by Peter David
"When separated from the rest of the Mass, it is apparently capable of even greater speed than the Mass as a whole. It is presently moving at approximately warp four."
"Mr. Kebron, inform the Redeemers we're embarking on a strategic retreat. Mr. McHenry, kindly move us somewhere that isn't here."
And suddenly it was right there.
Calhoun had no idea how such a thing could possibly be. Seconds before it was still a safe, albeit rapidly closing, distance. And suddenly, there had been a ripple of space—he had been certain he had seen such an effect from the corner of his eye—and then the Black Mass was right on top of them.
And suddenly the screen went completely black.
"It's all over us, sir!" Soleta called out. "It's completely enveloped the shields!"
"Is it eating them somehow?" demanded Calhoun.
"Negative, sir!"
"Burgoyne to bridge!" came the alarmed voice of the chief engineer over the intercom.
"Bridge, Shelby here," said the first officer.
"What the hell is going on up there? We've got readings off the shields that I've never seen in my life! Whatever's doing this, could you kindly get it the hell off my ship?"
"We're working on it. Shelby out."
Calhoun was studying the Black Mass thoughtfully.
"Mr. McHenry, get us out of here, full impulse. We're going to try and shake that thing loose."
McHenry didn't move. He was staring, stunned, at the blackened screen.
"McHenry!"
"I … I can't," McHenry said.
"What do you mean, can't?" Calhoun was out of his command chair, standing next to McHenry, looking down at him in surprise. "I've seen you fly this ship virtually blindfolded. You piloted her without instrumentation. You're the one who's constantly in tune with his environment. This shouldn't be any different for you."
"Captain … it's …"
"It's what?"
He had never seen McHenry look so lost. "Sir, something about its motion … it's disrupting space/time. I feel completely disoriented. I'm not sure why it's happening, but I can't get any sort of … of mental lock on where we are and where we should be. I don't know which way to take us. I could fly us into a star or crash us right into the Redeemer craft. I could—"
"I get the picture, Mr. McHenry."
Soleta said. "We are starting to lose integrity of our force fields. It's not draining them, it's simply … pushing them aside. Estimate breeching of the shields in two minutes."
"Bridge to engineering."
"Engineering, Burgoyne here. Give me good news, Captain."
"Actually, you're going to have to give it to me, Burgoyne: You've got sixty seconds to get up here with something that will enable Mr. McHenry to penetrate some sort of space/time distortion field that the Black Mass has around the ship."
To Calhoun's surprise, Burgoyne said, "Mitchell's on his way."
And that was an understatement. Inside of fifteen seconds, Lieutenant Craig Mitchell had materialized on the bridge, Burgoyne having arranged for Mitchell simply to be beamed up. Naturally the transporter didn't work ship to ship while the deflectors were up, but there was nothing to prevent intraship beaming.
Mitchell was Burgoyne's second-in-command in engineering. Although ensigns Yates, Beth and Torelli had frequently worked with Burgoyne, it was to Mitchell that they actually reported. Mitchell was a heavyset man, although he had lost some weight recently and was planning to lose more. He had a head of brownish black hair, and a thick beard that Burgoyne told him to shave so often that it had become something of a running joke between the two of them. He also had a tendency to make the worst jokes of anyone on the ship … an attribute which Shelby had once commented on as "going some."
Without any sort of explanation, Mitchell immediately walked over to McHenry and draped an odd-looking device over his head and eye. "And this would be?" asked McHenry.
"An exographic targeting scanner," Mitchell said. He had a tendency to rumble when he spoke; his voice was only slightly less deep than Kebron's, and when Kebron spoke it tended to sound like a rockslide. "Adjusted for use when the viewscreen becomes inoperative for some reason. We've never had to worry about using them before as long as wonder boy here was at the conn. Good thing we kept it handy, though. So what happened, McHenry? Lose the old touch?"
