by David Mack
She turned toward Gant. “What were those?”
Gant was already reviewing data from his tricorder. “Three more drones, sir.” He lowered the device and shot a fearful look Burnham’s way. “And they’re headed for the Shenzhou.”
Burnham looked upward. The drones had already vanished above the cloud cover on their way into orbit. She pulled out her communicator and flipped it open, then set it for ship-to-shore.
“Burnham to Shenzhou, priority one!”
Captain Georgiou responded, “Go ahead, Number One.”
“Raise shields, Captain! You’re about to have company.”
7
* * *
“Red alert,” Georgiou declared, taking her place in the bridge’s command seat. “Raise shields, arm all weapons.” She used her chair’s armrest control pad to open a public-address channel inside the Shenzhou. “Attention, all decks. This is the captain. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. Firefighters and damage-control teams, stand ready.” She switched off the channel and turned her attention to the three drones being tracked by the ship’s tactical system and represented as highlighted points holographically superimposed on the center viewport. “Tactical, report!”
Ensign Troy Januzzi had taken over Gant’s post at tactical. A sheen of perspiration glistened on the trim young officer’s shaved brown head. “Three bogeys inbound, Captain. They’re at one-quarter impulse and accelerating.” He muted a warbling alert from his console. “Their headings are diverging. One bogey still on intercept, the other two are trying to flank.”
“Helm, evasive. Break orbit, get us some breathing room.”
“Aye, sir,” Ensign Detmer confirmed. The young German woman piloted the Shenzhou away from Sirsa III. “Increasing to half-impulse, going evasive.”
Oliveira turned away from the operations console to face Georgiou. “Captain, if we break orbit, we’ll be leaving the landing party behind on the Juggernaut.”
“I know that, Lieutenant. But for now we need to face the threat in front of us.” Georgiou checked the tactical data projected on the portside viewport and kept to herself the fact that she had effectively abandoned the landing party the moment she had ordered the shields be raised. With the shields up, there was no way to transport Burnham or the others back aboard.
“Drones continuing to increase speed,” Januzzi said. “The flanking units are adjusting course, starting a pincer attack.”
“Suppressing fire, Mister Januzzi,” Georgiou said. “Detmer, all ahead, full impulse.”
“Full impulse, aye.” Detmer pushed the Shenzhou’s impulse drive to its rated maximum, and the pitch of its droning rose steadily as the ship raced into combat maneuvers. Outside the center viewport the cosmos wheeled with dizzying speed and randomness, the result of Detmer’s wild corkscrew turns and bizarre x-axis flips of the massive star-ship.
Georgiou decided to test a hunch. “Fan, are you reading any signal traffic between the drones and the Juggernaut? Any sign that they’re being remotely guided?”
Ensign Fan checked the readouts on the communications panel. “None, Captain.”
“What about signals moving among the drones themselves?”
Once more Fan queried her signal-intercept software. “Negative, sir.”
“So much for taking them down without a fight,” Georgiou said. “Tactical, lock and fire.”
Januzzi keyed in the command. Targeting sights appeared on the viewport, wedded to the icons representing the drones. “Phasers locked. Five seconds to optimal firing range.”
“Fire when ready.” Georgiou drew a breath and waited to see the drones blasted into scrap and free radicals by the Shenzhou’s computer-assisted fire-control system. In her head she counted down their final seconds: three . . . two . . . one . . .
“We’ve lost the targeting lock,” Januzzi said, his efforts at the tactical console turning frantic. “Reacquiring.” Within a few seconds it was clear that he had promised more than he could deliver. “Sir, they’re generating some kind of scrambling field that blocks our targeting scanners. Should I switch to manual?”
Detonations rocked the Shenzhou from either side as the drones peppered it with fire. Georgiou gritted her teeth as she listened to the rattling of her starship’s spaceframe. “Do what you have to, Ensign.”
“Aye, sir.”
