“Hanar, we have accelerated beyond our instruments’ ability to measure.”
Scott turned from Talev and moved toward the bridge railing as Hanar leaned forward in the center seat. “That’s at least warp fifteen.” Turning to Tomar he asked, “Engine status?”
Consulting the science displays, Tomar replied, “Engines are operating within tolerance levels, Hanar.”
“What’s our current position?” al-Khaled asked as he stepped down into the command well.
Drea tapped a series of controls on her console. “We are traversing Sector 68H now.” Scott frowned at the reference. So far as he knew, this sector of space had been charted but never explored. Life was believed to exist here but nothing substantial had ever been detected with the probes sent into this region.
“I think we should rein her in, Hanar,” Scott said. “I dinna like the idea of stampedin’ into an unknown region of space.”
“Agreed,” Hanar replied. “Drea, bring us to a full stop.”
Several seconds passed as the Kelvan attempted to do just that. “The helm is not responding.”
Hanar turned to Talev. “Lieutenant?”
Moving to the science station, the Andorian engineer’s fingers were nearly a blur as she entered several strings of commands. Scott’s apprehension grew as he watched her pause before repeating the sequence. Shaking her head, she turned back to Hanar. “The automation protocols refuse to abort the test.”
A familiar knot tightened in Scott’s gut, just like the one that he had felt years ago when it had become apparent that Richard Daystrom’s M-5 computer had seized control of his beloved Enterprise and refused to let go. “Where’s the override?”
To her credit, Talev was obviously thinking in that direction herself as she thumbed the intercom switch on her console. “Engineering, this is zh’Thren. The computer won’t let us slow the ship down. Initiate emergency override.”
“Stand by, Lieutenant,” a disembodied voice answered. A few moments later, however, the voice returned with the words that Scott had dreaded but still expected. “Overrides are not responsive.”
“What?” Talev exclaimed, clearly startled by the report. “That’s impossible.”
Exchanging looks with al-Khaled, Scott felt his pulse beginning to quicken. “Apparently not, Lieutenant,” he said, hating the way the words sounded as he spoke them.
This is no time for “I told you so.”
“If we can’t override it,” al-Khaled said as he moved to stand next to Scott, “then we have to deactivate it altogether.”
Hanar nodded at the assessment. To Talev he said, “Go to engineering and see to it, please.” He indicated Scott and al-Khaled. “I’m sure the commanders would be most helpful, as well.”
Though he bristled at the thought of being directed by the cocksure young engineer, Scott decided it would be best to bury such feelings belowdecks for the moment. “We’ll have ye fixed in no time.”
* * *
Scott let his head hang over the circuitry panel exposed before him as he brought a hand laser to bear over a small relay grid. What he and al-Khaled were about to try was a last resort after nearly fifteen minutes of attempting to reprogram the Kelvan computer system by conventional means and another twenty minutes of trying to understand the vast network of circuitry that formed the backbone of the new computer.
“A few shocks to the system should get us the hard reboot you’re lookin’ for here,” he said to Talev as he steadied the laser in two hands. “One or two jolts and we should have control back in no time.”
Talev moved closer to get a better look at the junction that Scott had selected as the focus of his efforts. “I am trying to protect the integrity of this system, Commander,” she said with no small amount of alarm in her voice. “Disabling it in this manner may compromise its ability to perform once we have regained command of the warp drive.”
At the moment Scott only cared about arresting the Chandley’s headlong flight through space. Data gathered by the engines’ automated oversight system indicated that its speed had peaked, though there was no way to be certain what that velocity might be. For all anyone knew, they could be traveling at warp twenty or better. With that sense of urgency propelling them, he and al-Khaled had practically taken over main engineering in the process of conducting their repair efforts.
“There’s enough of us onboard to get the ship home on our own,” Scott said as he used his thumb to tune the laser’s beam width before firing. “And most of us are engineers, to boot. We’re miracle workers, don’t ye know.” Calling out in a louder voice, he said, “Mahmud, I’m ready to try this if you are.”
