by Gene DeWeese
Picard’s eyes were on Koralus as often as they were on the viewscreen as the Enterprise skirted the upper surface of the cloud, more than ten million kilometers above the orbital plane of the planets. It was obvious from the alien’s expression and occasional muttered words that the situation he was being confronted with after his hundred years’ absence was even worse than he had feared.
The alien shuddered as, at the orbit of Krantin, the ship nosed down into the Plague at minimum impulse. Before they had descended half the distance to where Krantin lay hidden, the stars had faded to invisibility. By the time they reached Krantin and went into orbit around it, the sun was the only other object visible, and even it was reduced to an indistinct red ball.
The planet itself was almost as indistinct. Its entire surface, land and water alike, was obscured by a reddish orange haze, translucent in some places, opaque in others.
And the energy field in the vicinity of the planet, Data reported, was several times as powerful as anywhere else.
“It would be inadvisable to use the transporters to reach the surface from a standard orbit, Captain,” the android went on. “A strong possibility exists that the matter stream could be interfered with, if not interrupted entirely.”
“We can take a shuttle—if there is a reason for us to descend to the surface,” Picard said. “Are there any life-form readings?”
“Yes, Captain, but they convey only the most rudimentary information. Many areas of the surface appear totally lifeless. Others show minimal signs of lower life-forms, both plant and animal. Even the upper layers of the oceans appear sparsely populated.”
“And humanoid life-forms?”
“Unknown, Captain. There is only one area in which higher life-forms are present in great enough concentration to register despite the interference. The sensors cannot determine if they are specifically humanoid.”
“Only one?” Koralus broke in. “They were working on enclosures for ten cities when communication ceased. They were hoping to build a hundred more.” He shuddered. “How many? How many are left alive?”
Data glanced questioningly at Picard, who nodded assent. “It is impossible to determine the number to any degree of accuracy under the present conditions,” Data explained. “However, there are certainly no more than a few million.”
Koralus slumped. “A few million . . .” he murmured, and after a moment he turned his back to the bleak image on the viewscreen. “There were more than a billion. . . . ”
“Power sources, Mr. Data?” Picard prompted, though his eyes remained on Koralus. “Energy usage?”
“There is what appears to be a functioning nuclear fusion power source approximately one hundred kilometers from the concentration of life-forms. It appears to be delivering its output in the form of electrical energy to the area of the life-form concentration itself, where there are indications of extensive electrical activity.”
“But no communications of any kind?”
“None that the sensors can detect, Captain.”
Picard turned to the alien. “Your assessment?” he asked quietly.
Koralus shook his head. “I don’t know. Obviously, enclosing the cities was not as successful as they hoped.”
“Obviously. However, the immediate question is, how do we contact anyone if they aren’t listening to any frequency?”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Worf broke in, “a localized surge in the energy field, bearing approximately one-sixty mark forty.”
Picard turned sharply toward the tactical station. “Distance?”
“Unknown, sir. The sensors are not reliable beyond fifty thousand kilometers, and—” The Klingon broke off, scowling at the tactical station readouts. “It is gone, sir.”
“How powerful was the surge?”
“Also unknown, sir, but at a minimum it was a hundredfold increase.”
“Any residual effects?”
“None detectable, sir.”
“Mr. Data? Anything else?”
“I cannot be positive, Captain, but there appears to have been a qualitative as well as a quantitative difference in the localized surge.”
“It was a different kind of energy, Mr. Data?”
“Not entirely, Captain. It still bears a strong resemblance to the energy fields associated with transporter operation. However, while the low-level energy resembles that associated with molecular-resolution transport, the pattern and frequency of the surge energy indicated a finer resolution.”
“Quantum level, Mr. Data? Suitable for transmission of living matter?”
“Again, Captain, not entirely. The readings themselves are unreliable, so a precise comparison is impossible. However, even taking that unreliability into account, the indicated resolution was very probably not at a quantum level. At best, the resolution would be at some intermediate level of precision.”
Picard glanced at Koralus, then back at the shrouded planet that still filled the viewscreen. Whatever the resolution level, this sudden burst lent weight to Koralus’s suggestion—and his own suspicion—that the Plague was not entirely a natural phenomenon.
More importantly, it provided a new avenue of investigation. “Ensign, take us out of orbit, quarter impulse, heading one-sixty mark forty. Full stop the moment any artificial construct—or another energy surge—is detected.”
Chapter Four
ALONG WITH EVERYONE BUT DATA, Captain Jean-Luc Picard could not completely suppress another wince as the fiery display on the viewscreen once again flared even brighter, as if the Enterprise were swooping through a star’s corona. All the flare really meant, though, was that they had just passed through a slightly denser area of the Plague. The constant and coruscating bow shock that preceded and half surrounded the Enterprise simply marked the location of the forward shields as they plowed through the molecular soup of the Plague. Without them, even at quarter impulse, the unprotected duranium hull would start to show damage within minutes. At full impulse, even the shields could not protect the ship for long, any more than they could protect it forever against a sustained barrage of phaser fire. The raw energies involved would not be dissimilar.
