“That’s all right, Scotty. We’ll be here when the Excalibur and Lexington arrive.” Kirk went to the rail by Spock’s station. “Won’t we, Mr. Spock?”
“Captain Kirk,” Scott protested, “those ships are hours away. We’ll never last that long out here.”
“Understood, Mr. Scott. That’s why we’re going into the event horizon.”
Scott said nothing.
Kirk continued. “With time dilation, we can spend a day down there and have only thirty subjective minutes pass.”
“Aye,” Scott said, sounding definitely unconvinced. “She’ll hold together on the way in, but to come out again, she’ll need to go to warp, and the crystals will never take the strain.”
“Will they give us a second of warp, Scotty?”
“After thirty minutes on the other side of the event horizon, we’ll be lucky to get a tenth of a second.”
Kirk looked to Spock. He knew a tenth of a second would be close, but he couldn’t be sure. Spock exhaled, as if making a decision. Kirk waited to hear if the next words to come from his science officer’s mouth were to relieve him of command.
“Spock here, Mr. Scott. We will only need to move faster than light for a distance equal to five times the ship’s length, once we return to the event horizon. Can you guarantee us warp propulsion for even one one-hundredth of a second?”
Scott replied as if a phaser had hit him. “Guarantee?! Mr. Spock, no ship has ever gone through an event horizon before and come out to tell the tale! Can you guarantee a ship this size can even make it through?”
“We have just witnessed a D7 Klingon battle cruiser do exactly that, Mr. Scott.”
“What?!” Scott squealed. “You’re saying a tin can piece o’ junk D7 can make it?”
Kirk grinned. “One hundredth of a second, Scotty. Just a small miracle.”
“Aye,” Scott sighed. “And if I don’t come through, we’ll never know it.”
“Is that a guarantee, Scotty?” Kirk knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he thought his ship and crew were capable of. But if his chief engineer couldn’t be convinced, Mr. Spock was right—he couldn’t throw away the lives of 430 crew members and the rescued passengers from the Planitia, even for the sake of the Federation, without a guarantee.
“It’s as close to one as you’ll get from me,” Scott finally said. “Keep a clear channel open so I can hear what foolishness you’ll be dreaming up next.”
Kirk gave Spock a questioning look. “Is that good enough for you, Mr. Spock?”
A corner of Spock’s mouth actually twitched up in a partial, unpracticed smile.
“It would not be good enough for my father,” Spock said, “because there is little logic in the decision. But it is the right thing to do.” Spock looked past his captain. “Mr. Sulu, I am transferring trajectory coordinates to your navigation system. Please follow them exactly.”
At the command console, Kirk saw Sulu and Chekov exchange a glance of surprise, perhaps even of excitement. “Aye-aye, Mr. Spock,” Sulu acknowledged. “Trajectory plotted.”
“Are you ready, Mr. Scott?”
“As I’ll ever be,” the engineer replied.
Kirk returned to his chair. His course was set. “Uhura, launch a flight recorder with a transcript of everything we’ve just said here, along with complete sensor records of the flight paths of Thorsen’s D7 and the Ian Shelton. I want the recorder sent on an intercept course to the Excalibur so they’ll know what to be looking for when they get here.” He settled into position. “Mr. Chekov, what is the position of the second Klingon cruiser?”
“It has withdrawn to a higher orbit, sir.”
“Perhaps waiting to see if the other cruiser emerges,” Spock suggested.
“Flight recorder away,” Uhura announced.
“Any sign that the second cruiser spotted it?”
“No, sir,” Uhura answered. “There’s so much interference, I doubt anything that small could be scanned.”
Kirk glanced back at Spock. Spock nodded. It was enough.
“Mr. Sulu, take us in.”
Sulu’s hands hovered over his controls. “Coming up on trajectory entry in eighteen seconds.”
Except for the sounds of the ship herself, the bridge was silent. No one spoke, because there was nothing more to say.
At five seconds, Sulu began a countdown.