From the master control console in the rear of the engineering compartment, al-Khaled answered, “Standing by.”
Taking one last look at the circuit junction he had selected, Scott fired the laser. The effect was immediate as he heard the Kelvan computer unit stutter momentarily before resuming its otherwise constant hum. He thought he also detected a telltale flicker in the room’s lighting as the massive processor reset itself.
“Aye, that’s got it,” he said, nodding to himself. His suspicion was confirmed a second later as al-Khaled called out from the master console.
“Warp drive protocols have been released.” Tapping a series of commands to the console he added, “Disengaging warp drive now.”
In response to al-Khaled’s instructions, the engines of the Chandley almost immediately changed as their former high-pitched whine began to deepen and lower in volume. Scott felt himself pulled to one side as the ship’s inertial dampers struggled with the abrupt deceleration.
That’s a clue all by itself as to how much power those beasties must have been puttin’ out.
Several moments passed as the engines continued to power down. While al-Khaled was monitoring the engine status, Talev was busying herself with a hasty diagnostic of the Kelvan computer system.
“It appears that the remaining protocols for the drive are intact. Very nice work, Mr. Scott. Thank you for taking such care.”
“So now what?” al-Khaled asked. “Do we make the necessary adjustments to the computer and set a course for home, or do we want to spring back into warp just long enough so we know we still can do it?”
Scott’s reply was cut off by Hanar’s voice over the ship’s intercom system. “We have come to a full stop. Excellent work. However, it appears that we may have another problem. A vessel has entered sensor range.”
“That didn’t take long,” al-Khaled said.
“It seems to have detected our passage through this region,” Hanar continued, “and began following us as we decelerated. They are closing fast, and our sensors indicate that its weapons systems are armed.”
Chapter
4
As he regarded the image of the approaching alien spacecraft displayed on the main bridge viewer, Scott could not suppress an appreciative feeling for the ship’s design. Unlike those of the Federation or other races that he had encountered in his travels, this vessel was flat and narrow, trading width and height for length. He saw no nacelles or any other structures indicating faster-than-light propulsion that he was familiar with, even though the craft had to be equipped with such technology for it to have intercepted the Chandley so quickly. The ship’s dark metallic exterior was difficult to make out against the starfield even with the assistance of the viewer’s computerized resolution. Scott saw no external illumination of any kind. To the naked eye the ship could almost certainly be missed if one did not know to look for it.
“That is one mean-looking ship,” al-Khaled said from the science station as he consulted the sensor displays. “Weapons are similar to disruptor cannons we’ve seen on the newer Klingon cruisers, and their shield generators are more powerful than anything on our ships. Their engines are matter/antimatter, but they’re using something other than dilithium to regulate the reaction. I can’t even tell you what the mineral is.” Shaking his head, he added, “I’d love to t
ake a walk around that engine room.”
Standing next to his friend, Scott asked, “How soon will she be here?”
“Five minutes, twenty seconds.”
Seated in the command chair, Hanar swiveled around to face the communications station. “Jahn? Any progress?”
“We are continuing to broadcast universal greetings on all frequencies. They’ve responded, but the translator is still deciphering their message.”
Jahn toggled a switch and Scott winced at the cacophony of guttural noise that erupted from the intercom, a mishmash of barking animals and belching drunkards that drowned out the ambient noise on the bridge.
“They dinna sound very happy, do they?” Scott asked. The voice in the message, alien as it was to his ears, did indeed sound agitated. If the approaching craft was a threat, the Chandley was in no condition to defend itself. Without the weapons and deflector shield generators that had been removed following its decommission, the frigate would have no chance if the current situation turned hostile.
