HISTORIAN'S TIMELINE 2061 Zefram Cochrane returns to Earth's solar system after the first successful faster-than-light voyage to Alpha Centauri. 2079 Earth endures the Post-Atomic Horror as it recov- ers from World War III. 2117 At the age of 87, Zefram Cochrane leaves his home in the Alpha Centauri system and disappears in space. 2161 In the aftermath of the Romulan Wars, the Federa- tion is incorporated and Starfleet is chartered. 2267 In the second year of Captain James T. Kirk's first five-year mission aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701, Kirk and his crew discover the Guard- ian of Forever. In the third year, Kirk, Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Federation Commissioner Nancy Hed- ford encounter Zefram Cochrane and the Compan- ion. Later that year, Ambassador Sarek comes aboard for passage to the Babel Conference. 2269-70 Following the completion of the first five-year mis- sion, Kirk is promoted to admiral; Dr. McCoy and Spock retire from Starfleet. 2295 The Excelsior-class U.S.S. Enterprise NCC- 1701-B is launched from spacedock on its maiden voyage. 2366 In the third year of Captain Jean-Luc Picard's ongoing mission aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-D, Ambassador Sarek comes aboard for passage to Legara IV. Several weeks later, the Borg attack Federation territory for the first time. 2371 Captain Picard returns to Earth's solar system following the incident at Veridian III. Rest enough for the individual man, too much and too soon, and we call it death. But for man, no rest and no ending. He must go on, conquest beyond conquest. First this little planet and all its winds and ways, and then all the laws of mind and matter that restrain him. Then the planets about him, and, at last, out across immensities to the stars. And when he has conquered all the deep space, and all the myswries of time, still he will be beginning. --H. G. Wells Things to Come 1936 PROLOGUE ON THE EDGE OF FOREVER ELLISON RESEARCH OUTPOST Stardate 9910.1 Earth Standard: Late September 2295 Kirk knew his journey would be ending soon. That feeling overwhelmed him even as he resolved from the transporter beam and felt the gravity of this world reassert its hold on him--a hold it had never once relinquished over all the years, all the parsecs, which had passed from that first time to now. All that had happened since that first time was but a heartbeat to him, as if his life were dust streaming from the tail of a comet, without mass, without consequence, measured only by the moment he had first arrived at this place, and by the moment of his return. It had been twenty-eight years since he had first set foot here, and Kirk had no doubt that he would never do so again. He could hear Spock's patient voice in his mind, blandly noting the illogic of that conclusion, given that the unexpected was all too common in their lives. But in some matters emotions took precedence. Which is why he had returned. Everything was coming to an end. No matter what Spock concluded, no matter how McCoy argued, Kirk's heart knew the truth of that feeling. This is the last time .for so man3' things, Kirk thought, falling into the litany that had grown in him since his retirement. Soon Would come his last passage by transporter. His last look at JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS starlight smeared by warp speed. His last glimpse of fleecy skies and Earth's cool, green hills. He thought of the old song for space travelers, written before spaceflight had even begun on Earth. He was saddened that he could not recall all of it. "Captain Kirk, we are honored by your visit." The words caught Kirk by surprise, though he knew they shouldn't have. The speaker was a young Vulcan woman, Acad- emy fresh, standing at attention before the slightly raised trans- porter platform in the outpost's central plaza. Kirk guessed her age as no more than twenty-five years Earth standard. He hesitated on the platform, thinking back. When she had been born, he'd been returning home. The first five-year mission almost at an end. An admiralty waiting for him. Kirk cast back to the memory. He had not gone gentle into that good night. His time as a deskbound admiral had lasted less than two years. Two years of going to bed each night on Earth knowing that she was orbiting above him, being readied for another mission. And each night he had known that she would not leave spacedock without him, Starfleet and all its admirals be damned. Kirk had been right. V'Ger had come to claim the world and Kirk had beaten the odds again. As he always would. No, Kirk thought. Had. Past tense. He was sixty-two years old. McCoy told him he could look forward to one hundred and twenty, even more. But the trouble with odds was that you could never really beat them, just avoid them for a while. Spock would be the first to admit that, in time, everything evened out. That was one way of looking at death, Kirk knew, the inescapable evening out of the odds. The thought brought him no comfort. "Captain Kirk?" the Vulcan began, a polite query in her tone. "Is everything all right, sir?" "Fine, Lieutenant," Kirk said. Even though he was finally, unthinkably, retired from Starfleet, a civilian again, however unlikely, the Fleet always remembered her own and this, his last rank, would be his forever. He stepped down from the platform, hearing the whisper-soft grinding of fine red dust beneath his boot. He smiled at the Vulcan, and because Spock had been his friend for thirty years, he FEDERATION could see an almost undetectable shadow of emotion cross her face. Kirk blinked and looked again at the rank insignia on the white band of her tunic. He corrected himself: "Lieutenant Commander." He supposed he should wear his glasses more often. But a lieutenant commander at twenty-five? Could the Academy really be making them that young now? Couldlreally be that old? "May I show you to your quarters, sir?" The Vulcan nodded to indicate a collection of prefab habitat structures a few hundred meters away, assembled within a clearing in the ruins of the city.. ? or whatever it was. A quarter-century of study by the Federation's best xenoarchaeologists had been unable to reveal the purpose of this place, only that its primary structures were at least one million years old, and the age of its oldest structure was exactly what Spock had later surmised: six billion years. There was a time when the significance of such antiquity had been overwhelming to Kirk. The central stones of this place had been carved and assembled before life had ever arisen on Earth, before Earth herself had coalesced from the dust and debris surrounding her sun. But now six billion years was merely an abstraction--a mystery he would never comprehend in his lifetime, just another fact to be placed aside, abandoned, with so many other unattainable dreams of youth. "No, thank you," Kirk said. "I'm afraid I won't be staying long enough to make use of any quarters. The Excelsior will be arriving shortly to pick me up." "The staff will be disappointed to hear that, sir." Kirk noted that the Vulcan hid her own disappointment well, as she did her disapproval that Starfleet's flagship had been relegated to provid- ing a civilian with taxi service. That's not how Captain Sulu had viewed Kirk's request for a favor, but Kirk understood how others might see it. "As you are one of the few people to have interacted with the device," the Vulcan added, almost boldly, "we had looked forward to hearing of your encounter in your own words." Kirk looked around the plaza, anxious to continue without further conversation. "It's all in my original logs. I'm sure they Offer more detail than I could recall today." JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS In what was, for a Vulcan, surely a near act of desperation, the lieutenant commander impassively asked, "Is there nothing we can do to have you extend your stay with us?" "No," Kirk said. It was that final. In less than two months the Excelsior-class Enterprise B would be launched from spacedock. Kirk wasn't certain what was drawing him back to Earth for that occasion. He had no intention of ever again setting foot on a starship as anything other than a passenger. He still recalled too well the haunted look on Chris Pike's face when they had spoken the day Kirk had taken command of the first Enterprise. From that first day, that first hour, somehow Kirk, too, had known that that was how his own journey would end. With the Enterprise, or her namesake, going on without him. Even here, it made him uncomfortable to contemplate that moment to come in his future. There had been so much he had wanted to accomplish, so much he had accomplished, and yet the two never seemed to overlap. Forty-six years in Starfleet, and his losses still seemed to outweigh his gains. Kirk caught sight of a distinctive pillar at the far edge of the plaza. Floodlights had been set up on slender tripods around it, changing the dark color of the stone he remembered to something lighter. There was writing on it as well, intricate lines of alien script like the overlapping edges of waves on a beach. He didn't remember having seen writing there before, but no doubt the archaeologists had cleaned away the encrustations of millennia. "That way, isn't it?" Kirk asked, already walking toward the pillar, knowing what he would find beyond. "Yes, sir," the Vulcan said. She fell into step beside him, her tricorder bouncing against her hip as she hurried to match his stride. "If I may, sir, as you know, it gave no indication that the conversation of stardate 7328 would be its last communication with us." "And that surprises you?" Kirk interrupted. He picked up the pace before she could answer. He felt he was swimming in sensations--the taste of the bone-dry air that drew the moisture from his lungs, the lightness of the gravity, the slight reediness of sound distorted by the thin atmosphere. He was thirty-four again, FEDERATION filled with purpose, pushing eagerly at the edge of all the boundaries that encompassed him. "Surprise connotates an emotional response," the Vulcan said primly, "which has no place in a scientific investigation." Her response, all too predictable, wearied him. Such earnest- ness was best served by youth. Let her devote the next four decades of her life to this mystery if she would. Kirk no longer had that luxury. ? 'Instead," she continued, "it could be said we were perplexed by its silence, especially in light of the conversations you reported with it, and its apparent willingness to answer any--" "Yes, fine, very good, Lieutenant Commander." Kirk let the sharp words spill out of him, anything to have her stop talking. "If I could just have a few moments..." He sensed her falter beside him and he walked on, alone, past the pillar and the floodlights, around a fallen wall, a tumble of columns, and--yes!--there--right where he remembered it. Right where it had remained through all these years, haunting him, forever haunting him, just as its name had foretold. The Guardian of Forever. A large, rough-hewn torus, three meters in diameter. A reposi- tory of knowledge. A passageway into time. Its own beginning and its own ending. A mystery. Perhaps, the mystery. Kirk paused and gazed upon the Guardian. Like the pillar, its color was different, changed by the floodlights that ringed it. There were sensor arrays nearby as well, sheets of gleaming white duraplast on the ground around it to keep the soil from being disturbed by the many scientists who toiled to learn its secrets. Kirk gazed upon the Guardian, and remembered. .4 question. Since before ),our sun burned hot in space and before your race was born, I have awaited a question .... Those had been the first words the Guardian had spoken to him. An investigation of temporal distortions had brought the Enterprise to this world. McCoy had accidentally injected himself with an overdose of cordrazine and in fleeing his rescuers had passed through the Guardian into Earth's past. There he had changed history so that the Federation never arose, so that the JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVt Entelj2rise no longer flew through space, so that Kirk and Uhura and Spock and Scott were trapped in this city, on the edge of forever, with their only chance of restoring the universe they knew waiting in the past. Kirk closed his eyes, the cruel memories still alive within him. The universe had been restored. The Enterprise returned to him. And the price had only been the death of one woman. The one woman he had truly loved. Her name formed on his lips. "Edith," he whispered. Kirk knew the Vulcan would hear him, but he no longer cared. Caring was for youth, and at this moment, Kirk felt as old as the stones of this place. He walked across the ruddy soil until he came to the duraplast sheets. A permanent static charge repelled the dust and kept the sheets clean. His boot heels clicked across their hard, slick surface. He heard the Vulcan follow. Now, no more than a meter from it, Kirk stopped to study the mottled surface of the Guardian. It had glowed when it spoke so many years ago, pulsing with an inner energy no one had ever been able to trace to a source, just as they had been unable to replicate whatever mechanism had initially allowed the Guardian to act as a gateway through time. The most detailed sensor scans possible consistently reported that the Guardian was no more than a piece of granitic rock, hand-carved, and that was all. "Perhaps you could ask it something, sir," the Vulcan sug- gested, after a moment of respectful silence. There were a thousand questions Kirk could think to ask. Perhaps that was why he had returned. But for now, none seemed worth asking. "Do you really think it would do any good?" he asked. He glanced behind him and saw the Vulcan staring intently at the Guardian, as if that simple question asked in a familiar voice might stir the intelligence locked within the stone. "The Vulcan Science Academy spent years in conversation with the Guardian, sir. It offered virtually infinite knowledge, ours for the mere asking. But--" Kirk held up his hand to stop her. He knew the story. The )N Guardian did claim to be the repository of infinite knowledge, present, past, and future. But it seemed that there were inherent limitations to the languages of the Federation and the minds of the scientists who had engaged the Guardian in conversation. Too many times the Guardian had said it was unable to respond until a more precise question had been asked, yet it provided no clues a> to how particular questions might be framed more precisely. A human scientist had summed up eight years of frustrated ~-esearch by equating the total of recorded conversations between the Guardian and humans to an exchange that might be expected between a human and dogs. The smartest, non-genetically engi- neered dogs might have a vocabulary of five hundred words, and comprehend a handful of actions and even abstract concepts such as direction and the duration of short periods of time. But what about the other hundred thousand words a dog's master could use? What hope did a dog have of understanding its master's philosophy and biochemistry and multiphysics? How could a dog even attempt to respond to its master in the human's own spoken words? It was frustrating and humbling for humans to be rele- gated to the status of mute animals, knowing no way to reach up to the Guardian. The scientist had bitterly concluded that the researchers at Ellison Outpost had spent eight years conversing with a stone, and had gotten exactly the same results as they might get from asking questions of any rock. A few months later, the Guardian had ceased to respond to questions at all, as if confirming the scientist's assessment. The Vulcan kept her face blank, but her next words, to Kirk's attuned ears, were a plea by any other name. "I would find it most interesting if you would ask it a question, sir." Kirk nodded. It was a small enough request. In a few minutes, a few hours at most, he would be gone, but the Vulcan would still ~vork here. Why leave her with regrets? He turned to the Guardian, focusing on its wide opening through which the other side of the plaza was clear and unob- structed. The ruins beyond stretched to the horizon. "Guardian," Kirk said in a firm, commanding tone, "do you remember me?" 8 9 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS The Vulcan betrayed her extreme youth by holding her breath in audible anticipation. An instant later, she remembered the tricorder at her side and brought it up to check its readings of the mute stone. "Guardian," Kirk repeated, "show me the history of my world." The space bound by the circle of stone was unchanged. Kirk turned to the Vulcan. "I'm sorry," he said. And in an abstract way, he was, even though the mysteries of the Guardian had moved beyond his concern. "Thank you for trying, sir," the Vulcan said. Then she switched off her tricorder and stood with her hands behind her back, as if she were stone herself and had no intention of leaving his side. In the past, Kirk might have paused to consider a polite way to ask what he asked next, but time had become more important than hurt feelings these days. "Lieutenant Commander," he said, "I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone here." The startled Vulcan hid her surprise again, though not as well as the first time. "Is anything wrong, sir?" "I wish to meditate." It was a lie, of course, but one with which no Vulcan would argue. "Of course, sir," the Vulcan said. She began to walk away. Kirk turned back to the stone. Then he heard her footsteps stop. He looked back at her. A wind had sprung up. Her severely cut hair fluttered against her pointed ears. "Sir," she called out over the growing wind, "this outpost has standing orders that personnel are never to step through the opening in the Guardian. We do not know if or when it might become operational again." "Understood," Kirk called back, and the Vulcan left him. He was alone with the Guardian. He stared through the opening. Is this what I've come back for? Kirk thought. With no more future before me, did I hope in some way to return to the past? The wind gusted and Kirk felt himself pushed toward the stone, caught in a swirl of obscuring dust that made his eyes water and FEDERATION his throat raw. He reached out a hand to steady himself. The Guardian was cold to his touch. He felt tired. He thought of the stateroom Sulu would have for him on the t.lw'c/s'ior. A soft bed. He could even turn down the gravity to ease the ache in his back. The old knife wound he had gotten just before the Coridan Babel Conference so many years ago had been coming back to taunt him of late. Assisted by too many other past injuries. too many sudden transports into different gravity fields. "Has it come to this?" Kirk asked the wind and the dust. "Will there be no more worlds to explore? No more battles to fight?" The Guardian was silent. Just as Kirk had known it would be. There would be no more miracles for him in this universe. He had captured a part of it in his life, imprinted a thousand worlds in his mind, had experiences and adventures that humans of centuries past could not conceive, and which humans of centuries to come could never repeat. He should be content with that, he knew. But he wasn't. For all his confidence, his bravado, his skills and talent and drive to be the best, in his heart, at his core, there were doubts. Too many words left unsaid. Too many actions left undone. Too many questions gone unanswered. And now, with the journey's end in sight, with the knowledge that it was time to put aside those things left unfinished, Kirk was not ready. His doubts tortured him. Edith, his love, in a roadway of old Earth, the truck rushing for her... David, his son, on the Genesis planet, with a Klingon knife above his heart... Garrovick, his commander, and 200 crew facing death on TychoIV... For all that Kirk had done, had he done enough? Could anyone have done enough? Or was it all without meaning? Was life a simple tragedy of 10 11 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS distraction from birth to death, with no more purpose than this stone before him? Kirk knew his journey would be ending soon, and this far into it, he still did not understand what had driven him to take it, nor long to continue it. Alone, he whispered a single word to the wind and the dust. "Why?" And for the first time in two decades, the Guardian of Forever answered .... Part One BABEL 12 THORSEN ]'he Eugenics Wars of the late twentieth century were more than lifiY years in the past, but the evil that had spawned them lived on. Ha,'ed, intolerance, unrestrained greed, all those qualities which defined humaniO, so well, proved fertile ground as always. ,q ,k, eneration unborn at the turn of the millennium grew up with a /~lscination for those who had promised order and salvation in the mi&t of chaos. In the worm of the mid-twenty-first century', crumbling beneath the environmental outrages of the twentieth, that promise was a heady dream. A perfect worm was possible if ,n/~' the mistakes made by Khan Noonien Singh and his followers could be avoided. Adrik Thorsen was one of that generation determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. He heard the call of the supermen whispered through the ages, predating even Khan. He rallied beneath the red banners and dark ea~,/e ~/' the Optimum Movement. He wore the red urnform of Cob;he/Green. He awoke each day with the knowledge that the desUny of the world, of all humanity, lay in the hands of those who h~d the will to take drastic, necessary action. .4drik Thorsen had that will, and in the mid-twenO,-first century, 15 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS in pockets of despair, regions overcome by anarchy and hopeless- hess, Thorsen was allowed to enact his policies. His quest.for perfection began with the weeding out of the unfit. Those who were less than optimal, by infirmit),, by geneties, then by religious belie~ and political persuasion, were the first to be coded ,for deletion. In those earl), days, killing children for the sins off their parents had been distressing to Thorsen. But in time he came to see the anguish he experienced, and then transcended, as a sign of his own growing perfection. True to his own theories, Adrik Thorsen was becoming optimal. If the world would only follow in his footsteps, he could lead all humanity to an era of peace and prosperity that would surpass all understanding. But his progress tormented him because he knew that whenever great men such as he dared dream great dreams, inevitably there were those who would attempt to drag them down. By their very opposition, he considered his opponents to have proven themselves less than optimal. Thus, they, too, could be coded for deletion with all the others unfit to share the world. As he journeyed on his own inner search for the Optimum, Adrik Thorsen's dream consumed him. Then it consumed his own pocket of the world. In time he was certain it would consume the world itself and Paradise would follow from that moment as surely as night followed day, as constant as a law of nature. But ,first Thorsen understood he must vanquish the laws of histor)'. The biggest mistake that had been made by Khan's supermen was that they had lost. Adrik Thorsen would not permit that mistake to be made a second time. Thus on the morning of ;l/larch 19, 2061, Thorsen himself led the mission against the WED Research Plat/brm, geostationary orbit, Earth. Six carbon-shelled, single-passenger orbital transfer units carried Thorsen andfive trusted troopers to within two kilometers off the corporate space station, undetected by proximiO' radar. The transfer units were jettisoned and the final approach was made in membrane suits, using nonignition maneuvering units. The); made magnetic contact with the station's hull at 01:20 G.xll', precisely as scheduled. Their induction scans showed that no alarms had been triggered. FEDERATION :tl 0l;27 GMT, they detonated the first spinner charge on the zq~link dish, shutting off all communications with the platform's ~,otporate headquarters. Eight seconds later, a series of secondary dctotTations flashed along the staff module, splitting it in two. T17orsen watched with satisjaction as he counted seven platform crew members expelled from the resulting hull breach, arms and /c~s kicking frantically, mouths horrifically gaping with silent cries i, the vacuum. As he had suspected, two of the crew members wore t/l~' bhtc and white unzforms of the New United Nations peacemak- it~,~/brees. It was clear that Thorsen and the Optimum Movement were t7ot the only ones who knew what breakthrough had been ~%~,~itleered at this facility. ,tccording to the operations manifest Thorsen had obtained, ten researchers and an unknown number of peacemakers remained on the platform. By now, the platform ~ automated emergeno' decom- [,'ession procedures would have sealed internal airlocks. It would bc at least .five minutes before any remaining peacemakers could ctr;~l their own membrane suits and launch a counterattack. Tllor,sen and his troopers were unopposed as they jetted directly to t/ze oz~termost arm of the platform, where the revolutionary new test vehicle was stored in its own docking module. Thorsen knew he could not explosively decompress that module without risk of damaging the vehicle itself. And it would be suicide /i,' a~iv of his troopers to attempt entry through the personnel (lir/ock, where they would become a captive target. Accordingly, T/zor,s'en ordered one of his troopers to the airlock to deploy an i~!flatable decoy. The decoy' was the size and shape of a trooper in a ,Tc,Tbrane suit, and would draw the attention and laser fire of any o'cw members inside. At the same time, Thorsen commanded two other froopers to assemble an emergency evacuation blister on the (~,,'side e f the docking module, sealing it to the hull and pressuriz- i~?,, it. 5k)w his forces could breach the module's hull without loss of i~f~'r~zal atmosphere. The vehicle inside would be safe. ,-tt Thorsen 5' signal, the first trooper cycled the inflatable deco), t/,'oz~,h the personnel airlock as the troopers in the evac blister used c'z~tiqk' lasers to breach the hull. The two troopers floating near Thorsen, ten meters away from 17 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS the module, watched for the approach of peacemakers from the other airlocks. But whoever remained inside the vehicle storage module did not share Thorsen's respect for rational military action. Before Thorsen's troopers in the evac blister could finish cutting their entry point, a gout of crystallizing moisture exploded from the vehicle airlock doors at the end of the module. Debris blew out with it, meaning both the interior and exterior doors had been opened at once. Thorsen guessed what desperate strategy was being attempted and instantly moved to counteract it. He and the two troopers with him .jetted to the open vehicle airlock door. The .first trooper to arrive was cut in half by a particle beam, his suit and flesh rupturing in an explosion of instantly frozen blood. Thorsen directed a fiy-by-wire fiare pack to the lip of the vehicle airlock door and ignited it. Anyone inside who had seen the flash would be blind for at least thirty seconds. Then he and the remaining troopers flew into the docking module, lasers on contin- uous,fire, tuned for membrane fabric, not for metal or carbon. There were no peacemakers inside, only' unarmed researchers, all but one cowering in their pressure suits. Soon, only that one remained alive. She was in the vehicle itself, a reconfigured Orbital Fighter Escort with a single particle cannon on its nose. The modifications that Thorsen knew had been made to the fighter's vectored impulse drive unit appeared to be all interior. From the outside, it was no different from any other fighter he had piloted. Thorsen ~ troopers on watch outside the airlock door reported that no peacemakers had yet emerged from the other modules. Thorsen conferred quickly with the troopers in the module with him. They c'ould see the researcher in the .fighter through the vehicle's jTight-deck windows. It was dij~cult to assess what she was doing on the control consoles, but it was apparent that the fighter was still locked into position on its launch rails and would not be able to leave without a manual release. Then Thorsen's induction scans alerted him to impulse circuits cycling through their ignition sequence. The researcher was at- tempting to power up the fighter's main drive. Thorsen knew that when the researcher activated it, the plasma venting would kill FEDERATION overtone in the docking module, including her, and the mechanical strain against the launch rails would tear what was left of the entire ?/af/brm apart. Thorsen admired her for her willingness to die for her ideals. He nodded at her with respect as he tuned his laser to optical j).cqtwncies that would pass through the fighter's flight-deck win- dows. Though he forgave her the terror she showed as she saw the muzzle of the weapon point at her,' she died badly', without ~lcceptance of her fate at the hands of her superior. She was obviottsly not optimal. Thorsen thus had no regret as he watched tter lff~,less body slowly spin in the fighter~ cabin. ItJthin ten minutes, the troopers had removed the researcher~' body and Thorsen was strapped into the pilot's chair. Despite the ,todlifications to the vehicle, there were no major changes to the jlifitt controls. He approved. The best innovations were always the ~implest. EJficieno' was always optimal. Thorsen ~ troopers released the fighter from its launch rails and Thorsen used the maneuvering thrusters to gent/), guide the vehicle from the storage module. He told his troopers he would use the particle cannon to decompress the platform's remaining intact modules,' then, when the danger of a peacemaker counterattack /tad been neutralized, the); could board.for the next phase ()f the mission. I[ took Thorsen three minutes to destro), the pla(form. Bodies /1oating everywhere, a cloud of death surrounding the distant Earth. as it always had. In two more minutes, he had used the particle cannon to neutralize his own troopers as well. History' had too often shown that great men were brought down by' those who dared to share the glory for others' actions. Thorsen.felt no remorse because none was warranted. At 02.'11 GMT, Thorsen sent a coded signal to an Optimum listerling post on the moon. The listening post responded with a /li~17t plan that would guide the.fighter to Thorsen'3' meeting with de.sti~Tv. And Thorsen's meeting with destiny would be humaniO"s ~t~rt~ing point as well. Because, as of March 19, 2061, the key to total victory over the Optimum's opposition, and to the resulting emergence' of a new Order and salvation for the world, lay in the hands of a young 18 19 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS scientist named Zefiram Cochrane, who was poised on a threshoM from which he would forever change humaniO'%' place in the universe. Driven by the wings qf history and dreams of salvation for all who were ~vorthy, and determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Adrik Thorsen fiew jbr Titan. His plan was simple, efficient, optimal--whoever controlled the genius of Zqfram Cochrane would control the future of humanity. And as o['March 19, 2061, the future of humaniO' belonged to Adrik Thorsen. ONE CHRISTOPHER'S LANDING, TITAN Earth Standard: March 19, 2061 For just one moment, a fleeting instant of the time his life would span, Zefram Cochrane thought he heard the stars sing to him. He could see them overhead, through the transparent slabs of aluminum that formed the dome over this part of the colony of Christopher's Landing, Earth's largest permanent outpost in near-Saturn space. Beyond the dome, the frozen nitrogen winds of Titan swept away thick orange streamers of crys- tallizing methane and hydrogen cyanide, as they chased the terminator to clear the dense atmosphere for only a few min- utes between the clouds of day and the mists of night, allowing, briefly, dark bands to appear in the sky above. In that darkness, the stars flickered for Cochrane, creating a shimmering jeweled band around the dull yellow arc of Saturn that filled a quarter of the sky, so far from the sun that the light reflecting from it made the enormous planet almost imperceptible in Titan's twilight. Its rings, head-on in the same orbital plane as the moon, Were invisible. In that narrow window of time, between the beginning and end of a day unlike any other in human history, Cochrane stared at Stars he had known all his life, and they were unfamiliar to him. 20 21 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Alone among all humans now alive, as far as he and most others knew, he had seen them as no one ever had. Blazing in deep space. Orbiting a world belonging to another star. Four and a third light-years from Earth. Four months ago. Cochrane closed his eyes to see the stars as he had seen them then, the constellations familiar to billions of his fellow beings shifted to new perspectives never seen before. Four and a third light-years. A world so far away the fastest impulse-powered probes took more than two decades to reach it, and then took more than four years longer to transmit back the data they recorded. And Zefram Cochrane had gone there and returned in two hundred and forty-three days. Faster than any human had ever traveled before. Faster than light. Cochrane blinked open his eyes at the sudden feeling that the stars here were staring down at him with shock and approbation for daring to invade the sanctity of their domain. In response, he felt laughter rise up in him. He couldn't help it. He stamped his foot into the engineered soil beneath his boots and unexpectedly bounced a few centimeters in the moon's half-gravity. The awkward moment as he waved his arms for balance broke the previous moment's spell, and he finally realized that the pleasing harmonies he heard were not from the offended stars above, but from the string quartet that played in the assembly hall of the governor's home adjoining the domed field. The faint melody, festive even over the perpetual background hum of the immense air circulators and muffled howl of the outside winds, sounded like something by Brahms, but he couldn't place it. Cochrane looked down at the bare soil beneath him, the crushed and sterilized decomposed rocks of an alien world in which Earth bacteria worked to change its composition, cleansing it of Titan's octane rain and hydrocarbon sludge. Someday grass and trees would grow here, so that children would run in play and lovers would stroll and old people would sit in contentment on benches by a splashing fountain as they grew old together, gazing 22 FEDERATION up at the stars and knowing that others like them looked back from different distant worlds. Now the laughter that had been growing in him faded and he felt tears form in his eyes for no reason he understood. What books would he never read that were still to be written on those different distant worlds? What poetry would he never under- stand? What music? What paintings, what sculpture, what histo- ries unimagined would play out without him now that the human stage had been expanded to... "Infinity." Cochrane jumped at the word so aptly spoken, startled by the unexpected company. He recognized the voice, of course. His ship, the Bonaventure, had cost more than 300 million Eurodollars, and the precarious state of the world was such that government agencies were not inclined to turn over that level of funding to thirty-one-year-old physicists who had the audacity to question the most basic tenets of nature. But the voice belonged to the man who had paid for his ship--Micah Brack. Brack owed allegiance to no government funding committee or board of directors. The debit slips the tycoon had authorized over the eight years of Cochrane's single-minded pursuit to overturn the Einsteinian mind-set of the Brahmins of modern science had come from Brack's own pocket. Considering that most data agencies placed him among the ten wealthiest individuals in the system, with holdings on every planet and moon humans had colonized, that pocket was virtually without limit. Most of Christopher's Landing existed because of Brack's foresight, and his impatience with those who merely looked up at the stars, unable to grasp the promise they held. In Micah Brack, Cochrane had found a champion, a backer, and most importantly, a friend. '%orry to startle you." Brack put his hand on Cochrane's shoulder, glancing up to see what Cochrane had seen, so far away. He nodded to the sounds of the reception coming from the lit doorways and windows of the governor's metal-walled home. "But they're about to notice the star of their party is missing." Cochrane knew that as well. Since his return to the system, less than fifty hours ago, he had had no time to himself. He wasn't Used to that kind of intrusion. He didn't like it. Never had. And 23 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS he had no intention of ever getting used to it, even though Brack had warned him about the publics probable reaction to news of his accomplishment almost three years ago. At the time of that conversation, they had been out past Neptune, with Sternbach and Okuda, literally bouncing off the walls of the John Cabal, an old lunar ice freighter Brack had refitted as Cochrane's microgravity lab. The freighter had allowed Cochrane and his team to conduct their research light-hours from Earth's military surveillance nets and the gravimetric disruptions of the sun's gravity well. Brack had been with them that day, on one of his infrequent trips from Earth--the day the team's first, hundred-kilogram, fluctuation superimpellor test sled had literally warped itself into a smear of rainbow-colored light and streaked off into something other than normal space-time. Eight minutes later, Cochrane's scanners had picked up the distinctive radiation signature of the miniature particle curtain he had rigged to self-destruct the sled one minute after launch. It had been a drastic measure, but at the time he had known of no other way to cause a continuum- distortion generator to reenter normal space at a precise moment, had no precise idea of how far the sled would travel, and had no way to predict in which directions it might drift while not in normal space. When the signature had been confirmed, the vast, hollow drum of the John Cabal's science bay had echoed with cheers. The sled had traveled eight light-minutes--more than 143 million kilometersrain sixty seconds. The prototype superimpellor was massive in proportion com- pared to the initial test devices Cochrane had used in his twenties at MIT to accelerate electrons to twice the velocity of light. But its size had not lessened the effect of the distortion and it had transported the sled at a pseudovelocity eight times faster than light, corresponding to a relativistic time-warp multiplier factor of 2-'! That day they had toasted farewell to the EinsteinJan universe, drinking hundred-year-old cognac from squeeze tubes~ microgravity was no place for effervescent champagne. It wasn't FEDERATION tha~ Einstein and Hawking and Cross and all the other giants of ph> sics had been proven wrong--the universe had simply opened another window onto its infinite, unpredictable nature for hu- man~, ',o peer through, and a whole new science had to be created to de. scribe phenomena that earlier scientists had never seen. and that same. like Einstein, had refused to imagine. In th;tt refusal, at least, Einstein had been wrong. Because, as ('ochral~e had predicted, and as he had finally given up trying to explain to nonscientists, whose eyes inexplicably yet inevitably dxxcd over whenever multidimensional equations entered the coxvc~:4ation. the effects of relativity were limited to normal space-time alone. Cochrane's subsequent bench tests on rapidly decaying particles had shown that once the superimpellor had entered a fluctuating continuum distortion, the well-known time- dilation effects of very fast-speed travel no longer occurred. Beca~use there was no way for information to be exchanged bct~cen the normal universe and the volume contained within the di~tortionIfor non,, his team continued to remind him-- time could progress within the continuum distortion at the same rate ~t had progressed when it was last in contact with normal space-time, without contradicting anything that had been estab- lished about light-speed being the fastest anything could travel. OF course, Cochrane knew that eventually, given enough 11uc~uation-superimpellor-driven ships visiting enough distant stellar % stems with their own rates of relativistic time, variations in tir:;ckeeping would mount up. He could see that eventually, ~ivcn enough superimpellor-driven spacecraft visiting enough distan~ planets, a whole new technique of timekeeping and date-recording would have to be developed to account for those local rate-of-time variations and relate them to each other in a mean;,ngful, if complex, way. But by slipping the bounds of [~inste]nian space-time, time dilation was no longer a limiting FactoF to the human exploration of space. More importantly, Brack had observed that day, neither was distance. Hewever, Brack had gone on to warn, there was a price that ~ould have to be paid. When Cochrane returned from the stars as the ~r%t human to have traveled faster than light, his name would be uttered in the same breath as Armstrong, Yoshikawa, and 24 25 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Daar. He would no longer be able to lead a normal, low-profile existence--he and his life would belong to the world. To the universe. Judging from Cochrane's reception in Christopher's Landing, everything Brack had said had come true. Cochrane sometimes wondered about the insight or science behind his friend's ability to predict the future. He did it so often and so well. But Brack himself denied having any special gifts. "The events of the future are reflected in the events of the past," he often said. He claimed only to be an attentive student of history. Cochrane looked back up at the dome, but the brief twilight clearing had passed. The mists of Titan's night billowed beyond the transparent slabs, roiling in the external floodlights, as if the colony were a lone oceangoing vessel, plying Earth's North Atlantic in the winter. Cochrane tried not to think about icebergs. "What was that you said about infinity?" he asked his friend. Brack grinned and the years dropped from his face. Cochrane guessed the billionaire was in his fifties, middle-aged for the citizens of Earth's industrialized nations. His short hair was white--Brack paid no attention to fashion or fads--and worn in a style reminiscent of the Caesars. But his eyes sparkled like those of a much younger man, and the smile in his rugged face was always full of the promise of youth. Cochrane guessed having enough wealth to affect the course of human history might give a person reason enough to feel young and energetic, but he often thought there was more complexity within Brack than the man would ever reveal. "I saw you looking at the stars," Brack answered. "So wasn't that what you were thinking? About the new limits to human growth? Or, should I say, that now there are no limits." "But how did you know that u'as what I was thinking?" Brack glanced away, a smaller smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. Cochrane recognized the expression. Brack wasn't going to answer the question. Instead he asked one of his own. "What are the prospects for a colony?" "At Centauri B II?" Cochrane was surprised by Brack's sudden change of subject. He was operating in his business mode now. 26 FEDERATION .-Those surveys were complete before I left," Cochrane answered. ,'They were complete practically before I was born, weren't they?" The whole world knew the prospects for a colony at Alpha Centauri were good, and had for decades. Of the hundred or so known solar systems detected beyond Earth, the Centauri system xvas the most thoroughly mapped, primarily because it was also the closest solar system to Earth's. Seen with the unaided eye, Alpha Centauri was the third brightest star in the sky, though only visible south of latitude + 30?. Its brilliance was due to its closeness and to it being, in fact, a ternary system composed of three separate stars. Alpha Centau- ri A was a spectral-type G2 star, a close twin to Earth's own sun, gravitationally locked to Alpha Centauri B, a slightly larger and brighter K0 star. Alpha Centauri A and Alpha Centauri B orbited each other about the same distance apart as the diameter of Earth's solar system. The third stellar component of the system, Proxima Centauri, was a much smaller red dwarf star, in excess of 400 times more distant from A and B than they were from each other. Just after the turn of the century, astronomers on Earth, using ground-based, adaptive optic telescopes, had resolved at least two additional bodies in the Alpha Centauri system: two large planets caught up in a complex, oscillating orbital pattern around the A and B stars. The scientific world was shocked by their discovery because common wisdom presumed that no planet could main- rain a stable orbit between two such closely situated stars. In the decades that followed, a new generation of astronomers employed liquid vacuum telescopes on the moon's farside to resolve three more planets in the Alpha Centauri system. One, about the size of Mercury, was locked in an eccentric orbit around Alpha Centauri A. The other two Earth-size planets occupied interweaving orbital paths around Alpha Centauri B, in a region roughly corresponding to that defined by the orbits of Mars and Venus in Earth's solar system. Such an orbital pattern was, of cOUrse. also considered impossible. The charting of the Alpha Centauri system made it a fascinating time to be an astronomer. 27 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Lunar-based spectroscopic interferometry analysis of the five Centauri planets eventually confirmed that one of the two Earth- size planets orbiting B exhibited a strong oxygen-absorption line. Since the planet's size and mass and, therefore, gravity were only a fraction higher than Earth's, and since oxygen is a light enough gas that it would dissipate within a few thousand years under Earth-type gravity, the strong concentration of oxygen in that planer's atmosphere could mean only one of two things--either a completely novel chemical reaction was occurring on the planer's surface, constantly replenishing the supply of oxygen-- --or there was life. The news electrified the world. In the solar system, only on Earth had life taken hold with such success. Mars had merely shown promise. The microfossils excavated from its ancient seabeds had shown the existence of early forms of plankton and archaeobacteria--suspiciously similar enough to forms that had evolved on Earth to lead several scholars to suggest that some agency other than catastrophic meteoric impact had been respon- sible for the same seeds of life being sown on Earth and Mars together. As the new century progressed, uncrewed probes were launched toward the Alpha Centauri system. Most met the same fate as the disappointing Nomad series at the turn of the century, rapidly and inexplicably failing after passing the hellopause surrounding Earth's solar system. The development of efficient, vectored impulse drives led inevitably to a second and third generation of probes launched toward Centauri and other likely extrasolar systems at substantial fractions of light-speed. Though some of these new series also met with unexplained failures and disap- pearances, dozens of probes did succeed, blazing past alien worlds as they transmitted relativistically attenuated data back to Earth. By the time of Cochrane's own birth in 2030, scientists were as certain as scientists could be that a fully evolved, self-regulating, Gala-type ecosystem was flourishing on Centauri B II, just as on Earth. So certain were they that crewed expeditions were launched. But a further series of mysterious failures, culminating in the tragic loss of telemetry from the NASA vessel Charybdis, 28 7 FEDERATION brought an end to the first attempted wave of the human exploration of extrasolar space. Some commentators fond of conspiracy theories even put forward the idea that Khan Noonien Singh and his followers were not frozen in some long-lost sleeper ship. but were prowling the outer solar system, blowing up space probes. keeping their genetically inferior conquerors planet- bound. Whatever the reason for Earth's initial difficulties in pursuing advanced exploration, as the political tensions of the mid-twenty- first century worsened, funding for purely scientific endeavors became less popular and harder to obtain. As had happened so often in human history, Brack assured Cochrane, even with the potential rewards of cooperation and exploration so obvious, humankind once again turned in on itself, becoming insular and distrustful and forgetful of the need to look beyond the im- mediate. There was always a weariness in Brack when he spoke about the incessant repetition of failure in human affairs. Cochrane de- tected that same weariness now. "I know what the scanners say," Brack continued impatiently. "I've seen the simulations, read the reports, the speculations." He gestured dismissively. He was a man who only wanted results. "But what I came out here to ask you, Zefram, is what did Centauri B II look like to you? What did it.feel like.'?" He held out both hands as if beseeching Cochrane. "I know what the oxygen percentage of the atmosphere is. But what did it taste like to breathe alien air? Do you think a man could live there and call it home?" Cochrane recalled the tang of that air: sere, dusty, but filled with the scent of life. After the fact, he knew he had been a fool to slip off his breathing mask even for the few minutes he had allowed himself. Computer analysis had shown the ecosystem of Centauri B II to be DNA-based with the same range of amino acids~more fuel for the fire of those who thought Earth and Mars had been deliberately seeded. There was no way of knowing ~vhat kind of bacteria and viruses he had exposed himself to with those lungfuls of air never before tasted by humans. But other 29 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS than two days of sinus discomfort, and some stinging grit in the corners of his eyes, Cochrane had suffered no ill effects. Maybe he had been lucky. Or maybe humanity was meant to go to other worlds unencumbered. "Yes," he told Brack, numbers and scanners aside. "No night for half the year, but it's a place where people could live with no more hardship than desert equatorial regions on Earth." "Good," Brack said. He winked at Cochrane. "You remember the law of mediocrity?" Cochrane understood the law was a much misunderstood scientific principle, which translated to the lay public as "things are pretty much the same all over." If chemistry behaved a certain way on Earth, then the law of mediocrity suggested that chemistry would behave the same way on a planet a thousand light-years distant, or on Earth a billion years in the past. Cochrane knew what Brack was getting at. "You're thinking that if the first planet we visit in the first solar system we explore has an Earth-like planet, then the galaxy is filled with them." Brack nodded. "And humans will be like dandelion seeds blown on the wind, filling them all." Cochrane smiled at his friend's grandiose dream. "You know how long it would take to establish even a single colony in another solar system--even with the superimpellor? You know how much it would cost?" Brack didn't smile as he answered. "One billion Eurodollars." He held up the fingers of one hand, the thumb folded in. "Four years." Cochrane stared at Brack as the industrialist spread his arms to indicate everything around them. "Think of it, Zefram. A Christopher's Landing-type colony. Fusion generators to begin. Solar and thermal in the second decade. Hospitals, libraries, self-building factories. Drone mines. Even an orbiting space platform for mapping, communication, and ship maintenance and repair. I'm assembling the modular components on the moon as we speak." Cochrane was startled by the news, and by Brack's audacity. "You were that certain I'd succeed?" 30 FEDERATION ..lf you've been in business as long as I have, you learn how to pick winners." Cochrane's eyes narrowed. He wanted to ask exactly how long Brack/lad been in business, even though he knew from experience that that was another topic Brack didn't like discussing. But there were other questions. "Why the hurry, Micah?" Brack thought about his answer, pursed his lips, stared up at the dome. but focused on something only his eyes could see. "In 1838, a British steamer, the Great ~bstern. crossed the Atlantic, Bristol to New York, in fifteen days." He looked back at Cochrane. Cochrane shrugged. He didn't see the point. "It was the first fully steam-powered vessel to make the crossing. Another ship arrived the same day, but it had taken nineteen days to cross from London. Now, the sailing clippers could make the crossing t'aster if the winds were right, but the Great Western moved independent of the winds and the weather. It was technology. Dependable. Repeatable. Fifteen days from London to New York. :\ trip that used to take months." Cochrane waited. "I sense an analogy building." Brack rubbed at his temple, as if he were caught up in a memory instead of reciting facts he had studied. "You know what the American newspapers--they were the data agencies of the time --you know what they said?" 'Tin at a loss." Brack quoted. "'The commercial, moral, and political effects of this increased intercourse, to Europe and this country, must be immense.'" "They were right, weren't they?" Cochrane asked. Brack's eyes burned into him. "And, they said, because of the expansion of business, the rapid spreading of information, and the resulting reduction of prejudice, it would make 'war a thing almost impossible.'" Cochrane shrugged. "Simpler times." "No," Brack said emphatically. "There's never been a simpler time. Never. In all of human history, everything has always been as complex as it is right now. The people change. The technology Changes. But the... the forces at work, whatever it is that drives us to be human, that's always the same." JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Brack looked back at the governor's home. The quartet still played. Cochrane could hear faint laughter mingled with the music--a cocktail party on Titan. He wondered what the newspa- per data agencies of 230 years ago would have thought about that. "Eighteen thirty-eight," Brack continued. "That same year, the Boers slaughter three thousand Zulus in Natal. British forces invade Afghanistan. Eighteen thirty-nine: Ottoman forces invade Syria. Britain and China start the Opium War. Eighteen forty: the Treaty of London unites Britain, Austria, Prussia, and Russia against Egypt. Steamships didn't do a thing except get troops into battle more quickly. It's never going to end, Zefram." Cochrane thought he saw where his friend was headed with his argument. "You're worried about what's going on back on Earth, aren't you? Colonel Green. The Optimum Movement." But Brack went on as if he hadn't heard Cochrane. "A century later, nineteen forty-four: World War Two." He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "We actually started numbering them. And all eyes were on television. You know what the data agencies said about that?" "You tell me." "Exactly what they said about steamships!" Brack held his hand to his eyes, recalling something he had read. Or heard. "'Television offers the soundest basis for world peace that has yet been presented. International television will knit together the peoples of the world in bonds of mutual respect.'" Now Brack rubbed his hand over his eyes, as if overcome by a sudden wave of fatigue, not just weariness. "Television! And after Korea, and Vietnam, and Afghanistan, and Africa, and Khan, and Antarcti- ca, war was still with us. And television..." Brack snorted disdainfully. "It's been twenty years at least since anything's been done with it on an international level. It's dead. Steamships are curios for collectors. But people are still people." Across the domed field, the concert ended. Cochrane heard the polite applause. As Brack had said, the guest of honor would be missed soon. "What's your point, Micah?" "They're going to say the same thing about what you've done." "That the fluctuation superimpeller will bring an end to war?" FEDERATION Brack's wry smile didn't do anything to warm his grim tone. "I promise you that that will be the lead editorial on a hundred serxices by the end of the week." -'Well, why not?" Cochrane asked. "I mean, wars are fought over resources, and the superimpeller opens up the galaxy. 'thefts no end to resources now." Cochrane followed Brack's gaze to the governor's home. There were silhouettes in the windows. People looking out, trying to find the man of the hour. Of the century. "Wars are fought because that is what people do," Brack said. "Resources are an excuse, nothing more." Cochrane felt frustration rising in him. Usually, he was all for these philosophical talks with Brack. The industrialist could go on as if time had no meaning for him. But Cochrane was about to be pulled back into the governor's reception. Who knew when he would have five minutes to himself again? "Micah, the superimpeller has no military function, if that's what you're worried about. It can't even be used out here by Saturn without getting twisted up with the sun's gravity well. On Earth, it can't function for more than a nanosecond without self-destructing. Remember Kashishowa?" Brack's expression hardened. "I know it has no military function--the little 'accident' at Kashishowa Station notwith- standing. I would never have funded your work if I had thought otherwise. But no matter what the editorialists say over the months ahead, the superimpeller has no peacefid function, either. It*s technology, Zefram. Neutral. It's only what humans make of it." At last Cochrane saw the question to be asked. "And what should we make of it?" "An insurance policy." Cochrane didn't understand. "War won't end, Zefram. The superimpeller won't do it. Matter replication or teleportation won't do it. Nothing on the thousand drawing boards I fund ever will. But what the superimpeller wi/[ do is make sure the next war won't cause humanity's extinction." "There won't be a 'next' war. The New United Nations--" "Are a joke. There will always be a next war. And each next war 33 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS brings crueler weapons. And the more cruel the weapons, then the more cruel the person who uses them." Brack stepped closer to Cochrane. Someone was in the open door of the governor's home, waving her arm as if calling Cochrane in. "We're ten years from World War Three, Zefram. Twenty at most. The New United Nations is destined to collapse like its predecessors. And a third world war fought with twenty-first-century technology is going to be something from which Earth might never recover. Cochrane frowned as he finally understood what Brack meant. "But Centauri B II will be far enough away not to get involved." within the decade. Centaurl B II and a half-dozen others Perhaps twenty within the same number of years." Cochrane gave his friend a skeptical look. "Not even you can afford to spend twenty billion Eurodollars on twenty extrasolar colonies." "You're right. But I can get four or five started. And when my competitors see me doing it, they're going to think I see profit in it, so they're going to try and beat me at my own game. They'll :' form consortlures. Sell shares. Attach superimpellors to every probe sled and impulse freighter in the system to flood the nearby systems with a wave of exploration ? ? ? and I intend to give them the patents to do it." Cochrane nearly choked. "Give them the patents? After what you spent to develop them?" Brack patted Cochrane on the back. "You've made space travel quick, now leave it to me to make it inexpensive. Trust me, my friend, by the time I'm finished with giving your invention away, they'll be naming planets after you. And by the time any of my competitors figure out I'm just throwing my money away on colonies, with no hope for any kind of reasonable return, it will be too late. A whole industry based on interstellar exploration will have emerged." Brack's eyes narrowed as his most serious tone returned. "An industry that will be able to survive the collapse of Earth." "You re telling me all of human history is a race, aren't your" Cochrane asked. "That we've always been running away from our own worst instincts, and that we always will be." Brack gave Cochrane a look the physicist knew too well. A 34 FEDERATION surprise was coming, and it wouldn't be pleasant. "Zefram, Colonel Adrik Thorsen left Earth two hours ago. He's coming here. To see you." Cochrane felt a chill that had nothing to do with the chill air of Titan. Thorsen was one of Colonel Green's cadre. He was rumored to have quelled a ration demonstration in Stockholm by deploying battlefield pulse emitters designed to be used against armored infantry. The civilians taking part in the demonstration had had no radiation armor. Hundreds had been killed. Thou- sands left impaired, their synaptic connections sundered at a molecular level. Then Thorsen had joined with the Optimum Movement in the Pursuit of Perfection. Perfection was whatever Colonel Green and those of his countless analytical committees said it was. And if something, or someone, or some group of people wasn't perfect, then that thing, or that person or group, didn't deserve to exist. Cochrane understood what Brack had said about history re- peating itself. The coldly efficient bureaucracies of Green's Ana- lytical Committees, the stark design of the interlinked OM triangles, all were just new skins for an old and hideous ideology that should have been consigned to its ashes more than a century ago. "I've had nothing to do with the Optimum," Cochrane said. "Why does he want to see me?" "Don't flatter yourself. He wants to see your ship." "Our ship." '~The point is, he wants to make it his." The answer seemed obvious to Cochrane. "But we won't let him." Brack sighed. "There have been a great many changes while .~ou've been away, Zefram. The Optimum Movement has been expanding its influence. Rapidly. There are some nations on Earth that don't like the way things are going. They're the ones clinging to the illusion of order the Optimum offer, and ignoring the price they'll have to pay." "Well," Cochrane said, his mind working quickly, "if Thorsen leh two hours ago, then we've still got a few days before he gets here. We can work out something tomorrow." 