And yet they weren’t nearly as impressive in close-quarters combat. They weren’t especially strong or fast, and their hand weapons didn’t seem to have either the range or the accuracy of Starfleet’s phaser pistols.
The only reason they managed to take over the ship was that they outnumbered the defenders. Had it been an even fight, the crew would have prevailed—Rodriguez was certain of it.
But why had the enemy attacked at all? Not to destroy the Gibraltar, certainly, or to make off with crew or cargo or even data. The computers had been pretty much disabled by the time the aliens beamed aboard.
Then why had they bothered? To avenge some slight of which Rodriguez was unaware? Or to test their military strength against that of a starship, in preparation for a bigger move—maybe a full-scale invasion?
She wished she knew.
“Captain?” said a voice behind her.
Turning, she saw that it was Baskind, her chief engineer. His face was a mask of soot and grime, but he was smiling through it.
“Good news?” Rodriguez asked.
“I’d say so,” Baskind replied. “We found some sensor records from the time of the attack.”
She looked at him disbelievingly. “They weren’t destroyed?”
“Not all of them, apparently. The sonuvaguns missed a few.” He turned over the padd he held in his hand. “As you can see, we got some interesting readings.”
They were interesting, all right. Apparently, the ship that attacked them hadn’t been alone. It was just the front-runner in a far-flung quintet of ships, four of them arranged in a diamond shape twenty kilometers long.
And unless Rodriguez was mistaken, the vessel bringing up the rear wasn’t even a warship. It was too massive, too unwieldy, for the invaders to take into battle.
Because the ships were so far apart, the crew of the Gibraltar had noticed only the one attacking them. But it was clear now to Rodriguez that the aliens were adhering to a formation—a distinctive one, unlike any she had seen before.
If they remained in it, Starfleet might be in luck. It could pinpoint the aliens’ location with long-range scans, and maybe prevent them from attacking anyone else.
“Good work,” she told Baskind. “Command will want to see this as soon as possible.”
His smile widened. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Why don’t we send it to them right now?”
The captain agreed that that would be a good idea. And anyway, she had accomplished what she had set out to do when she came up to revisit the bridge.
Accompanying Baskind into the turbolift, she punched in engineering as a destination. That was where they had resurrected the com system, and it was still the only place on the ship where they could gain access to it.
Rodriguez looked at the padd again. They needed information like this if they were going to beat the invaders the next time—and she couldn’t imagine that there wouldn’t be a next time.
“Place is a mess,” said Baskind, “isn’t it?”
Rodriguez looked up at the bridge again and nodded. Then the lift doors closed and they descended toward engineering.
Ben Zoma was thinking about his cousin Dahlia, whose colony was less than a light-year off the course Admiral McAteer had selected, when Garner got his attention.
“Sir,” said the security officer, from her seat at the control panel beside Paris, “I’m receiving another message. This one is from Starfleet Command.”
Ben Zoma glanced at the admiral, who had mercifully seen fit to doze off in the rear of the craft. Rather than wake him right away, the first officer would see what the message was about.
Moving forward, he took a look at it. It was a compilation of data, everything Starfleet had managed to gather on the enemy—including the whereabouts of his vessels, to the extent that they could be determined.
And it hadn’t just been sent to the Livingston. According to the signature on the message, it had been transmitted to the entire fleet.
“Interesting,” said Ben Zoma.
“What is?” asked McAteer, whose eyes had coincidentally chosen that moment to open.
“The enemy seems to be advancing in units of five vessels apiece. But only four of the vessels in each unit are warships. The fifth is a much larger, ungainly-looking affair, which lags behind and seems to function as a supply drone.”
Ben Zoma turned to look at the others. “No need to carry extra food, spare parts, or reusable energy resources. The supply ship does that for them.”
“So they travel fast and light,” the admiral observed, “rendering them more effective in combat. Makes perfect sense, if your only objective is a military one.”
“But it wouldn’t work for us,” said Horombo, “because we’re explorers as well.”
“Maybe it’s not an ideal situation for them either,” said Ben Zoma, thinking out loud.
McAteer leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
The first officer frowned. They were behind the enemy’s line of attack. From all appearances, they were safe.
But one of the invaders’ five-vessel units was still within a billion kilometers of them. It wouldn’t be difficult to catch up to its supply drone.
With a little care, Ben Zoma and his people might be able to slip aboard the vessel, hide there, and then sneak onto a warship in the midst of a supply transfer. That would give them a chance to reconnoiter, examine their adversaries’ systems up close, and possibly identify a few weaknesses.
Clearly, the enemy knew how to take apart a starship’s defenses. With a bit of luck, they might be able to help Starfleet return the favor.
“What I mean,” the first officer said, in answer to the admiral’s question, “is that the enemy may have given us an opportunity.”
And he described his idea to the others.
“Mind you,” he added, “it’s a dangerous proposition. There’s no guarantee it’ll succeed—or that we’ll still be alive to celebrate if it does. But Captain Picard and our friends on the Stargazer are risking their lives to defend the Federation. I don’t see why we shouldn’t do the same.”
