Saru’s reply was glum. “Unfortunately, Captain, my species is genetically predisposed toward fretting.”
2
* * *
The warp jump went from a smooth transit via non-Einsteinian space to a juddering, shaking race against invisible lines of spatial scission.
Shenzhou was an old ship, a Walker class in the light-cruiser range, and she had weathered more than her fair share of hard journeys since the day she came off the orbital slips. Still, the hull creaked alarmingly as feedback from the structural integrity fields resonated back down her forward saucer section and along the pylons of her underslung warp nacelles.
The concentrated particles of the fading nadion pulse had the effect of destabilizing any conventional starship’s warp matrix, to the point that passing through a dense pocket of them would make the faster-than-light bubble evaporate and send any vessel that fell victim crashing back toward sublight velocity. A ship without adequate protection would crumple instantly from the sheer force of unplanned deceleration. But Shenzhou was an old war-horse, and she was tough. It would take much more than this to bring her down.
Space thickened around the starship as it closed in on the epicenter of the effect, and the vessel described a looping spiral to cross the distance. A head-on approach would have been like steering through mud; this way, Shenzhou skated across the top of the decaying nadion field and kept up her momentum.
Ahead of the Starfleet vessel, two alien craft drifted in a flickering haze of ice-blue Cherenkov radiation. The first was just over twice the size of a shuttlecraft, its core fuselage resembling a bulbous projectile with a pair of solar-array “wings” and a single-engine nacelle emerging from a ventral mount. The wings hung limply, incorrectly deployed as the smaller craft had reverted out of warp speed. It drifted in a nose-down attitude relative to the Shenzhou’s line of approach, and a tail of ejected coolant extended out behind it, ice crystals glittering in the dark.
The second ship was a giant. Nearly a kilometer long, the forward quarter of the hull was a heavy ingot of metal dotted with a few illuminated viewports. A collar of pylons at the rear of this forward section sported four large warp nacelles, the intercoolers along the flanks of each one flickering with uncontrolled discharges. The rest of the huge vessel’s mass was made up of a skeletal frame like the bones of a fish, upon which were mounted countless numbers of massive modular containers, all interlinked. It bore a vague likeness to the design of the old “Boomer”-type warp freighters once in use all across the Federation, but the similarity ended there. Both of the craft had sculpted, decorative fascia over their superstructures, an aesthetic layer suggesting the organic shapes of bulbous plants.
Random patterns of green lightning crawled over the hulls of the alien vessels, the telltale signs of power cores bleeding off excess energy in the desperate attempt to forestall a critical overload. Any experienced spacer would only need to look at them to know that the life expectancy of the ships was running out.
• • •
They slowed to impulse power, and Saru surveyed the scene through the clear sections on the deck of the bridge as Ensign Detmer brought the Shenzhou around. “Structure and configuration match known designs,” he explained. “These vessels belong to the natives of Peliar Zel.”
“No communications,” Ensign Fan spoke up, anticipating the captain’s next question.
Her gaze fixed on the same view, Georgiou called out to the duty engineer. “Weeton. That lightning effect on the hulls, is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s sublimated warp plasma, then yes, Captain.” The ensign gave a grave nod.
“I read identical fluctuation events in the warp cores of both ships,” said Saru, studying his panel. “They’re in a lot of trouble.” His first instinct was to draw back, as if he were standing too close to a fire, and he ignored the urge.
“Are you sure?” Commander ch’Theloh leaned over to see the readings for himself. “There’s a lot of interference on the sensors.”
“Yes, sir,” Saru allowed, “but the bleed from the warp cores is so strong it’s cutting right through it. That in itself is a very bad sign.”
“How long do they have?” said Georgiou.
“Minutes at best,” offered Weeton.
“Send this in all known common protocols.” The captain took a breath. “Attention, Peliar vessels. This is the Federation Starship Shenzhou. We stand ready to assist. Respond if you can.” Transmitting the message was standard operating procedure, but no one on the bridge expected to receive a reply.
“They won’t answer,” Burnham said quietly, her voice so low that only Saru heard her speak. “They can’t.”
