Burning Dreams

by Margaret Wander Bonanno

  The red alert was the only sound on the bridge. For a long moment everything seemed to move in slow motion as Pike and Kamnach eyeballed each other, as much at odds as Aldrin and the Vestian vessel.

  “Comm…” Kamnach said slowly, never taking his eyes off Pike. “Terminate all incoming.”

  “A-aye, sir,” Flowers stammered.

  “Interesting timing on that message,” Kamnach said deliberately, taking his time, oblivious to the red alert and the fact that everyone else on the ship was scrambling to comply with it.

  “Captain—” Pike began. “Regulations clearly state that a directive from Starfleet Command overrides—”

  “What directive?” Kamnach demanded. “That message is incomplete. Garbled by static. A day late and a dollar short. It may as well not be a message at all.”

  “Sir—”

  “For all we know, the Vestians could have sent that message, Mr. Pike,” Kamnach said incisively. “In any event, there isn’t enough of it for us to be clear on Starfleet’s intentions. We will proceed to exercise our own discretion in time of battle. Science Officer, resume your station. Mr. Pike, you’re dismissed.”

  Pike rose to his feet.

  “No, sir,” he said quietly, hearing his voice echoing in his own head.

  Was he out of his mind? He remembered Charlie’s definition of heroism. Did the same concept apply to professional suicide?

  “Captain Kamnach, refusing or ignoring a direct order from Starfleet Command is a violation of regulations. On that basis I am relieving you of command.”

  “You’re what?!” Kamnach was also on his feet, his hands fisted, eyes blazing.

  Pike was peripherally aware that Wesley and Flowers were sitting with their hands in their laps. Behind him, he could sense Renkova poised for action, though what that action might be, neither of them knew. He motioned to the ubiquitous security guard by the turbolift. Banarjee, he remembered. Hope he knows the regulations as well as I do.

  “Mr. Banarjee,” he said carefully. “You’ll escort Captain Kamnach to his quarters, please.”

  Banarjee was moving forward as the ship shuddered with the release of a laser blast, aimed at the Vestian vessel.

  Hanley! Pike thought, too late. He’d expected the big man to wait for Kamnach’s order, but he’d taken the law into his own hands.

  The rest was a blur.

  The laser blast had been hasty and badly aimed. It caught the Vestian vessel amidships, damaging two of her weapons ports. What Hanley should have realized was that, given the unusual configuration of Vestian ships, this would automatically trigger the ports on either side of the damaged area to release their weapons, sending fire in all directions.

  Aldrin reeled from two plasma weapon blasts. Bridge stations sparked with explosions as she absorbed the impact. One of those injured was Hanley. With a surprisingly high-pitched scream, he flung himself backward in his chair, hands burned and uniform smoking, lost his balance as the ship careened out of control, struck his head on his console and was out cold.

  Beside him, Wesley took control without waiting for orders and tried to steer the ship. As he’d told Pike, his priority was doing his job.

  Flowers had been knocked out of her chair; she lay on the deck unmoving as Renkova hailed sickbay. The security guard, Banarjee, managed to stay on his feet and, taking advantage of the confusion, helped Kamnach to his and, hand on the laser at his belt, said, “Sorry, sir,” and escorted the furious captain into the ’lift as the medical team arrived. When they went to tend to Hanley, Pike ordered the weapons officer held in confinement.

  As the doors to the turbolift closed, Kamnach, nursing a head wound where he’d struck the arm of the command chair, shouted: “You’ll regret this, Pike! You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!”

  Pike wasn’t listening. He had to prepare himself for a battle he’d tried to prevent.

  It didn’t last long. The Vestian vessel fired one more salvo aimed at Aldrin’s engine room, then retreated, well within its own borders, as if defying them to violate the treaty and come closer.

  Under Kamnach, they might have. If they hadn’t been so seriously damaged.

  Aldrin was yawing again, sending people flying. That last barrage must have damaged the artificial gravity. Fighting nausea, Pike picked himself up from the deck and crawled through the smoke to the captain’s chair, flinging himself into the last place he wanted to be for the second time.

