“On the contrary,” said Serenity, “if they were planning on conquering the Federation, they would have hurt their chances by alerting us to the fact.”
True, thought Picard. After all, he and his crew had risked their lives to help the Magnians; Serenity’s people had every reason to want to return the favor.
“In the end,” she said, “it came down to one thing: if there was even a chance that the Nuyyad were telling the truth, and a superbeing had been unleashed on your galaxy, how could we look the other way—especially when he would eventually become a threat to our galaxy as well?”
“So you allowed Dojjaron to accompany you across the barrier,” the captain said.
Serenity nodded. “As an expert on Nuyyad physiology and behavior. But we insisted that he come alone, to make sure there wasn’t any funny business.”
Funny business, Picard thought. It was an odd phrase, one that hadn’t been widely used for hundreds of years. But as he had been reminded before, Magnian culture had developed differently from the one the Valiant left on Earth.
“An expert,” he said, bringing his thoughts back on track.
“Yes,” said Serenity. “That and nothing more.”
“I see,” said Picard.
Despite his feelings for Serenity, he wasn’t ready to jump at her request. However, he had heard enough from her and Dojjaron to want to know more. “How did you find me?”
Serenity’s mouth hinted at a smile. “Last time I was on the Stargazer, I took the liberty of examining some of her flight logs. That gave me an idea of her customary patrol routes.”
The captain felt a spurt of resentment. “It is good to know how far I can trust you.”
Serenity shrugged. “I confessed, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Picard conceded. “And I wonder…what impropriety will you be confessing next time we meet?”
Serenity didn’t go through the motion of giving him an answer. It seemed clear that she still had her own agenda, even if it often appeared to dovetail with the captain’s.
There was something else. “Our scans,” he observed, “indicate a number of other Magnians on your vessel. Who are they?”
She mentioned a few names that he recognized, including that of Guard Daniels, the Magnian who had accompanied her the first time she left her galaxy to enter Federation space. “You wouldn’t know any of the others.”
“Why so many?” Picard asked.
“It’s a task force,” she explained. “We put it together for the purpose of confronting Brakmaktin and neutralizing him. All we need from you is help in finding him.”
“If this individual is as powerful as you claim,” Picard asked, “why limit yourself to a task force? Why not use the full range of resources at your disposal, including those available on the Stargazer?”
“Because,” said Serenity, firmly but without scorn, “you and your people would only get in the way.”
Picard looked at her. “Really.”
“We’re Magnians,” she said. “You know some of the things of which we’re capable, especially when we act in concert. Even if we hadn’t had an inkling of your location, we could have tracked you down with the power of our minds.”
“Then why not locate Brakmaktin yourselves?” asked Ben Zoma.
“Nuyyad brains work differently,” said Serenity. “Their thoughts are difficult for us to pick up.”
“Of course they are,” said Dojjaron.
Serenity went on without breaking stride, having obviously grown accustomed to the Nuyyad’s attitude. “That’s why we need your help, Captain. You know this part of space as well as anyone. And Brakmaktin is certain to leave some kind of trail.”
Picard frowned. The Magnians were powerful beings—he couldn’t dispute that. But the thought of serving as a bird dog didn’t sit well with him.
“In any case,” said Dojjaron, “we cannot sit here picking our back teeth. Time is our enemy.”
“Yes,” said Serenity. “The longer Brakmaktin’s power has to develop, the more dangerous he’ll become—and the more likely it is he’ll find his way to a populated planet.”
The captain didn’t need her to paint a picture. He had never encountered a superbeing, but he could imagine the kind of havoc such an individual could wreak.
“Assuming for the moment that this Brakmaktin fellow actually exists,” he said, “what is he likely to do when he comes in contact with such a population? Enslave them?”
It was a valid question. After all, Gary Mitchell—prior to his untimely demise—had begun thinking of himself as a god, and gods required worshippers.
“It is more complicated than that,” said Dojjaron. “My people are the product of a harsh, largely barren world, where food and shelter are in short supply. Those who do not compete effectively for these resources find their bones bleaching in the sun.”
“You’re fighters,” Ben Zoma observed.
“Fighters, yes,” said the foremost elder. “Stubborn ones. But we are also highly procreative in comparison to other species, giving birth to large numbers of offspring as frequently as every sixty-eight solar days.”
“And their days are shorter than those on Magnia,” Serenity contributed. “Or, for that matter, those on Earth. On the average, a Nuyyad female of prime childbearing age produces twenty-four live offspring in a Federation standard year.”
Picard glanced at his first officer, who was equally impressed. It was easy to see why the Nuyyad had become conquerors—initially on their own world, and later on more fertile ones. They were driven by an intense biological imperative that required them to find more and more space for their progeny.
“Like any Nuyyad warrior,” said Dojjaron, “Brakmaktin’s primary concern will be to create a safe environment for the offspring of his clan.”
“But his clan is back on the other side of the barrier,” the captain pointed out. “And there are no Nuyyad females at hand to start a new one.”
“He will not need females,” Dojjaron told him. “In their absence, Nuyyad males can produce offspring on their own.”