Paris and the security officers seemed willing enough. But Ben Zoma had to consider McAteer, who had already decided that they should proceed to the nearest starbase.
The admiral’s eyes narrowed and remained that way for several seconds. Then he spoke.
“I like it.”
The first officer looked at him, wondering if he had inadvertently stepped into an alternate reality where McAteer was a reasonable man. “You do?”
“Absolutely,” said McAteer. “It’s far from a certain thing, of course. But our duty to the Federation demands that we make the attempt, regardless of the odds.”
Ben Zoma couldn’t believe the admiral had gone along with his plan. However, he wasn’t about to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
“Ensign Paris,” he said, “come about and head for the supply vessel. Best speed.”
Paris turned back to his controls. “Aye, sir.”
Ben Zoma watched the stars wheel across the shuttle’s observation port. Finally, they stabilized, a sign that he and his crew were pursuing their new course.
He would have liked to send a message to the Stargazer, letting Picard know what they intended, but he couldn’t take the chance that it would be intercepted and deciphered. It was a risky enough venture even without that.
In fact, Ben Zoma couldn’t remember the last time he had taken this big a chance, or had so much riding on how he fared. Rolling the dice, he told himself, as he settled back in his seat and steeled himself for what was ahead.
Chapter Ten
FOR PERHAPS THE FIFTIETH TIME since they had made the decision to change course, Ben Zoma watched Admiral McAteer drift over to the shuttle’s control console.
Craning his neck over Chen’s shoulder, the admiral gave their navigational monitors the once-over. “How’s it going?” he asked the security officer.
“Fine, sir,” said Chen.
>
“Good,” said McAteer. He turned to Paris, who was manning the helm again. “You?”
“Good here too, sir,” said the ensign.
The admiral nodded. Then he stretched a bit, as if that had been the main purpose of his excursion, and returned to his seat in the aft part of the vessel.
Once Ben Zoma was sure that McAteer was behind him, he smiled to himself. The admiral was obviously one of those people who just didn’t feel comfortable delegating responsibility. It was a wonder that the man had come up so far through the ranks, considering how difficult it was to accomplish anything in Starfleet without putting some faith in one’s subordinates.
Ben Zoma believed he understood now why McAteer’s relationship with Picard had been so rocky. If the admiral had a hard time trusting people, he would be that much less inclined to place his trust in a rookie.
The first officer, on the other hand, was perfectly content to get some rest and let Chen do his job. So, apparently, were Ramirez, Garner, and Horombo, who were tilted back in their seats and sleeping soundly.
Ben Zoma shut his eyes too. After all, he didn’t know what they would encounter on the aliens’ supply vessel. It might be a long time before he got another chance to sleep.
One moment, Ulelo was in the Stargazer’s brig, gazing miserably at yet another in a long string of security officers through the sizzling haze of a confining energy barrier.
The next, he was beset by images he couldn’t quite grasp. Images that nagged at him as if he should know them, but remained just beyond the pall of his conscious mind.
An expanse of fissured, black earth stretching to a double sunset of pale gold. A dense, azure forest, the underbrush giving off its own light in the otherwise impenetrable gloom of tree-shadow. A bloodred tide pawing insistently at a shoreline of dazzling, diamond-dust beaches.
And a dozen other sites, each more unfamiliar and unlikely than the one before it.
He hadn’t seen these things on any Starfleet mission. He was reasonably certain of that. But the memories were so vivid, so real as they clung to the edges of his vision, that he was certain he had seen them somewhere, on some occasion he couldn’t seem to dredge up in its entirety.
Finally, after torturing himself for hours, Ulelo believed he knew where he had seen the fissured plain, and the azure forest, and the bloodred tide. On the planet of the people he had worked for. It had to be.
He didn’t remember being prepared for his mission on the Stargazer, but he must have been. Otherwise, how would he have known what to do, or how to go about it? And it made sense that his preparation would have taken place on his masters’ homeworld.
Yes, he told himself for perhaps the hundredth time—for the more he said it, the easier it was to embrace. His masters’ homeworld, a place so alien, so unlike anywhere else…
Where what seemed like a carpet of soft, white ground cover was actually an army of tiny, vicious predators. Where rust-red pellets fell from the sky in savage twists of wind, only to shatter on piles of gray-and-white striped rock.
He had no way to confirm it, no way to put his mind completely at ease. But if he had to decipher what was happening in his brain, this was the answer he felt most comfortable with.
And Ulelo needed an answer of some sort, needed it even more than food and water. Because without it, he was afraid he would go insane.
Nikolas was stretched out on his bed in the quarters he shared with his friend Locklear, going over everything he had to do the next day, when he heard the harsh buzz that told him someone was waiting outside his door.
If he were still on the Stargazer, he could have admitted whoever it was with a simple voice command. But as he was reminded a hundred times a day, he wasn’t on the Stargazer any longer.
Swinging his legs out of bed, Nikolas got up and went to the door, then pressed a black pad set into the bulkhead. A moment later, the duranium panel hissed open, revealing his caller.