  “Engineering…damage report…”

  When they told him Chewy and two others were dead, and they’d had to seal off two decks to contain the damage, leaving four more of the crew unaccounted for, it was all he could do to stop himself from asking about Charlie.

  So this is what command is like outside of Academy scenarios, he thought grimly, then ordered his thoughts. The turbolift seemed to be working all right; Flowers’s relief arrived to survey the damage to the station. And the Vestian vessel did not renew hostilities. Perhaps it was just waiting to see how much damage Aldrin had sustained before it fired again.

  But from what Pike knew of Vestians, that was when they usually closed for the kill. Had the message from Starfleet meant that the rebellion had been put down, and the Federation and the Vestians had returned to status quo ante bellum? It was how he’d interpreted the message, and how Kamnach should have as well, if he hadn’t been blinded by his desire to take out one more ship.

  “What’s your status, Comm?” Pike asked as the new man surveyed the damage to the station.

  “Nominal, Cap—uh, Number One.”

  “As you were. Send to commander Vestian vessel. ‘Our apologies for unwarranted attack. We have called off all hostilities and await your decision.’ Then do your damnedest to punch through to Starbase 3. Apprise them of the current situation, including the fact that I’ve relieved Captain Kamnach of command.”

  “Aye, sir,” the comm officer said, trying not to sound flustered. “Uh, discrete from engineering, sir.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  The news was not good. Aux power could maintain life support for less than two hours, and so far even the most creative bypassing and jury-rigging hadn’t gotten the main controls back online. Barring a miracle this far out, if they couldn’t get main power restored…

  “…we have a choice between freezing to death or running out of air,” Pike told the crew. “Neither is a choice I’d like to have to make. Let’s get on it. Reduce all unnecessary power use…” The bridge lights dimmed even as he said it; they were way ahead of him. “And keep me informed.”

  He terminated the intercraft and waited, watching the Vestian ship on the forward screen. It hadn’t moved. There was no response to their transmission. And it could be hours before they got a reply from Starbase 3.

  So this is command! Pike thought grimly. He wanted to be down in engineering helping them with life support. Or with the sick bay team tending to the wounded. Or off-duty, free to roam the corridors and make sure Charlie was okay. In short, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “Number One?” It was the replacement comm officer; Pike didn’t know his name. “Reply from the Vestian vessel, sir.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Running it through the translator now, sir…” He listened, reporting as the translation program fed him data. “They say the war’s over, sir. Rebels repelled from Vestios II, shipping lanes are open again. The vessel we destroyed yesterday belonged to the rebels, but this one…they’ll accept our apology since they’ve sustained only minor damage…” He took the earpiece out of his ear. “They’re leaving, sir.”

  Motion on the forward screen confirmed this. The Vestian vessel executed a one-hundred-twenty-degree turn, then winked into warp.

  “No harm, no foul, if we can believe them!” Pike muttered, scowling. “Except we’ve lost three good men, possibly more. Finalize that translation and make sure the entire crew hears it. Especially Captain Kamnach. We’re still not moving until we hear from Starbase 3.
Somebody get me a communicator.”

  He couldn’t sit still any longer. He got out of the center seat, hooked the communicator onto his belt and headed for the turbolift.

  “Mr. Wesley, you have the conn. Continue scanning for Vestian vessels, on the odd chance some of the rebels haven’t been informed the war is over. Comm, relay any message from Starbase 3 to me immediately.”

  “Aye, sir,” both men said simultaneously.

  It wasn’t until the ’lift doors closed and he slumped against the wall in exhaustion that Pike realized how lucky he’d been. No one but Hanley had defied him or resisted his attempt to relieve Kamnach of command.

  So far.

  Lucky? he thought as the ’lift decanted him near the transporter room. Commanding a crippled ship with less than two hours of oxygen left and facing a court-martial when you get home, if you get home. Some luck!

  But the next two hours denied him the luxury of even thinking about such things.

