by Peter David
“That is the case, yes.”
“Are you sure…” S/he glanced apprehensively at the place where Morgan’s body had vanished into nothingness. “Are you sure that your virus eradicated her completely? Morgan got around, if you know what I mean.”
“I assume you’re referring to various locations where she had copied her essential systems or had otherwise insinuated herself.” Seven folded her arms as she watched the Doctor and Soleta working. “All such extensions were not severed from her. She was attached to them. That attachment serves as a two-way street. When she was erased, so were any and all extensions.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely?”
“Ninety-seven percent.”
S/he stiffened at that. “You’re ninety-seven percent sure?”
“Perhaps ninety-six.” She shrugged. “Science is not always exact, Commander. There have to be allowances for new discoveries.”
“So you’re saying there’s a three to four percent chance that Morgan Primus is still out there somewhere?”
She turned to hir with a raised, mocking eyebrow. “Exciting prospect, isn’t it.”
“Just what I need in my life,” said Burgoyne. “More excitement.”
That was when the U.S.S. Dauntless showed up, with the firepower and the orders to blow them out of space.
U.S.S. Dauntless
“How stupid does he think we are?” said Commodore Joshua Kemper.
The Excalibur was just hanging there in space, apparently asleep at the switch—“apparently” being the key.
“I mean, really,” said Kemper, and it was all he could do not to laugh. “Does he seriously think he’s going to draw us in?”
“Commodore, I’m scanning their vessel,” said Hopkins. “I’m reading only minimal energy output. They’ve got life support, gravity, a few lights, and that’s about it.”
“So they shut down all unnecessary systems in order to sell the notion that they’ve had some sort of cataclysmic failure. Except I’m not buying it. Furthermore, it’s not remotely relevant to our mission.”
The doors of the turbolift opened and Admiral Jellico strode in. He took one look at the screen and said, “You should have told me we found them, Commodore.”
“I was about to let you know, sir. Wouldn’t have made a move without you,” Kemper lied.
“What have we got?”
Kemper laid out for him in short strokes the specifics of the situation. “Obviously,” he concluded, “Calhoun is trying to lay out a trap to lure us in. Make us drop our guard so that he can ambush us the same way that he ambushed the inhabitants of New Thallon.”
“I don’t know that I concur with your assessment of the situation, Commodore.”
The commodore had been sitting in leisurely fashion in the command chair. He had been utterly confident of how things were going to proceed. But with the admiral’s words, it was as if the atmosphere on the bridge had changed. Slowly he got to his feet so that he was on eye level with Jellico. “As near as I can determine, Admiral, your assessment of the situation isn’t particularly relevant. My orders are specific.”
“Your orders come from me.”
“They come from Starfleet, sir, and you may outrank me, but your will does not comprise the entirety of Starfleet, to say nothing of the wishes of the Federation Council.”
“All of that is true, Commodore,” said Admiral Jellico, his jaw set, “but you are forgetting one thing.”
“And that is?”
In a tone that was clearly brooking no argument, Jellico said, “The entirety of Starfleet and the Federation Council is not here. I am. And as long as that remains the case, you’re going to be dealing with me.”
Kemper felt as if the eyes of his entire command crew—particularly Theresa Detwiler’s—were on him. His spine stiffened, and he knew beyond question that he was not about to back down. He didn’t care if he wound up being court-martialed. It didn’t matter to him if he were sentenced to hard labor indefinitely. He was going to take a stand, and Jellico was damned well going to know about it.
“This,” and he pointed at the screen, “is exactly the sort of trap that we were warned about. The exact sort of stunt that Calhoun is likely to pull. That’s why we have explicit instructions to shoot first and ask questions never. I am not, under any circumstance, going to risk the lives of my crew on the off chance that the ship is truly in distress.”
“No one is asking you to risk the lives of your crew. I am telling you, however, that my orders…”
“Do not supersede procedure.” He turned to Hopkins.
“Have you been able to raise the Excalibur?”
“Negative, Commodore. She’s just sitting there.”
“General Order Twelve, Admiral,” said Kemper. “On the approach of any vessel, when communications have not been established, personnel will prepare for potential hostile intent.”
“I’m familiar with the general order, Commodore,” said Jellico stiffly. “My ancestors helped draft it.”
Kemper pounced on the opening. “And if they were here, then they’d be proceeding exactly as I am. As if that weren’t enough, the direct orders I have from Starfleet dictate how I am supposed to handle this engagement. I am not going to fall for Calhoun’s obvious trap, Admiral, and all the information that I have at hand and all the orders under which I am operating have given me exactly one option. Hopkins.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Target lock all phasers on the Excalibur. Prepare to fire.”
“Hold on!” snapped Jellico. “Hopkins, do they even have shields up?”
“No, Admiral, they do not.”
Kemper calmly dropped back into his chair and crossed his legs. Jellico came around and leaned in toward him. “You fire on her now, unshielded, and the phasers will tear her apart.”
“Since that will serve to fulfill my mission, I’m actually fine with that.”