Kirk tightened his grip on the arms of his chair. He had changed the rules once again, and now it was time to see if the universe was playing the same game as James T. Kirk.
“Two,” Sulu said. “One …”
Impact,
TWELVE
U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-D APPROACHING TNC 65813
Stardate 43922.2
Earth Standard: ≈ May 2366
“Who the hell is Thorsen?” Riker asked.
The first officer was on the floor, leaning back against Worf’s inoperative tactical console, as Dr. Crusher applied a nerve masker to his broken leg.
“You will lose your ignorance soon enough,” the Data-thing said. “Ensign McKnight: Course and speed! Report at once!”
But McKnight said nothing. Picard could see the young woman’s back stiffen in determination as she kept her eyes fixed on her board.
The Data-thing grimaced. “Captain Picard, while part of me retains professional admiration for the command structure your crew follows, the rest of me will tear Ensign McKnight’s head from her body if she, or any one else on this bridge, does not follow my orders as they would your own.” Slowly, chillingly, he made a fist. “You know this body has the capability to do that.”
“Ensign McKnight,” Picard said. “Tell Mr. Thorsen our course and speed.”
The Data-thing glowered directly at Picard, who found it unnerving to see such emotion play over Data’s usually placid features. The Thorsen personality matrix was even more turbulent than Data’s brother, Lore.
“And it isn’t Mister Thorsen. It’s Colonel Adrik Thorsen.” A sudden smile brightened the android’s face as he glanced about the bridge. The sudden changes were unsettling. “The next one to forget that will die.”
“Ensign McKnight,” Picard said, not looking away from Data’s yellow eyes, “report to Colonel Thorsen.”
“On course for TNC 65813,” the ensign said. “Velocity at warp factor nine.”
The Data-thing looked suspicious. “This ship is capable of greater speed.”
“Not without an engineering crew,” La Forge said. He still nursed his hands against his chest. Picard could see that the engineer’s fingers could move, though with obvious pain. He could also see anger beginning to build once again in the android’s face.
“You did have us traveling at the ship’s top speed,” Picard said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “But that requires constant adjustment of the warp core, which we are unable to carry out without a full complement of crew members in engineering.”
The Data-thing hesitated, then pushed past Picard to the propulsion system station. Rapidly, his fingers moved over the flashing control surfaces. Then he turned to La Forge. “I have vented the anesthezine from engineering and opened a communications channel to that section. Your crew will be awake in a few more minutes. You will then supervise them to have this vessel operate at its maximum speed for the remainder of its journey.”
La Forge looked at Picard.
“Don’t look at him!” the Data-thing ordered. “ I am your commander now!”
Picard could see that La Forge couldn’t help the sneer that briefly touched his lips. But the engineer said, “Yes, sir,” and sat down at the station.
The Data-thing looked pleased with himself. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed Counselor Troi by her thick hair, twisting her around until he held her tightly against him, back to front, with one hand crushing her neck. “I shall keep this half-breed alive for three minutes. At the end of that time, I expect to see every phaser on this bridge stacked up on that chair.” He grinned as he ti
ghtened his grip on Troi. “Two minutes fifty-nine seconds, fifty-eight seconds …”
With Wesley’s assistance and before the time limit was up, all phasers from the bridge storage lockers were on the chair. The Data-thing discarded Troi by dropping her to the deck, then methodically picked up the phasers and crushed them, one by one. His concentration on the task allowed Picard to analyze their position. He surprised himself by thinking things didn’t seem as grim as he had feared they’d be.
In terms of crew, O’Brien and McKnight were unharmed and at their stations. Worf was on his feet again, with a minor concussion Dr. Crusher wanted to treat in sickbay. Riker was pain-free, though it would be at least a day before the first officer’s broken leg was healed, and he would not be capable of much walking for at least the next twelve hours.
Except for a raspy throat, Wesley had recovered from the explosive decompression in the shuttlebay, and remained close to his mother, helping her with her medical duties. La Forge was reduced to activating controls with only two fingers, but could still function adequately. And the counselor, though her neck was bruised and she appeared shaken, was otherwise unharmed.
