THE VALIANT

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Eliopoulos looked around the table. “No doubt,” he said, “you noticed a strange-looking ship as you approached the base. It arrived here seven days ago. There were only two people aboard—a man named Guard Daniels and a woman named Serenity Santana.”

  “Humans?” asked Werber, a stocky, balding man with piercing blue eyes and a dense walrus mustache.

  “From all appearances,” Eliopoulos confirmed. “But from what they told us, they weren’t just any humans. They were descendants of the crew of the S.S. Valiant . . . the ship that went through the galactic barrier nearly three hundred years ago.”

  The remark hung in the air for a moment as its significance sank in around the room. Picard, who was more excited by history than most, felt his pulse begin to race.

  Three hundred years . . .

  It was then that he realized where he had seen the strange-looking ship before. Or rather, not the ship itself, but elements of it.

  Back at the Academy, one of his professors had showed him a picture of the S.S. Valiant. He recalled its wide, dark body and its abundance of small, curiously placed nacelles. The vessel hang ing in space alongside the starbase could easily have evolved from that primitive design.

  Then something occurred to Picard—something that seemed to preclude the claim made by Eliopoulos’s visitors. “Wasn’t the Valiant destroyed by order of her captain?”

  Ruhalter nodded. “That was my understanding as well.”

  The second officer knew the story. For that matter, everyone did. James Kirk, the last captain of the original Starship Enterprise, had embarked for the galactic barrier on a research mission in 2265. Just shy of his destination, he encountered an antique message buoy—a warning sent out by the captain of the Valiant two centuries earlier, chronicling his experiences after penetrating the barrier.

  Though the details provided by the buoy were sketchy, it seemed one of the Valiant’s crewmen had become a threat to his colleagues . . . and to Earth as well, if he lived to return to her. To eliminate that possibility, the Valiant’s captain was forced to blow up his ship.

  That seemed like a good reason to turn back. And as far as most people in Kirk’s time knew, that was exactly what he had done.

  But he hadn’t turned back. He had braved the barrier despite the warning. And in doing so, he had shed some light on the fate of the Valiant . . . albeit at a terrible price.

  The man who paid it was Kirk’s navigator, Gary Mitchell, in whom exposure to the barrier had touched off a gradual but startling transformation. Mitchell became a superman, a being capable of increasingly improbable feats of mental and physical prowess . . . telepathy and telekinesis among them.

  Unfortunately, Mitchell’s perspective began to change as well. He came to see his crewmates as insects, hardly worthy of his notice . . . much less his compassion. In the end, Kirk was compelled to kill him.

  Had he hesitated, he might have found himself in the same predicament as the captain of the Valiant, who had likely been confronted with a superman of his own—or so Mitchell’s trans formation seemed to indicate. Then Kirk too might have been forced to destroy his vessel as a last resort.

  “But Daniels and Santana,” Ruhalter continued, “are saying the Valiant wasn’t destroyed after all?”

  “They agree that it was destroyed,” Eliopoulos replied. “However, they maintain that a portion of the Valiant’s crew survived her destruction . . . then found an M-Class planet and settled there.”

  “Hard to believe,” said Simenon, his speech harsh and sibilant. “Hundreds of years ago, escape pods didn’t have any real range. And M-Class planets weren’t any easier to find then than they are today.”

  Ruhalter regarded Eliopoulos beneath bushy, gray brows. “Assuming for the moment that your guests were telling the truth, what made them decide to return to our side of the barrier?”

  Eliopoulos smiled a tired smile. No doubt, he had grown weary of disseminating the information.

  “They say they’re here to warn the Federation about an impending threat—an immensely powerful species called the Nuyyad, which has been conquering the scattered solar systems on the other side of the barrier and sending native populations running for their lives.”

  Ruhalter stared at Eliopoulos for a moment. They all did. Then the captain said, “I see.”

  “Quite a revelation,” Picard remarked.

  “Stunning, actually,” said Leach. He cast the second officer a sideways look. “Assuming it has some basis in fact.”