35 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Colonel Thorsen will arrive on Titan in nine hours." Cochrane's eyes widened. Whatever vehicle Thorsen was in, he was traveling at almost five percent the speed of light. Impulse drives could boost a space vehicle to that kind of velocity in less than an hour, but the rapid acceleration would crush any living thing on board into a thin organic paste against the aft bulkhead. True, there were specially constructed impulse ships designed to operate at multi-g accelerations with humans aboard, for military or emergency rescue missions, but those required the pilots to be suspended in liquid-filled command capsules, "breathing" an oxygen-rich saline solution to prevent their lungs from being crushed. Crewed ships could reach light-speed velocities without harming their living cargo only through gradual acceleration. But even at a constant, military-standard three-g acceleration, it would take almost five days to achieve the speed with which Thorsen was coming to Titan. "What's he sending? An artificial-intelligence surrogate?" "He's coming himself, Zefram." "Not in nine hours, he's not. This time of year, we're thirty- seven light-minutes from Earth. No human could survive that kind of impulse acceleration." A handful of people were walking across the bare soil to Cochrane and Brack. They only had a minute left to talk undisturbed. "As I said," Brack said emphatically, "there have been a great many changes since you left." Cochrane's eyes widened as he realized what Brack was imply- ing. "Inertial damping?" Brack frowned. "l've spent a fortune trying to develop that over the past thirty years, too. And the breakthrough came out of the R-and-D section of a chain of simulator theaters, of all things." He looked away to gauge the approach of the party guests. "But on the bright side, between your superimpellor and control of inertia, there's not a place i'n the universe humans can't travel." cochrane felt as if he'd been kicked. Control of inertia put the full power of vectored-impulse space travel in the hands of human crews and passengers. The solar system could be crossed in hours. An Earth-moon flight would be little longer than a maglev train 36 FEDERATION trip between San Francisco and New Los Angeles, with more time spent getting out of Earth's atmosphere than traveling the next 380,000 kilometers in vacuum. And Adrik Thorsen, the Opti- mum, was already using that technology. A part of Cochrane wished he could see the specs of an inertial damper. The device, if it were real, might help him overcome some of the superimpellor's engineering shortcomings. But it was human shortcomings that concerned him now. "After all you've just told me about human nature, do we really want the Optimum to spread into the universe?" Brack shook his head. "The Optimum aren't interested in the universe. They're interested in control. And how can they have control if the superimpellor can whisk their potential subjects light-years beyond their influence?" The reception guests were almost upon them. 'Tm guessing Thorsen's coming here to see if he can suppress your invention." Cochrane clenched his fists at his sides. Alone in space, it was easy to convince himself that science was as pure as the numbers glowing on a scanner screen. But being back among the madding crowd, he was once again reminded of how impossible that ideal was. As long as people remained blind to the clarity with which the universe was laid out, there would always be those who would seek to obscure and twist its truths for ugly political and philo- sophical goals. Cochrane could see Brack read that growing sense of resentment and anger within him. "Don't worry," Brack said. "There's no chance he'll be able to suppress anything. I'm giving away the patents, remember? As soon as you download a systems assessment I can include as an engineering supplement, I'm going systemwide to transmit your design theories, your blueprints, and your manufacturing log. By the time Thorsen arrives, the information will already be on its way back to the inner planets. By the time the editorialists start pontificating on the end of war, millions of people will have access to your work. The genie, so to speak, is out of the bottle and will never go back in." Cochrane felt overwhelmed. After so much time alone, his emotions were too rarefied. Though he had never admitted it to anyone, indeed, had taken great pains to deny it, he had looked 37 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS forward to a scientific triumph. He especially had wanted to hear the apologies from those who had scoffed at his work years ago. "I had hoped to publish in the normal way," he said hesitantly. "Peer review. A data conference upon publication. That sort of thing. I... I don't know what to say, Micah." "That's why you're with me, my friend. I do. And this is not the time for things to be done normally. I want humanity to explode out of this system as if a dam had burst." Cochrane wanted that, too. More than ever. More than any- thing. "So what do we do about Thorsen?" Brack lowered his voice as the approaching partygoers came within earshot. "Leave Thorsen to me. In two hours, my yacht will be prepped for launch at Shuttlebay Four. She'll take you back to the Bonaventure. I've got a tug up there now replenishing her." Brack suddenly turned to the approaching guests and held up his hands. "Ladies, gentlemen: an indulgence, please. I'll return him to you in just a moment." Then he put his arm around Cochrane's shoulder and guided him across the soil, away from the excited and slightly annoyed buzz of conversation that grew behind them. Cochrane was annoyed, as well, as he pictured strangers' hands on his ship. "Micah, please. The antimatter field containers are still too sensitive. And I've got to do something about the lithium converter. It only runs at twenty-two percent of---" But Brack cut him off. "There's no time for that, Zefram. Put it in your engineering download. The point is, when the Bonaventure's fueled and stocked, I want you to leave." Cochrane stopped dead. He could tell Brack didn't just mean Titan or near-Saturn space. "As in, leave the system?" Brack nodded. His expression was grim as he heard the partygoers swarming toward them again. "That's right. Far enough out that you can use the superimpellor again." Cochrane grimaced. It would take him two weeks to get far enough away from the sun's gravity well. Two more weeks of being alone in space. "Not for long," Brack added, obviously sensing Cochrane's FEDERATION unspoken reaction. "Just enough that the military nets will lose track of you. Because when Thorsen arrives and finds you gone, they will be tracking you." "And then what?" Cochrane asked. Brack quickly laid out his flight plan, telling Cochrane to reenter the solar system opposite Saturn's present position, then come in like an Oort freighter on a long-fall passage, to rendez- vous with asteroid RG-1522. "I've got a manufacturing setup there," Brack explained. "You can get started on the second generation of the superimpellor. Get the fields up to the volume of a freighter." "And be safe from Thorsen?" 'Tll be honest," Brack said. "Thorsen's just a puppet. I want you safe from the Optimum." "When will that be?" "When they realize that anyone with a few hundred thousand Eurodollars can retrofit an existing space vehicle to make a faster-than-light vessel. And that anyone with a few hundred Eurodollars can book passage on one. When Colonel Green and his cohorts realize they can't stop the spread of the superimpellor, they'll lose interest before they'll admit defeat." There were footsteps immediately behind them. Chiding voices told Brack he had monopolized Cochrane long enough. "Come with me, Micah," Cochrane said impulsively, as if the two of them were still alone. "See what I've seen." Brack smiled with no hidden meanings. "Soon, but not now." He gestured to the bare soil around them. "I've still a lot of work to finish here before I move on"--he waved his hand at the dome and what lay above it--"out there." "What kind of work?" For a moment, the weariness left Brack's eyes. "I want to see the grass grow here, Zefram. A billion kilometers from where it evolved." He patted his friend's arm, almost in a gesture of farewell. "And then, I want to plant a fig tree." Someone handed Cochrane a drink. He felt hands on his arms and back. Conversation, a dozen questions, flew around him. But he looked over at Brack and asked, "A fig tree?" 39 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Brack looked almost sheepish, being parted from Cochrane by the throng that gathered. "From which the Buddha drew enlight- enment. It reminds me of home," he explained. He touched his fist to his heart. "A man's entitled to that." Brack nodded once, then stepped aside with an expression of finality as the crowd bore Cochrane away in triumph, as if he had safely tossed Cochrane into the currents of history but must himself forever remain on the shore. Through the long hours that passed that night, until he stood at the airlock doors of Shuttlebay 4, Cochrane thought of all that Brack had told him, and of Colonel Thorsen hurtling toward him with a technology that had not existed a year ago. But most of all, he thought of Brack's final words. What more could any person want than a home? And what was the purpose of Cochrane's work if not to make the entire universe humanity's home? The thought of home brought back memories of the small house outside London where he had lived with his parents on their last posting. Sitting in the back garden, a few days after his eleventh birthday, playing with a simple plastic wand and tub of soap solution, he had cast shimmering bubbles into the air. The colors had transfixed him that day, along with the reflections caught within reflections when one bubble formed within anoth- er. And for some reason he still did not understand, his mind's eye had suddenly conjured an image of a different sort of bubble twisting around another so that they both popped up in a somewhere-else his young mind could see but not describe. It had taken Cochrane twenty years to work backward from that moment of intuition and create the technology that could do what he had seen so clearly. All because he had sat beneath a tree. Cochrane thought of fig trees then, as Brack's yacht was buffeted by Titan's winds, lifting through them. As the clouds were left behind, Cochrane stared out a porthole to see a distant star, brighter than any other but a star nonetheless, not easily resolved into a disk. Somewhere near it, too faint to be seen, was the home of all soap bubbles, all fig trees. Cochrane's home. 40 FEDERATION Planet Earth. It would be seventeen years before he returned to it, and he would never see Micah Brack again. The ancient race humanity ran to escape its own worst attri- butcs continued, but on this day, unlike any other in human history. for the first time the race's destination was in sight. And though he had not yet fully grasped his position in what would unfold, it was now up to Zefram Cochrane to lead the way. 41 TWO U.S.S. ?NTERPRISE NCC-1701 IN TRANSIT TO BABEL Stardate 3849.8 Earth Standard: November 2267 Kirk knew the inevitable could be avoided no longer. There was no time left to consider the odds, to devise strategies, or even to change the rules. He had to take action and he had to take action Y/OW. His opponents stared at him, their thoughts unreadable. All Kirk could hear was the faint hum of the environmental system's fans, the slow sighs of his ship while she slept, late on the midnight shift. Kirk allowed no emotion to show on his face as he reached forward. All eyes were on his hand. He dropped five tongue depressors onto the pile on the shim- mering fabric of the medical diagnostic bed, and in his most authoritative voice, he said, 'Tll see your five." Without expression, Sarek of Vulcan, son of Skon and grandson of Solkar, turned over his cards. Kirk lost control of his own expression as he stared at the ambassador's poker hand. A pair of sixes. Kirk sat back in the chair he had set up beside the ambassador's bed in the Enterprise's sickbay. "You were bluffing," he said. FEDERATION Sarek blinked. He looked over at Spock, who sat placidly in a second chair, wearing his blue medical jumpsuit and black tunic as if they were a formal uniform. "It is the nature of the game, is it not?" Sarek asked. Spock nodded sagely. "Indeed." Kirk didn't like the sound of that. There was something wrong here. "Spock, I thought Vulcans couldn't lie." "Though we are capable of it," Spock explained, "we choose not to. In most circumstances." Kirk narrowed his eyes at Sarek. "But isn't bluffing a form of lying?" Sarek's expression remained bland, though Kirk was certain that something in it had changed. The more time he spent around Spook, the more he had convinced himself that Vulcans betrayed just as much emotional information in their faces as humans did, though in a much subtler fashion. "In this case, Captain, bluffing is an expected strategy of the game. Indeed, it is encouraged. Therefore, by betting in a manner inconsistent with the actual value of my cards, I am, in fact, lollowing the true intent of the game, which therefore, by definition, cannot be false." Spock nodded thoughtfully. "Well put, Father." Sarek lay back against his pillows. "Thank you, my son." Kirk wrinkled his brow. Not two days ago he had heard Sarek tell his wife Amanda that it was not necessary to thank logic. He didn't know how, but something told Kirk his leg was being pulled. Perhaps being cooped up in sickbay with him for two days was beginning to take its toll on the Vulcans. "So this isn't the first time you've played poker?" Kirk asked accusingly. Chess was more his game, and he enjoyed the never- ending tournament he and Spock had fallen into. But with three players to account for, poker had seemed a better way to socialize with his fellow patients. To Kirk's chagrin, however, the pile of tongue depressors was deepest on the blanket beside Sarek. $arek maintained his maddening composure. "My wife taught me many years ago, after Spock joined Starfleet. The insights it afforded me have been beneficial in certain negotiations with ... certain species." 42 43 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS I bet they have, Kirk thought. "Coridan's going to be admitted to the Federation, isn't it." He made it a statement. If Sarek negotiated as well as he played poker, the other delegates to the Babel Conference didn't stand a chance against him. "I will argue for admission," Sarek acknowledged, "but my wishes are in no way an indication of what the result of the final vote will be." "With that much dilithium on the planet," Kirk continued, "how could Coridan not be admitted? The Orions were willing to start an interplanetary war over it." The knife wound in Kirk's back was a direct result of Coridan's dilithium. Orion smugglers had conspired to prevent the planet's admission to the Federation in order to maintain their illegal mining and smuggling opera- tions and profit from supplying both sides with dilithium in the war to come. But Sarek did not agree. "It is true that dilithium is the lifeblood of any interstellar political association. Without it, warp drive can never be exploited to its full potential. But, it has been my experience that wars are seldom fought over resources. At the time, the question of resources may appear to be a valid excuse for hostilities, indeed, a rallying cry. But upon reflection, most conflict is inevitably based in emotion." Sarek fixed Kirk with a steady gaze--an emotional signal of some sort, Kirk was certain. "I mean no disrespect," Sarek concluded. Kirk mulled over that last statement, which from anyone else would have meant the opposite of what it appeared to mean, and despite the ambassador's recent heart attacks and cryogenic open-heart procedure, Sarek had never once lost his mental edge. Kirk wondered if there was such a thing as Vulcan humor. He looked back at Spock, trying to detect any sign of hidden Vulcan laughter. But Spock merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You have a question, Captain?" Kirk couldn't bring himself to ask the obvious. He knew he could talk with Spock about Vulcan emotions, but it might be too embarrassing a topic for Spock to discuss in front of his father. If Spock could feel embarrassment, that is. Kirk decided that FEDERATION changing the subject was a better tactic. "Did your mother teach you how to play poker, too?" Spock shook his head. "Dr. McCoy did, after our encounter xvith the First Federation ship." "Actually," Sarek volunteered, "I have often thought poker would be a useful exercise for Vulcan children, to help them learn to control the display of their emotions." Kirk saw his opening and pounced. "Gentlemen, it sounds as if you're suggesting that the famed Vulcan reticence to display emotion is nothing more than a prolonged bluff itself. In fact, it could be said that for a people who pride themselves on choosing never to lie, their whole demeanor is, in fact, just that." Feeling proud of himself, Kirk folded his arms. Sarek and Spock exchanged a look. Spock spoke first. "Captain, what you have suggested is not logical." Kirk didn't understand. "Yes, it is." Spock was about to reply when Sarek interrupted. "Captain, the 'pot' is still unclaimed. We have yet to see your hand." Damn. Kirk thought. He had hoped they had forgotten. He turned over his cards. A pair of fives. "It would appear you were bluffing, as well," Sarek said, with just the slightest hint of smugness in his tone. "He is quite good at it," Spock offered. "Indeed." Kirk looked from father to son, realizing that they had success- fully changed the topic on him. Kirk decided that whatever effect the past two days were having on Sarek and Spock, they were certainly beginning to take their toll on him. Sarek reached out to scoop up the tongue depressors. "I believe the cultural incantation required at this time is 'Come to poppa.'" "That is correct," Spock said. At the sound of those words coming from the revered Vulcan diplomat, Kirk clamped his hand to his mouth to try and contain his laughter, but he knew he wasn't going to make it. It erupted from him with a barely contained snort. He tried to cover his unfortunate reaction with a series of coughs, but that just made 44 45 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS the knife wound in his back flare with sharp pain, bringing tears to his eves. In their most subdued Vulcan manner, Spock and Sarek looked alarmed. "The incantation is not 'Come to poppa'?" Sarek asked. Kirk waved his hand. If he even tried to open his mouth, he'd go on a laughing jag that could set Earth-Vulcan relations back by a decade. "Captain?" Spock said with Vulcan concern. "Are you all right?" Kirk nodded. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Water," he gasped in what he hoped was a convincing simulation of some- thing caught in his throat. He started to get up from his chair. The door to the examination room puffed open, taking Kirk by surprise. It was too early for Nurse Chapel and far too late for Dr. McCoy. But it was McCoy who entered, eyes bleary, hair mussed, uniform obviously just thrown on. Kirk instantly knew that whatever had brought McCoy to sickbay at this hour, it had also wakened him unexpectedly. The ship's surgeon came to a stop in the middle of the ward. He stared at his three patients with an open mouth. "What in God's name are you two doing out of bed?!" Sarek folded his hands in his lap. It was clear the doctor was referring to Kirk and Spock. Spock answered the question. "Playing poker." McCov's eyes dropped to Sarek's bed, took in the deck of cards, the piles'of tongue depressors. "So help me, I'll sedate the lot of you! Put you in... restraints/" Kirk finished getting to his feet. "Bones, it's all right. Your treatment made us feel better even faster ...."But then he winced. The knife wound in his back seemed to twist in place, as if the knife were still in it. He felt the blood leave his face. From the look on McCoy's face, it was an alarming departure. Kirk suddenly felt Spock's arm slip under his, steadying him. But McCoy disapproved of that, too. He grabbed Kirk away from the science officer and manhandled the captain across the ward, telling Spock to get back to bed before he was put into isolation. FEDERATION Kirk flopped back on the medical diagnostic bed and felt his breath escape him. McCoy activated the diagnostic board and Kirk heard his own heartbeat racing. "I told you this could happen," McCoy snapped as he held a whirring medical scanner over Kirk's chest. Kirk mouthed the words "What could happen?" Now he really couldn't talk. He felt as if the bandages around his chest were solid duranium, slowly constricting, cutting off any chance he had of breathing again. "The knife was treated with a protein inhibitor." McCoy deftly clicked a drug ampule into a hypospray. Kirk heard his heartbeat accelerating. "It's an old Orion trick. Keeps the wound open and bleeding with no poison to show up in an autopsy. Makes sure there's no blood left on the weapon, either." The cold tip of the hypo pushed against Kirk's shoulder and he felt the sudden pinch of its high-pressure infusion. "Fortunately, you were lucky enough to get in here before you needed an autopsy. Barely." Though Kirk didn't feel as if his condition had changed, the sudden caustic tone in McCoy's delivery told him he was going to be all right. He felt his breathing ease. His heartbeat began to slow. He recognized the effect from his last visit to Vulcan. "Tri-ox?" he whispered. McCoy glared down at him "When I hear that you've earned your medical degree, I'd be happy to discuss drug therapies, Captain. Now stay put." "Yes, sir," Kirk whispered. He squinted to the side as McCoy spun around and advanced on Spock. "And as for you," the doctor began. Kirk closed his eyes and smiled as McCoy's tirade continued. Sometimes he thought the doctor was only happy when he had something to complain about, and Finagle knew Kirk and Spock went out of their way to oblige him. The pain in his back began to lessen, and Kirk guessed that McCoy had included something else with the tri-ox compound without telling him. Just as he hadn't mentioned anything about the protein inhibitor on the knife. Probably didn't want to worry me, Kirk thought, feeling himself beginning to drift as McCoy and Spock argued over medical 47 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS procedures, and Sarek maintained an appropriately diplomatic silence. Kirk slipped back to three days earlier, walking near his quarters on Deck 5. An Artdorian had passed him: Thelev, a minor member of Ambassador Shras's staff. Thelev had nodded in greeting. Kirk had nodded in return, eager to get back to the bridge, eager to continue the investigation into the murder of Ambassador Gav--the murder for which Sarek was prime sus- pect. In retrospect, Kirk decided it was his eagerness that led him to ignore Thelev's unexpected change in pace. In retrospect, he knew he had distinctly heard Thelev stop, turn, and start again, walking behind him. At the time, Kirk had worried that the Andorian was going to raise vet another matter of concern to the ambassador, as if having 114'dignitaries on board for the past two weeks hadn't given Kirk his fill of ambassadorial concerns. Part of him was still hoping he could make it to the turbolift before Thelev called his name when he felt the first blow to the back of his neck. Starfleet training had taken over then, diplomatic immunity be damned. But the first blow Kirk had taken had dulled his reflexes, and just as he thought Thelev was finished, he felt the long narrow blade of the Andorian ceremonial dagger rip into his back, grating against bone, igniting shocking streamers of pain like lava through his chest. What had happened next, Kirk still wasn't too certain. Whatev- er had transpired, he had ended up in sickbay and Thelev had been taken to the brig. But the threat to the Enterprise hadn't ended with the Andorian's arrest. An unknown vessel was still pacing them. Thirty-two ambassadors whose loss could mean an interplanetary war were its probable target. And Sarek was only hours from death, unless McCoy could operate. Which he couldn't do without Spock's cooperation in providing a transfusion. Which Spock wouldn't provide while Kirk was in sickbay and the Enterprise was being followed by an unidentified vessel. In the end, Kirk and McCoy had convinced Spock that the captain's wound was minor. Spock had relinquished command, donated blood, and Sarek's operation had been a success. FEDERATION Xo. Kirk suddenly thought, jerking awake from his reverie. It was too soon to think of success. Thelev had turned out to be a surgically altered Orion. The pursuing ship, also Orion, had destroyed itself when the Enterprise had disabled it. But the Babel Conference had yet to take place. Coridan's fate was still in quesuon. What if the Orions had a contingency plan? For all the effort they had put into placing Thelev on the Andorian ambassa- dor's staff, into reengineering one of their vessels for a suicide mission, into sanctioning Gav's murder--it just wouldn't be like the Orions to give up after a single attempt. l/lave [o talk to Spock about this, Kirk thought. He opened his eyes. McCoy was standing above him. Kirk had a sudden feeling of' panic that he had slept. That he had missed something. But McCoy was in as much disarray as he had been when he had caught his patients at their midnight poker game. "Can you breathe now?" McCoy asked. It wasn't a friendly question. 'Wes." Kirk said. His throat felt normal. The pain of the knife xvound throbbed with each heartbeat, but it was dulled. "Good," McCoy said. "Then get up." "Up?" Kirk felt a rush of adrenaline as he connected McCoy's command to his unexpected presence here. Something had woken him up. Something had brought him to sickbay to waken the captain. Knowing that, Kirk was instantly alert, the knife wound a memory. "What is it, Bones?" "Nothing I'm in favor of," McCoy complained. "But then, I'm just a doctor, not a fleet admiral." "Admiral?" Kirk asked as he slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Kabreigny," McCoy answered, keeping one eye on the scanner he held to Kirk's side. Now Kirk was even more alert. Quario Kabreigny was one of the most powerful admirals at Starfleet Command, in charge of the entire Exploration Branch. Starfleet had been from its very beginning, more than a century ago, an organization whose prime mission was scientific, whose very charter clearly stated its mandate "to boldly go where no man has gone before." Yet the nature of the universe was such that Starfleet vessels quickly took 48 49 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS on responsibility for upholding the law at the boundaries of the Federation's expansion, for protecting shipping lines and colo- nies, and for maintaining watch over security threats from other, nonaligned systems. The fact that Starfleet and the Federation itself had risen from the nightmare of the Romulan Wars further added an inescapably defensive flavor to its role. But whenever the critics grew too loud, whenever the members of the Federation Council grew concerned over the ongoing dichotomy between Starfieet's scientific and military missions, Admiral Kabreigny would step into the fray. By the time she had finished addressing her questioners, detailing the impressive scientific advances engendered by Starfleet, and showing how they stood above and apart from its "secondary mission," as she characterized it, which involved phasers and photon torpedoes more than sensors and diplomacy, the debate would end for another year or two, until the next funding cycle. Without question, Kabreigny was one of the great shapers of the modern Federation, following unwaveringly in the footsteps of those giants who had drafted the Paris Charter in 2161. Books had been written about her and her influence. Hers was a name that was spoken with a respect reserved for Black, Cochrane, and Coon--all people without whom the Federation would not exist. And she wanted to speak with James T. Kirk. It was a bit like waking up to find the finger of a god pointing down at you. "When did the message come in?" Kirk asked. He knew he'd have to reply right away, which is presumably why McCoy had been wakened in the middle of ship's night, to see if the captain was in a condition to receive a communication from Command. Kirk could get to his quarters, into a uniform, and be onscreen inside of five minutes. "No message," McCoy said. He closed his hand around the scanner, shutting it off. "When that tri-ox wears off, you are going to have such a headache." But Kirk ignored the prognosis. "What do you mean, no message?" "She's here, Jim. On the Enterprise." 5O FEDERATION Kirk stared blankly at the doctor. Admiral Kabreigny was seventy-seven years old. She didn't leave Earth lightly. She certainly didn't journey all the way to the Babel Conference for a strictly political debate. McCoy read the questions in Kirk's eyes. "She arrived about thirty minutes ago. No warning. Communications blackout, she says. Showed up at my door demanding to know why you weren't in your quarters and when you'd be fit for a meeting." Whatever was going on, it didn't sound good to Kirk. Subspace radio was as secure a method of communication as had ever been invented, and it was so fast, its signals propagating at better than warp factor 9.9, that the delay between Earth and the Babel planetoid was only a matter of minutes. What could she have to say that was so critical? And that justified the risk to her health? "Did she give any indication of what this was about?" Kirk asked. McCoy frowned. Clearly, he knew something. He glanced over his shoulder at Spock and Sarek. Kirk saw them watching the proceedings with indifferent expressions, but was certain their Vulcan ears had picked up every word that he and McCoy had said. "Excuse me, Ambassador, Spock." "Of course, Doctor," Sarek said magnanimously. Then McCoy pointed at Kirk, followed by a quick gesture at the door to the examination room. "And you, in there." Kirk gave McCoy a half smile as he started for the door. "I'm not going to be your patient forever, Bones. You keep that attitude up and I'll have you swabbing decks." As the door opened before him, Kirk heard Sarek speak in a low voice. "Can he do that?" the ambassador asked. As the door slipped shut behind him, Kirk heard the beginning of Spock's answer. "I believe he would like to, but regulations clearIx, state--" Kirk took a deep breath as he faced McCoy in the privacy of the examination room. "All right. What's going on?" McCoy's eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at the captain. "I think it's pretty bad, Jim. You see, this passenger liner has... disappeared." 51 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Kirk tried to understand what that would have to do with Kabreigny's unprecedented visit. "Sabotage? Piracy? Important passengers? What, Bones?" "None of that," McCoy said hesitatingly. "It's where the liner disappeared that has the admiral concerned." Kirk held up his hand. "Just a minute. You're telling me that the admiral has come all this way from Earth under a communi- cations blackout and suddenly she's telling everything to the ship's surgeon?" The irritation was gone from McCoy. Instead, he just looked nervous. "I think it involves me, too, Jim. And Spock. But he's in even worse shape than you are right now." Kirk was starting to feel dizzy, but whether it was the medica- tion or straight frustration, he couldn't be sure. "All right. Where did the liner disappear?" "The Gamma Canaris region." Kirk sat back against the examination room's diagnostic bed. He was afraid he could see where this was going. There was only one way out, a slim one. "Command doesn't think the disappear- ance has anything to do with hostilities on Epsilon Canaris III, does it?" "If that's what Command thought, I doubt if the admiral would be here right now." McCoy dropped his voice to a whisper, even though they were alone. "You know what Kabreigny suspects just as well as I do, Jim. I was there. Hell, the three of us were there." "You didn't tell her, did you?" Kirk asked, then immediately regretted having done so. "Of course you didn't. I'm sorry. I'm ... tired." "That's nothing compared to the way you're going to be feeling in about three hours. Do vou feel up to meeting with her? I could tell her your medical condition is worse than I thought." Kirk shook his head. "I knew we'd have to face this sooner or later. We all did. I just didn't think it would be so soon." He straightened up. Certain situations had a way of repeating them- selves. No time to consider odds, devise strategies, or change the rules. "Where is she?" "Conference Room Eight. Do you want me to at least go with you?" FEDERATION "Did she ask for you?" "No." Kirk smiled, trying to make it easier for McCoy. "It could be nothing, Bones. Leave it to me." Kirk headed for the door to the corridor. He stopped when McCoy called after him. "Don't get any ideas about taking all the blame on your own. We all agreed. The three of us are in this together. And if you don't tell her that, I will." Kirk wasn't in the mood to argue with McCoy. He was the captain. He didn't have to. "Understood, Doctor. Tell the admiral 1'11 be with her in ten minutes." Kirk left. He was back in his quarters within five minutes, back in uniform in another two. He paused for a moment by his door, looking at his bed. It was very inviting. Despite his complaints to McCoy these past two days, he had to admit to himself that he had appreciated the chance to rest. It wasn't often that the Enwrprise's mission was so straightforward as transporting diplo- mats within a well-protected region of space. It had almost been like a vacation, a chance to get away from it all. Bur I'm no Zefram Cochrane, Kirk thought, then turned his back on his bed and left his quarters. There was a limit as to how far away he wanted to get from the rest of the universe, and for how long. Kirk thought of Cochrane the entire way to Conference Room Eight. Zefram Cochrane. Of Alpha Centauri. The giant who had invented warp drive for humanity and led the way to the stars. History recorded that Cochrane had disappeared in space in 2117, at the age of eighty-seven. But six months ago, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had found him, still alive, a young man again, on a planetoid in the Gamma Canaris region, accompanied only by an energy-based life-form, which Cochrane called "the Companion." It had not been a pleasant meeting at first. War was threatening to break out on Epsilon Canaris III. Federation Commissioner Nancy Hedford was that world's only chance for achieving a negotiated peace. But she had been stricken with Sakuro's dis- ease. forced to return to the Enterprise for treatment. It had been on that trip that the Galileo shuttlecraft had been pulled from its 53 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS course by the Companion. Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Hedford had been kidnapped to provide company for Cochrane. The four of them had been a gift from the Companion to Cochrane, because the Companion had fallen in love with him. All that had happened had happened because of that simple, universal emotion. That revelation had not surprised Kirk then, and it did not now. Empires had been forged and destroyed, entire worlds conquered and laid waste for no less a reason. Even Spock had seen no reason to question what had transpired. The fact that to him humans were irrational was explanation enough. In the end, things had worked out. After a fashion. Moments before Hedford had succumbed to her affliction, the Companion had somehow joined with her, combining to form a single entity that shared both Hedford's and the Companion's memories and personalities. Cochrane had finally comprehended the nature of his relation with the Companion. And because the Companion could not survive being away from the planetoid for more than a handful of days, and even though her powers could no longer be used to arrest Cochrane's aging process, Cochrane had decided to remain with her on the planetoid. "There's a whole galaxy out there waiting to honor you," Kirk had told Cochrane. But after gazing into the Companion's new human eyes, Cochrane had said that he had honors enough. When Kirk had asked him if he was sure, Cochrane had sidestepped the question with the skill of a Vulcan. "There's plenty of water here," the father of warp physics had said. "The climate's good for growing things. I might even try and plant a fig tree. A man's entitled to that, isn't he?" Kirk hadn't been sure what Cochrane's allusion to a fig tree had meant, but he understood the conviction in the man's voice and in his eyes. After 237 years of life, Kirk supposed, a man was entitled to just about anything. Then, just before the Enterprise was to beam her crew home, Cochrane had said something that did surprise Kirk. "Don't tell them about me." If it had been anyone else, anywhere else, Kirk would have FEDERATION argued. But after all that he had seen on the ptanetoid, he understood Cochrane's request without agreeing with it. "Not a xvord. Mr. Cochrane," Kirk had promised, immediately sensing the objections of McCoy and Spock. Those objections had been strong and well thought out, not the least being what should be said about Nancy Hedford's fate, to her family and the Federation. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had spent several long nights in McCoy's quarters, debating the possibilities, and the extent of their duty to Starfleet and to history. Between Spock's unassail- able logic and McCoy's unalloyed passion, it was Kirk who had come up with a compromise which was acceptable to all and that still respected Cochrane's wish. Kirk stood before the door to Conference Room Eight. Like all compromises, he had known that the course of action he had taken after returning from Cochrane's planetoid exposed him to some risk. He just hadn't thought he would be exposed this quickly, or at such a high level. He stepped forward. The doors parted before him. Admiral Quarlo Kabreigny sat at the end of the long table, a cup of coffee beside her. She was a thin woman, her dark skin deeply lined after a lifetime of service, her snow-white hair drawn back tightly into a coiled bun, her admiral's uniform loose on her spare frame. 'Tin sorry to have kept you waiting, Admiral," Kirk began diffidently. But the admiral was in no mood for pleasantries or politeness. She told Kirk to sit down and pay attention. Then she slid a data wafer into a player at her side. The table's central viewer came to liffe. It displayed a passenger liner with three warp nacelles, an ungainly design that provided a much smaller increase in speed than the math suggested it would. Twin nacelles was still the most e~cient design for warp travel. ~'The Cio' of Utopia Planilia, "Kabreigny stated, identifying the liner. "Mars registry. Crew complement of fifteen. Passenger manifest as of stardate 3825.2: eighty-seven." The viewer flick- ered to show a Fleet chart of the Gamma Canaris region. A solid line indicated the liner's course. It ended midscreen. 54 55 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS It had happened before, Kirk thought. It could happen again. He tried to get straight to the point. "Admiral, I think there's a possibility the liner was not destroyed." Kabreigny's smile was cold. "Oh, you do, do you? Are you going to tell me it was drawn off course, the way your shuttlecraft was six months ago?" "A possibility," Kirk said, hearing the controlled anger in the admiral's words. "Are you further going to report that you encountered a threat to navigation and neglected to include it in your logs, putting civilian shipping in harm's way?" Kirk realized he would have to move carefully. Kabreigny was not the type of officer of whom it was wise to make an enemy. "As my log recorded, I believe we hit a random energy field that affected the Galileo's guidance controls. I had absolutely no indication that it was a repeatable phenomenon." Why should it be? Kirk thought. The Companion had provided company for Cochrane. Now she was content with him and he with her. Besides, what reason would she have to go after an entire liner? And she had said she no longer had the power to control spacecraft. "Let me put it this way, Kirk, in simple language I think even you will understand: I don't believe you." Coming from an admiral, that was a serious charge. Kirk placed his hands on the table. He had given his word to Cochrane. He would not betray that. But he had no idea how he could escape the admiral's accusation. "May I ask the admiral why?" Kirk said evenly. "The liner hasn't vanished completely. One week ago, while I was in transit, we picked up an emergency subspace transmission from the liner's last known general location. Unfortunately, we couldn't lock on to its origin point, but there's nothing else in the region that could be transmitting." The admiral touched a control on the player. The viewer changed again. This time it showed a frozen, blurry image of a woman, human, her dark hair in disarray, her skin smudged with what looked like dirt or blood. But still the face was recognizable. The woman was Nancy Hedford. FEDERATION ~Recognize her?" Kabreigny asked. "Yes." Kirk answered warily, "I do." Kabreigny adjusted the control. Hedford's image came to life, broken by static. -'... trying to contact Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. Please answer. The man is lost. We cannot continue. We need your help again." The image completely broke up into static and then began again from the first. The admiral cut the sound. "That was received Starfleet Command, stardate 3812." The admiral's eyes bore into Kirk's. "Care to work out the math?" Kirk shook his head. It was obvious what the admiral was going to say next. "In other words," she continued, "that message, to you, was sent almost five months after you informed Command that Commissioner Hedford had died of Sakuro's disease." The viewer displayed a certificate of death. Kirk could recognize McCoy's illegible signature. "We even have this, sworn and attested to by Leonard McCoy as the attending physician." Kirk leaned back in his chair. It was going to be a long night. "What do you want to know?" he asked. Admiral Kabreigny nodded with clinical acceptance. She popped the data wafer from the player and slipped in a second one. Kirk saw her hit the controls for Record. "1 want you to start at the beginning, Captain, and explain quite carefully why it is you're receiving messages from a dead woman." She leaned forward, eyes glinting. "And if you ever want to command a starship again, you'd better make your story a damned good one." 56 57 THREE U.S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D STANDARD ORBIT LEGARA IV Stardate 43920.6 Earth Standard: May 2366 Picard knew the inevitable could be avoided no longer. Odds had nothing to do with it. Strategies were no longer applicable. The rules were firm. His opponent continued to look downward, his thoughts un- readable. All Picard could hear was the faint hum of the environ- mental system's fans in his ready room, the steady mechanical pulse of the Enterprise's life-support systems at normal operation, on standard orbit of Legara IV. Picard revealed no emotion in his voice as he leaned forward to rest his hands on the table. "I'm afraid it's quite hopeless, Mr. Data. Stalemate in four." The android sitting across from Picard blinked his artificial eyes as he finally looked up from the three-dimensional chess- board in the center of the captain's desk. "I find it most remarkable," he said. "That is the third stalemate you have forced on me in the past forty-seven minutes. I am aware of no other human with the abiliD7 to do that. Even Grandmaster Parnel of the--" "That's quite all right, Mr. Data." Picard tried to smile at his operations manager to show he had no real objections to a FEDERATION three-dimensional-chess history lesson, but the expression felt forced, as if he had forgotten how to move those particular facial muscles. In a sense, he supposed he had. "This has not been a test of my abilities." Data reset the board with the efficiency of an automated construction drone. "I understand, Captain. You believe your proficiency in three-dimensional chess is a result of your recent mind-meld with Ambassador Sarek, who is, himself, a grandmaster many times over." As quickly as that, all the pieces were restored to their starting positions. "Though the intrinsical- ly unpredictable nature of probability theory, or 'dumb luck,' as it is called, tends to put me on a more equal footing in games of chance. such as poker, I would look forward to a fourth round of chess with you. The opportunity to play a challenging game of logic with a human is one I am not often presented with." Data patiently waited a few moments for his captain's reply. "I mean no disrespect by that." Picard gazed at the multilevel chessboard. Without conscious thought, a flood of opening strategies swept through his mind as if the logic of the game were instinctual to him. "Sir? Is something wrong?" Picard jerked his head up. "Poker?" he said. Had Data men- tioned something about poker? The android was most solicitous. "It is a card game, sir. I play each Thursday night with my fellow officers. If you recall, we have often invited you to join us." The captain looked up to the ceiling of his ready room, trying to remember something about poker. Picard rubbed at the side of his face. He could still feel Ambassador Sarek's fingers there, on the katra points of his nervous system. The effects of the mind-meld still trembled within him, though the maelstrom of emotions that had raged through him yesterday had now dwin- dled to slight, recurring eddies. But still his mind dealt with disturbing flashes of detailed knowledge of the ambassador's life. t I ~dcan would know how to deal with this, Picard told himself. A It/~time ()/' training in mind-control techniques would permit the ca,sv setting aside of information obtained from other minds. And there were other minds. Sarek had mind-melded with hundreds of 59 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS different beings in his more than two centuries of life, and the echoes of the psychic force of all their collective experiences now also reverberated within Picard. "Captain Picard?" Data said more emphatically. "Shall I call Dr. Crusher?" Data's familiar voice brought a moment of clarity. Picard shook off a sudden visual image of the red-tinged mountains of Sarek's walled estate--not his. The only property in which Picard had an ownership interest was located in France. Picard tugged at his uniform to smooth nonexistent wrinkles. "No, Mr. Data, I'll be fine. It's just that... from time to time I find myself overwhelmed by an unexpected memory from Am- bassador Sarek's past." Data observed Picard carefully. Picard understood his pur- poseful gaze. "But the memories are lessening in both strength and frequen- cy," Picard said firmly. "Both the ambassador's wife and Dr. Crusher have agreed that there will be no long-term, detrimental effects." "I hope that that is true," Data said. "It has been my observa- tion that emotions can be confusing and dangerous when allowed to develop out of control." Picard smiled at Data, and this time the expression came naturally. "And yet you still wish to experience them." Data took on a thoughtful expression, one of his subroutines, Picard knew, designed to help the android relate to humans by providing subtle body-language cues to his thought processes. "It is, as the ambassador would say, a most illogical goal, but one to which I aspire, nonetheless." "You sound as if you're halfway there already," Picard said with amusement, mixed with a sudden burst of friendship for his ofihcer, a feeling he shared to some extent with almost all of his command staff, but which, like Sarek, he too often allowed to remain hidden. Since he had first taken command of the Enter- prise, almost three years earlier, Picard had enjoyed watching Data's growth as a... person. There was no other word for it. To watch that complex intellect wrestle with ideas and ideals that FEDERATION most humans took for granted helped Picard see the universe through fresh eyes, innocent eyes. At the age of sixty-one, he realized he needed that rejuvenating experience more often. It was a law of nature that when growth stopped, stagnation set in. For now, the Enterprise helped Picard keep that law at bay. But it was always out there, circling, like predatory norsehlats worrying a herd of vral, waiting to pick off the old and infirm. Picard blinked, momentarily distracted. "Mr. Data, would you happen to know what a norsehlat is?" Data responded without hesitation. "A nonsentient predator native to the southern, high-mountain deserts of Vulcan, filling a similar ecological niche to that of the Terran wolf." "I see. And a vral?" ~'In context with norseMat, I would presume the word vral is a plural form of vralt, which is a nonsentient herbivore, similar to a Terran mountain goat, again indigenous to the same areas of Vulcan as is the norsehlat, and thus its prey." Data cocked his head. "Are you experiencing another of Ambassador Sarek's memories?" "No, not a memory, really. An allusion. Referring to animals of which I have no personal knowledge." Picard found that innocu- ous aftereffect much easier to deal with than the torrent of anguish that had stricken him in the first hours after his mind- meld. "It is a... most fascinating experience." "Indeed," Data commented. Picard stared at his operations manager for a moment, experi- encing a strong feeling of deja vu. Something about the conversa- tion. something about seeing Data on the other side of a three- dimensional chessboard.. ? Picard could almost put his finger on it... almost grasp that memory... almost-- His communicator chirped. Picard tapped it. "Picard." Riker's voice emerged from the tiny device. "Sorry to disturb you, sir. but Ambassador Sarek's party is ready to beam to the -'~h'rrimac. " Picard stood. "On my way, Number One. I'll meet you in the transporter room. Mr. Data, please relieve the commander." Data left the ready room as Picard opened the storage compart- JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS ment in which a folded dress uniform lay ready. Three days ago, when Ambassador Sarek had beamed aboard, Picard had had such hopes for their meeting. More than any being now living, Sarek had shaped the Federation, guiding it in its transition. Under his direction, it had evolved over the past century from an expansionist cobbling-together of idealistic, often unrealistic worlds eager to forge an unprecedented alliance without a clear idea of how that could be accomplished, to a mature and stable institution for which each new admission was a further infusion of strength for the integrated whole. In standard English, the Vulcans called that basic precept IDIC, one of the most profound philosophical cores of the United Federation of Planets. The acronym meant Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. Simply put, it was a celebration of how simplicity could arise from complexity. In physics, the matching term was "the self-organizing princi- ple," perhaps the most basic condition underlying the universe's existence. Simply put, it was the tendency for replicating systems to arise from the chaotic conditions of the fractal boundaries that , separated domains of high and low energy. In high-energy domains, physical bonds could not form. In low-energy domains, physical bonds once formed could not be broken. But somewhere between the two extremes, in the flux of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, there existed domains where a balance could be achieved. And it was the same in the Federation, thought Picard with a sense of satisfaction, both in the institution and the role he played in maintaining it. In the universe at large, between those domains of high and low energy, galaxies had coalesced like jewels on the cosmic strings formed in the first instants of the universe's birth. In those galaxies, stars had condensed, then burst into life, shedding energy on their planets, creating pockets of still more boundary domains, neither too hot nor too cold. In those domains, molecules had formed that could survive the more minor fluctuations of local conditions. Among those mole- cules that were good at surviving, some could replicate duplicates of themselves. Not perfectly, for that would lead to stagnation, FEDERATION but bnperfectly. For in imperfection, Picard believed, as did the Federation's scientists, there was room for improvement; room l'or improvement inevitably brought change; and what was life but change--the constant shuffling of attributes and abilities to insure that life would continue, even to the extent that life on a planetary scale would evolve the capacity to affect the planetary environment such that it remained a suitable habitat. Thus on a planetary scale, there was no distinction between life and habitat. Life itself and life's home were like space and time--they could not be thought of as independent entities, only as different reflections of each other. More and more, Picard knew, the restrictive use of the phrase "on a planetary scale" was being questioned by Federation scientists. Even "systemwide scale" was not broad enough for them. "Galactic scale" was better, for as life begat intelligence and intelligence begat technology, life spread forth from its origin points to propagate into more domains, creating more habitats. But as Picard had discussed with Will Riker, in one of their t'requent philosophical debates, even thinking of life and its influence on a galactic scale was increasingly viewed in some quarters as missing the point. As in all things in the science of cosmology, at some point the study of the very large inevitably led back to the study of the very small, just as the analysis of the very complex uncovered the very simple principles from which com- plexity emerged. Derived from that research, Picard had learned, there was a realization that was slowly spreading through the worlds of the Federation. He found he was almost ready to grasp it himself, like searching for a single misplaced memory a hairsbreadth out of reach. It was the notion that the self-organizing principle, the most simple principle in nature, which had led to all the forms and structures of the universe, also had its mirror in the affairs of intelligent beings. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. In sociology and politics as it was in physics. From the simple came the complex. From the complex came stability. Picard believed the founders of the Federation had understood 63 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS this intuitively. The horror of the Romulan War had truly been the last lesson in valuing life, in all its disturbing complexity, that humanity had needed to learn. Those who had inherited the founders' Federation had strug- gled to keep intact what had been forged at such cost. The first contact with the Klingon Empire in 2218, only fifty-seven years after the Federation's birth, had been a trial by fire. But in that trial, what had been created in the Earth city of Paris in 2161 revealed its true strength. Through all the dark years of conflict with the Klingons that followed, until the rapprochement of the Khitomer Conference of 2293, all-out war did not break out between the Empire and the Federation. The Federation had entered a new phase. It no longer reacted simply by learning from its mis[akes, it took action, truly going where no one had gone before, by learning from its triumphs. Picard, who had not been born until 2305, twelve years after Khitomer, was a child of the new century, the era the poets had called "Technology Unchained," when quality off life became paramount for all beings, not just an elite. He had grown up in LaBarre, a small Earth city a short distance from Paris where the president of the Federation Council kept his official offices. Paris was a city continually enlivened by the constant stream of alien diplomatic missions. The Federation had been as much a part of young Picard's early life as had the pastoral charms of his horne's vineyard and winery, each an unquestioned condition of life which, to the child's mind, had always existed, indistinguishable from the constancy of the sun or a parent's love. Those two images of sun and parents played in Picard's mind as he felt the turbolift carry him to Deck 6 and the transporter room Sarek's party would use. The sun: a force of nature, blind and unthinking. Love: a force of sentience, but equally primal. Even in Sarek Picard had felt the unity that had arisen from the acknowledgment of emotion as essential to life--the same unity that linked the Federation to the universe it inhabited until, like space and time, like life and habitat, the two were inseparable. Picard stepped through the sliding doors of the transporter room with a revelation in his mind, created from the images of FEDERATION the sun and the Federation of his childhood--two extremes: the logic of Vulcans, the passion of humans. Perhaps neither one could ever have achieved alone what they had achieved together. Humans a domain of high energy, where structure could never form. Vulcans a domain of low energy, where structure once formed could never change. But together, on the boundaries of their separate domains, from the fractal chaos of their meeting and desire to work together, a new system had come into being. Riker was already waiting in the transporter room and Picard could see him give his captain a curious look. He realized that the excitement of his thoughts must be showing on his face. Real excitement. Because what had just come to mind was not the result of his own thought processes--it had arisen from that part of Sarek that was still within him. What Picard knew now, all Vulcans knew. The exchange was exhilarating. He made a mental note to add these thoughts to his next discussion with Will. "Captain?" Riker said. He stood in the center of the room, even more imposing than usual in his long dress coat. The rest of his question about the captain's well-being went unasked. No doubt because of the presence of Transporter Chief O'Brien and Lieu- tenant Patrick standing off to the side. "I am having a most... unusual day," Picard explained to his first officer. "Impressions from Sarek's mind are still... making themselves known to me." Picard saw in Riker's expression the same concern Data had voiced in his ready room. "But it is not a distraction from my duties," Picard reassured his first officer. Riker marginally relaxed. He gave Picard a quick, sardonic smile. "Be careful what you wish for, sir." It took Picard a moment, but then he understood Riker's comment. Just after Sarek had beamed aboard, Picard had told Riker and Counselor Troi that he had looked forward to sharing Sarek's thoughts and memories, his unique understanding of the history the legendary Vulcan had made. At the time he had stated his expectations, he was feeling disappointed. Sarek's aides had preceded him--Sakkath, a tall and characteristically dour Vulcan, and Ki Mendrossen, a human and senior member of the Vulcan diplomatic corps. The aides had explained that Sarek's age would prevent the 65 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS ambassador from undertaking any social functions that would normally be part of the honors given a visitor of his rank. The negotiations Sarek would be concluding with the Legarans--after ninety-six years of patient effort on the ambassador's part--were too vital to the Federation. Picard had understood, but had been disappointed that he would not have a chance to renew his acquaintance with the ambassador, whom he had met years earlier at the wedding of Sarek's son. But in the days that followed, Picard learned the truth behind the aides' concern for their ambassador. Sarek was suffering from Bendii Syndrome, a rare affliction that occasionally struck Vulcans over two hundred years of age. He was losing his ability to control his emotions. Although Sarek was surreptitiously buttressed in his attempts by the telepathic powers of Sakkath, the end result was that the ambassador's confused emotions bled out to the crew of the Enterprise, leading to a series of alterca- tions, fistfights, and even acts of insubordination. With the meeting with the Legarans absolutely unable to be changed, the only chance Sarek had had to maintain his self- control had been put forward by his human wife, Perrin. She had come to Picard's quarters to suggest the captain share a mind- meld with Sarek. Picard had agreed and the elder Vulcan then, for a few hours, had made use of Picard's self-discipline and iron willJvital tools for this final stage of negotiations to be con- ducted on board the Enterprise herself. But Picard, in turn, had been left with Sarek's emotions unchecked--the pent-up rage and regrets of centuries, the unspo- ken love, unvoiced anguish, the soul-crushing despair of ap- proaching, inevitable death. There had been good reason why the Vulcans of millennia past had chosen to suppress their emotions --they were too powerful. The strength of them, even filtered through a mind-meld, had crippled Picard for most of a day, leaving him racked with tears, shaken by fear and anger. Yet without question the exchange had been worthwhile. Sarek had successfully concluded his negotiations with the Legarans, and the benefits of that achievement would be incalculable to the Federation. FEDERATION In the end, as Riker's smile had suggested, Picard had also received all he had hoped for from the voyage from Vulcan to Legara IV, but not in the manner he had anticipated. Picard reflexively smoothed his coat and turned to watch the door expectantly. "They're almost here," he said. "Remarkable. It's as if I'm still in some kind of telepathic contact with him." "Perhaps you should talk to Deanna about your experiences," Rikcr suggested, facing the closed doors with his captain. "l intend to, Number One. As soon--" Picard stopped talking as the doors slid open. But it was the ambassador's aides who entered, accompanied only by two duty off~ccrs. Neither Sarek nor Perrin was with them. Riker stepped forward with a hint of unease that only Picard could detect. "Will the ambassador be joining you?" But Picard put him at ease as he suddenly understood the reason .