Most important, however, was the status of the unusual personality matrix that had taken over Data the way it had taken over the Enterprise. Picard was sure he had heard the name of Colonel Adrik Thorsen before. He had some recollection of the man as an underling in Colonel Green’s cadre in the period of upheaval directly preceding Earth’s third world war. How or why a machine intelligence would take on that persona, Picard had no idea. But where there was reason for hope was that Thorsen now had to ask for information about the Enterprise’s status. Whatever kind of phenomenon Picard was facing here, the personality matrix that had taken over the ship was no longer operating in the ship’s computer system. If Data could be overcome, then there was a chance the Thorsen personality could be defeated.
The only difficulty would be in physically overcoming the most powerful member of Picard’s crew without causing any permanent damage that could compromise the safety of the real Data. Picard hoped that personality was still somewhere in the android’s body and could, at some time, be restored.
The last crushed phaser clattered to the deck, scattering pieces of its casing, as the Data-thing turned to face Picard. “I’m fully aware of the strengths and weaknesses of this body, Captain Picard. I have access to the full range of what you call Data’s memory. If any of you attempt any action—absolutely anything —that is intended to harm me, I know I can remain operational long enough to kill several of you and seriously damage your ship.”
Picard studied the Data-thing for a moment, then deliberately adopted a belligerent tone. It was worth taking a chance if he could provoke the Thorsen personality into another round of erratic emotional responses—anything to keep him off balance. “First of all, Colonel Thorsen, I know you will not cause any damage to the Enterprise because you need her to get to the black hole. And second, you won’t kill anyone because you need us to operate her.”
The Data-thing cupped his chin in a thoughtful pose, then chuckled. “Jean-Luc, just as a friendly reminder: I don’t need the Wesley child to run the ship; this body I wear doesn’t need the doctor; and I certainly don’t need the empath. So if I do need to make an example of anyone, they’ll be the first to die. Are there any other threats you’d care to make?”
“Why are you doing this?” Riker asked from his position on the floor.
“Don’t question your orders,” the Data-thing warned.
“You’re not my commanding officer,” Riker said.
The Data-thing looked at Riker in confusion. “What kind of army is this? Do you all question your superiors?”
“This is not an ’army,’ ” Picard said forcefully. He was beginning to wonder if it was somehow possible that the personality of a twenty-first-century military madman had survived to the present. If so, it might give him a clue as to how to reason with Thorsen. “We’re explorers, not soldiers.”
“You mean you’re weak,” the Data-thing said contemptuously. “You’ll never be optimal.”
“Optimal? Do you honestly expect us to believe that you’re the Adrik Thorsen from the Third World War?” Riker asked in disbelief. Picard was pleased that his first officer had made the same connection to Thorsen’s name as he had. Perhaps Riker also realized that there was a chance to regain control of the ship if anyone could get close enough to Data.
“I am more than Adrik Thorsen ever was,” the Data-thing said. “I contain the core of him, the best of him, spread out to realms undreamed of in his day. I have transcended the Thorsen flesh and become the one true Optimal.”
“What’s so optimal about having to threaten to kill people to get them to do what you want?” Wesley asked, making no attempt to hide his angry frustration, though it was still tempered by fear.
“I forgive you your doubts because you are not yet formed,” the android replied. “If you survive to serve me, you will learn.”
“Serve you in what way?” Picard asked.
“You shall be the soldiers in my army in the war to come,” the Data-thing said emphatically, swept up in the grandeur of whatever perverted vision he held. “Old dreams need not die. Red banners wave and black eagles fly. I shall remake this age in my image. A new order among the worlds. Peace in my time. Salvation from chaos.”
“You’re too late,” Riker said dismissively. “The worlds of the Federation are at peace. There is no chaos in our affairs.”