"My touch is just fine, thanks," said McHenry, although it was evident that he was rather put out over the fact that he had to use some sort of supplement. He strapped it over his face while Mitchell stayed nearby in case the device needed adjustment. Then McHenry sat there for a long moment, taking in readings which he in turn fed directly into the navigational computer. "Okay," he said after a few moments. "Okay… I've got it. I still feel like I'm wearing a sack over my head, but I've got it. Where to, Captain?"
"I'm still blind, Mr. McHenry. I'm not wearing an ETS. Just move us away from the Black Mass at maximum impulse. We need a straight line of movement, because we're going to try something."
"What are we trying, sir?" Shelby said, sounding a bit worried.
He glanced at her. "Trust me."
Smiling gamely, she replied, "Why did I have a feeling you were going to say that?"
Within moments, theExcalibur was cutting through space at full impulse speed.
"What are you trying to do, Captain? Get the high winds to blow it off?" inquired Si Cwan.
"I assume, Lord Cwan, that you're familiar with the notion that objects in motion tend to stay in motion. Well, we're in motion, and so is the Black Mass. When we stop… with any luck, the Black Mass keeps going. Mr. McHenry, get ready to hit the brakes on my order. And… full reverse. Now!"
TheExcalibur slammed to a halt. If it had had tires, and been on a road, there would have been skid marks. Theoretically, once the starship came to an abrupt halt, the organism surrounding them should have slid right off.
It was, in fact, an excellent theory. Unfortunately, the fact did not cooperate with it. The viewscreen remained black.
"It's still there, Captain," said Soleta.
"So I noticed," said Calhoun.
Burgoyne's voice crackled up from engineering.
"Captain, we're seeing a drain from the exhaust!"
"The what?"
"The exhaust from the impulse engines! The hydrogen plasma! Something's consuming it! It's not hurting us any, but it's damned weird!"
"It's eating the hydrogen plasma? Why?" said Calhoun. He looked to Soleta, who shook her head.
Burgoyne, however, had heard the comment. " 'It?' Can I assume safely from that report, sir, that some part of that Black Mass is still in residence around our shields?"
"That would be a very safe assumption, yes."
"Can we get it off, please?"
"We're working on it, Burgy. Bridge out."
"We can only assume," Soleta now said, "that consuming the hydrogen plasma is adding to the creature's strength. That's how it's managing to remain attached to us."
"That and the inertial damping field. When we decelerate at impulse, the IDF is helping to keep the thing in place," said McHenry. When he turned and looked at them with the ETS on his face, he bore a disconcerting resemblance to a Borg.
"You're suggesting we try the same stunt at warp speed," said Calhoun. "The IDF will have less time to adjust, and the lag time in the adjustment might be what's needed to kick the thing loose."
"Whoa, hold it." It was Lieutenant Mitchell who had spoken up. He had been silently observing the entire exchange, but now he stepped forward. "I hate to bring this up," said Mitchell, "but you're pushing the specs on this ship. You bring this vessel to a sudden halt while at warp speed, you risk tearing the ship into pieces. The structural integrity field might not keep us together. To say nothing of the fact that what the IDF can't adjust for on the outside of the ship, it also is going to be slow adjusting for on the inside. We could be scraping crewmen off the bulkhead with a spatula. There's got to be a better way."
"Captain, the Mass is be
ginning to penetrate our shields."
"You know, I always liked this slam-to-a-halt plan," Mitchell continued smoothly. "In fact… this could be the greatest plan ever made."
"I'm glad you approve," Calhoun said. "Mr. McHenry, take us to warp six. Bridge to engineering."
"Engineering, go ahead," came Burgoyne's voice.
"Burgy, we're going to accelerate to warp six and then stop abruptly in hopes of shaking the Black Mass loose."
"Has Lieutenant Mitchell informed you that you could tear the ship apart in doing so?"
"He has brought it to our attention, yes."
"So we're on record then … presuming our record isn't destroyed."
"That's correct. In case we shred ourselves, your warning has been duly noted."
"Good. I wouldn't want to be in trouble with Star-fleet in the event we all die."
"Commendable, Burgy. Calhoun out. McHenry, on my countdown: Three … two … one … warp factor six, now!"
