by Dayton Ward
“What were they supposed to do?” asked Cruzen as she emerged from the shuttle and stepped down the ramp. “I mean, from what we know, they weren’t supposed to go back to their own time after they accomplished their mission, right? So, what then? Go back to Henlona and be hailed as heroes? How long do you think it would’ve taken the Raqilan to accept the truth of what Jodis and his people had done?”
Standing inside the shuttle’s cargo area, Konya said, “I just want to know how they were supposed to live with themselves. Destroying an entire planet and its population? I don’t care how well trained or indoctrinated you are. That takes a special kind of emotional detachment.”
“More like insanity,” Cruzen countered.
Chen said, “We have no idea what they went through as part of their preparation. For all we know, they were totally brainwashed.” She grimaced at that unpleasant thought.
“It’s possible,” Crusher said, handing Konya the second of her equipment cases. “The only way to know for sure would be to conduct a full brain scan on them and see if we could detect any anomalies, but for that I’d need to run tests on another subject as a comparison.”
Harstad snorted. “I guess we could fly to the Raqilan homeworld and ask?”
“Yeah, we’ll get right on that.” Chen was moving toward the portable transporter pad when movement from across the landing bay caught her attention and she looked up to see a number of Golvonek soldiers marching across the deck in their direction. Each of them—ten, she counted—wore helmets and equipment harnesses and were armed with the rifles she had seen members of the guard detail carrying. None of them, Chen decided, looked at all happy.
From where he still stood in the Jefferies’s open hatchway, Konya said in a soft voice, “Doctors.” He gestured for Crusher and Harstad to join him, but by then one of the guards was motioning toward them with his weapon. The rest of the group was beginning to fan out, forming a line as they approached the shuttlecraft.
“Aw, damn,” Cruzen said. “What’s this about?”
The answer to her question came when one of the Golvonek soldiers took aim and fired at them. A harsh crimson bolt of energy spat from his rifle and slammed into the shuttle’s hull, sending Konya ducking into the craft and the rest of the away team scrambling for cover.
“Hey!” Chen shouted, dropping to one knee as her hand fumbled for the phaser on her hip. She had only just pulled the weapon from its holster and brought it up to aim toward the soldiers when another phaser report whined in her ears. Konya, crouching inside the Jefferies’s open hatch, had fired and his first shot caught one of the lead soldiers in his chest, sending the Golvonek slumping to the deck. To her left, Chen saw Cruzen, phaser also in hand, maneuvering around the shuttle’s nose as another Golvonek rifle fired and a second energy bolt punched the Jefferies’s hull. Using her own phaser to provide covering fire, Crusher was pushing Harstad up the shuttle’s ramp. Chen, realizing for the first time that she was the only member of the away team without protection or concealment, pushed herself to her feet and ran for the ramp. Another rifle blast chewed into the deck plating in front of her, halting her in her tracks.
“Put down your weapons!” someone barked, and Chen looked over her shoulder to see one of the Golvonek standing behind his companions and pointing in her direction. Also aimed at her were the rifles of five soldiers, who were walking shoulder to shoulder as they advanced on her. This, Chen decided, did not look good. At all.
“Lieutenant!” Konya shouted, drawing fire from two more soldiers for his effort. Ducking back into the shuttlecraft, he gestured toward Chen. “They’re jamming our communications!” Anything else he might have said was drowned out by another rifle blast, this one catching the security officer and spinning him around as he fell back into the Jefferies.
“Rennan!” Chen shouted, but then caught sight of Harstad lunging across the shuttle’s passenger compartment to where Konya had sprawled across several equipment cases.
“Put down your weapons!” the voice repeated, calling out across the open landing bay. “The warning will not be repeated!” When Chen looked in that direction, it was to see three of the soldiers training their rifles on her. Holding her hands up and away from her body, she allowed her phaser to drop from her right hand. It fell to the deck, clattering across the metal plating at her feet. She remained still as the soldiers closed the distance between them, each of them aiming their weapons at her head. Try as she might, Chen was unable to keep from looking at the muzzle of the closest rifle, which now was mere centimeters from her face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, making no effort to quell the anger and shock in her voice. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harstad kneeling over the very much unmoving form of Rennan Konya.
If he’s . . . if they’ve . . . I will kill them all.
Walking up behind the trio of soldiers was the Golvonek Chen had spotted moments earlier, the one who appeared to be directing the movements of his colleagues. She recognized him as Fleet Legate Mynlara’s second-in-command, Foctine Vedapir. The Golvonek carried himself with the self-assurance one would expect from someone who knew they were in complete control of the situation.
“From this moment forward,” Vedapir said without greeting or preamble, “you will do precisely as you are instructed, or you will die.”
23
Even before the Golvonek spoke, Jodis could sense his growing annoyance, though he did not care.
“How much longer?” the soldier asked from where he floated behind Jodis and Bnira at the entrance to the Poklori gil dara’s cockpit. His voice was tense, as though he was speaking through gritted teeth. That was understandable, Jodis thought, given the Golvonek’s apparent age and probable lack of experience. His uniform insignia marked him as a tanzal, a low-level officer typically given responsibility for a moderate number of lower-ranking conscripted subordinates. He had not offered his name, and Jodis suspected that his assignments to this point likely had been the sort that had kept him from combat or indeed any form of direct engagement with the Raqilan, and this might well be his first encounter with an enemy prisoner.