“I am not,” Jellico said. “And as ranking officer on this bridge, I have some say in that.”
“If you’re not on the bridge, then that becomes moot.”
Jellico moved in closer. “Are you threatening me, Commodore?”
“It is my belief,” said Kemper, “that your personal feelings in this matter are blinding you to the duty this ship is supposed to follow. On that basis, I can easily determine that you are not thinking clearly, and therefore your rank doesn’t come into play.”
“That is a dubious proposition on which to hang the future of your career,” warned Jellico.
“Commodore…”
It was Detwiler. He turned to her, his face a question.
Sitting at conn, she looked conflicted, bound by loyalty to Kemper but also clearly uncomfortable with matters as they were. “Commodore, with all respect, they’re not even running weapons hot. I don’t see how they pose an immediate threat.”
“You don’t have to see it,” he said, astonishment in his voice that she would even be bringing it up. ”Our orders are clear.”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“There’s a ‘but’ after that ‘yes, sir’?”
She could practically feel the anger radiating from him, but she pressed on. “But… firing on a ship that’s offering no defense, no offense… that’s just sitting there…”
“As is to be expected from a captain who is as devious as Calhoun.”
“Sir, to be able to attack us without weapons fire, or survive an attack without shields… that’s not deviousness. That’s suicidal.”
“Then, with the backing of Starfleet, whose orders I’m following, I’m going to oblige him.”
“Sir,” and she stood, leaning on the conn chair as if she required the extra support. Then she turned and addressed Jellico rather than Kemper. “Admiral, if being able to think straight is a determining factor in appraising conduct, then you should be aware that Commodore Kemper and Cap
tain Calhoun have their own history that may well be serving to direct the way that the Commodore is—”
“Belay that, Detwiler, and sit the hell down!” Kemper fairly shouted.
Her jaw twitched as if she wanted to say more, but she did as ordered.
It was too late. Recollection flooded through Jellico’s mind. “My God, of course. I’d forgotten all about that; it was a lifetime ago. Calhoun broke your jaw.”
“If you’re determined to reminisce about the old days when you were dean of the Academy, Admiral, then I assume you’ll remember that I took full responsibility for a subsequent altercation. The events of decades ago,” and he fired an angry look at Detwiler, “are not in any way having an impact on my actions now. And may I further remind you that the chain of command exists for a reason: to distance decisions from the sorts of emotions that you’re obviously displaying now and that you’re accusing me of allowing to impact my judgment. My orders are specific, and so is General Order Twelve. They are not communicating with us and we have to assume them to be hostile. And I’m going to do my duty, and if there is anyone on this bridge,” and he turned and glared at the whole of his command crew, “who wants to try and countermand that, then they can consider themselves relieved of duty! I do not get to question Starfleet officers, and neither does the Admiral, particularly when we’re fulfilling a mission that comes from the highest levels!”
“Sir,” said Hopkins, looking extremely uncomfortable, “permission to warn them that they’re about to be fired upon.”
Kemper turned and was ready to dismiss the notion out of hand. But then he saw the way that Detwiler was looking at him, and what killed him most was the disappointment that he saw in her eyes.
“Open a channel,” he said tersely. Hopkins immediately did so and Kemper strode toward the viewscreen as if that would enable the Excalibur to see him better. “Excalibur,” he said briskly. “This is Commodore Kemper of the Dauntless. You have been targeted and my orders are to destroy you on sight. You have sixty seconds from my mark to establish communications or we will carry out our orders. Mark.” He turned and said defiantly to Jellico, “I’ve given them their window of opportunity. If they don’t respond, or they so much as look funny in our direction, I’ll blow them to hell.”
U.S.S. Excalibur
Deaf and dumb although mercifully not blind, the Excalibur had no way of hearing Kemper’s warning or knowing that they were on a deadline.
That didn’t mean that they were unaware of their impending peril.
As the starship loomed on their screen, Tania Tobias said, “They’re going to start shooting.”
“How do you know?” said Burgoyne. “Other than that we’re the Excalibur, which means that everybody starts shooting at us sooner or later.”
“I know. I just… know,” she said.
“Of course you do,” and Burgoyne rolled hir eyes. “Because it wouldn’t be right to have a conn officer who wasn’t somehow strange.”
“Word is out throughout the entirety of Starfleet,” said Xy. “They’re probably as eager to shoot at us as anyone else.”
“I don’t want to tell you how to run your ship,” said Seven, “but you might want to consider a little less talking and a little more figuring out how to have them not start firing at us.”
“Soleta,” said the Doctor quickly. “Her vessel is fully operational. She could return to it and explain the situation—”
“Assuming she even has some sort of transportation recall device that would enable her to get back to her ship,” said Burgoyne, “she’s crawling around a Jeffries tube on deck fourteen.”
“We’re running out of time,” and Tania’s body was practically vibrating. “I know it… I know it…”
“Kebron! Do we have any communications capabilities at all!” asked Burgoyne.