The inhabitants of the Peliar Zel star system were citizens of an independent sovereign state that for many decades had eschewed interaction with off-worlders, preferring to maintain their own planets and a handful of regional colony holdings. But recently, their government had made overtures toward the United Federation of Planets, and they were exploring the possibility of UFP membership. As a xenoanthropologist by training, Burnham would have been the one to know more about the Peliar culture than he, but Saru guessed that the most likely reason for the aliens reaching out to the Federation was the fear of ongoing Tholian expansion. With that thought preying on his mind, he eyed the long-range sensors warily, looking for anything out on the periphery that might have been a lurking spinner ship.
Georgiou leaned forward in her chair, as if she were pulling against restraints holding her in place. “Any clue as to the origin of the nadion pulse that crippled them?”
“The particle density is much higher around the bigger ship, the freighter,” said Ensign Troke. “Best guess, the pulse originated inside the big one and knocked them both out of warp.”
“I’d concur with that,” said Weeton. “They were probably moving in close formation, the other ship acting as an escort.”
“An engine malfunction, then?” Ch’Theloh considered the possibility. “Not the result of an attack.”
“We can worry about cause after we deal with the effect,” said the captain. “All right, if we can’t communicate with them, what can we do? Is it possible to tractor them away from the denser areas of the particle field?”
“Tractors are operable.” At the ops station, Ensign Troy Januzzi unconsciously ran a hand over his bald scalp, and glanced at the woman in the seat next to him. “It’s up to Kayla if she thinks we can drag them out.”
Detmer’s face soured. “I’m not sure that’s the best solution. The mass ratio isn’t in our favor.”
“You’re right,” said Georgiou, thinking it through. “That’ll take too long. And we won’t be able to use the transporters, not while the radiation still lingers.”
Saru glanced at the display in front of Burnham, a live feed from the forward sensor array tuned to detect life signs. The readout fluctuated wildly; one moment it showed the ship’s complement as fewer than a dozen, and in the next it was giving out numbers akin to the population of a large town. “I can’t stabilize this,” she said irritably. “The interference is too strong.”
“Anything from the smaller craft?” he prompted.
She frowned. “A consistent negative life-sign reading. I think it’s an automated drone of some sort.”
“Captain!” Troke called out in alarm, cutting through their conversation. “The escort ship! Readings from its warp core are spiking. Captain, I think it’s going to explode!”
“Shields to maximum!” Ch’Theloh barked out the command, and all eyes turned toward the quadrant of the screen where the winged craft was adrift.
• • •
Georgiou raised her hand to cover her eyes just as the smaller Peliar ship blossomed into a tiny sun. The Shenzhou’s bridge was briefly drenched in white and hard-edged shadows as a fatal collision of matter and antimatter engulfed the escort craft. A rolling, thundering tremor ran through the starship as the shockwave from the escort’s destruction bat
tered at the shields, and her ship reeled beneath the impact.
“Status?” Georgiou’s first officer reacted quickly, striding toward the damage control station.
“Minor damage, no hull breaches,” reported Weeton. “But the Peliar escort . . . It’s vapor, sir.”
The captain turned toward Troke’s station and saw that the Tulian’s normally healthy sky-blue skin tone had turned a sickly pale green. She knew what he was going to say next before he uttered the words. “The larger ship’s warp core is exhibiting identical breach precursors. The same thing is going to happen to them unless they can stop it.”
“Why don’t they eject the core and get the hell out of there?” said Detmer through clenched teeth, almost as if she could send her demand through the void to the other vessel.
“Won’t matter,” said Weeton bleakly. “They wouldn’t be able to get far enough away to avoid the blast effect.”
And even at full power, the Shenzhou won’t be able to drag them out of the way. That grim realization presented itself to Georgiou, and a heartbeat behind it came the prospect of a terrible choice. There were hundreds of lives aboard her ship and she could save them all right now if she gave the order to warp out to a safe distance. She was in command and her first responsibility was to her crew.