“The translator is making some progress,” Jahn reported. Scott noted the Kelvan’s narrowed eyes as Jahn listened to the information being relayed from the computer via the Feinberg receiver he held to his right ear. “It’s just bits and pieces, but I think I can grasp the basic meaning of their message.”
“Well?” al-Khaled prompted when several seconds elapsed without Jahn elaborating further.
“They’re saying, ‘Go away.’”
Despite the rising tension on the bridge, Scott could not help a small laugh at the report. “Ye canna put a thing past these universal translators nowadays.”
From where she sat at the engineering station, Talev said, “If they want us to leave, then they’ll almost certainly be upset when they arrive and we’re still here.”
It was a simple yet accurate observation, Scott conceded. Even though the Chandley had been broadcasting a standard greeting stating their affiliation with the Federation and their peaceful intentions, it was probable that the unknown aliens were suffering from the same lack of understanding toward a new language as the Chandley’s crew was.
“Let’s just tell them what happened. Let them know that we’re here by accident.” Scott shrugged. “It certainly canna hurt.”
Hanar rose from the center seat and turned to face Scott, a solemn expression on his face. “Commander, as this is a Kelvan mission, perhaps I should be the one to speak on our behalf.”
“This might be a touchy situation, Hanar,” al-Khaled said as he stepped to the bridge railing from the science station. “Have you ever conducted a first contact meeting with another race?”
Hanar nodded. “A few times, yes, though the circumstances were somewhat different.” He cast a wry look at Scott. “Normally we were the aggressors.” Turning back to the main viewer, he indicated for Jahn to open a hailing frequency.
“Greetings, fellow space travelers. I am Hanar, and I speak to you on behalf of the United Fed—”
An intense howling screech exploded from the intercom system, drowning out Hanar’s greeting and every other sound on the bridge. Scott covered his ears with his hands in a vain attempt to block the jarring noise even as Jahn scrambled to reduce the volume. The shriek ended abruptly before he could do so, however, this time replaced with a translated voice that sounded very similar to the original guttural sounds they had heard earlier.
“…addition to your flagrant intrusion into the sovereign territory of the Lutralian Hegemony, you have now compounded your insult by brazenly forcing visual communication upon us without our permission. These are not the actions of strangers seeking our friendship.”
“Cut the link!” Scott called out as the agitated alien speaker continued. Jahn immediately complied and the transmission ended, leaving only the normal background sounds of the bridge.
“I don’t think that went very well,” Talev said.
As if in response, the entire ship shuddered around them and the deck lurched violently beneath their feet. Alarm klaxons sounded as everyone on the bridge flailed for something to hold on to, and Scott barely managed to avoid being thrown to the deck as he grabbed for the bridge railing. From the corner of his eye he saw Talev fall from her chair as al-Khaled was tossed into a bulkhead. Though Drea was able to keep her seat at the helm, Hanar was thrown forward into the navigation console.
“Hang on!” Scott called out as, on the viewscreen, he saw the forward edge of the Lutralian craft flare crimson red and a pair of writhing energy bolts leap forward, crossing the space between the attacking vessel and the Chandley.
The ship groaned in protest under the force of the second assault but the bridge crew was better prepared this time, each of them able to maintain their grip on a console or chair to avoid being thrown about again. Instrumentation did not fare so well this time, though. The environmental control station, obviously the victim of an overload, exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. Even as fire suppression systems activated, Scott gave silent thanks that the station hadn’t been staffed. Anyone sitting at the console would surely have been injured, if not killed.
As the effects of the attack faded, al-Khaled dropped down into the command well to make sure that Hanar had not been injured before turning to Jahn at communications. “Get me a damage report, all stations.”
Pulling himself upright, Scott looked to the viewscreen to see the alien vessel simply holding station, a dark spot amid the dim stars. Why had they not fired again? Why had they fired in the first place? Was the Lutralian ship without sensor technology and therefore unable to see that the Chandley was a defenseless target?
