Breakdowns

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Other eBooks in the Star Trek™:

  Starfleet Corps of Engineers series from Pocket Books:

  #1: The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

  #2: Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #3: Hard Crash by Christie Golden

  #4: Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #5: Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #6: Cold Fusion by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #7: Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #8: Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #9: The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

  #10: Gateways Epilogue: Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #11: Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

  #12: Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

  #13: No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

  #14: Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

  #15: Past Life by Robert Greenberger

  #16: Oaths by Glenn Hauman

  #17: Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #18: Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #19: Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #20: Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

  #21: War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #22: War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  #23: Wildfire Book 1 by David Mack

  #24: Wildfire Book 2 by David Mack

  #25: Home Fires by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

  #26: Age of Unreason by Scott Ciencin

  #27: Balance of Nature by Heather Jarman

  #28: Breakdowns by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  COMING SOON:

  #29: Aftermath by Christopher L. Bennett

  #30: Ishtar Rising Book 1 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

  #31: Ishtar Rising Book 2 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 2003 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-7434-7456-2

  First Pocket Books Ebooks Edition May 2003

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Dedicated to the memory of Uncle Cal

  and Cousin Calvin

  Chapter

  1

  “It is the opinion of this tribunal, after careful investigation of the events at Galvan VI, that neither Captain David Gold nor any member of the crew of the U.S.S. da Vinci is in any way culpable for the deaths of twenty-three members of the ship’s complement, and that those deaths, while tragic and most lamentable, were in the line of duty. Starfleet considers this matter officially closed.” Admiral William Ross looked down from the dais at David Gold. “You’re free to return to duty, Captain.”

  Gold, who was standing before the raised wooden platform in Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, said, “Thank you, Admiral.”

  Sitting between Ross and Captain Montgomery Scott, Admiral Sitak said calmly, “These proceedings have concluded. Dismissed.” He then clanged the bell on the dais once.

  The declaration and the bell were both formalities. There was no one present besides the three line officers and Gold himself, the former sitting behind the raised wooden desk and in front of the large blue-and-white Federation flag. Gold had requested that the session be private. He saw no reason for the rest of the surviving crew of the da Vinci to sit through this, nor did he feel spectators were appropriate. As captain, it was his responsibility and his alone—if any punishment were to be meted out, he would be the only one to accept it. The rest of them have been through enough.

  Both Ross and Sitak rose and departed the room quickly, but Scotty approached Gold, who hadn’t moved despite his dismissal. “Are y’all right, David?” the older man asked solemnly.

  “No. For starters, I’m still getting used to this thing.” He held up the biosynthetic left hand that replaced his original, lost—along with so much else—at Galvan VI. “It looks and behaves just like the original—hell, it even has that liver spot on my knuckle—but it feels wrong.” Gold let out a long sigh. “And then there’s the whole matter of half my crew’s being dead.”

  Scotty put a hand on Gold’s shoulder. “David, lad, you cannot blame yourself.”

  “Someone else I should blame? I’m the captain, Scotty. You know as well as I do where that particular buck stops.” He shook his head. “If I’d just done something different—”

  Waving an admonishing index finger at Gold, Scotty said, “None of that, now. You start playin’ ‘what if’ games, and you’ll run around in circles till Doomsday.”

  “I know, I know, but if I hadn’t moved the da Vinci closer to the Orion maybe—”

  “Maybe the Orion would’ve hit the da Vinci at such an angle that it would have ripped your ship in twain and you’d all be dead instead of just twenty-three of you.”

  Gold fixed Scotty with an incredulous look. “You can’t assume that.”

  “You’re right, I can’t. So why’re you?” Scotty asked.

  Closing his eyes, Gold said, “I can’t believe I fell for that. I must be getting old.”

  “No, you’re tired. And I don’t blame you. Come on, lad, I’ll walk you out.”

  Scotty led Gold out of the hearing room. As they proceeded down the corridor, the old engineer said, “I recall something Dr. McCoy said once. Some young person asked him what he thought about death. Leonard looked him right in the eye and said, ‘I’m against it.’”

  Despite himself, Gold smiled. He had only met the aged Admiral McCoy a few times, most recently when the da Vinci brought the old Constitution-class U.S.S. Defiant home, but that certainly sounded like something he’d say. “Can’t say I disagree.” The smile fell. “Truth be told, I’m tired of it. One of my oldest friends died in a skirmish with the Klingons a few years back. I seriously thought about retiring then. Rachel talked me out of it—but things haven’t gotten any better. Salek and Okha died during the war, and 111 died right after it. My son Nate and his wife died when the Dominion took Betazed. A couple months ago, I was reunited with Gus Bradford just long enough to watch him die. And now this.”

  “Times like this,” Scotty said, “I think about Matt Franklin. Good lad, Franklin. Young ensign in Starfleet, fine engineer, had a good career ahead of him. He was assigned to the Jenolen a few weeks before that ship was asked to escort some old relic to his retirement at the Norpin Colony.”

