by David Mack
Chapter
10
Captain’s Log, Stardate 53781.3.
At 0441 hours, the da Vinci escaped the atmosphere of gas giant Galvan VI and assumed a wide orbit around the planet. At 0503 hours we launched an emergency distress beacon. At 0549 hours we received a reply from the Federation starship U.S.S. Mjolnir indicating it was en route at maximum warp, with an ETA of approximately seventeen hours, nine minutes.
Gold sat alone amid the jumbled wreckage of his quarters. On the deck at his feet lay the twisted remains of his antique silver traveling clock, a twenty-fifth-anniversary gift from his wife.
He paused in the dictating of his log and reread what he had so far. He dreaded finishing it.
No point putting it off. He resolved to push ahead, and resumed his log entry.
* * *
The final total of casualties is…appalling. Twenty-three of my crew have been killed, and five seriously wounded, including myself. I’ll be assuming responsibility for contacting the families of the following personnel and offering my personal condolences, above and beyond the official Starfleet protocol:
Bain, Lieutenant (j.g.) Kara—Ops (beta shift)
Barnak, Lieutenant Jil—Chief Engineer
Chhung, Alex—Engineer
Deo, Lieutenant (j.g.) Elleth—Conn (beta shift)
Drew, Stephen—Security
Duffy, Lieutenant Commander Kieran—Second Officer
Eddy, Claire—Security
Feliciano, Chief Petty Officer Diego—Transporter Chief
Foley, Manfred—Security
Friesner, Esther—Security
Frnats—Security
Kazzarus, Chief Petty Officer Sa’il—Cargo Chief
Keegan, Lieutenant (j.g.) Peter—Engineer
Kowal, Lieutenant (j.g.) Keith—Ops (gamma shift)
Lankford, Ensign Denise—Shuttle Control Officer
Lipinski, Andrea—Security
Loton Yovre—Security
McAllan, Lieutenant David—Tactical Officer (alpha shift)
O’Leary, Lieutenant (j.g.) Brian—Engineer
Orthak—Engineer
Skernak, Jovun—Engineer
tai’Mio, Ensign Talia—Engineer
Weiland, Lieutenant (j.g.) Norma J.—Engineer
I am also submitting the following posthumous commendations:
Kragite Order of Heroism: Lieutenant Jil Barnak, Chief Engineer, in recognition of his quick action, which, although it cost the lives of nearly his entire engineering staff, saved the ship.
Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry: Lieutenant David McAllan, Senior Tactical Officer, who sacrificed his life to defend his captain; Stephen Drew, who gave up his life to protect injured personnel and the da Vinci medical staff; and Claire Eddy, who sacrificed her life to protect the ship from a massive hull breach.
The Federation Medal of Honor: Lt. Commander Kieran Duffy, whose noble sacrifice exemplified—
“Gomez to Gold.” The first officer’s voice snapped over the comm, interrupting Gold’s log entry.
“Go ahead.”
“Something’s happening,” she said urgently.
“On my way,” Gold said, tossing aside the tricorder and darting out his jammed-open door.
* * *
The planet pulsed with light, and it was getting brighter.
Gomez was filled with a growing sense of unease as the bridge was bathed in the planet’s ominous glow. In front of her, Wong and Ina, back at their regular duty stations, had the luxury of focusing on their displays instead. Behind her, Hawkins kept his attention squarely directed at the tactical console he’d been assigned, in light of the ship’s three tactical officers being injured or dead. Gomez and the rest of the crew were still attired in their torn, scorched, and stained uniforms, many of which reeked of stale perspiration and dried blood.
Gold stepped quickly but stiffly onto the bridge. He stopped in midstride when he saw the image on the viewscreen.
“Report,” he said to Gomez.
“It began increasing in brightness about two minutes ago,” she said. Gold stepped down into the center of the bridge next to her. The pile of debris that had collapsed onto Gold’s chair and claimed McAllan’s life had been cleared away, leaving only dents and gouges in the deck—and the absence of the captain’s chair—as evidence of the calamity.