“You mean they can clone themselves?” the captain asked.
“In essence,” said Dojjaron, “yes.”
Asexual reproduction was a fairly common ability among simple animals. However, it was a most uncommon one among the galaxy’s more complex species.
Nor was it good news. The effects of the barrier on an exposed individual could be passed on from generation to generation, as the Magnians had amply demonstrated.
However, none of Magnia’s founders had been transformed as radically as Gary Mitchell, so their powers had been more modest. And the presence of un transformed individuals had gradually watered down the gene pool.
But there wouldn’t be any untransformed females to water down Brakmaktin’s genes. His progeny could all grow up to become as obscenely powerful as their parent.
“And you think that is what Brakmaktin will do?” Picard asked. “Create offspring?”
“Without question,” said Dojjaron. “Given the magnitude of his power and his isolation from other Nuyyad, the impulse to multiply will be irresistible. It will take place quickly and it will take place often.”
It was a grim thought.
“Twenty-four the first year,” Ben Zoma thought out loud. “And twenty-four more the second, and the third…”
“And every year thereafter,” said Serenity, “for as long as Brakmaktin is capable of bearing them.”
Dojjaron made a face. “And eventually, his offspring will begin to bear offspring of their own.”
The captain tried to imagine a galaxy full of super-powerful Nuyyad. It wouldn’t possess the slightest resemblance to the one he knew.
“How can we stop him?” he asked.
“There is a way,” Dojjaron said. “After Brakmaktin creates a suitable environment for his young, and his body begins to change so he can reproduce, he will enter a period of dormancy. Like any Nuyyad, he will be vulnerable at
this time.”
“That,” said Serenity, “is when we must strike.”
“Assuming we’ve gotten within striking distance,” Ben Zoma noted.
She nodded.
Picard saw now why the Magnians hadn’t gone directly to the Federation. The last time Serenity crossed the barrier, she and Guard Daniels had been detained for weeks while Starfleet Command decided what to do with them.
And this time she had a Nuyyad foremost elder at her side. It might have been months before Picard’s superiors reached any kind of decision regarding them. If Brakmaktin was half as dangerous as Serenity and Dojjaron contended, they needed to move a bit more quickly than that.
“You see what we’re up against?” she asked.
Picard nodded. “I do.”
“Then you’ll help?”
The captain considered what he had heard. He couldn’t implicitly trust Serenity—not after she had deceived him the last time they met. And he felt compelled to trust Dojjaron even less.
But would she have brought along a Nuyyad—and risked the immense red flag raised by his presence—if she had intended to deceive the captain a second time? Would it not have been a lot easier to accomplish that quietly, on her own?
Or had Serenity brought Dojjaron precisely because his presence made treachery seem so unlikely? Was she just using the Nuyyad as a stalking horse?
And if she was, what kind of scheme did she have in mind this time? How would it benefit Magnia? And would it, at the same time, hurt someone else?
So many possibilities. And each one came with its own colorful collection of pitfalls.
Serenity’s dark eyes caught the light. “You don’t trust me,” she observed.
Picard frowned. It wasn’t easy to deal with someone who could read minds. “Not completely, no.”
“With all due respect,” she said, “I don’t see this as a difficult decision. We should encounter some evidence of Brakmaktin’s power before too long. If we do, we keep going. And if we don’t, you can turn your ship around.”
It made sense. But the captain still wasn’t going to rush his decision. It was too serious a matter for him not to get it right.
“I will contact you,” he told Serenity, “as soon as I have had a chance to digest all you have said.”
Dojjaron looked disbelieving, as if Picard were the biggest idiot he had ever encountered.
Serenity, on the other hand, was more measured in her response. “I beg you,” she said, “digest it carefully. It may be the most important decision you’ve ever made.”
With that ominous advice ringing in his ears, Picard got up and allowed himself to be escorted back to the transporter room.
Chapter Four
PICARD SAT BACK in his plastiform chair and regarded Ben Zoma, who was seated on the other side of his desk. “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“I think,” said the first officer, “that the foremost elder could use a lesson in manners.”
Picard frowned. “You know what I mean.”
Ben Zoma shrugged. “It sounds like Santana’s telling the truth. But then, I thought that the first time we met her.”
“Wherein lies the problem,” said the captain. “Do we refuse her request for assistance, and risk allowing a potentially hostile superbeing to roam free? Or do we give her what she wants and take a chance on being duped?”
“Again,” Ben Zoma noted.
“Yes,” said Picard, tasting ashes. “Again.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. They were too busy thinking, too busy weighing options.
“It’s times like these,” Ben Zoma said at last, “that I’m glad they made you captain and not me.”
“Thank you,” said Picard. “I knew I could count on my first officer for wisdom and insight.”
“What do you want me to say?” asked Ben Zoma. “That there’s a way to be certain of Santana’s intentions? There isn’t. We both know that.” He tilted his head to one side, as if it gave him a better perspective on the captain. “And we also know you’ve already made up your mind to help them.”