Keeping his tone even and without looking up from his console, Jodis replied, “I am not certain. It has been some time since we last operated these controls, and there has been significant deterioration in various shipboard systems. It requires us to find alternative means of activating and coordinating certain processes.” In truth, it seemed to him as though it were mere linmertu since he had last operated his station. Though he and his crew had been instructed to expect a degree of disorientation with respect to their individual perceptions of the passage of time, it still was an odd sensation for him to be here with the knowledge that he and the others had slept for more than sixty cycles.
As for the ship itself, Jodis was both surprised and impressed at how well it had functioned during its crew’s prolonged hibernation.
Not in all respects, of course.
There had been some notable degradation in certain processes, the most tragic of which was the loss of six members of his crew. How or why he and Bnira had been spared the fate of their companions was a question that would not be answered without a thorough examination of the computer logs, though Jodis believed that neither he nor Bnira would ever get to conduct such an investigation. That did not concern him so much as denying that chance to those Golvonek military and civilian scientists who likely were anticipating the opportunity to tear apart the Poklori gil dara and harvest its many secrets.
“Foctine Vedapir ordered this task to be completed over a linmert ago,” said the tanzal. “I suspect that if I report your lack of progress, he will believe you are acting in deliberate fashion to delay or hinder our preparations.”
Jodis opted to turn in his seat so that he might face the soldier. He also noted the Golvonek’s two companions, lower-ranking soldiers wearing hel
mets, who were maintaining station near the entrance to the tunnel connecting the control deck with the rest of the ship, each holding a rifle in one hand while using their other to hold themselves steady in the cockpit’s null gravity environment. In fact, all three of them were struggling to keep from drifting around the cramped room while focusing their attention on their charges. It was the precise effect Jodis had wanted when he told their superior officer, Vedapir, that he and Bnira needed access to the control deck to carry out the necessary steps to ready the Poklori gil dara for towing to a Golvonek military base. Watching the soldiers and their clumsy movements, Jodis could not resist a small smile. “He might well be correct. Perhaps you should inform Fleet Legate Mynlara, instead, as it appears she has more patience than Vedapir.”
The comment produced the expected and desired reaction, as the tanzal drew his sidearm and pointed it at Jodis.
“Why do you test me? Do you not value your life?”
Ignoring the weapon’s muzzle looming in his vision, Jodis instead fixed his gaze on its wielder. “If your commander wanted us dead, we would already have been executed, and I will wager that she will be quite unhappy if you kill us before we complete our task.” The weapon was close enough that Jodis was able to note its power level was set to a non-lethal selection, though at this proximity even the reduced effect could prove injurious or even fatal. Still, it was enough to confirm his suspicions regarding the tanzal’s orders regarding his and Bnira’s treatment, thereby granting him a bit of latitude.
He gestured around the cockpit. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but I do not believe you have yet had the opportunity to familiarize yourself with the operations of this vessel. If I am wrong, then feel free to shoot me and carry on in my stead. Otherwise, leave us to our work.”
The tanzal scowled, and he pushed his weapon’s muzzle farther forward, and for a brief moment, Jodis believed the young officer might well kill him. Then he pulled back the weapon, the rushed, jerky movement enough to push him off-balance in the gravity-free environment before he steadied himself with his other hand on a nearby console.
“Work quickly, Raqilan,” he said, returning his sidearm to its holster. “My patience nears its end.”
Instead of acknowledging the tanzal, Jodis turned to Bnira, who was seated in her usual place at the workstation above him and to his left. “The drive system should be enabled by this point.” Automated systems overseen by the ship’s computer had managed to effect repairs to the pulse drive, though Jodis had instructed Bnira to keep this information from their captors for as long as possible.
Without turning from her console, she nodded. “It is not at full power, but it will be sufficient to assist the tow ships.” Her eyes met his and Jodis noted the fleeting look she gave him, acknowledging her role in their hastily improvised ruse.
It had been determined, either by Fleet Legate Mynlara or her second-in-command, Foctine Vedapir, that the six vessels dispatched to guide the Poklori gil dara to an as-yet-unidentified Golvonek military installation would by themselves prove insufficient for the task. Therefore, the weapon ship’s own drive system was to be activated to assist with maneuvering it into the Canborek system and its ultimate destination. Jodis of course had refused to cooperate with this endeavor, but that largely was a pretense. In truth, he needed the ship’s systems activated and operating at their best capacity if he was to put into motion the plan he was formulating, and he hoped that resisting Foctine Vedapir’s demands would provide cover for his real intentions, at least for a short while.
After that, it would not matter.
“Transfer the computer to passive mode,” Jodis said.
Bnira shifted in her seat before glancing down at him. “Acknowledged.”
Looking over his shoulder to the tanzal, Jodis added, “After all, it would be most unfortunate if the ship interpreted your vessels’ presence as a threat and destroyed them. I might find the guilt stemming from such a tragedy too much to bear.”