Two more salvos hammered the Shenzhou, then two of the drones shot across the main viewscreen, fiery blurs against the curtain of night. Then came a third punishing barrage that dimmed the lights and stuttered consoles all over the bridge.
“Damage report,” Georgiou said.
“Power relays overloading below deck three,” Oliveira said, reviewing new intel on her operations console. “Minor casualties on the engineering decks.”
From the engineering station, Ensign Britch Weeton reported, “Captain? Main power is down ten percent, shields are down forty percent. I’m patching in emergency backups.”
It was becoming clear to Georgiou that this new trio of drones would not be so easy to destroy as their lone predecessor had been just an hour before. “Mister Januzzi—?”
“Almost,” was all he managed to say through teeth gritted with effort. Then he triple-tapped a firing pad on his console and unleashed a furious storm of phaser blasts.
Georgiou looked toward the center viewport and watched the first barrage force a drone into a turn; the second corralled the alien attacker into a last-second course change; and the last skewered the drone through its core and blew it to bits.
Oliveira grimaced in disappointment. “So much for capturing one intact.”
“Sorry,” Januzzi said.
“Don’t be sorry,” Georgiou said. “Repeat as necessary. There are still two drones left out—” The ship lurched from another hammering blast, which delayed the rest of Georgiou’s reply. “Out there. Take them down any way that works, Ensign.”
“Aye, sir,” Januzzi said. He plotted a new firing solution and resumed his hunt.
Stars whirled across the main viewscreen as Detmer piloted the Shenzhou in mad spirals punctuated by abrupt rolls and tumbles. Every high-stress maneuver the daring young conn officer forced the ship to endure left its keel and spaceframe groaning like an old house buffeted by a storm.
The two remaining drones appeared in the center of the forward viewscreen, their nose-mounted weapons charged to a blinding white. Then a majestic curtain of phaser fire swept over the drones, rendering them into glowing debris scattered on a thousand vectors. Georgiou heaved a sigh of relief. “Good shooting, Mister Januzzi.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Secure from red alert,” Georgiou said, canceling the alert status from her armrest. “Helm, take us back into orbit, geosynchronous position above the Juggernaut. Tactical, lower the shields, set weapons to standby.” As soon as she heard her orders acknowledged, she stood and moved to stand behind Oliveira at ops. “Was it my imagination, or were those drones tougher than the one we shot down over the capital?”
“Definitely tougher.” Oliveira called up a screen of combat stats about the drones, based on data compiled by the computer during the battle they had just waged. “Average speed, maneuverability, shield power, hull strength—all significantly higher than last time.”
“Analysis?”
“Either the Juggernaut carries different classes of attack drone for engaging different types of adversaries,” Oliveira said, “or it customizes its response based on perceived challenges and the failures of previous drones. Assuming it’s not done with us yet—”
“Which is where the smart money is right now,” Georgiou interjected.
“—we should assume its next wave of drones will be faster, more numerous, better armed, more robustly shielded, and more tactically adept,” Oliveira finished.
Troubled by the implications of that report, Georgiou asked, “How long could the Juggernaut keep throwing new-and-improved drones at us?”
“Hard to say. D
epending upon its resources, it might be done already—or it might be able to hound us until Judgment Day. But I’m willing to stake my reputation that the longer this situation lasts, the more powerful those drones are going to get. And sooner or later—”
“They’ll get the best of us,” Georgiou said, arriving at the grim but inevitable conclusion. She steeled her will for what likely promised to be a long and perilous fight against ever-less-favorable odds. “In that case, Lieutenant, I suggest you send this intel down to Mister Johar—because I get the feeling we’ll need a miracle before this is done, and those are what our chief engineer does best.”
8
* * *
In Georgiou’s experience, it was a bad idea for a captain to appear distracted on the bridge. The officer in charge needed to be attuned to the ebb and flow of information and to the mood of the crew. It could harm morale for junior officers to see a captain caught unawares, no matter how reasonable such a reaction might be. This tended to discourage Starfleet captains from multitasking in the center seat, for the sake of perception if for nothing else.
