"That will change," Picard told her. Her puzzled reaction told him that it would be best if she learned what it meant to be a free person by experience, not by explanation. He resolved to treat her as he would a member of his crew. "Do you know where this Voyager is going now?"
"Back to the portal. With the Enterprise."
Picard glanced at the bulkhead. "The Enterprise is . . . out there? Right now?"
"The last I heard," Clark said.
Picard was troubled by how quickly Clark had given up her information but was quickly able to confirm what she said by checking local sensor readings on the brig's computer. The Enterprise was only two kilometers away, still at relative rest with the Voyager, still near the Goldin Discontinuity.
Riker shared Picard's concern. "Didn't you say Neelix told you the Enterprise was gone?"
"He also said that he wasn't told everything."
Riker looked across the brig to see Clark still being held by four crew members. "She said the same."
"Do you think one of them is lying?" Picard asked. Certainly, he had not completely accepted anything Neelix had told him, except for what he had been able to confirm through the ship's computer.
"I think both of them are," Riker said. Then he tapped the computer display. "But it doesn't matter what Clark or Neelix say as long as we know the Enterprise is in range of the Voyager's transporters. Once we're back onboard, we can check out everyone's story."
Picard felt a burden leave him. Will was right It wasn't necessary that he and his crew stage a takeover of this ship. Since they had access to the Voyager's transporters, Picard could lead a team back to the Enterprise.
It took him only minutes to devise a plan with Riker. Two teams of six and one team of two—Picard and Riker—would be needed. The first team would beam directly to the Enterprise's engineering section and attempt to shut down the warp core. The second team would beam to the bridge and attempt to overpower the Alliance crew they found there.
But, Picard told them, he was not expecting either team to be successful. In fact, he emphasized, they were to surrender almost at once. Their chief duty was simply to distract attention from what Picard and Riker would be doing in the Enterprise's auxiliary bridge—reestablishing Picard's command authority over the ship.
Provided the computer network was still operational—and a ship as complex as the Enterprise could barely function without it—the procedure, he assured them, should take less than a minute. Then he would flood the ship with anesthezine gas, and set a maximum warp course to the nearest starbase. The Voyager, without a Starfleet engineering crew who knew how to coax the last millicochrane from her warp engines. would not be able to keep up.
Commander Sloane was to lead the bridge-assault team, and Picard told him to keep the Klingon disruptor he was using to guard the brig door. If the Alliance crew had not reset the weapon-suppression system, there was a chance he might be able to use it.
But the engineering assault team would not be armed—a stray disruptor beam near the warp core could be disastrous. Riker took that other disruptor.
Picard had the crew members who were not needed return to their detention cells, and then he adjusted the forcefield screens to their lowest setting before switching them back on. Should any other Alliance guards enter to check the prisoners in the brig, they would see the forcefields in operation. But in the event of an emergency, the crew could easily slip through the fields with little more discomfort than a mild electric shock.
Less than five minutes after Picard had confirmed that the Enterprise was within range, he stood in the center of the brig with Riker and the twelve other crew members who would help him retake his ship. "Are you ready?" he asked Riker.
"How about you?"
"I feel . . . fine," Picard said. Then he paused. Odd, he really did feel better. Not at all as he had felt after his experience with Gul Madred. Or with the Borg. The heat of battle, he decided. That must be what was masking the aftereffects of his torture at the hands of the EMH with the agonizer.
"Are you sure?" Riker asked, as if he sensed Picard's uncertainty.
"I want my ship back, Will." It was that simple. Everything else could wait until that had been accomplished. " Computer, is transporter room one staffed at this time?"
"Negative," the computer replied.
"Is transporter room one operational?"
"Affirmative."
"Initiate site-to-site transport. Picard and twelve others from the brig to transporter room one. Transport in groups of four, four, and five."
The computer did not bother to reply. Instead, Picard saw the brig dissolve into golden energy, then re-form as a transporter room very much like the ones on the Enterprise.
As the computer had said, the room was empty. Riker immediately ran to the corridor doors and sealed them.
Within another minute, all thirteen crew members were in the transporter room. And there was still no sign that anyone on this Voyager's bridge was monitoring transporter usage. If the Enterprise's new crew was equally deficient, Picard knew, retaking the ship was not going to present any difficulty.
At the transporter console, Picard locked in the coordinates for the three beam-ins, then set the controls on automatic cycling.
The engineering team beamed to the Enterprise first. Their presence would set off intruder-alert alarms and, Picard was confident, would cause a commotion on the bridge. Twenty seconds later, the bridge team beamed over to take advantage of that confusion and add to it.
Then it was just Picard and Riker.
They stood together on the transporter pad. Riker held his disruptor ready to fire. "This is why they warn you to be careful what you wish for," he told his captain.
"When I was complaining about our duty, Will, this wasn't what I had in mind to replace it."
Riker smiled at him. "Are you sure?"
Then the transporter effect played around them, and Picard had no opportunity to reply. But in the timeless moment of transport, he wondered if Riker was right.
Picard was in a life-or-death situation, fighting for his crew and his ship.