But if they backed off, the runaway destabilization of the Peliar ship’s warp core would certainly claim every life on that other vessel, and Philippa Georgiou would have to live with the knowledge that she let it happen.
The captain drew herself up and began speaking, not so much for the sake of her officers, but once again for the record. “We have received no distress call. We are unable to interpret the intentions of the Peliar crew. Nevertheless, these are my orders. We are going to render all possible assistance to those people. If we wait for an invitation, it will be too late.” She glanced toward her first officer. “Commander, prep a shuttle for immediate takeoff.”
“Aye, Captain.” Ch’Theloh set to work.
Georgiou tapped a key on the arm of her chair. “Engineering. Commander Johar?”
“Here, Captain.”
“Get yourself a pilot, a medic, and a couple of your best technicians, then double-time it to the shuttlebay. You’re about to take part in an unsolicited boarding action.”
“Right. I’ll pack a Jolly Roger.” Johar paused. “Can I take Weeton? He’s good on the stick, and he knows his way around a hyperspanner.”
“He’s on his way. Bridge out.” Georgiou threw the ensign a nod and the junior officer stood up, masking a flash of anxiety as he did so.
“Captain, I’d like to volunteer to join the rescue party.” Burnham stepped away from her panel, coming stiffly to attention. “They could use a science officer over there.”
“And it has to be you?” The barbed comment fell from Saru’s lips before the Kelpien was even aware he had voiced it.
Burnham gave him a sharp look, and Georgiou saw the rekindling of the same argument she had interrupted in the mess hall. The two of them were both excellent at their jobs, but the ongoing issue of getting Saru and Burnham to work together had a habit of flaring up into conflict at inopportune times. And right now, the captain had no time to waste.
Michael Burnham was always the one to go into harm’s way, and Saru was always ready with a reason to play it safe. Despite the grave seriousness of the situation, Georgiou suddenly saw a way to defuse the tension between the science officers and hopefully solve the larger dilemma at hand. “A good suggestion, and your offer is appreciated, Lieutenant Burnham . . . but stand to and hold your station.” The other woman couldn’t mask her disappointment, but that turned to surprise when Georgiou glanced at the Kelpien. “Lieutenant Saru, join the team in the shuttlebay.”
“Me?” Saru’s pale blue eyes blinked in shock.
“You,” said the captain, nodding toward the turbolift. “Now snap to it.”
• • •
The turbolift ran on priority pathing, speeding straight to the shuttlebay at the aft of the Shenzhou’s primary hull without stopping, and Saru’s thoughts were racing to keep up as he spilled out of the lift with Ensign Weeton leading the way.
What just happened? He had spoken without thinking, opening his mouth to criticize Burnham’s eagerness to impress without stopping to consider the alternative, and now he was going to pay for it. Captain Georgiou had put him on the spot, and Saru had no choice but to obey orders and accept the assignment.
“I guess you weren’t expecting that,” said Weeton as the two of them approached the shuttle Yang. The ensign handed him a gear vest and an operations kit from a rack, then grabbed one of his own. “Time to get your hands dirty, huh, Lieutenant?”
Saru couldn’t be sure if he was reading sarcasm in the ensign’s tone, so he ignored it. He clamped his mouth shut and silenced the misgivings that echoed in his thoughts as he shrugged on the vest. Don’t see this as a perilous situation, he told himself, see it as an opportunity to show your mettle to the crew.
“Faster would be better,” called the chief engineer, hanging out of the hatch at the back of the Yang’s lozenge-shaped hull. “Weeton, get in here and get us moving, while we still have someone to rescue!”
The two of them scrambled aboard and Saru found a seat across from Johar in the rear compartment as Weeton vaulted into the pilot’s chair and powered up the impulse engines. The hatch clanged shut and Saru shot a look out of the forward canopy. The shuttlebay was already open, a glittering wall of force separating the atmosphere inside from the vacuum. Out beyond the Shenzhou, he could see the still-expanding cloud of radioactive debris that had been the Peliar escort drone.
The Yang lifted off, light blurring as the interior of its mothership fell away and they rushed into space. Saru double-checked his gear as Johar launched into a brisk briefing.
