by Dayton Ward
Crusher gave him a shortened account of the events that had transpired after his injuries, but it was when she got to the part about Chen remaining behind to help Jodis and Bnira that the Betazoid found new strength. He pushed himself from the couch, wincing with every move but ignoring his own discomfort.
“We can’t leave Trys alone back there,” he snapped, gritting his teeth in obvious pain as he bit off each word.
Crusher placed her hands on his shoulders, stopping him from standing. “Cruzen’s with her, Rennan. Jodis and Bnira need her help to steer the ship to a safe location.”
Footsteps on the Jefferies’s boarding ramp made Crusher look to see Lieutenants Šmrhová and T’Sona making their way through the open rear hatch.
“That’s it,” Šmrhová said, handing her phaser rifle to T’Sona for return to the shuttle’s storage locker. “Everybody’s aboard. We can button up and get out of here.”
“What about Chen and Cruzen?” Konya asked. “Hell, what about the Golvonek?”
Looking out through the hatch, Crusher saw several Golvonek soldiers and other personnel, all of them readying their own transport craft for departure. She had heard the warning broadcast over the Arrow’s internal communications system by Foctine Vedapir, alerting everyone aboard the weapon ship to depart at once. No one had given the away team or the Jefferies a second glance in their haste to flee.
“They’re evacuating, just like us,” she said. “Chen and Cruzen will use the transporter pad once they’re finished helping Jodis and Bnira.”
Konya replied, “I hate that plan.”
“You’re in no condition to help, Lieutenant,” Šmrhová said. “Now lie there and let Doctor Crusher take care of you. I didn’t come all this way just to have you die on me.”
“I’m not going to die.” Konya gestured toward Crusher. “She already made sure of that.”
Šmrhová, her expression flat, did not hesitate. “Then I’ll kill you if you don’t behave.”
The remark drew another pained laugh from the Betazoid, who raised a hand in weak surrender. “All right, you win.” Shifting his gaze to Crusher, he said, “Tell me whatever they’re doing up there isn’t dangerous or stupid.”
Crusher laid a hand on Konya’s arm. “Relax, Rennan. Chen knows what she’s doing.” As she tried to reassure him, her own thoughts to turned to T’Ryssa Chen and Kirsten Cruzen.
Don’t you two make a liar out of me.
* * *
“This may have been a bad idea.”
Chen felt beads of sweat running down her torso beneath her uniform. For the fourth time in thirty minutes, she renewed her attempts to outwit the invasive program worming its way through every facet of the Arrow’s computer network. She now understood how its computer design, intended to assist a minimal crew with managing all of the vessel’s automated processes, was working against her.
“Whoever wrote this code was a damned genius,” she said, “and one twisted son of a bitch.” She paused to wipe perspiration from her brow, feeling the dampness of her uniform sleeve. Once more, she set to creating on the fly a new protocol to deflect the malicious software’s latest, relentless efforts to seize total control of the system.
“I do not believe the creator of this protocol has been born yet,” remarked Bnira.
“Not really important right now,” said Kirsten Cruzen, from where she stood next to Chen. Looking around the room, the security officer shook her head. “I feel about as useless as a tuxedo at a Betazoid wedding.”
Chen could not help the chuckle her friend’s comment prompted. “I can’t wait to tell Konya that one.”
“What is a tuxedo?” Bnira asked.
“Later.”
Like Chen and Jodis, Bnira had been devoting her full attention to fighting the contingency program, using whatever openings Chen could provide to maintain the Arrow’s present course away from the planet Henlona and across the Canborek system toward its new target. Glancing to one screen, Chen noted that their escorts, thirteen Raqilan warships and the Enterprise, were maintaining their positions all around the weapon ship, having traveled with it from the Raqilan homeworld. During the transit from Henlona, Chen and Jodis had been forced to engineer a workaround when the override program had momentarily taken control of the Arrow’s weapons and fired on one of the Raqilan ships.
Another alarm sounded from one of the screens, and Chen noted the message relayed by the computer that another weapon port now was offline.
“That’s fifteen, Lieutenant,” said Captain Picard over her combadge’s open frequency. “We’re continuing our attacks.” After the persistent program had been circumvented yet again, and with the weapon ship’s defensive field generators taken offline by Jodis, the escort fleet and the Enterprise had taken the opportunity to disable or destroy several of the Arrow’s weapon ports. Outwitting the protocol was proving more and more difficult, however, as it had begun replicating itself and depositing self-sufficient subroutines throughout the computer system, each one branching out and snatching control of other automated processes without the need for direct oversight from the main program.
“At least twenty-two of the ports are operating under independent control, Captain,” Chen warned. “I’m trying to find a way to grab them back, but it’s taking time.” She had realized that this new ploy was deliberate on the program’s part, diverting her efforts to neutralize the core processes and return total control of the vessel to Jodis.
“I have isolated the process overseeing the particle cannon’s power nodes,” said the Raqilan, his attention focused on his own console, “though I do not know how long it will endure before the protocol makes another attempt to commandeer that part of the system. It is an impressive construct.”
