A Time to Die

by John Vornholt

  “A Pakled overcruiser,” said Picard. “Not much of a salvage craft but good for maintaining order.”

  “There’s only one,” replied Wes, stating the obvious. “The duplicate is gone.”

  “Caution,” warned the captain. “We don’t know how far away it went. There’s not enough debris for the cruiser to have been destroyed. You say the demon ship should look like that?”

  “Yes,” answered Wes, sounding relieved that his captain believed him. “Exactly like that.”

  Vale cleared her throat and asked, “I thought this thing destroyed the ship it turned into?”

  “It can’t do only that,” answered Picard, “or every ship in Rashanar would be space dust. The Vuxhal and the Calypso were both destroyed, but this one was left. Why?”

  “I’ll have to go aboard,” said Wes grimly.

  The captain put his hand on the Traveler’s shoulder. “We will have to go aboard, but not until we make sure this one won’t explode, too. Vale, take my seat and send a status report to the Enterprise via subspace. If they want to make their way here, that’s fine. Tell them we’ll be cloaked.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I’m changing into my EV suit,” said Picard.

  “You don’t need that, not if you’re with me,” Wes offered.

  “Mr. Crusher,” said the captain, “I’m very glad to have you back, and I do marvel at your abilities. However, we can’t continue to depend on them—we have to wean ourselves off them. Perhaps you do, too.”

  The young man was quiet for a moment. “How close do you want to get, Captain?”

  “Get close enough for sensors to return useful data. Let’s monitor the Pakled ship for a few minutes. For all we know, that could be the duplicate. If it’s not, at least now we know how to attract it.”

  They stared at the dark Pakled cruiser revolving slowly in the glittering emptiness of space. Ghostly wrecks surrounded the clearing, forming a silent audience of dead witnesses.

  Deanna Troi sat in her favorite chair in her office, where she saw most of her patients, and studied the elder Androssi who was asleep on her couch. She had taken Fristan to sickbay, where Ogawa had cleaned him up and given him a brief examination. Except for his obvious bruises, contusions, and signs of abuse, he seemed to be in normal physical health. However, his mental state was a different story.

  She didn’t wish to wake him, but they only had fourteen hours before their away team was due to turn him over to his fellow Androssi. If there was anything to be learned from Fristan, if there were any breakthroughs to be made, they had a finite time in which to do it.

  “Why does everybody want you?” she asked rhetorically, more to herself. “You don’t look all that impressive.”

  “Neither does that human of yours who can race through space without a ship or a spacesuit,” said Fristan, who didn’t move or open his eyes. “But he is impressive.”

  “Wesley,” replied Deanna with a smile. “So why do they all want to hold you prisoner?”

  He shrugged. “Fristan is valuable, he is. Not for what he does…but for what he knows.” He pointed to his skull and laughed.

  “Do you want us to turn you over to Overseer Jacer? They want you back.”

  “Why? Why!” he shouted, growing agitated. “I didn’t tell them my secrets before, and I not tell now! Jacer not my friend…Wesley is my friend.”

  “Calm down,” she whispered, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re safe with us. If you don’t want to go back to Jacer and your own people, where do you want to go?”

  The Androssi sat up. “I want my ship, my crew. But all dead. Thieves took it all from me, because I won’t tell. They beat me, torture me—they don’t find the cache.” Acting as if he had said too much, Fristan rolled over on the couch and turned his back to Deanna.

  “Aren’t you afraid of what’s out there?” she asked. “The demon ship?”

  “Ha-ha!” he crowed. “The Avenger will find my enemies. I pray for it to come, I do.”

  “Just remember, we’re not your enemies.” Her combadge beeped. “Troi here.”

  “It’s me,” said Riker. “How is our guest doing?”

  She rose from her chair, then walked to the opposite end of her office, keeping her voice down. “He seems convinced that he knows something everybody in Rashanar wants to find out.”

  “If he knows anything, he’s ahead of us,” said Riker. “We’re about to arrive at the Skegge’s position near the Pakled cruiser.”