The Golvonek officer’s eyes narrowed in mounting irritation, and his hand moved once more for his weapon though he did not draw it. “I do not find your commentary amusing.”
“Assuming we both live through the day, I will endeavor to do better.”
Bnira turned in her seat. “Jodis, the computer’s passive mode has been activated.”
“Excellent. Our work here is nearly completed.” By design, the measure was reserved for situations where large-scale or broad-spectrum upgrades or repairs were to be made to the ship’s onboard systems. To facilitate such tasks, the onboard computer and its extensive network of monitoring and oversight software needed to be removed from its normal autonomous operating mode so that engineers and technicians could have free rein to service individual systems or components without the computer’s central operations core attempting to compensate for gaps in its network. According to the supposed experts who had trained Jodis and his crew in the maintenance of the computer and its peripheral hardware and software, attempting to carry out such extensive modifications to the existing framework without first disabling its self-governing protocols could—in extreme cases—be interpreted by the ship as sabotage. At the time, Jodis had considered such a design ridiculous in concept and execution, even allowing for the heightened security and secrecy surrounding the Poklori gil dara. Now, however, he had come to appreciate the odd foresight possessed by the vessel’s creators.
“So,” said the tanzal, “we are finished here?”
Disabling his lap restraints, Jodis pushed himself from his seat and twisted his body in the null gravity so that he faced the officer. “Nearly. A single task remains.” He pointed to the console the Golvonek was using to maintain his position in the cockpit. “The weapons station must now be disabled, so that the defensive systems will not activate when your vessels maneuver into their final positions and latch onto our hull for towing.”
The tanzal held up his hand. “Do you really expect me to allow you access to this vessel’s weapons? Surely you do not consider me to be so dull-witted.”
“It is not as if I can press a single button and destroy your ships,” Jodis replied. “Even if that were possible, your vessels are certainly built to withstand a moderate level of punishment, are they not? Or, is propaganda the only thing the Golvonek military can produce with any quality?”
Again, his words had the anticipated effect, as the tanzal glared at him and pointed a finger at his chest. “You will tell me the proper controls and sequences, and I will deactivate the weapons, and if you are deceiving me, I will know, and I will kill you.”
“Of course you will,” Jodis said, noting as he spoke that the two soldiers positioned at the hatchway had renewed their interest in covering him with their rifles, though neither could hold their weapons with both hands, as they each needed one to steady themselves. “Very well, Tanzal. Follow my instructions precisely.” He proceeded to direct the Golvonek through entering several command sequences to the console, each of which evoked a response from the station in the form of a blinking light or an indicator going dark. After entering the last command, the officer pointed to one status reading.
“This says the console is standing by for a commit instruction.”
Jodis nodded. “Everything is now set.” He pointed to a green control at the center of the console. “That is the execute control.”
The tanzal pressed the indicated button, at which time a web of blue-white energy erupted from the console, wrapping itself around his arm and traveling upward to envelop the rest of his body. He shrieked in pain, jerking and twitching as the electrical shock coursed over him. The strike was over as quickly as it had begun, with the console shutting down in direct response to the deliberate overload Jodis had programmed for that station. Now freed, the tanzal shoved himself away from the station, his sudden, abrupt movement rolling his body into a spin. His feet struck the nearby bulkhead, pushing him back in th
e opposite reaction and into the guard who had lunged forward to render assistance. The soldier’s inexperience with gravity-free maneuvering betrayed him, and he had to fumble for a handhold.
That was when Jodis struck.
Using the back of his chair as a platform, he launched himself forward, hands out ahead of him and balled into fists. His aim was true and he struck the tanzal in the face, sending the officer spinning backward until his head slammed into the bulkhead. Jodis’s momentum carried him through the attack and into the soldier who had come to the tanzal’s aid, and he lashed out with another fist. Experience and training allowed him to quickly arrest his movement in the null gravity and reorient himself thanks to a nearby handhold. In his peripheral vision, he saw the second guard scrambling to help, raising his rifle in search of a target. Before he could bring up his weapon, Bnira was on him, pushing down from her station and wedging him beneath the underside of a nearby console. Using one hand to steady herself on the workstation, she pummeled him with her other fist.
Another punch rendered the tanzal unconscious, and Jodis wasted no time retrieving the Golvonek’s sidearm from its holster. Verifying the pistol’s power setting, he aimed it at the nearer soldier and fired. The weapon’s report was almost deafening in the cramped control deck as a bright bolt of energy struck the guard in his back, sending him tumbling across the cockpit. His rifle sailed from his hand and Bnira retrieved it, swinging it like a club and catching the remaining soldier across his face. The guard grunted in pain and blood spurted from his nose, discharging a cloud of globules around him. Jodis shot him with the pistol and his body spun in reaction from the impact before he crashed into the far bulkhead.
“You did not kill them?” Bnira asked, still spinning after clubbing the other soldier. Reaching for an adjacent console, she stabilized herself.
Jodis shook his head. “No.” He held up the pistol. “It was set only to disable.”