Captain's Glory зпвш-9

by William Shatner

  The Doctor pulled back the fabric drape concealing the gap between the stand’s sloped roof and its waist-high wooden wall.

  Almost at once, the stand’s indignant Ferengi proprietor grabbed the drape away from the Doctor. “Customer service at the counter!”

  The Doctor ignored the protest, tugged the drape open again, leaned over the wall to examine the stand.

  Kirk saw the Ferengi draw back, then shove his hand forcefully at the Doctor’s shoulder to push him away. But the Doctor adjusted his holographic density so that the Ferengi’s hand passed through him.

  Having attempted to shove a ghost, the Ferengi shrank back, squealing in fright. The Doctor ignored him, turned back to Kirk, shook his head.

  Kirk didn’t understand. The only other thing back here was—

  With a sudden surge of alarm, Kirk rushed to the waste container-a drum-shaped barrel a meter tall.

  Kirk ripped the cover from it, looked down, felt true fear as he saw the hood of a cooling cloak.

  “Joseph!” Kirk pulled up on the cloak, terrified of what might be beneath it.

  But all he revealed was a sticky mound of confectionery wrappers and jumja sticks.

  Kirk ran his hands down the empty cloak, felt Joseph’s combadge pinned to it, and nothing else.

  His child was gone.

  9

  U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

  STARDATE 58562.5

  Had it been any other time, any other occasion, Picard would already have begun to feel restless. This close to home, he always was.

  Earth and her solar system had been tamed generations ago. Each planet, moon, and major asteroid mapped to resolutions that banished all mysteries. The domed cities of the moon allowed families to picnic by Earthlight. Mars had green fields and blue oceans, fresh clean air, skiing at the poles, and soon, according to the environmental engineers, burgeoning rain forests would arise in the equatorial lowlands.

  Even the vast, underground data repositories and museums of Pluto had stripped the romance from that distant world, still considered a planet by tradition, if not by astronomers.

  In fairness, Picard couldn’t complain about humanity’s imprint on nearspace-the sectors that surrounded his homeworld and home system. Those were the first his species had visited in the great wave of exploration that followed in Cochrane’s wake.

  But he didn’t have to like it. And he didn’t.

  This close to home, his heart remained on the frontier.

  In his soul, he was an explorer, and he feared for the day when humanity’s descendants would place their footprints on the last world at the galaxy’s edge. Where would the human spirit turn to then? Would there be new frontiers to delve into? Or was he part of a dying breed? Just a point on the graph from Cochrane and Archer and Kirk to a future that had a definite end?

  “Captain…?”

  Troi’s gentle inquiry broke through Picard’s introspection. He saw her standing beside his chair on the bridge, concern and curiosity in her large dark eyes.

  “Is coming home really that bad?” she asked.

  Picard smiled. He had forgotten the ease Troi had brought to his ship, and to his command. A Betazoid counselor who could sense his emotional state tended to keep him focused and aware of the present. And he rarely had to explain himself to her. With the Titan in tow and Riker still in Doctor Crusher’s sickbay, Picard was pleased that Troi had chosen to take up guest quarters on the Enterprise for the journey back to Earth. Especially since the Enterprise’s new counselor, T’Lana, was on leave to attend a negotiation workshop on Babel.

  “Under the circumstances,” Picard said, “not really. We’re needed here. Exploration can wait for now.”

  Troi’s smile was warm and kind and let him know that she saw right through him. “You’ve never believed that, Captain. But like all of us, you put duty first.”

  Picard returned the smile. “I’ve missed you, Counselor.”

  “I know.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Lieutenant Leybenzon, the ship’s security officer. The taciturn human had earned a field commission during the Dominion War, and his martial expertise had proven his worth many times over, both in war and in peace.

  “Captain, we’re receiving a transmission from Jupiter Outpost Ninety-two.”

  Picard was familiar with that security station. It was part of Sector 001’s deep-space tracking and communications network, built into and onto the ninety-second moon of Jupiter. That particular moon was a rock scarcely larger than the Enterprise.

  Picard straightened his jacket. “Onscreen.”

  At once, a man in unusual black clothing appeared on the viewscreen. To Picard, the outfit seemed more like a uniform than civilian garb, though he could see no insignia. In the background, among nested banks of operations consoles, uniformed Starfleet personnel rushed back and forth, or conferred in close conversation. The mood seemed tense, the activity almost erratic. But the man, whoever he was, whatever his function, clearly belonged at the station he occupied.

  “Captain Picard,” the man said, “please drop from warp at Kuiper Five-seven-five. We have tugs waiting to bring the Enterprise and the Titan to Jupiter Station.”

  Picard bristled at the thought of letting smaller craft guide his ship. Even more disturbing was that Kuiper 575 was an icy planetesimal, twice the size of Pluto and half again as distant from the sun. As far as he was aware, it was a Fleet deuterium refueling depot for freighters. The Enterprise had no business there, especially when the Titan needed urgent repairs at the Utopia shipyards.

  “May I ask why? Our destination is Mars.”

  “We’re operating under emergency conditions, Captain. You’ll receive further orders when you report to Kuiper Five-seven-five.”