“Commander Riker, you forget, I have all the knowledge of your Data. I know the true condition of the Federation. Treaty disputes, planets on the brink of war, inefficient resource allocation—you’re just a duplicate of Earth and her colonies before the atomic cleansing. Your Federation is crying out for order. Nothing has changed except the size of the battlefield.”
Picard stepped closer to the android. “Colonel Thorsen, no planet in the Federation has been on the brink of war for decades. You’re thinking of the nonaligned worlds. As for treaty disputes, they are a given in any collection of thriving civilizations. The wants and needs of cultures change from generation to generation. The Federation exists to accommodate those changes in the most peaceful and equitable manner, and we do. And however inefficient our allocation of resources is, we do a better job of it today than we did ten years ago, and we will be doing a better job again ten years hence.” Picard could not help himself. He felt his voice become more powerful, as if he were speaking to an audience far greater than just Thorsen. “The Federation is not static, which is what gives us our strength. The Optimum Movement’s backward, inhumane dreams of a society made perfect because every regimented member looks alike, behaves alike, and believes alike was recognized for the hateful abomination it was centuries ago and rightfully abandoned.
“I don’t know what you really are or how you came to be in this time, but no matter how you threaten us, we have outgrown you and you no longer have a place among us.”
The Data-thing looked around at Picard’s crew in sarcastic amazement as they regarded their captain with pride. “A philosophical debate about humanity’s maturity? On a starship with weapons enough to destroy entire planets?” The android turned back to Picard. “Captain, this is an argument I am destined to win for one very simple, very self-evident reason.”
“Which is?” Picard demanded, taking another step closer, preparing to make the one move he hoped the Data-thing would not anticipate.
“This,” the Data-thing said. And then his fist moved up so quickly that Picard never saw it coming.
“How are you feeling?” Beverly Crusher asked.
Picard blinked up at her. The lower half of his face felt numb. He touched his chin.
“Careful,” the doctor said. “You’ve got two broken teeth so I had to switch off a few of the nerves.”
Picard realized he was flat on his back, though he could hear the steady sounds of the bridge and knew where he was. He started to sit up and Dr.
Crusher helped him. On the main screen, he saw the glowing gas spiral of TNC 65813, but it was no longer a computer graphic—it was a real-time sensor image.
“Beverly, how long—”
“Almost six hours,” Crusher said. “He didn’t hit you that hard, but he decided you would not be ’conducive to the smooth running of the mission’ so he had me use a neural blocker on you.” Crusher frowned, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, but if I hadn’t, he would have medicated you himself.”
“You did the right thing,” Picard assured her as he got to his feet. “But why am I being allowed to awaken now?”
“We’ve arrived at the black hole,” the doctor said softly, “and there’s another ship here.”
Picard saw the Data-thing sitting in his command chair, legs crossed, hands cupped around one knee. The other seats in the command area were empty. Except for McKnight and O’Brien, the remaining crew were on the upper level, looking grim, ready to fight.
“So good of you to join us,” the Data-thing said to Picard. He indicated the seat beside him. “Join me.”
“Are we about to rendezvous with your partners?” Picard asked as he walked slowly toward the android, carefully rubbing his jaw.
“And who would those partners be?” the Data-thing asked.
“The Romulans, of course.”
The Data-thing laughed scornfully. “Captain, the Romulans are just pawns. Commander Traklamek was even easier than you to convince that he had found an authentic Preserver device.”
“So the object in the shuttlebay isn’t what it appears to be?”
The Data-thing shrugged. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. The point is, it’s so old and so badly damaged that it’s completely inoperative. I’ve been searching space for a long time, Captain, and it’s surprising the things that can be found in it. That object, half-destroyed as it is, is just one of many unusual items I’ve salvaged. Originally, I had planned to use it as a test. I added a diagram of my own to its inscriptions, to see if anyone could build the warp bomb for me. But once I had contacted the Romulans, and learned that they had their own reasons for seeking a Galaxy-class ship, I had only to add a power source and some … ’appropriate circuitry’ to the object to get me passage on your ship.”
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