Thus had Starfleet adopted the tradition of a captain’s “ready room.” Though not all ships of the line had incorporated the concept, many had, and they were proving to be increasingly popular with commanding officers throughout the service. Georgiou was one of them.
Up to her neck in damage reports and repair estimates, she had left Shenzhou’s bridge in Lieutenant Oliveira’s hands and retired to her ready room, a curved compartment directly aft of the main bridge. Over the past hour, each department’s ranking officer had updated their reports at least twice. Each time Georgiou thought she had reached the end of the virtual paperwork, more arrived. Now, as she signed off on the latest numbers from engineering, she was certain she had earned a respite—only to see Doctor Nambue’s updated casualty report arrive in her queue.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us. . . .
Her door signal buzzed. Eager for relief from the monotony, she said, “Come.”
The portal slid open, and Burnham entered, followed by Saru. They planted themselves in front of Georgiou’s desk. She expected Burnham to just start talking, but instead her two senior officers both stood before her, apparently awaiting their captain’s invitation to talk.
“Welcome back, you two. What did you bring me?”
The pair traded confused looks. Burnham asked, “Bring you, sir?”
“Just a bit of mirth, Number One.” She let the awkwardness linger a moment, then prompted Burnham, “Report. What did you learn about the Juggernaut?”
“We were able to confirm its age, based on sediment samples clinging to the hull,” Burnham said. “Its exterior design suggests its creators had a strong affinity for bilateral symmetry. And its hull appears to be composed of a smart metal that can shift between solid and fluid states to create apertures and then seal them without leaving any trace of a seam.”
Georgiou nodded. “I see.” She looked at Saru. “Anything to add?”
“Patterns of infrasonic vibrations generated inside the Juggernaut appeared to correspond with its deployment of new attack drones. Before we beamed up, I detected a new cycle of vibrations—these being longer and more complex than the ones before. My analysis suggests the vessel will be ready to launch more drones in approximately three to five hours.”
“Then we’d best move quickly to find a solution to this crisis.” Georgiou turned her gaze back toward Burnham. “Number One, what’s your tactical recommendation?”
“I’m not sure I possess enough information to render one, Captain.”
That was not the answer Georgiou had expected. It was unlike Burnham to be at a loss for a plan of action, even a simple one. “Well, we need to do something.”
“Perhaps if we could get inside the Juggernaut,” Burnham said, “I might be able to glean some insight concerning its purpose and functions. Then I could formulate a tactical response.”
Saru met the first officer’s idea with shock and dismay. “Inside? Are you out of your mind? That entire ship resonates with death, and you want to plumb its innards? Putting aside the madness of that notion, how would you gain ingress? We mapped its entire hull, above and below the waterline, and found nothing that even slightly resembles an entry.”
“I have a hunch,” Burnham said. “One I’d like to test.”
That sounded more like the adventurous young officer Georgiou had come to know over the past six years. It also sounded unwise. “Number One, are you sure that’d be safe?”
“Not at all, Captain. However, I think it might be the most effective path of action.”
“I’ll need more to go on than your ‘hunch’ if I’m—”
Oliveira’s voice over the comm interrupted her. “Captain, we need you on the bridge.”
“On my way.” Georgiou stood and strode toward the ready room’s door, with Burnham and Saru right behind her. As soon as they stepped onto the bridge they parted ways: Saru and Burnham moved to their duty stations, and Georgiou proceeded to her command chair. Oliveira vacated the seat and held it while the captain took her place. “Report,” Georgiou said.
“Sensors have detected a massive power buildup inside the Juggernaut.” Oliveira nodded to the relief officer at ops, who put the new sensor data on the starboard auxiliary viewscreen. “The energy waveform suggests the power source is either a matter-antimatter reactor, or possibly something more advanced, such as an artificial singularity. Its power output is rising, which suggests the Juggernaut is gearing up for something big.”
