A Time to Die

by John Vornholt

  He handed the captain a digital magnifying glass and turned the tricorder to a taped marking on its side. Riker was amazed to see a precision cut of several centimeters that wasn’t visible to the naked eye. “We need to look over the shuttlecraft where you and Data—”

  La Forge shook his head. “It’s back in San Francisco, evidence that was never used in the court-martial that never was.”

  “Yeah,” said Riker. “Now that we know what to look for, we don’t have it.”

  “Captain, there’s a subspace message from the Skegge,” announced Lieutenant Erwin. “It’s code five, saying the weather is calm but hot back home.”

  Riker rose from his command chair, pacing in front of the viewscreen, which showed him nothing but emptiness and waste. “That means they’re on the move, possibly hunting the mimic ship, and they’re not alone. The Androssi must be with them. I wish we could get more information out of these crude codes.”

  He turned to Data on ops. “Do we still have the Skegge on sensors?”

  “Just barely. Once they cloak or leave the Hickock, we will lose them. If we change position, we risk showing up on the Androssi’s sensors.”

  “Then we’re stuck,” said Riker. “It’s their move.” He stepped toward the viewscreen, staring at the vast graveyard, where death seemed to have everyone outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

  “How can you know so much about the Ontailians?” asked Overseer Jacer suspiciously as he leaned over Wesley’s shoulder. Everyone was watching as the young human programmed the distress-signal emitter of the Skegge, being very careful not to set it off.

  “I’ve studied them,” he answered defensively. “That only makes sense, if you’re going to be in Rashanar.”

  “And how is this going to work without us all getting killed?” asked the Androssi doubtfully.

  “We’ll pick a remote marker buoy, then use its subspace relay to send out the distress signal. I can patch it in from here, programming it to repeat indefinitely. All we’ll be risking is the buoy. Starfleet left plenty of them around Rashanar.”

  Jacer cocked a golden eyebrow. “And how do you know so much about Starfleet?”

  “My parents were in it,” said Wes truthfully. “I’m not Starfleet, believe me.” He glanced at Colleen, who gave him a saucy smile, but he didn’t return it. He was mad at her for volunteering to go with the Androssi. Wes didn’t trust them; also, he hated being separated from her, unless she was back on the Enterprise where she belonged.

  “I know a likely buoy not too far from here,” answered Jacer. “Are you almost done?”

  “I’m done,” stated Wes. “We could use some tests, but we don’t have time for that.”

  “No, we don’t.” The Androssi turned to Colleen. “Are you prepared?”

  “Yes. Please give me a moment with my colleagues. Go on to your ship. I’ll be right there.”

  The Androssi scanned the human faces in the cramped cabin, then looked at Fristan in the bunk. “If there is any trickery, we will hunt you down and destroy you. We leave as soon as she comes aboard. When you see us leave, you follow.” With that, the slender scavenger dropped down into the hold and crawled back into his own ship.

  Picard, Crusher, and Vale all looked at Cabot with concern. “I wish there could have been another way,” muttered Picard.

  “You don’t gain the trust of thieves easily,” answered the counselor. “You have to make broad gestures and clear sacrifices, which they understand. Besides, I have a guardian angel.”

  She looked at Wes, and he said, “It’s not easy for me to come and go in these little scows. I’ll be worried about you.”

  “Worried about me?” she replied with a laugh. “Here in this delightful place, what could happen to me?”

  Without warning, Wes took her in his arms and hugged her fiercely. Picard and Vale looked away, trying to give the illusion of privacy, but there was no place to hide in the little tug. Words failed both of them and the lovers clung to each other, until they heard sniffling from the back of the cabin.

  She turned to see Fristan, sitting up in the bunk. “It’s so sad, you leaving,” he said hoarsely. “You risk your neck to save mine, yes you do. Beware them turgut s—Jacer and his lot. Take Wesley with you.”

  “I’m hoping he’ll check in with me,” answered Colleen, holding back tears. She gently pushed the Traveler away from her and descended into the hold. His reason to exist seemed to vanish with her.