Scott hated tactical situations that were dictated by the whim of emotion rather than any of the measurable qualities in the realm of an engineer’s influence. He understood command decisions influenced by a vessel’s firepower, maneuverability, speed, or endurance, and he felt comfortable giving orders or carrying them out based on that understanding. Now, however, he and his companions were faced with predicting the actions and motives of a race of beings unknown to them, and to the Federation, mere minutes ago.
“Report from engineering,” Jahn called out from the communications station. “We have hull breaches on several decks, but they’re in unoccupied sections of the ship and those areas have been sealed off.” Pausing for a moment to listen further he added, “Main life support is down but backups are functioning.”
Listening to the reports, Scott continued to regard the Lutralian ship. What was its commander thinking? Was it sizing up the Chandley at this moment, determining the best avenue for a lethal final assault?
“Okay,” al-Khaled said, “now for the big question: How are the engines?”
At the engineering station Tomar and Talev spent several seconds consulting the bank of monitors, all of which now displayed diagnostic information. “The engines themselves are fine,” Talev reported, “but internal sensors are detecting a fluctuation in plasma levels.”
Scott and al-Khaled crossed the bridge as Tomar tapped commands to his console. “We are venting plasma from our port nacelle,” he said as the two veteran engineers moved to stand beside him. “A manifold has apparently sustained damage from the attack.”
“If we don’t close that off,” al-Khaled said as he reviewed the computer graphic, “we’ll lose all our plasma within two hours.” Scott did not need his friend to complete the report. Without warp plasma, the engines would be all but useless, effectively stranding the Chandley and her crew here, in the sights of an alien ship’s weapons.
Scott said, “Aye, somebody has to go outside and patch the rupture.” He nodded in the direction of the viewer. “Of course, if our friends start shootin’ again, it really won’t matter.” Without the means to defend itself, the Chandley could not withstand much more punishment at the hands of the Lutralians.
“They are hailing us,” Jahn said, turning to face the group hovering near the engineering station.
“Are they asking for our surrender?” Tal
ev asked.
Holding the Feinberg device to his ear, Jahn frowned in response to the message he was receiving. “There is no mention of that. They are, however, demanding visual communications be established.”
“This should be interesting,” al-Khaled said. “I suppose it’s too late to pretend we’re not home.”
Scott cast a sardonic look at his friend before placing a hand on Hanar’s shoulder. “Perhaps ye should let me take it this time, lad.” The Kelvan agreed and Scott indicated for Jahn to open the channel.
On the main viewer the image of the Lutralian ship was replaced with that of a humanoid figure sitting ramrod straight in what looked to be a throne. Large and muscled, the alien’s teal-colored skin contrasted sharply with the highly polished, silver-colored armor chest plate it wore. Its head was devoid of hair and Scott could see what looked to be a large scar along the left side of its skull, and its eyes were two black pools set above a narrow nose and a mouth filled with even rows of sharp gleaming teeth. From the image on the screen it appeared as though the Lutralian was looking down at them, a sensation that put Scott immediately on edge. This was someone who was used to being perceived as an authority figure, he decided.
“I am Nrech’lah, commander of the Lutralian warship Durgejiin.” the Lutralian said, its tone clipped and formal and confirming Scott’s gut feeling.
“My name is Montgomery Scott, and I speak for this vessel. On behalf of my crew, I would like to thank ye for grantin’ an audience with us.”
Waving the attempted greeting away, Nrech’lah said, “We have fired upon your vessel, and yet you are not roused to retaliation. You squandered an opportunity to strike. Why?”
“It is not our way to declare those we do not know as enemies,” Scott replied. “We came here by accident, having experienced technical malfunctions with our ship’s drive systems. I respectfully request that we be allowed to make our repairs, and then we will leave your space in peace.” He hoped the words were more convincing to Nrech’lah than they were to him, as he was certainly no diplomat. Where’s a poppinjay Federation ambassador when ye need one?
Foundations Book Three Page 4