  “You sound skeptical,” Ruhalter observed.

  “I’m more than skeptical,” the first officer told him. “I’m afraid—and not of the Nuyyad.”

  “Of what, then?” asked Picard.

  “Of Daniels and Santana,” said Leach. “Think about it, Commander. If these people’s ancestors went through the galactic barrier more than two hundred years ago, they might eventually have developed some of the same powers Gary Mitchell dis played. And in Mitchell’s case, those powers came with a need to dominate others.”

  The second officer smiled patiently. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Eliopoulos interrupted. “The need to subjugate might have been a quirk of Mitchell’s personality. But I have to confess, I had the same concerns as Commander Leach. I had to be careful—I had a starbase to think about.”

  Ruhalter cocked his head. “Wait a minute . . . didn’t Mitchell’s transformation have something to do with extrasensory perception?’’

  “It did,” Eliopoulos agreed. “He was a documented ESPer and therefore more sensitive to the barrier effect. So, apparently, was the affected crewman on the Valiant.”

  “And so was that other crewman on the Enterprise,” Cariello added. “The woman who became Mitchell’s ally . . .”

  “And later turned against him,” said Eliopoulos. “That would be Dehner. And yes, she was an ESPer as well. However, the Enterprise had better shielding with which to filter the barrier’s effects. The Valiant was all but naked, by today’s standards.”

  Picard tried to imagine it. The chaos . . . the destruction . . . the blinding flash of powerful, unknown energies . . .

  “For all we know,” Eliopoulos told them, “even a hint of ESP might have been enough to trigger an eventual transformation—and how many humans aren’t blessed at least a little in that regard?”

  There was silence around the table. Werber was the one who finally took the air out of it.

  “So what did you do with them?” the weapons chief asked. “Daniels and Santana, I mean?”

  Eliopoulos scowled. “I did what I had to do. I had the two of them placed in detention cells, pending orders from Starfleet Command.”

  He paused, looking just the least bit uncomfortable with his actions. And Picard knew why. The pair was human . . . and as far as he could tell, they hadn’t done anything to merit imprisonment.

  “They seemed disappointed, of course,” said Eliopoulos. “And more than a little displeased, I might add. But not surprised.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Ruhalter.

  Eliopoulos scowled again. “They said their colleagues had warned them that they would be taking a chance. As they were escorted to the brig, they quoted a twentieth-century Earthman . . . a fellow named Thomas. Apparently, he’s the one who said, ‘No good deed ever goes unpunished.’ ”

  Picard smiled a grim smile. “It sounds like the type of remark one might make if his ancestors were Earthmen.”

  “Or if it served one to create that impression,” Leach added cynically.

  “Go on,” Ruhalter instructed the bearded man.

  “Naturally,” said Eliopoulos, “I didn’t like the idea that I might be detaining innocent people. But when I contacted Command, Admiral Gardner-Vincent applauded my judgment . . . and ordered me to run a battery of tests on Daniels and Santana.”

  “Tests?” Picard echoed.

  “Brain scans, for the most part,” the starbase commander
elaborated. “Also, some blood workups.”

  “And what did you find?” asked Ruhalter.

  Eliopoulos looked at him gravely. “While both Daniels and Santana looked perfectly normal—perfectly human—on the outside, their brains were different from those of normal Homo sapiens. Their cerebellums, for instance, were a good deal more developed, and the blood supply to their cerebral cortices was greater by almost twenty-two percent.”

  “Which suggested what?” Ruhalter wondered. “That they had been born with the mind-powers that Mitchell acquired?”

  “That was the inescapable conclusion,” Eliopoulos told him. “With the cooperation of our guests, we performed additional tests designed to gauge the extent of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities.”

  Picard leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear the results. Ruhalter leaned forward as well, he noticed.

  “Mind you,” said Eliopoulos, “Daniels and Santana could have been holding back and we would have been hard-pressed to detect it. However, what we did see was remarkable enough. They could tell me what I was thinking at any given moment, as long as I didn’t make any effort to conceal it. And they could maneuver an object weighing up to a kilogram with reasonable precision for an indefinite period of time.”

