“I was coming to see you. Amin has the conn. We are approaching our nebular entry point from five months ago.”
“And around and around she goes.” Pike grabbed the control handle. “Let’s explore this god-awful thing.”
From his seat on the bridge, Pike had found the sight was no better the second time: an endless quagmire—only now, without the mystery of what they’d find on their journey inside. Most of the crew weren’t looking at the main viewscreen at all—and none were looking at him. Certainly they’d been stressed by the day’s efforts, only to suffer a literal reversal. Pike figured Galadjian was still belowdecks, planning his next symposium and wondering what the hell kind of outfit he’d signed up with.
Pike’s eyes fixed on the advancing cloud formations—and he tried his best not to look away too. Terral had been right: there was something else, something that he’d managed to keep out of his psych reports.
He had survived his teenage spelunking expedition; his hopes for the future had survived too. Evan Hondo’s death had been attributed to his own negligence with a phaser, and Freena and Dosh had testified to Pike’s attempts to save all of them. In so doing, they had saved him. There had been near-term consequences, as he’d expected, particularly from his parents—but in the longer view, having the incident on his record had helped, rather than hurt, his case for entry into Starfleet Academy. It wasn’t something he wanted to profit from, of course—but the admissions officers were impressed by someone who would risk life and limb to not leave anyone behind.
What they didn’t know was that he’d left a chunk of his nerve back there. For a long time, Pike hadn’t known that claustrophobia had followed him out of the tunnel. Desert horseback riding had been an excellent balm, and while starships were enclosed, they opened a window onto the biggest sky in creation. But his aversion to confinement had recently crept back, reactivated by his captivity underground on Talos IV, two years earlier.
That experience had produced such a tangle of confused emotions for Pike that he’d barely noticed that element of it—until the Enterprise’s arrival in the Pergamum. And now he was going back in—twenty years to the day after his escape from the tunnel. Angry pillars of oppressive darkness loomed ahead, ready to crush them all.
He looked down. His right hand hovered over his left wrist, as if poised to clear invisible rocks.
He quickly brought it back to the armrest and used it to toggle the shipwide comm. “Attention, all hands. We’re going in.”
8
* * *
U.S.S. Enterprise
Pergamum Nebula
Spock meditated.
Despite his assurance to Captain Pike, the efforts of the day had taxed him. Galadjian’s calculations had been instrumental in effecting their quick exit from the nebula, but the theoretician—rightfully renowned, in Spock’s judgment—had little discernible experience in putting his findings quickly into action. Spock had served as the conduit, understanding that his skills were, on that occasion, superior. It was what officers did on an efficiently functioning starship.
Spock had taken a small meal and recorded a personal log in his quarters, after which he had read the report on what had happened to Shenzhou. It had been troubling. Ostensibly, Michael Burnham had acted to protect her starship and others from an anticipated—and, it turned out, correctly predicted—Klingon attack. But assaulting a superior officer in that cause was beyond the pale. Spock could not visualize any situation that would lead him to commandeer Enterprise.
But while the episode was shocking, the fact that Burnham had committed the acts did not come as a complete surprise. Their connection had been fraught and complicated. The brief joint mission at Sirsa III had been productive, but their interaction had not changed the basic facts of their relationship. It already felt like many years since he had spoken to her, and he expected she felt the same way. Spock was gratified that she had survived Shenzhou’s destruction, but her fate did not move him.
His mother, he expected, would differ. That, he cared about.
His eyes fixed on the light from the candle he had lit in Shenzhou’s memory. The glow lingered when he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He knew the effect: a physiological afterimage created by retinal photoreceptor cells continuing to send impulses to his brain. A negative afterimage followed. It was reproducible but not pathological, as it might be if he suffered from an ailment that caused palinopsia.
