Picard nodded. He had no doubt. "It would be Jim Kirk."
"So he's out there right now, hiding in all the plasma-storm interference, talking to the people he rescued, trying to figure out a way to get down here and save the rest of you. And you—at least according to your counterpart—have figured out a way to get back on board your ship."
She flipped the regent over again, and used the knife to attack the wavy white hair at his temples. Except for its length, Picard saw that his duplicate's hair grew in the same scalp pattern his own hair did. A legacy from his father, he knew. Their fathers. A pattern encoded in his genes in both universes.
Picard decided he had nothing left to lose. If this remarkable consort of Kirk's had been a mirror-universe counterpart, then she was right—she could have killed him at any time.
Thus, he accepted her as the Teilani he had known in his universe. And tried not to think how much he wanted to protect her—almost a compulsion. It was a reaction to the tension of the moment, he decided. Of the whole situation.
"My counterpart was right," Picard admitted. "My people are ready to retake the ship at the end of this shift."
"Is there something special about that timing? He seemed to think so."
"Whatever device they're building up there, I'm convinced it's what they're going to use to transfer the Enterprise to the mirror universe. When we were brought here, the crossover device was long enough to accommodate the Voyager. By the end of the next shift, it will be long enough for the Enterprise."
Teilani held the regent's head up to admire her tonsorial efforts. With his duplicate's fringe of white hair now close-cropped to the sides and the back of his head, Picard saw that the degree of resemblance between himself and his counterpart was even more pronounced.
"You'll have to get your people to move faster than you planned," Teilani said. "Before the guards can drop the atmosphere."
She was right, Picard knew. And fortunately, from the beginning of his planning, he had already devised a contingency signal in case something like this happened and everyone had to move ahead of schedule.
"I need to reach the overseers' command post," Picard said. Once there, he could send the coded signal that would let his people know that time was of the essence.
"And once James sees your escape attempt in progress, he'll come in to help everyone get away."
Picard knew she was right about that, too. Between the two of them, Kirk in space and Picard on the ground, both working together, the Alliance didn't have a chance.
"So," Picard said, "it seems the only thing left to do is figure a way past the guards undoubtedly surrounding this building, so I can reach the command post." He looked around the chamber, checking for any sign of secret passages or weapons storage lockers.
Teilani let go of the regent and his head dropped back to thud against the floor. "I've already got a way," she said, moving closer to Picard.
"Let's hear it."
"Good," Teilani said. "First thing you have to do—take off your discharge suit."
Picard stared at her, certain he had misheard. But Teilani folded her arms impatiently. "You know, James told me you could be like this, but believe me, this isn't the time to get all proper. I want that suit and all your clothes off, now, Jean-Luc. And I don't like to be kept waiting."
Picard reached for the suit seals at his neck. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but he did as he was told.
TWENTY-SIX
There were eleven passengers on the crowded runabout, and Kirk was fully aware that ten of them—nine plus an android—were staring at him in utter incomprehension.
So he went back to the beginning and said it again.
"I need a starship. It's the only way we can make this work."
"Captain," Scotty finally said. "Jim, there's only one word for it. Ye're daft."
"It does appear to be a more descriptive term for your strategy than 'illogical.'" Spock said.
The mirror Spock regarded his counterpart with equanimity. "Though 'illogical' certainly obtains in this instance."
"Indeed," Spock agreed.
McCoy was next to hold forth. "And your hands, Jim. So you get on board, and then what? It's going to take months to get your fingers working again."
"Weeks, at least," Dr. Crusher amended.
"And what if the programming isn't in place?" La Forge said, adding his voice to those against. "You'll be standing there with your . . . your gel packs in your hands while the Cardassians blow disruptor holes in you."
But Kirk wasn't swayed. He looked from one to the other of those who stood before him. His gaze stopped on Deanna Troi. Her lustrous dark eyes held his, as if trying to communicate some secret fact known only to the two of them.
"You have something to say, Deanna?" Kirk prompted.