  Wes felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a sympathetic Picard. “We won’t let her get far away,” vowed the captain. His tone was sharper with their Androssi passenger. “Fristan, you can see that we protected you, even risking Counselor Cabot. If you’ve got anything useful to tell us before we hunt your Avenger, now would be a good time.”

  “It stores it, it does,” said Fristan mysteriously. “Only I know where its larder is.”

  Picard glowered at him and turned back to Christine Vale. “What are they doing?”

  “The Androssi ship has just disengaged and is firing thrusters,” answered the lieutenant from the pilot’s seat. “There she goes.”

  From beneath their belly, a similar cobbled-together craft darted into space and paused long enough to let the Skegge fire engines. Picard jumped into the auxiliary chair. “Go ahead, I’ll help navigate.”

  With Vale manning the control, the Skegge streaked after the Androssi tug. For several minutes, the two small craft played tag among the hulking wrecks and fiery energy bolts. Wesley sat beside Fristan on the bunk.

  “Listen,” he whsipered, “if anything happens to her, I’m going to hold you responsible. You could help us, but, so far, you refuse to do so.”

  “This is my livelihood, turgut!” snapped Fristan. “You are looking out for me, says you, but how do I know? You stole me before someone else could steal me—doesn’t make you honest, no, no! If you kill the Avenger, you kill my secret along with my livelihood.”

  “So it’s like a bee—it collects antimatter and takes it somewhere. And you know where.”

  “A bee?” asked Fristan, puzzled.

  “An insect. It collects nectar from flowers.”

  “Like a turgut!” Fristan cackled and slapped his knee; then he began one of his garbled songs. As the Androssi warbled off-key, he rocked back and forth, closing his eyes. Wes saw no further reason to talk to him, so he stood and paced nervously in the rear of the cabin.

  “They’re slowing down near buoy thirty-two,” announced Vale. “That must be our destination. How close do we have to be to patch in?”

  “Ten meters should do,” answered Wes. “Even with the interference, the signal should be strong enough from there. Excuse me, Captain.”

  Picard rose from the auxiliary console. “Is this going to work?”

  The young man shrugged. “A distress signal is an open invitation. You never know who will respond.”

  As soon as Vale killed the thrusters and stopped the craft close to the buoy, Wes sat down and began to go to work. After several minutes, he reported, “I’ve dumped the signal to the relay. It’s repeating.”

  For proof, he turned on the audio speaker in his console, and they listened to the urgent chirps of an Ontailian distress signal. Vale said, “The Androssi have backed off to three kilometers.”

  “Go to our position,” Picard ordered, stepping behind his pilot. They watched silently as Vale brought them to a distance of three kilometers from the buoy, across from the Androssi vessel. Now they had the buoy bracketed. The Androssi vanished from sight, leaving only rubble and a man-sized buoy shimmering in the graveyard.

  “They’ve put up their cloak,” said Vale.

  “So will we.” Picard moved to the rear console, where he manually activated the jerry-rigged cloaking device. It was all that hung between them and destruction if the mimic ship showed up as planned.

  Wes knew that he could make the difference in any encounter, but all he could think about was Colleen aboard that ragtag Androssi
scow. What’s she doing? How are they treating her? It was maddening not to be able to check on her, even for a moment. He realized that her bold offer had won the scavengers over and allowed the Skegge to keep their cloak. How much good was Androssi aid? How much good was a cloak going to be against…what he had seen?

  “Mr. Crusher, watch those sensors,” warned Picard. “I know they’re not always accurate; however, they might spot a ship coming toward us.”

  “Of course, sir.” Wes felt remiss about being caught daydreaming. There was no sign of any living ship, not even the Androssi scow.

  He looked out the viewport and saw a hulking Klingon battle cruiser that had been split in two. Startling ruptures like that were such a common sight in Rashanar that he hadn’t thought much about them until now. No starship ought to be broken in half like that by normal weaponry. Had the Klingon vessel cracked while the mimic ship was trying to extract its antimatter?

