Star Trek: TNG Indstinguishable From Magic

by David A. McIntee

  Saldis had never actually left Romulus, nor even seen the world from orbit, until the trip to Glintara. As soon as he had materialized on the warbird Tomalak’s Fist, he had rushed to find a viewport and looked down at the planet below. He knew that words such as “down” and “below” meant nothing other than that he was surface-centric and thought the same way that most Romulans did.

  It was quite beautiful, he thought. Pale green and blue, wreathed in white. The grimy sodium and mustard ball of Remus was off to the left, far behind the homeworld. Both planets suddenly looked so small and fragile. It was hard to believe that even the most loyal servant of the Empire, such as himself, could keep such a fragile jewel secure and safe. The tiniest quirk of infinity—a comet here, a meteor there—and all the Tal Shiar and military combined wouldn’t make a difference.

  None of which made his duty any less worthwhile.

  “Subcommander Saldis, I presume?” A crisp voice drew his attention. It was a man in the uniform and insignia of a commander in the fleet. He was older than Saldis, as evidenced by lines around his deep-set eyes, and taller than Saldis by half a head. He looked lean and fighting fit. “When they told me you were one of the people who keeps an eye on our homeworlds, I didn’t think they meant it so literally.”

  That had been four days ago, and so much had changed since then. Now he felt like a loose end, while his superior, Chairman Sela, was in the hands of Starfleet. He didn’t blame Starfleet, not yet; they just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or did they? Perhaps they were backing Jano Vellil in his assassination attempt. Perhaps it never was an assassination, but all a plot for the Federation to kidnap the head of the Tal Shiar and drain her knowledge.

  Either way, Saldis wished he could get his hands around Vellil’s throat right now. Then he felt a sudden calm, and decided he was wrong. He was glad that he didn’t have the traitor in his grasp. Throttling him would be too much of a mercy. The techs in the Information Recovery Directorate were the right people to have him. He hoped they were having fun.

  “I found it!” Barclay leapt from his seat at ops, then sat back down with a hint of embarrassment.

  “You found . . . whatever hit the Romulan ship?”

  “Captain, I’m reading subspace kinetodynamic energy patterns. They’re fading already, which is making it difficult to tell which direction they’re coming from and which way they went.”

  “There’s no difference in the strength?” La Forge asked.

  “Not that I can tell. It is definitely aligned with a trans-slipstream wake. I thought I’d check for a wake between the implosion site and a vector that would have caused the Romulan ship’s wing to attain its current position, and”—Barclay cut himself off, seeing the impatient expression on the captain’s face—“whatever caused the wake caused the energy pattern.”

  “So, definitely a ship . . .”

  “And definitely a form of drive technology totally unknown to us,” Leah added, sounding impressed, and Geordi knew exactly how rare that was. “This could be an ideal next step after quantum slipstream. I wonder how they’re generating the—”

  La Forge’s next words were knocked from him, along with every air molecule in his lungs, as he was suddenly pitched sideways over Leah. Mercifully, everything went dark and silent before he could have heard the dull thud of his own head slamming into the wall.

  “It’s beautiful,” Captain James T. Kirk commented. “Quite deadly, but beautiful all the same.”

  “Indeed, Captain,” Spock agreed.

  Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott was at the bridge engineering station to Kirk’s left flank, and he was as entranced as they were by the shimmering golden and purple curtain that was stretched across their path. It was made of immense levels of some energy that even Spock’s sensors couldn’t identify. It was so dense and bright that it looked like several layers of translucent rubber bands, ready to spring anything back the way it had come.

  “It may be beautiful,” Scotty grumbled, “but it’s between us and home.”

  “Rojan was sure that his engine modifications will work to get us through,” Kirk said.

  Scotty doubted it. The barrier was too damn good a repelling field. He wondered if the Kelvan machine was actually carrying them through at all, or whether it had somehow carried them around. Maybe in subspace . . .