  Remarkable indeed, thought Picard.

  “In addition,” Eliopoulos went on, “Daniels and Santana underwent psychological tests. If we’re to believe the results, they’re a good deal more independent and desirous of privacy than the average human being. Whoever said that no man is an island never met these two.”

  “Did you ask them why that might be?” Picard inquired.

  Eliopoulos turned to him. “We did. They told us that in a society where people can read each other’s thoughts, privacy necessarily becomes an issue of paramount importance.”

  “I’ll bet it does,” said Werber.

  “So you were right about them,” Leach observed. “Both of them had powers like Lieutenant Commander Mitchell’s.”

  “Like them, yes,” Eliopoulos noted. “But we didn’t find any evidence that their abilities are as devastating as Mitchell’s were. For what it’s worth, both Daniels and Santana claim that they demonstrated the full extent of what they could do.”

  Leach grunted. “And if you believe that, I’ve got some prime land to show you in an asteroid belt.”

  Werber laughed at the remark.

  “This is all very interesting,” Ruhalter said, his tone putting a lid on his officers’ banter, “but what’s the Stargazer’s role in it?”

  Eliopoulos looked at him. “Despite our suspicions about Daniels and Santana, we’ve yet to prove they’re telling anything but the truth. As a result, Command wants a vessel to go through the barrier and investigate their story about the Nuyyad invasion force.”

  Leach rolled his eyes, making clear his incredulity. At the same time, Werber muttered something under his breath.

  Ruhalter eyed them, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “Let’s maintain an air of decorum here, shall we, gentlemen?”

  “Of course, sir,” the first officer responded crisply.

  Werber frowned and said, “Sorry, Captain.”

  But to Picard’s mind, neither of them looked very apologetic.

  “I don’t blame your officers for being wary of Santana and Daniels,” said Eliopoulos. “As I said, I was wary too . . . until I received verification that the Nuyyad exist.”

  Leach’s brow creased, just one indication of his discomfort with the announcement. “Verification? From whom?”

  “I’d like to know that myself,” said Ruhalter.

  “From Nalogen Four,” replied the starbase commander.

  Picard knew the place. “There’s a colony there,” he said. “A Kelvan colony, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Eliopoulos nodded. “Since it was established more than a century ago by refugees, they’ve been accepting other Kelvans from the far side of the galactic barrier.”

  “And they’ve encountered the Nuyyad?” Cariello asked.

  “One of them has,” Eliopoulos told her. “One of the colony’s more recent arrivals—an individual named Jomar. He told a Starfleet investigator that he had witnessed Nuyyad aggression and atrocities with his own eyes just a few years back.”

  “Was he told of the claims made by Daniels and Santana?” asked Ruhalter. “That the Nuyyad were gearing up to cross the barrier?”

  “He was,” Eliopoulos reported soberly. “And according to Jomar, those claims could well be true.”

  Ruhalter leaned back in his seat and regarded his officers. “All right,” he declared. “I think we understand the situation. When does Command want us to leave for the barrier?”

  “Immediately,” said Eliopoulos. “But on the way, you’re to make a stop at Nalogen Four. Apparently, Jomar is an engineer by training. He feels certain that he can adapt Starfleet tactical systems to make them more effective against the Nuyyad.”

  That got Werber’s attention. Simenon’s, too.

  “What’s wrong with the systems we have now?” asked Leach.

  “I don’t have the details,” Eliopoulos told him. “You’ll have to ask Jomar that question.”

  “I intend to,” the first officer said.

  “One other thing,” Eliopoulos remarked. “For the sake of convenience, Jomar will assume a human appearance. However, he’ll be more comfortable in his natural form and at times may wish to revert to it.”

  “His . . . natural form?” asked Paxton. “And what might that be?”

  “Something with a hundred tentacles,” Eliopoulos told him. “That’s all I know, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s enough,” said Cariello.

  “We’ll accommodate our friend Jomar as best we can,” Ruhalter declared. “Just as we would any guest on the Stargazer.”

