Star Trek: TNG: Enterprises of Great Pitch and Moment

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Or, rather, crashed. “What happened?”

  Sisko was applying a hypospray to his own arm as he spoke. “Plasma storm. It came out of nowhere, took out both ships. We crashed.”

  “But we survived. Well done, Captain.”

  “Thank you, but we’re not quite out of the woods yet. The Zambesi’s a complete wreck. Comm systems are down, and hull integrity is too low to even consider taking off—even if the engines were online.” He let out an annoyed growl. “I should’ve known this would happen as soon as O’Brien said the Rio Grande was unavailable.”

  “What do you mean?” Picard undid the straps—which he didn’t remember putting on, but he remembered nothing since noticing that Gowron had armed weapons—and tried to stand up. Pain sliced through his chest.

  “Careful!” Sisko said, walking over with the medkit.

  “You cracked a couple of ribs from the straps.”

  Picard nodded. A necessary evil—had he not worn the straps, his injuries would likely have been fatal. He stood up more slowly.

  “You delivered three runabouts to the station when we took over. The Rio Grande is the only one of those three that’s still intact. I’ve lost track of the number that have been damaged beyond repair, crashed, or destroyed in the last four years, but the Rio Grande has been the Little Engine That Could. That’s why I requested it for this mission, to avoid this.”

  Knowing that the other captain wouldn’t appreciate a discourse on the dangers of superstitions, Picard started to gingerly undo his uniform jacket and said only, “If I could trouble you, Captain?”

  “Of course.” Sisko took out a bandage from the medkit while Picard stripped to the waist. A bone knitter was too specialized a piece of equipment to trust to an emergency medkit. If someone untrained tried to use it, there was a very real risk of fusing body parts. Starfleet Medical thought it best to stick with bandages for emergencies until such a time as a doctor or medtech could knit the bones.

  “When you screamed like that,” Sisko said, “I was afraid you had an injury the tricorder missed.”

  “Simply a nightmare,” Picard said quietly. “A fairly common one these past seven years, truth be told.”

  Sisko said nothing. Picard knew that the man could count, and could probably guess what the tenor of Picard’s nightmares were.

  “It still haunts you?” Sisko finally said.

  “Constantly.” Picard’s voice was ragged, and he cleared his throat. “There are times when it fades, but it never goes away completely.” When Sisko finished bandaging his ribs, Picard turned to face the younger man. “Captain—I don’t expect you to forgive me for what happened to your wife.”

  Sisko hesitated, and Picard saw a range of emotions play across the man’s face in an instant. Finally: “I don’t blame you. I blame the Borg. I won’t lie, seeing you is a constant reminder, and not a pleasant one. But it was the Borg that took Jennifer from me, not you, Captain.”

  Picard let out a long breath, which made his chest hurt. “I think we’re past the point of ranks, don’t you? If anyone’s earned the right to call me ‘Jean-Luc,’ it’s you.”

  At that, Sisko inclined his head. “And you can call me ‘Captain Sisko.’” Picard felt his face fall and only then did Sisko break into a huge smile. “Or ‘Ben.’”

  Then Picard laughed, though it hurt like blazes. “Very well, Captain Sisko, let us see if Gowron survived his encounter with the plasma storm. I’d very much like to know why he felt the need to arm his pod’s weapons.”

  “Agreed, Jean-Luc.”

  It took an hour to pack up supplies from the runabout’s emergency kit. Luckily, Starfleet was thorough. There were enough combat rations to last a month, a dozen hand phasers and half a dozen phaser rifles, a shelter, and thermal jackets. According to the tricorder, Gowron’s ship had crashed four kilometers away—but also on the other side of a mountain. It would take most of a day to get there.

  The pod was also sending an automated distress signal.

  As they put the packs on their backs, Sisko said, “I have to admit, I’m not too sanguine about what kind of rescue we’d get from the Klingons.”

  “Better than no rescue at all,” Picard said, and Sisko found he couldn’t argue with that, especially once they left the runabout’s confines.