There was no magic to it. Just as there was none to the stars, to Enterprise—or even to the place where their sojourn would now resume. Despite the insistence of its discoverers to imbue the Pergamum Nebula with some mythological significance, there was nothing paranormal about its arrangements of atoms, its varieties of rays. Science had brought them safely in and out once before. It would do so again.
He extinguished the candle and went to sleep.
INFILTRATION
* * *
January 2257
INCOMING TRANSMISSION (ENCRYPTED)
TO: CAPTAIN C. PIKE • U.S.S. ENTERPRISE • NCC-1701
FROM: REAR ADMIRAL TERRAL, STARFLEET COMMAND
HOSTILITIES WITH KLINGON EMPIRE CONTINUE. MULTIPLE ENGAGEMENTS.
AMBASSADOR SAREK PEACE BID UNSUCCESSFUL.
REGRET TO INFORM YOU VICE ADMIRAL CORNWELL MIA/PRESUMED KIA.
ENTERPRISE MISSION UNCHANGED. DO NOT RETURN.
END TRANSMISSION
9
* * *
U.S.S. Enterprise
Orbiting Susquatane
Someday, Pike thought, they need to build a starship that’s got its own nature park. A few months stuck aboard the ship, and everybody wants to go for a hike.
Pike had returned from his lunch to find a line of off-duty personnel outside the officers’ lounge. He’d commandeered the facility as his temporary expedition staging area because its ports overlooked Susquatane, an enormous orb painted with strokes of green, blue, gold, and white. And all of Pike’s visitors wanted the same thing: the chance to beam down to it.
There was no surprise in that. Spock had been correct, as usual. Of all the planets Enterprise had surveyed in the Outer Pergamum, as the outermost layers were called, only Susquatane, sitting in one of the rare zones free from dangerous radiation, had looked viable for extended surface exploration. Its varied terrains and climatic regions tantalized a crew that had been cooped up for months. Enterprise’s puny botanical garden had no chance of competing.
Dutifully, he had seen all but one of his visitors, delighting some, disappointing others. This final appeal, he could tell, was going to be another heartbreaker. He looked up from the written request to the young lieutenant who’d delivered it. Seeing that the poor kid was on tenterhooks, Pike decided to end his misery quickly. “I can’t put you on the ground, Connolly. Your expertise is gravimetrics. You can get your data from orbit.”
“Captain—”
“If you saw some of my Academy scores in science, you’d lose all respect for me. But your particular brand doesn’t get you onto a lot of landing parties.”
Connolly boldly launched into what Pike figured was a rehearsed spiel about how much time his on-site microgravimetric analyses could save Spock’s teams on Susquatane. “I can locate hideouts for subsurface life-forms we could never detect from orbit. Underground liquid reserves too. I can even find all the great places for spelunking.”
Not a selling point. Pike clasped his hands together and leaned across the table. “Why don’t we skip past the sales pitch to where you tell me you’ve got cabin fever, like everyone else on the ship?”
Caught, Connolly smirked a little. “Just trying to say I’d be down there to work. I’m not looking for shore leave, sir.”
“And I’m not issuing it. Not on an unknown planet.”
“We’ve been out eight months. I’d just like to see a sky from underneath.”
“This planet is Spock’s project. He’s indispensable to it. That puts his relief in science on the bridge and that mean
s you.”
“Ensign Dietrich could—” Connolly began, before he caught Pike’s expression. “Aye, Captain.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure they don’t have too much fun down there.”
Connolly lingered. “While I’m here, I was wondering if you’d gotten any news. You know, from back home.”
He studied the young man. So many had friends and family behind the lines. Pike read him the latest missive from Starfleet. Short, as usual, given the restraints on their ability to receive—and devastating. When he was finished, Connolly looked abashed. “Believe me,” Pike said, “you’re not the only one who doesn’t want to be where he is.”
“I don’t know what to say, Captain. Sorry to hear about the admiral.”
“So was I.” Pike could sense the young man’s unease. “Was there something else?”
