Fortunately, the soles of their containment suits were soft and padded, unlike the soles of their boots. Otherwise, they would have announced themselves with every echoing footfall.
Not that there was anyone there to hear them. But eventually, there would be. At least, that was their hope.
Ben Zoma checked his tricorder. The news it gave him could have been a lot worse.
“Heat,” said Garner, reading off her own device.
“And breathable air,” Horombo added.
“Don’t get too comfy,” Ben Zoma warned them. “That could all change in a heartbeat.”
Ramirez was nodding. “I was on a space station once where the humidity content of the air went from twenty-five percent to ninety percent every ten hours, to accommodate the needs of the species that had built her.”
“They should have made up their minds,” said Garner.
Ramirez chuckled. “You can say that again.”
Ben Zoma liked the banter. It kept them loose. On a mission of such importance, that could only be an asset.
Seeing nothing that might deter them from pursuing their plan, the first officer turned to Paris and said, “All right, Ensign. You can let her go.”
“Aye, sir,” said Paris.
He looked a little reticent to comply. It was understandable, considering he was the member of their team who had piloted the Livingston and therefore knew her the best.
On the other hand, her continued presence outside the supply ship was a danger to them, as she would alert the enemy that there was someone within. Removing a remote-control device from a pocket of his suit, Paris closed the Livingston’s door. Then he disengaged her and sent her on her way.
It left them alone in the alien supply vessel, without a way to get off it in the event of a problem. But with luck, they would have another way to get off soon enough.
Picard was standing in front of his captain’s chair, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the stars shoot by on his viewscreen. Not much longer now, he thought.
“Sir,” said Gerda, “I’ve got them on sensors.”
Picard didn’t turn around to face her. He didn’t have to, already knowing what she was talking about. “On screen,” he said.
The steady stream of stars vanished. And in their place, there were starships—a great many starships. Most of them resembled the Stargazer. A handful had the sleek, dynamic look of the Excelsior-class. And a few others were modeled after the larger, more powerful Ambassador prototype, still being perfected in the fleet yards at Utopia Planitia.
Picard had seen many of them at one time or another, in orbit around a starbase or at some rendezvous point. However, he had never seen them all in one place, amassed side by side against the backdrop of space.
He glanced at the monitor and read the list to himself. The Jor’fasi, named after the great liberator of the Vobilites. The Victory. The Magellan. The Hathaway. And a couple dozen others, with additional reinforcements still on the way.
They had gathered at these coordinates for one reason, one very important purpose—to defend the Federation. And in most cases, Picard would have felt confident in such impressive company. But not in this case. Not when the aliens had demonstrated an ability to plow through a starship’s defenses as if they were no more durable than spiders’ webs.
En route, Picard had received a message from Admiral Mehdi. Captain Sesballa, the Rigelian who commanded the Ambassador-class Exeter, would be giving the orders when they joined battle with the invaders.
Sesballa had distinguished himself in one of the Federation’s last clashes with the Romulans, more than two decades earlier. He had achieved success several times since then, even earning a medal or two, but it was his performance against the Romulans for which he was still remembered.
Picard had never met the fellow, but he had studied Sesballa’s tactical philosophy back at the Academy. It was conservative, methodical, an approach the young Picard had found distinctly unappealing. However, he couldn’t argue with Sesballa’s track record—not then and not now.
It came as no surprise that Starfleet Command had placed Sesballa in charge of the defense formation. He had more experience than anyone else there, and he commanded more respect from his peers. Had Greenbriar been present, the job might have fallen to him instead. But with the Cochise crippled and far away, Sesballa had to be considered the next best option.
“Hail the Exeter,” Picard said.
A moment later, a ruby-eyed Rigelian appeared on the viewscreen. The corners of his mouth were lifted in something like a grin, though his tone was anything but merry. “Sesballa here,” he said. “Welcome to the front, Captain.”
“Thank you,” said Picard. “I have been told that you will be calling the shots. Do you have a preference as to where I deploy the Stargazer?”
“For now,” said Sesballa, “no. We can deal with that after I see who joins us and what we’ve got to work with.”
“Did you receive my communication?” asked Picard, keeping his question vague for the benefit of Sesballa’s bridge officers. “The one concerning my officer?”
“I did,” said Sesballa. “And I have discussed the matter with the other captains here. To this point, none of us has experienced a similar problem.”
That was good news, at least. “Nonetheless,” said Picard, “we should continue to monitor the situation.”
Sesballa nodded his hairless, silver head. “My thought exactly. We will speak again, Captain.” And he signed off.
Once again, Picard found himself looking at the defense formation. He turned to Wu, who had come up to join him.
“None of them have rooted out an informant,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t have any.”
The captain shrugged. “Captain Sesballa said they would continue to investigate.”
Of course, there was the possibility that Ulelo had been one of a kind—the only informant in the entire fleet. If that were so, Picard had to marvel at the fate that had placed such an individual on the Stargazer, and the Stargazer alone.
Ben Zoma would have worn himself out ribbing his friend about it. Only you, Jean-Luc.