~br Sarek's absence. '~It's all right, Will. The ambassador is lening us say our good-byes first, as he has noticed that his presence at such times can prevent people from speaking freely." Riker considered that. "Quite gracious," he conceded. "I hope your journey aboard the Me~rimac will be uneventful," Picard said to the ambassador's aides. Sakkath, in deference to what a human would expect to hear, stated the obvious in reply. "With all the pressures of the conference behind him, I believe I can help him maintain his control until we return to Vulcan." "What will happen to him then?" Riker asked. Mendrossen. though human. answered with Vulcan control. "The effects of Benalii Syndrome are irreversible." Then, in an afterthought that belied his emotions, he added hopefully, "Med- ical research is always continuing." There was nothing more to be said. Riker told O'Brien to stand bx for transport. It was then that Perrin entered, tranquil and COmposed, her placid expression the legacy of a life on Vulcan. But there was nothing Vulcan about the warm smile she gave to Picard as she thanked him for what he had done for her husband. For a moment, as Picard took her hand in his, he was once again caught between two minds, seeing Perrin as he had known 67 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS her--a charming guest aboard his ship--and as Sarek had known her--his lifemate, his lover. Picard fought with the confusion, trying to express to the woman who had lost her heart to a Vulcan what that Vulcan could never say, would never say. "He loves you," Picard told her. So simple, yet so profound. "Very much." The words came nowhere near expressing the richness of the emotions he was experiencing. But Perrin regarded him as if she understood what he was feeling, what he was trying to say, and at that moment, like a sudden flash of sunlight through the trees of a forest, Picard had a glimpse of Perrin's mind. She had melded with Sarek. An essence of her remained in Sarek's mind and was now in Picard's. Without knowing how, without seeing details, Picard saw that Perrin truly understood, and was content. "I know." she answered Picard. "I have always known." And Picard knew without question that she spoke the truth. With that final farewell between humans, Sarek entered, serene, implacable, a force of nature not by the strength and purpose that enveloped him, but by the unquestionable sense that he could not be stopped in anything he chose to do. Except for the matters of your heart, Picard thought. The image of a young Vulcan boy came to mind, a scrape of green blood on his cheek, sullen, a forbidden tear forming in his eye. Picard felt afresh the warring desires to instruct the boy in his Vulcan heritage and to hold him in his arms, to keep him safe from harm, to tell him his tears were permissible. The boy was Spock, Picard realized, and from just a quick flutter of Sarek's eyes, Picard knew that the ambassador had shared that memory, which had passed between them as a spark. Though it would never be acknowl- edged. Sarek spoke first. "I will take my leave of you now, Captain." Each word perfect. Even so simple a statement vested with unshakable authority. "I do not think we shall meet again." "I hope you are wrong, Ambassador." Picard, at least, was able to say what Sarek could not. Earlier, Perrin had told him that the ambassador had taken an interest in his career, that he had found Picard's record "satisfactory." Picard had been gratified by that 68 FEDERATION verdict, the highest of praise in Vulcan terms. And he saw now in what he shared with Sarek that Sarek, too, had hoped for more time with Picard, and hoped, too, that this would not be the last time they met. Sarek's eyes stared knowingly into Picard's. "We shall always retain the best of the other, inside us." Picard already knew that to be true. "I believe I have the better part of that bargain, Ambassador." He held up his hand, parting his third and fourth fingers. "Peace and long life," he said. Sarek nodded, almost imperceptibly, and returned the tradi- tional Vulcan gesture. "Live long and prosper." Sarek joined his party on the transporter pad. A moment before he departed, he took Perrin's hand in his, as couples often did before a shuttlecraft took off, or when any journey together began. Then the giant of the Federation dissolved into the quantum mist of the transporter effect, and except for one small part of him still in Picard's mind, was gone. "Merrimac confirms transport," O'Brien announced from his console. "Very good," Picard answered. He looked at Riker, Riker at him. They both glanced down at each other's long coat. "Time to get out of these monkey suits?" Riker asked. Picard appreciated the sentiment. "But we'll need them again on Betazed." Counselor Troi's planet of birth was their next port of call, in conjunction with the biennial Trade Agreements Conference. Picard was actually looking forward to the mission --it promised to be dull. Despite his need for rejuvenating experiences, just for now he could use a few days of restful routine. He suddenly felt weary. Riker followed Picard into the corridor. "The conference is ten da~s away, sir. I thought until then we might trade the dress uniforms in for some natty, wide-lapeled suits, loud ties, and a couple of gats, if you know what I mean." Picard was tempted. The Dixon Hill programs in the holodeck were getting better all the time, and he was intrigued by the notion of matching wits with a criminal genius like Cyrus Redblock while his mind still retained some of Sarek's impressive logic. If 69 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS he could force Data into three stalemates, who knew what he'd be able to accomplish against the En[erprise's computer in 1930s San Francisco'? But another wave of fatigue swept over him. A cup of Earl Grey in the quiet of his quarters seemed to be what he needed most. "Not right now, Will. Maybe in a few days." Riker upped the stakes with an almost conspiratorial come-on. "Are you sure'?. Geordi's been adding some refinements to a new scenario. A lady in red... a mysterious black bird... it should be a real challenge." They came to the turbolift. "Tempting, but I think I'm going to call it a day. Have Data take us out on our course to Betazed." The doors swept open. Riker hung back. "It's going to be a long ten days without something to break it up," he said in a final attempt to have the captain change his mind. "Even Dr. Crusher said--" Riker stopped as Picard's eyebrows lifted in reigned suspicion. "Oh, I see. You've been discussing this with Dr. Crusher." Riker put his hand out to stop the turbolift door from shutting. "A deep Vulcan mind-meld can be a terrible strain, sir. Dr. Crusher suggested you could use some R-and-R to help recuper- ate." But Picard shook his head. "I appreciate your concern. But as the ambassador said, it is the best parts of each other we shall retain. A few days of quiet rest is all I need, and a direct course to Betazed is the best way to get it." Riker knew when he had been overruled, and he took it well. "Understood, sir." He stepped back from the doors. "Let me know when you get bored. We could even discuss philosophy, if you feel up to it." Picard smiled. "I look forward to that." The doors began to shut. And just in time for Picard and Riker to catch an instant of surprise in each other's eyes before the doors closed completely, it was then that the corridor filled with the sirens of a Red Alert. The Enterprise was being called to battle. FOUR LONDON, OPTIMAL REPUBLIC OF GREAT BRITAIN, EARTH Earth Standard: June 21, 2078 London was in flames. Not even the drug-controlled soldiers of the Optimum could contain the riots any longer. Zefram Cochrane had no trouble admitting that his return to the planet of his birth had been a mistake. His companion in the backseat of the stately Rolls limousine tapped the silver handle of his cane against the viewscreen that angled out from the seat back before them. The windows of the limousine were set to maximum opacity and the external scanners were the only way to see what was going on in the streets they traveled. "Look at them," Sir John Burke said in disgust. "Worse than bloody Cromwell and his lot." The elder scientist was a shrunken man. frail, in his seventies, with transparent skin, a dusting of xvispy gray hair, and a thin mustache. Once he had been chief astronomer for the Royal Astronomical Society. But that had been before the Optimum Movement had triumphed in the general elections of 2075. Now the word "Royal" was banned from this island nation, Queen Mary was in Highgate Prison, and most of the rest of the Royal Family had gone into hiding in what had become the Republic of Great Britain, or cowering in exile in 70 71 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS the United States. And who knew what was happening over there anymore, with the Constitution suspended and only the fifteen states with Optimal majorities permitted to send representatives to Washington. Everything Micah Brack had said to Cochrane on Titan, seventeen years ago, had come to pass. It was no longer a question of if there would be a third world war, but when it would start. As for where, between the splintering of the Optimum Movement, Colonel Green's atrocities, the collapse of the New United Nations, and a dozen other nightmarish escalations of global tension, there was no end of places where the first shot could be fired, or the first atomic charge detonated. What his friend Micah Brack thought of these developments, Cochrane could not be certain. Eight years earlier, after three Optimum assassination attempts against him in as many months, the industrialist had intentionally disappeared. Rumors placed him on Mars, helping draft the Fundamental Declarations of the Martian Colonies; on Altair IV, excavating the ruins of an alien civilization; or still on Earth, leading any one of a number of resistance cells in regions ruled by the Optimum. Cochrane didn't know which stories to believe. Perhaps each of them was true to some extent. All he knew was that the bulk of Brack's fortune had been given to the Cochrane Foundation for the Study of Multiphysics, and that Brack himself had vanished so completely and so thoroughly that Cochrane couldn't help but suspect his friend had had considerable experience in the process. Cochrane glanced at the viewscreen beneath Sir John's cane. The limo was approaching a checkpoint near the Thorsen Central Hub, once known as Victoria Station. The data agencies were reporting that some maglevs to Heathrow were still running. From there, an orbital transfer plane to any platform would be enough to get Cochrane off planet. But Cochrane wasn't hopeful. On the viewscreen he saw the ominous gray hulks of zombies--the name the public had given to the Fourth World mercenaries the Optimum employed--lining civilians up against a wall. Some zombies stood with inhaler tubes from their self-medication kits pressed to one nostril, then the 72 FEDERATION other. Cochrane had been told the drugs took away all fear, and all moral compunction. And I wanted to take this species to the stars, he thought with repugnance. He was forty-eight years old but felt far older because of what he believed might be his complicity in what was happen- in2 on Earth--nothing less than its destruction. ~'hat sense of reason existed among the humans of this system in the late twenty-first century was exclusive to the burgeoning colonies on the moon and Mars, those orbiting Saturn, and those newly established in myriad other sites around the sun. Those colonies, Earth's children, had rightly declined to become in- volred in their parent's self-mutilation. Cochrane wondered if that ready indifference would exist if the solar colonies were still dependent on Earth for critical supplies and technology. With the extrasolar colonies now, on average, no more than four months away from the home system-- about the same time it took to travel across the system in the first decades of the century--the solar colonies for the first time could turn to other worlds. Already manufacturing specialties were emerging in many extrasolar communities: biochemical engineer- ing in Bradbury's Landing, molecular computer farms in Wolf 359's Stapledon Center, and continuum-distortion generator design and manufacture on Cochrane's own Centauri B II. Brack had been right when he had told Cochrane that every airtight freighter in the system would become an interplanetary vessel when retrofitted superimpellors became readily and inex- pensively available. But the en. suing grand, faster-than-light, second wave of human exploration had developed far more s~iftlv than even Brack had anticipated. Still, the result, also as Brack had intended, was undeniable: Earth was no longer critical to the survival of the human race. And all because of Zefram Cochrane. Cochrane watched Optimum's mercenaries on the screen with dismay. and wondered if it might be best if he didn't escape tonight, if he could somehow find a way to atone for what he had caused to be. But then he recalled Brack's voice from so many years ago: 73 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "The genie is out of the bottle and will never go back in." True enough, once again more rapidly than the industrialist had predicted, there were now thirty-three self-sufficient human colo- nies on ten extrasolar, class-M planets, and the Optimum had been unable to influence them. It took so much time and effort to restrict the free flow of information and resources on Earth that its leaders could not extend their repressive reach the necessary dozens of light-years. Everything had unfolded exactly as Brack had said it would, because people remained people no matter what new technological advances came their way. Micah Brack's successful prediction and analysis of the conse- quences of the human condition, however, gave Cochrane no cause for happiness. He still couldn't help but feel responsible. And guilty. Cochrane and Sir John shifted against the deep upholstery of the Rolls's passenger compartment as it dropped gently from inertial-dampened, urban-flight mode to its wheeled configura- tion, slowing as it approached the checkpoint. On the viewscreen, one of the civilians against the wall they were passing turned to flail wildly at the mercenaries. One of the impassive brutes, bulky in radiation armor, swung up a fistgun. But its threat did nothing to halt the civilian's outraged tirade. Cochrane saw a stuttering blue pulse of plasma fire erupt from the fistgun and looked away as the civilian's body crumpled to the ground, all protests at an end. Cochrane, miserable, wondered again why he had ever decided to return to Earth. The Multi- dimensional Physics Conference he had attended on the moon last week, the first he had ever attended off Centauri B II, was as close as he should have come. But he, too, was only human. And just as the leaders of Earth had been unable to believe that the followers of the Optimum could be as dangerous and as destructive as the past two decades had proven, he, like most others of his species, had found it hard to believe that something bad could happen personally to him. Whether that was a result of self-delusional blindness or tran- scendent optimism, Cochrane didn't know. But it was a weakness of all humans, and Cochrane felt sickeningly certain he was about to pay for his naivete. FEDERATION The compartment speaker clicked on and Cochrane heard the chauffeur's clear young voice, calm and composed. "Checkpoint ahead, gentlemen. You'll need your cards." Sir John grumbled as he reached inside his jacket and removed his identification card. Cochrane had never put his away since it had been given to him back at Sir John's town house and its forged contents described to him. The slender strip of flexible glass, sparkling with quantum-interference inscriptions, falsely identified him as an American businessman from one of the Optimum-controlled states. Sir John's network had further estab- lished an elaborate scenario to preserve Cochrane's real identity. In the trunk were two suitcases with American-made clothes in Cochrane's size, as well as suitable business records and doctored family photos. The need for such subterfuge had been prompted by the leader of this region's Optimum Movement, Colonel Adrik Thorsen himself. Acting as the provisional governor of the British Repub- lic, Thorsen had appeared on data-agency uploads, proclaiming Cochrane to be an enemy of the Greater Good. At first, Cochrane had hoped ThorseWs motivation had only been the result of the long-ago insult to his pride when he had arrived at Titan to meet Cochrane and found only Brack. At Brack's urging, Cochrane had /led Thorsen then and wished he could do so again, right now. Especially since Sir John's network of contacts in the lower echelons of' the movement's headquarters, in what used to be the Parliament Buildings, had revealed that Thorsen's continued obsession with Cochrane appeared to go far beyond any simple redress for personal insult. The Optimum had apparently con- cluded that Cochrane's superimpellor did have military uses, and that Cochrane alone held the key to unleashing that potentially unconquerable power. It was a mad hypothesis, Cochrane knew, derived from an incomplete understanding of his work. But despite all that Brack and he had done to spread his work to the broadest possible audience, the Optimum still clung to the belief that Cochrane had held back certain aspects of his research--aspects they obviously now thought they could extract from Cochrane's mind by the most optimal methods. 74 75 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Fortunately, when Sir John had learned of Thorsen's true intent, he had immediately arranged the cancellation of the informal private sessions scheduled between Cochrane and Europe's independent scientific community. Three days after arriving on Earth, two days after visiting his parents' graves and walking past the home where he had grown up, Cochrane was bundled off to a safe house as preparations were made to return him to the stars. There was a harsh tapping on the window next to Sir John. The elderly astronomer touched the control that cleared the window. A mercenary leaned down, her features swollen by the chemicals flooding her system and distorted by the encircling elastic of her radiation headgear. Her bizarre countenance flashed red then yellow in the harsh glare of the spinning warning lights of the checkpoint barricade. She tapped again, harder, using the upper barrel of her fistgun. From her expression, if she had to tap a third time she'd use that upper barrel to launch an imploder into the Rolls. Sir John touched another control and the window slid into the doorframe. "Cards," the zombie said. She slurred the word. Through the open window, Cochrane could smell a sudden onslaught of smoke and other burning things he did not want to think about. A few hundred meters off, a thin voice wailed, inconsolable. He passed his card to Sir John, who gave both to the trooper. The trooper slid each into the scanner on her shoulder, then read the output on the status screen on her fistgun. She snorted to herself, and without apparent conscious thought pulled the delivery tube from her medication kit and absently inhaled a dose of whatever concoction her duty roster called for. Cochrane watched with distaste as the mercenary's eyelids fluttered. The zombie threw Sir John's card back at him. "You're old," she mumbled. "Not optimum. "Sir John didn't meet her gaze. He looked down at the floor of the compartment. His lips involuntar- ily trembled out of the mercenary's line of sight. The trooper leaned forward, her radiation armor scraping against the edge of the window. She stared at Cochrane, then at the status screen. "Yank, huh?" FEDERATION "That's right," Cochrane said. "Passport?" Cochrane nodded at the fistgun. "It's encoded on the card." The trooper looked back at her status screen with a disbelieving expression. She tapped a control, blearily strained to focus on the screen, then snorted again. She pointed her fistgun at Cochrane. The preignition light on the lower plasma barrel glowed ready. "You wait here. Go anywhere, an' you'll be contained." The trooper pushed herself back from the car, then lurched a~vay, heavy boots scraping the old asphalt street. "Contained?" Cochrane asked. Sir John frowned. "The movement's polite term for murder. As in containing the spread of contagion." He tapped his cane against the privacy shield between the driver and the passenger compartment. "Not optimum," he hissed. "Bloody monsters." The shield cleared. The chauffeur, a distractingly attractive young woman in a traditional black uniform, looked back at Sir John. ~What's the holdup?" the old astronomer asked. "They appear to be running your guest's card through an uplink," the chauffeur replied lightly, as if commenting on the weather. ~'I see." Sir John slumped heavily back in his section of the passenger bench. Cochrane heard the adjustment motors in the upholstery change their support characteristics to account for his change in position. "To be candid, Mr. Cochrane, it doesn't look good. Not by a long shot." Cochrane inhaled slowly. In his all-too-brief forty-eight years, he had already had a life no other human before him could have imagined. He had walked the lands of alien worlds so distant that Earth's sun was only a twinkling point of light. He had seen healthy, happy babies born beneath alien suns, their very exis- tence a promise for a future without limits. He had glimpsed the stars at superluminal velocities through some trick of physics that even he could not yet fully explain. Perhaps that was enough for any one person. Perhaps he had reached the end. He put his finger on the door control. 77 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "I should go," he told Sir John. If he ran, the zombies would use their fistguns on him. He doubted he would feel a thing. "You can say I lied to you. The network will be safe." "Monica!" Sir John said quickly. "Override!" Cochrane heard the door lock click beside him. He pressed the control, but nothing happened. "Sir John, I appreciate all you've done for me. But your network is worth more than my life." The astronomer gazed at Cochrane, then gave him a wink. Once again Cochrane thought how impossible it was to tell what an English person ever really felt. There was no hint in Sir John that he thought he might be facing death, or optimal interroga- tion, within minutes. "This isn't the end of the ride, young fellow." He sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. "You forget you're dealing with a Fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society." "With respect, sir. That's not quite the same as dealing with an agent of UN Intelligence." Two of those dedicated professionals had met with Cochrane between sessions on the moon. They had strongly suggested he avoid traveling to Earth, and had sought his advice about whom to contact in order to make arrangements for the transfer of provisional New United Nations headquarters to Alpha Centauri. Cochrane had not taken that as an encouraging sign. Nor, however, had he listened to their warnings. Sir John leaned forward. "I shall take your comment as a challenge, sir." He tapped on the privacy shield. "Plan B, if you please, Monica. Drive on." "Done," the chauffeur replied. An instant later, Cochrane felt himself slammed down into the passenger bench as the Rolls seemed to explode beneath him. His first thought was that an imploder had hit the car. But a moment later he saw city lights and the fires of Buckingham Palace through the window beside him as the limousine banked sharply, leaving the checkpoint far behind. "Inertial control!" Sir John boomed out delightedly, tapping his cane on the floor. "I still say it's impossible, but, by God, it's exceedingly useful." Another moment passed, and any sense of acceleration van- ished as the internal inertial compensators caught up with the FEDERATION fields propelling the car. The fanjets, which had been designed to make a one-tonne vehicle hover a meter off the ground, were now being used to control a car with an inertially adjusted mass of no more than ten kilos. The city flew by. "We'll never make it past the coastal defenses," Cochrane said, marveling at the abrupt change in their situation. However, the rest of Europe might as well be light-years away. Even with inertial damping, he doubted the Rolls had enough fuel to reach North America. The Rolls was a sleek-looking vehicle, but its aerodynamics were designed for surface travel, not atmospheric Ilight. "Give us credit for having half a brain between us," Sir John said. "We brought you to Earth under the Optimum's nose and we'll bloody well see to it that you get back where you belong." Cochrane judged their progress by watching the city pass by below. Whole grids of London were blacked out, small fires from the riots flickering like stars in oceans of darkness. For all their vaunted efficiency, the Optimum couldn't even keep the country's Fusion reactors on-line. Then, it seemed to Cochrane, after less than a minute's flight time, the limousine began to descend into one of those pits of blackness. "What, exactly, is Plan B?" Cochrane asked, beginning, in spite ot' himself and their situation, to feel the stirrings of excitement as the whistle of air around the Rolls diminished. The car had leveled out and was now dropping straight down. What seemed to be a large curved wall, unlit, blocked out the lights in the next powered grid, about a kilometer distant. Cochrane felt as if they were descending into an enormous well. "Controlled panic," Sir John said briskly. "Since we can't get you out by regular means, we shall resort to something a bit more, shall we say, unorthodox." The inertial field around the car winked out as it came within a meter of the ground. Cochrane rocked once, then felt the limo bounce as the wheels made contact. Sir John checked his watch, a golden Piaget from which a small pattern of red bars was holographically projected. It was an astronomer's watch, at least half a century old, from a time when stargazers worked in the dark. actually peering through telescopes JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS with their own eyes, instead of letting computers reconstruct images. The pale red bars would not interfere with any observer's night vision. "Just about now," Sir John said, "those drug-addled zombies will have gotten word to their commanders about our escape. But when they check for air traffic, we won't be there." Sir John gestured with his cane. "Well, get out, young fellow, we're here." Cochrane pressed the Open control and this time the door swung up without being overridden by the chauffeur. The oppres- sive humid heat of London in June enveloped him and made it difficult to breathe. Humidity, thankfully, was not a problem on Centauri B II, where most water came from underground reser- voirs and there was only a single ocean, the Welcoming Sea, which was no more than ten percent of the planet's surface. Cochrane thought wistfully of the cool, dry air of his home. "And where, exactly, is 'here'?" Cochrane asked as he looked around. They were ringed by a tall circular structure. Looking up at the dull orange glow of the low clouds reflecting the fires and streetlights of London, he could see that they had entered the structure through a large, irregular hole in its roof, at least a hundred meters overhead. But with the limo's running lights extinguished, there was not enough illumination to see what kind of a structure it was. "As I recall from an interview you once gave to the Times," Sir John said as he walked around the Rolls to join Cochrane, "you've been here several times before. As a child, I believe." The chauffeur stepped out of the limo, being careful to keep the interior lights switched off. Cochrane looked around again, his eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light. It came back to him in a flash of recognition. "Battersea Stadium." he said with a long-forgotten sense of wonder. He heard his mother's voice complete the timeworn phrase, "Home of the London Kings." "Nail on the head," Sir John said approvingly. "Ghastly game though. Can't say I'm sorry to see it go." Cochrane peered into the darkness, wishing he could see more. Back in the thirties, his mother had brought him here to watch baseball games. Sitting in these stands, eating roasted peanuts and FEDERATION battered fish and cold greasy chips, and staring at the men and women in white who were running around in incomprehensible patterns on the artificial grass were some of his earliest memories. Knowing what had happened to baseball, he guessed the stadium had been shut down for years, even before the Optimum had imposed restrictions on public events. "Mr. Cochrane," the chauffeur asked, "do they have baseball on Alpha CentauriT' Cochrane looked at her closely for the first time. She was surprisingly young, glossy brown hair sleeked under her cap, expression serious. She reminded him of someone he had met long ago. But there was something about the set of her large, dark eves. even in the gloom, that also reminded him of Sir John. ~'Lacrosse, mostly," Cochrane said as he held out his hand. ? 'Call me Zefram, Ms .... ?" She shook his hand politely. "Monica, please. Monica Burke." ? 'Granddaughter," Sir John confirmed. "A year away from graduating medical school when the bloody Optimum closed the universities." ~'There's a wonderful medical college in Copernicus City," Cochrane said. "I toured it when I was on the moon. Very inspiring." Monica Burke frowned. "Can't get travel papers." She took off her cap and ran her hand across her thick, coiled braids. "And besides. Grandfather and his friends need an errand girl from time to time." "And a doctor," Sir John added, standing next to his grand- daughter. "'From time to time,' the network has run-ins with the Optimum, and all weapons injuries must be reported to the movcment's headquarters." Cochrane sighed. It was like living in a war zone down here. But as Brack would say, when had it been any other way? "May I ask what we're waiting for?" Cochrane could hear the smile in Sir John's voice, even if he couldn't see it on his face. "A slightly more direct route back home." "An orbital transfer plane?" Cochrane said in disbelief. "Land- ing here?" 81 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Sir John put his arm around his granddaughter. The smile was still in his voice. "Not quite, but you've got the right idea. You just wait." Then, shockingly, for the first time in thirty-six years, since the playing of the final game of the last World Series before a solemn crowd of only three hundred die-hard fans, the night-lights of Battersea Stadium flared on, bathing the stained and tattered artificial playing field with harsh blue light. Cochrane, Monica, and Sir John threw up their hands to shield their suddenly blinded eyes. "The fools!" Sir John breathed. "They don't need lights to land!" Cochrane tried to scan the opening in the torn fabric of the stadium's roof, but it was hidden in darkness by the contrast with the blazing lights that ringed the stands. "We didn't wire this place," Monica said in matching alarm. She moved in front of Sir John. "Get into the car, Grandfather. We'll have to--" A precise line of baseball-sized explosions stitched across the field at the front of the Rolls, ripping across the gleaming black hood over the engine compartment, shattering the Flying Lady hood ornament, and continuing on to the ground on the other side. Coolant vapor vented explosively from the punctured metal. A shrill grinding noise rose sharply as the kinetic-storage flywheel tore free from its severed moorings. Years spent in space had honed Cochrane's reflexes to emergen- cy situations and instantly he grabbed Monica and Sir John and shoved them behind him. Then the stadium's announcement system blared into life, and on three sides gigantic viewscreens flickered with the first image they had carried for decades. Despite the failure of a quarter of the pixels on the screens, the striking face of the man who looked down from them was unmistakable. Colonel Adrik Thorsen. "Attention on the field," Thorsen said, his hoarse voice boom- ing from all directions at once. "Under the provisions of the Emergency Measures Act of 2076, you are under arrest. Those FEDERATION who resist will be contained. Those who cooperate will be dealt with under optimal conditions." "Monster," Sir John shouted, shaking with anger or fear, Cochrane could not tell which. But Cochrane agreed with the assessment, and at that moment, Cochrane saw his future clearly: he would never leave Earth again. 83 FIVE U.S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC-1701 IN TRANSIT TO BABEL Stardate 3850.1 Earth Standard: Nevember 2267 For Kirk, there was no mistaking the disapproval in Spock's tone. "Captain, there is a fine line between withholding the truth and lying. It may well be that that line has been crossed." Though under strict doctor's orders not to undertake strenuous activity, Spock was in uniform again. McCoy had hurriedly discharged him from sickbay while Kirk had met with Admiral Kabreigny. It was ship's morning now, and Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had gathered in the relative privacy of the captain's quarters. Kirk's meeting with the admiral--confrontation, really --had not gone well, as he had just recounted for his friends. And, according to the admiral, he thought, fellow conspirators. "I would never lie to Command," Kirk said coldly. The tension between the captain and his first officer had been slowly escalating through their discussion. They had had differences of opinion in the past, and their friendship, in part, grew from the understand- ing that addressing those differences often led to a new course of thought or action, becoming a learning experience for two minds dedicated to the pursuit of the best of which they were capable. But Kirk's handling of their unexpected discovery of Zefram FEDERATION cochrane was threatening to become a real division between them. offering no hope of conciliation. For once, though, McCoy was the peacemaker. "We know you'd never lie, Jim. But what we all agreed to six months ago just ~Joesn't seem to apply anymore." Kirk made a fist and went to pound the bookshelf beside his desk. But he stopped the action at the last instant so that he gently tapped it instead, barely disturbing the antique books and statu- ary arranged on it. This was not the time to lose control, no matter how badly the wearing off of the tri-ox compound was affecting him. He felt as if he needed to sleep for a week, but he was the only one still standing in the room and he was determined to keep it that way. These men were his friends, but at times like these. his command of this ship must always take precedence. "I gave Cochrane my word that I wouldn't tell anyone we had found him," Kirk stated flatly. "And I won't." McCoy was getting tired of the argument. "But you already did, Jim. Your personal log. You set it all out there... finding Cochrane... what happened to the commissioner ... everything." "That log is for the historians," Kirk said. "It's sealed in the Starfleet Archives. Not to be opened for a century." It had seemed such an elegant solution at the time, Kirk remembered. Even Spock had approved, if reluctantly. Under Starfleet regulations, log officers were required to record all details of activities relating to their duties. But Kirk had argued to McCoy and Spock that their meeting with Cochrane did not fall under those standing orders. Clearly, their mission of stardate 3219 had been to transport Commissioner Hedford to the Enterprise, treat her for Sakuro's disease, then return her to Epsilon Canaris III. Clearly, they had failed in their mission, but through no fault of their own. Kirk's report to Command had described the conditions that had led to that failure, without falsehood. Kirk had reported that while en route to the Enterprise, the shuttlecraft carrying himself, Spock, McCoy, and Hedford had encountered an unknown energy field that affected guidance COntrols and resulted in a forced landing on a planetoid in the 85 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Gamma Canaris region. By the time the En[erprise had located the missing shuttle, Nancy Hedford had succumbed to her affliction. In the interim, the energy field had dissipated, so there was no reason to think that any other vessel in the area would ever run afoul of that particular navigational hazard again. It was the truth and nothing but the truth. Just not all of the truth. Kirk had placed his name on the report without misgivings. McCoy had signed a death certificate for the commissioner in good conscience, not because her body had died, but because Nancy Hedford no longer existed in the strict sense of the word. At least, not as she used to exist. With his duty to Starfleet discharged, Kirk had then turned himself to fulfilling his duty to history in a way that Starfleet officially encouraged. Starship captains had a way of being on hand when history was made, and some aspects of important events were best left unreported for a time. History might record that a peace treaty was signed on a particular date at a particular place, but for the participants, it was best if some years passed before the starship captain in attendance made public any personal observations about those people involved. Let the moment of glory be cele- brated before details about a diplomat's marital problems, or a general's predilection for Antarean brandy, became public knowl- edge. To insure discretion, but to encourage the preservation of historical facts, Starfleet maintained a system of sealed, personal logs. Officers were free to record their unique, non-duty-related observations and opinions, then deposit those records in the Starfleet Archives on Earth's moon with a note indicating how long they should remain sealed--a century was usual if only because humans were so long-lived these days. It was in such a log that James T. Kirk had recorded every detail of his encounter with Zefram Cochrane. For now, the brilliant scientist's remaining years would be undisturbed, and his fate would remain a mystery, just as he had wished and Kirk had promised. But a century on, when Kirk's record was released, to the delight of historians the mystery would be solved. Any resulting mission to Cochrane's planetold would uncover only a FEDERATION siinple shelter cannibalized from an antique ship, an overgrown garden gone to seed, and the skeletons of two people who had lived out their lives together, untroubled and bound by love. ..Acceptable," Spock had declared six months ago when the captain had laid out his compromise. Even McCoy had said it sounded almost logical, grimacing as he did so. But as of now, upon hearing what Admiral Kabreigny had related to Kirk, Spock had changed his mind. "I submit that the point of such secrecy is moot," he said. He sat with folded arms on the other side of the desk from the captain. McCoy sat beside him. his medical kit on the desk beside the viewer. "We agreed to withhold purely personal, nonessential facts from Starfleet Com- mand. based on the assumption that what the Companion did to the Ga/i/eo, and to Commissioner Hedford, would never be repeated. However, with the disappearance of the Cio, of Utopia Planilia under similar circumstances in the same region of space, logic compels us to consider the possibility that the Companion is once again a threat." "She was never a threat," Kirk insisted. "What she did was without malice. She loved Cochrane. Cochrane was lonely. So she brought him visitors. The Companion didn't know about Sakuro's disease." "On Vulcan, norsehla[ also have no conception of right or wrong. yet we do not allow them to eat our citizens." "What's a norsehlat?" McCoy asked. "A type of Vulcan wolf," Kirk answered. But he kept his attention on Spock. "I don't give a damn what logic compels us to do in this case. When the Companion... merged, or whatever she did with the commissioner, she lost her powers. She couldn't keep us on the planetoid anymore. So how can she be responsible for the liner's disappearance.'?" '~The Companion is an energy-based life-form unlike any ever encountered. It is improbable that we know the full extent of her pOWers given the short time we had to study her." Kirk and Spock stared at each other, neither willing to move from their position. Kirk knew the only way to break the impasse ~as to pull rank and issue an order. But McCoy stepped into the fra~ again. 87 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Jim's right, Spock. I certainly got the impression that her bonding with the commissioner was permanent. What was that she said.. ? ?" McCoy looked up to the ceiling of the small room. "'Now we are human. We will know the change of the days. We will know death.' That sounds awfully permanent to me." Kirk was thankful the argument would not escalate further. He gave his science officer a conciliatory smile. "Two to one, Mr. Spock." But Spock was unimpressed. "I doubt Admiral Kabreigny will embrace the notion of command by democratic vote." McCoy added, "How did you leave it with her, Jim?" Kirk tried to think of the simplest way to put it. He had spent two and a half hours with the admiral, going over his original report, word by word. Kabreigny had acted as if she believed some information was being withheld, but Kirk had been able to answer all her objections in detail. "Let's call it a bluff," he decided. He directed his attention to his science officer again. "I know as well as you do that if there is any indication that the Companion is once again capable of threatening space vessels, that I can withhold nothing from Command. No matter what I promised to Cochrane. But for now, there's no evidence--" Kirk saw Spock about to protest and qualified his terms. "--not enough evidence to convince me that's what's happened." He took a deep breath as a sudden wave of fatigue rushed through him. "I managed to convince the admiral that there was a slight possibility that a second energy field similar to the one we encountered has manifested in the Gamma Canaris region, and because of our previous experience with it, the Enterprise is the ship to investigate." "And how did you explain the message from a 'dead woman'?" Spock added, with so little inflection that the irony was readily apparent. "I didn't," Kirk said simply. "Because I can't. Obviously the ? 'S Compamon using the subspace transmitter we beamed down with the other supplies before we left. But since it's a secure unit--so Cochrane could use it without giving away his location --there's no way Command can track the signal from a distance.", "The admiral must have asked for some kind of theory, 88 FEDERATION Mc('oy insisted. Kirk could see the doctor wasn't comfortable with the idea of patients he had certified dead turning up in a subspace transmission. Kirk doubted Starfieet's Medical Branch ~ould be impressed, either. But there were larger issues to be worried about here. "I told the admh'al that before the Commissioner's death, she was badly affected by her encounter with the energy field. What we're seeing might be another manifestation of that field, re-creating an c~sence of the commissioner." Mc('oy frowned skeptically? "You think she believed you7" "Not a hope in hell," Kirk confessed. "But I wasn't expecting heF to." "'~gu ~xcre just buying time," Spock commented. Kirk leaned against the edge of the bookshelf, too tired to stand. "Spock. there's nothing wrong with buying time at this point. I think the admiral is just playing out the line, hoping to reel me in xvhen whatever scheme she thinks I'm involved in explodes in my face." McCov stood up and moved around the desk to the captain, medical scanner in hand. "Did she say what kind of a scheme she thought that would be?" Kirk leaned his head back against the bulkhead as if the artificial gravity in his quarters had been turned up to three g's. "Something 'worthy of a starship captain,' she told me. It seems the good admiral is not all that taken with the officers in charge of xvhat she feels should be the cutting edge of scientific explora- tion." Spock remained seated. "Admiral Kabreigny was instrumental in having the Intrepid placed under the auspices of the Vulcan Science Academy." McCoy kept his eyes on his scanner as he moved it over Kirk's chest. "That's the ship with the completely Vulcan crew, isn't it?" "Correct, Doctor. I believe the Vulcan approach to scientific investigation is closer to the admiral's view of how Starfleet should be run. 'Any military operation is automatically a fail- ure'" Spock had quoted an old Starfleet adage. "And 'The most expensive army in the world is the one that's Second best.'" Kirk countered. It was an old debate in Starfleet 89 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS and would likely remain so. There was little chance that Kirk and Spock would settle it here and now. "Spock, we don't need to have this argument. You know as well as I do the balancing act Starfleet has to put on between its military and scientific missions. So far, I think it's working." "Captain, for Starfleet to have success in any of its missions, each member must act consistently in the manner laid out by Command." Kirk stared at Spock, knowing what had to come next. It did. Spock said, "I believe you should tell the admiral the complete details of our encounter with the Companion and Mr. Cochrane." Kirk didn't think he was going to last much longer, and McCoy was making no move to get another miracle from his medical kit. Kirk knew he'd have to recuperate from the tri-ox on his own. He struggled to keep his mind focused. "I've already said that telling the admiral everything was an option, Spock. When circum- stances warrant. Instead of sticking so blindly to what you think is the most logical course of events, why not give me the benefit of the doubt for a few hours?" "I do not see what that would accomplish. In a few hours, we will have arrived at the site of the Babel Conference. Once the diplomats and dignitaries have been accommodated there, I presume we will go directly to the Gamma Canaris region." "Exactly. Whatever I tell the admiral, we're going to end up at Gamma Canaris anyway. So why say anything I don't have to?" McCoy agreed. "Put your damned logic to use, Spock. Assume for the moment that the captain is right--that the Companion is still merged with Commissioner Hedford and no longer has the power to divert space vessels. Now tell us, under those conditions, what happened to the liner?" Spock took on the manner of a stern Academy lecturer. "Logic is not a poker game, Doctor. We cannot change initial conditions with a new deal of the cards. Whatever happened to the liner must be connected to the Companion's message to Captain Kirk. She said, 'The man is lost.' The Companion called Cochrane 'the man.' If he is lost, then it is logical to assume that she is looking for him. To look for him, she might require a space vessel." Kirk felt his head begin to pound with the effort of remaining FEDERATION upright. "What if the connection goes the other way?" he asked. ? 'What if the liner's disappearance is linked to Cochrane being 'lost.' and not to anything the Companion might have done?" Spock raised both eyebrows to indicate how preposterous the idea was. "Cochrane had no way to leave the planetold. He could not have interfered with the liner." "What about the other way around?" McCoy said. "Somebody got the liner, and used it to go after Cochrane." Spock looked away. "That would presuppose that your hypo- thetical 'somebody' knew Cochrane was on the planetoid. And no one has that information except the three of us." "Not necessarily," Kirk said. He could hear his voice fading as quickly as his strength. "The information is in my private log." "The Enterprise's computers are quite secure," Spock said. He had customized most of the starship's computer programs, and it would be a point of personal, if emotional, pride to him that no unauthorized access to restricted files could occur. But that wasn't what Kirk had meant. "What about Starfleet Archives?" Spock's serene demeanor faltered for a moment, an indication of his surprise. Kirk pressed on with his sudden revelation. "Is there any way you can check on the security of the archives without doing anything that would arouse Kabreigny's suspicions that addition- al information might be found there?" Spock considered the request. "Informally, I believe there are one or two avenues open to me." "How long?" Kirk asked. "Since it would not be advisable to transmit my requests as priority messages, I estimate that responses to initial inquiries xvill take several hours." Kirk saw Spock become aware of McCoy staring at him expectantly. "Seven point two hours, to be pre- cise." Spock said, regarding McCoy with detached curiosity. MeCov smiled. "I knew you couldn't leave it at 'several hours.' '" "Really, Doctor. I hardly--" Kirk wouldn't let them get started. "Do it, Spock." If the ship had been under attack by Klingons, Kirk knew he could keep his 91 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS eyes open for a few minutes longer. McCoy might even risk another shot of tri-ox. But there was no immediate crisis here. It would be safe to let his body start to heal itself. He began to relax his concentration. "How long till we reach Babel?" "Eight point--" Spock looked at McCoy. "Approximately eight hours," he said. Then he added, "More or less." Kirk saw McCoy's expression of consternation. He hoped his two officers wouldn't do anything foolish while he was indisposed. "Let me know as soon as you learn anything about the archives, Spock. And, Doctor, somehow I have to be in condition to speak to the delegates before they leave." McCoy nodded. "A few hours' sleep will work wonders. If Spock doesn't get word from the archives first, I'll look in on you before we reach Babel." "Fair enough," Kirk said. "We'll reconvene then." Then he waited until Spock and McCoy had left his quarters before he allowed himself to walk around the room divider to his bed, lie back, and close his eyes. As he let his mind drift, Kirk thought of Cochrane. Spending four months alone in a converted interplanetary scoutship, making the first faster-than-light voyage to Alpha Centauri. Without subspace sensors or communications, the scientist had been forced to drop out of warp every five days to fix his location and adjust his course. Without dilithium crystals he had run his warp-field generators at less than fifty percent efficiency. Without Starfleet behind him or a Federation to cheer him on, he had journeyed to the stars. Cochrane was a real hero, Kirk thought, and Kirk could never think of himself that way. Not with the power and grace of the Enterprise to carry him through the void. Not with the dedication of a crew of 430, committed to following his every order. What was heroic about that? Where was the real excitement of interstel- lar exploration today? Gone, Kirk thought. Those days of true adventure are a hundred years in the past, when everything was new. He had an image of himself as a small speck riding the expanding surface of an impossibly thin bubble. The stars rushed past him, but it was the bubble that was doing all the work. He remembered a long FEDERATION sumlner's afternoon as a child, lying under a tree with his brother, Sam. waving a wand dipped in soap, watching the glistening spheres they made ride the sun-warmed currents, floating into the sky of Iowa, so overwhelming, so enveloping. But those days were long behind him, Kirk knew. Childhood. Bubbles. Cochrane. All his thoughts arranged in chaos, he fell asleep-- --and awoke what seemed an instant later as the computer told him Spock was outside, waiting to come in. Kirk asked the computer the time and it told him. He had been sleeping for just under six hours. He got up, told the computer to switch on the lights, told it to open the doors. Spock entered, as direct as a Klingon, not even inquiring about the captain's condition. "Twenty-seven days ago, an explosion interrupted main and auxiliary power at the Starfleet Archives at Aldrin City. All security systems were down for forty-two min- utes. Several storage areas were exposed to vacuum when pressure locks failed." "Including the storage area containing my personal log," Kirk concluded. "The storage cylinder containing your personal log was out of place upon the restoration of power. Several others were as well. Whether any of them were the main target of what appears to have been an attempt to breach the security of the archives is unknown." "It sounds as if the 'attempt' succeeded," Kirk said. "Do they know what caused the explosion?" "My sources do not know," Spock said. "Though Starfleet Securitv's investigation is ongoing with the cooperation of the Lunar Police." "Conclusion, Mr. Spock?" The science officer looked uncomfortable. "There is a possibili- tx that a person or persons unknown have read the contents of .~Our personal log and learned of the continued existence of Zefram Cochrane." "And went after him," Kirk said. "Captain. I can think of no reason why. Despite his genius, his 93 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS original work has been eclipsed many times over by the scientists and engineers who followed in his footsteps." "Just because we can't think of a reason, Spock, that doesn't mean someone else can't." Kirk was wide awake and alert. The knife wound still ached in his back, but the aftereffects of the tri-ox were gone. He had a new mission. He felt it was time to start living again. Someone else had learned the whereabouts of Zefram Cochrane and gone after him, most probably not for good reasons. And Kirk couldn't shake the feeling that he himself was to blame. SIX U. S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC- 1701-O STANDARD ORBIT LEGARA IV Stardate 43920.6 Earth Standard: ~ May 2366 The Romulan Warbird filled the main viewscreen, its sweeping curves and lines giving it the look of a predator about to spring forth from the distant cloud bands of Legara IV. The wavering optical haze of the ship's cloaking device still clung to it as Picard and Riker rushed onto the bridge. Picard thought it odd that the ship was still decloaking, given the time it had taken him to reach the bridge, but it wasn't the time to stop to question what he saw. Data jumped from the captain's chair, relinquishing command. Red Alert warning lights flashed silently. "As soon as sensors perceived a decloaking pattern I ordered Red Alert," he reported. "Our shields are at maximum. The Romulan is not responding to our hails." "Weapons report on the Warbird," Riker called as he swung his command console into its ready position. "Romulan weapons are not on-line," Worf growled from his tactical station directly behind and above the command chairs. The powerfully built Klingon moved his fingers over his consoles ~ith the grace of a concert pianist. "We have not even been Scanned, Commander." 95 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Picard and Riker exchanged a quick glance. "That's not a standard Romulan procedure," Riker said. Picard stepped up behind Ops. Ensign McKnight could handle that station during Red Alert, so Data wasn't needed at his usual post. But a replacement was needed for navigation. "Mr. Data, take the conn." In an instant, Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher slipped out of his chair to be replaced by Data. The look of relief on the teenager's face was evident. Piloting the Enterprise in standard orbit was one thing, but facing a potentially hostile vessel with the same responsibility was another. Picard kept his attention on the screen as his crew responded smoothly and efficiently around him. "Ops, magnify the Warbird. Keep our weapons off-line, as well, Mr. Worf." "But, Captain, this could be a Romulan trick to--" Picard held up his hand to silence his security officer. On the viewscreen, the image of the Warbird wavered; then a full third of it expanded to the edges of the screen. But the image still rippled and would not come into sharp focus. "Is there a problem with the viewer?" Picard asked. At her Ops station, Ensign McKnight reset the optical enhanc- ers on the ship's main sensors. "Main viewscreen is within operational tolerances, Captain." Data spoke quickly before Picard could ask another question. from Captain, I believe we are detecting residual cloaking bleed the Romulan vessel." Picard wrinkled his brow. "'Residual cloaking bleed'? I've never heard of it." "Until now, it has only been detected in high-speed, optical sensor scans of decloaking vessels. Usually, it appears for only a few tenths of a second when the cloaking field is switched off." "Is the ship damaged?" Riker asked. '~I do not know, sir. However, it would appear that some part of its cloaking device is not operating correctly." Picard stepped back to confer with Riker. "What do you make of this?" Riker's expression indicated he was neither impressed nor concerned. "It's not answering our hails. It's not making any T FEDERATION demands. lfit were any other kind of ship, I'd scan it for life signs, but the Romulans might mistake that as preparation for locking our weapons. Then again, as long as its cloaking device is operational. it can't fire its weapons." ,'Captain Picard," Data said. "The Warbird is cloaking." On the viewscreen, the ominous green ship began to ripple as if seen through water. But it didn't disappear entirely. After a few seconds. the rippling effect lessened again. "My mistake, sir," Data amended. "It appears to have been a power surge in its defensive systems." Picard turned as Counselor Troi hurried onto the bridge. She ~ore a shimmering blue Parrises Squares uniform and her face was flushed. The Red Alert had obviously caught her at practice on the holodeck. She stared at the bizarre image on the screen as the Warbird faded out of and into view again. "Are they in trouble?" she asked. "I was hoping you could tell me, Counselor," Picard answered. Troi took a deep breath and her face fell into an expression of concentration. "Without a screen image to focus on, it's difficult reading anything at this distance." Her eyes focused on something beyond the confines of the bridge. "I'm sensing... that's odd." She looked at Picard with an apologetic frown. "I'm not sensing anything from the Romulan ship, Captain. I'm only picking up the crew of the Enterprise." Picard frowned. "Is it possible the whole Romulan crew is incapacitated?" He turned to Worf, waiting impatiently at his console at the back of the bridge. "Mr. Worf, I think we're going to have to risk a sensor scan. Make it as low-power and as brief as .~ou can. But I want to know about the general health of the crew aboard--" "Just a minute," Riker interrupted. He reached down beside McKnight at Ops and tapped the viewscreen's enhancement controls. "Those aren't Romulan markings .... " Picard stared at the viewscreen as it went into its enhancement mode, freezing pixels of clear optical information in each refresh cscle until a still picture of the Warbird, free of residual cloaking bleed. began to fill in. 97 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS ~! "They're Ferengi," Riker said. Picard didn't bother to hide his surprise; the evidence was there before him. Instead of the blocky, vertical calligraphy of the Romulans, erablazoned on the Warbird's hull were the branching, hard-angled, bidirectional ideograms of the Ferengi Alliance. "Can you read it, Will?" Picard knew his first officer had taken advanced courses in the language and engineering philosophies of nonaligned worlds. If he ever found himself on a Ferengi ship, he could most likely pilot it. Riker squinted at the screen as the image became sharper. "I believe it says, 'The 62nd Rule.'" "Commander Riker is correct," Data said. "Any idea what that might mean?" Picard asked. Data's eyes momentarily flashed to the side as he exhausted his onboard data banks and accessed the Enterprise's main comput- er. "None at all, sir. Perhaps it has a mythical connotation." "Unlikely for a Ferengi name," Riker said. "And what the hell is it doing on the side of a Romulan Warbird?" cloaking bleed is ? ,, Captain, Data announced, "the residual diminishing. It appears they have their cloaking system under control." "Go to main viewer," Picard said. "Shall we go to Yellow Alert?" Riker asked. Picard shook his head. He knew that the Ferengi were officially considered to be less of a threat than the Romulans. Romulans were known to shoot first and ask questions later. The Ferengi, though, often tried to beguile or outbargain their victims first, then shoot. But Picard still remembered the incident at the Maxia Zeta Star System, which the Ferengi insisted on calling the Battle of Maxia. Eleven years earlier Picard had lost his ship, the Stargazer, after an unprovoked attack by a Ferengi Marauder-class vessel. Picard had managed to destroy the attacker before being forced to abandon ship, but the shocking savagery of the unexpected encounter would forever color his dealings with the Ferengi. "We'll stay on Red Alert until we find out what they're up to," Picard said. 98 FEDERATION Worf announced that the Warbird was finally responding to his hail. The captain pointed to the main viewscreen. "Put it onscreen, Mr. Worf." The Warbird image was replaced by the grinning face of a Ferengi DaiMon, obviously if surprisingly the commander of the Romulan vessel. He was male--spacegoing Ferengi were a/wa);s male, as they never allowed their females to leave the homeworld --and his enlarged cranial lobes glistened with sweat as the hand-sized ears framing his pinched face dripped with rivulets of the same. Picard did not need Trot to tell him the Ferengi was agitated about something. Which was just as well. Betazoids could not form empathic or telepathic impressions of Ferengi, which sug- gested that the Romulan ship had a completely Ferengi crew. Why. or even how, such a thing could be possible, Picard did not venture a guess. He hoped the Ferengi would tell him. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise. Are you in need of assistance?" The Ferengi drew himself up, as imperiously as a Ferengi could manage. and through twisted teeth said, "What makes you think I am in need of hew-man assistance, Captain Jean-Luc P--" The image of the DaiMon dissolved in a burst of static and was instantly replaced by the forward view of the Warbird. "We have lost their signal," Worf reported. "They no longer appear to be transmitting." Riker smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "What do you ~vant to bet they stole it?" Picard considered the possibility for a moment, but rejected it. "Not even the Ferengi could be so brazen." He sat down in his chair Danger seemed less imminent each moment, but he still ~asn't ready to step down from Red Alert. But Trot was apparently not convinced by the captain's certain- ~v. "Though I can't read the DaiMon's emotional state, I heard no ~ense of guilt in his voice, Captain." She sat down in her chair to the captain's left. Riker took his own position to the right. "Deanna, a Ferengi 99 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS wouldn't feel guilt about stealing a starship from a Romulan. I doubt a Ferengi would feel guilt about stealing a crust of bread - rs" from his starving mother. If they have motne ? Picard spoke over his shoulder. "Can we pick up anything at all, Mr. Worf?. Perhaps intercept their intraship communications? Under the circumstances, I think we can risk a more powerful sensor scan. If we keep it brief." Worf sounded perplexed. "I am detecting no intraship commu- nications in use, Captain." There was a flash from the screen and when Picard looked back at it, every interior and running light on the Warbird had gone out, followed a moment later by the slow fading of its green propulsion generators. "In fact," Worf contin- ued, "I am now detecting no power usage at all." Riker reacted with urgency. "Full sensor scan, Mr. Worf. I want to know if they've lost containment of their warp core. All transporter rooms stand by for emergency evacuation of the Romulan vessel." Data interjected, "Excuse me, Commander, but it is not known if the D'deridex-class vessels employ warp cores. "Then find out if they've lost containment on anything," Riker amended. But by the time he had finished speaking, the Warbird's running and interior lights were back, and its propulsion glow intensified. "Warbird power back on-line," Worf said. "We have reacquired their signal." "Riker to transporter rooms: Stand by." The viewscreen image changed again as the Enterprise resumed communication with the Romulan ship. The Ferengi DaiMon was caught hissing at someone out of the visual scanner's range, off to his side. He instantly recovered as he realized Picard was watching, and a patently false smile grew over his face. "I repeat," Picard said, making no attempt to hide his own ? Q*, smile, "are you in need of assmtance, The DalMon leered into the scanner. "We have not come to ask assistance, Captain Pee-card. We have come to offer it." Picard looked from Riker to Troi in an unspoken poll of their opinions. 