  Picard changed the subject. “Naturally,” he said, “we’ll need the coordinates of the Nuyyad positions if we’re to investigate them.”

  Leach scowled at the notion. “Assuming, of course, that there are any Nuyyad positions.” Clearly, he wasn’t convinced yet.

  “You’ll have the coordinates,” Eliopoulos promised them. “But Command doesn’t want you searching for the Nuyyad on your own, given our lack of experience beyond the barrier. That’s why they’ve provided you with a guide.”

  Simenon looked at him askance. “Meaning?”

  Eliopoulos glanced at the engineer. “Meaning Jomar won’t be your only guest. Either Daniels or Santana will accompany you as well.”

  Werber cursed beneath his breath. Simenon didn’t look very happy either.

  “Captain,” said Leach, turning to Ruhalter, “someone didn’t think this through very well. As soon as these people arrived, they were thrown into the brig . . . that’s how little we trusted them. And now we’re ready to give them the run of the Stargazer?”

  “Not the run of her,” Ruhalter assured his exec.

  The captain seemed a good deal less perturbed about the prospect than Leach was. At least, that was how it appeared to Picard.

  “In fact,” Ruhalter added flatly, “whoever comes with us will be watched day and night. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ben Zoma?”

  The security chief nodded. “It is, sir,” he said crisply.

  “Nonetheless, sir . . .” Leach began.

  “Thank you for your input,” the captain told him pointedly.

  Then he turned to Eliopoulos again. “Tell me,” he said, “did Starfleet Command determine which of your guests I’m to take along?”

  The bearded man shook his head. “They left that up to us.”

  “In that case,” Ruhalter told him, “I’d like to meet Daniels and Santana. Now, if possible. And unless you’ve got some objections, I’d like to bring a couple of my officers with me.”

  Eliopoulos shrugged. “Suit yourself, Captain.”

  “I usually do,” said Ruhalter, quirking a smile. He turned to his second officer. “Commander Picard, Lieutenant Ben Zoma . . . you�
��re with me.” He glanced at Leach. “You’ve got the conn, Number One.”

  His first officer didn’t look very happy about the decision. Clearly, he would rather have beamed over to the starbase with the captain. However, he couldn’t object to Ruhalter’s choice . . . not in front of Eliopoulos and the entire senior staff.

  “Aye, sir,” was all he said.

  On that note, the captain dismissed his officers and sent them back to their respective assignments. Then he led Eliopoulos, Picard, and Ben Zoma out of the lounge.

  As he followed Ruhalter down the hall, the second officer caught sight of Leach out of the corner of his eye. The first officer was standing with Simenon and Werber and scowling at him.

  Ben Zoma leaned closer to him and spoke sotto voce. “Looks like you’re developing quite a fan club, Commander.”

  Picard glanced at the security chief. Gilaad Ben Zoma was a handsome, darkly complected man with a ready smile. He was also the second officer’s closest friend and colleague on the ship.

  Like Picard’s father, Ben Zoma’s had disapproved of his joining Starfleet. From the day they met, the coincidence had given the two men a common ground, something about which to commiserate—and had created a warm rapport between them.

  “Fan club indeed,” the second officer responded in the same soft voice.

  Up ahead, Ruhalter was too engrossed in conversation with Eliopoulos to pay much attention to what his officers were saying. Still, Picard didn’t want to utter anything even vaguely insubordinate.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Ben Zoma wondered. “You know, if you’re not careful, our pal Number One is going to stab you in your sleep.”

  Picard chuckled drily. “He’s welcome to try.”

  Chapter 3

  Picard stood outside a pair of gray sliding doors, alongside Ruhalter, Ben Zoma, and Eliopoulos, and watched an armed Starfleet security officer punch a code into a wall pad.

  A moment later, the doors parted, revealing a fairly large, well-lit chamber. A translucent force field bisected the place, denying access to two separate cells. One was empty. The other contained two very human-looking figures—a man and a woman in dark green jumpsuits.