“I’m fine, Number One,” Picard said, not bothering to lower his voice. He understood Worf’s concern. The crew’s time in the Gamma Quadrant had ended more quickly than anticipated, and far more abruptly. The plan for the joint exploratory mission of Enterprise and the Romulan vessel Eletrix had called for a voyage measured in months, not weeks. But the tragic, and thus far unexplained, crash of the warbird on a moon, resulting in the loss of all hands, had halted the historic undertaking almost as soon as it had begun. With the mission intended as a form of entente between the Khitomer Accords and the Typhon Pact, it remained to be seen how its conclusion would affect interstellar relations. Certainly, the prospect of a breakdown in the uneasy peace between the two factions had caused a noticeable rise in the tensions of the crew. Picard himself, contrary to what he’d just told his first officer, felt tired, and he did not relish having to make a full report of events to the commander-in-chief of Starfleet, Admiral Akaar, or to the Federation President, Nanietta Bacco.
Thinking about his crew and how the loss of the Romulan vessel had impacted them, Picard looked to his left, to the chair of the ship’s counselor, Hegol Den. Though some doubted the reality of the loss of Eletrix, the image of the warbird’s remnants after its apparent crash on the surface of a moon had nevertheless taken its toll on the Enterprise crew. Before the captain could say anything to the counselor, though, a resplendent formation of brilliant blue and white light spun across the main viewer. Impressed as always by the appearance of the Bajoran wormhole, Picard watched as the white glow at its center grew to fill the screen. Enterprise rushed into the opening.
Inside the extradimensional tunnel, a magnificent display of hues and shapes surrounded the ship. Picard watched as Enterprise traveled through sets of great white rings that rimmed the spatial passage. Immense blue and white streamers shifted like waves rolling across an ocean, and concentric circles spread along the unseen walls of the cylindrical conduit like raindrops in still water. In virtually no time at all, the captain knew, the wormhole would allow his ship to travel between a point in the Idran system and a point in the Bajoran system that, in normal space, lay some seventy thousand light-years apart. Such a journey astounded Picard, but the fact that an alien race had actually constructed the wormhole seemed unfathomable.
“Captain,” said Choudhury, “sensors are intermittent, but they’re showing a contact within the wormhole. I’m detecting indications of another ship, but—” Picard heard a series of feedback tones as Choudhury operated the tactical console. “—it’s moving very slowly.”
“On-screen,” Picard said.
On the viewer, the image seemed to change little, but a small, dark object appeared at its center. To Picard, it neither looked nor moved like a starship. He peered at Worf, who shook his head. “Can you identify it, Lieutenant?” he asked Choudhury.
“Trying to, Captain,” she said. “The readings are fluctuating, but I’m unable to distinguish any impulse signature. That could be a result of the interference to the sensors, but I can confirm its low velocity.”
Picard felt his brow furrow. “We know that numerous civilian craft, including ships from the worlds of the Typhon Pact, are using the wormhole regularly for passage between the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants. Could this be one of those?”
“Possibly,” Choudhury allowed, “but why would a ship enter the wormhole and then not ride its currents to its other end?”
“Perhaps it had lost engine power and then could not prevent itself from falling into the wormhole,” Worf suggested.
“Perhaps,” Picard said, but then another, more disquieting possibility occurred to him. Looking to his first officer, he said, “When Commander Sisko initially traveled through the wormhole, he reported his runabout landing on a planet inside it. Could the crew of this ship be scouting for that world?”
“Before our mission, I read those reports,” Worf said. “It was unclear to me whether that planet existed physically, or only as a manifestation of the wormhole aliens’ attempts to communicate.”
“Quite right, Number One,” Picard said. “I’d forgotten that. But maybe the crew of that ship wish to answer that question for themselves. Lieutenant Choudhury, open a channel—” Picard stopped speaking and slowly stood up. As Enterprise had gotten closer, the details of the object had become visible. “That’s no ship,” he said. “At least, not an entire ship.”