  “I thought the Pakled ship was destroyed.”

  That brought a cackle of joy from Fristan. “Destroyed! All of them destroyed!”

  “Evidently not,” Riker acknowledged. “I could use you on the bridge.”

  She glanced back at the Androssi, who was humming in a raspy singsong voice. “I’ll have to bring my patient—I want to keep an eye on him.”

  “All right. I’ll have security here to help you keep an eye on him. Riker out.”

  Just then her door chimed. She pressed the panel on her desk to open it, and Colleen Cabot sauntered in.

  “Hello, Counselor.” She eyeed Fristan curiously, who looked back at her with interest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in sickbay?” asked Troi.

  “I couldn’t lie down any longer. I was getting bedsores. Besides, I hear we’re supposed to rendezvous with the Skegge. I want to get back to my patient.”

  “Ah,” said Troi knowingly. “You’re hoping I’ll back you up in your effort to return to duty.”

  “Something like that,” admitted Colleen. “I’m fine now, really.”

  Fristan jumped off the couch and cautiously approached the young woman, who gave him a placid professional smile. “Who are you?” she asked.

  He peered at her. “Fristan I am. Are you a goddess?”

  “Only in my own mind. Why are you here?”

  “Wesley saved me. He’s my friend.” Reverently the Androssi touched Colleen’s flowing blond hair. To her credit, she didn’t flinch a muscle.

  “He’s my special friend,” whispered Cabot. She held out her arm. “Come on, shall we go to the bridge and talk to Captain Riker?”

  The scrawny Androssi grinned, showing a mouthful of missing teeth, and gleefully took Cabot’s arm. Troi sighed, knowing she had just lost a patient.

  “You go ahead,” Troi told them. “I want to check on the Ontailians in the brig before I go there.”

  “Ontailians?” Fristan started, turning in the doorway. “You have captured Ontailians?”

  “Yes,” Deanna answered hopefully. “Can you tell me anything about them?”

  “Be careful.” He wagged a finger at her. “Martyrs they be! Don’t turn your back on them. Martyrs all…and fools.”

  “Thanks,” said Deanna doubtfully. Cabot led him into the corridor, no doubt discussing Wesley. The Androssi’s words disturbed Troi; in fact, so did Rashanar and this whole mission. As much as she loved Will, it wasn’t right for anyone but Picard to be captain of the Enterprise.

  The counselor was still in a worrisome mood when she reached the brig, which was guarded by only one security officer. However, she found Beverly Crusher standing in front of the forcefield barrier that separated them from the only occupants of the cells. The multitude of Ontailians had ample food, water, and trellises suited to their taste, but these amenities were untouched. The gravity was normal for the Enterprise, so they could move. Still the slender, long-armed, slothlike creatures lay huddled on the deck, looking more dead than alive.

  Beverly had a medical tricorder in her hand, and she finished taking her readings. “Hello, Deanna. I was just trying to figure out what would be the best way to start feeding our guests.”

  “Leave them be,” the Betazoid replied. “This is what they chose for themselves.”

  “That sounds awfully coldhearted. It wouldn’t be that much trouble to force-feed them.”

  “They won’t crawl half a meter to
get food,” said Troi. “I’m beginning to understand them and this is what they want.”

  Crusher sighed. “They can’t go without water in our gravity more than two more days. If no other solution presents itself, I start beaming them out before they die.”

  “Just be careful with them,” Troi warned. “I’ve got it on a good source.”

  Crusher looked intently at her, but Deanna didn’t avert her dark eyes. “All right,” said the doctor. “But you start thinking of an alternative to letting them die.”

  “By the way,” remarked the counselor, “your other patient is running around up on the bridge, with my patient, Fristan, who is now enamored of her. Will you please let her go back to the Skegge?”

  Beverly tapped her combadge. “Crusher to bridge.”

  “Riker here,” came an exasperated voice. “I’m glad it’s you. I’ve got Colleen Cabot in my face, and she demands to go back to the Skegge or…you know what she’ll do. She says she’ll take Fristan with her, and now he wants to go as well.”