“No. I mean, well—now I feel bad about what I was really trying to ask about.” Connolly shifted from one foot to the other as he fumbled for words. “It was about baseball.”
“About what?”
“It’s a game.”
“I know what it is. I’ve seen it.”
“There’s a revival league back in Florida where I’m from. They post results to the Federation news feed. I know we got a databurst while we were outside the nebula—”
“Classified. About the war.”
“—but our fall classic would have been done by then. I was just wondering who won.” He smiled awkwardly. “And if there’s final standings, I’ll take those too.” Another pause. “You know, because we went in the nebula just a few weeks after opening day.”
Pike stared. “Go back to work, Lieutenant.”
Sheepish, Connolly straightened and turned. He opened the door to find Doctor Boyce waiting outside. The two passed one another, with the doctor’s eyes following Connolly on the way out.
Boyce looked back to Pike. “Problem?”
In their mutual language, it was more of a prompt than a question. “Just somebody else who wants to jump ship. He was the seventh one today.”
“That got past Una, you mean.” Boyce smiled as he took a seat. “Suddenly everyone wants to join the science team.”
“We’ve got twenty people going already.”
“Twenty-six. That’s Una’s latest count. She’s just gotten Nhan’s security recommendation.”
“That’s right—I asked her to increase it.” Pike nodded and gestured to the door. “Better not tell the last guy who was here. He’d put on a red shirt if it meant he could beam down.”
“Evan Connolly? He’s always raring to go.”
“I think he wants to start a baseball league down there.”
“He’d get takers.”
Pike stood and walked about the room. “There was another kid I knew—also named Evan. From Australia, living in California while his parents served in Starfleet. He was pretty gung ho too.” Staring out the port at the planet’s night side, he decided to forgo the story. “Things happened.”
“Would anything happen on Susquatane?”
Pike shrugged. “How should I know? How do we ever know? Could be carnivorous rock creatures this time, or hypnotic bees. Or maybe it’s the summer home of whoever lobbed that torpedo at us weeks ago.”
“And have you heard any more about that?”
“No. I’m no longer even sure it was what we thought.”
Boyce studied him before speaking. “Permission to make a comment the captain may find patronizing.”
“Patronize away.”
“If you keep trying to protect every person that steps on the transporter pad, Chris, nobody’s ever going to leave the ship.”
“I gather that.”
Boyce shook his head. “I’m definitely in the wrong line. They need to send counselors instead of physicians. You haven’t talked like this since after Rigel VII.”
Pike droned, “I’m past that.”
“I thought you were too. You didn’t have a problem going into action at, what was that place, Sirsa III? And weren’t you just wanting to run off and join the war a couple of months ago?”
Pike looked back at him in frustration. He walked around to the desk and called up the data on his computer. He swiveled it to face the doctor. “Check this out.”
Boyce studied the dots on the screen. “Looks like a bad skin condition.”
“It’s the Beta Quadrant.”
“The quadrant has a rash.”
“Klingon space. Starfleet Intelligence can only count the stars—no idea how many ships or warriors there are.” Pike sat down and waved his hands. “Now here I am. I know what I’ve got. One ship and two hundred and three people who can surely do some good. Only we’re being kept on the shelf for some reason. Terral’s reason, perhaps—maybe even Katrina Cornwell’s. But she went MIA a while back, and I can’t even get a message out to ask what happened, much less why Starfleet sidelined us.”
“I doubt she made the decision alone.”
“Maybe it’s me. Or maybe it’s because they think Enterprise is too precious to lose, that they’ll need us. In which case—”
“—they’ll need every one of us.” Boyce’s eyes lit with amusement as he considered. “This is classic. You want to get involved—but you can’t, so the only way you can do anything is to sit on all your eggs and make sure nothing happens to them. Starfleet has just put Chris Pike’s mania in the captain’s chair.” He chuckled. “And me without my emergency cocktails.”