  Gold saw where this was going, but also knew better than to interrupt Scotty in mid-story.

  “After the ship crashed, he and I were the only survivors. We worked out a way to preserve ourselves in the transporter buffer so as to not be usin’ up all the life support. It almost worked.”

  “The fact that you’re telling me this story means it did work,” Gold said.
<
br />   “I am. Franklin isn’t. He didn’t make it. His pattern degraded. Perhaps we could’ve done somethin’ different. But we didn’t, and Franklin died. A young man, his whole life ahead of him, doesn’t live, while the old man on his way to retire does.”

  “You’re saying I shouldn’t let this bring me down?”

  They arrived at the large entryway to Starfleet HQ. “I’m sayin’ that life goes on, until it stops. Nothin’ we can do about it, except to keep livin’. Until we stop.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Gold said as the massive double doors parted, and the captain felt the cool breeze of a typically pleasant San Francisco afternoon brush against his face.

  “About time you got out of there.”

  Gold blinked. He looked at the front steps leading up to HQ’s entrance to see his oldest son Daniel and his wife, Jessica Silver, getting up from where they’d been sitting on the staircase. They were munching on sandwiches—pastrami on rye bread, from the looks of it, which meant they’d been sent with a care package from Rachel—but moved to greet Gold and Scotty as they came through the doors.

  Daniel—a tall, broad-shouldered man who had inherited his mother’s brown eyes, his father’s brown-gone-white-too-damn-fast hair, but was otherwise the spitting image of his uncle Adam, Gold’s giant of a brother—clasped his father in a warm embrace. “It’s good to see you, Pop.”

  Gold sighed. “Don’t call me ‘Pop,’ son.”

  Breaking the embrace and grinning widely, Daniel said, “Don’t call me ‘son,’ Pop.”

  “You know,” Jessica said, with a grin as wide as her husband’s, “that routine wasn’t funny the first eight thousand times, either.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped anyone in this family,” Gold said as he hugged his daughter-in-law. As short as Daniel was tall, Jessica’s beautiful hair, which now matched her last name, was tied in a simple ponytail that stretched to the middle of her back. Usually she had it tied up in so elaborate a fashion that Gold wondered why she didn’t just cut it and be done with it. As usual, she wore her massive gold hoop earrings with a Spican flame gem dangling inside the hoop. Daniel always said that her green eyes glowed more than the flame gems, and her smile glowed more than her eyes.

  “You remember Montgomery Scott,” Gold said quickly, indicating the captain.

  “Of course,” Daniel said. “It’s good to see you again, Captain.”

  “Ach, it’s ‘Scotty,’ like I told you last time. Has your mother tried the haggis recipe I gave her?”

  Daniel and Jessica exchanged a nervous glance. Gold had to restrain himself from a chuckle. Scotty had gone to the house for dinner a few months back. Afterward, Scotty had asked Gold if his wife, Rachel Gilman—one of the finest cooks on the East Coast—had ever made haggis. Gold had thought Scotty was joking at the time. As if Rachel would ever let that in her kitchen…

  “Not yet,” Daniel said slowly.

  Scotty laughed, which seemed to relieve the tension. “No surprise there.” Sighing overdramatically, he added, “’Tis an uphill battle, bringing the joys of fine cuisine to the heathens o’ the galaxy.”

  In a mock aside, Gold said, “This from a man who drinks liquid peat bog—on purpose.”

  Letting out a mock-indignant snort, Scotty said, “I’ll leave you to it, lads—and lass. David, I’ll be in touch. We’ll speak in a few days about the da Vinci repairs and, ah, personnel matters.”

  “Of course.” That was a duty he was not looking forward to, but needed to be addressed sooner or later. Luckily, the da Vinci’s extensive repair schedule—the ship was all but being rebuilt from scratch—meant it could be later. Still, at some point, twenty-three positions needed to be filled. Probably more than that, Gold thought solemnly. A disaster like this almost certainly meant that some crew members might be transferring or leaving Starfleet altogether.

  Possibly even the CO. The thought came unbidden, and Gold banished it back to whatever nether region of his brain hatched it. Now was not the time to be making decisions like this.

  He looked at his oldest son. Now is the time for family.

  * * *

  The house was built in the Riverdale section of the peninsula known as the Bronx—the northernmost part of New York City—sometime in the twentieth century. A two-story dwelling surrounded by a large yard bordered on all sides by a thick privet hedge, the house had been the home of Captain David Gold and Rabbi Rachel Gilman for five decades.

  Gold had seen an image of the house that was taken from an old-style photograph, circa 1990 or so on the old calendar, and it didn’t look any different now than it did four hundred years ago. Gold knew better, though—in fact, none of the original material used to construct the house was present in the current building, as the march of technology had allowed every aspect of the dwelling’s structure to be replaced with something superior. When she was a particularly inquisitive teenager, Gold’s daughter Eden had asked if that meant it was truly the same house that was constructed four hundred years earlier.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Gold had said then, “but it’s the same home.”