  Wind bit into Sisko’s eyes and the cold air seared his lungs as he inhaled. The snow came up to his ankles, and the effort of lifting his feet to walk proved far more difficult than he’d imagined.

  All of it was made worse by the pounding in his head. The hypo he’d applied was supposed to ease the discomfort of the concussion he’d suffered in the crash, but ten seconds in this blizzard and the pain was back.

  “Are you all right, Ben?”

  Sisko barely heard Picard’s voice, even though he was shouting. “I’m fine,” he lied. “Let’s move.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  Federation Starbase Deep Space 9

  Bajoran system

  Worf approached the office slowly. He was not entirely sure that he was not engaging in a fool’s errand. He also knew that he could probably do what he wished to do on his own authority as strategic operations officer of the station, but he respected Kira Nerys too much to do that.

  So he touched the door chime. It opened a moment later.

  Kira was leaning as far back in Sisko’s chair as she could and reading over a padd. “What can I do for you, Commander?”

  “I wish to summon Cadet Nog to ops, as well as Commander Data from the Enterprise.”

  Frowning, Kira asked, “What for?”

  Worf hesitated. “To go over the communication K’Tal made to the Defiant.”

  Kira smiled. “That would be the same communication you’ve been going over for the last day?”

  “Yes,” Worf said tightly. “However, Nog’s hearing is far greater than that of most humanoids, and Data also has perceptions beyond what—”

  Holding up a hand, Kira said, “It’s all right, Worf. Do it. I’m with you; this whole thing has seemed wrong from the start.”

  “Thank you, Major.”

  “Any word from the captain?”

  “Not yet. Nor is there any new information from the probe.”

  Looking quizzically at him, Kira asked, “What probe?”

  Again, Worf hesitated. “Before returning to the station from the border, I ordered the Defiant to send a class-8 probe to the Badlands to…monitor the situation.”

  Kira smiled. “Good idea. Let me know what happens with K’Tal’s message.”

  Nodding, Worf went back to ops. “Chief, contact the Enterprise and ask Commander Data to beam to ops.”

  O’Brien smiled from his station. “She said yes, huh?”

  Worf did not dignify that with a reply but instead tapped his combadge. “Worf to Nog.”

  “Nog here.”

  “Report to ops immediately, Cadet.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Within minutes, Ferengi and android had joined Worf, O’Brien, and Dax at the chief’s station.

  “This,” Worf said, “is the communication that K’Tal sent to the Defiant.” He nodded to O’Brien, who began the playback.

  “Greetings, Captain Picard, Captain Sisko. I assume this channel is secure.”

  “Sir,” Nog said, “do you have a recording that you know is K’Tal?”

  Worf looked at Dax, who said, “We don’t have any recent High Council sessions, but we’ve still got a bunch from before the empire pulled out of the accords.” She touched several controls on her console.

  “A visual record also, please,” Data said.

  “Do you see something, Commander?” Worf asked.

  Data winced, something Worf was not used to seeing from the android. He’d had his emotion chip for only a short time, and Worf hadn’t served with him for hardly any of it, so an emotional Data was still an oddity to him. “At the moment it is only a hypothesis.”

  The main viewer showed a High Counci
l session. K’Tal was standing in the center. “It is my belief that Governor Torrik was wholly justified in his actions and that he should remain in his post, and that no action be taken against him or the House of Hurgoh, which has served the empire honorably since the days of Chancellor Sturka.”

  “That isn’t the same voice,” Nog said emphatically.

  “Sounds the same to me,” Dax said.

  “It’s very close—one of the best forgeries I’ve ever heard.”

  O’Brien stared at the young Ferengi. “How many have you heard, kid?”

  “Um—”

  Data smiled—another oddity to Worf—and said,

  “Cadet Nog is correct. There are also minute discrepancies in the visual record. Commander Dax, what is the date of that recording?”

  Dax checked her console. “Stardate 48876.”