  The man in black moved to touch a control, no doubt to break the connection, Picard assumed. But Picard wasn’t finished with him.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you and I’d prefer to get changes to my orders from Starfleet personnel. May I– “

  The viewscreen flashed back to a visual sensor image of Earth’s sun, the brightest star in the galactic swath, still several light-years distant. Closer stars smeared past at warp on the edges of the screen.

  Picard stared at the stars, puzzled and annoyed. Then, as if no time had passed since she had last served as counselor on his ship, he turned to Troi.

  “Impressions?”

  “Whoever he is,” the Betazoid said thoughtfully, “he’s not used to being questioned. And he was at a high level of alert. I have no doubt he feels he’s operating under emergency conditions, as he said.”

  Picard made his decision, looked over at the tactical station. “Mister Leybenzon, open a channel to Starfleet Command.”

  The chief of security efficiently called up the main com controls on his board, sent the automated sequence.

  A moment later, the viewscreen flashed again.

  It was the man in black. “Captain Picard, is there a problem?”

  Picard stood. Something wasn’t right. “My communications request was sent to Starfleet Command.”

  “That’s what you’ve reached. Starfleet’s Jupiter facilities are now provisional Fleet headquarters.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco closed down two days ago. Now change course to Kuiper Five-seven-five.”

  Picard’s mind raced. How could headquarters be relocated without the news spreading over the subspace net? “I’ve received no notification.”

  “And you won’t until you’ve passed through engrammatic identity verification at Kuiper Five-seven-five. Now change course immediately, or I will declare you a hostile vessel.”

  Picard looked to Troi, mouthed the words “Identity verification?”

  “Whatever it is, he means it,” the counselor quietly replied.

  Picard turned back to the screen, weighing the possibilities that might explain what he was facing. But whatever was going on, he refused
to concede his command authority without good reason. The stakes were too high.

  “Under the circumstances, I need to receive orders from a source I recognize,” Picard stated.

  The man’s jaw clenched and Picard didn’t need a Betazoid to tell him he was witnessing a sudden burst of anger.

  “Captain Picard-if that’s who you are-drop out of warp now, disable your weapons, and wait to be taken in tow. If you continue to approach this system, you will be fired upon, and you will be destroyed. Starfleet Command, out.”

  Once more the stars returned to the viewscreen.

  “Strong suspicion,” Troi said, clearly startled by the man’s hostility. “He truly doubts your identity. He’s frustrated. And disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” Picard asked.

  Troi shook her head as if there was something about the man that was just out of her grasp. “I think, when you first spoke to him, it was almost as if he was hoping you could help him.”

  “Help him with what?” Picard momentarily appreciated the irony that just a few minutes ago he had been thinking that his home system held no mysteries. But now…

  “Mister Leybenzon,” Picard said, “do you detect any vessels heading to intercept us?”

  “Negative, Captain.”

  “Can you pick up any standard communications traffic from Command, San Francisco?”

  “A lot of subspace static… unusual. If there are standard transmissions, under these conditions they’d be undetectable.”

  Picard knew he needed more time to sort out what was happening. “Conn, change course to Kuiper Five-seven-five.”

  Ensign Choyce replied with a brisk “Aye, sir,” and almost at once the starfield on the viewscreen began to shift as the ship’s heading changed.

  Now Picard stepped behind his operations officer at her station. Lieutenant Commander Miranda Kadohata had been trained by Data on the EnterpriseD before transferring to other vessels, and Picard had welcomed her return to his ship. “Commander, have the science department heads prepare a report on that interference. But first ask Commander Worf to report to the bridge at once.”

  Picard walked back to Troi. “I can only surmise that the current situation is somehow related to the warp-core failures.”

  He could see that Troi sensed what underlay his conclusion.

  “You’re beginning to think it’s not a natural phenomenon after all.”

  “If headquarters has been relocated, perhaps it’s because they fear what happened at the Cochrane Institute could happen there. And as to doubting my identity… that’s reminiscent of the Dominion War, when anyone could be a Changeling.”

  Troi smiled at Picard. “Not within range of a Betazoid, sir.”

  Picard appreciated Troi’s assurance, but he was also aware of how someone else might see the situation. “Unless the Betazoid was a Changeling as well.”

  Troi’s nod showed she conceded the point.

  A turbolift door opened and Worf emerged, instantly making the bridge feel smaller.

  Picard was not the only one who stared at Worf as he strode to the chair that had once been Will Riker’s. Picard’s new first officer wore the full uniform of a Klingon battle-group commander, and his metal-clad boots rang out as he crossed the deck.

  Worf returned Picard’s stare. “I was relaxing. On the holodeck. Your summons did say, ‘At once.’”

  Picard nodded. “The uniform suits you.” He gestured to the back of the bridge. “Let’s adjourn to the ready room.” He included Troi in his invitation. “Counselor, I would very much appreciate your input.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  But before any of the officers had reached the ready room door, Lieutenant Commander Kadohata changed their plans.

  “Captain-the subspace interference around Earth is intensifying.”

  Picard turned back to the bridge. “Can you tell what’s causing it?”

  Kadohata’s hands expertly played over her console as she brought up the science sensor readings being used by department heads throughout the ship.