He couldn't deny the bracing sense of purpose this mission gave him.
To take action, to do something worthwhile, wasn't this why he had joined Starfleet in the first place? To be someone who could make a difference?
And then the auxiliary bridge of the Enterprise formed around him, every console in the compact control center coming online and powering up as the sensors detected his presence.
Riker spun around to cover the turbolift doors with the disruptor as Picard turned to the helm controls. Instantly, intuitively, he checked the status of his ship.
For a moment, he was puzzled to see that his lockout order, delivered in those final seconds when Tom Paris had arrived on his bridge, had yet to be overridden.
Then Picard felt a thrill of hope as he realized his situation might be better than he had anticipated. Either Neelix had lied or, more probably, had been misinformed about what Rutal had done with the Enterprise. Perhaps, Picard thought hopefully, he had not given up any access codes during his interrogation. Or, if he had, Rutal was still trying to determine if the codes she had obtained were real or decoys. Whatever the reason, it was going to be much simpler to retake control of the Enterprise than he first had thought.
"What's our status?" Riker asked him.
Picard called up the security displays. The plan was working perfectly. "Fighting in engineering and on the bridge," he reported. "The Alliance doesn't have any idea what's going on." Picard intended to keep it that way.
"Computer, this is Jean-Luc Picard. Confirm voiceprint identity."
"Voiceprint confirmed."
"Command authority Picard alpha null four four nine. Rescind operational lockout and restore full command capability."
"Command capability restored," the computer confirmed.
Picard jumped up and turned to face Riker. "We did it!"
Riker hurried to the
environmental station. "I'll seal us off from main life-support." But before he could reach the raised deck ringing the auxiliary bridge, a dull thump vibrated through the bulkheads.
Riker halted, looking back at Picard in concern.
"Computer," Picard said at once. "Identify source of the tremor just experienced in the auxiliary bridge."
The computer didn't reply.
"Computer—this is Picard. Respond."
Nothing.
Picard turned back to the helm, punched in an access code for an automated damage report.
But the console displays did not change, as if the control surfaces had not detected his input.
"What is it?" Riker asked.
"We've been locked out," Picard said. But how could that be possible?
Then the auxiliary bridge's main viewer flickered into life, filling the small control room with baleful light.
Picard looked up at the screen.
It was Gul Rutal.
She was sitting on his bridge. In his chair.
Commanding his ship.
The Cardassian smirked at him. "Allow me to offer my thanks, Captain Picard. Without your assistance, I was told it might have taken us more than a month to establish manual control over the Enterprise."
"Computer," Picard said. "Emergency lockout! Picard Alpha One!"
Gul Rutal shrugged elaborately. "That tremor you felt? We severed the ODN line connecting the auxiliary bridge to the ship's computer network. Your ship can't hear you."
Picard heard a faint hiss. He looked over at the air vents and saw a gentle cascade of white vapor begin. Anesthezine. His own plan was being used against him.
"Will! The turbolift door!"
Riker fired his disruptor at the turbolift door, but no beam was generated. Clearly, the weapon-suppression system was operational again. Every system that made it difficult for attackers to gain control of the ship would now be used to prevent Picard from reestablishing his own.
"You have to admit, Captain, that this is much more humane than torture."
Then Picard realized what he had missed. And he knew he should have realized it sooner. "You never interrogated me at all."
Rutal smiled, inclining her head as if to accept his acknowledgment of her cleverness. "Our sources suggested that you would be conditioned to give us false codes. If we input the wrong ones, significant damage to the ship might have resulted . . . and no one wished that. Least of all, you, I would think."
Picard felt himself begin to get dizzy.
"I'd sit down if I were you," Rutal said. "If you fall when that gas takes effect, you might be damaged as well."
Picard stumbled back to the center chair. Sat in it. Realized that he had seen all the clues—the Klingon darts that weren't fatal after all, no aftereffects from the torture, the ease with which he had been able to elude security on the duplicate Voyager.
"You led me through a maze . . ." Picard said faintly.
"On the contrary. We built the maze, and you ran through it. Eagerly. Of your own free will. Like a well-trained vole."
Picard felt the auxiliary bridge begin to spin around him. He saw Riker slump to the deck, eyes rolled up, unconscious.
Rutal was right. He had fallen for this trap without resistance. Believing he was on an important mission had kept him from stopping to consider all the inconsistencies, and from asking all the questions he should have.
But now there was no question. He had just delivered the Enterprise to his enemies.
"I must compliment you," he said stiffly.
"Before you think me too resourceful," Rutal said from the screen, "I must confess that I did have the assistance of an expert."
Picard blinked at the viewer, not understanding what Rutal meant.
"The only one who could build the maze that you would follow," the Gul said. "The only one who would know every tempting detail that would mislead and divert you."
Another figure stepped onto the screen. A Klingon? Picard thought, having trouble keeping his eyes focused. At least, whoever it was wore Klingon armor and his fringe of white hair was long, tied back in a warrior's queue.
But something was wrong. Picard strained to identify the figure on the screen.
The forehead and scalp of the figure was smooth. No Klingon ridges.