  “Subspace?” Kirk echoed, and Scotty realized he had spoken aloud.

  “Aye . . . I’m just wondering if that machine of Rojan’s somehow takes us between normal space and subspace.”

  “You are suggesting,” Spock said, “that the device has a partial phasing effect, to let us through the barrier.” He raised one eyebrow in thought. “Logical, Mister Scott. It is clear that the barrier is impenetrable in normal space.” He peered into his viewer. “However, I am not detecting any sign of the Enterprise being phased in any way.”

  “Just because ye canna detect it, that doesn’t mean it’s not there, Mister Spock.”

  “It is impossible to prove a negative,” Spock agreed. “But if it is beyond our capability to detect, then it is beyond our capability to replicate, or to exploit.”

  Scotty nodded sadly. “Aye.”

  Challenger wasn’t there. Empty space stared back out of the main viewer, mocking Varaan and Saldis. A few scraps of wreckage from the Stormcrow were the only artificial objects near this part of the Neutral Zone border, and there was no sign of the Challenger.

  Varaan sat in his seat on the bridge, his features an unreadable mask, but Saldis couldn’t keep his outrage in check. “Where are they? The Federation has lied to us!”

  Varaan nodded slowly. “And they’ll pay for that. But we must report back what has happened. Cooler heads must plan our strategy.” He rose. “Scan the system thoroughly. I want to know everything that has happened here. Weapons fire, engine trails, everything.”

  Still orbiting Glintara, the conference room aboard the praetor’s personal flagship was a hive of angry chatter. “What is happening?” Gell Kamemor demanded of the admirals and generals in the room.

  “We’re not certain yet, Praetor,” Proconsul Tomalak replied. “We know that the Starfleet vessel Challenger took her and a warbird’s crew aboard and promised to return them, but now the Challenger has herself disappeared. Either the Starfleet ship has abducted our people—including the chairman, who must be a priceless prize for their interrogators, or has been destroyed herself. Commander Varaan reports finding no wreckage near the coordinates, other than that of the Stormcrow.”

  “Why would they let us know they had the chairman, if they intended to keep her?” Kamemor wondered aloud. “It makes no sense.”

  “Humans rarely do, in my experience,” Tomalak said. “But it is clear that they had her, and must still have her. Their reasoning is largely irrelevant in the face of that simple fact.”

  Kamemor nodded. “Has Starfleet issued a statement?”

  “They claim to have lost contact with the Challenger and that they do not know what has happened to her. Which could simply be a play for time.”

  “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” one of the generals agreed.

  “We should prepare to take action,” an admiral said. “This happening on the anniversary of your accession can’t be a coincidence. It’s a test of our resolve.”

  Kamemor had thought of that herself. If there was a war coming, the Empire would face it with confidence, but she had no desire to start it. “Issue instructions to the fleet. Find the Challenger and establish her role in this. Then take any action deemed appropriate.”

  Aboard Tomalak’s Fist, Saldis was doing his best to help out with the scan of the Alpha Six-Four system, when he noticed an interesting subspace reading. It was a sort of granulation that he had seen mentioned in intercepted Starfleet signals. “Commander,” he called, “look at this. I think it’s a wake, of sorts, left by a drive signature.”

  “Challenger? A new drive?”

  “Pe
rhaps. All I do know is that ships encountering this effect have been reported damaged.”

  “Then I must set my engineers to study it, and strengthen ourselves against it. Then, perhaps, we can follow Challenger wherever she has taken our people.”

  On the command deck of his ship, Varaan sat back in his large command chair, digesting his orders. Avenge the half-blood. Not Kamemor’s words, but his interpretation. An interesting concept, to avenge someone who was not truly Romulan. When Sela was alive she was respected as an officer, and more recently as chairman of the Tal Shiar, because she did her duty and had connections. But she was not truly trusted or liked. Not by Varaan. There was too much human in her.