Deanna addressed herself to the others. "Only that I feel immense confidence in the captain. No matter what our objections, he is certain he can make his plan work."
"Taking a starship with only a broken-down runabout. It's suicide," McCoy said. "Plain and simple."
Kirk waited to see if anyone else had something to add. No one did. He spoke again.
"Computer, given the passenger load of this craft, and the damage she has sustained in recent action, how long will her life-support system continue to function?"
"Total life-support failure will occur in seventeen hours, fifteen minutes."
"The nearest starbase is weeks away at the top speed we can manage," Kirk said. "And I guarantee any distress call we put out once we're clear of the plasma storms will bring the Sovereign— before any other vessel gets a chance to hear it. So the way I see it, it's suicide if we don't do anything."
Exasperated, Scott ran a hand through his hair, succeeding only in making it stand on end. His good-natured face was streaked with soot and he looked exhausted from all his efforts to make the St. Lawrence last even this long. "Captain, even if everything ye hope for is true, it's the gettin' aboard that's . . . that's impossible. I mean, the maneuvers you're talking about, even Sulu couldna have handled them in his heyday. No human could."
Kirk had no argument with that. "I agree, Mr. Scott. No human could possibly do what I'm suggesting. But in case you haven't noticed, Starfleet is not restricted to humans." He held out his hand to Commander Data.
Scott looked pained. He stared at the android. "When ye start the run to warp factor one, we'll be traveling almost at light speed, ye understand."
Data appeared to be caught off guard. "My positronic net is capable of operating within a relativistically accelerated frame of reference for short periods of time. And I have no doubt as to my ability to perform the maneuvers the captain has described. My concern, however, is that this runabout has experienced considerable damage, and may not operate according to manufacturer's specifications."
Scott reacted as if Data had slapped a glove across his face. "Just ignore the dents and the smoke damage, lad, and I guarantee ye she'll outperform her specs any day of the week, and twice on shore leave."
Data shrugged, resigned. "Then, since I have no desire to watch the rest of you succumb to life-support failure, I suggest we do as Captain Kirk has suggested."
McCoy moaned in dismay. The others still looked unconvinced.
So Kirk tried again, knowing that he would soon have to take his strategy out of the realm of suggestion and into the context of a direct order. On this runabout, only Spock outranked him, but Kirk hoped his friend would comprehend that a chance for survival—no matter how slim—was preferable to certain death in just over seventeen hours. He was betting that Spock would support him, logic be damned.
"You heard what Commander Riker said," Kirk told the group. "The guards in the prison camp can shut off the forcefields and the atmosphere will dissipate in less than a minute. So it's not just our lives we're dealing with, here. It's Captain Picard's. It's all your shipmates'. It's the lives of all the other prisoners in the camp."
Kirk paused t
hen, letting that brutal reality sink in, even as he thought of the one life that meant more to him than all the others.
Somewhere within himself, he knew he didn't care about the odds or the chances or the noble admonition to save as many lives as possible.
Once, long ago in his youth, he might have embraced that selfless aspect of his plan.
But not now. Not today.
Because, at this point in his life, after all the incomprehensible horrors he had seen, all the injustices he had watched go unpunished, he had no more stomach for righting the ills of the galaxy.
He had tired of that game, and all he wanted now to do was to go home.
With Teilani.
That was the sum total of what had brought him out to this region of space.
The sum total of why he had dared suggest such a reckless plan.
All he wanted was Teilani.
All he was prepared to do was for Teilani.
If others were saved as a result of those efforts, then he would be the first to be pleased.
But one irreplaceable life had become infinitely precious to him. And he could no longer deny it.
Not here. Not now. Not anymore.
He had to save Teilani and nothing, no one, could stand in his way.
Not even the ten on this dying spacecraft who stared at him in disbelief. Not even his dearest and his oldest friends.
"And the guards," Kirk said, playing his part to perfection, "don't forget the guards saw you people from the Enterprise being rescued by our transporter." He looked to the mirror Spock. "Intendant, how long do you think it will be before the Alliance guards take measures to prevent a further rescue attempt?"