Frowning at the viewscreen, Picard wondered where his first officer was at that moment. On a starbase, he hoped—somewhere safe, somewhere far from the aliens’ pattern of incursion.
Of course, if the invaders continued to have their way with Starfleet’s finest, no place in the Federation would be safe for much longer.
Ulelo sat in his cell and kept his eyes closed as long as he could. That way, he could avoid distractions and focus on the images assailing his mind—the images that seemed more important to him now than ever before.
Because he wasn’t just seeing places anymore. Now he was seeing people in those places. In the forest, at the diamond-dust shore, on the parched, black plain…
Some of them were engaged in activities Ulelo readily understood, running a race or collecting leaf samples or some such thing. But others were doing things he didn’t understand at all, things that didn’t look the least bit familiar to him.
And—this was the strangest part of all—the people he saw in his visions didn’t look alien to him. They looked like humans.
Why should that be? he asked himself. Were there others like Ulelo in those places, dedicated as he was to serving the aliens who lived there? Had he seen them at some point? Known them?
Had those other humans gone back to their starships as he had, their missions much the same as his? Were they serving on their ships even now, operating undercover as he had operated undercover—unaware that Ulelo had been apprehended by his crewmates and incarcerated?
Not that he could do anything about it. He was penned up in the brig. He had no way to contact anyone, to tell them that they were doing wrong.
But what really troubled him wasn’t the possibility that there were others like him, transmitting data on other starships. It was what had troubled him all along—the fact that he could
n’t remember for certain, one way or the other.
That morning, as he woke from sleep, he thought he had caught a glimpse of the truth that had been eluding him—an image that looked back at him squarely, rather than sliding past the corner of his vision. It was a human, like himself, but a female. She was in a room, not unlike Ulelo’s quarters on the Stargazer.
And she was speaking to him. He couldn’t hear her, but he could see her mouth moving. She was trying to tell him something—something important, judging by her expression.
But for the life of him, Ulelo couldn’t figure out what it might be.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS ONE THING to survey the vastness of the aliens’ cargo bay from the vantage point of an airlock. It was another to walk around the perimeter of the place, dwarfed by its immensity.
The architecture had a vaguely serpentine look to it, with repeating patterns of twists and scales. It was made of what appeared to be metal, but in the glow of their palmlights it had the iridescent sheen of oil in sunlight.
None of them had ever seen anything like it. They said so, freely commenting on what they observed.
Certainly, the level of insight would have been greater if Ben Zoma were exploring the ship with a team of exobiologists. However, Starfleet security officers weren’t exactly slouches when it came to understanding alien cultures. They usually knew exactly what they were looking at—or could at least make an educated guess.
Ben Zoma knew that as well as anyone, having served as the Stargazer’s security chief once upon a time. It was Picard who had promoted him to first officer when a Nuyyad attack unexpectedly made the slot available.
“This is one hell of a structural integrity field,” Garner said, running her tricorder over the bulkhead.
“It has to be,” said Horombo. “As big as this thing is, the stresses on it must be enormous.”
“The technology seems about the same as ours,” Chen observed.
“Seems that way,” Ramirez agreed. “But they’ve got many more emitters per meter.”
Every ten meters or so, they came to another collection of supply containers. Each one was different. In one, the containers were tall and thin, in another short and wide. Sometimes there were just a few of them, and sometimes there were dozens.
Their contents varied as well. In most cases the tricorders registered machine parts, but they also came across what appeared to be foodstuffs, or perhaps medicines.
“I’d rather have a replicator,” said Ramirez.
“They might have those too,” Paris pointed out. “This could just be raw material—something they break down and use.”
“Or an alternative,” said Garner.
“Or a supplement,” Chen suggested.
Only McAteer remained silent. In fact, he hadn’t said a word since they put on their suits back in the shuttle. His expression, visible through his faceplate, was clearly one of discomfort. Quite possibly, he was having second thoughts about remaining in the vessel with the rest of them.
It wasn’t too late to amend that decision. They could still recall the Livingston. However, Ben Zoma couldn’t suggest the idea. It would have to come from McAteer.
And as time went on, it didn’t. The admiral just explored the interior of the ship with the rest of them, keeping his feelings to himself—whatever they were.
“I think I’ve located one of their data nodes,” Paris announced after a while. He checked his tricorder again, then used his palmlight to point across the chamber. “It’s that way.”
“Let’s check it out,” said Ben Zoma, allowing the ensign to take the lead.
Paris led them to a diamond-shaped projection situated about two meters off the ground. Finding a hinge, the ensign swung open a cover to reveal a configuration of illuminated ovals.
Garner ran her tricorder over it. “It’s a data node, all right. And it shouldn’t be hard to gain access.”
“Just what I wanted to hear,” said Ben Zoma.
It only took a couple of minutes for Garner to download the contents of the node. Obviously, the invaders hadn’t expected anyone to board their supply vessel, or they would have paid a bit more attention to security.