They had gone nearly two hundred million kilometers and passed within range of more than a hundred asteroids when Worf barked out a command for full stop. Instantly the flare of the bow shock vanished from the viewscreen, replaced by the featureless haze of the Plague. “Object directly ahead,” Worf announced, “range less than one hundred thousand kilometers.”
“A ship, Mr. Worf?”
“Unknown, sir. Sensors indicate that the object is artificial, but beyond that, all readings are inconclusive at this range.”
“Very well. Ensign, take us closer, minimum impulse.”
The shields flared again, this time at a lower, almost undetectable level, as the Enterprise crept forward.
“The object directly ahead appears to be another asteroid, Captain,” Data announced minutes later, “diameter more than fifty kilometers.”
“An artificial asteroid?”
“No, Captain. The sensors are beginning to detect a second object approximately five hundred kilometers from the asteroid. This second object is almost certainly responsible for the earlier readings. Because of the interference, the sensors could not previously determine that there were two objects rather than one.”
“Ensign, alter course to close with the new object. Full stop as soon as sensor readings are reliable.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Sir,” Worf rumbled a minute later, “we have just crossed the trail of an impulse drive. The signature is unmistakable and is less than a day old. There is no trace of the ship that produced it.”
A jolt of adrenaline nudged Picard’s level of concentration even higher at this further indication of the unnatural “nature” of the so-called Plague. Koralus had sworn that Krantin had never developed an impulse engine, and yet an impulse-drive ship had passed through this very spot only hours ago.
Picard turned toward the
alien as, slowly, the Enterprise continued forward. “Could your world have developed impulse technology in the time since you left?” he asked, though he knew what the answer must be.
Koralus shook his head. “I can’t imagine how. From the few communications we received after the ships under construction were destroyed, it was obvious that space travel was dead and no one was interested in reviving it. And you saw Krantin just now. Your machines say there are only a few million left alive, huddled in a single city.”
Picard nodded imperceptibly as he turned back to the viewscreen. “Nonetheless,” he said softly, “someone with impulse-drive technology has been here within the last twenty-four hours.”
On the viewscreen, the shields flared more brightly as Data announced they were again passing through a denser-than-average pocket of the cloud. Almost as soon as the incandescence returned to its “normal” level, Worf brought the ship again to a full stop.
“The object is definitely a ship, sir,” he said a moment later. “Mass is in the thousand-ton range.”
“Impulse drive?”
Worf was silent a moment, adding to his everyday scowl as he studied the tactical station readouts. “Yes, sir, but of extremely low power for a vessel of that size. It is little more powerful than those that drive our shuttlecraft.”
“It appears to be a cargo ship of some kind, Captain,” Data supplied. “There is a single humanoid life-form aboard, and most of the mass appears to consist of several hundred tons of ore, containing iron, nickel, and traces of uranium.”
“Hail it, Mr. Worf, all EM channels. Ensign, take us in to visual range, directly in its path.”
As if emerging from a fog, a bulbous ship took shape on the viewscreen. There were no rockets or other drives visible, only sets of comparatively tiny attitude-control jets. At the front, a tiny bubble protruded from the otherwise featureless surface. It was coasting directly across the path of the Enterprise. Slowly, the Enterprise moved ahead of it, and then kept pace with it at a distance of little more than a kilometer.
“No response to our hail, sir,” Worf reported, but even as he spoke, the ship on the screen fired a series of attitude jets, which set it slowly to turning. After a quarter turn, the ship began to lumber away, apparently under impulse power.
“Stay in front of it, Ensign, and maintain our present distance. Mr. Worf, keep trying to contact them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Data—”
“It is emitting a signal,” Worf rumbled, “but it does not appear to be directed at us. It is totally unmodulated, with no discernible information content.”
“Captain,” Data broke in, “the energy field surrounding the ship is increasing precipitately—”
The viewscreen flared blindingly bright.
When it cleared, the screen was empty except for the featureless cloud that was the Plague.
“Was it destroyed?” Picard asked sharply.
“I do not believe so, Captain,” Data said. “There is no residue of any kind. Even destruction by maximum-strength phaser fire or photon torpedo leaves a residue.”
“Then where is it? Could it have escaped while we were blinded by the flash?”
“Only if it accelerated to full impulse speed virtually instantaneously, which would be impossible for a ship of that mass with that size impulse engine, even without the Plague to contend with. And even if it were possible, the impulse drive would have left an easily identifiable energy trail, which it did not. The existing energy trail ends at precisely the point at which the ship vanished. Neither are there any indications of either the existence or the activation of a warp drive.”
Picard scowled at the starless screen, forced to give voice to the thought that had been in his mind, unwelcomed, since moments after the flash. “It was transported away, then, is that what you’re saying?”
“Not precisely, Captain, but it is a reasonable supposition. The energy burst was essentially identical to the earlier burst, although there was no indication of either a matter stream or a containment field, both of which are essential to transporters as we know them.”