Burnham asked, “As in, ‘direct assault on the Shenzhou’ big?”
“No, sir. More like ‘lay waste to the entire planet’ big.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Georgiou said. “Resume your post.” Oliveira returned to her station at the front of the bridge, and Georgiou looked toward Burnham. “If the Juggernaut is gearing up to do something apocalyptic, we need to preempt that action. Suggestions?”
“I think it’s too soon to rule out a diplomatic solution, Captain.”
Georgiou was sure she had misheard. “A diplomatic solution?”
“I share your incredulity, Captain,” Saru said. “I have no doubt the Juggernaut poses an imminent threat to the colonists and other life-forms on Sirsa III.”
Burnham absorbed Saru’s criticism with graceful calm. “There is no way we can know that based on the limited and tainted information we now possess. It is possible that whatever intelligence or program guides the actions of the Juggernaut, it has perceived the colonists, and now us, as aggressors. If so, it is incumbent upon us to seek a peaceful resolution.”
There was logic in Burnham’s argument; Georgiou would have expected nothing less. But she wondered whether something else was behind Burnham’s new attitude of caution. “Number One, while I appreciate your commitment to the—”
“Captain!” interrupted Ensign Fan. “Priority signal from the Starship Enterprise!”
What fresh hell is this? Georgiou nodded at Fan. “On-screen.”
In front of the bridge’s forward view of Sirsa III appeared a life-sized hologram of the commanding officer of the Enterprise. A grave expression darkened the human man’s youthful, chiseled features. “Captain Georgiou. I’m Captain Christopher Pike.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”
“We’re joining you at Sirsa III and bringing new orders from Starfleet Command.”
Georgiou bristled; this had bad news written all over it. “Why am I receiving orders through you, Captain? Why not directly from Starfleet?”
“You’ll have to ask Admiral Anderson if you want an answer to that.”
Gant looked up from the tactical console. “Sir, the Enterprise is dropping out of warp and moving into orbit, five degrees behind us.”
She trained an accusatory stare at Gant. “And I’m learning of their approach only now?”
Abashed, Gant looked at his panel, then at junior tactical officer Narwani,
and finally back at the captain. “All our attention was on the Juggernaut, Captain.”
“Tactical awareness means paying attention to the entire theater of operations, Mister Gant. Do try to remember that going forward.”
“Aye, Captain.”
It was a bit unfair, she knew, to lay all the blame on Gant. Responsibility for monitoring the wider theater of operations was actually the duty of Narwani, the junior tactical officer, whose head was encased in a gleaming metallic VR helmet designed for that task. But it was Gant’s job to work with Narwani and to supervise her, and in that role he’d just failed.
Georgiou returned to her conversation with Pike. “You could have shared your message by subspace, Captain. So why is your ship now in orbit behind mine?”
Her question made Pike visibly uncomfortable. “To paraphrase the admiral, my ship is here to make sure you obey his orders—and, if you fail or refuse, to carry them out myself.”
“And what, pray tell, are Admiral Anderson’s orders?”
Pike swallowed before he answered. “To bombard the Juggernaut with phasers and photon torpedoes, and to continue our attack until every trace of the vessel is obliterated.”
She was appalled and didn’t try to hide it. “Detonate photon torpedoes on the surface of a populated planet? Captain, do you and the admiral have any idea the sort of collateral damage that would cause? Even a limited barrage could strip away this planet’s atmosphere.”
The muscles in Pike’s jaw tensed as he considered his reply.
“The admiral was very clear, Captain.”
“But the colony—!”
“—is to be considered expendable,” Pike said. “By order of Starfleet Command.”
* * *
Just saying the word “expendable” in relation to sentient lives made Pike sick to his stomach. He had always understood that his oath of service meant he would, at times, be called upon to act as a soldier. But at heart he was an explorer, a scientist, a dreamer—not a cold-blooded killer.