  When the Starfleet transporter deposited Gold, Daniel, nd Jessica on the front lawn of the house, next to the massive dogwood that Gold planted as a sapling the day they moved in fifty years ago, his first thought was, I’ve been away too long.

  Whatever his second thought might have been was lost to the impact of over sixty pounds of golden retriever on his chest. Gold had, of course, braced himself—no one entered the front lawn without being greeted by Freser—so he was only forced to stumble backward a step or two while Freser rested his front paws on Gold’s shoulder and proceeded to welcome him home by making sure that no part of his face remained unlicked.

  Scratching the retriever behind his ears, Gold laughed between face-licks. It was the first true laugh he had allowed himself since the da Vinci got the summons to Galvan VI. “Yes, Freser, Daddy’s home.”

  Freser barked his approval at this state of affairs, and finally got back down on all fours. However, he continued to run in a circle around Gold, even as he, Daniel, and Jessica approached the front door.

  “Got another surprise or two for you inside,” Daniel said.

  Gold raised an eyebrow. “Son, Freser trying to knock me to the ground isn’t a surprise, it’s an inevitability.”

  “Fair enough.” Daniel opened the front door. “But still…”

  The first thing that hit David Gold when the door opened was the smell. The kitchen was all the way on the other side of the house from the front door, but there was no containing the olfactory smorgasbord of Rachel Gilman’s cooking, especially when she was making one of her patented feasts. From the competing delightful odors of fish, chicken, beef, assorted sauces and soups, and fresh challah bread, she had made enough to feed all of Starfleet. That, in itself, was not an indicator of the number of people present in the house—it only took having two nonresidents over to prompt Rachel to cook enough to feed an army—but, Gold soon realized, that the number was fairly high.

  For the second thing he noticed was that the massive living room was packed full of family. The first one he noticed was his five-year-old great-grandson Tujiro crying out, “Hi-Ojiisan!” and running straight at Gold’s leg with as much enthusiasm as Freser had.

  He looked around and took all the faces in—many of them slightly altered versions of his own and Rachel’s faces. Daniel’s youngest son (and Tujiro’s father) Michael, and his wife Hiroko, sat on the couch, along with Nate and Elaine’s girls Danielle Hirsch and Simone Meyer—their respective husbands, Ira Hirsch and Jared Meyer, stood behind them. Gold’s pregnant granddaughter Ruth Graylock, looking ready to have the baby at any millisecond, sat in the big, comfortable chair, with her husband Rinic Kayven sitting on the arm, and their boy, little Rinic David Kayven—no longer so little, he was almost as tall as Ruth now—sitting on the floor at her feet. Standing behind the chair was—

  My God, it’s Eden.

 
Eden Gilman and her husband, Robert Graylock, stood holding hands, and smiling as goofily as everyone else was at his entrance. He’d seen his oldest daughter maybe three times in the past twenty years, and she hadn’t, to his knowledge, set foot in the house in at least a decade. He’d last seen her only a few months ago, at the memorial on Betazed for Nate and Elaine.

  “Welcome home, Pop-Pop.”

  “Good to see you, Dad.”

  “About time you got here!”

  “How long you gonna stand there with your mouth hanging open, Grandpa?”

  “I bet he catches flies!”

  “Hush, Rinic!”

  Gold shook his head. “My—my goodness.”

  Daniel leaned down to whisper in his father’s ear, “Told you, Pop.”

  A voice came booming from the staircase to Gold’s left. “At last, the House head returns! Perhaps now we may feast!”

  Gold turned to see a tall Klingon dressed in a long, dark green cassock decorated with several medals. Barely visible behind him was a small woman who had inherited her mother’s glowing green eyes and her grandmother’s firm jaw: Daniel’s youngest daughter, Esther. The man was her new beau—what’s the Klingon word? Oh yes, “parmachkai”—Khor, son of Lantar. Briefly, Gold wondered how Freser had reacted to Khor—and how Khor had reacted to Freser. Since both Klingon and canine were in one piece, Gold assumed that the meeting went well—or Esther sensibly had the two avoid each other altogether.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Gold said, surprised. “In fact, I wasn’t expecting to see any of you here. This is—” He wiped away the tears that welled up in his eyes. “This is wonderful. Thank you all for coming.”

  Then a whiff of matzo-ball soup caught him. “I’ll be right back,” Gold said, and made a beeline for the kitchen.

  No one moved to stop him. They knew better.

  Gold almost hesitated before crossing the threshold into the kitchen, wanting to hold the moment of anticipation.

  He first met Rachel Gilman at the track at Starfleet Academy. Gold, a champion runner in his day, was part of the Academy track team that was facing off against the team from Columbia University, an institution in New York City that Rachel was attending as an undergraduate, and for which she was also a champion runner. Finding the young student with the curly, light brown hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, distinct cheekbones, and snub nose to be rather attractive, Gold had gone over to talk to her. She had expressed sympathy on his team’s upcoming loss, and he had laughed. “We haven’t lost yet,” he had said.