Of course, the information Garner collected was in an alien language. However, their Starfleet-issue tricorders were equipped to deal with that kind of problem. In fact, translating a written language was a lot easier than translating a spoken one.
Ben Zoma took a quick look at the results. There wasn’t much in the way of tactical data, since the supply vessel was only programmed to follow the warships. But there was plenty of valuable information in the areas of propulsion and communications.
Not to mention a complete set of cargo consumption projections. With a little work, they could figure out which containers were slated to be off-loaded next, and by which warship.
“Nice going,” said Ben Zoma.
Up until that point, the aliens had known a lot more about Starfleet than Starfleet knew about them. Now the shuttle team was starting to even the score.
Picard entered the observation lounge, which was a good deal bigger than the one on the Stargazer, and surveyed the faces of those who turned to look up at him.
His host, a large, red-faced man named Shastakovich, got up and extended a meaty paw. “Glad you could make it, Captain.”
“So am I,” said Picard.
He had received the invitation to beam over to the Excalibur only a little more than an hour ago. However, he had made it his business to attend.
In his message, Shastakovich had opined that the captains of the assembled ships would work together more efficiently if they got to know each other. And with the fleet divided by Captain Sesballa into wings for easier coordination, Shastakovich had opened his ship to all the captains with whom he would be teamed.
One by one, he introduced Picard to his colleagues, all of whom had preceded him there. Nguyen was a tall, slender woman with long, dark hair. Veracruz was stocky and balding with a neatly trimmed goatee. Krellis, a black and white striped Dedderac, was smaller and even more delicate than others of her species. And Minshaya, an Othetaran, sported a lush white beard that all but concealed the copper of his skin.
“Picard…” said Veracruz, looking as if he were sampling an exotic taste for the first time.
“Yes,” said the captain, his back straightening at the unexpected attention. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” said Veracruz, his gaze hardening as he leaned forward in his seat, “I’ve heard a great deal about you. For instance, that you’re too young and inexperienced to command a starship.”
It had the tone of a challenge. Picard had no choice but to respond in kind.
“People say lots of things, Captain. And others, who should know better, repeat them.”
Veracruz stared at him for a moment, his mouth a thin, hard line. Then he grinned and jerked a thumb in Picard’s direction. “I like this one,” he said.
Grinning even wider, Shastakovich clapped Picard on the shoulder. “So do I.”
Picard was openmouthed. “But…”
“But you were wondering if we would treat you like an equal,” said Nguyen, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Tell the truth now.”
“I…suppose I was,” Picard admitted.
“We’ve all heard good things about you,” said Krellis, her dark eyes gleaming. “That was why we were pleased when Sesballa assigned us to the same wing.”
“Good things,” said Picard, scarcely able to believe it.
“I know,” said Minshaya, his voice deep and sonorous. “You have been browbeaten so badly by Admiral McAteer, you have come to question your worth.”
“Before we go any further,” said Shastakovich, his bushy brows meeting over his nose, “we should establish something. What’s said in this room stays in this room—no exceptions. Agreed?”
“Of course,” said Picard. “My lips are sealed.”
“Then I can tell you this about Adm
iral McAteer,” said Veracruz. “He doesn’t like any of us very much. If he had his way, he’d ship us all off to desk jobs somewhere.”
“Except Greenbriar and Sesballa,” said Nguyen, “and a handful of his other favorites. He’d keep them around to set an example.”
Picard was comforted to learn that. “And here I thought I was his only whipping boy.”
“Not the only one,” said Nguyen. “Just his favorite. He can’t seem to get past your age.”
Shastakovich snorted. “Maybe it makes him feel inadequate by comparison. He’s very proud of how rapidly he became an admiral, you know.”
It had never occurred to Picard that McAteer might be jealous of him. Obviously, his fellow captains had analyzed the admiral a good deal more thoroughly than he had.
“Don’t let it bother you,” said Krellis. “Eventually, he’ll get used to your being around.”
“You were given your command by Admiral Mehdi,” said Veracruz. “McAteer knows he’s not supposed to mess with another admiral’s appointments.”
“Actually,” Picard said soberly, “he has done that already. He scheduled a competency hearing for me back on Earth.”
The other captains stared at him in disbelief. The only sound in the room was the muted hum of the engines.
“You are joking,” Minshaya said at last.
“I wish I were,” said Picard.
Nguyen shook her head. “That’s outrageous.”
Shastakovich made a sound of disgust in his throat. “Don’t worry. You’ll beat him.”
Picard wished he were half as certain as his colleague. “Thank you for saying so.”
The others expressed the same sort of sentiment as Shastakovich. However, Picard could see in their eyes that they were just being supportive. They knew the kind of trap he was in, and how slim the odds were of escaping it.
“In any case,” said Minshaya, “we did not come here to talk about our friend Picard. We came to discuss strategy.”
“Indeed,” said Shastakovich. “Let’s get to work. Judging from the reports, this will not be easy.”
Suddenly, they were all business. Picard took a seat and endeavored to adopt the same attitude.
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