Picard began to protest—until he realized that his friend was right. “I have, haven’t I?” He just couldn’t ignore the sort of threat Serenity had described.
He was, after all, an officer in Starfleet, charged with protecting life both within the Federation and without. If there was any possibility at all that Serenity was telling the truth, it fell to him to investigate it.
All the while, of course, holding on to a healthy amount of skepticism.
“So once more into the breach,” said Ben Zoma, “with your friend Santana for company.”
Picard nodded. “It certainly looks that way.”
“Of course,” said the first officer, “if it turns out that she’s lying again, we’ll just be giving McAteer more ammunition for his competency hearing.”
Picard dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “If Serenity is deceiving us again and we have fallen for it, I will save the admiral the trouble.”
“You mean…you’ll resign?”
The captain nodded, meaning every word of it. “In a heartbeat.”
Nikolas watched the Ubarrak cruiser on the bridge’s viewscreen loom larger and larger, a shadow of death slowly blotting out the spray of stars.
He had studied Ubarrak spacecraft thoroughly enough at the Academy to identify their weaknesses, of which there were several. If he were on a Federation starship, he would have known how to take advantage of them.
But Nikolas wasn’t that fortunate. He was on an Yridian cargo hauler, and an old one at that, with tactical systems that had been outdated and inadequate even before the alien with the silver eyes saw fit to destroy them.
Now, the Iktoj’ni had no shield emitters, no weapons batteries, no conceivable way to defend herself. The cruiser’s weapons officer had to be thinking it was his birthday, or whatever occasion his people liked to celebrate.
Yet Nikolas’s companion remained unfazed in his growing maze of mineral deposits. He regarded the warship as if she were a novelty, an amusement—as if the idea of the Iktoj’ni being reduced to atoms, and her two living occupants along with her, was of no particular relevance to him.
The human would have tried again to get them out of there, but it was no use. The alien clearly wasn’t going to allow that. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to confront the Ubarrak.
“What in blazes do you think you’re going to accomplish?” Nikolas asked him.
The alien didn’t bother answering. He just kept staring at the viewscreen.
A moment later, the Ubarrak’s weapons ports began to glow with a sickly bluish light. We’re in weapons range, Nikolas thought. Any moment now, they’ll let us have it.
The alien had to be thinking the same thing. However, the knowledge obviously wasn’t moving him. Was he insane? the human wondered. Was that why he faced death so carelessly?
Suddenly, the warship began belching packets of deadly azure energy, one after another. They were photon projectiles. Nikolas had seen pictures of them back at the Academy.
In a matter of seconds, they would plow into the cargo hauler like daggers and rip her apart. The human watched them with morbid fascination, bracing himself for the impact.
But it never came. The packets of blue brilliance splashed against the viewscreen, threatening all kinds of violence, but somehow they failed to make their presence felt.
Nikolas didn’t get it. Giddily, he checked the monitors on the helm console. None of them registered any damage to the transport. Not even a scratch.
How is that possible? he asked himself.
He looked to his grotesque companion for an explanation—just in time to see the alien turn away from the viewscreen. He actually looked as if he were bored.
Nikolas returned his attention to the screen, still unable to believe that the Ubarrak’s barrage could be so ineffectual. But by then, it had stopped. The warship wasn’t firing anymore.
“What happened?” Nikolas muttered, never meaning for anyone to hear the question.
“It’s difficult to fire,” the alien said in the most casual of tones, “when your mind has been erased.”
Erased? The word echoed eerily in Nikolas’s mind. An Ubarrak battle cruiser had a complement of nearly a hundred warriors, each one carefully selected and highly trained…
But not this battle cruiser, he realized with a tightening of his throat. Not anymore.
“Fortunately,” the alien added in the same inappropriately casual tone, “their ship is in perfect condition.”
Picard regarded Serenity Santana’s image on his desktop monitor screen. “All right,” he said, “I will take you at your word—unless and until you give me reason to do otherwise.”
She looked pleased and disappointed at the same time. “Honestly, Jean-Luc, I thought we had learned enough about each other to get past all that.”
In fact, the captain had gotten to know Serenity quite well in the couple of days before the Stargazer left her galaxy, when he and his crew were restoring the ship to the condition in which she had originally crossed the barrier.
But he knew that she would put Magnia’s welfare ahead of anything else. That made her someone to be treated warily, despite what had transpired between them.
“I wish I could say so,” Picard replied.
If Serenity took offense at the remark, it wasn’t readily apparent. “You’ll get your wish,” she said. “Believe me.”
They spent the next several minutes discussing the details of the Magnians’ transfer to the Stargazer. And of course, Dojjaron’s. Then they signed off.
It was strange putting aside their passion for each other this way. Nonetheless, it had to be done.
Leaning back in his chair, the captain considered another detail of the mission he had just undertaken. Unfortunately, this one was a little stickier.
His duty, at that juncture, was to get in touch with Starfleet Command and apprise Admiral McAteer of his intention to track down Brakmaktin. However, he knew that the admiral would never authorize Picard’s involvement in the matter.
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