“All right, everyone. We’re on the clock here, so I need you all to work fast and smart. A nadion pulse most likely means an overload in the secondary injector modules of the warp core, so we get in and we provide whatever help we can to stabilize it.” He pointed to the straw-pale female Vok’sha seated next to Saru, a petty officer with the bronze tabs of an engineering specialist. “Yashae, you know this stuff like the back of your hand, so I want you running point. Crewman Subin, do what she tells you, understood?” The thin Mazarite woman across the cabin gave an emphatic nod in reply.
“What about me?” Nurse Zoxom was dressed in medical division whites beneath his gear vest, and the husky Xanno seemed eager to get started.
“There are going to be injured people over there, count on that,” Johar told him. “You’re going to have your hands full.”
Zoxom held up a heavy medical pack. “I’ve got plenty of hyronalin to go around. Speaking of which . . . time for a booster shot.” He loaded a hypospray with a vial of the anti-radiation drug and proceeded to work his way around the shuttle, injecting each person in turn.
“Lieutenant Saru,” concluded Johar. “We only have a rough idea of what we’re going to find over there, so I need your head on a swivel.”
Saru touched his neck, wondering if the human literally meant what he said, then decided just to nod and not question it. “Aye, sir.”
“Approaching the target vessel,” called Weeton from the cockpit. “It’s big all right.”
Johar moved forward and Saru followed, peering over the pilot’s shoulder. Ahead of the Yang’s prow, a wall of tan-colored metal filled the windows. The shuttle was closing on the rear of the forward section, toward the ring of warp nacelles. If the massive transport ship followed usual design logic, then the main engineering deck would be close by.
“Anyone see a hatch?” said Weeton.
“There.” Saru spotted a hexagonal port in the hull and pointed it out.
With a few bursts from the shuttle’s maneuvering thrusters, Weeton positioned the Yang over the hatch and settled them down in place. “Activating magnetic clamps.”
In the crew bay, Subin and
Yashae had already retracted the deck plates as the shuttle made a hard seal, revealing the hatch below them. Subin drew her phaser and adjusted the setting. “I can burn us through . . .”
“Wait!” Saru bounded back into the rear cabin and dropped into a crouch. “Peliar technology has a high degree of automation. I think I may be able to access the airlock control remotely.” He pulled the tricorder from his belt and quickly programmed a tight-beam transmission that would mimic the mechanism’s control signals.
“Tick-tock,” noted Johar.
Saru sent the transmission, and the hatch popped open with such rapidity that everyone in the shuttle flinched. Searing hot air wafted into the shuttle, bringing with it the acrid stench of burnt polymers and the braying hoots of what could only be an alarm siren.
“Go!” said the chief engineer, and one by one they vaulted through the open hatchway—
• • •
—And into a scene of chaos.
Saru landed in a cat-fall on a curved service gantry. The platform extended away in both directions around the equator of a thrumming column of hardware built in an hourglass shape. The alien design was markedly different from the system aboard the Shenzhou. Two massive injector arrays pulsed with bright light as matter and antimatter were channeled into a central chamber at the nexus—but rather than the steady, rhythmic heartbeat they should have been exhibiting, the pulses were coming at conflicting intervals, colliding out of sequence. The entire framework of the warp core was vibrating against its support structure, sending sparks flying in great orange-red gushes from the connector points. Plasma vents on the upper levels spat gaseous plumes of vapor as the system spiraled toward a critical overload.
Beside him, Johar cursed softly in Arabic as he cast an eye over the situation. “This is very bad.” He took a breath, then raised his voice to be heard over the alert sirens. “Someone find me a command console, right now!”
The team scrambled to obey and Saru found himself a step behind Zoxom as the nurse came across a member of the Peliar crew. A female of the species in a metallic crimson shipsuit with a simple headdress around her scalp, the Peliar woman was slumped next to an auto-valve control that appeared to be part of the ship’s deuterium conduits. Saru scanned it with his tricorder as Zoxom got to work.
Star Trek Discovery- Fear Itself Page 3