  “Tell them to report to sickbay,” replied Crusher. “I want to look at both her and Fristan one more time. If they pass, I’ll release them.”

  “Thank you, Doctor, Riker out.”

  As they walked out of the brig, Troi glanced over her shoulder at the eerie sight of the lethargic Ontailians. It was disturbing to think that prisoners were committing suicide on the Enterprise. They had no way to even return them home. She was also worried that Fristan was right, and this was all a ruse to lull the captors into making a mistake. Either way, the Ontailians would die as martyrs or succeed as heroes. In a way, she decided, that’s what we’re doing.

  Captain Picard waited patiently outside a gangplank on the belly of the Pakled cruiser while his companion opened it from inside. Although he had insisted that Wesley wear a spacesuit when he went inside the derelict cruiser, he let him go inside using his special ability. They could have drilled or blasted their way in, but that would have sucked out any air. They still had hope that some of the Pakleds were alive. It was too dangerous to use a transporter, even if the Skegge had one. Picard bore his jet pack and bulky suit but felt better having some autonomy from Crusher. If they had a Traveler at their disposal all the time, they would soon forget how to dock or send a subspace message.

  The hatch finally popped open and hung below the struts. This design indicated that the overcruiser could make surface landings. Picard maneuvered close enough to reach the Traveler’s outstretched hand, and Wes pulled him into the weightless airlock. Here Picard was thankful for his magnetized boots, which allowed him to walk slowly. It was dark except for the beams on their helmets, and Picard turned on a hand light as well.

  Crusher closed the outer hatch and waited a few seconds. “Life-support, gravity, everything is dead,” he pointed out, his voice sounding hollow in Picard’s headgear. “I don’t want to risk losing any air.”

  “Understood,” said the captain, although the possibility of any of the crew being alive was remote.

  “I noticed that their buoy was destroyed,” said the Traveler. “There’s debris which may account for it. That’s where the distress signal came from.”

  “Is that why this ship was spared?” asked Picard. “It wasn’t the source of the distress signal?”

  “I don’t know.” The young man pulled a lever and had to manually release the inner hatch that led into the corridor. He stepped through, seemingly walking on air, as Picard clomped after him.

  Listening to each other’s breathing, Picard and Crusher slowly made their way down the narrow corridor. Their wavering beams cast intermittent streaks of light against the bulkheads, but the darkness remained thick. Wes stopped at an open access panel and tried to close it to get past; instead a bulky object floated out of the compartment. Picard realized it was a body. The bloated Pakled stared at them with unseeing eyes as he bobbed in their crossed beams, drops of blood floating from his flared nostrils. His face had blisters and boils as if it had ruptured from within. Without flinching, Wesley pushed the corpse into the next compartment, which seemed to be a central hub with a ladder leading up a broad access tube.

  “Can you tell how he died?” asked Picard.

  “Radiation poisoning, I would guess,” answered Wes. “The tricorder readings don’t make a lot of sense.” He looked around, his light illuminating dark corners of the disabled ship. “I was on this cruiser twice before. There’s a torpedo room beyond this hatch, a brig back on the deck above us, and the bridge two decks above us.”

  “Let’s go to the bridge,” said the captain.

  Effortlessly, Wes flew into the access tube above their heads, while Picard had to turn off his boots and jump to reach the opening. Wesley caught him by the wrist, guiding his gloved hand to the rung. After that, Picard was able to pull himself easily in the zero gravity, despite his bulky suit.

  “This ship had a big crew,” said Wes. “I expect to find a lot of bodies.”

  “Where is the engine room?” Picard inquired as they glided upward.

  “I was never there. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, the matter-antimatter reactor.”

  “We’ll find it,” promised the Traveler.