“Nothing.” Kebron looked ready to put his fist through his board. “Not a thing.”
“We need some way to signal them,” said Burgoyne.
Kebron said, “We could all climb out onto the saucer section and form the word ‘help’ with our bodies.”
“You’re not helping,” Burgoyne said.
“True, but in my defense, I wasn’t trying to.”
And suddenly Robin, who was holding Cwansi close to her, said, “Wait… Tobias… you said you could turn the running lights on and off?”
Tania, in the throes of bracing herself for the phaser blasts that she just knew were going to be unleashed upon them at practically any time, looked up at Robin in confusion. “What? Yes… but what’s—”
“Do it! Flash the lights at them! Flash three quickly—on, off, on, off, on, off—and then another three, holding them on for a second longer, and then three fast again! And keep doing it!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not the only one around here who knows about things! So just do it!”
“Do what she’s telling you, Tobias,” said Burgoyne. “She believes it, and that’s good enough for me.”
“Okay,” said Tobias. “Three short, three long, three short?” When Robin nodded, she started flashing the lights as she’d been instructed, without the slightest idea why.
“Now what?” said Burgoyne as Tania continued as instructed.
“Now we pray that someone there knows about things, too,” said Robin, clutching Cwansi even more tightly, as if in doing so she could protect him from the imminent destruction.
U.S.S. Dauntless
i.
Until the last moment, Jellico wasn’t sure that he was just going to stand by and let Kemper open fire on the Excalibur.
The damning thing was that Kemper was absolutely in the right, and Jellico knew it. The orders had come from above Jellico and he had no authority to countermand them without some excuse, and at the moment he had none. It was the reason that Jellico was hesitating to take charge of the ship: because it would mean undercutting an officer who was doing nothing more than obeying the orders that had been handed down by Starfleet. The fact that Jellico believed they were wrongheaded was Jellico’s problem and not anyone else’s.
It would have been one thing if the captain was incapacitated or otherwise unavailable. Then Jellico, as the ranking officer, would have been able to take command of the ship. But Kemper, despite his negative history with Calhoun, was by all evidence operating with clear faculties and a full awareness of everything he was doing. Consequently, his direct authority as the ship’s commanding officer would be the final arbiter, at least on all practical levels. It might be possible for Jellico to make a case at a subsequent disciplinary hearing that Kemper should have willingly ceded command to him, but none of that would solve the immediate problem.
Furthermore, there was no one in Starfleet who had a greater respect for the chain of command than Jellico. And he was loath to be the weak link in that chain. But was he really supposed to just stand by and allow Calhoun and his people to be blown to bits?
He needed a cause, a reason to intercede. He stared fixedly at the ship on the screen. Give me something. Give me anything. Come on, you bastard, find a way to—
Then he squinted. Was that—?
“Fifty eight… fifty nine… sixty seconds, Commodore,” said Commander Williams, and there was a sense of real tragedy in his voice.
Kemper didn’t share the setiment. “Mr. Hopkins… fire pha—”
“Hold it!” said Jellico.
As if anticipating that Jellico was going to try and intercede, Kemper said, “Admiral Jellico, if I need to get security—”
“Magnify the image. I think I see something.”
Kemper hesitated, as if suspecting that Jellico was up to some sort of trick. But then he nodded and said, “Increase by fifty percent.”
The Excalibur grew in size. Jellico approached, staring at it for long seconds, and just at the point where Kemper was about to say that enough was enough, Jellico pointed and said, “Look! There!”
“What am I looking at?” Kemper said i
mpatiently.
“The running lights. They’re not flashing in normal sequence. They’re flashing three short, three long, three short, repeatedly.”
Kemper stared at him. “So?”
“It’s SOS. Morse code.”
“It’s what?”
“Morse code. An ancient form of communication conveyed through a series of dots and dashes via a device called a telegraph.”
“Sir, with all respect, are you making this up?”
Jellico almost laughed but caught himself, since this was hardly the type of situation where laughing would help anything. “SOS was the international signal for dire emergency. Some people claimed it stood for ‘save our ship,’ but it was just a handy way of remembering the key letters: three quick transmissions, then three slower ones, then three quick ones again.”
Kemper regarded him suspiciously and then said, “Computer. Analyze image of vessel designated Excalibur, cross referencing for something called Morris co—”
“Morse.”
“Morse code,” he corrected. “Analyze and report conclusions.” He then sat there with what was clearly an expectant look in anticipation of the computer informing him that it didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
And the computer reported crisply, “Running lights are signaling a pattern consistent with Morse code designation SOS, indicating that vessel is in distress and requires assistance.”
There were impressed looks from around the command crew. Even Kemper appeared stunned. “And how do you know all about this code stuff?”
“I’m a history buff, Commodore. You ought to try it some time, the entire concept of listening to history.”
It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Kemper bristled and then said brusquely, “So what? This is exactly the type of trap that Calhoun would set.”
Jellico couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “He would signal for help using an ancient means of communication on the off chance that someone looking at it might see it? Seriously?”