The figure was human.
As human as he was.
As familiar a face as if he were looking into a . . .
"Jean-Luc Picard," Gul Rutal said as Picard's vision faded to oblivion, "meet . . . Jean-Luc Picard."
ELEVEN
At first he thought the transporter hadn't worked. The chamber Kirk materialized in had the same dimensions as the one he had just been in. But as the glow of the transporter effect faded, the differences became apparent.
Now the walls and debris were covered by thick layers of frost. Even the transporter platform was coated with ice—the few clear spots on it showing where heat leaked from its power units.
Then the major difference struck Kirk with the force of a body blow.
The cold.
So intense it was painful.
He shivered as he exhaled, mixing the air of one universe with that of another. His exhalation became a cloud of frozen vapor, swirling in the eddies caused by the way his arrival had disturbed the still air.
For a moment, he was uncertain what to do. The mirror Spock remained in place, pulling his cloak tightly around his thin shoulders. But Janeway and T'Val kicked off from the platform in a long and graceful lunar jump to land near a rime-encrusted crate.
Janeway tapped a code into the lockplate and the crate hissed open. Kirk watched as they pulled out environmental suits. Their design was different from any he had seen. The outer covering was mottled with irregular splotches of grays and black. It was a few seconds before Kirk recognized the pattern as camouflage.
These were suits made for lunar combat. He was in a different universe.
Kirk saw the mirror Spock begin to shiver violently. He moved to help guide the Vulcan from the platform, toward the women and the crate.
"Why the temperature difference?" Kirk asked. He could feel his cheeks beginning to burn, recognized the sensation as the stage before frostbite.
T'Val assisted her intendant in putting on his suit. "Our moon isn't terraformed. There's no artificially maintained atmosphere to hold heat close to the surface."
As T'Val finished suiting up the mirror Spock, and as Janeway slipped into her own protective gear, Kirk studied the chamber, noting that the piles of debris were different here, as well. In the other chamber, in his own universe, it had consisted of discarded sections of environmental suits, left by ice miners, Kirk had guessed. But here, entire suits were scattered about.
Kirk looked more closely at one. Part of its chestpiece was missing. In the ragged opening, Kirk could see torn and mummified flesh and ice-covered ribs.
These weren't discarded suits. They were bodies.
"Who were they?" Kirk asked as Janeway handed him his own camouflaged suit.
"Who knows?" She looked, without interest, at the carcasses that surrounded them. "They've been here almost a century. They could be from the Alliance invasion. They could be victims of the Imperial Guard. It doesn't matter to them. It doesn't matter to me."
Kirk understood the flatness in Janeway's tone. As he had suspected, she was a battlefield soldier. For too many years. The emotional distancing Vulcans strove all their lives to achieve, this human woman had attained by experiencing the horrors of war for too long and too closely.
Perhaps he had been responsible for Earth's downfall in this universe. But somehow, before he had crossed over, something else had happened here to make the Janeway of this universe a battle-hardened, emotionally scarred guerrilla warrior, while in his universe, her counterpart had become a starship captain—by all accounts a successful and resourceful one. What, he wondered again, besides his intrusion, had caused Earth and Vulcan to unite in a brutal Empire and not a peacef
ul Federation? And was it even possible that he could ever find the answer?
Kirk paused in the process of sealing his suit, suddenly struck by a new thought. What if Teilani existed in this universe? If so, what had she become? Whom had she found? What if, somehow, his actions so long ago had made her life unbearable, or worse, doomed her here?
The moment of reflection ended quickly in Kirk. He and his abductors were still the targets of a chase. He sealed his suit components, snapped on his helmet, and glanced down at the control displays built in at chin level. Immediately, the suit's systems powered up. Kirk felt a soft rush of air move over his face and welcome heat began to build around him as he realized there must be a sensor system in his helmet that tracked where he was looking, so he could activate controls with a glance.
Janeway tapped Kirk's helmet with her fingers. She pointed to the left and he looked across the controls to see an icon for communications. Testing his conclusions, Kirk stared at the small symbol. At once, his helmet speakers clicked on.
"Can you hear me now?" Janeway asked.
Kirk said he could, saw that she could hear him, too. Then he asked, "Why did you bring me here?"
"The Alliance doesn't know about our transporter network on the moon in our universe," Janeway said.
"At least, not yet," T'Val amended. She was using the tricorder built into the sleeve of her suit to check Intendant Speck's status. He had stopped shivering as the suit's heating system shielded him from the cold, but he looked pale, almost gray behind his suit's clear visor. Exhaustion, Kirk knew, from long experience with someone almost just like him.
T'Val steadied her superior by holding his arm. "We're almost there, Intendant. A few more minutes."
Janeway scanned the chamber with her larger tricorder, then told everyone to return to the platform.
"These are like underground tunnels, then," Kirk said as he moved as directed. "You disappear from my universe, go to a different location in your own, then reappear back in mine."
"Exactly." Janeway checked to make certain everyone was in place, then tapped commands into her tricorder. "But each time we use this network, we risk the Alliance discovering what we're doing."
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