on hull defenses,” announced Data. He blinked, making a quick mental calculation. “Assuming a constant rate of contraction, we can withstand the effects for two point six days before ship’s power reserves are exhausted. At that time, without shields, we will be vulnerable to structural damage.”

  Riker stepped up to the aft deck environment console to monitor incoming signals from each section of the starship. “Captain, current status reports from all stations indicate minor short circuits in electrical systems near the outer hull. No major damage,”

  “But our passengers are undergoing major trauma,” said Lieutenant Yar. “I’ve logged a dozen calls to my communications board from the Farmers’ quarters since the start of Red Alert.”

  “Contact Counselor Troi,” suggested Riker. “Have her calm them down. We may be here for quite a while.
”

  “But not for two days,” said Picard, falling back into the captain’s chair. “Not for two hours if it can be helped. There must be a way to penetrate their defenses.”

  Hands braced on the railing of the aft deck, Riker studied the alien ship’s unusual construction. Blue haze blurred the image of the bubble ship on the viewer. “Those spheres look just like a bunch of balloons. All we need is a needle to pop them with.”

  “An interesting analogy, Number One,” said the captain approvingly. “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

  Worf eagerly reprogrammed the weapons console to Riker’s specifications. The spread of phaser fire was reduced to the minimum recommended by Starfleet guidelines. With a little extra work and creative juggling of the controlling parameters, the beam was narrowed even farther. When Riker pronounced himself satisfied, Worf triggered a test shot.

  Despite its reduced intensity, the resulting pinpoint ray drilled straight through its target. A single sphere on the outermost layer of the cluster exploded, releasing a viscous glob of matter into space. Tattered remains of the exterior shell dangled limply from the core group.

  “Way to go, Worf,” exclaimed Geordi.

  “Try another,” Picard ordered. “If necessary, we’ll take that ship apart section by section.” He was determined to continue the assault until his ship was out of danger.

  The second explosion was the last.

  “Energy field dissipating,” announced Data as the viewscreen cleared. “And the enemy is pulling away.”

  Picard responded immediately. “Tractor beam, Lieutenant Worf. Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine.” He suspected that the Klingon would have preferred to keep firing until the enemy had been annihilated, but the order was obeyed without comment.

  “We’ve got them, Captain,” said Worf when the moving bubble cluster halted abruptly. “But they’re draining power at an incredible rate.”

  Picard tried once more to establish radio contact. “I order you to surrender your vessel.” He did not really expect an answer. There was none. But as before, the alien ship began to change. Its spheres contracted in size; the clumped mass shifted, rearranging its connections. A single bubble was extruded out from the cluster. Another followed directly behind the first. Then another.