TheExcalibur, like a gazelle flushed out into the open by hunters, leaped into warp. It coasted up the warp scale, accelerating and hitting warp six in no time at all. Everyone on the bridge was tense, leaning forward, their collective breath held. All accept Calhoun, who seemed utterly confident and, indeed, even a bit blasé about the unorthodox maneuver.
"Captain, we're at warp six and holding steady."
"And the Black Mass?"
Soleta scanned it. "We are moving at a far higher warp rate than it is accustomed to. And it no longer has the hydrogen plasma from the impulse engines to sustain it. I believe it is … uncomfortable."
"All right, Mr. McHenry," Calhoun said slowly, methodically. "Get ready to bring us to a halt. Ladies, gentlemen … in the event that we're all sucking vacuum in a moment, may I say it was a pleasure working with you."
"A pure delight," deadpanned Kebron.
Calhoun began to count down from ten. The countdown seemed endless, the tension building with each descending number. For a moment, Shelby wondered whether Calhoun had started so high just to build up the drama.
Finally it came down to "Three … two … one …and … full stop!"
McHenry took a deep breath that was most likely a prayer, and slammed the ship into reverse in order to bring it to a halt.
The sudden lack of movement was so abrupt that Calhoun nearly skidded out of his chair. McHenry slammed up against the conn panel, and Boyajian—sitting in for the under-the-weather Robin Lefler—got the ops control in the pit of his stomach. Soleta barely managed to maintain her position, and Shelby would have tumbled clean out of her chair if Calhoun hadn't managed, with one hand, to grab the back of her uniform and hold her in place even as he fought to stay where he was. Si Cwan, who wasn't sitting, fell forward. However, being Si Cwan, he turned it into a deft forward roll and came up on his feet.
Kebron, naturally, didn't budge an inch.
Calhoun actually fancied that he could hear the creaking of metal, the stress upon the structure of the ship itself. For a second he was positive that it had not worked; that the ship was, indeed, ripping itself apart. He had to admit to himself that engineers were always predicting the worst, because that was their job to a degree.
It felt as if the ship was elastic, stretching like a massive rubber band… and then snapping back. It was in that snap that he was suddenly sure the vessel was going to tear apart, and then, just like that, the disorienting sensation was gone.
And so was the Black Mass. The stars were visible once more. And there, not far off, to starboard, was the section of the Black Mass which had, until very recently, been clinging to the shielding of the ship. It actually seemed confused, undulating back upon itself as if it were looking around for something. Probably theExcalibur.
"I knew it'd hold together," Mitchell said proudly, and patted the nearest railing.
"McHenry, take us out of here, warp six. Plot us a roundabout course that will bring us back to Tulaan IV, and let the Redeemers know that we're still in one piece. Barely, but in one piece. All sections report in. Boyajian, crew assessment. Was anyone in the ship hurt?"
"I'm getting reports of some serious bumps and bruises, several fractured ribs, a couple of broken arms and legs, one concussion."
"Poor bastard," rumbled Kebron.
"I think it was more than one crewman who sustained the injuries, Zak," said Soleta. "Not one person with bumps and bruises, fractured ribs, broken limbs and concussion."
"That's a relief."
"Soleta, is the Black Mass coming after us?"
"No, sir," she said looking at the scanners. "It appears to be following the most direct course back to the … parent body, for lack of a better word. Its ability to warp space around itself is continuing to make it difficult to get reliable readings off …"
Her voice trailed off then, and that was more than enough to grab the attention of everyone on the bridge. "What's wrong, lieutenant?" inquired Calhoun.
"Sir … I'm still getting a reading on the Black Mass."
"But you said they were moving off …"
"They are. I'm picking up something else, still attached to our deflectors. A couple of them are still attached to us."
"How much? How large, I mean, or how many … actually, I'm not sure what I mean at this point," Calhoun admitted. "What are we looking at?"
"A small readout near by the starboard nacelle. Only a foot or so across. I almost missed it; I wouldn't have noticed it at all if I hadn't been doing a scan of the vessel's exterior, looking for something like this, just in case."