“The Wildfire device?” Gold said.
Gomez shook her head. “No, that would’ve been a sudden flash, followed by a shock wave and a shift in the planet’s energy signature. This is…” She looked at the monitor. “Well, we’re really not sure what this is.”
Ina looked up from her display. “Captain, I’m detecting an energy signature moving up through the planet’s atmosphere. It’ll clear the topmost layer in five seconds.”
Gomez stared at the planet, which was now painfully bright to look at. Its surface flared and whitedout the viewscreen.
“Compensating,” Ina said as she adjusted the viewer’s settings. A filter cut the glare and made the image tolerable to look at. “Sorry about that,” Ina said. “Most of the automated functions are still offline.”
“That’s all right,” Gold said reassuringly. “Magnify that just a bit, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” Ina said as she enlarged the image. The increase in magnification revealed a latticework of overlapping beams of light composed of hues from across the entire spectrum. Individual beams within the lattice drifted, or randomly appeared or vanished. The overall effect, Gomez thought, was rather like observing a living sculpture with an intricate, almost indescribably beautiful logic to its geometry.
A soft, synthetic chirp sounded on Hawkins’s console. “Captain,” he said, “the planet appears to be directing a signal toward us.”
“What kind of signal?” Gold said. Hawkins worked for a few moments, then looked surprised.
“It’s an unencrypted text message, sir, on a Starfleet frequency…. It appears to be in English.”
Gomez turned toward Hawkins with an expression like an animal caught in a spotlight. She felt a wave of irrational hope surge through her. Starfleet frequency, she thought. English. Kieran.
“Onscreen,” Gold said.
Everyone waited for a few seconds as Hawkins transferred the signal from his console to the main viewscreen. Gomez pressed her palms flat together and held the edges of her hands against her mouth, her thumbs hooked beneath her chin.
“we are…Ovanim…gas planet…our home,” the message read.
Gomez felt her hopes sink. Maybe he’s with them, she told herself. They’ve got his frequency, they know English….
“your ships…accident…warhead…duffy…”
Yes, they know his name, good. Gomez knew she was clinging to a fragile hope, but she didn’t dare let go. They know his name, he must have made contact.
“sacrifice…warhead cold…sorry…grateful…peace”
The word “sacrifice” twisted inside Gomez like a knife.
“Hawkins, send a reply on the same frequency, same format,” Gold said. His voice pitched upward slightly as he recited the message. “We are the United Federation of Planets…. Warhead…. Sorry…. Accident…. Peace.” Gold nodded to Hawkins, who transmitted the brief reply.
Ina responded to an audible prompt from her console. “Sir, sensors have detected something emerging from the planet’s atmosphere, being rapidly propelled into orbit.” Everyone waited quietly while Ina gathered more data. “It’s the Wildfire device, sir. And I’m reading something else alongside—” She looked up, alarmed. “It’s Duffy.”
Ina magnified the image on the main viewer to reveal Duffy in his modified pressure suit. He drifted through space, floating beside the inert warhead on a slow journey toward the da Vinci. There was no sign of activity from his suit’s thrusters, no independent movement.
Even before Ina spoke, Gomez felt the bad news coming, like an ill wind preceding a storm.
“No life signs, Captain,” Ina said
in a soft voice.
* * *
Gold stood near the back of the auxiliary shuttle bay, surrounded by nearly all the surviving crewmembers of the da Vinci. To his right he saw Corsi, back on her feet, leaning on Robins’s shoulder. Faulwell, Blue, Soloman, and Abramowitz huddled together off to his left. Directly in front of Gold were Lense, Wetzel, and Copper, awaiting the call to service, medical supplies slung at their sides. Gomez stood alone in front of the others, her arms clutched anxiously to her chest.
Gold had left Ina in command as he followed Gomez off the bridge. Hawkins and Wong had remained at their stations, as had Conlon, who was alone in main engineering. Now, as Gold watched Work Bug Two slowly approaching the da Vinci shuttle bay on a return trajectory, towing the Wildfire device behind it in a tractor beam, he envied them for their absence.
