Star Trek - TOS - Battlestations

by Diane Carey

  followed then by several clicks, and I knew somehow

  that Scanner was trying to shake the bugs out of the

  new intercom system. I was about to punch the trans-

  ceiver button beside my berth when his voice franti-

  cally crackled through the hastily installed circuits.

  "Piper! You better get up here! This danged ship is

  warping out of orbit all by itself!"

  46

  Chapter Four

  "Make the most of an uncertain future."

  --The Squire of Gothos

  "STATUS !"

  The command seat sighed as I angled into it and

  squared off before a band of flickering instrument

  lights.

  Scanner was trembling slightly, but trying to conceal

  it as he frantically interpreted the readout screen.

  "She pulled out of orbit as soon as we reached the

  descent plane for the West Coast."

  "Malfunction?" I asked as we reeled past the daz-

  zling display of Jupiter and her moons.

  "Naw, Idon't think so. She's got a mind of her own.

  She's powering up to warp. Betcha the computer's

  behind it. Looks like this trip is going to take a lot

  longer than you thought. We might have to tote

  lunch."

  The control panel was like the rest of the ship a

  sloppy amalgam of new instruments shoved in wher-

  ever the old instruments could be moved or rear-

  ranged. I felt like a piebe as I tried to familiarize myself

  with the controls. "Get into the system. Countermand

  what it's doing."

  "I tried."

  "Well?"

  He gave me a desolate look. "It's locked up."

  A chill ran through me. I glanced over my shoulder

  to the passenger seats, where the two doctors sat in

  47

  expectant silence. Merete was noticeably stiff. McCoy

  appeared relaxed but wide-eyed. I felt uncomfortable

  under the sudden weight of responsibility for their

  lives, not to mention the self-consciousness of know-

  ing how often McCoy had watched James Kirk per-

  form under pressure.

  No--I couldn't think about that now. I couldn't

  waste time and mental energy comparing myself to the

  captain. As I turned once again to the blinking control

  panel, I noticed with a shuddering apprehension that

  Jupiter was already far behind.

  Scanner's face was patterned in blues and grays as

  he peered into the visual readout screen. "We're about

  to warp, Piper."

  "Dr. McCoy, Merete, strap yourselves in, please."

  "What's going on?" McCoy asked. "Why's it doing

  this?"

  "You've been here all along, sir. You know as much

  as we do. Scanner, confirm that the computer has

  navigational control, or the warp could tear us up."

  "Computer has full control," he responded. "Rex

  knows what she's doing, even if we don't."

  "Stupid machine," I grumbled. "Project course and

  tell me where we're going."

  "How? " he blustered. "He could go flyin' forever at

  warp speed. The computer's the only thing that knows

  where it'll stop us. How you gonna get it to tell you?"

  We glared at each other for a long moment as I

  reviewed the fact that I didn't have any real answers.

  Something in Scanner's words had awakened the rebel

  in me. I shrugged. 'TI! ask it." My hands lingered

  over the Controls until I figured out which ones to push

  to revive the computer, or at least distract it. "Compu-

  ter tie-in, command authorization."

  The board began whirring and clicking as though it

  didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about.

  Then the firm, resonant imitation of a female voice

  48

  requested, "Specify identification code for authorized

  command, please."

  I looked at Scanner. He blinked at me,'then back at

  the computer console. "O1' Rex has delusions of being

  a starship," he said, obviously taken aback.

  "But it gives me some power," I surmised, "if it

  knows it was to answer to a particular person."

  Dr. McCoy leaned as far forward as his safety straps

  allowed. "Let's hope it knows that person is you,

  Commander."

  "Going to warp speed on automatic," Scanner said.

  To the instant, the stars before us blended into a segue

  of spectral color and we were at warp. A flush of

  helplessness caused silence on the cramped bdge.

  We waited to see if the ship could stand the strain.

  "Warp two," Scanner advised. "Two-point-five...

  warp three. Entering cruise mode." He shook his head

  and sighed. "Well, here we are."

  When my skin stopped crawling, I renewed my

  computer access and fed in my personal identification

  code. The gratifying result came almost instantly.

  "Accepted. Lieutenant Commander Piper, Star Fleet

  clearance, Star Date 3988.1, command status ac-

  knowledged. Thank you."

  I took a deep breath and glanced at Dr. McCoy.

  "I'm alive," I told him. He looked a bit dazed, but said

  nothing. I tried to think clearly, readjusting my mind to

  talk to a computer. "Computer."

  "Working," the gentle voice answered with just the

  perfect touch of question that invited me to continue.

  "Release navigational control to the helm."

  "Not possible."

  "Why not?"

  "Current navigational programming includes a pre-

  empt encoding which prevents change of program

  until destinational code is satisfied."

  "Damn."