100 FEDERATION Riker leaned forward in his chair. "Whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?" The Ferengi's tiny eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I am Pol, DaiMon of this vessel." "And how do you come to be in possession of a Romulan military vessel. DaiMon Pol?" Riker's gaze was riveted on the Ferengi's image. Picard did the same. Something was definitely not right here. The Ferengi's lips drew back from his pointed teeth. "By the most fundamental law of the universe, hew-man.' Everything has a price." Picard heard a beep from the tactical console behind him, indicating that the audio portion of their signal to the Warbird had been cut. Worf spoke: "Captain, I recommend a full sensor sweep of the Warbird. This could be an unprecedented opportunity to study Romulan technical capabilities." Picard nodded. The Warbird was obviously stolen and it appeared likely that its Ferengi crew had neither the training nor the experience to use it to launch a realistic attack on the E~m'rl,'ixe. "Make it so," he said to Worf. To Riker he added, "And let's try to keep the DaiMon busy while the scan's under- ~3,'av." The tactical console beeped again as audio was restored. "DaiMon Pol," Riker began. "The Enterprise is in no need of any form of assistance. You have nothing which we would like to or need to buy." Picard's face tightened in alarm. He stood up, looked at Worf, and drew his fingers quickly across his neck, signaling for the audio to be cut again. Then he spoke to Riker with his back to the ,~creen. "I said keep him busy, not break off negotiations." Riker looked hurt. "I am negotiating, Captain. In the Ferengi tradition." Picard had had better things to do in his career than to study the economic traditions of the Ferengi. But as long as his first officer felt he knew what he was doing, though it seemed rash this time, Picard was still inclined to trust him. He cleared his throat. 101 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Very well, Number One. By all means continue." He nodded at Worf to restore audio once again. "--and what you say might very well be true," DaiMon Pol said, finishing his reply to Riker's opening volley. "But the assistance we have to offer is something which will have great value to some motivated buyer. If not the Federation, then - c),, perhaps the... Romulan t:mp~re. Picard saw the look that flashed over Riker's face. A game of negotiation was all well and good if it involved just a small matter of one ship dealing with another. But the Ferengi had invoked the name of the Federation, suggesting the stakes might be higher than Picard had first thought. "Let me take this," Picard told Riker. He stood up and approached the screen. Behind him, Worf muttered softly that the sensor scan was underway. "I am curious, DaiMon Pol," Picard began. "What could the Ferengi Alliance have that might be of any assistance to the entire Federation?" "This is not an Alliance matter," the DaiMon hissed angrily. He suddenly looked off to the side, blinked in consternation, then barked out another command in his own language. "The Warbird's shields are up," Worf said more loudly. "Full power. Our sensors can barely penetrate them." "I DaiMon Pol dropped any pretense of being a friendly trader. did not come here to be insulted, Pee-card. If you wish to know the secrets of this vessel, you will have to pay for them like any respectful buyer. But you are fools indeed if you do not realize that there are other, greater concerns facing your Federation than the weapons of the Romulan Empire." Riker stepped up behind Picard and spoke in a whisper. "He seems to be in a hurry to make a deal. Too much of a hurry." Picard understood what Riker meant. If the Warbird were stolen, the Ferengi could not very well make an offer to sell whatever he had to the Romulans, without risking automatic execution for piracy. Picard turned back to Riker so his face was hidden from the screen, and whispered in return. "Perhaps we have a motivated seller." Picard faced the inexplicably nervous Ferengi again. It was FEDERATION time to find out how much of what the DaiMon was saying was hyperbole, and how much was truth. ' .'What do y'ou believe is of more concern to the Federation than the ~eapons of the Romulan Empire?" Picard asked. DaiMon Pol hesitated a moment. A sly smile began to grow. But then he shook off the expression in anger and snapped his fin~ers at someone offscreen. Y\ second display area on the screen appeared beside the Fcrengi, displaying an image of a mechanical object. Picard had a sudden flash of recognition. And of fear. The object on the screen was an artifact--a dark and twisted assemblage of power conduits, junction boxes, weapon nodes, and hull metal laid out in a perverse system of maniacally redundant engineering. Picard had first seen its stvle of construc- tion more than a year ago, at System J-25, seven thousand light-years from the Federation's boundaries. Whatever the object on the screen was, there was no doubt as to its origins. It had been created by the greatest threat the Federa- tion had ever faced. A threat that even now was moving forward through space toward the Federation's borders as Starfleet under- took the largest defensive buildup in the history of Earth and a thousand other worlds. That threat was the Borg. No member of the Federation had ever managed to lay hands on any sizable artifact of the Borg's alien manufacture. The object on the screen might just hold the secrets of how to defeat them and save the Federation from assimilation into the Borg Collec- tive. Picard knew that whatever the price, he had to acquire that artifact. And judging from the smirk on DaiMon Pol's pinched face, the Ferengi knew it. too. 103 SEVEN LONDON, OPTIMAL REPUBLIC OF GREAT BRITAIN, EARTH Earth Standard: June 21, 2078 Colonel Adrik Thorsen held out his hand to Zefram Cochrane with a friendly, cheery smile. "Mr. Cochrane, as you must know," he said affably, "I have been looking forward to the pleasure of this meeting for a long time." But Cochrane remained seated, his hands on the arms of the old wooden chair. He only stared at Thorsen, seeing the pale, handsome face he had seen a thousand times on update transmis- sions, fiche, and the networks--icy blue eyes, sleek blond hair, short in a military style, all the attributes of a demigod, a deranged fiend. Thorsen slowly lowered his hand with a self-deprecating grin of good humor. If he felt slighted by Cochrane's rejection, he didn't show it. "I think we have a great deal to talk about" was all he said, in the slightly raspy voice that invariably made people strain to listen carefully, lest they miss anything, creating the impression that everything he said was worth hearing. Then he sat down on the desk behind him and made an offhand gesture to the guard behind Cochrane to step out into the hallway. "Where's Sir John?" Cochrane demanded. "And his driver?" "They're simply waiting in another office," Thorsen said easily. 104 FEDERATION -'And believe me, I'm not comfortable holding them. But, I have to tell you, by avoiding that checkpoint... I don't know, Zefram. The mood of the citizens today. They don't want to think that the rich and the privileged are above the law." He grinned obscenelY. it seemed to Cochrane, as if he were speaking as one equal to another. "And who can blame them, hmm?" Cochrane remembered the citizens he had seen lined against a x~all by' the Fourth World mercenaries. "What's the penalty for avoiding a checkpoint?" For the first time, Cochrane saw a glimmer of the real Thorsen. The man's face became expressionless, just for an instant, as if its mask had slid aside. But the practiced smile, perfected for the interyielders and the public, returned just as quickly. "Hard to say. I'm no expert on these matters. It all depends on mitigating circumstances, doesn't it?" Thorsen stood up again, glanced away. adding, "If there are any, of course." Cochrane stared at Thorsen as he in turn studied the posters on the wall. The office was in an underground section of the Battersea Stadium. Flat photographs of old baseball players with their bats and gloves were faded behind dust-streaked glass. Newson, Jein, Delgado, Bokai... the names again stirred mem- ories from Cochrane's youth. A youth that increasingly seemed centuries past, not merely decades. "It is a pity we're not meeting under more favorable circum- stances." Thorsen said. He reached out to straighten a crooked team photograph of the Manchester Druids. "I've been getting the impression--surely unintended--that you've been trying to avoid me." 'q have been." Thorsen paused to regard Cochrane, then walked slowly, menacingly, around him, returning to sit down behind the desk of some nameless administrator, long retired, along with the sport he had served. He folded his graceful, beautifully shaped hands before him on the writing surface. The office ~vas lit with retrofitted emergency fixtures and the strong light from overhead cast clark shadows across his finely featured face. When he spoke, it was as if the words came from a death's-head. 105 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Yet here you are at at last." "Only because six of your zombies held fistguns on me." "These are dangerous times, Mr. Cochrane. It would not serve the Republic well if it was learned that a noted visitor such as yourself had come to harm here." Cochrane didn't understand the game Thorsen was playing. Nor did he care to learn what it was. "So now that I'm safe, am I free to go?" Thorsen opened his hands. "Of course you're free to go. Any time." To test the theory, Cochrane stood. Thorsen remained seated. "Of course, I would appreciate a few moments to talk with you, but.. 7' "But what?" "Nothing. I have work to do, too, Mr. Cochrane. These are busy times for the Republic. For the whole planet for that matter. And you were just a passenger in the limousine." Thorsen sighed, as if with the burden of his office--an office which he had taken, not been given. "Of course, at some point, Sir John and his... 'driver' will have to be interrogated. And my troopers can sometimes get... carried away in their zealous pursuit of perfec- tion." Thorsen's mask slipped again. "Shall I call for an escort so you can be on your way?" Cochrane remained standing. "I want to leave with Sir John and his driver." Thorsen's voice slowly colored with a terrible, restrained fury. "And I would like to talk with you, sir. As I have wanted to talk with you for the past seventeen years. You at least owe me that much common courtesy if you expect me to show the same toward your friends." Cochrane sat down. Thorsen's calm returned. "Better," he said. "What do you want to talk about?" "'The time has come, the walrus said,' hmm?" Thorsen replied playfully. His anger seemed to have vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "And what I want to talk about is... you and me. But I know we're both busy men. In fact, I know a great deal about you." Thorsen pursed his lips and stared down at his folded hands 106 FEDERATION as if checking unseen notes. "To begin, you were born in what used to be the United States." "The last I heard it was still there," Cochrane said with a slight edge to his own voice. This man was dangerous, but Cochrane had difficulty accepting that Earth now allowed such arrogance as Yhorsen's to so routinely threaten others' well-being. "Things change, Mr. Cochrane. Like your life. Raised in Hawaii. in London, India, Seoul--your parents were teachers, weren't they, traveling the world? Then education at MIT." Thorsen glanced up to give Cochrane a significant look. "Left after three years, no degree. Genius is seldom appreciated, as I well know. Then to Kashishowa Station on the moon, thanks to a grant from Brack Interplanetary. And finally swallowed up by useless. self-indulgent, private industry." Cochrane locked eyes with Thorsen. "I go where my work takes Hie." "Does that include Centauri B II?" Thorsen smiled horribly. Cochrane did not look away although he wanted to, desperately. "Alpha Centauri is my home," Cochrane stated with an inward shudder at the thought of this man's beliefs ever invading his world. It had taken four years to establish a self-sufficient farming community there that could support a fully equipped continuum- distortion research facility, and now the small colony was thriv- ing. Cochrane was perhaps the first human to have ever said that another world was his home, but it was true. "I am so sorry to hear that, especially from you." Thorsen fro~vned slightly in disapproval. "I'm sure you're aware that the sentiment here on my home is that anyone who leaves Earth in these turbulent, troubled times is a coward, if not an outright traitor, for abandoning one's birthplace at the time of her greatest need." Cochrane knew the argument all too well. Years ago, when he had finally decided to accept Micah Brack's offer and establish a Cull5' equipped facility on Alpha Centauri, he had taken part in the same debate a dozen times over, arguing from the other side, Thorsen's side. In the end, Brack had convinced him otherwise. And for the right reasons. Modern technology had made Earth too Small. For humanity to survive, it was imperative that it leave 107 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS its cradle and establish itself on other worlds around other suns. That way, Brack had finally persuaded Cochrane, even the destruction of an entire planet, by nature or by folly, would not doom the species. "It is tragically wrong to believe that the advancement of humanity must proceed at the pace of its slowest members," Cochrane said forcefully, thinking how ironic Brack would find this moment. Thorsen looked troubled. He cracked his knuckles and the sudden noise in the tense, silent room startled Cochrane. "Are you suggesting that because I care about my home, because I care about saving the planet instead of abandoning it, that I am somehow holding back the species?" Cochrane was tiring of Thorsen's game and the wretched restraint it required of him. "I am suggesting that your Optimum Movement has brought Earth to the brink of destruction and that because there are functioning, independent colonies on other planets, the species will survive despite your insanity." The corner of Thorsen's mouth twitched. "Because of my deep and abiding respect for your work, sir, I will overlook such treasonous slander. But I do suggest you choose your next words more carefully. As a friend of Sir John's, anything you say will be held against him. And his driver. With most unpleasant conse- quences." Cochrane resisted the impulse to strike the sneer from Thorsen's handsome face. But this tyranny had to end. Someone had to take a stand. "Just what is it you want from me?" Thorsen stared intently at Cochrane, as if to bend the scientist to his will by the force of his obsession. "I want you to help your real home, Mr. Cochrane. I want you to contribute to Earth instead of sucking it dry and abandoning it." "I have helped Earth. There's an interstellar community grow- ing. New economic possibilities for mutual expansion. A whole new--" Thorsen suddenly slammed his palm against the desktop, making Cochrane jump. "A whole new mentality that says 108 FEDERATION because Earth is no longer unique, it is permissible for it to be destroyed!" "It's your Optimum Movement that's doing that," Cochrane snapped. "On the contrary, sir--it is your greed and selfishness that is at fault." Cochrane gripped the arms of his chair in frustration and rage. This man was stupid as well as venal. "Then what do you want me to do'?! Go out and ask everyone to give back their super- impellors? Tell the colonists there's been a mistake and would the>' all like to come back to Earth now?" "Don't be infantile," Thorsen said coldly. There was more open threat in his manner now than there ever had been. Cochrane forced himself to calmly try again. There had to be something he could do to help Sir John and Monica, and everyone else this lunatic held hostage. "You say you want me to contribute... then tell me how." "I want, quite simply, the secret of the continuum-distortion generator." Cochrane stared at Thorsen, not understanding the request. "Complete information on the superimpellor is available in any library. Through the Cochrane Foundation, you can download plans for fifty different models at no charge. You can buy parts or fully assembled units or even complete spacecraft from a hundred different companies. Hell, man, if you've got fifty thousand Eurodollars for parts and two graduate students, you can build one for yourself in a week. Is that what all this is about?" Thorsen's reply was slow and measured. "You misunderstand me again, Mr. Cochrane. It's becoming a bit of a habit with you, isn't it'?" Cochrane felt the hair on his arms bristle. He saw insanity in Thorsen's empty blue eyes. "I am not interested in escaping from Earth. Your fluctuating superimpellor holds no interest for me as a mode of transporta- tion. But the continuum-distortion generator at the heart of it does." Cochrane knew he had to be extremely careful. For Sir John's and Monica's sake, he couldn't risk raising his voice again, not the 109 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS way Thorsen was looking at him now. "Again, sir--the plans for my generator are available from any library, or from my Founda- tion, free of charge." "I have been patient for seventeen years, Mr. Cochrane. Please, p/ease, don't make me lose patience with you now." Cochrane continued with as much composure as he could. It was obvious that Thorsen was about to reach some kind of decision point. "Then with respect, Colonel Thorsen, allow me to say that I do not understand your request. What exactly is it that you want.'?" Thorsen stood up, leaned forward on his knuckles, his face completely hidden in shadow. "I want the secret of the warp bomb, Mr. Cochrane. And if you expect yourself and your friends to live to see the dawn, you will give it to me now." Of all the emotions Cochrane felt at that moment, the most powerful was relief. He knew how precarious his position was, but at least he finally knew why Thorsen had pursued him with such obsession. And that obsession had been for nothing. Cochrane looked at the madman with a steady gaze. "There is no such thing as a 'warp bomb,'" he said. "Listen to me carefully: That's an old, senseless rumor without a particle of truth to it." But Adrik Thorsen shook his head. "On August 8, 2053, a pressurized dome one hundred kilometers from Kashishowa Station literally... disappeared from the face of the moon." Cochrane sighed. It seemed that old tale would haunt him forever. Shortly after that event, he had appeared at a hearing of the Lunar Safety Board. His testimony had lasted for three days. Weapons research was not allowed on the moon, which is how the rumors had presumably begun. His residency permit was threat- ened with suspension. But he had been able to convince the board that his work was not weapons-related. In fact, the explosion was proof that the continuum-distortion generator he was trying to perfect as a precursor to the superimpellor had no possible military application. 'Tll say it again, Colonel Thorsen: The destruction of that test facility was the result of the failure of the lithium converter and 110 FEDERATION the resulting uncontrolled mixing of matter and ant/matter. The instability of lithium under these conditions is probably the single biggest problem we've still to overcome in regulating the intense energy flow we need." Thorsen stared fiercely, uncomprehendingly, at Cochrane, and the scientist could see that the soldier was not willing to let go of his dream so easily. "Yet your own testimony at the hearings confirmed the total absence of radiation traces. You are a scien- tist. sir: How is it that matter and ant/matter can annihilate each other willlout the creation of prodigious amounts of ionizing radiation?" Cochrane struggled to maintain control. Not just for himself but for Sir John and his granddaughter. "If you had reviewed all of my testimony before the board, you would know the answer to that. An engineering failure created a runaway continuum distor- tion that made everything within it vanish from normal space- t i me-- including the radiation." Cochrane leaned forward, drawing the outline of the asymmet- rical distortion field with his hands, as if he were back in the lab talking to students. "It's a simple concept," he said frantically, trying to reduce physics only a handful of people truly understood to something Thorsen would grasp. "The radiation created by the matter-ant/matter reaction traveled outward from the point of annihilation at the speed of light. However, the momentary surge in power to the continuum-distortion bubble, in the two Emroseconds the generator remained intact, propagated at one poiu~ .~/x times the speed of light--faster than the radiation. When the bubble was pulled out of normal space-time by the proximity of the sun's gravitational distortion, eveo, lhing within it was pulled out of space-time, too. Including the generator, the explosion. and all radialion released by the explosion." Thorsen narrowed his eyes. "Leaving behind a perfect, hemi- spherical crater in the lunar surface with a diameter of eighteen meters. beyond which nothing was disturbed." Thorsen rose slox~lx and walked around to the front of the desk again. "You do understand that you created the perfect weapon, don't you?" Even the dim emergency lights were enough to reveal the cruelty 111 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS in his eyes. "Complete destruction of the target, with no radiation fallout, no blast effects. The ultimate surgical strike guaranteed not to produce unwanted civilian casualties." "You're not listening," Cochrane pleaded. "It doesn't matter how big a generator you build, or how powerful you make it, all you will ever get out of it is a bubble of displaced space-time eighteen meters in diameter. This close to the sun, that's as large as the continuum-distortion bubble can grow before it no longer exists in space-time." Thorsen gazed steadily at Cochrane, as if willing him to change what he knew to be true. "I never thought you would be a fool who suffered from a lack of imagination, Mr. Cochrane. Your superimpellors regularly travel at what velocity now? Sixty-four times the speed of light? Earth to Alpha Centauri in a little less than a month? What kind of hole would you have left on the moon if your distortion bubble had propagated at that speed? I'll tell you: half a kilometer. If you boost it by another of your time multiplier factors: three-quarters of a kilometer. And by another factor: almost a kilometer and a half of complete destruction. With no collateral damage!" "What you are suggesting is impossible," Cochrane stated firmly, though his heart sank as he realized why he had become so important to Thorsen's demented vision of Earth's future. "I haven't been able to prove it yet, but I suspect it's because the sun's gravity creates wormholes when continuum-distortion fields are formed too close. Empirical experiments show that near Earth, the distortion field can only ever be eighteen meters in diameter no matter how fast it propagates. On Mercury, it would be no more than six meters across. Out by Neptune, perhaps one hundred meters. Any farther out, and you have continuum- distortion propulsion. The sun's gravity is the limiting factor. Not technology." Thorsen loomed over Cochrane, casting his shadow across him. "I have read your research, sir! I know for a fact you are working to control the size of the field. I know for a fact you can control the size of the field!" "To make it smaller," Cochrane insisted. "So superimpellors can operate more closely to a star. So we can use it planet to planet 112 FEDERATION instead of system to system. Someday we might even be able to launch from the surface of a planet with them. ? 'The whole trick is to shape the region of distortion around the spacecraft. I can increase the efiYciency and the operational range of the superimpellor within a gravity well. All I need to do is create an alternating series of overlapping fields. Each field helps shape the other at finer resolutions. Look at the designs of most of the ships--two generators balanced like a tuning fork offset to either side of the center of transitional mass. I have nothing at all to do with that. My engineers have nothing to do with that. It's the nature of the continuum." Thorsen stepped back to lean against his desk again. He regarded Cochrane thoughtfully. "As I have said, I have read your papers. I have studied your work and your life. I even admire your mind. I consider your accomplishments to be the hallmark of what the Optimum Movement is striving to become--what it ,zu~f become if this world, if humanity, is to survive." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he had gone too long without sleep. "But the Optimum has enemies, sir. Ignorant cowards who would have us huddling by fires in caves, afraid of what lies outside, and of each other." He looked away, seemingly lost in remembrance of some secret regret. "Those enemies attack us even now. They rail)' against us across the globe. No matter how hard I try to bring enlightenment and a new order to the world, they' want to stop me, throw away everything I have achieved." Thorsen looked at Cochrane as if inviting him to reply, to offer encouragement. But Cochrane restrained himself from saying anything. He knew who the Optimum's enemies were: decent women and men who had the courage to stand up to fanatics, who believed that order could never come out of any group that governed by exclusion, prejudice, hatred, and genocide. "A warp bomb could save us, Mr. Cochrane. With such a weapon. purely for self-defense, no one would dare attack us. War would at last become unthinkable." Cochrane stared at Thorsen with incredulity, hearing the man sax exactIx, what Micah Brack had predicted would be said, though un~ter different circumstances. "Colonel Thorsen," Cochrane said slowly, "even if a warp 113 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS bomb were possible, if it were the only thing that would keep the Optimum Movement in power, I would rather die than build it for you." Thorsen reached into the breast pocket of his blood-red jump- suit and withdrew a local net phone from his pocket--a slender, pen-shaped object with a tip that glowed green when he twisted it on. He glanced at Cochrane and his mouth flickered up into a ghastly approximation of a smile. "Even if you resist me, Mr. Cochrane, you are too valuable to die. For now. But, fortunately, there are many other nonoptimal people available to take your place." "This is Colonel Thorsen," he said into his net phone, as if with great reluctance. "Mr. Cochrane and I appear to have reached a deadlock which must be broken. Bring in the old man. And his driver." 114 EIGHT U, $, S, ?/VT?RPRI$? N C C - 1701 STANDARD ORBIT BABEL PLANETOlD Stardate 3850.7 Earth Standard: ~ November 2267 As he entered the transporter room, Ambassador Sarek's face was tinged with a greenish cast, the perfect picture of Vulcan health, completely recovered from McCoy's surgery. At the ambassador's side, Amanda, his human wife, walked with a placid smile. The other delegates given passage on the Enterprise had already beamed down or had been taken by shuttle to the Babel planetoid. Only Sarek and Amanda remained. Kirk, uncomfortable in his dress uniform, had been look- ing forward to a final meeting with the ambassador. But the pres- ence of Admiral Kabreigny had forced him to scale back his expectations. The admiral was impatient to get under way for the Gamma Canaris region and there would be little time tbr Kirk and Sarek to converse. The presence of the transporter technician behind the console would also constrain what could be said. "Ambassador Sarek," Kirk said formally, "though I wish the circumstances had been less trying, it has been a pleasure having ~ou aboard." Sarek nodded his head respectfully. "The voyage has been most interesting,, he allowed. Then he looked tellingly at Spock, 115 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS standing at Kirk's side, between the captain and McCoy. "And most productive." Spock and Sarek regarded each other impassively, but Amanda beamed. "I would take that as a supreme compliment, Captain." "I'm pleased to have contributed in any way to ... what has transpired," Kirk said. In deference to his science officer he tried not to match Amanda's emotional display. Prior to this voyage, Spock and his father had not spoken in eighteen years, and Amanda was clearly delighted that the impasse between her husband and son was at an end. Kirk became aware of Admiral Kabreigny looking at Sarek in agitation. Kirk realized the admiral had no idea what the ambas- sador and his wife were talking about. That suited Kirk. He decided to add to her confusion. "And I look forward to having you aboard again," Kirk continued, "especially so I can have a chance to win back some of Dr. McCoy's tongue depressors." With an air of complete detachment, Sarek said, "You can try, Captain." Kirk kept track of the admiral's look of extreme confusion. As far as he was concerned, Sarek had just made a joke. With the same unchanging expression, Sarek addressed McCoy. "Dr. McCoy, I find your surgical skills to be satisfac- tory." Kirk watched as McCoy's grin faded. "Satisfactory" was not the accolade he apparently had been expecting to hear from a patient whose life he had saved under exceptionally trying circumstances. But before he could register his dissatisfaction, Spock quickly addressed him. "I will explain later, Doctor." Then it was Spock's turn to say farewell to his parents. "Father, I wish you success at the conference." "That is not logical, Spock. Your wishes will not affect the outcome." "But as someone who respects the Federation and your posi- tion on the question of the Coridan Admission, it is logical for me to have those wishes." "Undoubtedly. But why do you find it necessary to share them with me when they can have no part in what I must do?" 116 FEDERATION "I do not find it necessary. I merely state them so you may know your logic is supported by independent analysis." "I see. It is a logical position." Amanda sighed with a happy smile. "Just like the old days. Thank you. Captain. And Dr. McCoy--" She stepped up to the doctor and gave him a hug, leaving him with a large Southern smile of his own. "--thank you for all you've done for Sarek." She glanced back at her unsmiling husband. "We are both deeply appreciative." Then Amanda stood in front of Spock, and Kirk could see the internal struggle she underwent, forcing herself not to hug her son as well. "I do hope you'll come home the next time you're on leave. There's so much to catch up on." "I do write as often as I can, Mother." Amanda smiled at her son, a smile warm enough for both of them. "That's not the same and I know you know it." Sarek held out his hand, extending only his first two fingers. "My wife, attend me." With an expression of peace, Amanda joined her fingers with her husband's in the traditional way for a married Vulcan couple to physically interact in public. Sarek held up his other hand, parting his middle fingers in the familiar salute. "Live long and prosper, my son." Spock returned the salute, and in a tone equally devoid of emotion. replied, "Peace and long life, Father." "Dr. McCoy has seen to that," the ambassador replied; then he stepped up on the transporter platform, Amanda at his side. Kirk and McCoy gave their own versions of the salute--McCoy still couldn't get his fingers to behave--and Kirk gave the order to energize. When Sarek and Amanda had departed, Spock turned to McCov and raised an eyebrow. "Doctor, I have never seen my father'so full of gratitude." McCoy's own face screwed up in confusion. "That was grati- tude'?" "Of profound depth. In addition, I have never seen him behave in such an emotional manner in public." "Emotional?" 117 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Spook held his hands behind his back. "For whatever reason, my father seems to have become quite taken by you." McCoy turned to Kirk. "This is a joke, right?" But it was Admiral Kabreigny who answered. "Vulcans don't joke, Doctor." Kirk was surprised to hear the admiral say that. She obviously didn't know Vulcans the way he did. Vulcans might not under- stand human humor, but they had their own version of it, Kirk was sure. The admiral glared at Kirk. "And now that this... family reunion or whatever it was is over, your duties at Babel are completed, Captain." Kirk went to the intercom panel by the door and called the bridge. Sulu answered. "Lay in a course for the Gamma Canaris region," Kirk said. "Proceed when ready, warp factor seven." Sulu acknowledged, and by the time Kirk had rejoined the admiral, he could already hear the distant thrum of the Cochrane generators begin to resonate through his ship. Warp factor seven would be a strain, and undoubtedly Mr. Scott would complain after a few days, but the speed would bring the Enterprise to her destination in less than a week. But Kabreigny said, "Warp factor seven isn't good enough, Captain. There are one hundred and two crew and passengers on the P[anitia." Starfleet admiral or not, Kirk did not take kindly to officers attempting to give him orders on his own ship. "I'm certain that if Command thought their lives were in real danger, then other ships would have gone to the region before now, instead of waiting for the Enterprise." Kabreigny pursed her lips in stern disapproval and a network of fine wrinkles formed around them. "Since when is it your job to guess what Command thinks?" Kirk replied with equal forcefulness. "Since I took command of this ship, Admiral, and was given standing orders to interpret the laws and regulations of the Federation and Starfleet whenever 1 am outside the range of timely communication with both--which is just about all the time." Kabreigny stepped closer to Kirk, staring up at him furiously. 118 FEDERATION "I am Starfleet Command on this ship, Captain. And we are in communication. The Enterprise isn't a private yacht for your own amusement--for ? ? ? games with tongue depressors." Kirk made one of the hardest command decisions he had made in months: he kept his mouth shut. "Warp factor eight, Captain. Unless you've let standards on board the Enterprise drop so low you don't think she can maintain it." "Is that an order, Admiral?" The ship could manage warp eight for brief periods of time, but it strained all systems, as well as the ship's structure. "You're damned right it is." "Then we'll go to warp factor eight at my chief engineer's discretion. And I shall also log my objection to the unnecessary risk to which your order has exposed this ship and crew." Unexpectedly, Kabreigny almost grinned. She was clearly an officer who thrived on confrontation. "Noted, Captain. I will look forward to any board of inquiry you care to call." Then, before Kirk could try to get the last word, Kabreigny turned her back on him and left the transporter room. Kirk stared at the doors as they slid shut behind her. McCoy came to stand by his side. "How's your back, Captain?" He obviously thought there was more to Kirk's foul mood than the provocation of the admiral's curt manner. But Kirk ignored the question, just as he ignored the constant low-level pain around the knife wound. He thought McCoy was on the right track, but from the wrong side. "There's something more to Admiral Kabreigny's presence on this ship than that missing liner. isn't there?" Kirk said. McCov didn't reply until Spock had dismissed the transporter technician and the three senior officers were alone. "The message from Nancy Hedford can't be going down too xvell at Command, either," the doctor said. But Kirk shook his head. "No, even more than that. Her whole confrontational manner... I know she's got a reputation for being abrasive, single-minded, determined to get her way no matter what the cost..." 119 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "They let people like that into Starfleet?" McCoy interrupted with an innocent expression. Kirk narrowed his eyes at the doctor's idea of a joke. He preferred Sarek's dry wit, instead. He turned to his science oflScer. "Mr. Spock, those... friends of yours who informed you about the explosion at Starfleet Archives, do you think they might be able to shed some light on the admiral?" "In what sense, Captain?" Kirk frowned thoughtfully. "Any special projects she might be involved in, special interests... anything that might explain what appears to be her overreaction to that liner's disappearance and the message from the commissioner." McCoy put his hand on Kirk's arm in a cautioning gesture. "Is it an overreaction?" he asked. Kirk was certain. "On the surface, the worst thing I could be guilty of is failing to report a navigational hazard and conspiring with my ship's surgeon to hide the true cause of death for an important passenger. From Command's point of view, those are serious charges. But not as serious as the admiral is making them out to be." "You don't suppose she knows anything about Cochrane, do you?" McCoy asked. Kirk shrugged. "What if she does? As Spock said, he's little more than a historical curiosity. His desire for privacy is so he can avoid the onslaught of historians he'd be subjected to." Then Kirk caught sight of Spock's expression, as if he were about to speak. "You don't agree?" "Could it be possible that Cochrane has another reason for keeping his whereabouts secret?" McCoy rolled his eyes. "Like what? An ex-wife waiting for... what did they call it back then... 'alimony,' Mr. Spock?" Kirk agreed with McCoy's assessment. "As far as anyone else knows, he's been dead for one hundred and fifty years." "As I recall," Spock continued, "history does not record much detail about the nature of his disappearance." Kirk didn't like his idea being sidetracked. "He was eighty- seven years old, Spock. He told us himself he was going to die and 120 FEDERATION he wanted to die in space. That sounds like a man who had made a deliberate decision to break off with the details of living. I doubt he had any unfinished business." Spock studied Kirk and McCoy for a few moments, then appeared to make his own decision. "Nonetheless, I shall investi- gate both avenues: Admiral Kabreigny's interest in these matters, ~md the nature of Zefram Cochrane's latter years, prior to his disappearance." "At warp eight, you've got less than seventy-two hours," Kirk said. "Which reminds me, I should be hearing from Mr. Scott right about--" The intercom signaled and Chief Engineer Scott's agitated voice said. "Captain Kirk to Engineering." Kirk went back to the wall panel, hit the Send switch. "Go ahead, Scotty." "Captain, Admiral Kabreigny was just here--in the engine room. sir. And she says we're t' make warp eight all the way t' Ganmla Canaris." "Is the Enwrprise up to it, Mr. Scott?" "Ave. Captain. Warp eight and a wee bit more if you'll be needing it." "Then what's the problem?" Kirk asked. "No problem, sir. It's just that..." Scott obviously couldn't bring himself to admit the reason for his call. "I understand, Scotty," Kirk said. "Your orders are con- firmed." Scott quickly replied, "I wasn't looking for confirmation, Captain." "I know" Kirk said with a smile. "No Starfleet officer would need to check the orders of an admiral." "Absolutely not, sir." "But off the record, Mr. Scott, there's good reason to push the engines to warp eight," Kirk z~id. "The admiral is not taking them for granted." The relief in Scott's voice was unmistakable. "OFF the record, thank ye. sir. Scott out." "Off' the record," McCoy added, "I'd say the admiral is not endearing herself to too many of the crew." 121 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Off the record," Spock said, "I shall endeavor to find out why." "And on the record," Kirk said, "I don't believe there is good reason to strain this ship. So for the Enterprise's sake, and the admiral's, Mr. Spock, I hope you do come up with something." "I would prefer not to," Spock said. To Kirk's unvoiced question, he added, "As things stand now, the only logical explanation for the admiral's behavior would be most distress- ing." But he would not elaborate further, and left Kirk and McCoy in the transporter room, alone to wonder what Spock knew, and when they would learn it. 122 NINE U.S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D STANDARD ORBIT LEGARA IV Stardate 43920.6 Earth Standard: May 2366 Picard touched the communicator at his chest and called for Engineering. Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge responded immediately. ~'Mr. La Forge, I want your opinion of the artifact being displayed on the main viewscreen." "Calling it up now, Captain." The chief engineer's disembodied voice was the single one heard in the silence of the bridge. The only other sound was the pervasive background whisper of the Enterprise's many systems. Everyone else had recognized the provenance of the artifact the Ferengi had displayed and which now filled the entire viewscreen, but Picard knew his crew remained silent in order not to interfere ~ith their captain's negotiations with DaiMon Pol. La Forge whistled. "I know what it looks like, Captain. Part of a Borg ship. Any idea what scale we're dealing with?" Picard spoke to the empty air. "DaiMon Pol--" As quickly as that the Ferengi was back on the main screen. "You have our attention," Picard admitted. "Can you provide any details as to the size, location, and operational status of the object you have shown us?" 123 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS The Ferengi settled back in his own version of a captain's chair. Unfortunately, it was designed for the larger frame of a Romulan and gave the impression of a child in a grown-up's seat. Picard could imagine the Ferengi's feet swinging back and forth above the deck. "Because I like you, Pee-card, I will give you some information, even though this generous offer on my part cannot profit me in any way." The grin had returned. The DaiMon obviously felt he had regained control of the negotiations. "The object's mass is forty-five point three five kilotonnes. And it has no operational status, though it does have a functioning power supply. The location, alas, is something I, as a poor though honest trader, must keep to myself. At least, for now." The Ferengi's grin broadened for a moment, then became an insincere frown. "But, if you are not interested, you are not interested. Such is the woeful lot of a trader. However, if there is anything else I might be able to provide for you or your crew... Romulan ale, Deltan holochips... anything at all, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I shall remain in orbit of Legara IV for, let us say, one standard hour." DaiMon Pol's image winked out, replaced by a forward view of the Warbird. It was crisp and steady. Whatever had earlier been wrong with its cloaking device had apparently been rectified. Picard turned to face his crew. "Lieutenant Worfi Send a priority message to Admiral J.P. Hanson, Starbase 324. Inform the admiral that a Ferengi trader has offered us the opportunity to 'purchase' what appears to be a sizable and inactive section of a Borg vessel. Transmit the visual image DaiMon Pol showed us." Picard tugged on the bottom of his tunic. "Senior officers, to the observation lounge." He had an hour. It was time to plan strategy. In the observation lounge, Legara IV moved slowly past the windows and the image of the Borg artifact was displayed on the main wall viewer. But everyone's attention was on the captain. "At this distance from Starbase 324, we will not hear back from Admiral Hanson before DaiMon Pol's time limit is up," Picard said. "Which is a shame, because the admiral is leading the effort to prepare the Fleet for the inevitable arrival of the Borg." 124 FEDERATION "I think we can assume that the admiral will want that artifact, whatever the price," Riker added thoughtfully. "Oh, I agree, Number One. But don't let DaiMon Pol hear those words, 'at any price,' because that's exactly what he'll charge." "Not necessarily," Riker replied. Picard and the other officers at the conference table waited expectantly. La Forge had arrived from Engineering, Dr. Crusher from sickbay, and Worf from his tactical console. Counselor Troi was still in her Parrises Squares uniform. but her face had returned to its usual, less florid color. Data sat beside her. "Please. Continue," Picard said. Riker did. "I agree with your assessment of DaiMon Pol's chances of conducting business with the Romulans. That ship is obviously stolen and the Ferengi are having a hard time operating her. There's no doubt that the Romulans have had their own run-ins with the Borg, and would dearly love to get hold of that Borg artifact. But they'd dearly love to get hold of DaiMon Pol as well, so we might well be his only customer." "Which will put us in a powerful negotiating position," Troi concluded. "However," Data added, "if there is even the slightest possibili- ty of DaiMon Pol selling the artifact to the Romulans, I suggest we do all that we can to prevent their acquisition of it. If the Federation obtains the artifact and learns from it a suitable defense against the Borg, then the Federation will share that information with the Romulans and, indeed, with all the non- aligned systems. If the Romulans do the same, their past record indicates that they will not be as forthcoming." Worf looked troubled. "Why should the Ferengi want to sell the artifact': Why not examine it themselves, come up with defensive strategies. and sell those instead?" Data responded. "The sum of known Ferengi science and technology is basically an elaborate collection of devices and knowledge which they have acquired from other cultures. They have no strong research and development capability of their OWn." "So," Riker continued, "it's to their advantage to sell it to us 125 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS because we stand a better chance of unlocking the Borg's secrets before anyone else." He smiled at the captain. "Our position is looking better all the time." But La Forge raised an objection. "There is another possibility, Commander. What if the Ferengi have already examined the artifact and found out it's just junk? Instead of throwing it away, they're trying to cheat us." "Or," Dr. Crusher added, giving Picard a skeptical look from beneath her vibrant red hair, "the Ferengi are attempting to sell the same artifact to a number of different buyers at the same time." Troi looked surprised. "I wouldn't have thought of that." "You're not as devious as the doctor," Riker said with a grin. "But the Ferengi are," Picard stated. Then he saw his officers' amused expressions. "Um, sorry, Dr. Crusher. Not quite what I meant." "In anv case," Troi suggested, trying not to smile, "I recom- mend we'ask DaiMon Pol to let us see the artifact for ourselves. To be certain no one else has made off with it." "And," La Forge added, "to be sure it's something more worthwhile than a twisted hunk of old Borg plumbing." Picard looked around the table. Each of his senior officers had stated his or her view, and he sorted them now to determine the best course of action. He had found that that was generally the one course which did the least to limit future options. "Very well," Picard concluded. "We shall ask DaiMon Pol to take us to the location of the artifact so we can examine it prior to making our offer." "And if he refuses?" Riker asked. Troi answered. "Then I would tell him that we interpret his refusal as an indication that the artifact is no longer in his possession, or is a fraud, or contains nothing of value. If it is any of those things, the DaiMon will continue to refuse, and we will have lost nothing. If it is a legitimate Borg artifact of scientific interest and the DaiMon does take us to it, then we will have cost him time. And the longer he remains in that stolen ship, the more anxious he will be to sell." "I agree," Picard said. "And since we're not due at Betazed for FEDERATION at least two more weeks, we have some time to pursue this negotiation." The captain folded his hands on the table before him. "So... now that we know what we're going to do, all we need is a negotiating stance to get us the best possible deal. Any suggestions?" he asked. As he expected, everyone spoke at once. '-Impossible!" DaiMon Pol exclaimed. "If we tell you where the item is. you will steal it!" Riker leaned close to Picard and whispered, "What he means is. in our position, the Ferengi would steal it." The DaiMon obviously overheard Riker's comment and ap- peared shocked. "It would not be stealing, hew-man. It would simply be exploiting a negotiating advantage. There is no crime in that." Picard remained seated in his chair at the center of the bridge. Troi. now in her Starfleet uniform, and Riker were in their usual command positions, Dr. Crusher was to the side, and all three otScers also remained seated. Riker had suggested that standing up to address the Ferengi might indicate an unseemly eagerness to close the deal. "We have stated our concerns, DaiMon," Picard said flatly. He covered his mouth as he yawned, one of Troi's contributions to their negotiation tactics. "We do have an interest in acquiring the artifact you have shown us, primarily to see if it might be a smaller part of the other pieces of Borg technology already in the Federation's possession." That had been Dr. Crusher's sugges- tion, implying that the Ferengi's offer to sell the artifact did not represent an all-or-nothing opportunity for the Federation. DaiMon Pol narrowed his tiny eyes skeptically. "If the Federa- tion has other pieces of Borg technology, then why has the Alliance not heard about it?" Picard saw Rik-r lean forward with a wide smile and let him take the rejoinder. "Perhaps because the Federation pays Ferengi spies more than the Ferengi do," he said. DaiMon Pol clamped his mouth shut, outraged by Riker's suggestion. "I repeat, DaiMon Pol," Picard said. "We are willing to buy the 127 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS artifact. And we are authorized to act on behalf of the Federation in this matter. But we must examine it--ourselves--in order to be certain it is what you represent it to be." "I am crushed, Captain Pee-card, that there is so little trust in you." "And I am in a hurry, DaiMon Pol. Do you wish to sell to us or not?" Picard made a show of turning around and saying, "Mr. Worf, alert Engineering to prepare the warp engines. We'll be on our way soon." Picard could see it took Worf a moment to realize the odd request was part of the negotiating tactics. Except during scheduled maintenance, the Enterprise's warp engines were al- ways on standby mode. And Mr. La Forge was sitting almost directly behind Worf at the propulsion station. "Aye-aye, Captain Picard," Worf replied heartily. "I shall certainly inform Engineering that the engines must be ready for immediate departure at once. I will do so now." Picard frowned at the Klingon's overacting, but decided it would do no harm. He turned back to the screen. "This is not a question of trust," Picard explained to the Ferengi commander. "It is a question of timing. The Enterprise has a schedule to keep and unless we become involved in serious negotiations, we must keep it. However, in the interests of fairness and better relations between the Federation and the Ferengi Alliance, we can make arrangements for another Federa- tion starship to rendezvous with you, in say..." Picard glanced at Riker. "Four weeks, would you say, Number One?" The time delav had been Mr. La Forge's contribution. He said the DaiMon wouid froth at the mouth to see a deal slip through his fingers because of a scheduling conflict. "More like five weeks," Riker said seriously. Picard nodded, as if disappointed. "Five weeks it is, Number One." He looked expectantly at the screen. "If that would be convenient?" Apparently, it wouldn't be. "Very well, very well," the DaiMon complained. "I shall escort you to the artifact's location. But there will be conditions." "How can there be conditions if we haven't even begun to negotiate?" Riker said in surprise. He turned to Picard. "Captain, FEDERATION wc really should leave this to a Federation commercial negotiat- ing team. Besides, they've been trained on Vulcan so they'd probably be able to get a better deal than we ever would." Mr. Data had come up with that particular addition to the overall strategy. Why should the DaiMon want to wait for experts if he might be able to get a more generous price right now? "Conditions? Did I say conditions?" DaiMon Pol said quickly. He laughed quickly, insincerely. "I meant to say suggestions. Just a l'c,x suggestions to make things go ... more smoothly. Faster, evell." Picard gave the Ferengi a cheery smile. "Ah, splendid. And what suggestions might those be?" DaiMon Pol looked pained. "Um, so I can be sure there is no... ill intent on your part, you will not use your ship's main sensors to examine the artifact. After all," he added quickly, "that could tell you everything you need to know and then where would I be'?" Picard frowned. "DaiMon, really--the whole point of this exercise is that we must examine the artifact before we buy it." "And you shall," the Ferengi said hurriedly. "But with hand- held tricorders. Optical sensors, even. You can crawl all over it if you wish to. But if you don't buy it, you... will have to give the tricorder records back to us." Picard looked at Troi and Riker. Though no one else would be able to read the subtle signals, both officers agreed. "Very well," Picard said. "We accept your 'suggestions.'" The Ferengi emitted a large sigh for such a small being. "That xvasn't so difficult, was it?" he asked, almost plaintively. "Not for us," Riker said quietly through unmoving lips. "Now." Picard said, "how far away is this artifact?" DaiMon Pol wav?d a finger at someone offscreen. "Transmit- ting coordinates now, Captain Pee-card." Data spoke up from the conn. "We have received coordinates for a point approximately three light-years distant. sir. It appears to be deep space. No astronomical bodies of note have been charted there." "DaiMon," Picard asked, "is this the location where you found ~he artifact. or where you have hidden it?" 129 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS The Ferengi grinned as for the first time in an hour he clearly realized he was truly back in control. "When you have completed your purchase, Captain, I shall of course be more than happy to answer all your questions. But for now, I 'suggest' you follow me." The transmission ended. Picard stood up and stretched his back. "How did we do?" he asked his officers. "I believe the threat of a Vulcan-trained negotiating team strengthened our position considerably," Data offered. "I'd say it was the time-constraint issue that really got a rise out of him," La Forge suggested. "I was watching him carefully," Dr. Crusher said. "When he heard that the Federation had other pieces of Borg technology, that's when he started to fold." Picard eyed his officers, each having given credit to her or his own tactic. "And what is your opinion, Mr. Worf?." The Klingon's suggestion had been to' send a boarding party to the stolen Romulan vessel, capture the Ferengi crew, then offer them immunity from extradition to the Romulan Empire in return for the artifact's location. In the meantime, the Romulan ship could be taken back to the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards for reverse engineering. He had offered to lead the boarding party personally. Unfortunately, Picard had told him, Starfleet tended to frown on acts of piracy, even when they were committed against pirates. "My opinion," Worf answered, "is that we are being led into a trap." Troi looked up at the Klingon. "Worf, you think that about everything." "It is my job to be prepared," Worf conceded. "But why should the Ferengi leave a potentially valuable artifact unguarded in deep space?" "We don't know that it's unguarded," Riker said. Worfgave him a withering stare. "I know it is unguarded. I have scanned the coordinates the Ferengi provided. There are no vessels of appreciable size anywhere near them." "Can you detect an artifact there, Mr. Worf?" Picard asked. "If it is of the mass DaiMon Pol told us, it would not register at this distance." FEDERATION "Then how can it be a trap?" Riker asked. Worf frowned grimly. "The Ferengi are an exceptionally tricky species." "Does anyone have any other interpretations of events?" Picard asked. Sometimes when his senior officers went after each other like this. he felt more like the captain of a debating team than a starship. But their quest for excellence could not be faulted. and they were always supportive. "l'd say it's a test," La Forge said. "A test?" Riker repeated. ? 'Makes sense," the engineer continued. "The Enterprise is at least two factors faster than a D'deridex-class Warbird. If we x~anted to. we could get to those coordinates a good five hours bctbre I)aiMon Pol, and he's got to know it." Picard had to admit that assessment did make sense. "So you're suggesting that he's just giving us what is no more than a rendezvous point. To see if our intentions are pure." La Forge nodded, then patted Worf on the shoulder. "Either that or it's a trap." Captain Picard surveyed his officers with appreciation. "I am in axve ol'vour ability to think devious thoughts, every one of you," he ~old them. "You must have brutal poker games." "Alx~avs room for a fresh victim," Riker said charmingly, "if xou'd ever care to join us." Picard opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. There was ,omcthing in the sudden juxtaposition of thoughts of poker and a x ictim . . . the had seen a deck of cards... a knife held high. He put his hand to his eyes, shook his head. Counselor Troi was beside him in an instant, looking up at him with concern. "Captain, I've never felt you react like that. Are you all right, ~ir'?" Picard allowed himself to be helped to his chair, still overcome. "It must be an aftereffect of my mind-meld with Ambassador Sarck" he said. "Some memory not my own." He looked into Froi's questioning dark eyes. "But what a memory. Something to do xvith a poker game and a knife... it makes no sense." "There are no known games extant on Vulcan involving both pla3ing cards and cutting weapons," Data said helpfully, turning 131 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS around in his chair at the conn. "However, among the Ecklarians, there is a ritual form of recreational surgery which is played with--" "That will be all, Mr. Data," Picard said. "Thank you." Data fell silent, blinking innocently in a behavior that told those who knew him well that his programming had been interrupted for no reason which he understood. Picard knocked his hand in the air, as if beating time for an imaginary orchestra. "I think the ambassador once played a poker game with someone who... who had been injured by a knife... a victim? I think that's the connection. The ambassador was quite impressed with the way the victim conducted himself. Most satisfactory." "Any idea who it was?" Riker asked. Picard tried to call up a picture from the memory but nothing came to mind. The impressions were fading as quickly as they had come. "There's something about an Andorian," he said. "But that's all." He sighed. "The ambassador has been in contact with many minds in his career. Many different beings." "Captain," Data announced, "the Warbird is preparing to leave orbit." "Give it a comfortable lead, Mr. Data. Just in case they press the wrong control on their intervalve." "A wise precaution," Data agreed. A moment later he said, "They have gone to warp." "Are they still in one piece?" Riker asked cynically. "And continuing to accelerate," Data confirmed. "Holding at warp seven." Picard shook his head again. The flashback incident had passed. "Mr. Worf," he said, "send a follow-up message to Starbase 324 and advise Admiral Hanson of our intentions. Be sure to give him our destination coordinates." Troi sat back down by the captain. "Do you think there's a chance this is just some plot to draw us into a trap?" Picard didn't have a straightforward answer for the counselor. "All I know is that whatever's waiting for us out there, it involves the Romulans, the Ferengi, and quite possibly the Borg." He settled back in his chair. "Therefore, I believe it is incumbent 132 FEDERATION upon us to be ready for anything." Picard glanced up to the side. ..Would you agree, Mr. Worf?" "A wise decision, Captain." ..Number One?" Picard asked. ? .Without question, sir." Picard smiled. Whenever Worf and Riker agreed on the same course of action, then he could be certain he had achieved consensus on his bridge. "Mr. Data," Picard said, "take us out of orbit and match course and speed with the Warbird." "Should I hold a course slightly offset from theirs, sir? So we don't run into them in case they come to a sudden stop?" "Make it so," Picard agreed. Then he settled back into his chair and did the hardest thing it ~vas for any starship captain to do--he waited. And despite what any of his officers predicted was going to happen, Picard felt certain that whatever the Enterprise discov- ered at the coordinates the Ferengi had provided, it was going to be unexpected. The universe, Picard had found, generally tended to work like that. And he wouldn't have it any other way. 133 TEN LONDON, OPTIMAL REPUBLIC OF GREAT BRITAIN, EARTH Earth Standard: June 21, 2078 Cochrane lunged at Thorsen, both hands outstretched, aimed for his throat. But he never reached the madman. Instead, Thorsen seemed to blur, to shift, sidestepping easily even as a rigid hand scooped up to strike Cochrane beneath his sternum, changing his angle of attack just enough to carry him past Thorsen and into the desk behind. Cochrane saw stars of a different kind explode before him as the edge of the desk slammed into his stomach, knocking his breath from him in a wrenching gasp. Before he could even think to try to breathe again, the side of Thorsen's open hand slammed into the back of his head, smashing his face onto the writing surface. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before, fiery needles shooting up through his nose, behind his eyes, into the back of his head. He tried to moan, but his lungs were off-line. He tried to push himself up, but ThorseWs boot crunched into his side and with a crack he felt more than heard, Cochrane rolled from the desk to the floor. Thorsen stood over him. His face was in darkness against the 134 FEDERATION overhead light. Cochrane tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn't catch his breath. He felt he was smothering, enveloped in pain. The door to the office was open again. Two zombies stood inside it, vacuous, drug-puffed faces staring at him with dull indifference, fistguns pointing at him. "'~)u are only a scientist," Thorsen said. "I am a leader of men. I trust the lesson will not have to be taught again." He reached down to Cochrane, grabbed his hand, pulled him up as if he were without mass. Cochrane found his breath and his voice as he screamed with the agonx of the broken ribs where Thorsen had kicked him. Thorsen flung him back into the wooden chair like old garbage. The rigid chair legs squealed against the floor as the chair slid into one of the mercenaries. The butt of a rifle pushed Cochrane tbrward again. Thorsen squatted down in front of the scientist so Cochrane ~vouldn't have to look up again. Cochrane doubted he could. He shook with spasms of wordless torment. His nose, his head, his ribs. Thorsen handed him a white cloth from another pocket. "What you must always remember, Mr. Cochrane, is that people such as you exist only because people such as I allow it. '~bu and your kind are a luxury in this world. The food you consume could be given to my soldiers. The ideas you spread can disrupt the public order. And the public, my public, will not stand for that." Cochrane took the cloth, and even that simple movement shot pain across his back. He tried to use the cloth to wipe the blood from his nose, but he couldn't bear the pressure of the fabric an>where on his face. He opened his mouth, gasping as he felt cold air strike a broken tooth. "~bu're nothing more than a thug," he said with extreme dithcultv. Thorsen looked amused. "Mr. Cochrane, really. I was discuss- ing physics. You attacked me." He stood up again. Dim[x, through his pain, Cochrane heard footsteps behind him. Sir John and his granddaughter were pushed roughly into the 135 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS office. Cochrane was thankful to see that neither of them looked the way he felt. They hadn't been harmed. Yet. "See here," Sir John exclaimed in shock as he saw Cochrane. "There is no call for this." He rapped his cane on the floor for emphasis. "This man was only a passenger. I instructed my driver to leave the checkpoint in order to get to Heathrow on--" "Please, Mr. Burke," Thorsen said in a tone of supreme aggravation. The old astronomer's royal honors would not be acknowledged by the Optimum. "We're not playing games any longer. I know this passenger is Zefram Cochrane. I know you are part of some ill-considered, futile resistance organization. And I know your driver is your granddaughter. My time is short so, please, let's not waste it." Sir John smoothed down his wispy, flyaway hair. Monica stood ramrod straight at his side, her dark chauffeur's uniform giving her the look of a soldier as well. "To get to the point," Thorsen said, "I have asked Mr. Cochrane for information which he does not wish to provide. Therefore, I am hoping that one of you might persuade him to change his mind." He stood too close to Monica. "Ms. Burke? Is there anything you'd care to say to Mr. Cochrane which could convince him of the, shall we say, precariousness of his position?" Monica spit on Thorsen's gleaming black boots, never breaking contact with his eyes. Cochrane admired her defiance and her aim. It was good to know there were still humans on Earth who could and would fight oppressors. Thorsen didn't move. "Very good, Ms. Burke. But hardly wise." And then his fist shot out and caught Sir John in the stomach, making the old man grunt and stumble backward into a mercenary. The mercenary jabbed him in the back with the barrel of his fistgun, knocking him jarringly to his knees, making his cane fly from his grip to clatter on the floor. Even before had come to a rest, Thorsen's hand had caught Monica Burke by the throat as she attempted to strike him. "Do you know what my soldiers do to people like Thorsen asked her silkily, his voice barely betraying the t the muscles of his arm. Then he released her and she her knees by her grandfather, who wheezed to catch his FEDERATION Cochrane had had enough. He struggled to his feet. The pain in his side was unbearable but he knew what he had to do. Thorsen watched him, seemingly puzzled. "What drives you people? You're supposed to be scientists. You're supposed to be smart. Can't you see the inevitable?" "If I had accepted the inevitable," Cochrane said thickly, "we'd still be traveling slower than light." He reached out his hand. "A pen, something." Thorsen looked intrigued. He slipped Cochrane a pen from a side pocket on his jumpsuit. "You're not going to try to kill me with that, are you, Mr. Cochrane?" Cochrane shuffled to the desk. There was an old paper calendar on the writing surface, showing a month at a time. It hadn't been changed for more than thirty years. With uncertain movements, he ripped off the top sheet and turned it over. Dust flew. "Here," he said weakly. "Look." Thorsen moved around the desk to see what Cochrane would do. Cochrane squeezed the pen and its ready light came on. He tapped it twice for a broad nib and the tip of it changed shape. Then he drew a star shape. He had given this presentation a thousand times to his students and he no longer even had to think about it. The standard asymmetric energy-curve comparison diagram told the whole story to anyone who would bother to look at it and understand. It was the fundamental basis of all he had done to create faster-than-light physics; as important, he believed, as pi or e. "This is it," he began, tapping the pen on the topmost tip of the star for emphasis. "Right here. The Holy Grail. The speed of light. The absolute fastest, ultimate speed anything can move in this universe." "Very pretty," Thorsen said dryly. "You know what happens when you try to reach the speed of light?', 137 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Enlighten me, Mr. Cochrane." "Einstein happens. Plain, old-fashioned, hundred-and-fifty- year-old relativistic effects. Like time dilation. I know you've heard of time dilation. The faster you go, the more your subjec- tive time flow decreases. And at the same time, your mass increases. It's a straightforward ratio: the faster you go, the more massive you become, and therefore the more energy you need to continue to increase your speed." With some difficulty, he brought the pen to the paper again. "So look what happens." He drew an energy expenditure curve over the star. With the pen tip, he moved again up the curve's left-hand side for emphasis. "See? The closer you get to light-speed, the more your mass and energy requirement increases, until at the very speed of light"--he tapped the curve's topmost point, above the star that represented absolute speed--"your mass becomes infi- nite so you need infinite energy. Now, once you get past light-speed..." Cochrane's voice gained in strength as he contin- ued. "... over here to the right, sure, the Clarke corollary shows that power consumption will drop off dramatically. But you can't get past light-speed without getting to light-speed first. And that's up here. Thorsen. Off the scale. Beyond the infinite. Can't be reached. Can't. Be. Done." "Yet you do it, Mr. Cochrane." "Exactly," Cochrane agreed, hoping Thorsen would listen to him, that somewhere in the soldier's military training he had had some introduction to basic physics. "Because I do not exceed the speed of light in normal space-time. I change the rules. I distort 138 FEDERATION the continuum to change a small volume of it into something else M~cre the restrictions of normal space-time no longer apply. And look what happens." He brought pen to paper again and sketched a rough approxi- mation of the asymmetric peristaltic field-manipulation function, this time below the star representing the speed of light, where it belonged, where it made all things possible. "Look at it, Thorsen. This is the literal, bottom-line energy expenditure for my superimpellor. It's well below infinity, easily obtainable from a basic matter-antimatter reaction. But look how it's (!Ifs'el--separated--from the standard energy expenditure of normal space-time." He tapped the pen to the top of the bottom curve, where it reached its peak to the right of light-speed. "Don't xou see'? Because the field is asymmetric, because it doesn't reach peak power until after it's outside normal space-time, you can ~Tcvo. have a warp reaction cause a destructive release of energy that's anywhere near as great as matter-antimatter annihilation. ),s soon as you get into that range, you're going faster than light in a different continuum. There can be no interaction. It cannot function as a bomb. Period." Cochrane threw down the pen. "It's a law of nature, Thorsen. No matter how big you build it, no matter how powerful you make it, the (,nlv thing a warp bomb could ever possibly do is to destroy itself. And a few grams ofantimatter will do the same, far more cheaply, far more efficiently." Thorsen took the pen, switched it off, then slipped it back into his side pocket, all the while looking at the diagram Cochrane had JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS drawn. He lifted the sheet of paper. He folded it in half, in half again, and again, so it made a small booklet in his hand. Then he stared at Cochrane and crushed that booklet into a ball, dropping it back to the desk. "Corporal. Take the old man outside and kill him." "No!" Cochrane gasped. He saw two mercenaries grab Sir John by his coat and haul him to his feet. Monica tore desperately at one of the zombies, ripping away his inhaler hose. But the mercenary swung his fistgun up into her face and sent her slight form crashing to the wall, then the floor. "You can't do this!" Cochrane said. Forgetting his own injuries, he grabbed Thorserfs arm, and was grabbed fiercely in return. "You're the only one who can change my mind, Mr. Cochrane." In Thorsen's implacable grip, Cochrane craned to look at Sir John. "It's all right, young fellow," the astronomer said, and Cochrane was amazed by the aura of calm around him. "It seems that every once in a while, history requires that the monsters win." The old man glared undefeated at Thorsen. "So that when they are utterly defeated, future generations may count their blessings." "No, Thorsen," Cochrane said urgently. "Maybe there's some other way I can--" "Don't," Monica implored him. Cochrane acted as if he ignored her. There was no way he could explain to her his motives. He was willing to promise anything just to buy time. "But the warp bomb is still impossible." Thorsen shrugged. "Then none of you is worth anything and you've lived seventeen years too long." He nodded at the merce- naries holding Sir John. "Record that one's death, then take the body to Sandringham and feed it to my dogs. Record that, too. For his naive friends in the resistance." "What about 'er?" one of the zombies asked, unconscious of the small trickle of drool that ran from his mouth. He nodded at Monica. She was on her feet, barely, blood dripping from a ragged gash on her cheek. "What about her, Mr. Cochrane?" Thorsen asked. FEDERATION "Do nothing for him," Monica warned. "Nothing." Cochrane's gaze met her dark eyes. Saw the passion there. The thrilling intensity of her determination to stop Thorsen. Cochrane realized that saving Monica Burke by capitulation would be no favor to her or to those like her. Every lesson Micah Brack had taught him about history came back to him now. The genie was out of the bottle. No matter what Thorsen and the others like him did to Earth, humanity would survive. Cochrane faced Thorsen squarely. "You've got it wrong again, Thorsen. People like you exist because of people like me. Because we're smarter than you, more aware than you'll ever be, so in your jealousy, you try to destroy everything we stand for--rationality, humanity, common decency and respect." Thorsen's face tightened. "You're everything that's base in humanity," Cochrane contin- ued. "Drawing up strict, senseless rules for the sole reason of putting you at the top and excluding anyone you say doesn't belong or fit in, for no other reason than just because you say so." He turned to the mercenaries holding Sir John. "What's your leader going to do when he's killed all of us?He can only survive if there's someone he can crush. When we're gone, are you his next enemv?" One of the zombies burped loudly. Both laughed, the sound ugly. disturbed. "Finished?" Thorsen asked, then he addressed the mercenaries. "Transport the girl to Highgate for interrogation." He looked back at Cochrane. "There are specialists there, Mr. Cochrane. Some of them even used to be doctors of a sort. Now they're interface experts. Have you ever seen what happens to human nervous tissue after the insertion of Josephson probes into the brain?" He stroked the bridge of his nose with a thin finger. "Well, ~ou will." Thorsen snapped his fingers at his mercenaries. "Make the old fool suffer. I'll want close-ups for the uploads." They started to pull Sir John to the door. "You dare call vourself a soldier?!" the astronomer called out. "I am [he soldier," Thorsen corrected. 141 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Then at least give me the dignity of walking to my fate under my own power, sir." Thorsen sighed. He looked around, saw Sir John's cane, reached down and brought it to the old man. "Let him walk to his fate," Thorsen told the mercenaries. He looked down at Sir John. "I'll put your head on this when they're finished with you." He slapped the cane into Sir John's hands. Sir John shook himself loose from the mercenaries, tapped his cane on the floor as if to see if it still worked, smoothed his coat, then nodded his head at Cochrane. "Accept my apologies, sir. On behalf of the planet." He looked over at his granddaughter. "Monica," he said, "you were always the light of my life." "I understand," Monica said. And that was all. Cochrane found the whole subdued exchange excruciatingly British, though there had almost been something to the way Sir John had said "light" that made Cochrane wonder if the astronomer had been passing on a hidden message. Then Sir John turned his back on Thorsen and the office and walked ahead of the mercenaries, out the door. The mercenaries plodded after him, indifferent to their destination. Thorsen crossed his arms and faced Cochrane. "I'm thinking of making Centauri B II the first example of what happens to colonies who don't contribute to Earth. What do you think, Mr. Cochrane? Superimpellors with antimatter bombs? Are they any match for your warp bombs?" "If you come out of a distortion field within half a parsec of my planet, you'll have asteroid interceptors locked on to you two weeks before you get within a million kilometers," Cochrane said fiercely. Every colony world had the same defense because no extrasolar system had been studied in enough detail for asteroid impacts to be predictable. The result was that superimpellors, which could not operate close to a sun, were not a viable military threat. "Still." Thorsen replied, "it might be worth a--" A hideous shriek echoed down the corridor outside the office. Cochrane felt sick. "How surprising," Thorsen said as he studied Monica's reac- FEDERATION tion. "I thought he would be the stiff-upper-lip type. 'So sorry to bleed on your carpet.' That sort of--" A second scream echoed. It was not made by the same person who first had cried out. Cochrane felt electrified with hope. Thorsen reached for his net phone. Monica, for some reason Cochrane didn't understand, immediately leaned over and ripped at the heel of her boot. "This is Thorsen," the colonel barked into his slender phone. "Get me--" And then Sir John was in the doorway again, cheeks flushed, the few strands of hair he had standing straight out to the side, and he was aiming his cane at Thorsen as if it were a rifle. "Put it down, Colonel," Sir John commanded, only a bit out of breath. "Get me Operations!" Thorsen shouted. A spike of red light lanced out from the tip of Sir John's cane and swept across Thorsen's chest. The red fabric of his jumpsuit was unharmed but the interlinked triangles of the Optimum Movement he wore on his chest exploded in a spray of molten metal. his net phone burst into blue-white flames, and white smoke burst from the back of his hand as Cochrane heard the sizzle of burnt flesh. Thorsen grunted in pain but made no other sound. He clutched his injured hand to his stomach. "You will never survive," he panted. "You are unfit." Then Monica was at him, the black plastic of her heel in her hand. She jammed it against Thorsen's arm as he tried to avoid her and this time he did scream. His swinging fist sent Monica back. He started for her, snarling something incomprehensible. Cochrane could hear a capacitor ~hine from Sir John's cane. Whatever system powered its laser ~asn't ready to fire. Someone had to act. "77zor.sen'" Cochrane yelled in challenge. Thorsen s~'un around, his arm still raised to strike Monica. His narrow face was twisted in animalistic fury. Cochrane matched it. The scientist charged the soldier, ignoring the pain of his own 143 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS nose and ribs. He heard the alarming sound of grinding bones below his lungs, but he would not let Thorsen win. No matter what it took. Cochrane slammed his head into Thorsen's chest and howled in pain as the shock of impact tore through his own chest. Thorsen's fist crashed down on his back but the counterblow was too late. The two men flew back into a wall, shattering the glass over an old baseball photograph, then slid to the floor. Cochrane pushed himself off Thorsen, feeling shards of glass dig into his hand. Thorsen kicked at him, tried to get up, then shivered, arms stiff at his side. His heavy boots thumped at the floor for a moment, then were still. Cochrane caught his breath, staring at Thorsen lying on the floor. The madman wasn't unconscious. His pale blue eyes remained wide with hatred and still bored into him. Then Monica was at Cochrane's side, holding out her hand. In the other, she still carried the heel of her boot. "We have to hurry," she told Cochrane as she helped him to his feet. She smiled at him as if he were an old friend, a trusted ally. Cochrane felt an unexpected warmth in his chest. He hoped it didn't mean he was bleeding to death from internal injuries. "What happened to him?" Cochrane asked. Thorsen still stared unblinking at him. Monica held up her boot heel. Cochrane could see three silver needles arranged in it, stained by blood. "Selective neural inhibi- tor," she explained. "Shuts down the section of the brain respon- sible for physical movement. Same process that keeps us motionless when we dream we're moving." She tugged on his arm and Cochrane winced. "Sorry, but there're more zombies at his Rover. We have to leave." Cochrane looked back at Thorsen's hate-filled stare. "Why not kill him?" "Tempting," Monica said. "But then we'd become him, wouldn't we?" Cochrane saw something in Monica's eyes that brought the warmth back to his chest again. Perhaps he wasn't mortally wounded after all. FEDERATION "Come along, you two, our ride will be waiting," Sir John t]rged. Cochrane turned away from Thorsen. "Nice shooting, by the way." he said. "Optics are optics," Sir John answered with satisfaction. "Though I must say they never went into this at Cambridge." He tapped his cane against the floor. It was buzzing now with a constantly resetting capacitor hum, ready to fire at any time. The three of them headed for the corridor. Cochrane found he had to limp to keep his ribs from grating. In the office doorway, he stopped. then turned back to Thorsen's fallen form as he suddenly thought of a way to get the final word. ? 'Don't you even think of leaving Earth," Cochrane told him. "The colonies are the future of humanity and people like you have no place in it." Cochrane noted with appreciation the way Thorsen's whitened face began to redden. "And if you do come after me," he added, unable to resist doing so. 'Tll use my warp bomb on you." At that. Thorsen groaned, mouth half opening. Whatever was in him was wearing off. The scientist turned his back on his pursuer and stepped out of the office. Cochrane, Sir John, and Monica moved through the dimly lit corridor three levels below the playing surface of the Battersea Stadium. Sir John moved slowly with the cane that was just as necessary for his support as it was for their defense. Monica stumbled along awkwardly because of the missing heel of her boot. Cochrane could only shuffle because of his breath-stealing injuries. They were in sorry shape. But they had won. So far. "Ix there such a thing as a warp bomb?" Monica asked in a low voice as they began to ascend a pedestrian ramp. The sliding pathx~av beside it had long since ceased to function. Old advertis- ing posters for beer and suborbital airlines studded the drab walls. "Utterly impossible," Cochrane said. '~So you just said that about the bomb to annoy him?" Monica asked. "I had to do something to him." Cochrane was surprised at the 145 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS vehemence he heard in his own voice. But he loathed people like Thorsen, the strong preying on the weak with no other reason than that they could. "I, uh, I liked what you said back there," Monica told him, still whispering as they came to the last level of the ramp. "About people like Thorsen being created by people like, well, like you and my grandfather. Not on purpose, of course, but as... a sort of by-product." Cochrane didn't have the strength to get caught up in a philosophical discussion, but he felt gratified by the fact that she had paid attention. He had taught students like Monica Burke on Alpha Centauri, thoughtful, capable, and he had always enjoyed doing so. But for now, all he said was "I liked what you did back there. Sometimes I worry I don't do enough." "You're joking," Monica said. She spoke aloud. Sir John turned around and shushed her. "This isn't over, you two. Adrik Thorsen does not travel alone." His old voice shook with exhaustion. Cochrane whispered to Monica. "Should I go ahead of Sir John? I mean, your grandfather's been through a lot." "You should take a look at yourself," Monica said. She gingerly touched the gash on her cheek. "We've all been through the stareper." She looked ahead. Sir John had reached the top of the ramp where it exited into a main lobby. All the lights were out, creating a cavern of darkness, but a white glare streamed in through the large entrances leading to the lower level seats around the playing field. The astronomer motioned to his granddaughter and Cochrane to stay where they were. "Grandfather's been through things like this before," Monica said softly. "After the elections, when the Optimum dissolved the Royal Academies, it was all we could do to keep him from flying his car into Parliament." "We?" Cochrane asked. He suddenly wondered if Monica was married, or at least involved with someone. Whoever the lucky person was, Cochrane was surprised to discover he was envious. Confused by his new and unexpected emotion, he kept his eyes on Sir John, who looked carefully around ahead. But Monica said, "My father and I." 146 FEDERATION Cochrane heard it in her tone, in her hesitation. Monica's t'z~thcr. Sir John's son or son-in-law, was no longer alive. Monica confirmed his guess. "The Cambridge Riots," she said. -.~,Vhen the Optimum sent zombies in to close it down. Father was ~ botanical engineer. He knew nothing of politics. He was part of the group who sat down on the commons, expecting to be arrested and get carried off." 'Tin sorry," Cochrane said. The news of the shredderbomb :lssaults on England's universities had made it to Alpha Centauri. "Come along, come along," Sir John whispered loudly to them. .\s Cochrane and Monica joined him at the top of the ramp, Cochrane could hear the stuttering pops of distant plasma pulses. There was a firefight somewhere near. Probably out on the playing field. "It doesn't sound like we should go out there," he said. "On the contrary," Sir John said. "That's what we've been waiting for. We have some associates clearing the landing site." The astronomer stumped off toward the entrance to the lower level scats. Monica followed. Cochrane followed also. He didn't have much choice. The playing field was still brightly lit from the banks of light channels that ringed the stadium. Sir John's Rolls-Royce was parked out past second base, and Cochrane could see the dark tbrm of a Fourth World mercenary stretched out on the artificial turf beside it. For a moment, he thought the zombie was staying low for cover, but then he saw the dull metal of a fistgun lying a meter away from the zombie's hand. He had been shot. But by x~ h om'? "Stax' low. children," Sir John said. He handed his cane back to ('ochrane. "The trigger's under the cap," he explained. "There're only two more discharges left. You know what energy density is like For these contraptions." ":\ren't we staying together?" Cochrane asked. He wouldn't allow the old astronomer to sacrifice himself for them. "Of course we are," Sir John answered. "But when we're craxvling between ,he seats, I'm afraid this old back won't let me pop up with the abandon of my youth. It will be up to you to cover Our withdrawal, as it were." 147 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Cochrane hefted the cane in his hands, trying not to jar his chest with sudden movement. "Withdrawal to where?" Sir John pointed up toward the ragged hole in the roof of the stadium. The dull orange glow of low clouds over London shone through it. "You're going home, young fellow. Just as we prom- ised." They were a Few meters from the entrance. Sir John motioned them to the side, then down to their knees. "Heads down, follow me." Plasma fire continued to echo in the stadium, but it seemed far enough away not to be directed at them. Sir John crawled behind a row of seats, and Cochrane followed, awkwardly keeping the cane in front of him, with Monica close behind. Suddenly, a bright flare flickered around them, followed a second later by a thunderclap. After that, there was no more plasma fire. "Keep down," Sir John called back to them. "It's just a temporary respite." They came to the end of the row and Sir John started down a wide aisle. Cochrane got to his feet, remaining crouched over. "Where are we headed?" "Home plate," Monica said, squeezing his hand. "Almost there." Now she ran directly after her grandfather, head ducked. Cochrane did the same. He began to hear a strange pulsing in the air. Not gunfire, but something else. A distant voice yelled out through the stadium. "Mr. Bond/ Casino Royale/" Sir John waved Cochrane and Monica to a stop by the next to last row before the low wall separating the seats from the field. "Our associates," he wheezed. "Right on schedule." "Who's Mr. Bond?" Cochrane asked. Monica smiled fondly as she patted her grandfather's shoul- ders. "Grandfather is a devotee of twentieth-century literature. For some reason known only to him, his code name is 'Mr. Bond.'" "And we only have two minutes to wait," Sir John added, apparently explaining the rest of the enigmatic message. 148 FEDERATION "Code name?" Cochrane asked. Monica had a serious expression as she stared up at the opening in the roof. "No matter what Thorsen thinks of it, the resistance is quite real, Mr. Cochrane. And quite well organized." "Her Majesty's Royal Resistance Force," Sir John said proudly. Before Cochrane could ask any additional questions, the puls- ing that he had heard intensified to the point where he would have to shout to say anything. The sound was coming from overhead. Then a blinding flash of light shone through the roof opening. Retlexively, Cochrane looked away, covering his eyes with his arm. When he squinted back at the playing field, a craft had landed. but what kind, he couldn't tell. It was circular, a flattened disk shape with a gently elevated center, top and bottom, with no obvious markings or registry numbers. No landing legs had extended fi'om it, yet there was no sign of a fan effect on the turf beneath it. either. It was, however, the source of the pulsing sound he heard. "Move along," Sir John said urgently. "Move along." Monica pushed ahead to the low wall, straddled it, then held out her hand to Cochrane. Gingerly, Cochrane sat on the wall, moved one leg over, then the other, and dropped the five feet to the turf, losing his grip on the cane. Dark spots sparkled in his vision with the pain of the landing. He coughed and tasted blood again. He felt and heard gurgling with each breath he took and knew a lung had been perforated. ~\ moment later, Sir John dropped beside him, but landed far more professionally, rolling from his feet to his knees to his side, absorbing the Force of impact along the entire length of his body. Sir John blinked up at Cochrane with delight. "Just like in the blood) paratroopers," he said. Then he awkwardly got to his hands and knees as Monica leapt lightly down beside them. Cochrane retrieved the cane. It was still humming and resetting it,~elf. He doubted the batteries or whatever it used could last much longer even if it wasn't discharged. In the center of the field, not far from Sir John's Rolls, the circular craft wai'ed; two brilliant searchlights were deployed From its far edge and swept the distant stadium seats in a search pattern. 149 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "What is that thing?" Cochrane asked, though he had a good idea. He just couldn't believe it. Monica stared at it, as if waiting for a signal. "Plan B," she said. "A lunar transport disk. Inertial gravity drive." Cochrane decided he'd believe it when he saw it take off. Inertial gravity drive couldn't take anything from the earth to the moon in any reasonable length of time. Maybe someday it could be used to generate artificial gravity fields, but as a propulsion method, it had proved inefficient except for landing and surface maneuvers. A blue strobe light on the forward edge of the disk suddenly flashed three times. "Clear!" Monica shouted. "Run!" Sir John took off with surprising speed and Cochrane, after a moment of startled hesitation, followed, trying not to pump his arms as he ran. He heard Monica right behind him. Then a new sound swept through the stadium, so powerfully that Cochrane couldn't tell where it came from. "Down?' Monica shouted behind him. He felt her arms hit his legs as she dove onto him from behind, pushing him to the ground with an explosion of pain that cut through him like red lightning. He couldn't talk, felt only the harsh spikes of the artificial turf pressing into his cheek. Monica was lying beside him, one arm across his back. "Sorry, sorry," she said into his ear. "Sir John?" Cochrane suddenly gasped. "He's all right," Monica answered, but there was worry in her eyes and voice. Cochrane looked ahead. Another vehicle had entered the playing field, floating forward from a players' entrance, fanjets flattening the turf below it. He recognized it as an armored troop carrier, with a plasma cannon mounted at its back. The carrier's headlight strip blazed across the turf, turning it from green to white, catching the disk on its side. The carrier's cannon flared, and the stadium rocked with 150 FEDERATION thtlnder as the plasma explosion hurled a projectile forward at supersonic velocity. But the projectile exploded a heartbeat later in the far stands, as if it had ricocheted from the disk. .'What's that disk made of?." Cochrane said faintly. He didn't think he could keep talking much longer. "The shell never hit the disk," Monica said. "It's generating an [M shield. Nothing physical can touch it." Cochrane felt the stadium melting and twisting around him in time to his thundering pulse. "Then how can we get on board? Is it a selective frequency?" Even facing death, the drive for knowl- edge in him was still never far from the surface. ? 'Shh," Monica said, sensing and soothing his confusion. "Almost home." Cochrane stared back at her. From that angle, he couldn't see the wound on her other cheek. He tried to touch her face. She looked at him, surprised, but not troubled. "Thank you," he said, and he knew his words were almost inaudible, drifting off. '~For what?" she asked. "Paying attention," Cochrane mumbled. He wasn't sure what it meant. but he did mean it. Another flare of blinding light hit them. Wearily, Cochrane struggled to turn his head to see the light's source. There was an enormous gout of flame shooting up from the field From the point Sir John's Rolls had been parked. The car was ~one. "Betsy!" Sir John moaned as if he had lost an old family friend. The fanjet carrier sped for the disk. When it had disappeared behind its bulk, Monica pulled Cochrane to his feet. He felt as if he were floating, losing touch with his body. He decided there was too much pain for his brain to deal with. He was disassociating. He fought against the temptation of unconsciousness. But it was a difficult battle, so much easier to give up. Abruptly, he rea!ized he was heading toward the disk, Monica ~Upporting him, Sir John beside her. There was another explosion ~Omewhere else, perhaps on the other side of the disk. He saw 151 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS flickerings on the overhead roof. Monica told him the disk had hit the carrier. But to Cochrane, everything seemed to be happening to someone else. He was no longer in his body. He was no longer on Earth. He thought he saw Micah Brack before him, floating in microgravity, out by Neptune. "This is the way it always goes," Brack told him. "Fire and destruction." "No," Cochrane whispered to his absent friend. "No more. We'll change that. Can't we?" Monica asked him what he had said. Cochrane couldn't remember. And then he heard his name, blaring, echoing, coming at him from every surface in the stadium as if the gods themselves were calling for him. They were almost at the disk, a gangplank was extended, but Cochrane stumbled, looked up to the side. The giant visage of Adrik Thorsen looked down upon him. "You will not leave/" Thorsen screamed. His enraged face was repeated on the display boards ringing the stadium, blotched by imperfect pixels, incomplete, flickering. His cruelly commanding voice echoed from everywhere all at once. "Air defense will destroy you a hundred meters from the ground." "Don't listen to him," Monica shouted. She pulled on Cochrane's arm. He cried in turn with pain. "You are the dead? Thorsen thundered. The gangplank was almost before them. And then it disap- peared in an eruption of fire. Sir John whirled in a circle like a mad ballerina, a dozen small fires at work on his coat. He fell to the turf even as Monica doubled over atop him. Cochrane staggered to a stop. He thought he heard plasma pulses, or were they just the echoes? "You will never escape the Optimum!" Thorsen shouted. "You will never escape your destiny?' Dimly, terrifyingly, Cochrane became aware that Thorsen's last words l~ad not come from the displays. They had come from behind him. He turned. FEDERATION Thorsen stood on the wall by home plate. He had a fistgun. It ~as aimed directly at Cochrane. -'Earth will be your graveyard," Thorsen said. "Unless you join me. Zefram Cochrane. Only I can unchain your science." Cochrane listened, thought, considered. He half-convinced himself he was asleep on the John Cabal, that this was all a dream, a nightmare, deep within the crew quarters of the old ice freighter. He leaned on Sir John's cane to keep a semblance of his balance. His body shook as a sharp cough brought up bright red blood to spatter on the green turf. He realized he wasn't dream- ing. He realized he was going to die soon. Thorsen jumped from the wall and began walking forward, tistgun held ready. "Cochrane--think--your only possible future lies with me." One of Thorsen's hands held death. The other was outstretched in friendship. "Give me the warp bomb. Let me celebrate your genius. '~bu need not die when that ship is shot down." Cochrane heard the cane cycle up and reset itself. He heard Monica moan. Smoke drifted up from Sir John's still body. Cochrane realized he could kill Thorsen. In his mind, he heard Monica's voice, telling him that by killing he would only become Thorsen. Cochrane closed his eyes. This was all happening to someone else, anyway. Besides, he had made Thorsen. "I am Thorsen," he 5aid. "Did xou say something?" Thorsen called out. He was only fifty meters distant. "'~bu exist because of me/" Cochrane heard himself shout. He saw blood spray from his mouth in the brilliant blue light of the stadium, a halo of blood around him. "'~bu're delirious, my friend," Thorsen said. "Let me help .xou." Cochrane raised the cane, aimed it at Thorsen from the hip. Thorsen stopped moving forward. He turned sideways, de- creasing the size of the target he offered. He raised the fistgun, keeping the barrel pointed up. 153 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "There are still secrets to be discovered, Mr. Cochrane. Don't let your work end here. Don't let your life mean nothing." Cochrane put his finger on the trigger stud. Suddenly, he realized he didn't care about his work anymore, he didn't care about secrets. He only cared about what he had done with his life. And he was certain he had not done enough. Had not shared enough. "You hurt Monica," Cochrane said. The capacitor in the cane built up to discharge level. "What does the life of one person matter?" Thorsen called back. He began to lower the barrel of the fistgun, taking aim. "Everyone matters," Cochrane said, his voice so weak he knew he could no longer speak loudly enough for Thorsen to hear him. "This is your last chance!" Thorsen screamed. "I know," Cochrane said. He fired the cane, and even as the red laser hit Thorsen's fistgun, Cochrane realized that as fast as that beam was, Thorsen had been faster. The fistgun fired, then exploded. Something burned past Cochrane's cheek. Thorsen's scream pierced the air. Cochrane felt hands grab him from behind. The sudden movement brought such intense pain that he dropped the cane, dropped from his body, became only an observer in his mind. He felt himself carried up the gangplank into the disk. Some- where, Monica's voice still murmured. That meant she was still alive. That meant she would continue. Even without him. The knowledge made him feel better, somehow. Gentle hands strapped him into a reclining chair, a blast couch, a display screen above it. Nearby, he thought he heard Monica call out her grandfather's name. He thought he heard other people asking about Thorsen. But they had the name wrong, he could see that now. "His name is Ozymandias," Cochrane muttered. He remem- bered his mother reading that poem to him. It had made him think of history. Micah Brack could recite it as readily as if the industrialist had written it himself. "'Look on my works, ye mighty,'" Cochrane said. 154 FEDERATION No one heard him. An artificial voice ordered everyone to prepare for orbital insertion. Cochrane wished he could say good-bye to Monica. He wanted her to have a happy life. She deserved that. He wished he could give it to her. The blast couch shook beneath him. On the screen above, he saw the stadium grow smaller. Then it disappeared in a gout of blue plasma, in waves of explosions. In a far-off corner of his still lucid mind, Cochrane understood that was how the disk traveled from the earth to the moon. Inertial gravity generators for landing and surface maneuvers, but an impulse drive for propulsion. The fusion flames of the disk's departure bathed whatever had been below it. He pictured Battersea Stadium melting as ira small sun had ignited within it. Baseball really was dead, he decided. And so was Thorsen... or Ozymandias... whatever his name was. All would soon be incandescent. Back to the stuff of stars. Cochrane felt a hand grip his. He looked through blurring, closing eyes to see Monica at his side. He heard the hiss of a spray hypo. but felt nothing. "I wanted to do more," he said to her. He knew she would understand. She smiled at him. Her smile was beautiful. She would make someone very happy someday, he decided, and he tried to tell her so. Then he realized that he could not last until they cleared the atmosphere. Darkness rolled up for him like the clouds of Titan, bringing on the night. "The stars," he said to her. "I wanted to see the stars again." He could see her lips move as she said something back to him. but he could no longer hear. Then Zefram Cochrane slowly closed his eyes and waited peacefully for death and history to claim him. But history wasn't finished with him yet. 155 ELEVEN //.S.S. ?TVT?RPRIS? NCC-1701 6AMMA CANARIS RE610N, PLANET01D 527 Stardate 3853.2 Earth Standard: Nevember 2267 Kirk, Spock, and McCoy resolved from the transporter beam and set foot once again on Cochrane's world. Without question, as sensors had indicated, things had changed. The air, once a pleasant and constant 22?C, was cold. Frost covered the ground. Wispy clouds stretched like a web across the sky, dark now, almost as if it were dusk, though the planetoid's sun was directly above at local high noon. Kirk could guess what had happened, but he waited for Spock to confirm it with tricorder readings. "Gravity is at eighty-two percent of what it was six months ago," Spock announced, reading from the device's tiny screen. "Resulting in loss of atmosphere," Kirk stated, not surprised. "And heat," Spock added. The energy once held by the dense air of the planetold had evaporated into space with the atmo- sphere. "Any indication of what caused the change?" Kirk asked. Spock moved the tricorder in an arc about them, watching it intently. "The tricorder detects no underlying cause." "What about you, Spock? Any theories?" Spock looked'at McCoy. "Doctor, have you detected any life signs?" 156 FEDERATION McCoy studied the screen of his own medical tricorder, which Spook had adjusted so it would pick up life signs from the Companion as well. But the doctor shook his head. "Nothing, Mr. Spock. No sign of Cochrane or the Companion." Mr. Scott had beamed them down to the precise location where the Grdi/co shuttlecraft had been brought to a landing when the Companion had controlled it. Admiral Kabreigny had remained on the L'mcrprise, though she had approved the landing site as a reasonable place to begin an investigation. But Kirk knew some- thing the admiral did not, that around the ridge to the west, Cochrane's small shelter waited. He didn't want to think what they'd find there. Especially given what Spock had uncovered about Cochrane's final days on Centauri B II. "Could it have been a symbiotic relationship between the Companion and this place?" Kirk asked as he reached for his communicator. "Intriguing," Spock said. "And possible." The Companion had told them she was unable to leave the planetold for more than a tiny march of days, that she drew her life from this place. Perhaps the planetoid's unusual gravity and climate had also been the result of the Companion's presence as well, as if conditions here could no longer exist without her, as if life and habitat were one. So much about that type of energy- based creature was unknown. Kirk flipped open his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise." "Kabreigny here." Kirk frowned at that response, thankful that Starfleet consis- tently rejected requests to include standard optical sensors on communicators. He didn't want to see her sitting in his chair on the bridge, and he certainly didn't want her to see his expression as the spoke with her. "We're at the Ga/i/eo landing site," Kirk reported. "No energy readings of any kind." But Kabreigny wasn't going to give up easily. "What about the wreckage that sensors are showing about a kilometer to the west?" ~he asked. Kirk had known the admiral would see the sensor readings of Cochrane's shelter, and so had prepared her for them by stating JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS that they had previously discovered the crash site of an antique ship, apparently drawn off course the same way the shuttlecraft had been. For Kabreigny, the presence of the wreck was further indication that Kirk should have noted there was a chance that a permanent navigational hazard existed. But Kirk knew that if he had done so. within a year Starfleet would have dispatched a mapping and survey expedition to the area to determine the extent of the hazard, and they would inevitably have discovered Cochrane. "We're proceeding to the wreckage now," Kirk said. "I'11 report when we get there. Kirk out." "She seems to be taking it well," McCoy said as he switched off his tricorder and let it hang at his side. "She has no choice," Spock reminded him. "She does not yet have all the pieces of the puzzle she is assembling." "Gentlemen." Kirk waved toward the ridge and began walk- ing in that direction. He heard McCoy and Spock fall into step behind him. Unfortunately, they didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle either. Though they had more than the admiral did. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had met earlier that morning, as the Enterprise continued on her way to Cochrane's planetoid. McCov's office in sickbay was deemed to be secure from Admiral Kabreigny's sudden intrusion. In any case, the admiral was more concerned with remaining on the bridge and observing the sensor sweeps firsthand than she seemed to be with the captain's activities, or those of his senior crew. Just the same, McCoy had instructed the computer to lock the sickbay doors so they could talk in peace, unless any crew member required medical attention. As Spock related them, the events of Cochrane's final days were as Kirk had remembered them--history recorded few details. That paucity of information could be explained by the fact that following his historic accomplishment, Cochrane had developed a reputation for being a private, reclusive individual. Historically, Kirk knew that that had been the response of Neil Armstrong to FEDERATION personal historic achievement--the first human to set foot on another world had virtually disappeared from public view for the remainder of his life, at great cost to history and undeniably afi'ccting public support of the fledgling space exploration pro- grams of the time. Yoshikawa had also behaved in a similar fashion. though by his remaining on the moon, his life of seclusion was more understandable to many. How Daar would have chosen to live following her own unique success would lbrcver be a mystery, since her life had been cut short by the tragedy that had befallen her during her return from Mars. But Spock had suggested there was more to the lack of inlbrmation about Cochrane's final years than could be explained by mere human eccentricity and a desire for privacy. Spock's intbnnal communications with the Cochrane Foundation of Alpha Centauri revealed that many of the contemporary accounts of Cochrane's friends and coworkers, and Cochrane's own jour- nals, remained sealed, though for what reason, no one at the Foundation seemed able or willing to say. Even the .journal of Cochrane's wife, the granddaughter of celebrated astronomer Sir John Burke, was not available to the public. Most intriguingly, there was apparently no indication as to how long those records x~ould remain sealed. The Foundation had simply reported that an~ potential release date was subject to ongoing review. Spock had concluded that such an arrangement indicated that someone within the Foundation was indeed aware of the contents of the sealed journals and associated files, and was only then ~aiting until certain conditions were met before allowing them to be released. But what those certain conditions could possibly be after a century and a half, not even Spock would hazard a theory. In short, all that was available to be known about Cochrane's final >cars was all that had already been known since the date of his disappearance. At the age of'forty-eight, he had attended a scientific conference on the moon, during which he had met Monica Burke, the woman who became his wife. They had returned to Alpha Centauri together, shortly before World XVar III devastated Earth. During the reconstruction period, when all Earth colonies had 159 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS strained themselves to their limits to aid the home planet, Cochrane had devoted himself to further refining his warp drive and had traveled among the many worlds to insure that each colony had the scientific and engineering capability to support its own warp drive industry. Recordings of the talks he gave showed how he stressed again and again that for his invention to truly benefit humanity, no one world or group of worlds should ever be able to develop a monopoly on it. Several years before his disappearance, Cochrane's desire to share the fruits of his labor drove him to take part in one of the first diplomatic missions to a colony world established by a race then known as the Vulcanians, from Vulcanis, a more accurate phonetic version of the Vulcan name for their world. In a daring move vehemently protested by conservative human organizations at the time, Cochrane turned over al! his research on warp drive technology, without conditions. The Vulcans, of course, had independently created their own version of the drive, but the explosion of scientific advancement that resulted from Cochrane's unprecedented gift was quickly reciprocated by the enigmatic Vulcans. Far from weakening Earth, Cochrane's gift, in fact, had led to a long-term and unshakable alliance between humans and Vulcans in which, many historians said, the first seeds of what would become the Federation were sown. Thus did a shy and reclusive scientist live to see his invention forever change the shape and history of humanity. It was even widely accepted that Cochrane had made it possible for the species to survive atomic devastation; had made it possible for war-torn Earth to be rebuilt in decades, not centuries or millennia as had happened on some worlds; and had lived, too, to witness many more first contacts between humans and spacefaring alien cultures. When Cochrane was eighty-seven, his wife, Monica, had died, apparently in a vehicle accident near the Cochrane ranch on Centauri B II--Cochrane, ever modest, had objected to any efforts to rename the world after him during his lifetime. The details of her accident were not available, either because no account survived, or because no account had been released. 160 FEDERATION Shortly after, Cochrane had revised his will, leaving his surpris- ingly small estate to the foundation that bore his name. He then filed a flight plan to Stapledon Center and disappeared. The search that followed had been massive by contemporary standards. But the invention of subspace radio and subspace sensors remained several decades in the future, and ships that vanished while in warp were typically never seen again, as no faster-than-light method existed for communicating with or de- tecting them. A year after his failure to arrive at Stapledon Center, Cochrane was declared dead and the human worlds officially mourned his loss. The story Spock told was the same as the one Kirk remembered studying in school as a child. But it was McCoy who detected the anomaly. He tapped his fingers on his desk in a sign of his agitation. "Cochrane told us he was dying, Jim," McCoy said after Spock's report. "Isn't that an odd coincidence? His wife dies in an accident just as he's dying of... of whatever he was dying from." Spock seized on McCoy's recollection of their conversation with Cochrane. "Contemporary accounts do indicate Cochrane's health was excellent," he said. "Moreover, colonists in those days generally lived longer and healthier lives than did their counter- parts on Earth, owing to an absence of environmental toxins, though of course they had a higher death rate from accidents involving heavy machinery, as Monica Cochrane's death would illustrate." "Perhaps he wasn't dying when he left Alpha Centauri," Kirk countered. "He told us the Companion had brought his disabled ship to the planetold. Maybe something happened to him on board his ship." "Another accident?" McCoy asked skeptically. "That's even more of a coincidence." When given a choice, Kirk tended to favor the simplest solution to a problem--a predilection Spock proclaimed eminently logi- cal. So he wasn't enthralled by McCov's suggestions that Cochrane's disappearance and his wife's c(eath might not have been accidental. 161 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS But Spock's second report, concerning Admiral Kabreigny's intense interest in the Enterprise's previous visit to the Gamma Canaris region, seemed to go in that direction as well. "This is what Starfleet knows," Spock began. "Six months ago, the Galileo encountered navigational difficulties in the Gamma Canaris region and was delayed in making its rendezvous with the Enterprise. As a result of that delay, Federation Commissioner Nancy Hedford died of Sakuro's disease. Within twenty-four hoursof his return to the Enterprise, Captain Kirk filed a detailed log describing those events. Those events, while regrettable, are not uncommon occurrences during starship exploration on the Federation's boundaries. "However," Spock continued, "Starfleet is also aware that within five days of the captain's return to the Enterprise, he shipped, by message pouch, an item for deposit in Starfleet Archives: a personal log to be sealed for one hundred years. Again, this in itself is not an unusual action for a starship captain to take. The archive review board informally concluded that his personal log contained specific details of the death of Commissioner Hedford, withheld, perhaps, to spare her family any unwarranted grief." Kirk could feel Spock building to a substantial "but." He wasn't disappointed. "But since then, the archive review board, in conjunction with Starfleet Security and the Lunar Police, have decided that whatev- er the nature of the information in the captain's sealed log, it was the reason for the recent break-in." Kirk was shocked. "That's not possible." Spock's expression of concern told Kirk it was more than possible. "Captain, what I am about to say is considered classified by Starfleet Command. I regret to inform you that I have obtained this information by other than official channels and it would be best if you did not inquire as to my methods. I would like to point out, however, that given the precariousness of our situation in regard to Admiral Kabreigny, and in light of the admiral's interest in these events, it is my opinion that I have been justified in pursuing this course of investigation in a nonregulation manner. I FEDERATION am. of course, willing to make that case before any Starfleet board of inquiry and submit myself to its judgment." McCoy had had quite enough. "For heaven's sake, Spock, just get on with it." "By sharing this information with you, Doctor, I am making both you and Captain Kirk subject to disciplinary proceedings at least, and I want you to be so informed." "We're informed, Spock," Kirk said. "What have you found out?" "The Starfleet central computer system on Earth's moon has becn compromised." "That's impossible," McCoy sputtered. "Apparently no longer," Spock replied calmly. "Starfleet Secu- rity has learned of unauthorized data-retrieval worm programs that have somehow been inserted into the system. How or why this has been done is unknown. However, it is known that one of the triggers for a particular program was the reference 'Gamma Canaris.'" Spock paused and looked at Kirk. Kirk understood the significance of Spock's information. "I included that on the filing data for the personal log." "Precisely," Spock said. "And though the actual contents of your log were not uploaded to the system, its filing data were, gMng the source of the item, the time and place of its creation, and--" "Its location within the archives storage stacks," Kirk con- cluded grimly. "And since the information it contained was not available in the computer itself, someone needed to physically break in to obtain the log." ~But you said the log wasn't missing," McCoy objected. Spock regarded McCoy with extreme forbearance. "Doctor, the log was in the form of a standard, unencrypted data wafer. A simple tricorder could record its data in seconds without leaving any trace of the process." Kirk was deeply troubled by Spock's revelation. "Why would anyone be so interested in the Gamma Canaris region, Spock? And who would have the technical ability to compromise 5tarfieet's central computer?" 163 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Spock appeared almost apologetic. "I have been able to arrive at only one, extremely tenuous connection between Gamma Canaris and current events," he said. "According to celestial navigation charts as they were used one hundred and fifty years ago, the Gamma Canaris region is almost directly opposite the course that would be set at the time between Centauri B II and the colony of Stapledon Center at Wolf 359." Kirk understood instantly. "If Zefram Cochrane had been intending to... throw off anyone who might be following him, for whatever reason, what better way to gain some distance and some time than by heading off in the opposite direction from the one anyone would suspect?" "Without subspace sensors," the science officer agreed, "the possible volume of space Cochrane might be found in would grow exponentially with each passing second." "You're saying Cochrane was running from someone?" McCoy asked, clearly astounded at this sudden expansion of his foul-play theory. Spock crossed his arms, clearly not eager for a debate. "I said it was only a tenuous connection, Doctor. If it is real, I do not pretend to understand its significance." But the events of one hundred and fifty years ago weren't Kirk's immediate concern. "What about Starfieet's computer system, Spock? Who has the capability to enter it without detection? Klingons? Romulans?" "It is inconceivable that any hostile force could get operatives close enough to the system's programming units. Such a force would have to infiltrate key input stations on Earth's moon in order to upload the sophisticated worm programs Starfleet has detected," Spock said. "Then who?" "Only someone working within Starfleet would have both the opportunity and the capability to circumvent existing security protocols." The logical outcome of Spock's reasoning hit Kirk like a phaser blast. There was no other explanation. McCoy leaned forward, his voice an urgent whisper. "Do you know what you're saying, Spock?" 