It was Redonna, the ship’s primary pilot—a black and white striped Dedderac with large, dark eyes and a spare if well-muscled frame. Nikolas hadn’t had occasion to speak with her previously, other than to ask her to pass a condiment in the mess hall. He wondered what she had come to tell him.
“Well?” said Redonna.
Nikolas looked at her. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Sure,” he said.
Obviously, what she had to tell him was going to take longer than she cared to stand in the corridor. Moving aside, Nikolas let her into the room.
There weren’t any chairs because there wasn’t enough space for them. As a result, Redonna took a seat on the corner of the human’s bed, propping her leg up and lying back against the bulkhead.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
The pilot regarded him. Then she said, in a voice huskier than those of most Dedderac, “You don’t seem very concerned about the danger we’re in.”
He had to smile at the unexpected nature of the remark. “Is that how it looks?”
“Most everyone in the crew is walking around with a weight on his neck. But not you. Why is that?”
Nikolas shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t see the point of worrying about it.”
Redonna nodded. “That’s pretty much the way I look at it. But I grew up smuggling disruptor rifles, so I’m used to sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Her nostrils flared, a sign of amusement in a Dedderac. Obviously, she hadn’t entirely hated the smuggling life.
“But you weren’t a smuggler,” she noted. “I’d know if you were. So why doesn’t it bother you that we’re taking a chance?”
It was because Nikolas had served in Starfleet, where exposure to danger was practically an everyday occurrence. But he didn’t tell Redonna that.
Captain Rejjerin knew where he came from, and so did Locklear. But no one else, and he wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise, he would have to get into an explanation as to why he had left the fleet, and that was the last thing he wanted.
Redonna tilted her head. “Hiding something, are we? I wonder what it could be.” She looked him up and down. Suddenly, something seemed to come to her. “Rings of Tultarri…why didn’t I see it from the beginning? You were a uniform, weren’t you?”
He frowned. “I don’t—”
“You worked for Starfleet,” said the pilot, making it sound like something dirty. “Admit it.”
Nikolas didn’t answer. He just kept frowning, stalling until he could think of something.
“Don’t worry,” said Redonna, “I won’t give away your little secret.” Her nostrils flared again, even wider this time. “I’ve got a secret too, you know.”
“Oh?” said Nikolas, his curiosity aroused.
“Yes. You see, I’ve been monitoring your schedule and Locklear’s for some time now, waiting for a moment when I could catch you alone in here.”
Nikolas’s heart started to beat a little harder. Was Redonna doing what he thought she was doing?
She put her hand to the front of her throat and caressed it with her fingertips. Then she dropped them a little lower and unfastened the topmost snap of her tunic, exposing a prominence analogous to a human collarbone and a little more of her perfect, striped flesh.
“You see,” Redonna said, her voice a little more languid now, a little more sinuous, “I’ve had my eye on you since the minute you beamed aboard.”
She leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Then, stronger than she looked, she drew him down to her.
“It gets lonely on a cargo hauler,” Redonna whispered. “But there are ways to relieve the loneliness.”
Suddenly Nikolas felt her mouth on his, her lips soft and warm, her breath redolent of something sharp and fragrant. And part of him was tempted to give in, because he was lonely too.
Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw Gerda Idun—sleeping like a child as the hours approached morning, her golden hair spread like a fan a
cross his pillow. And the idea of being with anyone else became inconceivable to him.
In that moment, he pulled away from Redonna—and saw the surprise in her eyes. But it didn’t stay there long. It was quickly replaced with cold, sharp-edged anger.
“You don’t like me?” she spat.
“It’s not that,” said Nikolas. “It’s—” He felt he had to give her some taste of the truth. “There’s someone else.”
Redonna glared at him for a second. Then her mouth twisted into a sneer. “I hope she’s worth it, Starfleet. You don’t have any idea what you’re missing.”
Then she thrust him away, got up from his bed, and headed for the door. Pounding the pad set into the bulkhead, she waited until the panel slid open. Then, without a look backward, she stalked off into the corridor.
Nikolas sighed. He had left the Stargazer to forget Gerda Idun, to put her behind him with the rest of his past. But even here she continued to dog his steps, to haunt him with the memory of her beauty.
Falling back on his bed, he closed his eyes and wondered if he would ever be free.
Ben Zoma was in the process of dozing off when he heard Horombo call his name. Blinking away sleep, he joined the security officer at the navigation controls.
By then, McAteer was up and about as well. He peered over Horombo’s shoulder as he had peered over so many others.
Ignoring him, the first officer asked, “Got something?”
“I believe I do, sir,” said Horombo.
“Slow to impulse,” said Ben Zoma.
“Impulse,” Paris confirmed.
Suddenly, the stars froze around them. No longer vivid streaks of light, they were simply tiny points now, insistent but static.
However, they hadn’t traveled all this way just to gaze at the neighborhood. Ben Zoma watched Horombo check his monitors for additional data on the supply ship.
“Is it what we came for?” asked the first officer.
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