  “Something troubles you, Subcommander?” Varaan’s first officer, Tornan, scowled when he saw the orders. For a long moment, Tornan remained silent, but his lips thinned. “There are no secrets between us, Tornan,” Varaan reminded him softly. “Speak your mind. You don’t much like our new assignment, do you?”

  “My likes and dislikes don’t matter, Commander. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure the mission is a success.”

  “I know. That’s why I don’t mind if you speak freely. I like to know your opinion, whether or not it offers me any insights. I know it will not affect the performance of your duties. So, speak up. That’s an order, if it makes you feel easier about being critical of the praetor.”

  “The purpose of the assignment . . . Does it sit easy with you?”

  “To risk trouble with the Federation? No.” Varaan laughed. “We’ve been at odds, on and off, for two centuries. Why should—”

  “I don’t mean that side of it.”

  “Ah.” Now Varaan understood. “The half-blood.” He would never dare say the words aloud when the chairman of the Tal Shiar was alive. She had ears everywhere.

  “Yes . . . If the Federation had killed you, or Tomalak, or any of a horde of others, that would be one thing, but to avenge the half-blood . . .”

  “You don’t think the chairman of the Tal Shiar should be avenged?”

  “And the Stormcrow’s crew, yes. But she was not Romulan, was she?”

  “Her father was Romulan.” Varaan nodded to himself. “I understand where you’re coming from, Tornan. So much of her mother in her. The hair color. The stubbornness. But so much of her father too. Her loyalty, her service . . .”

  “I just wonder if it’s enough to make her worth the effort.”

  “I thought about that myself, when our orders came in. Don’t think I didn’t have a few doubts.”

  “What did you think?”

  “At first I thought as you did. She was a half-blood, she didn’t count. Then again, she did her duty, and died for the Empire. That makes her death worth something.”

  “Worth honoring.”

  “Yes. It certainly makes her Romulan enough for her death to be worth avenging.”

  “When you put it like that, Commander, yes, it does make sense to me.”

  “If you hear anyone in the crew express dissatisfaction with our assignment, pass that interpretation on to them. It may make them feel a little easier about risking their lives.”

  “As you say.”

  31

  Four and a half million metric tons of metal, plastics and ceramics floated alone in a blackness deeper than she had ever traversed before. No light shone from Challenger. Her Bussard collectors and warp core were dark and cooling, and there wasn’t so much as a gleam from a single window.

  Guinan awoke in darkness so complete that, for a moment, she thought she hadn’t actually opened her eyes. She blinked a couple of times, focusing on the slightly sticky feeling of her eyelids parting. Then at least she knew that they were open.

  The darkness around her was utter and total, and so, she realized after a moment, was the silence. Nothing she could hear was mechanical in nature. None of the sounds were of the ship. She could hear breathing and voices, the rustle of clothing, the scrape and thud of limbs moving against the floor or walls, or even the ceiling.

  People were being sick, unaccustomed to the sudden lack of gravity. The fluids in the inner ear behaved very differently in zero-g, ruining people’s sense of balance, and making them feel as if they had permanent vertigo. It was dizzying and nauseating for a lot of people who weren’t used to it.

  Guinan didn’t mind it so much, but the smell of vomit was another matter. Globules of it touching her skin made her retch, and her recently healed ribs burned with a fire she had never expected. Maybe they seemed worse because of the lack of sensory stimuli to distract from the agony.

  “Is anybody hurt?” she called out. “Sound off!”

  That was when people began to scream.

  La Forge woke up in a totally dead bridge, lit only by a couple of hand-held beacons. Luckily, his cybernetic eyes didn’t need the light. He could see warm figures trying to keep themselves stable in a green fog generated by his eyes. “What happened?”

  “Something hit us . . . ?” Carolan’s voice, La Forge thought, steady but dizzy.

  “The Romulans . . .” Qat’qa spat. “They must have done something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know . . . sabotage. They must have done something to the inertial dampeners.”