164 FEDERATION "I am well aware of the conclusions that can be drawn from the information I have uncovered, Doctor." Kirk stated those conclusions out loud, as repugnant as they were. "There is a possibility that Admiral Kabreigny herself is involved in a conspiracy at the highest levels of Starfleet, and that that conspiracy has something to do with Zefram Cochrane." McCoy was incensed. "That's madness. Next thing you'll be saying that it's up to us to find the conspirators on our own because we can't trust anybody!" Spock nodded. "Indeed, Doctor, you have anticipated me. I suggest we proceed with utmost caution, pursuing these affairs outside of normal channels, as I have already begun. By acting against Admiral Kabreigny, it is possible that we are helping to preserve the stability of Starfleet and the Federation itself." "But," Kirk warned, "if there is no conspiracy, it is just as possible that we're engaging in treason." On that encouraging note, Kirk recalled uneasily, the meeting had ended. As Kirk, Spock, and McCoy rounded the ridge to the west, they didn't need their tricorders to tell them what had happened to Cochrane's home. The jewel-shaped prefab shelter had been torn apart by phaser blasts. Half of it had fallen in on itself and the remnants were streaked with soot from a long-extinguished fire. Two standing wall sections were partially melted, and the ripples of solidified metal that had formed around the beam blasts bore the unmistak- able glitter of phasered metal. '~Good Lord," McCoy whispered. "We didn't give them any weapons," Kirk said with bitter regret. Before leaving orbit six months earlier, he had personally beamed clown two pallets of supplies, with seeds, farming imple- ments, a computer reader, a library of data wafers, even a subspace radio in case Cochrane changed his mind about commu- nicating with the galaxy. But he had included no phasers. Spock checked his tricorder. "Judging from the ferocity of the attack, Captain, hand phasers would not have offered much in the way of defense." He pointed to a rise in the distance. "Note the 165 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS disturbance in the soil on that small hill." Kirk saw it. "I surmise a craft of some kind landed there. Most likely armed with a phaser cannon." Kirk felt sick. Is this how the twenty-third century had wel- comed Cochrane? Is this what Kirk had done to him? Spock squinted at his tricorder screen. "Doctor, are you still detecting no life signs?" McCoy broke out his medical tricorder. "I... I don't know." He looked at Spock. "The Companion?" "Captain, there appears to be something in the wreckage of the shelter which is alive. Barely." Kirk was scrambling through the loose, sandy soil before Spock and McCoy had shut off their equipment. "Cochrane?!" he shouted. "Companion ?!" He looked down as he sprinted toward the shelter. There were dozens of bootprints in the soil, overlapping, many switching directions, all the signs of a fight. Most were softened by the wind, but no more than a few weeks old. Kirk came to the melted doorway of the shelter. There was no way in. He called out again. There was an answer: a moan from the back. Kirk swung around to the left. Spock and McCoy went to the right. One fallen wall panel had been propped up like a lean-to against an empty supply pallet from the Enterprise. Empty water packs were strewn around it along with wrappings from Starfleet emergency rations. "Cochrane?" Kirk asked of the shadows beneath the wall panel. Someone--something--moved within the darkness. A thin, white hand fell out. There was another moan. Spock and McCoy ran up from the other side as Kirk dropped to his knees and reached in to gather the small figure in his arms. "Companion," he said gently. "I heard your message. I've come for you." I~irk stood up with the limp form of Federation Commissioner Nancy Hedford in his arms. She was dressed in a torn, pale orange jumpsuit similar to the one Cochrane had worn. Her face was smudged with dirt, dried blood at the corner of her mouth and under her nose. on one side of her head, her dark hair was caked 166 FEDERATION with blood. On the other side, it was little more than singed bristle. with angry red blisters visible on her scalp. She was also at least five kilos lighter than she had been when Kirk had seen her last. on a frame that could not remain healthy with that loss. McCoy held a scanner delicately to her temple, ran it above her chest. adjusting the device's sensitivity to block out Kirk's readings. .'Companion, what happened?" Kirk asked. "Where's Zefram?" The Companion's eyes fluttered open at the name. The white of one eye was dark red with broken capillaries. She had been hit by a strong phaser blast, Kirk realized; probably left for dead by whoever did this. "Zefram..." the Companion whispered. Her voice was dry, weak, but there was still the faint, haunting overlay of two voices speaking at once--the energy being and Nancy Hedford com- bined as one. Kirk glanced at McCoy. McCoy shook his head grimly. He pulled a hypospray from his medical kit and held it to the Companion's arm. It hissed softly. "They took him," the Companion said weakly. "They took the man and he is gone." Then whatever McCoy had injected her with took hold. For a moment, awareness blossomed in her eyes and she looked directly at Kirk. "We are alone," the Companion cried out in anguish. Tears cut furrows through the smudges on her cheeks. Kirk felt her frail body tremble in his arms. "How do you bear it? How... ?" Her body shuddered, then went limp. Kirk looked at McCoy in alarm. "I can't tell you why she's still alive, but she is," McCoy said. "Extreme symptoms of exposure bordering on hypothermia. Dehydration. Starvation. Massive phaser damage to the central nervous system. Jim, she was hit by a beam set to kill." Kirk looked at his officers and made his decision. "We can't keep this to ourselves any longer." "No," McCoy agreed. "She must be treated on the Enterprise." Spock disagreed. "She draws her life from this place, Doctor. She cannot remain apart from it." "Damn it, Spock--if I can't stabilize her, it won't matter where 167 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS she is. Besides, look around you. Whatever it is she draws from this planetoid, somehow it must be getting something from her in return. And the way she is now, she's in no condition to keep it functioning. It's all going to blazes." McCoy turned to Kirk. "Jim, if I keep her in isolation, we can probably avoid Admiral Kabreigny hearing any mention of Cochrane, but I've got to treat her up on the Enterprise." "The admiral can't be our main concern now," Kirk said. "But keeping her in isolation is worth a try. Call for a beam-up, Doctor. Medical emergency. Mr. Spock, I want a full security detail down here. I want to know what kind of phasers were used, what landed on that hill, and how many attackers were involved. I also want a full orbital scan, looking for any ionization traces of a ship that might have left here in the past four to five weeks." "I shall remain here to coordinate," Spock said. McCoy spoke into his communicator. "Enterprise, three to beam up at these coordinates. Mr. Spock is staying on the surface. Alert sickbay we have a medical emergency. The patient is... human." Kirk shifted his grip on the Companion's unconscious form. She felt so fragile he was afraid she might break in his grasp. Spock stepped away from Kirk and McCoy to give the trans- porter technician on the Enterprise an easier fix. "Good luck, Captain," he said. Kirk regarded his friend with a slight smile. "That's not very logical, Spock." "Perhaps," Spock agreed. "But I have found there are times in human affairs where logic does not apply. This, unfortunately, may be one of them." "They came for him," the Companion said, her voice twinned in eerie'harmony with Nancy Hedford's. "At night, a ship landed, not far, on the hill. Zefram was so happy, so excited." She looked over at Kirk with a bittersweet smile. "He thought it might be you, Captain Kirk." Kirk squeezed the Companion's gaunt hand. Her pulse as amplified by the life-sign monitor above the medical bed was FEDERATION regular, though weak. She had been cleansed of blood and dirt, and McCoy had worked his magic so that there was color in her face again, but the glittering bandage around her forehead and over her phaser-damaged eye still attested to the seriousness of her condition. However, McCoy was certain she would pull through, if only because the effect of the Companion on Nancy Hedford's human body had a cumulative, restoring influence, no doubt the same process by which Sakuro's disease had been vanquished. But Kirk didn't know if the Companion would maintain the will to survive. The security detail on the planetoid's surface had found no trace of Zefram Cochrane. Only indications of wanton destruction, as if whoever had come for the scientist had wanted to leave no trace of his presence there. "Do you know who they were?" Kirk asked, keeping his hand closed over the Companion's, trying to help her fight the desper- ate aloneness he knew she must be experiencing. "Part of us does not," the double voices sighed, "but part of us says... ~Orions.'" Kirk tried to stay calm. McCoy was by his side and had been firm in his insistence that Kirk not alarm or tire his patient. "Did they have green skin?" Kirk asked. The Companion nodded. "And they came with phasers ?.. phasers..." She closed her one exposed eye. "Such a hateful thing it is. The man ran to them, he welcomed them to our home, and they used energy against him, made him fall. We heard his thoughts cease. We were so alone .... " Kirk wasn't sure what she meant by hearing Cochrane's thoughts cease. "Was Zefram alive?" he asked. "Did he ... continue?" The Companion looked up to the ceiling of sickbay. "The man continues" she said. "We can feel him still. But he is so far away." "How far?" Kirk asked. The Companion opened and closed her mouth as if trying to answer. ~Part of us knows, but the other part cannot say." She sighed again. "We will not feel him for long. He is that far away." '~Could you take us to him?" Kirk said. 169 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS But that was crossing McCoy's line. "Jim! You know she can't leave the planetoid." "Companion," Kirk said, leaning closer to her, "how long can you remain away from your home?" "Without us there to tend it, care for it, our home is dying," she said wistfully. "We will know death. Without the man, how can we have a home? How can we live?" McCoy took over. "Companion, listen to me. I'm your doctor. Part of you has to know what that means. And as your doctor, I guarantee you you're not dying. You're strong, getting stronger. You'll be able to continue. But what I need to know is, how soon must you return to the surface?" "A tiny march of days," the Companion said. "Less than a year, less than a month. You have so many names for what is the same thing, this passage of time. How do you keep it all in your mind, worrying about such things?" "Less than a week?" Kirk asked. "Can you stay off your home for no more than a single week? Two weeks?" "We do not know." "Try," Kirk implored her. "Both parts of you must work together if you ever want to see the man again. Do you understand me? Nancy Hedford must Ilsten to the Companion, translate her thoughts into terms we can understand." The Companion stared straight up in silence. At last she spoke. "Six days," she said. "If we do not return in six days, we will not continue." "And how far away is the man?" Kirk said. "Ask the Nancy Hedford part to remember what she knows about starships. Can we reach the man and return with him here in less than six days?" Kirk felt McCoy's hand on his shoulder, silently warning him not to continue this pressure on the woman much longer. "It is so confusing," the Companion said. "Zefram would help us when this happened." "Can I help?" Kirk said urgently, knowing that McCoy would act to stop him soon. "Is there anything I can do to make this easier?" "He is close," the Companion wept. "He is in such pain." FEDERATION "How close?" Kirk demanded. .-Captain! You can't push her like this," McCoy finally snapped. Kirk ignored the doctor. "Companion, talk to Nancy Hedford again. Wherever the man is, can this ship go to him and return here in six days?" ? 'Yes." the Companion whispered after a moment. "At your fastest speed." "Can you tell us where to go?" Kirk asked, excited to finally be getting somewhere. "We do not have the words," the Companion replied. "No part of us has the words." Kirk squeezed her hand. "That's all right. We'll teach you the words." He looked at McCoy. "Do whatever you have to to get her to the Auxiliary Control Center." "What?!" 'TI1 have Sulu meet us there. He can go over the charts with her. work out some sort of mutually understandable coordinate system we can feed into navigation without being on the bridge." Refusal was in McCoy's eyes. "She won't be able to take the strain." "She loves him, Bones. She'll be able to take the strain. Or neither of them will continue." "This is insane," McCoy said. But as Kirk had known he would, the doctor was weakening at the mention of the power of romantic love. "Only for six days. Then... it won't matter." "And what will you tell the admiral? I can't keep saying that Commissioner Hedford is in a coma." "We'll tell the admiral we're searching for the missing liner. And we will be. It has to be connected with this." The heartbeat from the medical board began to slow. Kirk felt the Companion's fingers loosen in his. McCov checked the board. His tone was stern, filled with medical authority no captain could override. "She's sleeping again. It would be advantageous if she were allowed to continue to do so." 171 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Kirk thought it over. "Spock needs another hour on the surface. But then I want her working with Sulu." McCoy nodded though it was clear he wasn't pleased. Then he took on a different expression, troubled, wondering. "Who do you think has him, Jim?" Kirk shrugged. "Orion pirates? Smugglers? They were behind the attempt to derail the Babel Conference." "But if Spock's right about the Gamma Canaris connection to Cochrane, then this has been going on for longer than we've even known about Coridan. Longer than there's even been a Federa- tion." "I can't answer that, Bones, because I don't know." Kirk wasn't happy with the answer but it was the best he could do. "What matters is that someone has Cochrane, and they have him because of my log. Why they were even looking for him in the first place, I don't know. Why Admiral Kabreigny is interested in all this, I don't know. But what I do know is that we're going to find Cochrane, we're going to free him, and then we can look into the other questions." Kirk paused for a moment. "Besides, chances are that Cochrane's the one who can answer all of them for us." McCoy shook his head as if trying to clear it. "What can possibly last a hundred and fifty years?" he asked. Kirk looked down at the sleeping form of the Companion. "Love," he said. Kirk stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge of the Enterprise. At once he was rewarded with the pulse of the great ship, the constant background sounds of her computers, the lowered voices of her crew, speaking quickly, competently, keep- ing her on her course. But he felt punished, too. His chair wasn't empty. Admiral Kabreigny still sat in it, a cup of coffee in her hand, speaking with Uhura. Kirk stood by his chair but the admiral made no move to relinquish her position of command. Kirk could see unease flicker across Uhura's face. He wasn't the only one to think that only one person had the right to that chair. "How's the patient?" Kabreigny asked. "Still in a coma?" The way she asked the question left Kirk no doubt that she did not 172 FEDERATION believe McCoy's diagnosis. But still, the admiral had made no attempt to see Nancy Hedford herself. "The doctor thinks she'll recover," Kirk said. "She's already come back from the dead once, Captain." The admiral smiled tightly. "I have no doubt she'll be able to throw off the effects of exposure just as easily." --With respect, Admiral: The patient in sickbay is not, strictly speaking, Nancy Hedford. She is a... blending of two life-forms into one. The energy anomaly that drew the Galileo off course has--" But the admiral was not in the mood for Kirk's story. "Spare me. Captain. Commissioner Hedford is not why I'm out here." Kirk waited for her to continue. In the meantime, the urge he felt. the need, to sit in the command chair was almost physical. 'Tve been reviewing the commissioner's first transmission with your communications officer," the admiral said. Uhura glanced at Kirk as if to ask if it was all right for her to ha~e worked with the admiral. Like Mr. Scott, she was seeking confirmation for orders, though none was necessary. Kirk nod- ded, certain that Kabreigny had caught the exchange. "And what have you found?" Kirk asked. Kabreigny leaned back in the chair, making a show of how comfortable she found it. "Because of the smeared carrier wave ~hich prevented anyone getting a fix on its source, Command originally presumed it had come from the missing liner. However, I noticed among the sensor scans of the 'wreckage' Mr. Spock is investigating on the surface that there is a Starfleet secure transmitter down there." 'What's correct," Kirk said. He and McCoy and Spock had already prepared the next level of revelation for the admiral-- telling the whole story of what had happened six months earlier, only leaving out the parts about Cochrane. "I left it for the Hedford being in case she ever wished to change her mind about her desire for privacy." Kabreigny checked a list on the writing padd in her lap. "Along x~th farming supplies, emergency rations, computer equipment, library wafers, et cetera, et cetera?" "From the stores we carry specifically for the support of 173 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS colonies," Kirk said. His standing orders made ample provision for the Enterprise to provide help of any kind for beleaguered colonies. He had done nothing wrong in leaving supplies for Cochrane and the Companion. "Of course, of course," Kabreigny agreed offhandedly. "I was just checking through the titles of the computer journals and books you left behind for the... the 'Hedford being.'" Kirk prepared himself. He and Spock had picked out most of those titles together. He knew what they were and what the admiral had found. "It seems," Kabreigny said, "that the Hedford being has made quite a hobby out of multiphysics and warp-drive theory." "As an energy being, she was capable of moving at warp velocities on her own," Kirk said unconvincingly. "We thought--" "Captain Kirk," the admiral interrupted sharply. "Join me." She indicated the turbolift, handed her coffee cup to Uhura, who didn't know what to do with it, then rose majestically to her feet, leaving the command chair. Kirk let her lead the way. Chekov took over the chair behind them. That didn't bother Kirk. As part of the crew of this ship, Chekov belonged there in the established chain of command during nonemergency duty. It was only the admiral's presence that rankled him. The turbolift doors shut. Kabreigny stood facing forward, hands behind her back. "Take this car out of service," she said. The computer replied, "This car is not experiencing any mechanical difficulty." Kabreigny's lips thinned. "Is everyone on this ship going to question my orders?" "Computer," Kirk said, "take this car out of service." Instantly the lift car began to drop through the ship several levels, before shunting to the side and parking near a turbolift service bay. When the car came to a stop, Kabreigny faced the captain. "You know what it means when you get to be my age, Kirk?" Kirk shook his head, steeling himself to endure whatever it was the admiral felt she must say to him. All he wanted to do was save FEDERATION Cochrane. Keeping the admiral mollified might help him accom- plish that. "It means you don't have much time left, so you're not inclined to waste it. So I won't." She fixed him with a penetrating stare. Her bright eyes displayed no hint of the age of the rest of her. ? 'Zefram Cochrane was down there, wasn't he?" Kirk had already made up his mind not to be surprised by anything the admiral might say, but that hadn't prepared him for this. There was only one possible explanation. "It appears that personal logs aren't that personal after all," he said. Kabreigny's stare became fierce with displeasure. "The archive personnel take their jobs seriously, Captain. I didn't read your log. But from your comment, am I to assume your log contains a /it//account of what transpired here six months ago?" "It does." "Well, that's one consolation, at least. You weren't completely derelict in your duty." Kabreigny might as well have slapped Kirk for the response her comment drew from him. "Does the admiral wish to bring formal charges against me?" he asked coldly, barely restraining his own anger. "At ease, Captain. This conversation is off the record." Kirk held his derisive laughter with some difficulty. So far, it seemed, this whole mission was off the record. "Then may I ask xvhy you think Zefram Cochrane was present on this planetoid?" Kabreigny patted the back of her head, without disturbing the tightly coiled bun of white hair. 'Wou can ask, Captain. But I'm not inclined to answer. Howev- er. what I intend to know is: Do you know where Cochrane is now?" "You do realize Zefram Cochrane was born on Earth in the year 2030" Kirk said. If the admiral wasn't going to give up informa- tion. he didn't see why he should, either. He still had no indication that what she was doing was under authority of Starfleet. "If he's anywhere, he would be two hundred and thirty-seven years old." ~Mere calendar age is becoming less and less of an issue these JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS days, Captain. Cryonic suspension, EinsteinJan time dilation from high-velocity impulse-powered flights... there're lots of opportunities to slow down the clock, as I know you know from your run-in with Khan." Kabreigny's eyes narrowed as she regarded Kirk with suspicion. "Now, Captain, I am ordering you to tell me: Was Zefram Cochrane present on the planetold six months ago, and, if so, where is he now?" The inevitable had arrived. One option was for Kirk to refuse to obey the admiral's orders and have her placed under arrest until he could determine the reason for her involvement in the search for Cochrane. If Spock was correct in implying that the admiral was somehow connected to a conspiracy within Starfleet, then Kirk would be acting within the bounds of the Starfleet charter. However, if the admiral was not part of a conspiracy, if she was involved in a classified program of which Kirk had no knowledge, then he faced charges ranging from insubordination to mutiny. But Kirk had long ago determined that when faced with an impossible decision, the best choice was to change the playing field. In this case, the playing field was the Ente~7~rise. And Kirk held absolute control over it. His decision became much simpler. He would acquiesce to the admiral's demands, secure in the knowledge that she would not be permitted to send one message from this ship without Kirk's knowing about it and approving it. He felt the hum of the Enterprise through the floor of the turbolift. It was as if his ship were urging him on, a part of him. For a fleeting instant, Kirk wondered if this was how Nancy Hedford had felt when she had merged with the Companion-- two life-forms becoming one. "On stardate 3219.8, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, Commissioner Nancy Hedford, and I met Zefram Cochrane on the planetold we're orbiting." Kabreigny folded her arms and leaned back against the wall of the turbolift, an expression of intense interest on her face. '*A wise decision, Captain. Now, what was his condition?" "Excellent. Mr. Cochrane related to us that he had set off into space at the age of eight?seven, that his ship was diverted by the energy being who lives on the planetold--" FEDERATION Kabreigny's eyes widened. '*There is an energy being?" Kirk nodded. "The name Cochrane gave her is 'the Compan- ion.' She somehow rejuvenated him, bringing him back to the 2eneral health and appearance of a human in his thirties, and jnaintained him at that level for the next century and a half." Kabreigny unconsciously touched her own wrinkled face. "Re- juxcnated him? Brought back his youth?" Kirk continued. "The Companion subsequently merged with C'ommissioner Hedford, moments before Sakuro's disease claimcd her. They have since become a single life-form." Kabreigny spoke slowly, deliberately. "To be candid, Kirk, I thoughi you were making up all that crap." "We were simply trying to respect Mr. Cochrane's wishes not to hc disturbed." "l;nibrtunately, Mr. Cochrane no longer has that luxury. Do xot! k~o~ where he is now?" "No." Kirk said, "but the Companion does." "Can she take us to him?" ~' Possibly." Kirk decided to test the new relationship he seemed to have with the admiral. "By all indications below, it appears that someone... unfriendly... learned of Cochrane's presence on tinis planetold by reading my personal log, then came after him ands. kidnapped him." ~'That's a fair assessment," Kabreigny agreed. "Do you know who that might be?" "Possibly." The admiral did not elaborate. "Klingons?" Kirk prodded, trying to provoke a response from her. Anything to provide him more clues to work with. But Kabreigny shook her head. "If only it were that easy." Then shc continued before Kirk could say anything else. "And any suspicions I might have are classified, Captain. I'm sorry," she added. as if she really were trying to sound apologetic, "but you're going to have to trust me just a bit longer." Kirk thought that was an odd thing for her to say, considering he wax finding it increasingly difficult to conceal that he didn't trust her at all. "No~v get this lift back in service and get the Companion up on 177 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS the bridge. At this moment, Zefram Cochrane holds the future of Starfleet in his hands. And I want him before... anyone else gets to him. Do I make myself clear, Captain?" "Not really," Kirk said. "But the Enterprise is at your dispo- sal." Kabreigny looked thoughtful. "I appreciate your cooperation," she said. "I wasn't sure I'd get it so quickly." Kirk smiled noncommittally. He had no intention of being cooperative with someone who might be out to tear down Starfleet and destroy the Federation. But there was no need to tell the admiral that. Until it was time to stop her, of course. TWELVE #.S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D DEEP SPACE Stardate 43921.4 Earth Standard: May 2366 178 "Coming up on Ferengi coordinates," Acting Ensign Crusher reported from the conn. Beside him, back at his regular position at Ops, Data confirmed what Picard and his officers had suspected. "No sign of any object with a mass of forty-five point three five kilotonnes, Captain. In fact. sensors detect no sign of any object other than the Romulan Warbird within range." Picard glanced at Riker. "What did they use to call this, Number One? A 'wild-goose chase'?" Riker smiled appreciatively. But Data added, "Perhaps I should clarify that, sir. Other than the Ferengi crew, sensors also report no life-forms of any kind in the surrounding region, including representatives of the class (t l'(?~$. " "It was just a colloquial expression, Data," Picard explained. Data blinked, assimilating his misinterpretation. "I see. Then should I file 'wild-goose chase' under the same classification as the ~snipe hunt' Commander Riker had me engage in while we were at Starbase Twelve?" Picard hadn't heard about that incident. He had been otherwise 179 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS engaged with Vash when the Enterprise had been at Starbase 12 a few months earlier. But Mr. Data's snipe hunt must have gone well, because he saw Riker cover his mouth in order to stifle a laugh. "That would probably be a good idea," Picard agreed. "Have you ever attempted to capture snipe, Captain Picard?" Picard concentrated on keeping his voice neutral. "In my Academy days, Mr. Data. I believe it is an activity all cadets become familiar with." "I see," Data said refiectively. "I was not successful, though I did hold the bag and call for the snipe exactly as Commander Riker had instructed me. Snipe appear to be exceptionally well evolved for remaining unseen. Even the ship's computer has no record of--" Riker couldn't contain himself any longer. He laughed. Data looked back at him, then at Picard. "Captain?" "I'm sorry, Data. It's just that, well, there are no such things as snipe." "What?" Wesley Crusher said. Data looked across at him in commiseration. "Have you also hunted snipe, Wesley?" The acting ensign's face tightened. "Geordi told me--" But Riker interrupted. "Eyes on the board, Mr. Crusher!" "Aye, sir." The acting ensign went back to his duties, as did Data. "At least that would explain why no one has ever seen one," Data said. Picard and Riker exchanged a smile. "Dropping to sublight," Mr. Crusher announced. "And full stop." The Ferengi-operated Warbird appeared in the center of the main viewscreen. "Full sensor sweep," Picard ordered. "We are the only two objects within range," Data responded. Picard made a gesture toward the screen. "Hail the Romulan-- uh, Ferengi vessel, Mr. Worf." "Onscreen, Captain." DaiMon Pol appeared. "Greetings. Captain Pee-card. I am--" 180 FEDERATION "1 do not wish to engage in additional small talk," Picard said, full of bluster, trying to keep the Ferengi on his toes. "Where is the artil2~ct'?" DaiMon Pol appeared hurt by Picard's attitude. "Negotiations should be a time of social interaction, Captain Pee-card. There is no need--" "Look," Picard said more forcefully. "You have given us coordinates that were supposed to have been those of an object you wished to sell us. There is no object here. Now explain ~ourself or we will withdraw." Picard turned to Troi. She gave him a nod. He was carrying out his role perfectly. DaiMon Pol shook his head sorrowfully. "I will never under- stand /ww-mans. You have no sense of the joy of commerce in your souls." DaiMon Pol pointed a finger offscreen. "When next we talk. Pee-card, you will make your offer or I will withdraw." Then DaiMon Pol vanished from the viewscreen, replaced by an image of his ship a kilometer distant. Riker looked at Picard. "What was all that about?" "l'm not sure," Troi answered with concern. "He's acting as if he does not expect to talk with us again." "Captain," Data stated calmly. "A second Warbird is alecloaking." Picard stood as, in front of DaiMon Pol's ship, an optical wavering began. "Red Alert, Mr. Worf. Maximum shields." "I knew it!" Worf exclaimed, even as the sirens began and the warning lights flashed. "All phaser banks on standby. Photon torpedoes armed and ready." The second Warbird finished its materialization, becoming solid before them. "Battle readout on the second ship," Riker said. 'qts shields are down, Commander," Data replied. "In addi- tion, none of its weapons systems are on-line." 'Tull magnification on the Warbird's markings," Picard said. He looked over at Riker. "Do you think the Ferengi are bold enough to have stolen two Romulan ships?" The viewscreen image jumped to a close-up of the second ship's hull. clearly showing Romulan script on its side. JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Maybe they haven't had a chance to repaint it," Riker suggested sarcastically. "The second ship is hailing us," Worf reported. Picard sighed. He was getting exactly what he had anticipated --the unexpected. "Onscreen, Mr. Worf. And switch off those alarms, please." The alarms ended as the viewscreen image changed, once again showing the interior of a Romulan bridge. But, for a change, a Romulan was present. She wore a standard military uniform and her black hair was pulled back tightly to her skull in a warrior's queue, making her vulcanold ears more pronounced. Her heavy, angular brow threw dark shadows across her eyes, but Picard could tell that unlike most Romulans he had encountered, she was not attempting to hide anything. She was clearly anxious, though about what, he did not know. "Captain Picard," the Romulan began. "I am Taft, commander of this vessel. I apologize for the subterfuge that was used to bring you here." Picard was aware of Troi standing behind him, out of sight of the optical sensors that were relaying his image to the Romulan ship. "I'm picking up worry, Captain." Picard turned to face Troi, his back to the screen. "Is this a trap?" he whispered. Troi shook her head. "I do not sense she means us harm. Only that she fears others wish to do her harm." "I see," Picard said. He turned back to the screen. "Commander Taft, I must ask for an explanation of this subterfuge. Am I to take it that there is no Borg artifact?" "Oh, but there is, Captain," the Romulan said. "Though it does not belong to the Ferengi." Picard waited expectantly. "Please. Continue." The Romulan lifted her chin defiantly. "This is difficult for her, Captain," Troi said softly behind him. "I have stolen the artifact from my people," the Romulan said. "I wish to give it to the Federation in exchange for a ship and supplies for myself and my supporters." "She's hiding something," Troi whispered. 182 FEDERATION "May I ask why?" Picard said. The Romulan appeared deadly serious. "I am not a traitor, Captain. But I know the threat the Borg represent to my people. And I know that the politics of the central command preclude any chance of understanding the nature of the artifact before the Borg reach our borders." She sighed. Even Picard could tell that what she said was painful for her. "I want your Federation scientists to study the artifact, to devise some kind of defense against those creatures, and to share it with us. Otherwise, the Romulan Star Empire will not survive." "Then why go through all this to sell the artifact to us?" Picard asked. "And why involve the Ferengi? Why not just give it to us?" The Romulan's face darkened in anger. "Understand my situation! I have stolen from the Empire! There is no escape for me except what you can provide. A ship, supplies, a chance for my crew and me to survive, in exchange for a chance for your people and mine to survive. The Ferengi are my brokers, Captain, no more than that. I needed them to seek you out and entice you here in a way that would not alert your Betazoid counselor. DaiMon Pol has received a Warbird in partial payment for his services. When you give me a new ship, he will have this one as well." She clasped her hands before her, a most human gesture of supplica- tion. "I am not bargaining with you, Captain. The artifact is yours without conditions. I only ask recognition that I have not acted against the best wishes of the Empire, and a chance to live." Picard chose his next words carefully. "Your proposition is extremely compelling, Commander. But I must confer with my staff before giving you what you have asked for." "Then be quick about it," the Romulan said. "The compliance divisions are searching for me even now." She disappeared from the screen. Two green Warbirds hung against the stars. Picard went to Data. "Well. Mr. Data, it appears your analysis of the Federation's generosity was not only correct, it is shared by the Romulan COmmander" Picard told the android. Data turned to Troi. "I would be interested to know if the counselor feels Tarl was telling the truth." 183 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Troi looked thoughtful. "For the most part, yes, I believe she is. But she is holding back something." "Something harmful?" Picard asked. Troi shook her head. "I don't think so, Captain. But she is afraid of what will happen to her if her mission fails." Riker stepped up beside Picard and Troi. "It would be nice to know exactly what that mission is." Worf added his opinion. "I see no need to try and second-guess a Romulan. She has said that there is an artifact. Let us demand to see it. There is still the possibility that this is nothing but an elaborate hoax." "That seems most reasonable," Picard said. Riker and Troi agreed. "Put the Romulan commander back onscreen, Mr. Worf." When Tarl had appeared again, Picard laid out his conditions. "So you see," he concluded, "it is imperative that we examine the artifact in order to know how to proceed past this point." Tarl looked impatient. "I do not understand how people so cautious have accomplished all that you have. If you had been Romulan, this business would have been completed within a minute of our meeting." "If we had been Romulan," Picard observed, "you would already have been executed for treason, and the Borg would still threaten your Empire. Now, where may we find the artifact?" "Assemble a scientific team, then beam them to my hangar deck. The artifact is there." "On your ship?" Picard asked. The Romulan's lip curled in a sneer. "I have already answered that." She made a curt gesture and the transmission ceased again. Picard turned to Riker and Troi. "Well, this should be most interesting. I have never seen the hangar deck of a Warbird." "And you're not going to see it today," Riker said with an edge to his voice. "With all respect, sir, there is no way I'm allowing you to beam over to a hostile vessel." "That is not a hostile vessel, Number One. Commander Tarl is no longer part of the Romulan Empire." But Riker remained unconvinced. "We'll transmit images of 184 FEDERATION the artifact as we examine it," he said. "Data, Worf, you're with me." He touched his communicator. "Mr. La Forge, report to Transporter Room Four. Bring a field engineering diagnostic kit." Riker headed toward the aft turbolift. Data and Worf were already falling into step behind him as La Forge acknowledged. "Will." Picard said just before the lift door closed. "Be careful over there." Riker smiled at his captain. "That's my job, sir." Then he was gone. Picard was left on the bridge, feeling removed from the action once again. That was the problem in dealing with the unexpected, he decided. It never worked out the way he hoped. The Romulan D'deridex-class Warbird was almost twice the length of the Federation Galaxy-class starship, and her hangar deck was at least three times the volume of the Enterprise's main shuttlebay. Even on the bridge viewscreen, the structure was impressive to Picard, and he couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to walk its green metal deckplates himself. The image Picard and Troi watched from their command chairs was being transmitted by a small optical sensor carried by Data. For the moment, the android was using it to scan the entire hangar deck. Picard lost track of the number of smaller Romulan craft he saw, some ready for launching, others stacked in metal grillwork on the distant walls. He was hopeful that no matter what information they recovered about the artifact, these interior iexvs of the Warbird would be useful to Starfleet Intelligence. Data's voice came over the bridge communication system. "Are you receiving the images clearly, Captain?" "xa~ are," Picard answered. "Is the artifact nearby?" The image on the screen began to shift as Data pointed his sensor in a new direction. "Commander Taft is directing us to it no~. Can you see it?" Picard felt his heart rate quicken. The artifact was there, at least the size of three Federation runabouts crushed together, encased in green metal scaffolding and ringed by portable lights. It grew larger on the screen with each step Data took toward it. From 185 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS time to time, the backs of La Forge, Riker, and two Romulans intruded on the scene, but that did nothing to lessen the visual impact of the object. Troi smiled at Picard. "I can sense your excitement without even trying, Captain." Picard nodded. He was not embarrassed to admit it. What could be more exciting than discovering something that could save the Federation? "The survival of the Federation might be about to be dropped in our laps," he said. "This could be a pivotal moment in our history." "In the galaxy's history as well," Troi agreed. "Captain," Data transmitted, "Commander Taft is permitting us to examine the artifact now. Initial scans confirm its composi- tion closely matches that of the Borg vessel we encountered at System J-25." "Wonderful," Picard said under his breath, hoping his excite- ment was not as apparent to Tarl as it was to his counselor. "May I speak with the commander?" The viewscreen image swung to the side until Tarl appeared. She looked into the optical sensor. "Yes, Captain?" "Commander, can you tell me where you obtained this speci- men?" The Romulan looked grim. "I obtained it when I took com- mand of this vessel with a small group of supporters. As for where the Empire obtained it, I am too much of a patriot to reveal all the details. Suffice it to say a Borg vessel attacked one of our most distant outposts. In the ensuing battle, a fleet of twenty ships was lost, five of them Warbirds. At the height of the battle, a freighter managed to collide with the Borg ship and some debris was knocked free. This artifact is part of that debris, removed by mechanical force and not energy weapons. That is all I can tell you." "That is enough," Picard said compassionately. "I have no wish for you to compromise the security of the Empire." "Thank you, Captain." Commander Tarl stepped away and Data returned the optical sensor to a view of the artifact. Then the image jiggled beyond the capability of the ship's computer to steady it. 186 FEDERATION ~'Captain Picard," Data said, "I am going to mount the optical sensor on a light stand so that you may monitor our activities. I will be more useful working on the artifact myself." "Carry on, Mr. Data," Picard approved. Data's back appeared on the screen as he walked toward the Borg monstrosity. Riker, La Forge, and Worf were already on the scaffolding, scanning the artifact intently with tricorders. Picard turned to Troi. "Was there much equivocation in the command- cr's story about the origin of this artifact?" he asked. "Some," Troi said. "But mostly she was hesitant about reveal- ing the location of the outpost. Also, she was feeling a great deal of frustration over the number of ships that had been lost in the attack." "Twenty," Picard repeated. "And five Warbirds. A significant loss. But I do have to wonder why such an armada was available for the defense of one of the Empire's farthest outposts." "Perhaps they had some warning that the attack was immi- nent?" "If they do have some way of detecting the Borg at great distances, perhaps the commander can be persuaded to share that secret with us as well." La Forge's voice came over the communications system. "Cap- tain, this chunk of machinery is in better shape than it looks. The outside is pretty banged up, but the interior structure seems to be intact. And I am picking up a low-level energy reading." Picard grew anxious. "You're certain there are no defensive systems in the artifact which you might inadvertently trigger?" "Fairly certain, Captain. If the Romulans have been poking around this thing as much as this scaffolding suggests and they haven't run into anything, we're not going to either." ~'Just the same, monitor that energy reading continuously and withdraw if it starts to increase." ~'Understood, Captain. I'm going to try to squeeze in between two conduits here and take a look inside. But I'm almost positive that this is a legitimate piece of Borg technology." "Thank you, Mr. La Forge. Carry on." Picard looked over at the counseior. "I agree," she said, responding to his emotional state. 187 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS For the next few minutes, little happened. Picard overheard some of the conversation among his away team, mostly exhorta- tions to hold something still, or to shine a light in a different direction, but what exactly they were doing was impossible to see from the optical sensor's angle. Commander Tarl contacted Picard once to ask that the process be accelerated. But Picard politely declined to interfere with his people. La Forge had said he was "almost positive" about the artifact's origin. When he said he was absolutely certain, that was when Picard would act. More silent minutes passed, until Troi commented on the fact that they had heard nothing for quite a length of time. Picard frowned. "Enterprise to Commander Riker. Status report, please." Uncharacteristically, Riker replied, "Just a moment, Captain. We're in the middle of a... tricky measurement." "That was, without question, a lie," Troi said. But Picard knew Riker would never lie to him. "Are they in danger?" Troi shook her head. "On the contrary, sir. They seem to be giving absolutely no thought to the fact they're on a Romulan vessel inside a piece of potentially deadly technology." The Betazoid counselor looked perplexed as she struggled to under- stand the impressions she received. "If anything, sir, they're even more excited now than they were when they first saw the artifact." "More excited?" Picard said. As if in answer, Riker finally replied to Picard. "Sorry for the delay, Captain. Commander Tarl is here beside me and I think we should go ahead and make our deal with her. But I also think you should probably take a look at the artifact yourself, just to confirm its ... condition." Picard looked to Troi. "He's concealing something, Captain. Extremely powerful emotions of... discovery." "But no sense of danger?" "Absolutely none." "Commander Riker," Picard said, "could you move into range of the optical sensor?" "Certainly, sir." 188 FEDERATION As Picard asked his next question, he saw Riker, La Forge, Worf, and Data step in front of the artifact. Tarl was with them. Two other Romulans were at the side. "Lieutenant Worf," Picard began, "as security officer, have you any objections to my coming aboard the Romulan vessel?" Tarl frowned in disgust at the question. But Worf stepped tbrward. ~'Absolutely none, Captain. The vessel is secure." Troi confirmed the Klingon's statement. "He is convinced there is no threat, sir. I pick up no sense of coercion or mind control of any kind. However, I do get the impression that they have obtained some knowledge which they do not wish to share with Commander Tarl." Picard stood up and tugged at his tunic. "How extraordinary. What do you suppose they've found over there?" Troi smiled at her captain indulgently. "There's only one way to find out, sir." Picard understood the amused expression she wore. It was .just that for all the wonders the Enterprise encountered, he sometimes felt a prisoner upon her, his well-being so fervently guarded by Riker and the rest of the crew. But now, to be free to go aboard a Romulan vessel, to take part in something of obviously great import, he felt such elation that he really was embarrassed to consider what his counselor might think of him if she sensed the depth of his emotional response. He wondered if she knew how frustrated he so often felt to merely be an observer and advisor during his colleagues' adventures. ~No need to be embarrassed," Troi said, proving his point. "I think you should do what Will suggests and go over to the vessel." ~'I look forward to it, Counselor, very much. Alert the trans- porter room. You have the bridge." 'Wery good, sir." Then Jean-Luc Picard walked up the ramp to the aft turbolift, trying to imagine what could intrigue his crew even more than a piece of Borg technology. As he did so, he had a sudden wave of misgiving, even of danger. Yet, upon reflection, he could discover no reason for it, other than some deep-seated feeling of distrust 189 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS for the Romulans, a distrust which he was suddenly surprised to find was not his own. Then Picard smiled in the privacy of the turbolift as he realized the source of the unease he felt. Somewhere deep inside of him, a small part of Ambassador Sarek, the best part, he hoped, was giving him warning. The Romulans were not to be trusted. THIRTEEN LAZY EIGHT RANCH, MICAH TOWNSHIP, CENTAURI B II Earth Standard: Early April 2117 Zcfram Cochrane removed the woven hat from his head and let the early evening breezes of the secondary winter dry the mois- ture there. His scalp was bare, darkened from the suns, spotted with age, ringed by shaggy gray locks. Monica had teased him about the look, said it had made him seem quite the authentic gentleman farmer. But Cochrane knew the style reminded her of her grandfather, Sir John, gone these many, many years. So much had gone with him, then and now. "Mr. Cochrane, sir?" Cochrane recognized the voice. Mont- calm Daystrom had arrived from the Foundation. The youth was Cochrane's personal assistant, a promising student, part of the family. But he was twenty Earth years old, seventeen Centauri, and like all the first children of this world, treated Cochrane with a respect and deference that made the old scientist cringe and wonder when he had stopped being a person. Instead, somewhere in the past decades, he had somehow become an icon, a symbol for this brave new era of humanity. Cochrane could hear Micah Brack laughing at that label, even as he thought it. No era of humanity was new, according to Brack. Simply a succession of new skins for old ceremonies. Cochrane 191 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS missed his friend. No word of his fate had ever come back to him, though he doubted a man of Brack's age would still be alive. Looking at Montcalm's far too solicitous smile made Cochrane also think that the first children of Centauri could stuff it, and he told Montcalm so. But Montcalm only smiled and stepped closer to Cochrane. He was used to the fabled scientist and his ways, both in the lab, where the young man excelled, and in Cochrane's private life, where more and more he needed an extra pair of arms. Together, student and teacher, they stood on the crest of a rich purple-green hill from where the Landing Plains stretched out to the edge of the Welcoming Sea. At this point midway in the planet's bizarre orbit in the ternary system, Centauri B was setting even as Centauri A rose. Centauri C, as always, was nothing more than a bright star, lost among the alien constellations, and the sea shimmered on the horizon with light of two different hues coming from two different directions. Monica had loved this view. So had Cochrane. But now that its splendor continued without her, he begrudged each day it re- newed itself, each day that it increased his time alone. "The guests have arrived, sir," Montcalm said. "Guests," Cochrane muttered. Was there no other name for those who had come to attend a funeral? Why not mourners? Why not victims? "May I assist you?" Montcalm asked. He held out a powerfully muscled black arm. Growing up under high gravity had produced a generation of weight lifters here. The medical facilities in Micah Town worked round the clock to develop the technologies and treatments these children invariably required as they reached their fortieth Earth birthday and their strained hearts began to rebel against Centauri B IFs gravity. But the answers were locked in their cells, needing only a slight medical coaxing to come out and protect them, so their lives were safe. As Cochrane had thought fifty-six years ago, when he had first set foot on this world and done the unthinkable by removing his breathing mask to taste alien air without ill effect, humanity was meant to go to other worlds unencumbered--though his sinuses still troubled him each primary winter, when the planet was exposed to the 192 FEDERATION light of a single sun and the plains exploded with temperate vegetation and a convulsion of flowers. Standing before that view, Cochrane didn't move away from Montcalm. He knew the young man meant well, though Cochrane would be damned if he'd admit it. Here on this world, his home, Cochrane had come to accept his age and his infirmities, mostly through Monica's good humor and patience, and it was with that humor and acceptance that he took Montcalm's arm and began the long walk back to the farmhouse. That welcoming white building, trimmed in green, had been Monica's delight as well. Its facade was real wood, shipped from Earth at a horrendous cost no one would ever reveal, a gift from the newly formed world government to the man who had created the conditions for Earth's dramatic recovery from World War III, though that recovery continued still. Natural wood remained a luxury on Centauri B II, a world where rigid trees had not evolved. Engineered forests of Earth pines had been planted for fuel and cellulose production, but it would be decades still before there was a sustainable forest system which would allow the harvesting of trees for decorative purposes. Monica had understood the rarity of the gift Cochrane had been given. She had sketched the clapboard design for their house herself, overseen its installation, even sanded and painted sec- tions of it on her own, to make it perfect for him. And she had made it perfect. Everything she had done for him had been perfect. Cochrane felt tears slip down his cheeks. How could she be gone from this world when so much of it reminded him of her? How could her youth have fled before he himself had died, almost thirty years her senior? What had drawn him to her at first, Cochrane still didn't know. Love, he supposed, though he didn't really understand that emotion any bel;ter now than when he had been young. They had survived Battersea together. They had escaped the Optimum and found safety on the moon. Sir John had recovered there, in Copermcus City. The scar on Monica's face had faded. Cochrane's shattered ribs and punctured lungs had been made whole. 193 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS They had shared so much, Cochrane and Monica, that by the time their wounds had healed he supposed it had been inevitable they would feel themselves bound together. She had returned to Alpha Centauri with him, to finish her medical training at the colony's first and only medical facility. She had been granted her degree here, one of this world's first. Sir John had given her away at their wedding and had become an astronomer again, establish- ing the colony's first observational outpost in his final, most productive years. As those years and more had passed, Monica had always set aside time in her own life to listen to Cochrane, and to pay attention to him as no other had before her, and late at night as he dreamt of his role in the horror that had unfolded on Earth, thirty-seven million people dead in a war that had consumed the world like no other, she had held him and told him that he had done enough, that it had not been his fault. Whatever he had meant to her, and he had never really understood why she had chosen to share her life with him, she had let him carry on. The superimpellors grew faster, sleeker, more efficient, the result of a thousand minds at work on the secrets of continuum distortion. While Monica had pursued her medical career on Alpha Centauri, Cochrane had ridden those new engines to other worlds, met other intelligent creatures, marveled at the similarity of their DNA and suspected, like half the scientists he knew, that some deeper pattern was afoot in the universe, or at least in this section of the galaxy. And Monica had always been waiting for him when he re- turned, keeping him focused, understanding, paying attention. Until two days ago. Cochrane's feet dragged along the dusty path leading from the ridge to the farmhouse. He could see the vehicles of the guests parked near the barn. Wheels had become passd on Earth, where' energy had passed into a golden age of fusion reactors and sarium krellide batteries with virtually limitless energy density. But here in the colonies, cars and trucks and carriers still rolled and bounced along the unpaved roads on spring tires. Monica had said that in a hundred years, the entertainments of Alpha Centauri's frontier days would depict wheeled vehicles in the 194 FEDERATION same way the old flat movies of the American West depended on horses and wagons to show how times had changed. She had always been looking to the future, the future she said Cochrane had created. For that devotion to him, he had accepted her love, for though he had never understood why she loved him, never had he ever doubted her enthusiasm. In return, he hoped he had at least given her adventure, at least fulfillment. She had wept the night she had met the Vulcanians with him. She had thanked him for that, for including her in a moment in history when everything had changed because of what Cochrane had done. The Vulcanians, though some called them Vulcans, even now were negotiating closer ties with Earth, and Cochrane knew his gift of superimpellor research to those aliens had in part convinced them of what they would call the logic of the situation. And now both Sir John and Monica were gone from his life. The dust of Earth to the dust of Alpha Centauri. It had happened before, Cochrane knew, and would happen again, this merging of the worlds through death. But once again he felt the sting of self-doubt without his wife, and feared he had been selfish once more--taking more from her than he could possibly have given. Never had he ever felt he had done enough. Never. "They're gathered out back," Montcalm said as they passed the parked vehicles. Cochrane knew why his guests were there, and not inside. He had planted fig trees in the back. Legend said it was under a fig tree that the Buddha had sat when he had received enlightenment. Cochrane liked the story and understood why Brack had told him about the trees. Newton had had his apple. Cochrane some nameless oak or elm in a suburb of London. And now, who knew who else would sit under trees on a hundred different worlds in the future. thinking new thoughts, receiving new enlightenment? Because of Buddah, Micah Brack, and Zefram Cochrane, there were fig trees on Alpha Centauri waiting just for that moment. They passed a carrier whose flywheel hummed deep within it, the linear motors over its wheels still ticking as they cooled. It had a symbol of the scales of justice crookedly affixed to the door. The Centauri B II police force had arrived. 195 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Cochrane remembered the way Monica had laughed at Sergei's vehicle--the whole colony's police force dependent on a single, used farm vehicle. Cochrane actually enjoyed that dependence, the fact that the whole colony could depend on just a single officer of the law in a single, slow-moving vehicle. Sergei spent more time working at the power station than he did as a police officer. There was no real need for police here. The lack of crime on the colony worlds had once given Cochrane hope that perhaps there were some parts of human nature that had been left forever in the past, burned in the fires with the ashes of the Optimum. Sergei waited for them in the doorway of the farmhouse, hat in hand, looking glum through his immense walrus mustache. He approached Cochrane and Montcalm, hand extended, mouthing his sorrow and his regret and speaking of his respect for Cochrane's wife. Cochrane didn't hear a word. He still could not believe Monica was no longer with him, that she wasn't just on her way back from the clinic, smelling of antiseptic, anxious to slip out of her whites and share with him the adventures of her day and his. Surely these words Sergei said were meant for someone else to hear. Cochrane knew that in his younger days, full of energy, full of his questing spirit, he had always wanted to be alone, always appreciated solitude, yet now in these latter years, when he had been granted his wish, he knew he was no longer desirous of solitude. He wanted to hear Monica's soft voice again. He wanted to-- "--wasn't an accident, sir." The last four words exploded in Cochrane's mind. He blinked at the colony's lawman. "What did you say?" he asked. Sergei looked pained. "I took the wreck to the recycling depot," Sergei said loudly, speaking too slowly and too precisely, as if talking to a child, or someone over eighty. Cochrane hated that kind of treatment. "To see if anything could be reclaimed." "Of course you did," Cochrane said, wishing the young man-- Sergei was fifty--would get to the point. "Of course you did. SOP." "And Crombie--he's the tech on duty when I went there~ 196 FEDERATION Crombie takes one look at the engine hood and says some of those holes in it, well, sir, some of those holes aren't from the flywheel fragments busting out. They're from something else busting in." Cochrane stared at the lawman who was really a power station technician, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Monica had been driving their carrier back to the farm from Micah Town. The flywheel had slipped out of its capsule and ripped apart the engine compartment, sending shrapnel into the passenger area. It had been a tragedy. But tragedies still hap- pened. Every once in a while, things just broke. The carrier had been ripped in halfi The electrical system had ignited the fuel tanks. The storage batteries had exploded. At the hospital, the medical team had not allowed Cochrane to view the body. "I don't understand," Cochrane said. His heart fluttered in his chest. "What I mean, sir, is that I think someone deliberately shot at your wife's carrier." "Shot?" Cochrane repeated. He felt Montcalm's powerful arm move around him as his legs weakened. "I had Crombie cut out those hood sections--you know, entry holes--took them to the metallurgical department at the Founda- tion. Ionized gas residue, sir. All around the metal." Cochrane shook his head. This had no meaning for him. "Whatever projectiles hit your car, they were propelled by a plasma burst." The memories flooded back to Cochrane. "You mean, a fist- gun?" Sergei shrugged, out of his league. "A military weapon of some sort. sir. But not a beam weapon. Projectiles absolutely. The Foundation's going to go through the wreck again, see if they can find projectile fragments." Cochrane gaped at the man without speaking. His pulse hammered in his eardrums, the roar of a distant dark wave sweeping forward, unstoppable, consuming all. Sergei had wrung his hat into a cloth tube. "Sir, I've never handled a homicide case before. I mean, this whole entire 197 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS colony's never had a homicide case before. I'd like... I'd like to turn it over to the Orbital Defense Bureau. They're the closest thing to military we've got around here. Maybe they can send a pouch to Earth. Get some lab there to identify the weapon." Cochrane felt his chest continue to constrict. Could it be true? Could someone have taken Monica from him? Deliberately? "Is... is that all right, sir?" Sergei asked. Cochrane nodded. Of course it was all right. Whoever did this must be found, must be punished, must be... He heard Monica's words come back to him from so long ago, even as he was consumed by the desire for revenge. Tempting, she said, her voice so young, so sure, but then we wouM become him. "Please do... whatever you must," Cochrane choked out. Sergei nodded grimly. He started to walk off. Then he stopped, turned back, one finger lifted. "Uh, sir, just one more thing. I know they're going to ask me. I..." He looked embarrassed. "Sir? Do you have any enemies? You know, someone who might have wished you harm?" "Enemies," Cochrane said, thinking of ashes. "Let me bury my wife, Sergei. Then we can talk." "Thank you, sir." Sergei walked back to his carrier, smoothing his hat. Montcalm escorted Cochrane around the house, toward the fig trees, where the guests were assembled by a simple grave. Sir John was buried nearby, out of the shade, so he could always be beneath the stars. Throughout the service, Cochrane continued to feel as if each moment were happening to someone else. Just as he had felt that night on Earth, thirty-nine years ago, fleeing across the artificial turf of Battersea Stadium, the Optimum in its death throes all around him. The world hurtling toward the atomic horror. London in flames. He heard another, less welcome voice from his past, echoing from long-vanished stadium seats and walls, a face repeated an infinite number of times around him. You will never escape the Optimum/that voice screamed. You will never escape your destiny/ 198 FEDERATION Throughout the service, hearing nothing, Cochrane stared up at the fluttering leaves of the fig trees. But there was no enlighten- ment for him that day. Only his destiny, bleak and inescapable as it had always seemed to him. Later that day, that night, it was difficult to tell under the lighting conditions of midpoint, Cochrane sat in his study, listening to patient young voices, and he knew it would take a lifetime to explain the truth behind what their words described. Sergei was there, and Montcalm. Melanie Ark from the Foun- dation's metallurgical department, quiet and intense. Sirah Chulski of Orbital Defense, massive enough to block an asteroid on her own. Montcalm had put down a plate of sandwiches left over from the food the guests had brought. Cochrane wasn't hungry. Doubted he would be hungry ever again. But Ark went through them, one at a time, as methodically as she constructed superimpellor shielding, one molecular layer after another. "There can be no doubt," Chulski said. "It was a murder, Mr. Cochrane." Cochrane sat behind his desk and fingered a small metal medallion one of the Vulcans had given him years ago. It was a circle in which an off-center jewel served as the origin point of a triangle. The translation of what it represented had not been perfect. The linguists felt it would be many years still before communications were effortless. But the disk had held great meaning for the somber, pointed-ear aliens. Everyone fit within it, they had told him. But it was more than just a symbol of the universe; it meant behavior as well, as if they meant that all beliefs fit within it, too. Cochrane decided the planet Vulcanis had never given birth to its own Optimum Movement. He had no doubt that that was who had been behind the murder of his wife. He just didn't know if he could tell these young people the truth, without them discounting him because they thought that age had finally moved to claim his mind. 199 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "But for us to be able to solve a murder," Chulski said, "we need to know a motive." Sergei looked more sorrowful than even Cochrane felt. "Who would want to kill Dr. Burke?" he asked. Cochrane sighed. "I don't think whoever did it cared whether or not Monica lived or died." All eyes were on him. "They wanted to hurt me." Chulski leaned forward. "Who did, sir?" Cochrane couldn't bring himself to say it. But he had no other choice. In the end, what did it matter if anyone believed him or not? "The Optimum," Cochrane answered, and from the reaction of the people in the room, he might as well have said Jack the Ripper, as if that monster from old Earth could possibly be resurrected on another world. "Sir," Chulski said far too politely. "The Optimum Movement died a long time ago. And it was strictly an Earth-based aberra- tion." "I'm from Earth," Cochrane said, carefully putting the Vulca- nian medallion down on the desk. "I had run-ins with the Optimum before the war. Colonel Adrik Thorsen in particular." "Colonel Thorsen's dead, sir. So's Colonel Green. The whole cadre." "'The evil that men do lives after them,'" Cochrane said. Ark took another sandwich from the plate on the small table beside her. She looked at it intently, as if wondering what an atomic reading might reveal about its contents. "I have heard stories of Optimum cells still functioning," she admitted. "There have been so many rumors of war criminals escaping Earth to live under assumed names in the colonies... maybe some of them are true." Sergei looked unconvinced. "You're saying we have an Opti- mum cell on Alpha Centauri? C'mon, Melanie. They'd be re- ported so fast we'd be shipping them home before they had a second meeting." Ark popped the sandwich into her mouth and chewed it methodically. "Maybe someone just arrived?" Montcalm suggested hesitant- 200 FEDERATION Iv. "'~bu know, there's a cell somewhere else, and they sent someone here to . . . to you know." Chulski shifted her impressive bulk in her chair, managing as al~a}s to make the others seem less significant. "We could check xvith immigration. Find out who's come here in the past six months or so, and from where." She glanced back at Cochrane. ..'