  “Multiple subspace distortions…” She looked back at her captain. “Sir, the energy signatures are consistent with warp-core explosions.”

  Picard felt his stomach tighten. “Raise Command again.”

  The viewscreen showed stars. Only stars.

  “Command is not responding,” Kadohata said.

  “Find any channel,” Picard ordered. “Focus on Jupiter, any signal.”

  At last the stars disappeared, replaced by a visual sensor image.

  Picard focused his attention on the image, saw that it originated from a navigational beacon near Jupiter Station, one of the largest research platforms in the system. The station supported a permanent population of almost ten thousand.

  In the upper right quadrant of the viewscreen, an oasis of lights was clearly visible against the deep black of Jupiter’s nightside clouds. The station itself spread out like a snowflake with each branch five kilometers long.

  Many of the lights were moving away from the main structure, as if the snowflake were breaking apart at the edges.

  “What’s happening?” Troi asked.

  Worf had the answer. “The ships docked to the station… they’re withdrawing.”

  “There shouldn’t be so many doing it at the same time,” Kadohata said. “Regulations prohibit– ” She gasped.

  One of the small points of light moving from the station suddenly flared like a nova.

  Then another.

  “Their warp cores…” Picard said, barely believing the disaster unfolding before him.

  The time for reasoned, thoughtful consideration of options had passed. Picard issued his new orders crisply.

  “Conn, set a course for Jupiter Station. Mister Leybenzon, release the Titan from the tractor beams.” Picard looked to the hidden com system in the bridge’s overhead. “Picard to engineering.”

  “La Forge here, Captain.”

  “Geordi, I want maximum warp right now. Consider this a priority emergency.”

  The veteran engineer knew better than to ask questions. Within seconds, Picard could feel the deep thrum of his ship’s warp coil as it ramped up to maximum output. The Enterprise waited on his command, and he gave it.

  “Engage.”

  10

  JUPITER

  STARDATE 58562.5

  It took twenty-three minutes for the Enterprise to arrive in orbit of Jupiter. In that same time, thousands died.

  Even those ships that remained intact offered little in the way of protection for their crew and passengers. As close to Jupiter as the major research platforms were, the planet’s radiation field was lethal within minutes of exposure. When the ships lost their warp cores, they invariably lost their shields until auxiliary generators or batteries could come online. That delay was fatal.

  The Enterprise swept her sensors over ship after ship tumbling in erratic orbits. While many had survived-their warp cores safely ejected before disaster struck-their shields had clearly faltered. Even now, though shields had recovered and were once again working perfectly, on dozens of vessels they protected only corpses.

  Other ships were prowling the primary orbital planes-impulse-powered transports for the most part, spared from whatever phenomenon wreaked such havoc on warp technology.

  One hour after the wave of core detonations had devastated the Jupiter installations, the Enterprise was the de facto command focus of the rescue efforts. Lieutenant Leybenzon and a relief crew coordinated the efforts of more than eighty smaller vessels from the Enterprise’s battle bridge-in Picard’s estimation, a much worthier use of that particular backup facility than the one for which it was intended.

  But on the main bridge, it was Picard who spearheaded the most critical phase of the recovery operations-saving Jupiter Station itself.

  The vast orbital platform had taken damage when docked ships had been destroyed. Though its shields were holding, the station’s thrusters were inoperative, an
d almost at once it had begun its slow fall to the bottomless clouds of the system’s largest planet.

  There were too many crew and workers and visitors on board the falling station to be beamed off or evacuated by shuttle or escape pod. The only way to save the lives of almost ten thousand was to save the station, though not even the Enterprise’s tractor beams could move such a mass.

  But that didn’t stop Picard from trying.

  He had La Forge operate the tractor beams from engineering, using technical readouts of the station’s superstructure to find those points that could take the strain of a beam’s contact. With no time to describe the problem to the ship’s computers, La Forge worked mostly by intuition, applying a beam here, a beam there, grabbing hold at an anchor point just long enough for some of the station’s momentum to bleed back over the beam to be absorbed and compensated for by the Enterprise.

  Picard could hear his ship creak, feel it tremble as its structural-integrity field was taxed to its limit. But gradually, over the course of another hour, Jupiter Station did cease its slow roll and errant tumble. It was still falling toward Jupiter in a decaying orbit, but it was stable again.

  For what Picard planned to do next, that stability was essential.

  It was a maneuver only a student of history could conceive of-something that stretched back to the dawn of the space age, when nations applied all their resources and humans risked their lives just to reach low Earth orbit.

  Picard himself took the conn for what had to be done now. He could not, would not, shift the burden of the risky attempt to any of his crew.

  Gracefully, Picard’s ship banked above the clouds of Jupiter, to settle into an orbit only tens of meters lower than the station. Then, at a velocity of no more than a few meters per minute, the Enterprise rose, coming up beneath the station until the ship’s main hull was directly beneath the station’s center of mass.

  Worf handled the shield settings for the maneuver, aware that they had to be tuned to provide full protection from radiation and any fast-moving orbital debris, yet still allow low-velocity objects to pass and make contact with the ship’s hull.