  Geordi tried flexing his muscles. It was agonizing, but they all moved and he didn’t seem to have broken anything more than maybe a toe or two from the feel of things. “Whatever happened, I don’t think it was the Romulans Report.”

  “Officially?” Leah asked. “I haven’t a clue. Unofficially, my gut says we found one of those trans-slipstream wakes we were looking for.” Her voice sounded strained, as if she was in pain, and her face was tense.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Your gut tell you that?” Leah asked.

  “My gut’s telling me it wants out through the nearest orifice,” Barclay said.

  “Yeah, I get that as well,” Nog added.

  “The first order of the day is always survival,” Carolan said firmly, “and that means getting systems back online. We have to prioritize which systems we want to concentrate on first.”

  “Life support, obviously.”

  “Actually, that’s not so obvious. As long as we’ve no hull breaches we should have breathable air for a day or two.”

  “What about temperature and radiation?”

  “The hull insulation is enough to keep the temperature within tolerances, and to protect us from solar or cosmic radiation.”

  “For how long?”

  “Well, long enough that we’ll asphyxiate before needing to worry about it.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

  La Forge wedged himself between a seat and the rail that held the tactical console. Nog had lost a few teeth, and Qat’qa had broken her left arm. Barclay was bleeding from both ears, and his nose.

  “The Enterprise once hit a quantum filament, and lost main power, computer control, and life support, but even then . . . We still had auxiliary power, lighting, and gravity.” A thought struck him. “Antimatter containment! If we’ve lost everything here, then what’s happened to antimatter containment?”

  “It must still be on, or we’d be dead,” Nog pointed out.

  Making assumptions wasn’t good enough for La Forge or Leah. “We need to check on it,” they said as one.

  “None of the consoles are working.”

  Barclay coughed and spat blood, which tumbled across the bridge in slow motion, making La Forge glad for the sake of the others that they couldn’t see it. “Just a minute, though . . . we’re asking ourselves the wrong question.”

  “How do you mean, Reg?”

  “If we’ve lost all power we would have lost antimatter containment, but since that hasn’t happened . . .”

  La Forge understood. “The question is how come we’re still alive, and, more or less, in one piece.”

  Vol felt as if he was back home in the clouds of the gas giant where his species had evolved. He
had no problem keeping himself oriented in zero-g, and, in fact, felt more comfortable and more agile than usual. He also, however, recognized the problems that the lack of gravity foisted upon the other species aboard, and their difficulty was something he wanted to deal with as quickly as possible. His one great eye was receptive to thermal images in the visible spectrum. All the better to see through the methane clouds, he thought.

  He flew across to Scotty, who was lying against the underside of the upper balcony around the inactive warp core. The man was still breathing, but his heat pattern looked different than normal, and Vol’s first instinct was to call for a medical team. He stopped himself from wasting the time, knowing that, under these conditions, internal communication would be down.

  Even the alarms that should be sounding weren’t doing so. Vol carried Scotty down to the floor and secured him between two consoles, so that he wouldn’t fall if and when the gravity was restored. Then he turned his attention to the darkened warp core, and the matter-antimatter intermix chamber. “Right, then. What are you playing at, eh? Why aren’t we all dead?”

  Doctor Alyssa Ogawa woke to the sounds of hoarse screams and, more chillingly, the hollow and depressed moans of those who were past the screaming stage.

  A couple of the nurses had managed to get emergency lights out of a locker before Ogawa had woken, and the lamps illuminated enough of the chaos in sickbay to guarantee her nightmares for weeks to come. Overly bright blue-white beams picked out drawn and pain-twisted faces floating at different orientations, and turned them into bloodless ghosts.

  Globules of blood and vomit sailed lazily through the beams, providing startling color for a moment before vanishing into the blackness.

  “Use the restraints,” Ogawa ordered. “We need to get the patients secured into beds. And get hold of some magnetic boots. We can’t treat anyone while we’re floating around.”