~au sure there's no one else you can think of, Mr. Cochrane?" "Of course there's not," Montcalm said, too forcefully. "He created the interstellar community single-handed. We owe our existence to him. Who could possibly want him dead?" The light bar on the desk communicator flashed. Cochrane watched it. The farmhouse system would pick it up in a moment. But he nodded at Montcalm to answer. The young man lifted the handset. The viewscreen remained dark. "Mr. Cochrane's office," he said. His eyes widened. He looked at Cochrane. "There's been an accident, sir. At the Foundation." He passed the handset to Sergei. "The fabrication cre~ is... dead, sir. All of them." Cochrane slumped back in his chair. The students on the fabrication team were the ones who engineered the latest theories, hand-wrapped the coils. They were the Foundation's best. The brightest. Already Cochrane knew that whatever happened, this, too. had been no accident. Sergei listened to the details. The others stood in agitation. Cochrane alone remained seated. Sergei confirmed it. "It was a matter-antimatter blast," he said. Montcalm was confused. "They never have fuel in the fabrica- tion facility." Sergei looked to Cochrane for confirmation. "He's right," Cochrane said. He closed his eyes and saw the faces of the fabrication team. Saw their parents' faces. Their children's. V~'as Micah Brack right? Did evil never die? Was the battle never over? The communicator flashed again. Sergei grabbed it, identified himself'. After a moment, he passed the handset to Cochrane. The viewscreen was still blank. Cochrane wondered bitterly who had died IlOV,, "Cochrane here," he said. 201 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "You know what I want," Adrik Thorsen answered. It had been thirty-nine years, but the voice, the tone, the cruelty were unmistakable. "You promised you'd use it against me if I came after you. And I am coming after you." Cochrane wanted to drop the handset but his body was paralyzed with shock. "You're dead," he said, his voice sounding older than even his years. "You're confused," Thorsen said. "It's your wife who's dead. It's your students who are dead. But you and I, we're still alive." Cochrane was aware of the others in the room watching him. Sergei went to a home system panel and inserted his police ID card, punching numbers furiously into the keypad, trying to override the privacy circuits. "One by one," Thorsen said. "One by one, I promise you they'll fall--until I have your attention." "You've got my attention!" Cochrane said to stop that terrible voice. "Then give me what I want." "It doesn't exist! It never has!" "I don't believe you, Mr. Cochrane. But I'll make certain that you believe me." Cochrane stared at the handset. This couldn't be happening again. It had ended in Battersea. In a blast of fusion fire. "You can't..." he said, already knowing that if anyone could, it would be Thorsen. "You're weak, Mr. Cochrane. Weakness is not optimal. Perhaps I was weak to ever have admired you. But in--" Sergei ripped the handset from Cochrane's rigid hand. "Who is this?!" he shouted into it. But from Sergei's expression, Cochrane could see that Thorsen had already broken the circuit. "Mr. Cochrane?" Sergei demanded. "Do you know who that was?" "Could you leave, please," Cochrane said. He felt exhausted. But Sergei didn't let go of the handset. "Does your home system automatically record calls?" It didn't. Monica hadn't thought that was right. Few systems on 202 FEDERATION Alpha Centauri were set for automatic record. But Cochrane didn't say that. What was the point? "Leave," he told his visitors. "Except you." He pointed a shaking finger at Montcalm. No one made a move to the door. Cochrane grabbed the handset from Sergei and slammed it down on his desk. The VulcanJan medallion bounced up and rolled off onto the floor, M~ere it spun and clattered on the tile. Sergei motioned to the others. Chulski and Ark followed him out. though both seemed uncertain it was the right thing to do. Montcalm stood in front of CochranCs desk. The young man was tense. muscles bunched, ready to strike wherever his teacher directed. "Will you tell me who it was, sir?" Cochrane wondered what it would be like to have youth again. He wondered what it would be like to have second chances. He wanted Montcalm to have a better life on Alpha Centauri. This horror pursuing him was something from the past. His past. It shouldn't concern Montcalm or anyone here. "It was someone who... just wants me," Cochrane said. "There're only two million people on this planet," Montcalm answered earnestly. "We can find him. We can find anyone." But Cochrane shook his head. The truth was that his own arrogance had caught up with him. Arrogance, he thought with sorrow. That final word he had felt compelled to have with Thorsen in the stadium, thirty-nine years ago. Turning back in the doorway to say that he would use his warp bomb if Thorsen ever came after him. Just to torment him, to hurt him, to be better than Thorsen ever could be. Monica had been right. He had become Thorsen. And that transformation had cost him her life and others, just beginning their journey. Cochrane felt so weary. Here he had hoped that his invention might someday let humanity leave the worst of its inner nature behind, yet he'himself was a repository for it. The cursed need [o /'(' hcUer. He wondered if the Vulcans included that in their medallion. "I want you to prep my ship," Cochrane told Montcalm. "You don't have to run, sir. I can protect you. This whole world can Protect you." JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Cochrane shook his head, tried to smile reassuringly. No need to disturb another life. "I'm not running. I want to go to... Stapledon Center. They have a good fabrication shop there. We're going to need new staff." Montcalm studied Cochrane carefully. "Are you sure? What about that call? Aren't you going to do anything about it?" "Life has to go on," Cochrane lied. Monica had always told him that. He hadn't believed her then, he didn't believe her now. But it was important to the safety of everyone he cared for on this world that Montcalm believe him at this moment. "Send a message pouch to Stapledon. Let them know I'm coming." "When do you want to go?" "Right away," Cochrane said. "Look after it for me?" Montcalm nodded slowly, anxious to do something, anything, for his teacher. "Do you want to keep the trip a secret, sir? I mean, if there is someone after you..." "I have nothing to hide," Cochrane said. "That call... it was just a crank." He looked around his study, all the books, the fiche, the computer cards, the building blocks of his mind, no longer with purpose. "I'1l feel better helping the Foundation. Really." "Can I at least post some guards around the house? I know they keep some old rifles out at the landing facilities." "That's not necessary," Cochrane said. "Increase security at the Foundation, that's all. So there won't be any more... accidents." Cochrane was relieved to see that whatever Montcalm believed about his real motives, he headed dutifully for the door. "And, Montcalm?" "Yes, sir?" "Thank you. For everything." Montcalm studied Cochrane carefully. "You're not thinking of doing something stupid, are you, sir?" Now Cochrane smiled. "You know me better than that." Montcalm tried to smile back but his effort lacked sincerity. Then he was gone. Cochrane remained at his desk for some time, staring into the years, remembering all the times Monica had come in here to tell him he had been working too long, too late. And all that time, FEDERATION Thorsen had been somewhere else in the galaxy, doing... what? Plotting what'? Why had it taken so long for his return? Cochrane wasn't hiding out on Alpha Centauri. Everyone knew it was his home. But where had Thorsen's home been since Battersea, since the world war? And whv had he come here now, wanting a technology that, even if it did exist, could no longer give him the power he had craved? In the end, Cochrane decided, the madman's motives were merely an abstraction--a mystery Cochrane would never comprehend in his lifetime, just another question to be placed nside. abandoned, with so many other unanswerable questions of youth. Cochrane pressed the control that made his computer rise up from his desktop. He asked it to display his will. It would be rcmiss of him not to at least give some thought to the future, the future Monica had seen, and he had been blind to. Then. with the changes made, leaving all that he had to the Foundation Micah Brack had established, Cochrane's thoughts of the future came to an end. Instead he remembered back to a time when he had wanted to take on the universe. He thought of that first night back in his home system, under the dome at Titan. So many possibilities, so much to do. But now he was only tired. And alone. He wanted to see the stars once more, then die. He wondered if this feeling was something built into the human species. the sense that when death was inevitable, it must be accepted, embraced. Or was it just his way of making certain someone like Adrik Thorsen could never win? Cochrane had no answer. As much as it sickened him to admit it, the war that had begun on Earth so long ago still continued, and he was to blame. }te had given humanity the stars, and then he had defiled them. But now finally, that intrusion would end. For no matter how his friend Micah' Brack might argue if he were here to do so, Zefram Cochrane believed there was still hope for humanity. That things could change. 204 205 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS For only a moment, he felt a brief twinge of regret that he would not live to see those changes. But his time was over. Alpha Centauri was no longer his home. The stars would have to beckon to someone else. He remembered another old, old poem his mother had read to him. It seemed to fit the moment. Deep space was his dwelling place, and death his destination. There was never any escape from that. Not for anyone. ?l FOURTEEN #. S.S. E/VTEflPRISE N C C - 1701 LEAVING THE GAMMA CANARIS REGION Stardate 3854.7 Earth Standard: ~ Nevember 2267 The Enterprise blazed through space so that the stars were rainbow smears of light around her. Kirk watched them pass on the main bridge viewscreen, knowing they had been a sight at first unknown to Zefram Cochrane in his early voyages. The key to being able to perceive anything of normal space-time while in warp was directly related to the characteristics of the warp field itself. Cochrane had quickly learned that for warp propulsion to be eflScient, a minimum of two fields must be generated. so that one overlapped the other, offset at oscillations on the order of the Planck interval--the smallest possible unit of measurable time. Unfortunately, when the two warp fields were of suthcientlv different sizes, any photons from normal space-time that impinged on the outermost field generally were absorbed by what was. to them, a perfect radiation sink--the gap between the fields. In the beginning, Cochrane had accepted this state of affairs because it neatlv explained why Einsteinian notions of time dilation did not apply inside the warp field--with no possibility for the exchange of meaningful information, there was no conflict x~ith established physics. The existence of information-free, 206 207 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS faster-than-light phenomena such as this was well known, dating back to experimental confirmation of the Einstein-Podolsky. Rosen Paradox in the mid-1900s. Thus, Cochrane's first faster-than-light voyages had left him literally in the dark. Once he entered warp space, he lost all communication with the normal universe. Eventually, as his system became more efficient and the warp fields became more tightly focused and layered, photons were able to penetrate into the warp bubble, bringing with them the breathtaking image so dear to Kirk of stars passing by so quickly that they became little more than streaks of light. And, once scientists were able to exploit subspace as a medium in which they could propagate electromagnetic signals at speeds in excess of 190,000 times the speed of light, standard computer enhancement techniques cre- ated hyperreal images from subspace sensor scans, much the way old-fashioned radar systems on old Earth had created echoes of distant objects in centuries past. Though science had not been Kirk's first love in school, he could understand how scientists had arrived at these break- through innovations. Like Cochrane, they had not wasted their time running headlong into the solid walls of accepted theories. Instead, they had chosen to broaden their arena, change the rules, and step outside accepted boundaries. Kirk knew the approach well. His ship was proof that the approach worked in physics. The fact that he commanded her was proof it worked in the world of human affairs as well. But the fact that it was Admiral Kabreigny who still occupied the Enterprise's command chair told Kirk that he still had some lessons to learn in applying the approach. For now, Kirk stood at the admiral's side, eyes fixed on the screen. The Companion, wearing a standard blue technician's jumpsuit, sat behind him on the upper level, in the chair at Spock's science station, guiding the Enterprise's course by her mysterious contact with Cochrane, which Sulu had managed to translate to navigational charts. Spock was with her and McCoy was nearby with a fully stocked medical kit. So far, more than a FEDERATION day out from her home planetold, the Companion's stamina had noi yet fidled her. But McCoy wanted to be prepared for anything, alld was. "Keptin," Chekov announced. "I mean, Admiral, I am picking Lip a wessel in the indicated flight path." "Onscreen," Kabreigny ordered. "Full magnification." Sulu adjusted a control and the stars rippled as the viewer's image expanded to include a tiny spot of light, clearly not a star. "She's at the limit of our sensor range," Sulu said. Kirk glanced back at the Companion and Spock. The Compan- ion held her hands to her face. She whispered something Kirk couldn't hear. Spock nodded. "That could be it," Kirk said. He fought the urge to give the next orders as he reluctantly deferred to the admiral. Like most women in Starfieet's upper echelons, Kabreigny had earned her rank in the science and support branches, meaning she had no frontline command experience. But that rank technically did allow her to take over the Enterprise, and after a day of seeing her in his chair. Kirk was getting better at remembering that state of affairs. Though he had no intention of getting used to it. "Target vessel's speed?" Kabreigny asked. "Cruising at warp factor three," Chekov said. "No indication that she's seen us." "If it is the Planitia, her sensors won't be effective at this range." Kirk said. "Zefram!" the Companion suddenly gasped. "The man is closer... so alone..." Kabreigny leaned forward in the chair. "Navigator, I want you to slowly drop speed and match course with the target vessel. Come up behind like a sensor echo. It's just a civilian ship so it shouldn't be difficult." "Aye-aye. Admiral." Sulu went to work on his board. The stars shit'ted as the Enterprise changed course. Kirk watched the admiral closely, trying to fathom the reason for her order. "A luxury liner has no defenses or weapons that can stand up to the Enterprise, Admiral. Why the caution?" '~It's not the liner I'm worried about," Kabreigny said, not 209 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS bothering to explain further. Without looking at Kirk, she added, "I presume you have a transporter team experienced in high- velocity transport." 'TI1 put my chief engineer on it." But Kabreigny put her hand on Kirk's arm before he could activate the chair's intercom panel. "Leave Mr. Scott right where he is. We might need better than warp eight in a few minutes. Who's your next choice?" Kirk understood that for whatever reason, Kabreigny was preparing for a fast flyby and transporter retrieval of Cochrane. She didn't want to risk a showdown. "Mr. Spock," Kirk said. "Will you be able to handle the Companion?" "The Companion can handle herself quite well." Kabreigny ignored Kirk's insubordinate tone. "Have Mr. Spock stand by in the transporter room and wait for my signal." Kirk did not acknowledge the order, but he went to Spock, explained what the admiral was preparing for, and took the science officer's place at the Companion's side. Spock left the bridge. "We have matched course," Sulu announced. "Come up on her slowly, Navigator," the admiral said sharply. "I want to see her onscreen as soon as we have her in range." Long moments passed. Kirk was aware only of the Compan- ion's erratic breathing. McCoy had earlier suggested it was the result of the connection she felt with Zefram Cochrane. It was Zefram Cochrane who was in bad enough shape that he was having difficulty breathing, wherever he was. The Companion's health, so far, was fine. "Wessel coming into range," Chekov called out. "Onscreen." The target vessel was a civilian liner--an elongated ovoid about half the length of the Enterprise, with three nacelles in the same configuration as the missing City' of Utopia Planitia. "Are you receiving any identification signals?" Kabreigny asked. Chekov answered without taking his eyes from his side of the command console. "Negative, Admiral. The liner is powered- down. No communications. But sensors confirm her warp signa- ture as the Planitia." FEDERATION "Shield status?" the admiral asked. Sulu answered. 'Tm reading navigational shields only." Kabreigny spoke rapidly over her shoulder to Uhura. "Com- munications: Relay that to Mr. Spock. I want him able to hear everything on this bridge from now on." Uhura contacted Spock in the transporter room. Kirk knew as long as the liner was using only her forward navigational deflec- tors, deployed solely for sweeping debris out of her flight path, the t:'ntcrprisc would be able to come up from behind and transport Cochrane without difficulty. But only as long as the crew of the liner--presumably Cochrane's kidnappers--didn't realize the l:'ntcrprL~'e was closing on them. Uhura looked up from her board after talking with Spock. "Open channel established, Admiral." "Distance to target?" Kabreigny asked, intent on the screen. Sulu read from his board. "One hundred thousand kilometers." "Take us into transporter range, Navigator. Mr. Spock, stand bv for emergency transport. Lock on to human life signs on the target vessel." Spock's voice answered from the bridge speakers. "What if there are multiple human life-sign readings?" ~Transport them all, Mr. Spock. We'll sort them out later." Kirk couldn't stand it any longer. Kabreigny was going by the book, but it wasn't enough. "With respect, Admiral, if you're planning on transporting hostiles aboard the Enterprise--" Kabreigny cut him off. "Security detail to the transporter room. Phasers set to stun." Kirk relaxed, but only a bit. "May I make another suggestion, 'Xdmiral?" "Coming up on transporter range," Sulu announced. "Still no indication that they've spotted us." Kabreigny looked at Kirk. "Say what you have to, Captain." 'qf the liner is in the hands of Orion pirates, where's their original ship?" Kabreigny tightened her grip on the arms of the chair. "The craft that landed by Cochrane's shelter on the planetoid was Small. Captain. I presume it's docked on the liner's hangar deck." Kirk could feel nervous energy roiling up inside him. "The pad 210 211 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS marks on the planetoid were from a landing craft, Admiral. Something that small couldn't have taken over a liner." "Then they took it over from within," Kabreigny said, but for the first time Kirk could hear uncertainty in her voice. So did McCoy. "For God's sake, Admiral--what liner is going to let Orions book passage without packing them in freeze tubes?" "Do you have a recommendation?" Kabreigny asked in annoy- ance. "Full sensor sweep of the surrounding area," Kirk said, step- ping down from the operations section to the command-chair level. "Why not fire a photon torpedo across their bow," Kabreigny snapped, "and really let them know we're here?" "Admiral--you're taking my ship into danger." Kabreigny pushed herself out of the chair, towering over Kirk because of the chair's raised platform. "Captain, you are attempt- ing to warn the enemy." "What?!" McCoy said. "Since when are Orion pirates the enemy? They're criminals, annoyances... but enemies?" "Dr. McCoy," the admiral ordered, "you will leave the bridge." But McCoy had no intention of following that order. "I will not leave my patient." Kirk shot a glance at the Companion. Her face was still buried in her hands. Alarmingly, her breathing was coming in shorter and shorter gasps. Kabreigny pointed at McCoy. "I have given you an order, Doctor." McCoy bristled with indignation. "You are outside your au- thority, Admiral." Kabreigny matched him, bristle for bristle. "Very well. You force me to relieve you of duty." "You cannot relieve me of my medical obligations to my patient." "We are in transporter range," Sulu said, his voice carefully neutral. Kirk watched the admiral intently, ready to step in the instant she made a mistake that would stand up to review. His fists opened and closed in frustration at his sides. FEDERATION Spock's cool voice came from the speakers again. "I have detected eighty-three humans aboard the liner, Admiral. Do you ~vish me to transport them all?" ,'Eighty-three?" Kabreigny said, momentarily distracted. "What did you expect? It's a passenger liner!" Kirk shouted. "One hundred and two crew and passengers!" Kabreigny looked confused. "But they kill their prisoners." "Who are you talking about?" Kirk demanded. "Tell my people ~vhat to do or step down, Admiral!" "I am awaiting orders," Spock said. The Companion moaned. ? 'Keptin, warp signature approaching, dead ahead. It is the same configuration as we encountered en route to Babel, sir." "Admiral! Give me command!" Kirk demanded. "Shields!" Kabreigny ordered, ignoring Kirk. "Go to Red Alert!" Chekov confirmed shields up. Warning lights flashed and sirens pulsed. "Liner has raised her shields," Chekov said. "She's coming about." "Unidentified warp vessel closing," Sulu reported. "Her weap- ons are preparing to fire." "Evasive maneuvers!" Kabreigny ordered. "What?!" Kirk sputtered. "What about Cochrane?" The deck pitched as the inertial dampeners lagged behind the sudden change of course Sulu initiated. "Wessel firing!" Chekov shouted. "Torpedo impact in ten seconds." Kabreigny leaned back in the command chair. "Warp seven. Take us out of here." The Cochrane generators whined as they surged with power. "t:'nfcrprise is moving out of range," Chekov confirmed. "But enemy wessel is pursuing." Chekov paused, then looked over his sheraider. "Awaiting orders, Admiral." "We're going to outrun them, mister," Kabreigny said stoutly. "We can't outrun them," Kirk countered, his voice rigid with Suppressed rage. "They've tied all their power into their warp drive. It's a suicide configuration for a one-way mission." 212 213 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Enemy wessel closing." Kabreigny eyed Kirk suspiciously. "You seem to know an awful lot about our adversary, Captain." "We faced a ship just like it last week." "How convenient." "Are you implying that I'm somehow in league with our attackersT' McCoy stepped up to the other side of the command chair. "Careful, Captain." "No," Kabreigny said. "By all means, Captain Kirk, continue." "Enemy wessel has fired," Chekov said. "Impact in eight seconds." "Come about," Kabreigny ordered. "Concentrate power in forward shields." Sulu glanced over his shoulder in alarm. Kirk reached his limit. "Belay that order! Drop to impulse on my mark! And cut those blasted sirens!" The Red Alert lights remained but the sirens instantly cut out. Sulu smiled as he turned back to the console. "Aye-aye, sir!" "Captain Kirk, you are relieved of duty!" Kabreigny barked. "Leave the bridge." "Impact in four seconds, three... two..." Kirk hammered his fist in empty air. "Mark.f" Sulu slammed his hands over his controls and the ship lurched as it dropped to sublight the instant the enemy's phaser fire hit. But the energies of that blast were dissipated, half in warp velocity, half in normal space, as the Enterprise threw off her warp fields. The ship rumbled, shook, but Kirk could tell from the way she absorbed the blow that she had resisted damage. The admiral hit the intercom switch on the chair arm. "Securi- ty to the bridge," she commanded. "Admiral, I'd advise you to consider your next move very carefully," Kirk warned. "Enemy vessel coming about," Sulu said. "Prepare photon torpedoes," Kirk ordered. He moved in close to Kabreigny. "If we had taken that blast with full power to our forward shields, shield capability would have dropped fifty per- 214 FEDERATION cent for the next round. The case could be made that you were deliberately trying to sabotage the Enterprise's defenses." "That's ridiculous! I was putting us in position to return point-blank fire." ? 'Enemy wessel in range." "Fire one. three, and five," Kirk said swiftly. The capacitor hum of the torpedoes' linear induction launching tubes echoed on the bridge. "You were the one who gave us away," Kabreigny accused Kirk. ? "~bu already know what's on that liner." "I'm in the dark, Admiral." Kirk shielded his eyes as the first of the torpedoes detonated, sending a flare of orange light into the bridge. "Enemy wessel breaking off attack." "Pursue!" Kirk said. "Maximum warp! Don't give it time to come about. Ready phasers!" Sulu's voice was filled with tension. "Closing on enemy... it's changing course again... it's running, Captain! Warp factor seven.. , seven point five..." Kirk jammed his finger against the chair intercom. "Kirk to Engineering--Scotty, give me everything you've got, just for a minute." The engineer didn't waste time replying. Kirk felt the Enter- /,'i,~c lurch again. Her engines whined. "Range?" Kirk asked. "Twenty thousand kilometers," Sulu answered. "They're climbing to warp eight. Sir... we're at eight point three!" Kirk grinned. That was almost four percent greater than the ship's fastest possible speed. He had no idea how Scott was managing it. Kirk could almost feel the wind in his hair, hear the tlap of the sails, smell the smoke from the cannons as the seas raged all around him. "Thatta boy, Scotty..." he whispered. The enemy ship began to grow on the screen. It could outrun the E~z~er/,'/,s~i Kirk knew, but it would take a few moments to accelerate to faster than warp eight point three. And Kirk wasn't going to give it those moments .... "In range, sir!" 215 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Fire phasers! All banks!" Twin strands of glowing blue energy erupted through space, converging toward the glowing orange light of the enemy. The orange light blossomed into a shimmering white flower. "Direct hit!" Chekov exclaimed, fist in the air. A second explosion silently filled the screen, more violent than the first. Kirk held his hand to his eyes before the screen compensated for the increased level of optical radiation. "That was her antimatter containment field," Sulu said. "Read- ing only fine debris, sir. The target is completely destroyed." "Resume heading back to the liner," Kirk said. "Warp factor seven." He hit the intercom again. "Scotty, you're a miracle worker." "Aye," the chief engineer replied with exhaustion over the speaker, "that's what I keep telling ye." Then Kirk released the Send button and stepped back from the chair. "Now that my ship is safe, Admiral, where were we?" "You and Dr. McCoy were leaving the bridge." The turbolift opened and two security officers sprang out, phasers drawn. "At ease," Kirk told them. He stepped in close to the admiral and dropped his voice. "There's no need to make this harder than it already is. Remember, everything we say, everything we do on this bridge, goes directly into the flight recorder. Command's not going to have any trouble seeing that I stepped in to save the ship when you endangered her." McCoy joined them, also whispering. "The captain's done everything regulations require to accommodate you, Admiral. But if he should decide that you should be relieved of command, as chief medical officer I will support him." Kabreigny's face twisted in anger. She stared at McCoy in outrage. "Do you know what you're saying, Doctor?" But McCoy didn't escalate the confrontation. His reply was kind. "It's not what you think, Admiral. But what I am saying is that your expertise is in other areas than the command chair of a starship. And that at your age your health might not be up to the challenge of command under fire." Kabreigny's lips thinned. 216 FEDERATION ~I saved the ship," Kirk said. "Now let me save Cochrane." Kabreigny drew in a ragged breath and Kirk could see her struggle to remain calm. "How can I know that's what you intend to do?" she asked. McCoy brought up a medical scanner and waved it by the admiral. "I don't understand," Kirk said. "Why wouldn't I want to save Cochrane'?" "You could be involved in this whole business," Kabreigny said. ? 'Keptin, we are coming up on the liner." McCoy checked the reading on his scanner. "Admiral, if you do not relinquish command now, I will have you relieved for medical reasons. Your heart's beating like a blasted trip-hammer." "Involved in what?" Kirk asked. "The conspiracy," Kabreigny said. Her voice was raspy. Her dark face was becoming ashen. The Enterprise creaked as sparkles of light flared across her viewscreen. "The liner is firing her navigational phasers at us," Sulu reported. "No damage to shields." "What conspiracy?" Kirk demanded. Kabreigny stared him in the eyes. "You're either telling the truth, or you're even better than Starfleet thinks you are." She stood up. "Captain Kirk, I am ordering you to bring Zefram Cochrane safely aboard this ship. I now turn over command of the E~zterprise to you." Head held impressively high, she stepped down from the chair. In seconds, McCoy had pressed a hypospray to her arm, telling her it would lower her heart rate. Kirk took the chair. It was like coming home. The liner's navigational phasers struck again and he felt like laughing as the E~z[o'pri.se effortlessly rode out their attack. Nothing could stop him now, nothing could stop them. ~'Mr. Chekov," Kirk announced. '.'Standing by, Keptin." There was almost joy in Chekov's \ OlCe. Kirk leaned back in his chair as if his ship embraced him. "Take 217 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS us in to five hundred meters. I want pinpoint hits on the liner's navigational phaser emitters. Low power. No damage to the interior." Chekov liked the sound of that. No ship should be able to fire at the Enterprise and expect to get away with it. "Uhura, opening hailing frequencies. Tell the City of Utopia Planitia to prepare to receive a boarding party." But as Uhura transmitted her message and the Enterprise moved in, Sulu said, "Captain, I am picking up venting of interior atmosphere. Someone has opened an airlock on the liner." "Onscreen," Kirk said. The side of the liner sprang up into full magnification. Kirk instantly saw what had happened. The writhing form of a human drifted away from an open airlock. "Spock! They've thrown someone out through an airlock. Get a fix and beam him in!" "Animals," McCoy gasped. Spock's reply over the speakers was calm, but not encouraging. "Whoever has been ejected from the ship is within the navigation- al shields. The transporter cannot save him." The figure floating at the side of the liner ceased its struggles. Kirk knew there were only seconds remaining to save a life. "Chekov! Target the liner's shield generators! Fire at will!" "Aye-aye, sir." Chekov's fingers flew over his controls. But then he paused. "Keptin--I am picking up multiple life-sign readings around the liner's shield generators." Kirk couldn't take his eyes off the drifting figure. Someone's life had been sacrificed to make a point. And now more hostages were assembled by the shield generators to make another. Uhura broke the silence of the bridge. "Captain Kirk, the liner is responding." "Onscreen." As quickly as that the face of the enemy appeared on the main screen. And the enemy was Klingon. 218 FIFTEEN ROMULAN VESSEL TEARS OF/IIGERDIV DEEP SPACE Stardate 43921.5 Earth Standard: May 2366 The Romulan ship smelled damp. That was Picard's first impression of the Warbird as the transporter effect faded around him and he gazed into the vessel's cavernous hangar deck in person for the first time. Damp, and hot, and with an unsettling blend of spices and alien sweat. He found it invigorating. Commander Tarl stood before him, impressive in her battle uniform. She was taller than he by almost half a meter, and in person she looked strained. But then, Picard considered, how v?ould he appear if he had stolen the Enterprise in order to deliver stolen property to the Romulans? The Romulan commander had taken a dimcult path. Picard felt obligated to honor her. "Request permission to come aboard," Picard asked formally. Tarl narrowed her eyes at him. "You are aboard. This way." Sl~e turned her back to him and began to walk toward the scaffolding t~enty meters away. All in all, Picard decided his reception lacked a certain grace. He breathed deeply, committing the scent of the vessel to his memory, realizing that in Sarek's memories the scent was already there and known. Picard smiled as he approached his away team. He felt like an 219 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS explorer, and the exotic expanse of stars seen through the open hangar doors, obscured only by the slight flickering of the forcefield retaining the ship's atmosphere, enhanced that feeling for him. The artifact, though partially hidden behind the green scaffold- ing and in the glaring halos of the encircling lights, was just as impressive as the stars. It was at least five meters tall, ten meters long, and who knew how many meters deep. The angular arrange- ments of conduits and pipes along its one flat side were certainly reminiscent of the Borg approach to engineering, and when Picard looked more closely, he saw that the exposed surfaces were pitted with small impact craters, most no larger than a finger- tip. "Is this part of the Borg vessel exterior?" Picard asked. "Judging from the scarring," Riker said, "the consensus is yes." Picard smiled at his number one. "I appreciate the chance to come aboard and see this firsthand, Will, but it's so obviously of Borg manufacture, I'm surprised you found it necessary for me to be here." Riker responded with a matching smile, though Picard could see it was patently false, assumedly only for the benefit of Tarl and the two stern Romulans who accompanied her. "It's the interior we think you should see, Captain. There are some... unusual Borg components there." "I do not see the reason for this delay," Tarl said impatiently. "The artifact is yours. I need a ship for my crew." "Commander, please, a few minutes more," Riker said. "We have strict protocols we must follow. I'm sure your command structure is no different from our admiralty." Tarl frowned. "Deliver me from subpraetors with their comput- er screens and regulations," she muttered. Riker nodded and sighed in agreement. "They're everywhere." Tarl gestured for them to continue. "A few minutes then." As Picard moved around the side of the artifact and saw it extended another ten meters, he gave Riker a puzzled glance. "The protocols we must follow in a matter like this are very straightforward, Will. It's all at the captain's discretion." 220 FEDERATION "We needed an excuse to bring you over," Riker said in a suddenly lowered voice. "Data, where are you?" Picard was startled by the android's head suddenly poking out from among some tightly woven conduits on the surface of the artifact. He was already inside it. "Allow me, Captain," Data said. His body emerged just enough to allow him to push aside some strands of metal, bending them back until a narrow entry hole had been opened. "There is a corridor inside which is more or less undamaged. If you could come this way." Then Data disappeared back inside the mass of the artifact. Picard didn't hesitate. This was thrilling. He climbed in after Data. Picard's uniform snagged a few times on rough pieces of metal or wiring, he couldn't tell which, but after gingerly edging through a two-meter-thick section of the artifact, he found himself inside a large, well-defined passageway, whose appearance suggested that it had been sliced clean out of the interior of a Borg ship. As hc stood up, Picard grew even more intrigued. If Starfleet could determine what kind of weaponry had been used to penetrate Borg defenses to cause such physical damage to their ship, the Federation would have nothing to fear when the Borg finally arrived at its borders. "I am very encouraged by this," Picard said. He looked around at the complex construction all around him. Starfleet engineers would be ecstatic. "Just around this corner, sir." Riker led the way now, Data hanging back. The internal passageway was lit by the small palm torches the away team carried, sending bars of light and shadow rippling through the mesh and interwoven conduits. La Forge handed his torch to Picard as he came to the corner where Riker stood. Picard was aware of how quiet everything seemed, as if the passageway were lined with a perfect acoustical shield. "Do you notice the flattened quality of the sound in here?" Picard asked. He wondered if it had any significance. Then La Forge held up a tricorder. "That's because I've set up an acoustical baffle, sir. So we can talk without being overheard." 221 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Talk about what?" Picard asked. Riker glanced at the rest of the away team, then looked the captain in the eye. "We know the Borg assimilate the technology of whatever race they come in contact with." "Yes..." Picard said, not knowing where this was leading. "Around this corner is another artifact, sir. An object which was obviously incorporated into the original Borg ship. It is our conclusion that neither the Borg nor Commander Tarl has realized what it is. We can't be certain ourselves, but with your archaeological expertise, we think you should be able to confirm our suspicions." "I must say you have piqued my interest, Number One. But why not link up your tricorder to the Enterprise's history com- puter?" "If the Romulans are monitoring our communications, which they should be, we didn't want to reveal what we suspect." Riker extended his hand to the hidden passageway. "Take a look for yourself, sir. You be the judge." Picard tightened his grip on the palm torch and with a thrill of excitement, walked around the corner. He found himself in a blind alley. "What, exactly, am I looking for?" he asked as he moved the beam of the torch over the heavily textured walls. The moisture in the air gave the beam shape, making it glow as a blue cone against the dark Borg machinery. "At the end, sir. The silver panel," Riker said from behind him. Picard shone his torch straight ahead. Sure enough, a patch of silver gleamed back at him. He could see where a metal panel had been pulled back to expose more of it, about a square meter in all. He moved closer to it. There was something engraved on the silver surface. "This panel here?" he asked. "With what appears to be inscriptions?" "Yes, sir," Riker said. Picard was aware of Data, and Worh and Mr. La Forge all standing behind Riker at the open end of the passageway, watching the captain's every move. "And it's more than a panel," La Forge added. "My scans show 222 FEDERATION it's the surface of a discrete object about two meters by three meters by five meters." Picard touched the silver panel. It was cold. Moisture had condensed on it. "The object is also the source of the power readings for the entire artifact," Data said. "Because there appears to have been no effort to remove the object from the artifact, we assume that the Romulans have decided it is a power supply of some kind." ? 'But you don't believe that's what it is," Picard said. He rubbed at the gleaming silver surface, smearing the water drop- lets, feeling the depth of the inscriptions. They were an odd combination of delicate cuneiform wedges, broken up by simplis- tic, almost geometrical drawings of circles and squares and dotted lines. He could see why his away team had asked for him. The markings did look familiar. "You're certain we can't risk even a brief contact with the Enterprise?" Picard asked. The ship's computer would be able to identi[v these markings within seconds. "That's up to you, sir," Riker said. Picard turned his head sideways, seeing if that would make the inscription more recognizable. "I don't know if I appreciate all this mystery, Number One. Perhaps my archaeological acumen leaves something to be desired when compared to Mr. Da--" The pattern jumped out at him like lightning. "Sacr~ merde," Picard whispered. He had seen inscriptions like this before. Just never so many of them at once. In Professor Galen's study at the Academy. Reproductions of engravings from a hundred different worlds, so controversial that the professor would not even show them in class. Only to a select few students in whom he believed rested the future of exoarchaeology. Picard realized he had stopped breathing. "What--" He had to clear his throat before he could make any recognizable sound. "Mr. Data... what is the age of this... object?" "Overall, the age of the rest of the Borg artifact in which the object rests is approximately four centuries. However, the object itself is, at minimum, three point five billion years old." Picard's mouth was open. He held his hand reverentially to the 223 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS silver surface, feeling the textures that had been placed there by thinking beings when life on Earth was still primordial soup. "And its power supply still functions?" "That is correct, sir." Riker was beside the captain. "Have you recognized it, Cap- tain?" "Without question." Picard almost felt as if the passageway were spinning around him, leaving him motionless in its well of silence. He looked at his first officer, and realized that the next words he spoke he would remember for the rest of his life. "This object was made by... the Preservers." It was not known what the Preservers had called themselves. Some Federation scientists still doubted that they had in fact existed. Others maintained that the relics and legends attributed to the Preservers were actually the work of a dozen different races over a broad range of time, blended only by the passage of cons. Still others believed that the ancient race, whether one species or many, was little more than a myth, similar to a hundred others common to almost all sentient, spacefaring species--the much- desired promise that somewhere in the void the answers to all questions were waiting to be found, if only the seekers were worthy. It was a powerful belief, the fuel of uncounted religions and space-exploration programs. Privately, Picard was of the mind that it was far better to discover things than to be given them. But the secrets the Preservers represented were so profound that he sometimes doubted there would be much difference between discovery and revelation in their case, should they actually be fact and not fiction. Among humans, what would eventually become the Preserver legend had begun at the same time as the exploration of space, reflecting more a change in the way of thinking about humanity's place in the universe than any response to the discovery of evidence of extraterrestrial visitation of Earth. But as humanity ventured to other planets and met other spacefarers, tantalizing fragments of evidence did accumulate. It was clear that life was everywhere. It was clear that just as there were cultures on the 224 FEDERATION brink of space travel, and cultures that had traveled among the stars for centuries, there were also advanced cultures that had arisen thousands, if not millions, if not billions, of years earlier. The ruins of their cities and accomplishments could be found throughout the galaxy. Picard had seen his share of them, including those of the Tkon and the Iconians. But which among these ancient civilizations had given birth to the Preservers was still unknown. The most recent and probable sign of their hand had been discovered on an Earth-like planet to which a group of humans from the North American plains civilization had been transported almost six hundred years earli- er. The largest known artifact attributed to the Preservers, a powerful graviton-beam generator contained in a metal obelisk also marked with inscriptions, had been discovered there, and ~vas still being studied, as it had no apparent source of power. In the decades since that artifact's discovery, other examples of the mysterious writing on it had been uncovered at archaeological sites throughout the galaxy, including the inscriptions on a handful of metallic shards dating back more than a billion years. With that discovery, still controversial, made by Professor Rich- ard Galen, arguably the greatest living archaeologist of the day, excitement had spread through the Federation. It was unheard of that anv culture had survived with its writtenlanguage unchanged for more than a few millennia at best. Yet Galen insisted that the similarities between the inscriptions on his shards and the so-called Preserver obelisk proved that an astoundingly stable culture. dedicated to the preservation of life, still existed today, unseen. Galen's critics, citing Hodgkins's much-maligned Law of Paral- lel Planet Development, pointed out that given the enormous number of civilizations that had arisen in the galaxy, it was statistically inevitable that some forms of writing had been devel?ped'that were similar, and saw Galen's claims of a single, founding culture only as an inescapable coincidence. In response, Picard had read, Professor Galen had since gone on to a more scientific mode of exploration, analyzing the similarities of the DNA structure among many of the galaxy's 225 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS sentient life-forms, searching for other, more irrefutable signs of a Preserver-like race. But there were others in the Federation who pressed ahead to extend Galen's early work at an archaeological level, searching for physical evidence of a culture that might have seeded the galaxy with life at the beginning of time, preserved it from destruction in the ages that followed, and somewhere unknown kept watch even now, for reasons unfathomable but endlessly compelling. In the instant he had recognized the inscriptions, Picard understood that the object in the Borg artifact might be that one telling piece of evidence which had been sought on thousands of worlds. No mere handful of shards, but an actual, functioning device, richly detailed with Preserver-style writing, perhaps hold- ing the key to understanding the origin of life. And its ultimate purpose. Picard had good reason to feel magically isolated while his world spun around him. Within his grasp could be the absolute answer to the ultimate question of existence. And why else was there a Starfleet but to discover exactly that? "I will make the following arrangements," Picard said to Commander Tarl. He hoped that in the past few minutes he had recovered enough from the staggering discovery within the Borg artifact that his voice sounded normal and unremarkable. So far, at least, Tarl and the others of her crew seemed to suspect nothing. He continued reading the points he had entered on the small padd Riker had given him. La Forge, Worf, and Data remained by the Borg artifact, running a structural load analysis to devise a method to take it to the Enterprise. "To begin: Immediate transport, under cover, for yourself and your crew to Starbase 718," Picard said. Riker added, "I've already requested four high-speed trans- ports to rendezvous with us back at Legara IV, for your journey." Tarl regarded the captain and his first officer without expres- sion, arms crossed. "At Starbase 718," Picard continued, "you will be provided with a Nautilus-class colony ship, fully equipped for the auto- 226 FEDERATION mated construction of a self-sustaining, class-M-world, farming and mining community, with a range of two thousand light-years at warp six before refueling. That should take you far beyond the Federation's boundaries, and the Empire's." Tarl stared at the deckplates. "Farmers and miners." She shook her head as if she could imagine nothing worse. "Other options are available," Picard reminded her. "But they would require you to remain within the Federation. In time, should the Empire discover what you have done, we might be asked to extradite you for charges of piracy and... treason." Tarl unfolded her arms. "The Empire already knows what I have done, Captain. Your assistance is... acceptable." She didn't sound convinced, but Picard knew she had no other choice. ")~mr assistance is most appreciated," Picard replied. "And when the time comes, I shall personally see to it that you receive the honor that is due you." Tarl looked as if she hadn't understood a single word. "When ~vhat time comes?" "When the Federation enjoys the same relationship with the Romulan Empire as it does today with the Klingon Empire." Tarl reacted with amazement. "You actually believe that will come to pass'?" "Of course," Picard said. "It is inevitable." Tarl stepped closer to Picard, making him look up at her. "The Federation will never conquer my people." Very calmly, Picard replied, "The Federation does not conquer, Commander. It invites. There is a considerable difference. And someday, when your rulers are convinced that the Federation's ideals are their own, shared by thousands of worlds and cultures, the>. will a,?k to join and the invitation will be extended to them as it has been extended to so many others for more than two hundred years." Tarl stared down at Picard for long moments. Then she said, "'~bu humans truly are the most arrogant life-form the galaxy has ever seen." "Humans are not the only species in the Federation, Com- mander. Therefore, your argument is not logical." JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Logical," Tarl sneered. "The corrupt Vulcan influence is everywhere." She then strode away, her boot heels clicking loudly on the deckplates. "'Not logical'? I take it Ambassador Sarek is still with you," Riker said. Picard sighed. "From time to time." He regarded Commander Tarl's diminishing form. "She doesn't seem happy, does she, even though we're giving her all that she's asked for. Even more." "Who understands the Romulan mind?" Riker said. "I know she thinks she's actually helping the Empire by turning over the Borg artifact to us, but still, for a Romulan to not think that her system and science and technology are the best..." Riker shrugged. "But she is doing the right thing." "You mean," Picard said, "according to us. In our... 'arrogant' viewpoint." Riker eyed his captain with interest. There was little the two men could hide from each other. "Are you having second thoughts about this transaction?" For the first time, Picard wondered if he was. Or was it just an echo of Sarek's long-held doubts about the Romulans that was affecting him? "You don't suppose it's gone too easily, do you?" Picard asked. "You mean: Are we being set up?" Picard nodded. Riker laughed. "Now you sound like you're recovering from a mind-meld with Worf." Riker saw that Picard was not returning his laughter and he responded to the question seriously. "If it is a setup, you have to admit it's fantastically elaborate." "It all depends on what the purpose of the setup is," Picard said. "Any theories?" Riker asked. Picard had been asking himself the same question. "Perhaps their intention is to mislead us about the nature of the Borg. Therefore, they have given us this artifact to study, to base our defenses on, only for us to discover in battle that it's not true Borg technology at all and that all our efforts have been wasted." Riker shook his head. "Our defeat under those conditions would leave the Romulans facing a Borg Collective which had FEDERATION assimilated all the technology and firepower of the Federation. I doubt even they could be so shortsighted." That had been Picard's only plausible theory and he was glad that Riker had pointed out its obvious flaw. He supposed there was a possibility that the Borg artifact contained a bomb of some sort. But any explosive device powerful enough to damage the En[erprise would have been easily detected by the away team. And if the Romulans were that intent on destroying a Federation starship, then there were other, more direct and efficient ways to go about it. "Do you suppose they know about the Preserver object within the artifact?" Picard asked. "lt's apparent that Commander Tarl doesn't. No matter what she thinks about the Empire's scientific capabilities, she would have to be a fool to give away something with a power source that's still functioning after three and a half billion years. I can only think of a few devices like that that have ever been dis- covered, and so far they've given up none of their secrets." Picard agreed. The Preserver object about to come into his possession was on the order of the Guardian of Forever in terms of age. And that device had defied all attempts to understand it over the century it had been studied. "So the only question remaining," Picard said, "is how to get the artifact aboard the Enterprise." "Geordi is mapping out the tractor-beam support points in its structure," Riker said. "At close range, we could probably handle it with our cargo transporters, but Geordi and Data are both concerned about whether or not the artifact's power supply will remain functioning after transport." Picard understood. There was an entire class of molecules, substances, and devices that could not be transported without having their structure subtly altered. Until his engineer knew exactly what was powering the device, it made good sense to treat it cautiously. "Then if Mr. La Forge is considering towing the artifact to our shuttlebay,,, Picard said, keeping caution in mind, "I'd recom- mend using two tractor beams from two shuttlecraft, just so we have the extra factor of safety." 229 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "I'm sure Geordi is already planning on that," Riker said. "But there is one other problem we have to address. Commander Taft has a 'skeleton' crew of three hundred and twelve personnel on board. She's insisting on turning over this vessel to DaiMon Pol as soon as the artifact is off-loaded, so we'll have to make arrangements for taking all those Romulans back to Legara IV." "For one day we have ample room for that many passengers. I'm sure Mr. Worf can handle the security arrangements. Any- thing else?" Riker looked serious. "Only that we not send word of the Preserver object to Starfleet until after we're back in friendly waters. Once word gets out about this, I have a feeling a lot of people are going to come looking for it." "If," Picard emphasized, "it is what we think it is." Riker angled his head questioningly. "Is that Ambassador Sarek speaking again?" "Only Jean-Luc Picard," the captain replied with a shake of his head. "With so much at stake, I prefer to take the conservative approach." Though his excursion to the Romulan ship had been exhilarat- ing, and a welcome change, Picard had no doubt that his proper place was on the bridge of the Enterprise. He sat in his command chair, perfectly at ease, as the great ship pulsed with its own inner life around him. He was glad to be part of it. He felt at home. Here he could deal with any problem the universe presented him, and that included 312 Romulans and what might be the greatest archaeological find of human history. La Forge's voice came over the bridge communications system. "Captain Picard, the Gould and the Cochrane have established tractor-beam linkup with the artifact. We're ready to bring it aboard." "On visual," Picard requested. At his Ops station beside Ensign McKnight, Data changed the main screen image. Instead of the two Warbirds, Picard now viewed the interior of Tarl's hangar deck as seen from the optical sensor Mr. La Forge carried with him there. The presence of two of the Enterprise's sleek, type-7 shuttlecraft, hovering among the predatory designs of the FEDERATION Romulan Warbird's parked fighters and shuttles, was incongruous to say the least. But perhaps it was a harbinger of things to come. There would be peace between the Federation and the Romulans one day. Picard was certain. Perhaps this exchange would some- day be seen as its starting point. -'Picard to main shuttlebay," the captain said. "Are you prepared to receive the artifact?" Riker acknowledged. "XVe're standing by, Mr. La Forge," Picard confirmed. "Pro- ceed when ready." On the viewscreen, the two Federation shuttlecraft began to lift even higher off the hangar deck, and the angle of the sensor changed so that Picard could see the Borg artifact, now clear of scaffolding and lights, begin to rise, bathed in the shimmering blue glow of twin tractor beams. "We are registering no stress on the artifact," La Forge re- ported. "Taking it out." The Gould and the Cochrane and the Borg artifact began to move slowly forward, until they escaped the Warbird's bright interior lights and were framed by the wide hangar doors. "Switch to external viewers," Picard said. The viewscreen image changed again. Gracefully, the two shuttlecraft emerged from the hollow void between the Warbird's dorsal and ventral planes. The artifact, four to five times the size of each shuttle, trailed easily fifty meters behind them. "We're clear. Captain," La Forge announced. "I'm beaming back to our main shuttlebay." "Well done. Mr. La Forge," Picard said. "Registering no change in the artifact's power load," Data said. "After all that artifact has been through," Picard observed, "I'd be surprised if it reacted at all to this gentle ride." "Captain~La Forge here. I'm back on the Enterprise. Shuttlecraft pilots advise two minutes to landing." Picard Felt pleased with himself. Everything was proceeding perfecth. exactly as planned. Sometimes he suspected the Enter- priw actually ran herself. "Mr. Data," he said, "once the artifact is stowed, begin the transportation of Commander Tarrs crew to Shuttlebays Two and 231 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Three." Dr. Crusher had set up the standard refugee-processing centers in those bays. Picard was almost certain the treatment the Romulan crew would receive there would be better than they received in their own quarters on Tarl's Warbird. Data acknowledged the order, then added. "Captain, I am picking up an increased neutrino flux." Picard leaned forward. "Is it coming from the artifact?" "Negative, sir. It seems to be emanating from the Ferengi Warbird. The signature is as if the ship were decloaking. But since it already is decloaked, I am at a loss to explain the reading." Picard sat back. "Perhaps the Ferengi have found something else to break on their new ship. Mr. Worf, hail DaiMon Pol." "Coming onscreen, Captain." Picard forced himself to smile as the image of the Ferengi-run, Romulan bridge appeared on the main viewer. "DaiMon Pol," he began, about to inquire if there was any assistance the Enterprise could once again supply. But DaiMon Pol was not in the command chair. Instead, Picard saw two Ferengi rush past behind it. He heard Romulan warning sirens, Ferengi shouts of alarm. "DaiMon Pol!" Picard said, getting to his feet. "What is the status of your ship? Mr. Data: Full scan of the 62nd Rule." Then DaiMon Pol lurched into the range of the viewscreen. "They've cheated us/" he squealed, high-pitched, full of anger. "None of it works! They've--" In a burst of static, DaiMon Pol and the Romulan bridge disappeared from the screen, to be replaced by a forward view in which Commander Tarl's vessel still maintained position on the right, but where DaiMon Pol's vessel had been to the left was nothing more than a rapidly expanding ball of plasma, studded with spinning hullplates. "Data..." Picard said in alarm. "What happened? Did they self-destruct somehow... ?" But before Data could reply, Picard saw the answer to his question for himself. A third Warbird flew through the cloud of destruction that had been the 62nd Rule. All phasers blazing, it flew for the Enterprise. Part Two METAMORPHOSIS THORSEN Some of them had been doctors once. But the Optimum had closed the universities. The Optimum had believed in the survival of the fittest, and medical care was considered a luxury. To the Optimum, those who were too old, unhealthy, incomplete, were little different from those of the wrong color, the wrong religion, the wrong political beliefs. Doctors were unnecessary because those who were nonoptimal would be cleansed ,/horn the Earth by the raging fire of change, of purification, of rebirth. But the fire had come to Adrik Thorsen first. In the long weeks of his recovery, he remembered little of how that last night in Battersea had ended. He remembered Cochrane, O/'course. He remembered how the scientist had mocked him, had lied to him. had dared to touch him. He remembered how the scientist had raised his laser, rejecting Thors'en, rejecting the.future. Cochrane ~, light had cut across Thorsen's face, seared his eve, so t/~at in all the years ever after, whenever he was in darkness, the xcintillation of that laser still echoed in what remained of his optic nerve. A flickering shadow, a shimmering souvenir of his.first and 235 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS only meeting with the one man who could have guaranteed a new life for the Earth. The one man who, through his refusal of the Optimum, had brought about all that had followed in the vacuum of the Optimum's collapse. Thorsen had crawled along the turf of Battersea, the laser afterimage burning in his eye, his brain. He had screamed Cochrane's name as he had crawled, tasting blood, feeling pain, seeking darkness and coolness and relief He had crawled onto concrete, down rough stairs, to a place where cameras had once been installed, when the Battersea Stadium had meant something. Then the night had caught fire and he remembered nothing else until they woke him up to scrub the dead skin from his body with wire bristles that found each nerve on his shiny new skin. Eventually, the worst of the pain faded, except for the light that would shine forever in his missing eye, and the ache that would haunt his arms and legs. Although those who had been doctors explained that he had no arms and legs. Adrik Thorsen had been cleansed by fire. And been left incomplete. Nonoptimal. As he lay helpless in his sterile bed, what had happened to Thorsen happened also to his dreams of salvation. The mistakes of Khan had been avoided. But new mistakes had been made. The Optimum collapsed. Pilloried by those who had no vision. From his sterile bed, Adrik Thorsen called for doctors to make him whole, so he could escape with the others of the cadre. Go into hiding. Learn from their mistakes and try again. But those who answered his call were no longer doctors. He had helped see to that. They were interface experts now. And Adrik Thorsen learned firsthand **,hat happened to human nervous tissue when Josephson probes were inserted into the brain. When they were through with him, Thorsen was whole, after a fashion. He could walk, he could pick up and manipulate objects, after a fashion. But his new limbs ran on batteries, and every nerve 236 FEDERATION impulse intended to cause movement also triggered intense pain through the crude interface of the Josephson probes. Nonoptimal. In return for information about those in the cadre who had abandoned him, certain fanatics eager to replace him gave Thorsen passage .from the Earth, forcing him to become what he despised most--someone who deserted the homeworld. The night he left, another fire ignited round the globe, and when the ashes fell and Earth's sun shone through the smoke again, and the postatomic horror had exhausted itself and the planet, thirty- seven million corpses shamed those who had survived. The inevitable cry went out: This must not happen again. And this time, on the colony worlds, that cry was finally heard. Something changed in humanity with that last war, because for the first time it was clear even to the masses that no human conflict, even one that could consume a world, could ever be allowed to overshadow or assume more importance than the human race itself There was a universe waiting, and with the infinite possibilities it offbred, there came a generation that had no time or need for bigotry, intolerance, and greed. Even as enemy soldiers turned to one another to share water on the battlefield once the guns had fallen silent, humanity finally abandoned the old ways and learned the new. But Adrik Thorsen was not of that generation. He would always be a creature of Earth's past, and in time he fled even the system of his birth, to hide on distant colonies, using his artificial nerve pathways to control machinery and spaceships, finding safety in the oblivion of mindless work. And during all his struggles to survive, he seethed with the kno~vledge that each ship he rode was powered by the genius of Ze?ram Cochrane. He still ~'oke at night screaming Cochrane's name. The laser beam still burned hellishly in what was left of his optic nerve. The same energy that had fueled the Optimum now fueled Thorsen and his obsession. 