Pike stared at the wall for a moment, before looking back at Boyce. “Twenty-six people?”
“Latest count I heard. I’m sure Spock will tell you soon.”
That’s a lot of eggs.
Boyce leaned toward him. “Spock also told me there wasn’t any danger on the planet.”
“So far as we know from orbit. Nhan is still looking.”
“You’ve found angry natives? Hungry animals? Plants with teeth?”
Pike shook his head.
Boyce patted the desk and rose. “Well, then. Have Adventure Pike tell Protective Pike to take it easy for a change. Maybe go down there yourself. Contemplate a creek.”
“I’ll still have a hundred seventy-seven people up here.”
“Counting yourself.” The doctor chuckled. “I’ll see myself out.”
Pike stared. “Wait. Why were you here?”
“I was going to report some minor allergic reactions to a new solvent being used in the hangar deck, but I don’t think you can take the worry.” As Boyce approached the door, it opened. “Oh, hello again, Mister Spock.”
“Doctor.” Spock entered holding a manifest. “Captain, I have an update about the personnel necessary for the Susquatane survey. I will require two additional teams for the southern biomes—and someone with gravimetric expertise to assist in my studies of the polar ice shelf.”
“Excuse me,” Boyce said. “The captain needs me to bring back my medical bag, fully stocked.”
Spock heard Boyce’s comment, and turned to study Pike. “Are you unwell, Captain?”
Pike looked daggers at Boyce.
10
* * *
U.S.S. Enterprise
Orbiting Susquatane
At Starfleet Academy, Pike had seen archival video of mission control operators during some of the earliest robotic missions to planetary bodies. No lives at stake, but there were white-knuckle moments nonetheless. Projects developed across decades and mounted at incredible expense all came down to one single moment: landing.
Workers who had labored in anonymity for years would wear their matching mission polo shirts for what would either be a birth or a funeral while the whole world watched. There would be long stretches of worried silence, punctuated by indecipherable status reports announced in hushed tones—and then applause as each intermediary milestone was reached. Finally, if all went well, held breaths suddenly released as cheers. Later missions with human crews were the same, times ten.
Meanwhile, Pike
had agreed to the Susquatane expedition more or less because there was nothing better to do, and while the journey had taken time because of the need to go around the Acheron Formation, the landing phase hadn’t sped his pulse in the least.
“Standing by to beam first party down,” said Lieutenant Pitcairn over the comm.
Pike stood by the entry of the bridge turbolift, coffee mug in hand. “Go.”
Nicola spoke, scant seconds later. “Incoming transmission.”
“On.”
“Landing party on the surface,” Spock reported. “Conditions as expected. Initial survey underway.”
“I guess that’s that,” Pike said. He turned back into the turbolift in search of a refill.
* * *
This feels like I’m leaving for a ski trip, Pike thought as he walked into the transporter room a week later. It felt bizarre to be the only one in the hallway wearing thick boots and thermal cold-weather gear; at least it wasn’t a parka. He wasn’t planning on staying on Susquatane that long.
He hadn’t intended to go, but after days during which he had done little more than keep tabs on his half-dozen landing parties from above, Una and Colt had conspired to convince him to spend some time on the ground. “Energize,” he said—
—and took his next breath on an alien world. He coughed, his lungs protesting against the sudden presence of chillier air. But the discomfort was over soon enough—and what filled him next was wonder. The brief winter day at the polar exploration site had just ended, unleashing a sky awash in color. Birthing stars peeked through narrow gaps on the inner side of a black nebular wall while, much closer, sheets of aurora draped underneath. Between the stars and snow, Pike crunched about in a vibrant twilight.
“Captain,” Spock acknowledged, approaching from the north with his tricorder in hand. He was dressed in his white thermal uniform, apparently feeling no discomfort in this region much colder than his homeworld. He had also mastered the knack of walking in the snow without making a lot of noise. “Camp Five is ready for your review.”
The Enterprise War Page 5