Clutched in the Work Bug’s cargo claw was Duffy, motionless inside his now-depleted pressure suit.
* * *
Stevens adjusted the Work Bug’s energy signature so it would pass directly through the shuttle bay’s force field. Lense, Wetzel, and Copper waited on the other side of the invisible energy barrier, standing by to do everything they could for Duffy, who was held securely in the cargo claw.
As the Work Bug cleared the shuttle bay force field, its sensors still showed no life signs from inside Duffy’s suit. Stevens completed the landing sequence, and the Work Bug touched down on the deck with a gentle bump, followed by a dull thud as the Wildfire warhead came to rest on the deck behind it.
Through the cockpit windshield he saw Lense rush toward Duffy, Wetzel and Copper right behind her, each of them clutching an armful of medical supplies and equipment.
He carefully lowered Duffy’s pressure suit to the deck, then released it from the cargo claw. Wiping the tears from his face, he opened the starboard pressure hatch.
* * *
Lense and Copper released the safety seals on Duffy’s pressure suit and began pulling it away in pieces—helmet first, then the breastplate, followed by the arms. As soon as his helmet was off, Lense was dismayed by the prominent, dark-purple petechial hemorrhages that marred the sandy-haired second officer’s face and neck—classic forensic evidence of suffocation.
Wetzel put the cortical stimulator in place on Duffy’s temples and began administering pulses of energy directly into Duffy’s brain and central nervous system. Copper scanned Duffy with his medical tricorder, then shook his head at Lense. He showed Lense the medical tricorder’s display. Not only was Duffy not responding, his body was close to entering the early stages of rigor mortis.
Lense looked over her shoulder at Gomez, who stood only a few meters away. The first officer was hugging herself and rocking slightly, her eyes rimmed red with exhaustion and tears. She looked more fragile than Lense had ever seen her.
Lense turned back to Wetzel and Copper. “Seventy cc’s tricordrazine, prepare for CPR,” she said. Wetzel handed her the hypospray. She injected it into Duffy’s jugular, then placed her hands at the base of his sternum and began compressions. Wetzel tilted Duffy’s head back and checked his airway. After every eighth compression by Lense, Wetzel drew a deep breath and forced it into Duffy’s lungs, mouth-to-mouth.
Lense continued compressions until Wetzel gasped for breath. Copper discreetly showed Lense the medical tricorder’s readings, which indicated no positive change. She steeled herself, then turned and looked back at Gomez.
Gomez met her stare and read the awful truth in Lense’s eyes. Gomez began to tremble violently.
“I’m sorry,” Lense said.
Gomez backed away, tears welling in her eyes.
* * *
No, he can’t be…not like this…
Fabian Stevens didn’t want to look any longer; he couldn’t stand the sight of his best friend’s body lying on the deck. He slumped forward against Work Bug Two and cried into his hands. The hard, choking sobs left him unable to breathe.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
He turned to see Corsi, her hair falling in unkempt tangles over her shoulders. Her face mirrored his own, and he saw in her eyes an empathy and tenderness even deeper than the one she had shared with him one lonely night months ago.
She ushered him into her arms. He surrendered himself to her embrace and wept into her shoulder.
* * *
Gomez shook her head, sinking deeper into denial with every backward step she took away from Duffy’s corpse.
One tear rolled down her cheek, then another. She felt a scream of rage and anguish build inside her throat. She pressed a hand to her lips—as if that meek gesture would be enough to dam up her ocean of grief. Her pulse throbbed in her ears.
She was beyond words. Her entire body quaked with a terrible, inchoate fury and sorrow. She was hollow, aimless, adrift. She felt Faulwell’s hand gently touch her arm in a futile effort to offer comfort. She shook it away with an anger that made the older man recoil and take two steps back.