237 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Hatred. He dreamed of revenge. He dreamed o f forcing Cochrane to build a warp bomb so powerful whole systems wouMfall before it. Before him. He knew it could be done. He wore out pens in his mechanical fingers and wrote out the figures and diagrams on endless sheets of paper, on endless display screens, on walls, on sheets, on whatever surface he could find In time, other geniuses created machines into which he could plug his stumps with their artificial pathways to see his work appear on screens as fast as he could think. His dreams came alive then, no longer bound by nonoptimal flesh. He only feared that he would die before he had a chance to complete his work. To make Cochrane finally do what he should have done so many years ago. To bow down and submit to his master. But the universe hem many possibilities. And one of them was an alien race called the Grigari. Thorsen saw in them his future. He was eighty years old now, but flesh itself, he had come to realize, was nonoptimal. And the Grigari did not deal in flesh. Thorsen paid their price and he was renewed. From his exile, he journeyed to Alpha Centauri. He set in motion his challenge to Zefram Cochrane--one that wouM take from the scientist everything he had held dear, just as Cochrane had taken from him. His plan was perfect. Cochrane would suffer. And then, because he would be left with no other choice, the scientist would at last be forced to give Thorsen the secret. The warp bomb. It did not matter that Thorsen no longer had the armies to use that secret. It only mattered that Thorsen win. It would be him against Zefram Cochrane, just as it was meant to be, as if they had met on Titan as history had demanded. The challenge began. Cochrane's wife died at Thorsen's hand. Cochrane's students were consumed by fire. But then Cochrane the scientist did the unthinkable--what Thorsen the warrior had never considered. FEDERATION Cochrane ran. Thorsen was stunned. Cochrane was supposed to be a genius. A genius would have known. There was no escape from the Opti- trl It In. Thorsen had not escaped it. And neither wouM Zefram Cochrane. 239 ONE BI71 AlffIT#flE II OUTWARD BOUND Earth Standard: April 2117 It was over, and Cochrane was glad of it. Alpha Centauri was light-years behind him. Stapledon Center, where he was expected in the next month, light-years farther still. And his past life, farthest away of all. His small ship hummed along at time-warp factor four. In his first voyages, half a century ago, he had had to drop back to normal space every few days, in order to check his bearings. But now the continuum-distortion fields were so tightly focused that he could see the stars slip past the viewports, and a navigation computer could constantly adjust his course. Which was good, because he had no intention of ever again leaving the continuum he had discovered. He would die here, for no other reason than that he had nothing more to do except bring pain to others. The ship, a personal yacht with one hundred square meters of living space, luxurious by the standards of the day, was filled with music, a symphony by Brahms. For years he had been haunted by the melody he had heard that first night back at Christopher's Landing. At the time he had thought that it had sounded like Brahms. But he had never been able to find it again, in any 240 FEDERATION collection of recordings. Almost as if Brahms had dropped into the twenty-first century and written one final piece. But even this music was just background noise now. He had given up his search. He had given up everything. His Monica lay in the soil of Centauri B II. His staff and students were at risk. Colonel Adrik Thorsen had returned from the dead. And all because of him. Cochrane no longer felt like fighting. Science and the thrill of discovery had been his life and they had brought him nothing. Fame, yes. There were planets named after him. Fortune, as much as he wanted, though when actually given the choice, he had realized he wanted very little. Admiration. An unconscionable amount. The ears of the powerful, the beds of the beautiful, the eyes of the media on a hundred worlds. Zefram Cochrane knew that by anyone's measure, he had been given everything. But he had nothing. And he didn't know why. What he did know was that the action he took now wasn't killing himself. He was simply returning to his natural state. One of nothing. He welcomed oblivion. Io be free of the selfish loneliness left by Monica's death, of the unreasoning implacability of Thorsen's hate, of all the useless regret and self-doubt that had plagued him all his life. He watched the stars slipping past him. But it wasn't the stars that drew him now. It was the void between them. Perhaps this was why he had invented the superimpellor. Not to take humanity to other worlds, but so that he could cast himself into nothingness. After an unchanging week of travel, sitting passively in his pilot's web, venturing out only to use the head, Cochrane believed he was beginning to think less often of his past. He found the tedium blessedly healing. Numbing. The stars slipped by. Forever. The same music recordings played for the twentieth cycle. The fiftieth cycle. 241 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS He didn't move. His beard grew shaggy. His fingernails ragged. He wondered idly how long it would take for his body to just stop. He could open the airlock, he knew. At his age, in ten seconds it would be over. He could jump out the airlock and be the first human to experience continuum-distortion propulsion without benefit of a spaceship. For about one nanosecond. He could plot a course to a star and be drawn into its endless gravity well, or drop to impulse and drive into it at half the speed of light, creating a nova that all the human worlds would see. But all those deaths required willful action. And he who had never believed that life would run out of challenges to inspire him, was spent, without the will even to die. It seemed to Zefram Cochrane that he had faced life's chal- lenges, but life had won. He was old, he was sick, he was ready to die. And life's final challenge to him was that it would not let him go. Five weeks passed. He knew they would be searching for him now. But the knowledge meant nothing to him. Not only had he succeeded in blanking his mind to his past, he was beginning to hallucinate, to create new images for his future. In spite of himself, he found this development wildly funny. Deprived of stimuli, the brain created its own diversions. He wondered when his fantastic mirages would begin talking to him. They began at the end of the fifth week. He awoke, distraught that he still lived, his body clamoring for sustenance, stinging from the sores on his skin where restraining straps kept him from floating in the cabin. His mouth was parched. His lips cracked and dry. A squeeze bottle of water was hooked to his chair, but he merely watched it swing back and forth on its tether, the water thick weightless globs within it. The aurora was back. 242 FEDERATION He had seen it before. Three times now. Maybe four. Gold-flecked and shimmering, it would rush up beside his ship, swirl around it, then rush away. The first time he had seen it, it had reminded him strongly of dolphins following the wake of a ship, playing and splashing in the free ride. The second time he had seen it, he had wondered how a phenomenon like it could travel at faster-than-light velocities. The third and fourth times, he had decided it was a hallucina- tion like all the others. Except he liked this one. It was pretty. Now, instead of swirling all around his ship, the glowing cloud hung on the viewports, obscuring the streaking stars beyond. Its shifting, shining patterns pressed against the transparent alumi- num panels, and through some trick of the lighting or his failing eyesight, Cochrane was almost convinced that he saw tendrils of the thing push through the window to reach inside the cabin. He tried to speak. To say, Careful there, you'll make a breeze if you open the window. But he had not spoken for many weeks and no sound came from him. Yet the tendril withdrew. Or it seemed to, at least. And the cloud remained against the viewport, as if it were looking in. As if it wanted something. Wanted something. Cochrane squinted, trying to see it more clearly. The absurd question expanded in his mind. What could an energy cloud capable of traveling faster than light want? His thoughts seemed to clear as he focused on the cloud. It was interesting to have a problem again. After an hour or so, he figured it out. He forced his stiff fingers to reach out and grab the floating water bottle, then close around it. You're thirsty, aren't you? he asked, though he couldn't speak the words, only think them. He was fairly certain the answer had been, Yes. He studied the problem even longer. Then he pulled out the straw and slipped it between his raw lips. He drank for the first time in days. 243 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS How's that? he asked, still without words. The answer seemed to be that drinking water had been exactly the right thing to do. But the cloud didn't leave. Cochrane almost smiled. You want more, do you? Shimmering reflections danced in the viewports, answering again. Okay, Cochrane said in his mind. Okay, I get you. He fumbled with the seat webs until he floated free and pushed himself back to the food dispenser. He hung there, exhausted, until he could ask another wordless question. Soup? he asked, and soup it was. Then he set up the shower tube and washed himself. His scalp felt strange when he used the shampoo. As if there were hair growing on the top of his head again. In his dreams. He dried off, rubbed ointment on his strap sores, put on a fresh jumpsuit, then strapped himself loosely to his seat and slept. When he awoke, he was disappointed to discover that the cloud wasn't at the window anymore. It had been an interesting game he had played with the hallucination. Then Cochrane realized the stars were no longer streaking by. They were still. He was traveling at sublight. But the impulse engines were switched off. He had disabled them himself. He peered through the viewports. A string of glowing dots were laid out before him. Planetoids, he guessed. Too many of them to be planets. Too big to be asteroids. He found himself hoping he wouldn't crash into one of the planetoids, for then the cloud would come looking for him and wouldn't be able to find him. He wondered if not finding him would upset the cloud, if it would miss him. He didn't like that thought. But that was exactly what was going to happen, he realized about an hour later, when he saw a planetoid looming before him. Sorry, he said to the cloud wherever it was. I won't be here to feed and water you. The window sparkled at him. Cochrane released his straps, and his fingers moved so quickly and so easily that he looked down at them in surprise. 244 FEDERATION There were no age spots on the back of his hands. His fingers weren't gaunt as they had been. They were strong, well fleshed. But he couldn't stop to think about that now. He pushed himself to the window. He put his hand to it. From the other side, a tendril of the glowing cloud pushed through and wrapped gently around his fingers. Cochrane had spent forty days alone in space preparing to die. The sensation of the cloud's touch felt like the most natural thing of all. He wiggled his hand inside the cloud, as if he were scratching the ear of a dog. You don't like it up here, do you?he said. You want to find a home. Cochrane knew he had figured it out. Poor thing, he said. How about that planetoid right down there? The cloud let him know that was a magnificent idea. He went through a list of questions for the cloud, finding out all the things it would need to be content on the planetoid--the right kind of shelter, the temperature range, the force of gravity, food and water. Amazingly, what the cloud needed was exactly what was conducive to human health and growth. And it could all be found on the planetoid beneath them. Cochrane landed his ship without touching the controls or using the engines. After forty days in space, why not? He stepped outside and breathed the air. It tasted just as he remembered the air had been on Centauri B II. He was also surprised by how deeply he could inhale without coughing. He was surprised by how his legs didn't ache. How he felt he could run right around the planetoid if he wanted to. It was almost as if he were young again. If only that could be true. The cloud, he decided, was fortunate to have found such a perfect place for itself. The cloud, right beside him, agreed. He liked the way it swept around him, carefully, tentatively, not enveloping him all at once. Poor thing, Cochrane said. All alone down here. You need a friend, don't you? The cloud needed a friend. Do you want me to take care of you? Cochrane asked. 245 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS The cloud thought that would be fine. Well, I don't seem to have anything on my agenda, Cochrane said. Why don't you let me stay here and help you? The cloud thought it over for about half a second. The cloud thought it was the best idea ever in the history of the universe. Cochrane spent the next few weeks using the supplies from his ship to build a shelter for the cloud, plant some seeds, and make things right. During that time, as he threw off the mental lethargy of the past forty days, he figured out what the cloud had done. It was more than just a dolphin or a lonely dog looking for company. It had been quite shrewd. Its agenda had included him. At another time in his life, Cochrane might have resented the manipulation. But that life was over. He had left so much that was old and unnecessary behind. The planetoid seemed like an interesting place. The cloud was an interesting companion. And it felt good to have someonemor something--to care for. It was as if he had never felt that way before. Because for all that the cloud took care of him, Cochrane had no illusions about what he was doing when the cloud embraced him. He was taking care of the cloud, as well. It seemed a fair bargain. He decided his life might have room for one more challenge. Once again, Zefram Cochrane realized he was looking forward to finding out what would happen next. TWO //.S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC-1701 RENDEZVOUS WITH THE CITY gF UTOPIA P//UVITI/I Stardate 3854.8 Earth Standard: November 2267 On the main viewer, the Klingon's dark face was distorted by his forced smile. It twisted his stringy beard into an unnatural angle. "Greetings, Captain Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise." "Save it," Kirk shot back. "Drop your shields and let us beam in the poor bastard you blew out the airlock." The Klingon widened his eyes insincerely. "Ah, you noticed that, did you?" "Drop your shields now!" "And put myself at your fabled terran 'mercy'? Come now, Captain. I may be Klingon, but that doesn't make me stupid. We have other matters to discuss." Kirk stood up from his chair. As far as he was concerned, there was only one thing Klingons understood, and the Enterprise was the ship to deliver it. "Drop your shields now/ Then we can discuss anything you want." /he Klingon turned to the side and spat out some commands in his own guttural language. "Keptin, their shields are weakening by the open airlock." The Klingon smiled broadly. "You have five seconds, Captain Kirk. Any treachery will result in the deaths of even more of--" 246 247 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Spock! Now!" Kirk shouted. Over the bridge speakers, Spock acknowledged from the trans- porter room. "Transporter locked, and energizing." Chekov confirmed that the body had vanished from the side of the liner. A moment later Spock announced recovery and called for a medical team. "Shields restored," Chekov said. "Spock here. The recovered human is dead, Captain. From his uniform, he was one of the crew members of the Planitia." Kirk was enraged. "You killed him!" But the Klingon on the screen shook his head. "Not I, Captain Kirk. Au contraire, it was your unfortunate and unprovoked attack which caused such... unpleasantness." "Your hijacked liner is no match for this ship," Kirk said. "But my hostages are more than a match for your conscience, Captain Kirk." The Klingon settled back into his own command chair, an ornate, high-backed style popular on human civilian ships. "Now, I believe you said that once I dropped my shields to allow recovery of the body of the man you killed, we could talk. And I would like to talk, Captain Kirk. About so many things." Kirk had never run across a Klingon who liked to talk. "Shut him down, Uhura." The screen jumped back to a view of the liner. "Aren't you going to negotiate with him?" The question came from Admiral Kabreigny. McCoy had positioned her at an unused navigation station on the upper level. Her color was better and she appeared to have recovered her composure. Just in case, McCoy hovered close by, a medical kit at his side. At Spock's science station, the Companion sat hunched over, silent and still, face in her hands, breathing almost back to normal. The two security officers remained at ease by the turbolift doors. "Klingons don't negotiate," Kirk said. "He's just stalling for time." "Why?" Kabreigny asked. The bridge crew braced themselves for a repeat of the earlier clash of wills. But Kirk found it easier to answer, now that the command chair was his again. "He'd never make it back to the Empire in that liner. He must be heading for a rendezvous point." 248 FEDERATION "No Klingon ship could get this far into Federation territory to meet him." Kirk tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, working out his options. "Admiral, he doesn't need to rendezvous with a Klingon ship. The ship that attacked us was an Orion. It was fast enough to get him back home in a month and not even the Enterprise could have caught him." McCoy leaned forward on the rail circling the upper level. "Do you think that ship we destroyed was his ride home?" "Possibly," Kirk said. "But he's bound to have a backup plan. The question is, when does it go into effect?" He turned his chair around to face the Companion. "Companion, is the man near?" She sighed and spoke into her hands. "The man continues." She looked up. Her one, unhandaged eye was full of pain. "Part of us wishes to tell you he is in the ship before us." "Can you tell us where in the ship he is?" Kirk asked. But the Companion shook her head. "We cannot," she said sadly. "We only know that he is near." Kirk stared at the liner on the screen. A clock was ticking. He had no idea what schedule it was on, but sooner or later another ship would be arriving to rendezvous with the Planitia. Cochrane had been kidnapped by Orions, but then brought to a hijacked liner under the command ofa Klingon. Kirk wouldn't put it past the Orions to work with the Klingons--they specialized in playing both ends against the middle in any conflict. But what did the Klingon Empire want with Zefram Cochrane? Their level of warp technology was at least the equal of the Federation's. Cochrane would be a century and a half behind the times in the Empire, as well. Then there was the matter of Admiral Kabreigny's conspiracy. What or who it involved, Kirk didn't know. Only that Kabreigny still thought that he might be part of it, just as Kirk was still Worried that she was a part of another conspiracy. He bounced his fist on the arm of his chair. The only connection to all of this was Cochrane. Whatever else was going to happen, 7efram Cochrane had to come first. But how could Kirk save one person from a ship filled with hostages and a bloodthirsty Klingon who wouldn't balk at killing 249 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS everyone? Kirk didn't need Spock to tell him that the answer was that it couldn't be done. Which meant, Kirk knew, he had to find another approach, he had to come up with a different question. One that did have an answer. Change the rules. Do the unthinkable. The question came to him. The answer was outrageous. As outrageous as a commercial liner armed only with navigational phasers being able to keep a Constitution-class starship at bay. "Admiral Kabreigny," Kirk said as pleasantly as he could as he stepped down from his chair, "do you feel up to negotiating with a Klingon?" Kabreigny eyed him warily. "I thought you said Klingons don't negotiate." "They don't," Kirk agreed. "But then, you won't be negotiating either. You'll just be buying time." "For what?" "So I can follow my orders and rescue Mr. Cochrane." Kirk looked over at Uhura. "Lieutenant, cancel Red Alert. All hands stand down." McCoy put his hands behind his back. "This is going to be good, isn't it?" Kirk shrugged. Spectacular was a better word. Good or bad, win or lose, what he was planning was definitely going to be spectacular. "Admiral, I'd like you to take the chair again. I'd like you to identify yourself to the Klingon and tell him that you have relieved me of duty because... I wanted to blow the liner out of space." He guided the perplexed admiral to the chair. "Play it straight with him. You want to get those hostages back. But don't let on in any way that you know about Cochrane. Give him that edge. It will make him feel in control." Kabreigny settled back in the command chair. "And what Will you be doing during all this?" 'Tll be in the Auxiliary Control Center." He turned to the command console. "Mr. Chekov, Mr. Sulu, report to me there as soon as your replacements arrive." The helmsman and navigator acknowledged their orders. "Dr. McCoy, Companion, please accompany me." Then Kirk 250 FEDERATION ducked down to Uhura and whispered. "Lieutenant, monitor every word the admiral and the Klingon say. If you detect any hint of a code, or if the admiral says anything that could endanger the ship, close the channel and contact me at once." Uhura nodded. "Aye-aye, Captain." Kirk ushered the Companion and McCoy onto the turbolift. "Admiral Kabreigny, you have the conn." The doors swept closed and the lift began to descend. McCoy studied Kirk closely. "Now can you tell me what you're plan- ning?" "Spock and Scott had better hear it, too," Kirk said. If he was going to have all of his senior officers think he was crazy, he wanted to get it over with at once. Buried deep within the decks of the Enterprise, the Auxiliary Command Center was the ship's backup command facility. From it, all basic command functions could be controlled in the event the main bridge was damaged or lost. But in this case, the main bridge was serving as the backdrop of a diversion carried out for the Klingon commander of the hijacked liner. As the Klingon conducted his negotiations with Kabreigny, Kirk and his officers prepared behind the scenes for the moment they would take control of the situation. Just over an hour after Kirk had left the bridge, he was minutes away from enacting his plan. Spock gave it a thirty-three percent chance of success, much higher than Mr. Scott allowed. McCoy thought it was just plain impossible. But Kirk knew his crew and his ship. He was confident, and that confidence was contagious. At the smaller command console in the cramped control center, Sulu and Chekov ran one final simulation. They reported a twelve-percent casualty rate. "Not acceptable," Kirk told them. But he knew there was no more time to rehearse. Whatever help the Klingon commander was obviously expecting could arrive at any moment. The Planitia was a soft target. There was no guarantee that what was coming to rendezvous with the liner would be as simple to overcome. Kirk checked the readouts on the command console, scanning Mr. Scott's data from the engine room. The warp-eight-point- 251 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS three chase had cracked one of the dilithium crystals in the matter-antimatter converters and engine efficiency had dropped dramatically. The chief engineer couldn't promise speed, but he did promise that all the power the captain's plan needed would be available on demand. McCoy was standing by in the main transporter room. Ten other emergency medical teams were at their positions through- out the ship. Everything had been arranged by runners. Kirk had not permitted any of the detailed planning stages to be transmit- ted over the ship's intercom system. He presumed the Klingon's crew would be attempting to monitor the Enterprise's internal communications. He didn't know if the liner had the capability for that, but they were close enough to each other that he didn't wish to take the chance. Kirk checked behind him. The Companion sat quietly, focusing all of her attention on her heart's desire, less than a kilometer away through the void. "We'll get him back," he promised her. Then at Kirk's signal, Spock and the transporter chiefs confirmed their readiness by code. Kirk took a breath, preparing himself. He knew he'd feel better if Spock had been able to verify that anything like this had been tried before. But the procedure books had nothing like it. As McCoy had dryly noted, it wasn't as if trying something new was unusual for this ship. Kirk touched a communications control so he could listen in to the admiral's conversation with the Klingon. "... escort back to the Empire," she said, "but the City of Utopia Planitia is private property and must be returned to us at the border." "Alas," the Klingon replied, "that cuts to the core of any possibility of friendship between our two peoples. By transport- ing known Orion pirates, this liner has been used in crimes against the Empire, and we must have it for justice to be served." Kirk rolled his eyes. It was all nonsense and obfuscation. The Klingon was claiming some cover story about the Planitia having been used to smuggle Orion criminals convicted in the Klingon Empire to safety in the Federation. At least Kabreigny was playing 252 FEDERATION along, and the Klingon did seem to be delighted to be negotiating with a fleet admiral. Kirk decided the Klingon thought he'd be able to kidnap her as well. He frowned and turned down the volume of the negotiations, reducing them to a background whisper. "One minute, gentlemen," Kirk announced. The command chair in this facility was smaller and less comfortable than the one on the bridge, but it filled him with the same power. "Science officer?" he asked. It was an innocuous request that would mean nothing to any unwanted listener. "Spock here," Spock replied over the intercom. The simple announcement meant all transporter circuits were on-line-- every single one of them. "Engineer?" "Scott here." The ship's power plant was ready for what would be demanded of it. "Medical?" "McCoy here. But I still say--" "Thank you, Doctor," Kirk said, quickly cutting off McCoy's objections. "Mr. Sulu," Kirk asked his navigator, "are you ready with the tractor beams?" Sulu didn't take his eyes off the board. "Target sites located, Captain." "Mr. Chekov?" His hands were poised over his controls, ready for action. "Torpedoes armed. Phasers ready for cold start." Kirk leaned forward to better see the image of the Planitia on the reduced-size viewscreen in front of the command console. lhe instant he put this in motion, the lives of everyone on board the liner Planitia would rest with the skill of the Enterprise crew. In fifty seconds, the operation would be successful, or more than one hundred innocent people would be dead. But Kirk would not accept that possibility, and neither would his crew. "Let's make this one for the history books," he said. "Mr. Spock, you may begin." "Energizing," Spock replied from the transporter room. There 253 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS was no longer any need for communications security. One way or another, the Klingon would know what was happening within seconds. On the screen, a hundred meters out from the forward tip of the Planitia, Kirk saw a tiny, twinkling dot of transporter energy just ahead of the liner's invisible shield boundary. A second later, the image disappeared in a flare of orange light as the transported photon torpedo detonated. Four seconds had passed. With the liner's shields at full force, Kirk knew the explosion would not harm it, but those shields--intended to prevent impact with space debris--would be disrupted and thrown into timing disarray, which was all that Kirk required. "Energizing," Spock said again. A moment later, a second transported torpedo detonated at the liner's stern. Kirk saw flickering arcs of energy ripple across the vessel's normally invisible shields as they tried to compensate for the power overload the torpedoes caused at opposite ends of the protective field. Eight seconds. "Reading multiple airlock openings," Sulu announced tensely. Kirk felt his fingernails dig into his palms. The Klingon was repeating himself, exactly as Kirk had gambled. If he had decided to shoot hostages at the first sign of Kirk's treachery, rather than eject them into space, the plan wouldn't have worked, even this far. Kirk could hear the Klingon's harsh voice on the open channel. Kabreigny was silent, obviously as surprised as the Klingon was. "Here they come," Sulu said. Ten seconds. Kirk saw them--dark figures twisting in the vacuum. More hostages tossed out to their deaths. But Kirk would not allow that. "Mr. Chekov--now!" Kirk ordered. At precisely twelve seconds, a broad beam of cool blue phaser energy spread over the liner, completely encompassing this side of its shields, making the usually invisible forcefields glow in kind. Spread out to its widest beam width, the energy per square meter from the prolonged phaser burst would not be enough to harm anyone caught in it, but by hitting the liner's shields equally over half their area at once, after the disruption caused by the torpedoes exploding at opposite ends-- FEDERATION The blue glow winked out like a light being shut off. ,'Shields down!" Chekov exclaimed. "Total failure!" Fifteen seconds. Kirk allowed himself half a second to breathe. If the shields hadn't failed, the hostages would have been lost. But they had failed, exactly as he had anticipated and Spock had confirmed. Now. according to the computer's analysis of the liner's backup systems, Kirk's team had fifteen seconds before the shields could be brought back on-line. "Next phase," Kirk said. Then he did what was hardest for any commander--he waited. At exactly seventeen seconds into the operation, multiple dots of transporter energy sparkled around the liner's airlocks as the hostages cast adrift were retrieved only ten seconds after being exposed to the vacuum of space. The Enterprise had four main operational transporter rooms, each capable of transporting six people at a time, two cycles per minute. In addition, there were five emergency personnel transporters, each capable of moving twenty-two people at a time, one cycle per minute in their safest, most redundant signal mode. As long as sensors could find targets--and at a distance of only a few hundred meters that was assured--the Enterprise could beam aboard every living being on the liner within thirty seconds, well within the safety limits of vacuum exposure. According to sensor scans, those living things included eighty-three humans, four Klingons, six Orions, one Andorian, two dogs, five cats, and twelve small avians, which appeared to be part of a display in the liner's bar. The Klingons, Orions, and Andorian would be beamed to a single emergency transporter ringed by security officers with drawn phasers. Kirk wished he could be there to see their faces, especially the Klingon commander's. But he still had one important task before him. After disabling the shields in order to start the process, success for the daring operation lay in making certain that the shields could not be reestablished, while at the same time insuring that the captors would not begin indiscriminately shooting their hostages when they realized the ones in space had been rescued. So Kirk had come up with the ultimate distraction. 255 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Now, at twenty-one seconds into the operation, he deployed it. As the transporter flares vanished around the liner, nine seconds before the liner's shields could come back on-line, narrow phaser beams shot out from the Enterprise under Chekov's expert aim. The beams were directed not at the shield generators, where hostages had been gathered to prevent such a direct attack, but at key superstructure support beams. In six seconds, the pattern the beams scorched into the hull took on the pattern of an orange being sectioned. But none of the beams penetrated the hull. They only weakened it so that no passenger would be harmed. Fright- ened, certainly, by the roar of coruscating energy blazing across the hull metal around them. But not harmed. When the scorch pattern was complete, Kirk issued the last order. "Final phase, Mr. Sulu." They were twenty-seven seconds into the operation, two seconds from the liner's shields being raised. This was the point at which Spock had said the odds grew worse. Two seconds was not enough of a safety margin. But it was a margin, Kirk had said. Instantly, the phasers were replaced by tractor beams. Kirk imagined he could almost hear the Planitia creak and groan as the tractor beams took hold, applying carefully calculated stress to key areas. Suddenly, just as the liner's shields should have come on again, all running lights winked out at once. Interior lights followed and every window went dark. Only thirty seconds had passed since the first torpedo had detonated and Kirk was certain that even the most battle-hardened Klingon warriors on that ship would have better things to do than shoot hostages as the gravity shut off and the ship came apart around them. The Klingon commander's futile background ranting cut out as communications failed. Spock's voice was clear and calm over the speakers. "Cargo transporters have locked on to the liner's antimatter supply. Wide-beam dispersion astern." Thirty-thre~ seconds. Kirk tapped his fist against his hand. So far, everything waS: working perfectly. There wouldn't even be an antimatter explo' sion from the failure of the liner's magnetic bottles.iii The City of Utopia Planitia came apart like an eggshell..AI sudden cloud of air and crystallizing moisture formed around 256 FEDERATION her. swirling like fog. Sparks and flickerings from small explosions of internal gas mixtures and storage batteries lit up her inner decks as if a thunderstorm raged within her. She was like a computer graphic being torn apart, each deck exposed. Loose furniture, bedcoverings, luggage, cargo modules, constellations of glassware and gambling chips, all spun madly, glittering in the blue tractor beams. "Spock here, Captain--transporter teams confirm positive lock on all personnel. We have retrieved everyone." Thirty-seven seconds exactly. Kirk wanted to cheer for his crew but the mission wasn't a success yet. "Medical condition?" McCoy's answer was harried. Kirk could picture him leaning over patients in the transporter room, treating them expertly as he frantically coordinated the other medical teams by the other transporters. "No casualties so far. Some youngsters in bad shape. We've got a woman in premature labor... no, hold that clamp there, damreit!" Kirk stood up. He looked at the Companion. "Is he here?" he asked. "Is the man here?" A tear welled up in the Companion's uncovered eye. "He is with us," she said with joy. "Oh, Captain, the man is with us." Kirk could breathe again. He hit the ship's public-address control. On the screen, the liner was no more than eight slowly rotating sections in a cloud of debris, torn apart gently without a single major explosion, without a single destructive use of phasers or torpedoes. And no casualties. He'd beaten the odds again. The Enterprise had beaten the odds again. Together, they'd won. "This is the captain to all passengers of the P[anitia. Will Mr. Cochrane please make himself known to security personnel." Lieutenant Kyle reported a moment later from emergency transporter three. "Captain Kirk, sir. I have a gentleman here identifying himself as Mr. Cochrane. He looks like he could use medical attention." "Escort him to sickbay, Mr. Kyle. Tell him... the Companion Will meet him there." Sulu called for the captain's attention from the command 257 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS console. "Sir, Admiral Kabreigny is demanding to know what just happened." "Ask the admiral to meet me in sickbay," Kirk said. "Captain Kirk?" The voice on the intercom was unsteady, but recognizable, and for the first time Kirk allowed himself the luxury of believing that the plan had worked perfectly. He pressed the Send button on the arm of his chair even as the Companion rushed to Kirk's side. "Welcome aboard the Enter- prise, Mr. Cochrane," Kirk said. "Can you... can you tell me what's going on?" Cochrane asked. Over the speakers, Kirk could hear the confusion of Mr. Kyle's transporter room. Children were crying. Medical techni- cians were shouting at each other. To Kirk, the noise sounded like victory. They were all alive and safe. "Well, sir," Kirk answered, "I was hoping you could tell me. It seems--" The Enterprise shuddered as a barrage of explosions echoed through her. Kirk was driven back against his chair. Gouts of flame shot out of the equipment lining the walls. Chekov cried out. Alarms wailed. Kirk looked up at the flickering viewscreen. The help the Klingon commander had been expecting had finally arrived. Three Klingon battle cruisers hung in space beyond the spin- ning wreckage of the Planitia. And as Kirk watched helplessly, the lead ship fired again. 258 THREE U. S. S. Enl TERPRISE NCC-1701-D ENGAGED WITH THE ENEMY Stardate 43921.8 Earth Standard: May 2366 "Maximum shields!" Picard ordered. The bridge shook as the first bolts of Romulan phaser fire splashed against the Enterprise's saucer section. Then the third Warbird shot past the forward sensors and disappeared astern. Sirens blared. Damage reports flooded the bridge. "It must have decloaked directly behind the 62nd Rule so we could not detect it," Data said. But Picard had no time for the fine points of Romulan tactics. He had two shuttlecraft in transit. "Picard to La Forge--where are those shuttlecraft?!" "One minute to docking, sir!" the engineer replied from the shuttlebay. "What the hell was that anyway?" "Another Warbird," Picard said. "The Warbird is returning, Captain," Data announced. Picard turned to the tactical station. "Mr. Worf, extend shields around the Gould and the Cochrane. Transporter control, once the shields are established, beam in the pilots. Commander Riker?" Riker answered from the shuttlebay. "You are responsible for bringing the artifact in. Use cargo 259 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS tractor beams directly on it and abandon the two shuttlecraft if you must, but get it aboard." Worf acknowledged that the shields had been thrown around the Gould and the Cochrane. Transporter control acknowledged the pilots were safely aboard. The third Warbird flashed by the main viewscreen again. But this time it did not fire. "We are being hailed by the attacking vessel," Worf said. "Onscreen," Picard snapped. He was furious. He glared at the new Romulan commander who appeared on the viewer, elegant fingers steepled before him as if the wholesale murder ofa shipful of Ferengi were only an idle diversion. "Commander of the Federation vessel," the Romulan said, "you will withdraw or be destroyed." "You are in Federation space!" Picard shouted, ignoring the commander's order. "You have fired upon a neutral vessel! You will lower your shields and prepare for boarding." The commander appeared bored with Picard's bluster. "We have destroyed a stolen Romulan vessel in order to prevent military secrets from falling into our enemy's hands. We have no quarrel with you. Withdraw so we may deal with our own affairs in our own way." "Cargo aboard," Riker announced from the shuttlebay. "We have recovered both shuttlecraft as well." Picard was surprised by that news. He had expected the Warbird to destroy the shuttlecraft on its return run. Perhaps the commander hadn't wanted to risk destroying the artifact. "The Enterprise will not withdraw from any location in Federa- tion space," Picard retorted indignantly. "The Romulan vessel here with us is under our protection. And we will use force to defend it." Picard glanced around as he heard the turbolift doors open. Counselor Troi rushed onto the bridge. The Romulan commander moved his hands apart in feigned resignation. "To whom am I speaking?" "Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise." The Romulan's eyelids flickered slightly as he looked to the side, as if that had been the last name he had wanted to hear. "Captain Picard," he said, adopting a more conversational tone. 26O FEDERATION "I repeat: I have no desire to fight you. But the ship you are rnisguidedly trying to protect is Romulan property. The com- mander you are defending is a traitor to the Empire. This is strictly an internal affair. And I know the Federation prides itself on noninterference. In this matter, I am sure you will wish to withdraw before this turns into an incident neither of us desires." Troi stood beside Picard. "He's telling the truth, Captain. He's not eager for a confrontation. But he will fight if he feels you force him to." "In this matter, the Romulan Star Empire does not fall within the scope of our Prime Directive," Picard said. "It is you and your presence which are interfering with us, and we have the right to defend ourselves from any such encroachment." "Captain," Worf announced, "Commander Tarl wishes to speak with you as well." Picard didn't understand why Tarl hadn't taken the opportuni- ty of his conversation with the new Romulan commander to flee. "Onscreen," he said. The viewscreen now displayed two images: Tarl to the right, the new commander to the left. Both were on their respective bridges. "Captain Picard," Tarl said, "I appreciate your offer of asylum. But I have come to understand that it is wrong of me to turn my back on my own people. Please, let me return without further violence. To make amends." She hung her head, as if in shame. "She's holding something back," Troi said for the captain's ears only. The new commander gestured with open hands. "Captain Picard, you have heard the traitor speak with her own words. There is no need for you to become involved in this." The turbolift doors flew open again and Riker sprinted onto the bridge. He saw the two Romulans on the screen and immediately asked, "Are they asking for... anything to be returned?" Picard turned away from the screen and signaled Worf to cut the audio. "The new commander hasn't mentioned the artifact. It's almost as if he doesn't know it's missing." "Or else he thinks that it's still on board Tarl's ship," Troi Suggested. "No," Picard said, "sensors would let him know where the 261 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS artifact is within seconds. I think the new commander really has come just to retrieve Tarl and her vessel." "And she appears to want to go along with that," Troi observed. "Because she wants us to get away with the artifact," Picard agreed. "But I'm not about to abandon someone who has proven herself so brave, and so farsighted." He faced the viewscreen again and motioned for Worf to restore the transmission. "To whom do I have the honor of speaking?" Picard asked. The new Romulan commander nodded his head in greeting. For some reason as yet unclear to Picard, the Romulan command- er certainly wasn't behaving like the belligerent type of Romulan Picard knew all too well. "I am Traklamek. Will you withdraw, Captain Picard?" "I would like to propose a compromise," Picard said. "That is not necessary," Tarl replied, and there seemed to Picard to be a warning in her voice. He looked to Counselor Troi for confirmation that she had sensed it, too. Troi nodded slightly. "Nor is it acceptable," Traklamek added curtly. Unperturbed by the lack of both commanders' encouragement, Picard continued. "Commander Traklamek, the Federation has no desire to compromise the safety of the Empire, and we are willing to turn over Commander Tarl's vessel to you. However, we do wish to provide sanctuary to the commander, and however many of her crew wish to join her." "Completely unacceptable," Traklamek stated. "I do not wish to escape my fate," Tarl said in a tight voice. "As a warrior, Captain Picard, you must understand." "She's still not being truthful," Troi said softly. Picard heard the tone which indicated Worf had broken audio transmission again. "Captain," the Klingon announced from behind, "I am reading a considerable volume of subspace com- munication between the two Romulan vessels." "Can you intercept?" Picard asked. "The communications are heavily encrypted." "Traklamek might be trying to take control of Tarl's comput- ers," Riker suggested. Picard considered their options. "We were prepared to beam aboard Tarl's crew. Can we do so while under attack?" FEDERATION Riker said, "We can't beam through shields, but if we were able to get close enough to Tarl's ship so that our shields and hers combine, as we did with the shuttlecraft, it might be possible." "How long would we have to stay beside her?" Picard asked. "If we're limited to just our own transporters, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes to get all three hundred plus of her crew." ? 'And if Tarl uses her transporters as well?" ? 'Faster, but still no less than ten minutes. Warbirds aren't set up for evacuation." ? 'Captain Picard," Traklamek's voice resounded from the screen. "I must have your answer now." Picard addressed his crew, including the navigator who had replaced Wesley Crusher. "Mr. Worf, prepare to launch a wide- burst spread of photon torpedoes. Ensign McKnight, on my mark you will bring us to within five meters of Commander Tarl's forward hull. Resume audio, please." Picard stepped forward to face the Romulan commanders. "I have already given you my answer," he said defiantly. "You have five seconds to withdraw." Instantly Traklamek's image disappeared from the screen. "He has gone to maximum shields," Worf said. "Romulan phasers coming on-line." "You had your chance to get away!" Tarl exclaimed. "Why didn't you take it?" "The Federation does not abandon its friends," Picard said. "Traklamek is firing?' Worf growled. Picard pointed at the screen just as Tarl's image winked out. "Fire torpedoes! Ensign--mark!" The bridge lurched as more phaser fire burst against the ship, the thunder of its disruption joining the echo of the torpedo launching tubes. Then, just as a wall of photon-torpedo plasma flared around Traklamek's ship, Ensign McKnight's hands swept over the helm controls and the Enterprise raced toward Tarl's massive vessel. "Traklamek must have been expecting an attack, sir!" Worf said with surprise. "He is engaged in evasive maneuvers." Picard smiled. A fortunate miscalculation on the Romulan's part. 263 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "He'll be mad as hell when he figures out we aren't going after him," Riker said. "Five meters!" Ensign McKnight announced. On the screen, Picard could look directly into viewports on Tarl's ship. The Enterprise, less than half the length of the Warbird, was now protectively nestled in the curve of the massive ship's main dorsal and ventral hulls leading to the masklike forward bridge. "Transporter control," Picard said quickly, "commence emer- gency evacuation of Commander Tarl's--" The viewscreen image unexpectedly rippled, and then the optical rippling continued off the viewscreen and across the bridge. Picard stared in horror as he saw Ensign McKnight and Data flutter as if they were no more than mirages at a desert's edge. He felt a wave of nausea flood through him as he stared down at his own hands and saw them ripple as well. Picard spun around as the distortion continued moving through the bridge. He saw the look of shock on Worf's face as it passed through him. And then it was gone. Riker strode forward, eyes wide. "Data! What the hell was that?!" Data looked up from his board with the android equivalent of surprise. "It appears Commander Tarl has cloaked her vessel, sir, and that the Enterprise is close enough to have been caught in the cloaking effect. The unusual optical effect must be the result of our being on the fringe of that field." Worf confirmed Picard's hopes. "Captain, Traklamek's ship appears to have lost track of us. He is using broad-beam sensor sweeps to scan the region, but is not receiving any positive feedback. I believe we are cloaked, sir." Picard approached Riker. He could see in his first officer's eyes that they were thinking the same thing--this was even safer than combining the two ships' shields. "Mr. Data, lock tractor beams on Commander Tarl's ship to maintain close contact. Mr. Worf, maintain communications silence and target Traklamek's--" La Forge's voice cut through the background noise of the bridge. "Engineering to Captain Picard--we've got an emergency situation down here!" 264 FEDERATION "Go ahead, Mr. La Forge." ,'Captain, some kind of field distortion wave just passed through us--maybe a new Romulan weapon--but whatever it was, it's disrupted the magnetic constriction elements of the warp core. We're going to have to shut everything down or the computer's going to initiate an automatic core ejection." The last thing Picard needed was to face battle with no power lbr his warp engines, shields, or phasers. The warp core must not eject itself from the ship. "Shut it down, Mr. La Forge," Picard ordered. "But begin immediate emergency transfer of power from the impulse propulsion reactors to shields and phaser banks." The bridge lights flickered and dimmed as the ship's main matter-antimatter reactor ceased operations. "We are now in reduced-power mode," Worf said. "Life support on reserve power. Impulse generation has begun. Full shields, phaser, and transporter capability in fifteen minutes." "Captain," Data said, "the plasma exhaust vented from our impulse engines will eventually provide Traklamek with the means by which to locate us." "How long before that happens?" Picard asked. "Provided we do not use impulse power for propulsion, we may be able to avoid detection for another three and a half minutes." Picard's mind raced. On the screen, he saw Traklamek's Warbird poised at relative stop, maintaining its original distance from Tarl's last known position. "Are the Warbirds still commu- nicating with each other, Mr. Worf?." "Negative, sir. Both ships are observing total communications silence." "Any indication that Tarl is preparing to leave this position?" Data answered. "None, sir. Warp and impulse engines are in standby mode." Picard stared at the screen. "I know what Traklamek's waiting fOr--us. But why is Tarl still here?" "Perhaps she knows she's protecting us with her cloaking field," Riker suggested. "That might be it, Number One. But if she's expecting us to help her now, she obviously doesn't know that field knocked out OUr warp core." 265 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS "Two minutes, thirty seconds before detection, sir." "Two minutes ..." Picard repeated, staring at the screen in intense concentration. With only impulse engines available to her, the Enterprise couldn't run from Traklamek's Warbird and she couldn't fire her phasers for another fifteen minutes. She did have torpedoes but she'd never be able to fire enough of them to penetrate Traklamek's shields before the Romulan commander returned fire. And the Enterprise did not have enough power for her shields to withstand more than a single round of phaser fire. The only advantage the Enterprise had right now was that she was invisible to Traklamek's sensors. And that advantage would only last another... "Two minutes," Data said. The bridge was silent, all eyes on the captain. Picard laughed silently at himself. What was that he had just been thinking? About the ship running herself?. As good as she was, it was her crew who made the Enterprise work. And the crew that mattered most now was the occupant of the center chair. "Considering that we can't run," Picard said, "can't fight, and can't remain hidden, and that Traklamek will never accept our surrender now that we've fired upon him, I am open to sugges- tions." Riker was the only one who spoke. "Some of our people might escape if we launch all emergency evacuation pods at once," he suggested grimly. "Ninety seconds," Data said. Picard shook his head. "Without warp capability, Traklamek would have days to pick them off one at a time." Data looked up from his board. "Sir, I have just conducted an exhaustive analysis of all situations similar to this in the annals of Starfleet. It appears our only chance of survival, admittedly slim, is to throw ourselves on Traklamek's mercy." "I know what Romulan mercy is like," Worf snarled. "Better to die a warrior's death in battle." "Better not to die at all," Picard said, and he discounted his officers' suggestions and methodically continued to arrive at one of his own. 266 FEDERATION He told himself he was the captain of the Enterprise. Even now, with only seconds left in which to make his decision, he thought of the other vessels who had carried her name--all on the sculpted mural in his ready room. He thought of the company he kept: April, Pike, Kirk, Harriman, Garrett. They had never abandoned their ship or their crews. Picard would not either. There/lad to be some way out he hadn't considered. Some... ... Something deep within him spoke to him... an echo of Sarek's mind ... an echo of another mind Sarek had touched... he couldn't be sure. But he was reminded at once that there had been other Enterprises even before the ones that plied the stars. Other captains. Other... Picard could almost feel the wind against his face, hear the flap of the sails, smell the smoke from the cannons as the seas raged all around him. Something in him told him to change the rules of the encounter --not to concentrate on the Enterprise's limitations, but on Traklamek's. He saw the way. Data gave the countdown. "Thirty seconds." "Distance to Traklamek's Warbird," Picard said. "Two kilometers," Data answered. Picard stood behind Data, put his hand on the back of the android's chair. "Residual cloaking bleed, Mr. Data--how long does it last?" Data angled his head questioningly. "A few tenths of a second, sir." Picard nodded. "Then ten kilometers per second should do it. Mr. Data, transfer all power to the structural integrity field." Data carried out the command instantly, but Riker moved to Picard's side to swiftly question him. "All power to the SIF? We're not in atmosphere, and without warp speed, the Enterprise doesn't even need the SIF." "Where we're going," Picard said, "we don't need warp speed." He looked behind him to tactical. "Mr. Worf, target the dorsal bridge spine of Traklamek's ship. Then feed those coordinates to the helm. Now." 267 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS Worf immediately acted as directed, without questioning his captain's order. But Riker looked at Picard with wide eyes, at last understanding. "Captain, you can't be serious," he said. "Five seconds to detection," Data announced. "Number One," Picard said, "I have never been more serious in my life. Ensign McKnight--on my mark." Then as he pointed his finger at the screen, he gave an order that had not been heard aboard an Enterprise for centuries-- "Ramming speed!" Instantly the Enterprise sprang forward, her inertial dampers protecting all aboard from the monstrous force of the 103-gravity acceleration her impulse engines could achieve. Traklamek's Warbird didn't have a chance. Its defensive shields were tuned to the frequencies required to protect it from Federation phasers and photon-torpedo radiation. At relative rest under battle conditions, its navigational shields were configured to deflect dust and debris, and to leave energy available for weapons. They would only draw more power when the ship began to move again, or when sensors picked up incoming objects. Undoubtedly, in the ship's last microseconds of existence, its sensors did pick up one incoming object--the 3.71-million-tonne mass of the U.S.S. Enterprise. But the residual cloaking bleed from Tarl's cloaking field distorted the Enterprise's sensor image and Traklamek's computers automatically requested verification before altering the allocation of power to the shields under battle conditions. Romulan programmers had foreseen that danger might arise if shield frequencies were permitted to change in response to spurious sensor ghosts. But even running at one billion operations per second, there was no time for confirmation of any sensor readings. The Enterprise passed through the Warbird's navigational deflectors as if they did not exist. The defensive shields set for radiation did not even register the Enterprise's presence. And on the Warbird's bridge, destruction was so swift that there 268 FEDERATION was not even time for realization of their fate to form in the minds of the crew. The leading edge of the Enterprise's saucer section hit the dorsal bridge spine of Traklamek's ship at 36 thousand kilo- meters per hour. The Galaxy-class starship's internal forcefield system was designed to augment her structural integrity under the strains of warp acceleration. The system was tuned to the highest setting it would require to withstand velocities in excess of 1.78 trillion kilometers per hour--giving her a rigidity that rivaled that of degenerate matter at the heart of neutron stars. Contact lasted less than one-hundredth of a second. If the Enterprise's warp core had been active, the shock-wave feedback through the ship's structural integrity field would have triggered an instant antimatter compression wave, destroying the ship at once. But the warp core was off-line, and the Enterprise sliced the Warbird's head from its body and flew on intact. In the Warbird's main hulls, the shock of the Enterprise's passage crystallized duranium. The mechanisms of that ship's artificial singularity reactor shattered so suddenly that all gravita- tional containment fields failed at once in a massive implosion. In the Warbird's bridge, all power conduits were severed at once. Immediately, its own inertial dampers and artificial gravity systems shut down. The force with which the accelerating bulk- heads then hit the suddenly motionless crew members reduced them to superheated pulp in less than a thousandth of a second. Mere thousandths of a second after that, that pulp was consumed by the energy release of the singularity implosion erupting from the ship's other half. In less than a second, there was nothing physical left of Traklamek's ship larger than an isolinear chip. Resolute, the Enterprise flew on. On the bridge, every alarm built into every console and piece of equipment sounded at once. Picard heard obscure warning chimes he had heard before only in simulations. All lights flickered, display screens rolled. The bridge speakers squealed as they were momentarily overloaded by the messages inundating 269 JUDITH AND GARFIELD REEVES-STEVENS them. The straining inertial dampers sent fluttering shivers through the ship as they tried repeatedly to reset themselves, making the superstructure creak and groan. Picard blinke