What looked liked twisted sections of metal first drew Picard’s eye. As he observed the object, he saw viewports along one side, all of them dark. It rotated at a leisurely pace as it moved along, but not in a way that seemed deliberate. More than anything, it resembled a piece of wreckage, a portion of hull violently torn from a spacecraft.
“I’m trying to scan the exterior plating,” Choudhury said. “Sensor function continues to be problematic.”
“Number One, that doesn’t look like a part of any Starfleet vessel to you, does it?” Picard asked his first officer.
“No, sir,” Worf said, climbing to his feet beside the captain. “It appears too dark . . . too angular.”
“I agree,” Picard said.
“Captain, I’m able to scan the hull now,” Choudhury said. “I’m reading cast rodinium . . . alternating layers of toranium and polyduranium . . . and a main core of keldinide.” More chirps arose from her tactical station as she worked her controls. “Captain, according to our ship-recognition routine, the depths and the pattern of the hull layers most closely match those of Cardassian starships.”
“But the Cardassians are now our allies,” Worf said. “What could have happened to it within Federation space?”
“That’s what we need to find out, Number One,” Picard said.
“Captain, that appears to be an emergency bulkhead,” Worf said as Enterprise closed on the wreckage.
All at once, Picard recognized what he saw, and it staggered him. “That’s a section of Deep Space Nine.” The thought of the space station taking such damage, perhaps even being destroyed, would have been horrifying under any circumstances, but on the heels of the calamity that had befallen Eletrix and its crew, the captain feared a link between the two events, and the advent of some great new threat to the Federation.
“Captain,” said Choudhury, “I’m reading an atmosphere over there.”
“An atmosphere?” echoed Picard. “Then they did seal the emergency bulkheads, so they must have had some advance warning of whatever caused this.” He gestured toward the image on the viewscreen, then peered over at Choudhury. “Lieutenant,” he said quietly, “are there survivors?”
The security chief tapped at her tactical console, but all her efforts resulted in the muted sounds of failed operations. “Life signs are indeterminate.”
“Would it be possible to transport over there?” the captain asked. He already suspected the answer.
“Not within the wormhole,” said the security chief.
Picard nodded, then moved into action. “Lieutenant Choudhury, prepare a tractor beam. Lieutenant Faur, I know our velocity is limited by the wormhole’s structure and its physics, but push the Enterprise as best you can.”
As both officers acknowledged their orders, Picard returned to his chair, and Worf followed suit. On the viewer, the ruined section of DS9 slid off to port and out of sight as Enterprise passed it. Given the sporadic operation of the sensors within the wormhole, Picard hoped that they would not encounter similar problems with the tractor beam.
“Ready for towing, Captain,” said Choudhury.
“Make it so,” Picard ordered. “Reverse angle on viewer.”
The main screen switched to display the space aft of Enterprise. There, a translucent white energy field connected the ship to the lost section of the space station. “The tractor beam is functional and holding,” said Choudhury.
Seconds passed. Picard kept his gaze on the viewscreen, hopeful that the tractor would perform long enough to allow Enterprise to reach the Alpha Quadrant still hauling its potentially p
recious cargo. The otherworldly beauty of the wormhole had suddenly lost its appeal to the captain.
And then the sets of circles and the undulating streamers and the stirring raindrops vanished, replaced on the main viewer by a whirlpool of light that marked the wormhole’s entrance. An instant later, it had collapsed in on itself and closed. “We have cleared the wormhole,” announced Lieutenant Faur.
“Very good,” Picard said. “Viewer ahead.”
For a moment, nobody said anything. Picard knew that every member of his bridge crew dreaded what they would see. The captain himself expected to see a badly damaged Deep Space 9.
But when the starscape changed on the viewer, it showed no space station at all.
“Lieutenant?” Picard asked.