  The Traveler looked at the eerie expanse of space, broken by dark mountains of twisted metal and glittering clouds of debris. He seriously doubted they could ever tame this war-torn wilderness. His senses told him where the Androssi scow was hiding, even though neither he nor the scanners could see it. He could tell where Colleen was, but not what they were doing to her.

  I hope you’re all right, Colleen. I hope they’re not making you do anything against your will.

  Colleen Cabot stood behind a phalanx of slender Androssi; it seemed to take six of them to man the three stations on the Androssi bridge. Even though the Androssi vessel was only a bit larger than the Skegge, its crew had to number at least twelve. In fact, it was shoulder-to-shoulder, standing-room-only in the main cabin. She noticed that some of them were heavily armed.

  “They have put up their cloak,” she heard one of them say.

  Overseer Jacer glanced uneasily at her and said, “This plan is not likely to succeed.”

  “I realize that,” she answered. “In fact, I don’t want to destroy it at all. This demon ship is the perfect tool to find all the antimatter in Rashanar. It’s better than Fristan, who’s lost his mind. We should follow it and capture it.”

  “You want to betray your comrades? They’re expecting us to destroy it.”

  “If the demon flyer lives,” said Colleen, “just remember that it’s not over. As long as we’re cloaked, we may have other means to control it…like artificial gravity, magnetic fields! There are ways to control antimatter.”

  “In small amounts.” Jacer countered. “We would require a starship for that.”

  “I know where we can get one. Not a dead one either.”

  He lifted an amber eyebrow. “That Starfleet vessel…or a facsimile of a Starfleet vessel.”

  “She would be big enough to control it, wouldn’t she?” Colleen gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Overseer!” called a voice. “Pakled overcruiser closing on the buoy. They’re eight lengths away and slowing.”

  Jacer looked at Colleen. “That is the shape it had before.”

  “Yes, but there are also real Pakled cruisers around here.”

  “Prepare to engage tractor beam,” ordered Jacer, lifting his finger to signal.

  Despite the crowd in the Androssi scow, Colleen could hear her own breath as they watched the Pakled cruiser drift to within half a kilometer of the buoy. A standard communications frequency suddenly crackled with interference, and the Androssi pilot said, “I think they’re trying to hail the Ontailian ship, because they can’t see it anywhere. They must not realize it’s the buoy that’s putting out the signal.”

  Overseer Jacer lowered his hand. “Then it must be real Pakleds.”

  The tactical officer agreed. “It would seem so…except I’m not certain the hail is coming from them.”

  Colleen saw a moving reflection in the viewport at about one hundred and fifty degreess to starboard. She gripped Jacer’s wiry arm and pointed. “There! What’s that?”

  His biceps tensed with fear as another Pakled cruiser became visible in the swirl of wreckage just below them. Jacer asked hoarsely, “Can sensors tell us which one is real?”

  “No, sir,” answered the tactical officer.

  Colleen felt a press at her back as the other Androssi pushed forward to see. It was clear that they couldn’t move or drop their cloak, because Pakled cruisers or the mimic ship were equally deadly. They had no choice but to hold their breath, watch, and see how the two cruisers reacted to each other.

  The closest ship suddenly elongated like an eel, shooting straight toward the farther one off starboard. The silvery wad oozed around a wreck like a glob of mercury, resumed its former shape, and streaked toward its new prey.

  “Run!” shouted Colleen to no one in particular. “Tell them to run!”

  “Hails are no good,” the tactical officer reported. “Too much interference. They’re still within tractor-beam range, Overseer.”

  Jacer hesitated, but Captain Picard didn’t. The Skegge became visible as a blip in the chaotic firmament, and its tractor beam grazed the rushing demon flyer. A slice was skimmed off, and exploded with achain reaction of searing pops. Colleen was momentarily blinded, and when she could focus again, she quickly saw that none of this had any effect on the entity, which streaked toward its prey like a bolt of lightning.

  “Save them, Wesley!” begged Colleen.

  “What?” asked Jacer, thinking she was talking to him.

  The woman blinked at the Androssi and said, “Follow the demon ship! Keep the cloak on. Hurry!”