  The team repairing the hull breach on decks twelve and thirteen was almost done. The four unaccounted for when the hull ruptured were confirmed dead. Three had been sucked out into vacuum, and the fourth had simply not been able to get out in time. Seven dead, Pike noted grimly. He’d get the names for the log entry later, inform the next of kin as soon as possible, captain’s duty. Satisfied that the repairs were proceeding as quickly as possible, he ordered those corridors resealed until life support was restored. Then he headed for engineering.

  He literally bumped into Charlie backing out of a Jefferies tube.

  “Rumors are generating enough hot air to offset anything we’re doing down here,” the older man said, wasting no time on pleasantries. “What happened up there?”

  Pike filled Charlie in as they got to the engine room, where he could survey the damage and observe the crew members scrambling to repair it.

  “Who’s in charge here?” he demanded. Now that Chewy’s dead, he thought but didn’t say.

  “Chief Pike is, sir,” a flustered ensign reported, looking from one man with the same name to the other.

  “As you were, Ensign,” Pike said and, for the first time in days, he found himself laughing.

  “Looks like I’ve got nothing to worry about, Hoss,” he started to say as his communicator beeped. “Pike here.”

  “Disturbance near the captain’s quarters, Number One. Captain Kamnach’s unaccounted for.”

  “On my way.”

  13

  U.S.S. Aldrin

  He should have ordered Kamnach to the brig, but he’d wanted to leave the man some dignity. He would find out later that Kamnach had taken advantage of his generosity to jury-rig a comm device and stage a counter-mutiny, contacting key personnel loyal to him, including two security guards who had rather forcibly relieved the two guarding his quarters. Kamnach was loose somewhere on the ship, no doubt intent on resuming command.

  “Charlie…”

  “Chewy’s crew won’t let him do any harm down here,” was Charlie’s opinion.

  Cursing himself for leaving the bridge, Pike ordered security to check the weapons lockers and report anything missing. Then he ordered Wesley to secure the turbolift.

  “Nobody enters or leaves the bridge until I give the order. Wesley? Answer me!” There was no reply. He could hear shouting and scuffling, then a long silence punctuated by console noises. “Bridge? What’s going on up there?”

  “Renkova,” she reported, a little breathlessly. “Mr. Wesley is…indisposed. Turbolift’s secured.”

  Pike could guess what had happened. “I assume you have the conn. Hope you didn’t hurt him.”

  Renkova’s voice was diffident. “Little trick I learned from an Andorian martial artist. Love to teach it to you sometime.”

  Pike found himself grinning. “Carry on.”

  Okay, now what? Open the intercraft and tell the entire ship that their former captain was on the loose and possibly dangerous? Or try to contain this with as little uproar as possible? If he were Kamnach, where would he try to go first?

  The bridge, obviously. That was secure. The engine room, ditto. Frustrated in both places, would Kamnach try to commandeer the transporter and risk an intraship beam-out?

  Charlie was reading his mind. “He’d have to get past me first. Tell you what we can do—you find him, I’ll grab him and whoever’s with him and beam ’em anywhere you want.”

  “Can you do that?” Pike asked.

  “Can Tango dance?”

  Speechless, Pike just clapped him on the shoulder and checked in with security. Three phasers were missing from the main weapons locker, and wherever Kamnach was, they hadn’t found him yet.

  Beyond exhausted, Pike stationed himself at the auxiliary engineer’s station, trying not to notice Chewy’s family photos in the holocube stuck on the console. In an ideal world, word from Starfleet Command would come through just as life support systems came back on, Captain Kamnach and whoever was with him would hear the transmission, realize it had all been a mistake, everyone would go back to their stations, and Aldrin could return home. And no one would have died and no one been injured. With a sigh, Pike hailed sickbay.

  “Minor burns and a concussion,” was the report on Hanley. “Confined as ordered.”

  “And Lieutenant Flowers?”

  “A little shocky, but nothing twenty-four hours’ rest won’t cure.”

  “Thanks. Number One out.”

  Around him, the lights in engineering flickered, and some of the toggles went off-line for an instant. The temperature was cooler than was strictly comfortable, but at least the smoke had been cleared and the air was still breathable.

  Too many of us running around the corridors using it up too fast! Pike thought. Beside him on the console, his communicator bleeped, interrupting his reverie.