Chen grunted in irritation. “That’s one way to put it.” As far as she had been able to determine, the contingency protocol, along with being able to take over the ship’s function in the event of the crew’s incapacitation or death, also had been designed as a means of guaranteeing the Arrow carried out her mission even if Jodis or the others decided not to follow their orders. “Someone in your resistance movement is one cold bastard.”
“I do not understand your statement,” Jodis replied, “but if you mean that they were misguided when they decided on including this measure, I am forced to agree with you.”
“Desperate times, I suppose,” Chen said. Though she could not condone even the idea of an act as heinous as genocide, she at least thought she might understand those who may have viewed such a tactic as necessary. After generations of incessant conflict and the promise of societal upheaval as both sides eventually succumbed to the ravages of war inflicted upon their worlds and their civilizations, Chen imagined more than a few Raqilan and Golvonek able to justify the Arrow and its peculiar mission to prevent the war from happening at all. In some ways, it reminded her of the decisions with which Starfleet—and Captain Picard in particular—had wrestled when it seemed all but certain that the Borg would overrun the Alpha Quadrant and destroy the Federation. As she had then, Chen now tried to understand and even sympathize with the stresses faced by these people who had known nothing but generations of war.
No, she decided. It’s still insane.
An alert tone sounded on Bnira’s console, and she said, “Jodis, we are approaching outer orbital perimeter.”
“Good,” Jodis replied. “Enter the final coordinates to navigational control.” He swept his hand across one of his station’s interfaces, and one of the larger monitors shifted to show a pale gray moon. The lifeless orb filled the screen, its image enhanced so that Chen could make out craters and other terrain features.
“Captain,” Cruzen said, “has the base been evacuated?”
Picard replied, “Yes. The last transport departed just moments ago, and our sensors have verified no life-forms within the projected blast radius. You’re all
clear, Lieutenant.”
“Coordinates locked into navigation,” Bnira reported, and Chen noted on one of the displays that the target of the Arrow’s new—and final—course now was visible on the screen. Illuminated by the brilliant Canborek sun, the Landorem moon’s arid gray soil surrounding the mountain served to highlight the network of metal support structures enclosing the skeletal framework of . . . the Arrow. Even from this distance far above the surface of the moon, it was easy for Chen to discern the weapon ship in its embryonic state of construction.
“Well, that’s just weird to look at.” Chen knew she should not be surprised to see the nascent vessel, its construction decades away from completion, but the sight only reinforced the bizarre nature of this entire affair and to what lengths the Raqilan had gone—or would go—in pursuit of total victory over the Golvonek.
“You should probably know that the Raqilan government is none too pleased with this course of action,” Picard said, breaking Chen from her reverie.
Cruzen replied, “I’m guessing the alternative’s a bit less agreeable.”
“That seems to be the consensus. I was worried that the Raqilan might try to interfere once they realized where you were heading, but their ships are keeping their distance.”
Chen said, “In a couple of minutes, it won’t matter.” Like the captain, she also had been worried that the Raqilan might be spurred by the realization that they were about to lose the weapon which their military promised would bring about an end to the war. She had anticipated some measure of resistance, if nothing else than to force Jodis to select another location for disposing of the Arrow. On the other hand, she had admired the audacity of his choice, which was just so perfect on so many levels. Of course, she supposed there might be temporal ramifications to consider, such as the apparent paradox of using the completed version of the weapon ship to destroy its earlier, burgeoning self. How would the supposed rules of time travel view such a thing?
When this is all over, somebody at the Department of Temporal Investigations is going to have an aneurysm.
“It is time,” Jodis said. “Bnira, execute the new course.”
It might have been Chen’s imagination, but she was certain she felt the Arrow groan in protest as the ship changed its trajectory to assume its new heading. “How much time?”
“Less than ten linzatu. If we leave now, that should be sufficient time to abandon ship.”
Chen made the calculation and conversion in her head. They had just over six minutes before the Arrow completed its descent from orbit and plummeted into the lunar surface. It would be close, but if they ran full out, they should be able to get to the landing bay with time to spare. “Did you get that, Enterprise?”
“Affirmative,” replied Commander Worf. “Proceed to the extraction point, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.” No sooner had she replied than Chen saw another alert flash on her console, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw what was happening. “Damn it!”
“What is it, Lieutenant?” asked Picard.
Biting back the growing need to utter profanities or punch something, Chen said, “It’s the contingency protocol, sir. It’s trying to infiltrate the propulsion and navigation systems.”
“Navigation control just deleted the coordinates,” Bnira added, hunched once more over her console. “I need to enter them again.”
Jodis said, “It will do no good.” He pointed to another monitor, the one Chen recognized as displaying the current status of the propulsion and navigation systems. “The protocol is attempting to circumvent the remote guidance systems. Without that, the ship will not maintain course to target.”
“You’re saying it could abort?” Cruzen asked.
“Possibly,” Jodis replied. “It might even be able to prevent the crash.” He turned from the workstation, his gaze locking with hers. “The process must be overseen manually.”