The small cluster of people behind her parted as she passed through them toward the exit. Her eyes stung, but remained fixed on Duffy’s body, which grew smaller in her field of vision as she retreated, the image searing itself into her memory. She backed into the corridor and saw his body framed in the outline of the doorway.
She forced herself to close her eyes and turn away. She opened them to see Captain Gold standing in the corridor in front of her. Your fault, she fumed, and glared accusingly at him. All this is your fault. She pushed roughly past him and stormed away, deserting the captain in her bitter wake.
* * *
Gomez sealed the maintenance lab door behind her. All she wanted was to hide in the sanctity of her own quarters, safe behind closed doors, but that was impossible now. Her private quarters had been destroyed during the final series of implosions that had rocked the da Vinci.
All her personal possessions aboard ship had been lost to the atmosphere of Galvan VI: her civilian clothes; an antique, leather-bound twenty-first-century edition of The Complete Works of Richard Brautigan that her father had given to her when she was fifteen; the sonic rifle she had wielded in her battle against a crystalline killing machine on the planet Sarindar.
And the pens, she realized with a pang of regret. Duffy had given her a set of Vulcan calligraphy pens for her birthday three months ago, because six months earlier she had happened to mention she was interested in taking a class in written Vulcan. He had often surprised her with small, unexpected gifts: a small pendant adorned with an emerald, her birthstone; a music crystal that played Trill lullabies; a bottle of rare Deltan perfume….
Now they’re all gone…everything he ever gave me.…
She palmed the tears from her cheek and wiped her hand across the front of her uniform. Her fingertips paused on the raised edges of the ring that was still tucked safely within her jacket’s inside pocket.
She took out the ring and watched flickers of light dance across its stone’s facets as she turned it in her hand. She let the ring fall into her palm and closed her fist around it.
Her first sob caught in her chest. Her second burst out of her like a hacking cough. Then her grief escaped in full force, a throaty dirge that echoed off the metallic walls of the cramped maintenance lab. She pressed her back to the wall and slid downward as her knees buckled. Her wails of despair became angry screams.
She tightened her fist around the ring until the stone bit into her flesh. No sound she made, no pain she inflicted on her body, could ease the torment seething inside her. She slumped to the deck, then curled into a fetal position. She opened her fist and looked at the ring, which was daubed with her own blood. Although she had no idea why she was doing it, she slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.
She stared through her prism of tears into the cold fire of the diamond, as if it held the secrets of life and death.
Her funereal cries grew steadily more despondent as the truth took root in her mind:
Kieran’s gone.
THE E
ND
About the Author
David Mack is a writer whose work for Star Trek spans multiple media. With writing partner John J. Ordover, he cowrote the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode “Starship Down” and the story treatment for the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode “It’s Only a Paper Moon.” Mack and Ordover also penned the four-issue Next Generation/Deep Space Nine crossover comic-book miniseries Divided We Fall for Wildstorm Comics. With Keith R.A. DeCandido, Mack cowrote the Star Trek: S.C.E. two-part novella Invincible, currently available in paperback as part of the collection titled Star Trek: S.C.E. #2—Miracle Workers. Mack’s solo Trek writing includes the Star Trek: New Frontier Minipedia and the trade paperback The Starfleet Survival Guide. He also has worked behind the scenes on several Star Trek–related CD-ROM games and products produced by Simon & Schuster Interactive. Wildfire is Mack’s first solo work of long-form prose. He currently resides in New York City.
Coming Next Month:
Star Trek™: S.C.E. #25
Home Fires
by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
In the wake of the catastrophic events of Wildfire, Domenica Corsi and Fabian Stevens take a much-needed vacation, visiting Corsi’s family on FahleenaIII. Corsi is not happy about the trip, as she and her father, the head of a cargo-running company, haven’t spoken in over six years.
An engine failure during a routine cargo run leads Corsi to confront her father, who reveals the deadly secret of the death of Corsi’s uncle in a shocking tale from the Cardassian War that will change how Corsi views her family—and her relationship with Stevens—forever!
COMING IN FEBRUARY FROM POCKET BOOKS!