  49

  "At least we know it's not a malfunction," Merete

  pointed out. "There is a destination."

  I cleared my throat. "Computer, specify destina-

  tion."

  More clicking. "Tau Ceti Quadrant, Ciatella Star

  System, planet Argelius."

  "What?" McCoy blustered.

  "The plot thins," Scanner drawled.

  I sat back. "Argelius? Why Argelius? It's the sleep-

  iest planet in the Federation! There's no place in the

  known galaxy where less goes on. Why would he send

  us there?"

  All three of my hijacked "crew" blinked at me like a

  gaggle of curious birds. Then Merete and Scanner

  chimed, "Who?"

  My brows lowered over my eyes in a scurrilous

  frown. "Who else?"

  They backed off. Space was black, velvety, deco-

  rated, and ominous as we streaked through it, the old

  ship reveling in a mission that included no anchoring

  or pulling. For the first time in her existence, an ugly

  old tug had a chance to fly. Aside from a few shaking-

  down tremors, Rex took to the new warp capability

  with unexpected grace, maintaining her cabin warmth

  and keeping us all in quiet comfort despite the unaes-

  thetic surroundings. I felt that, somehow, this old dog

  loved her new trick.

  "What's our ETA?" I asked.

  "Ninety-two hours," Scanner said. He watched the

  control board, his expression sunken, as though his

  old friend had betrayed his trust. In that moment of

  helplessness, when I could do absolut
ely nothing to

  change the situation, my senses finally opened up to

  someone's feelings other than my own.

  "It's not a mistake, Scanner," I said mildly. "It isn't

  your fault."

  He shook his head, brows knitted in perplexity. "I

  50

  wish I knew what was going on. I dunno what to say. I

  helped put in all this equipment. It wasn't pro-

  grammed, I swear it wasn't."

  I slouched in the command chair. "You feel bad

  about being outwitted by Mr. Spock, and I feel bad

  about allowing myself to get dropped into this by

  Captain Kirk. I knew he had something on his mind,

  but I never had the nerve to ask until it was too late. If

  this is anybody's fault, it's mine." "Yours?"

  My lips pressed into a mockery of a grin. "Privilege

  of command."

  "Aw, that stinks."

  I shrugged. "But it's one thing they kept grilling into

  us at command school. Command is more than getting

  all the credit. It also means getting all the blame."

  Scanner sighed and got to his feet, casting one

  pathetic look back at the computer console and instru-

  ment panel before saying, "I'm gonna get some sleep.

  Nothing else to do. Poor Rex... first space mission

  and all we can do is sit here like a buncha Dunsels."

  My first command. I'd dreamed about it since enter-

  ing my senior year at Star Fleet Academy, when I was

  offered the privilege of choosing whether or not I

  wished to go on to command candidacy. A singular

  honor, given to only a handful of graduates each year.

  Not just a chance for high rank, but a chance to

  command a Star Fleet space vessel. Then along came

  the mangle of events that had led me into the Rit-

  tenhouse conspiracy and finally to the Federation

  Medal of Valor, and I knew the meaning of being

  plunged into the unexpected. How long ago? How long

  had I served aboard Enterprise--a matter of weeks? It

  seemed like years. And I wasn't ready to have that

  feeling of years.

  I glanced surreptitiously around the dull little com-

  mand area of Banana Republic. I was alone now.

  51

  Merete had retreated to her cabin, McCoy to the one

  he and Scanner must share. The computer and instru-

  ment panels had settled down into a humming elec-

  tronic euphoria of knowing exactly what they were

  supposed to be doing and quite simply doing it.

  Ninety-two hours. Almost four days before I would

  hax, e any answers. Four days of being Dunsel. Not exactly a command dream.

  The hours crept by, each one ridiculing me, until I'd

  finally had enough and something snapped.

  Scanner jumped about twice his height when 1

  whacked him out of a sound sleep. "What--what? Red

  Alert? Whassa matter? he babbled.

  "Scanner, get up," 1 said. "We've got work to do."

  He raked a hand through his hair and mumbled,

  "Are we there already?"

  "Hardly," I said, trying to cut through his disorien-

  tation.

  On one of the other berths in the crowded cabin,

  once part of a storage compartment, Dr. McCoy rolled

  to his feet. "Is something up?"

  "Yes, sir," I answered. "My patience."

  Scanner shook himself out and got up, wobbling

  slightly as he asked, "l hope you got a good reason for

  wakin' me up from that nice shore leave I was taking."

  "I do. We're going to break into that navigational

  program. I want control of this ship."

  If he hadn't managed to wake up completely, the

  shock of that statement brought him fully around.

  "You're gonna what? Are you fishin' in the right

  crick? The computer's been programmed by Com-

  mander Spock on Captain Kirk's orders !"

  I straightened my shoulders, despite the low ceiling.