"Take two gold stars out of the ship's stores, Lieutenant, you've earned them. I want you to feed the coordinates directly to Watson in the transporter room. Calhoun to sickbay."
"Sickbay, this is Selar. Are you quite through tossing the ship around, captain? My fetus was quite perturbed."
"My apologies to you and your unborn associate. I need you to have your people ready a stasis tank. We have a life form we're going to want to keep as harmless as possible."
"How large a tank?"
"Three by five feet should suffice," Soleta whispered to Calhoun. "That will give it room to move about so that we can observe it."
"Three by five," said Calhoun. "As soon as it's ready, bring it to transporter room A and be ready. Calhoun out. All right, Kebron," he said, turning to the Brikar at the tactical station. "When everything is in place, I want you to lower the shields. At that point, Soleta, you coordinate with Watson and get that thing aboard here and beamed directly into the stasis tank. I want to see up close just what it is we're dealing with. And once we know that…"
"Then we can stop it?" said Shelby.
"Either that," Si Cwan commented, "or else be able to tell the Redeemers just exactly the nature of the creature that is going to wipe them out."
"I'm sure that, if the Redeemers know precisely what it is that's going to devour their world and their star, they can die happy," said Calhoun.
"I certainly can tell you that if I know what's going to eat the Redeemers' world and their star, I can die happy," said Si Cwan.
"If we're fortunate," said Calhoun, "we'll all have our wish." He then focused his attention on the depths of space and watched Si Cwan's expression as the Thallonian tried to figure out whether he had just been insulted or not.
VIlI.
CALHOUN LEANED IN CLOSEto the stasis tank and shook his head in slow amazement. "Remarkable," he said for what seemed the umpteenth time. "Just remarkable."
His astonishment was understandable. The sight was, in fact, remarkable.
It had turned out that there were apparently four of the Black Mass entities clinging to the ship's shielding. Apparently they had managed to hold on when the ship had made its abrupt start and stop. For their troubles, they had been left behind, and were little more than sitting ducks when theExcalibur dropped its shields and brought them aboard.
They reminded Calhoun vaguely of Trill symbionts, although they seemed to be no kin of that race. They w
ere wormlike in appearance, solid black of course. It had taken Calhoun some minutes to determine, as Soleta already had, that there were four of the creatures in the stasis tank. They stayed so close together, so utterly intertwined with one another, that it was difficult to have any clear idea immediately of just how many of them there were.
The thing that Calhoun noticed most prominently—and that which he found probably the most daunting— were their mouths. One end of their nauseating wormlike bodies was nothing more than a perpetually open mouth. The mouths would flutter closed every so often, but would open once more a very short time later. They did not have teeth.
"Remora," said Soleta. She was standing next to Calhoun, and she appeared to be making notes on her science tricorder.
"Who's she?" asked Calhoun.
"Remora," Soleta repeated. "Any of several marine fishes, native to earth, of the family Echeneidae. They attach themselves to larger creatures such as sharks or whales via a sort of sucker disk. These remind me of them."
"Are they sentient? Individually so, I mean?"
"I simply do not know," Soleta said. "If they are, they have certainly resisted every attempt to engage in any sort of meaningful dialogue. They would appear to have about as much intellectual prowess as a goldfish."
Standing nearby, Kebron said warningly, "Watch it. I have goldfish. They challenge my intellect daily."
Soleta didn't even glance at him as she commented, "I am not certain whether that is more of a commentary on the fish or you."
"You're cold, Soleta."
"I am Vulcan, Kebron."
"Same thing."
They were grouped in sickbay, watching the four animated fragments of the Black Mass moving about. Shelby was there as well, and she was shaking her head in amazement as she watched. "They're never still. Do you notice that? They just keep on moving and moving, twisting and turning back on each other constantly. When was the last time you ever saw such a constant, unceasing writhing of flesh?"
Calhoun, without hesitation, replied, "Graduation night at the Academy."
Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, Shelby actually laughed at that. "I knew you went to more interesting parties than I did."