  “While it is true,” Data said, “that some Klingons undergo minute changes in their cranial ridges over time, I do not believe there is any documented case of all ridges decreasing depth by 4.2 centimeters over so small a time span as one year, nine months, and five days. The image sent to the Defiant is based on images of K’Tal but does not have the full depth of resolution for a perfect match.”

  “So who did contact us?” O’Brien asked.

  “Someone who wished to lure both captains into a trap.” Worf tapped his combadge. “Major Kira, please report to ops.”

  Kira came slowly out of the captain’s office a moment later. “What did you find?”

  “The communication from K’Tal was a fake,” Worf said.

  Nog said, “But that wasn’t a holo-filter. It was a call from someone who’d disguised himself to look and sound like K’Tal. It was really good, too.”

  “I believe I know the source of the technology,” Data said. “It is based on equipment used by a woman named Ardra, and which was used by Captain Snowden and Cadet Nomine on Starbase 375 during Admiral Leyton’s coup attempt.”

  Worf put it together. “The equipment stolen from Starbase 50.”

  “Yes.”

  Looking at Kira, Worf said, “We must take the Defiant to the Badlands.”

  “No,” Kira said. “The Enterprise should go, but I want the Defiant here. If the Klingons—or Klingon agents, or whoever—are going after Captain Sisko, they may be after the station next. I don’t want to leave us vulnerable.”

  Data said, “I will depart immediately.”

  Dax’s console beeped. “Better make it fast, Commander,” she said. “The probe Worf left behind? It’s picking up a Klingon bird-of-prey heading for the Badlands at warp seven.”

  “Understood.” Data walked to the transporter platform. “Energize.”

  O’Brien sent him back to the Enterprise. Part of Worf wished he was going with them. It galled him to stay behind while two of the humans he respected most in the galaxy were in danger—but Kira was also correct. Whatever was being planned here was likely bigger than simply trapping Sisko and Picard, and the station needed to be protected.

  As much because he needed to do something, he looked at Dax. “We should contact the High Council with this information.”

  “You really think they’ll believe us?”

  “No.” Worf knew firsthand how fickle the High Council was. They were the ones who were all too willing to condemn Worf’s own father for aiding the Romulan attack on Khitomer in order to protect a high-ranking councillor, whose father was the true traitor. “However, we should inform them in any event.”

  “Dax is right,” Kira said. “They’re not gonna listen. You’d be better off talking to someone you know and trust, who can relay the message to the council.”

  Worf and Dax stared at each other and simultaneously said, “Kor.”

  Kira’s face scrunched up. “That old drunk?”

  Dax said, “Kor may be an old drunk, but he’s an old drunk who’s a Dahar Master. It’s worth a shot.”

  Kira shrugged. “Fine, track him down.”

  Data’s voice sounded over the comm line. “Enterprise to ops. Request permission to disembark.”

  After nodding to O’Brien, Kira said, “Permission granted, Enterprise. Bring them home.”

  “We will endeavor to do so, Major. Data out.”

  It took Dax several hours to track Kor down. Once it was clear that he wasn’t at any of the several homes he maintained throughout Klingon space—the House of Kor was one of the wealthier ones in the empire—she started in on his drinking haunts. Worf’s instinct was to chide Dax for going straight to taverns, but Worf knew Kor.

  Sure enough, the elderly Dahar Master was at a tavern on B’Alda’ar Base. Curzon and Kor had shared many a drink there, apparently.

  “Dax, my old friend,” Kor said when he rubbed his eyes and recognized the person on the other end of the communication. “So good to see your lovely face, my dear. Ah, and Worf! How fares the son of Mogh?”

  “Poorly, at the moment.” Quickly, Worf and Dax filled Kor in on what had happened.

  Kor frowned. “K’Tal—K’Tal—”

  Fearing that the old warrior’s memory was failing, Worf said, “K’Tal is a councillor, Kor, who—”

  “Yes, I know who he is, you young toDSaH, I merely am trying to remember—Ah, yes! Torv!”

  “Who’s Torv?” Dax asked.