From the tactical console, Choudhury spoke in low tones. “Captain, Deep Space Nine does not appear anywhere on sensors. But . . . there is a tremendous amount of debris in the area. I’m also reading several vessels: the Canterbury . . . a number of runabouts . . . some civilian ships.”
What the hell happened here? thought Picard. He wanted to know, and at the same time, he didn’t. He had witnessed so much death and destruction in his life, particularly during the last few years. And yet he hadn’t grown inured to it; in some ways, he found it more difficult to deal with now than ever he had. Of course, it didn’t require the abilities of a counselor to figure out that his marriage to Beverly and the birth of their son had everything to do with that.
“Lieutenant Faur, bring us to a full stop,” Picard said. “Lieutenant Choudhury, are sensors showing any signs of life aboard the section of the station?”
“Something has affected the hull,” Choudhury said. “I’m still getting interference.” She looked up at the captain. “We won’t be able to use the transporter either.”
“The hull fragment might be small enough to bring aboard,” Worf suggested.
“Lieutenant?” Picard asked.
Choudhury consulted her readouts. “Aye, sir,” she said. “Not in any of the cargo holds, but we can bring it into shuttlebay one.”
“Make it so.” Picard stood up. “Mister Worf, have Doctor Crusher and an emergency medical team meet me down there, as well as security officers and an engineering squad. If there are any survivors, maybe they can tell us what happened here. In the meantime, I want you to contact the Canterbury to see what they know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Picard paced quickly to the nearest turbolift, entered, and specified his destination. As the car descended, he asked himself why he hadn’t contacted Captain Euler aboard the Canterbury. Some cataclysm had resulted in the destruction of Deep Space 9, and since Euler’s ship had been stationed at Bajor, it seemed likely that he would have information about what had happened. Worf could just as easily have investigated the space station’s lost hull section for survivors.
Except that there might not be survivors, Picard thought. They could find the section of hull completely empty. Or we might find it filled with corpses.
Picard realized that his answer lay with the latter possibility. As Enterprise’s chief medical officer, Beverly needed to be there, and so he wanted to be there as well, to shield her as best he could from the specter of more death. He thought about that for a moment, about the way in which his decision-making process had changed since his marriage and the arrival of René. Since he had in no way compromised the ship or the safety of his crew, he decided that he could easily live with that.
The lift completed its vertical descent, then glided horizontally toward the aft end of the ship’s saucer section. Eventually, it eased to a stop, and its doors parted. Picard stepped into the corridor outside the shuttlebay to find Beverly waiting there with a pair of her nurses, as well as two engineers and two security officers. Beverly carried a tricorder in her hands, and a medkit slung over her shoulder, while the engineers clutched pairs of long, thick work gloves. The security officers had arrived with phasers perched on their hips and beacons strapped to their wrists.
“Have you been informed about what we’re bringing aboard?” Picard asked the group.
“Yes, Captain,” Beverly said.
Picard nodded, then stepped toward the shuttlebay doors, which opened at his approach. Inside, the vast deck reached all the way to the aft end of Enterprise’s primary hull. All of the ship’s support craft sat on the inner half of the bay, or hung suspended from the overhead there; the outer half of the deck stood clear. At the far end, a wide hatch, protected by a force field, stood open to the stars, the ship’s warp nacelles visible to either side.
Between the engine structures floated the hull section from DS9, its movement controlled by the tractor beam that still tethered it to Enterprise. As Picard and his officers watched, the fragment of hull neared the ship. After a minute or so, a spray of blue pinpoints sparked as it broke through the plane of the bay’s force field. It took another minute for the tractor to deposit the wreckage on the deck and disengage.
Picard approached the hull section. It measured perhaps twice as tall as one of the ship’s shuttles, and three times as long. Up close, the gray metal looked tattered, as though it had been torn apart as easily as one could tear through paper.
Beverly deployed her tricorder. “I’m having trouble scanning through the hull,” she said.