  “Number One? I think we’ve got him, sir. Three unauthorized personnel making their way through Jefferies tube six-B.”

  That tube, Pike knew, led indirectly to the bridge.

  “Secure that tube. No one gets in or out. Pike to transporter chief…”

  “Standing by,” came Charlie’s voice.

  “No need for your services this time, Hoss, but thanks.” Pike made his way to where Jefferies tube six-B opened out into the corridor near the officers’ mess.

  Ultimately, it didn’t happen quite the way Pike had envisioned it, and the dead were still dead and the injured still injured. But he’d no sooner arrived to see a red-faced, sweating Kamnach easing himself out of the Jefferies tube onto the deck under the watchful eyes of two security guards, his cohorts following, than Flowers’s relief broadcast the incoming message from Starfleet Command on the intercraft.

  “…repeat…Vestian Council has reported the rebellion put down, and all rebel-controlled vessels surrendered to Vestios II authority. Aldrin is to return to base effective immediately.”

  It confirmed what the captain of the Vestian vessel had told them before moving off. Motionless in the corridor outside the Jefferies tube, they could all hear Renkova’s voice responding.

  “Affirmative, Admiral. Aldrin has sustained some damage in a recent skirmish. Captain Kamnach and our Number One are…overseeing repairs. As soon as we have full power restored, we’re coming in, sir.”

  Bless you, Renkova! Pike thought as Straczeskie said, “As you were, Aldrin. Starbase 3 out.”

  Did Pike only imagine he heard cheering echoing throughout the ship? They still didn’t have life support restored. They weren’t out of the woods yet. He nodded to Banarjee.

  “Secure Captain Kamnach and the others in the officers’ mess and disable the comm system in there. Then get the rest of your men down to engineering and—”

  “Makes more sense to put us all in the brig,” Kamnach interrupted, having wiped the sweat off his face and recovered his dignity. “Including Hanley. No need to disable comm, and you’ll only need one guard to monitor the force-field.”

  It made a certain sense, but—

 
“Captain—” Pike started to say.

  “We’ll haggle at the court-martial, Number One,” Kamnach said tightly. “Because we both know there’ll be a court-martial. I hope you’re satisfied. My career’s pretty much winding down, but I think you may find yours is over before it began.”

  Unrepentant, he turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the brig.

  TALOS IV

  “Christopher?” It was the Magistrate’s voice in his mind. Pike no longer considered it odd or intrusive. “So many choices…to relive your past, or reinvent it. Why this one?”

  “Milestones, I guess,” he thought back. “Catharsis. Getting rid of the bad stuff.”

  “‘Bad stuff’?” the Magistrate repeated curiously. “Some would call what you did heroic.”

  Pike dismissed it. “I’m like Charlie. I don’t know what that word means. I was thinking more about the path we humans have carved through space. What do we leave in our wake but debris?”

  “As do we all,” the Magistrate reminded him, and Pike saw in his mind the ruined surface of Talos, heard the echo of Vina’s words (“war…thousands of centuries ago…”), and wondered how a species so seemingly advanced could have fallen so far.

  “A thought we have had millennia to ponder ourselves,” the Magistrate added. “Without having arrived at a satisfactory conclusion…”

  2246: STARFLEET HQ, EARTH

  Ultimately Aldrin limped home on aux power, the hull breach sealed, but too tetchy to risk warp drive for more than an hour at a time. The extra power was transferred to maintain life support, and no one who didn’t know any better would have noticed anything wrong with the gravity, the air or the temperature.

  Given the extra time, both Pike and Kamnach filed their log entries and sent them on ahead to Starfleet Command. The sooner the matter was dealt with, the better.

  Their slow return gave Command plenty of time to arrange for a court-martial as soon as they reached Earth.

  With rare exception, Starfleet courts-martial are kept in the family and not shared with the outside world, but this one got the media’s attention, and it was soon being talked about all over the quadrant. Doubtless the rumors were still making their way out to the remoter worlds by the time it was over, because once all the testimony was gathered and compared with the log entries and navigational charts, a verdict was returned in less than a day.