“Play the entire sequence back, Mr. Data. Go to slow motion for the final seconds.”
The viewscreen flickered and went blank for an instant as Data’s fingers darted across the controls. A moment later, the missing ship was once again emerging from the haze, coasting across the bow of the Enterprise.
“The pilot was in the pod at the front of the ship,” Data said as the replay continued. “The pod also contained the impulse drive and appeared to be detachable, just as the saucer unit of the Enterprise is detachable. The remainder is essentially nothing but a large cargo hold.”
Picard frowned. “It has no drive of its own?”
“Only the attitude jets, Captain.”
“What kind of range would this combination have?”
“Extremely limited, Captain. Also, it would dare not venture close to any asteroid substantially larger than the ones we have so far encountered. Were it to approach one even a hundred kilometers in diameter, it could be trapped in the gravity well.”
Once again the massive ship made its turn and began to lumber away, essentially being towed by the tiny control and drive pod. It was, Picard couldn’t help but think, as if the Enterprise were to be towed by one of the shuttlecraft. But what was the point? Why drag a thousand tons of mass through space at a snail’s pace when you have the ability to instantaneously transport objects to—to somewhere else? Perhaps they could only transport objects from certain points in space? Or perhaps it was easier to do it from certain points, but it was possible, in an emergency—such as being confronted by an unknown and potentially dangerous alien craft like the Enterprise—to do it from anywhere? And perhaps the signal it had emitted was a distress call, a demand to be rescued then and there, regardless of the difficulty, regardless of the power required?
Picard shook his head. As was so often the case, all he had was questions, not answers.
On the screen, the alien ship was once more seen head-on. The Enterprise had maneuvered in front of it after the ninety-degree turn.
“This is when the signal was emitted,” Data continued. “The computer is still unable to detect any form of modulation.”
Abruptly, the image seemed to freeze. The only perceptible motion was the exhaust from the attitude jets as they continued to fire to slow the ship’s rotation.
“This is the point at which the energy buildup began,” Data supplied a few seconds later. The image of the ship remained unchanged, except that the attitude jets had stopped firing. “It is almost certainly a form of transporter energy, but it is equally certainly not consistent with the quantum-level resolution required for transporting life-forms safely. At best, it operates at the level of individual atoms.”
“Then whoever was aboard the ship was killed?”
“Not necessarily, Captain. There might be damage at the cellular level and below, but there is no way of knowing how serious that damage is, or how reversible.”
On the screen, a brilliant pinpoint of light appeared near the center of the ship. An instant later, the pinpoint had become a blinding sheet of light enveloping half the ship. Another instant, and the ship was swallowed up entirely.
“Can it be slowed down any more?” Picard asked as the entire screen was flooded with the light. There was a maddening familiarity to the images, but its source eluded him.
“Not in the sense that I believe you mean, Captain. What you have seen was the individual images that the computer, operating at its maximum speed, captured from the sensors. The actual time that elapsed between the first appearance of the light and the full envelopment of the ship was less than a millisecond.”
On the screen, the light vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, taking five images instead of three to shrink from the ship-enveloping size to a pinpoint.
Then it was gone.
And so was the ship.
“The light, a
nd presumably the ship, were gone within less than two milliseconds,” Data went on. “The energy field accompanying the light took approximately two seconds to build up and another two seconds to decay.”
Picard turned to Koralus, who had been watching the screen in scowling puzzlement. “Could that have been a Krantinese ship?”
“I cannot imagine how it could be—unless the situation on Krantin is radically different from what it seems.”
Precisely Picard’s own assessment. “Perhaps it’s time we found out,” he said, turning back to the viewscreen. “Ensign, take us out of this—this ‘plague’ and back to Krantin.”
“Sir,” Worf rumbled from the tactical station before the order could be carried out, “something is approaching, bearing one-ten mark eighty-five.”
“Onscreen,” Picard snapped.
“It is not within visual range,” Data volunteered, “under current conditions.”
“Focus the sensors on it as tightly as possible, Mr. Data. Get whatever you can before it gets here.”
“I am working on it, Captain. It appears to be moving at a speed consistent with an impulse drive, but the sensor readings are becoming even more erratic.”
“There is a concentration of the energy field, sir,” Worf reported, “that appears to be moving with the object. That could be causing the added interference with the sensors.”
“Or it could be the object,” Riker said, “a moving energy field. Captain, whatever it is, I suggest we raise the shields until we know more about it.”
“Agreed, Number One. Make it so.”
They waited.
Finally, what looked like a tiny fireball emerged from the haze of the dust cloud. It was small, little larger than a two-person shuttlepod, apparently powered by an impulse engine similar in size to the one in the previous, much larger ship.
Beyond the signature of an impulse drive, however, even the most tightly focused sensor beams revealed little—except that the pyrotechnic display surrounding it was associated with a concentrated form of the energy field that permeated this system. Apparently the ship—if there was indeed a ship inside the fireball—was using it for the same purpose the Enterprise used its shields when traveling through the cloud at impulse speeds: to protect it from the cloud of matter it was racing through.