“Lieutenant Choudhury reported the same interference,” Picard said. He turned and addressed one of the engineers, a young Bolian named Falnam Edrel. “Ensign, how can we open the emergency bulkhead?”
“We may have to find a port and hook up power to it,” he said. “But the Cardassians usually build manual overrides into such structures.”
“See what you can find,” Picard said. The two engineers walked over to the wreckage, donning their work gloves as they did so. The captain turned to the remaining officers. “We don’t know yet what happened to Deep Space Nine, but they had time to seal their emergency bulkheads. We have no idea who or what might be inside, or even if there’s anybody or anything inside at all. But I want everybody to exercise extreme caution.”
“Understood,” Beverly said, obviously speaking for the group.
“Sir?” said Ensign Edrel. “I think we’ve found something.” Picard walked over, and Edrel pointed to where a metal panel had been slid aside. Inside, the captain saw a series of three T-shaped handles. “These are probably the manual door releases,” Edrel said. “If the emergency bulkhead and the hull surrounding it haven’t been too badly damaged, we may be able to open it.”
Picard turned and nodded to the security officers. They positioned themselves outside the emergency bulkhead and drew their phasers. “Go ahead, Ensign,” Picard told Edrel.
“Yes, sir,” the engineer said. The other engineer, a female crew member whose name Picard did not recall, moved to the bulkhead, where she reached into a recess with her gloved hands and took hold of a short bar. Edrel turned the first handle. When it had made a complete revolution, a loud noise erupted from one side of the bulkhead, a sound like large locks releasing.
Edrel twisted the second handle, and earned a similar result. When he completed spinning the third handle, the bulkhead actually moved, telescoping into itself several centimeters. The other engineer, her hands still buried in the recess, pulled, and the bulkhead opened a meter or more.
Picard waved the engineers away, and one of the security officers approached the opening. He aimed his phaser, then switched on his beacon, shining its light through the opening and into the hull section. “Captain,” he said, “we have two bodies.”
“Go,” Picard told Beverly. She quickly headed for the opening and followed the security officer inside. Picard stepped in after her.
Within the broken piece of DS9’s hull, the security officer adjusted his beacon from a narrow beam to full illumination, then set it down. The setting looked like a simple section of corridor. Two women lay supine on the deck, not far from each other, tethered in position by several straps. Neither of them wore Starfleet
uniforms, though one wore vestments of some kind. As Picard got closer, he saw that one appeared human, the other Bajoran. He could not tell if they were breathing.
Beverly kneeled down beside the woman wearing the robe and worked her tricorder. “This one’s alive,” she said, then held out the device in the direction of the second woman. “So’s the other one.”
“What kind of condition are they in?” Picard asked.
“Good,” Beverly said. “They both have some contusions, but nothing serious. There are no broken bones and no head injuries.” Beverly closed her tricorder and stood back up. “I’d like to transport them to sickbay so I can do full workups on them.”
“Of course,” Picard said. He started to reach up to activate his combadge, but then one of the two women—the human—stirred. Beverly saw her move too, and she quickly bent to help the woman raise herself up on her elbows. Picard walked over and squatted down as well.
The woman peered up blearily, first at Beverly, then at Picard. “Where am I?” she said, her voice gravelly.
“You’re on board the U.S.S. Enterprise,” Picard said. “We recovered you from what appears to be a section of Deep Space Nine that had been adrift in space.”
“Yes, yes, the station,” she said. Then she seemed to remember something, and she pushed herself up higher, trying to see around Picard and Beverly. “Is Nerys all right?” she asked with a tone of great concern.
“You friend is fine,” Beverly said. “You’re both fine.” The news seemed to calm the woman.
“May I ask who you are?” Picard said.
The woman nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Kasidy. Kasidy Yates.”
I
Awaked an Evil Nature
Prospero: I pray thee, mark me.
I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that which, but by being so retir’d,
O’er-priz’d all popular rate, in my false brother
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation) Page 6