  "Well, you just get ready to unprogram it. He might be

  Captain Kirk," I said solidly, "but this is my ship."

  I turned, strode out of the cabin, and stepped onto

  the interdeck ladder, not staying to examine the look

  of abject amazement the two men exchanged. It really

  52

  wasn't meant to be a dramatic exit; I just wanted to get

  out of there in case they started laughing.

  Scanner and Dr. McCoy followed me back to the

  bridge. As we passed Merete's cabin, she too realized

  something was up and hurried into the corridor. In a

  way, I was glad they followed. Their presence forced

  me to stay in the mode of defiance I'd reached, and

  gave me no opportunity to reconsider. I had to be in

  control of the ship. Suppose there was trouble? What

  ff we were attacked or damaged? How would I live

  with myself ff all I could do was shrug and say it was

  Kirk's problem?

  I kept thinking about Captain Kirk, my mind divid-

  ing between trust and rebellion, obedience and insur-

  gence. I respected him, certainly, but could I ever

  respect myself as much if I settled back and accepted

  whatever he or anyone dished out to me without so

  much as an explanation? Possibly I could have done so

  this time, if another element, deeper and harsher,

  hadn't been eating at me. Sarda.

  Lieutenant Sarda, recipient of the Silver Palm and

  Star for Conspicuous Bravery. Young Vulcan techni-

  cal scientist, a weapons specialist. In fact, a weaponry

  pioneer, much to his own embarrassment. My fellow-

  classman at Star Fleet Academy. The only person

  who'd stayed relentlessly at my side during the dread-

  nought affair just weeks ago---I kept saying that to

  myself just weeks ago, only weeks.

  What was happening to him? Was this computer

  setting carrying me farther away from helping him? I

  had to know the entire truth. I couldn't get it here, on a

  space ship streaking toward passivity. My Vulcan

  friend had somehow strayed from the route back to the

  Vulcan teachings to one lined with suspicion. Theft of

  Federation-owned technology, the security lieutenant

  had said. Which technology? Sarda hadn't been work-

  53

  ing on any particular project that I knew of, not after

  the destruction of the dreadnought that carried the

  image projector he'd invented. That episode had been

  enough to drain the inventive urge out of anybody, at

  least for a while. Especially poor Sarda. He kept

  trying to turn his talent for weaponry to devices for

  defense, and Star Fleet Command, in its unending

  military wisdom, kept interpreting Sarda's inventions

  to be used aggressively if necessary. They kept giving

  him awards and commendations that did nothing more

  than shame him before his Vulcan culture. So far none

  of his inventions had been used punitively, except by

  Vice Admiral Rittenhouse. But Rittenhouse was dead

  now, and his dream to force galactic war was dead

  with him.

  So what had happened? What had changed since I'd

  gone to sea with the intrepid James T. Kirk?

  I forced myself back to the immediate p
resent,

  jabbing a finger at the computer console. "I want to

  know how that thing's tied into the navigational sys-

  tem. I want every circuit examined until we find a way

  to interrupt the programming. You're the electrical

  specialist," I said to Scanner. "Start tracing. I'm going

  to get into the mechanics. I want control of this ship

  and I don't care how we get it."

  Scanner gaped at me, hands on hips. "It must be

  autumn in Piperland, 'cause the leaves are dropping

  off your tree !"

  I struck him with a cold glare. "I'm not joking,

  Scanner. I'm not going to be anyone's pawn. Not even

  Kirk's."

  Dr. McCoy caught my arm as I stepped past him, on

  my way to the engine area. "Do you know what you're

  doing? The computer program may be tied into other

  things. Life support, engine control..."

  "We'll have to find out," I said.

  "But if Jim did this on purpose---"

  "I'm not letting anyone dictate my command with-

  54

  out an explanation. I'm going to get control of this

  ship's helm."

  Scanner grasped the back of the command chair and

  shook it. "Piper," he whined, "don't you get it? This

  is Captain James T. Kirk you're dinkin' around with!"

  If I ever doubted my decision, the last lingering

  regrets now dissolved away as I gazed into Scanner's

  desperate annoyance and realized that I had neither

  control of the ship nor control over those who were

  supposed to be my crew. To him and Merete, I was

  merely a fellow Academy graduate. To Dr. McCoy, I

  was a talented upstart. The obstacles before me grew

  as I began to perceive them. Control of the ship;

  respect of my crew. The weight kept my shoulders stiff

  as I squared them. "That's exactly right," I said

  coolly. "And he wouldn't let anybody do this to him."

  By the look in Dr. McCoy's face, I could tell that I

  had hit upon an unmoving truth. I took my note of

  victory and escaped to the engine room.

  For the next forty hours I drove them and myself to

  every physical and mental limit, making demands

  upon them that strained both their patience and my

  own. McCoy set himself up as Mess Officer, and, true