  Jacer hesitated only for a moment. “Follow it. Cloak and shields up.”

  “Yes, Overseer.” Colleen could see the alien’s larynx bobbing nervously in the alien’s skinny neck, but she felt exhilarated by the chase.

  Chapter Twelve

  A SHOCKWAVE RIPPLED all the way back along their tractor beam, then slammed the Skegge, shaking them like a rag, blowing out the main console, and plunging the tiny craft into silent darkness. Wesley felt himself lifting off the deck, and focused until he could move as normal without gravity. He caught Captain Picard, helping him gently back into his seat. As he peered out the viewport, trying to find the Androssi ship, Fristan was screaming and sobbing in fear behind him, while Vale fought the fire in her console, smothering burning embers with a stream of foam.

  “Did the Androssi come out of cloak?” asked Wesley.

  “I didn’t see them.” Picard was still a little shaken. The lights flickered back on, and the gradual return of gravity put them more at ease. “Do we have engines?”

  Vale looked up with concern. “I don’t have a console anymore!”

  “I’ll check the secondary.” While the captain tried to switch helm control over to the remaining console in their damaged craft, Wes paced nervously in the rear of the cabin. Fristan wailed at him and beat his forehead.

  “She’s gone, she is! You let her get away,” screeched the Androssi. “It’s your fault—the Avenger has her!”

  “Shut up!” snapped Wes, whirling on the old fool. He instantly regretted his harsh words. “I’m sorry…we’ll get her back.”

  Picard pounded his console to no avail. “We’ve still got life-support, but we’re dead in space. Wes, check and see if the cloaking works.”

  Seizing the opportunity to do something useful, Wes turned to the controls in the stern. Nothing seemed to happen, after forcing the lever several times. “Negative.”

  “Both cruisers are out of sensor range and visual range. We have no idea what’s happening,” said Picard.

  “The mimic ship may not be done with us,” added Vale.

  Wes knelt to face Picard at the only working console. “Captain, I’ve got to go find her.”

  “First you’ve got to tell the Enterprise what’s happened to us. Give them our coordinates. Then you can do what you need to do.” He pointed to their sobbing visitor. “Take Fristan back to the Enterprise with you.”

  “No, no, I will stay!” insisted the Androssi, getting control of
himself. “This is my new ship, you my new crew, so says Fristan!”

  “I’ll be faster without him,” declared Wes. He was not going to lose Colleen now, after waiting all his life to find someone like her.

  A moment later, he was gone.

  Colleen Cabot gripped the back of the pilot’s chair. It seemed as if the scow were a comet as it careened between the wrecks of Rashanar, following the Pakled cruiser that was no more than a sprite of light in the distance. The other Pakled vessel had escaped, showing that they were learning from their mistakes. Their prey looked like a spacecraft, but it was not flying like one—it moved more like a dragonfly shooting across the waters of a swamp.

  “We’re getting closer to the center of the zone,” reported the Androssi pilot. Colleen let go of the chair and stretched her arms.

  Captain Jacer glared at her. “I don’t like this. It’s dangerous in here. Do you have a plan for when it stops?”

  “It can’t see us if we’re cloaked,” she replied. “We want to find its hive, right?” At his blank expression, she added, “Where the bee stores its honey.”

  “It has stopped,” reported the pilot, “only two lengths from the vortex around the gravity sink. Overseer, we cannot get too close. It will be difficult enough to maintain our position with the gravity pull.”

  “Start drifting now,” ordered Jacer. “Keep the cloak up. When we have to correct our course, we will.”

  Colleen stared in awe at the maelstrom of crushed starships, racing around an unseen force in the middle of the void. Despite the chaos, one shimmering ornament floated like the moon in a swirl of storm clouds—the demon ship. This unearthly beacon suddenly elongated into a serpentine chrome tube, which penetrated the teeming vortex and burned a fiery path into its heart. Debris that struck this glowing tentacle was obliterated in a flash of white light. Everyone on the bridge of the Androssi ship had stopped breathing at the sight of this fearsome spectacle.