It took an extra second for the implications of his statement to register, and when it did Chen felt her mouth drop open. “Wait. You can’t . . . ?”
“There is no other option,” Bnira said, turning to Jodis. “We will need to stay.”
Jodis pointed for the door. “But you must go. Bnira and I can do this.”
“What about getting off the ship?” Cruzen asked.
“Once we are certain the process cannot be aborted,” Jodis replied, “we will follow you to the landing bay, but we cannot ask you to remain. You have already done enough, and this is our responsibility.” He reached over and placed a hand on Chen’s shoulder. “Like your captain, you are of noble character. If all of your people are of similar quality, then the Raqilan and Golvonek have made exceptional new friends today.”
There was a finality to his words that made Chen uneasy, and she felt moisture forming at the corners of her eyes. “Jodis,” she began.
“It is time,” he replied, his voice quiet as he nodded toward the door. “Go.”
33
On the viewscreen was perhaps one of the most surreal scenes to which Picard had ever borne witness. Angled toward the Landorem moon, the Arrow was accelerating as it began its descent. Its massive aft engines glowed white with the energy they produced to send the weapon ship to its doom. Picard imagined the image as similar to that of a foundering oceangoing vessel, its bow disappearing beneath the waves as its stern rose into the air before the entire ship slipped into a watery grave.
“Time to impact?”
“Four minutes twenty seconds at its current rate of acceleration,” reported Worf. The first officer had moved from the tactical console and resumed his normal station in the seat to the right of Picard’s command chair. “Sir, the main shuttlebay reports that the Jefferies has arrived, and Doctor Crusher is on her way to sickbay with the injured away team members.”
“What about Chen and Cruzen?”
“They are en route to the Arrow’s landing bay.”
Nodding in approval, Picard said, “Are transporters locked on?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Worf replied. “They are standing by the moment Chen and Cruzen reach the pad.”
What was taking so damned long? The seconds seemed to crawl, each one taking an eternity. “Jodis, this is Captain Picard, can you hear me?”
“I hear you,” replied the Raqilan. “We are maintaining course and speed, but we are still fighting the contingency protocol.” He did not say anything else, and neither was that necessary. Picard had known from the moment Jodis explained the dilemma what it would mean for him and Bnira.
“I understand.”
“Captain,” Jodis said, “I have a request of you.”
“What is it?”
“Talk to our people, the Raqilan and the Golvonek. Convince them to seek peace. What has happened today—what almost happened today, and what was supposed to happen—should be more than sufficient to demonstrate the futility of continuing as we have. There must be change, and it must start today. Tell them, and make them understand.”
Feeling his throat tighten, Picard nodded. “I will tell them, Jodis. You have my word.”
“It was an honor to know you, Captain, if only briefly. May your journeys continue to be safe and rewarding. Farewell.”
There was a beep as the connection closed, leaving Picard to stare at the viewscreen and the Arrow, plunging headlong toward the moon.
“Impact in three minutes,” said Worf.
It would feel like three centuries, Picard knew.
Where the hell are Chen and Cruzen?
* * *
“Where the hell is the landing bay?”
Sprinting down the corridor, Chen glanced over her shoulder at Cruzen, who was keeping pace but looking flushed. The security officer’s breath also was sounding a bit labored, and Chen was reminded that her friend had already been through quite a lot to this point.
�
��This way,” she said, pointing to her right as they neared another intersection. What had started out as a simple dash from the Arrow’s engineering deck to its landing bay using as a guide the internal schematic contained in Cruzen’s tricorder had become a great deal more complicated. Sealed hatches were their biggest obstacle, as different sections of the ship, directed by whatever independent computer processes oversaw such things, automatically prepared the vessel for what it likely was registering as an imminent collision. Such emergency action schemes obviously included a loss of internal atmosphere as one potential risk, and as such, the ship’s numerous compartments were being sealed off as a protective measure against hull ruptures.
That’s going to be the least of this beast’s problems in about three minutes.
All around them as they ran, Chen heard the hull vibrating and objecting to the increasing stresses being placed upon it. Now likely caught by the moon’s gravity, there would be almost no chance of the Arrow emerging from its descent. It either would hit its target or else break apart and scatter its remnants across the lifeless lunar soil. She doubted that even the insidious programming built into the ship’s computer could do anything to change that looming reality.
Rounding the turn in the passageway, Chen stopped short of dashing straight into yet another sealed hatch. This one was larger and looked more formidable than the others they had encountered, yet appeared to be just as locked. “Whoops.”
“Damn it!” Cruzen snapped. Even as Chen tried pulling on the door’s recessed handle and found it sealed, the security officer retrieved her tricorder from the holster on her hip. Activating the unit, she used it to scan the control pad set into the bulkhead next to the hatch. This was the third time they had been forced to deal with a sealed hatch, but the algorithms Commander La Forge had provided following his team’s initial survey of the ship had come in handy.
“The landing bay should be just down this corridor,” Chen said.