  When they reached the bridge, it looked like a holiday parade with a dozen large balloons tethered to floats. Only these weren’t festive balloons but dead Pakleds. Like the first one, they appeared to have burns and blisters on their skin. Starlight spilled in through the large viewport, and the grim scene was brightly illuminated by energy bolts in the distance. Solemnly they moved enough of the floating bodies to check the dark consoles and unresponsive controls. Without refurbishing the Pakled cruiser, there is nothing to be learned from this collection of dead circuits, thought Picard.

  Wesley found a plaque with a cross-section of the cruiser embossed upon it, and he shined his light across the image. “The engine room takes up all three decks in the stern,” he pointed out.

  “Let’s go.”

  Although they could have arrived there in the blink of an eye with the Traveler’s powers, Picard wanted to move by normal albeit ponderous means, giving them time to look around at the dead ship. He didn’t know what he expected to find, except for the eerie similarities between this newly murdered ship and the hulks that had been haunting Rashanar for some time. The captain couldn’t help but wonder how far away the demon ship had gotten. They were too late to chase their quarry, but there would be a next time. They would make sure of that.

  This is an entity which willingly hunts and kills with no remorse and no more thought than a human takes a breath, decided the captain. Its reign of terror has to end.

  Plodding along through the depressing corridors and tubes, Picard could barely keep Wesley in sight ahead of him. The Traveler’s light often glimmered dimly far ahead, until the young man stopped to take tricorder readings or move a bloated corpse.

  In due time, they reached the engine room, and Wesley had turned his torch into a lantern to give them more light to study it. Like the rest of the ship, it was remarkably clean and intact, but completely lifeless. Dead crewmembers had gathered in a corner; Picard wondered if momentum or air currents had carried them there. The captain fumbled for his tricorder, but he saw that Wes was taking readings near the reactor core and other parts of the propulsion system. Picard trudged across the deck, thinking that this ship had been a vibrant cocoon for a collection of living beings only half an hour ago. Now it was just a shiny mausoleum.

  “Odd,” Wesley remarked. “There’s no antimatter in the reactor. There should be. This ship has conventional warp drive.”

  “If we thought this ship had been through a battle like the other derelicts, we wouldn’t be concerned with an absence of antimatter. We would assume it had been dispersed in a hull rupture or a core breach.”

  “How did this antimatter get out?” asked Wes.

  “I would look for a minute breach somewhere,” answered the capta
in. “Maybe a crack in the conduits that carry antimatter from the storage units or in the venting units. You know, when all systems fail, so do the antigrav containment fields that keep the antimatter stable.”

  Even through his clear faceplate, Wes’s face registered surprise, then dawning realization. “That would be enough to blow up a ship as a side effect. If this thing is stealing antimatter from its prey…that’s like delicately poking a hole in an eggshell and sucking out what’s inside. One small slip and boom.”

  “If you were this predator, how would you learn the workings of a ship well enough to take its antimatter in such a manner?”

  “By scanning it and replicating it,” answered Wes grimly. “Almost biological reverse-engineering. If a captured craft had no antimatter, like the Calypso, destruction would be the result of this probing.”

  The young man heaved his shoulders in his heavy suit. “Too bad we don’t have any proof of this. We would need a team to go over this ship with a fine-toothed comb, and they would need plenty of time and luck. Are you saying this creature is the same as an antimatter asteroid?”

  The captain shook his head. “I don’t know. But it must have a natural form when it’s not imitating its prey. You saw it.”

  “I’m not sure what I saw. All I know is I’m not anxious to see it again. You know, Captain, we’re only going to get one chance at this thing.”

  “We’d better be ready,” said Picard through clenched teeth. Suddenly static filled his headgear. He groaned in pain, until he thought he heard a voice trying to break through the interference.

  Wes also bent over as if in pain, and he gripped the captain’s arm. “Excuse me, I have to go. Just for a second.”

  With that, the Traveler disappeared, leaving Captain Picard alone in the shiny crypt. The dead beings marooned in the corner seemed to be smiling at him, wanting to welcome him to their ghostly crew. The human couldn’t ever recall being abandoned in a more macabre place than this, and was quite relieved when Wesley reappeared a moment later.