  “An old comrade of mine in Imperial Intelligence. He was just telling me the other day about something regarding K’Tal.” He waved his arms up and down. “If only I could remember—it was of interest, too, because it involved a familiar name—” Then he straightened, his face brightening. “I remember now! Sisko! I.I. learned of a plot to have Sisko and that human that K’mpec made his Arbiter—Picard, that’s the one—to have them killed in Gowron’s name in order to keep our nations from becoming allies again.”

  “What does that have to do with K’Tal?” Worf asked, wishing that Kor would get through this digression so they could have him talk to the High Council.

  “What do you mean? K’Tal is the councillor who deals with I.I., of course!”

  Worf debated the efficacy of pointing out to Kor that he could not possibly have known that. Dax rescued him: “Kor, we don’t exactly know the intricacies of who’s doing what on the High Council these days.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, you’re right. Well, never mind, it doesn’t matter, I’m sure K’Tal did something about it.”

  “On the contrary,” Worf said, wondering why he bothered telling Kor anything. “As we just told you, the plan has been engaged. Captains Sisko and Picard have been led into a trap by someone claiming to be K’Tal.”

  “Mmm, that is odd. K’Tal’s usually more efficient than that.”

  “Kor,” Dax said, “we need you to inform the High Council. People are speaking in K’Tal’s name and Gowron’s name—that’s treason.”

  “Indeed it is, yes. Very well, my good friends, I will see to this at once.”

  “Thank you, Kor. We are in your debt.”

  “Nonsense!” Kor said with a wave of his hand. “Dax and I are comrades in blood, and Worf, we are warriors who have fought side by side! There are no debts between such as us. We will speak again when all is done!”

  With that, Kor closed the connection.

  Dax looked up at Worf. “You think that’ll do any good?”

  “It is difficult to say,” Worf said after a moment.

  “The word of a Dahar Master, especially one of Kor’s accomplishments, will mean much to the High Council. I do not know if it will be sufficient to save the captains.”

  Nodding and sighing at the same time, Dax said, “Let’s hope Data can beat that bird-of-prey there.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  B’Leva

  The Badlands

  Picard had always found Starfleet’s thermal suits to be a marvel of textile engineering. The thick, ankle-length coats with plush lining, and elements woven into the fabric kept the wearer at a constant, comfortable temperature regardless of what was happening
outdoors. There was also a hat, gloves, and a pair of boot attachments, and Picard and Sisko had made use of all three.

  That, at least, was the theory. The reality was that winter on the northern hemisphere of B’Leva was sufficiently intense that the thermal suit was struggling against it.

  As he and Sisko trudged through the now knee-high snow toward Gowron’s pod’s signal, snow blowing in his face, Picard felt the chill in his bones. He had been hoping that the exertions of moving through the snow with the packs on their backs would be warming, but that, too, was not enough.

  Intellectually, he knew that were he not wearing the suit, he would likely be dead from frostbite. But he couldn’t help thinking of a few choice words for the engineers who’d put the suits together that they weren’t able to come up with something that would protect him from this.

  It didn’t help that his cracked ribs caused a constant ache that was made infinitely worse by the cold.

  The plasma storms illuminated space around B’Leva, but it was sufficiently diffused by the atmosphere that the world appeared to be in a constant state of twilight.

  Stealing a glance behind him—the “pathway” they were using was only wide enough for them to move single file—he saw that Sisko was moving at an even pace and that a great deal of snow had caught in his goatee.

  The winds were howling loud enough for conversation to be difficult, so Picard tapped his combadge and said, “How are you doing, Ben?” The first name sounded odd in Picard’s mouth.

  Sisko’s deep voice sounded tinny over the combadge, and Picard could still barely hear it. “A couple of years ago, O’Brien and I were on a planet that had a human colony. There was a duonetic field in place, and the people there had learned to live without technology. We were their… guests for a while, until Kira and Dax rescued us, but until then, we had to live by their rules. If you broke a rule, you had to sit in the punishment box, which was this small metal box that sat out in the sun. I sat in that box for a long time—it was hot, humid, cramped, and horrible, and I’m feeling awfully nostalgic for it right now.”