The mirror Spock considered his shaking hands. The battle endured in the St. Lawrence had affected him more than he had revealed, and now the strain of that desperate attempt at self-control was exacting its price from him. "If they have not done so already, then they will take action within the hour. The logic of their rule is overreaction—to make any potential enemy realize that either they must wipe out the Alliance to the last soldier, or be prepared to pay a price beyond all reasonable expectation.
"A world destroyed in retaliation for a ship attacked. A prison camp wiped out in retaliation for five prisoners escaping." The mirror Spock looked up at Kirk. "It is a strategy they learned from you—forgive me—from your counterpart, Tiberius." The Vulcan sighed and Kirk saw Spock regarding his counterpart with grave concern. " Because of what has happened, the people in that camp are already dead. That is the logic of the Alliance."
But Kirk disagreed. "I refuse to accept that. From everything Commander Riker and the others have said, the only purpose that camp has is to allow the Enterprise to cross into the mirror universe. The prisoners won't be killed until that happens."
"You're arguing over nothing," Riker said. "The crossover's going to happen today. Captain Picard was convinced of it."
Kirk swept one hand to the side as if to push aside any and all objections to what he had to convince them of. Once again the sight of his hands shocked even him, wrapped as they were in glittering antiseptic bandages that made them look like twisted clubs. "I know this is how you do things in your Starfleet," he continued without a pause, "but we're not debating the best way to study a supernova. I want to do this. We can do this. We have to do this."
He looked each of them in the eye.
"And we have to do it now."
Surprisingly, it was Riker who became the one to turn the tide. He looked at Kirk, then nodded and turned to address his fellow crew members. "Today might not be a good day to die, people, but I for one can't think of another way to save our crew, and our captain. And I know that time is running out."
Kirk acted before anyone else had a chance for second thoughts. He stood up, Janeway following suit beside him, as if knowing exactly what would be required of her.
"Strap yourself in," Kirk advised them all, the debate at an end. "Like Kate said, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
In the first stage of Kirk's plan, everything hinged on the runabout's sensors.
La Forge programmed two levels of sensitivity into their mass-detector subroutines.
One for the mirror Voyager. One for the Sovereign.
One starship would mean Kirk had a chance at winning. The other would mean a quick and relatively painful death for them all as the St. Lawrence was blown out of space.
La Forge told Kirk he had worked under conditions of greater pressure, but didn't elaborate.
After the programming was completed, there would only be the waiting. Kirk was certain their limbo wouldn't last long, not since they were heading back to the twin asteroids at full impulse—a trip that would take less than twenty minutes.
Except for the hum of her generators, and the wheezing of her malfunctioning air recyclers, the St. Lawrence ran silent.
Data was in the copilot's chair. None of the flight controls in front of the pilot's chair were operational. But Riker sat there anyway. Kirk knew why. Picard's senior officer had the need to be at the cutting edge of action. And Kirk understood that compulsion. Shared it.
Kirk and Janeway were the only members of the runabout's crew not to be strapped in someplace. They stood together on the flush-mounted platform of the emergency transporter. Janeway had linked her arm through Kirk's.
Scott was positioned just ahead of them, a strap he had jury-rigged from an away pack looped tightly around one hand. The strap was wedged between two wail panels, so that no matter what happened, even if the gravity failed, Scott would still be within reach of the transporter controls.
Spock and T'Val had taken the jump seats behind Data and Riker, for no reason other than as Vulcans, they wouldn't admit to preferring not to sit up front, where they might see their fate unfolding seconds before the end. The mirror Spock was flanked by McCoy and Beverly Crusher in the starboard passenger seats, unable to see much of anything. Both doctors were ready to sedate the frail intendant, or otherwise care for him if the ride became too rough.
La Forge, with Deanna Troi, who had been enlisted as the engineering assistant to both La Forge and Scott, had, like Scott, made handhold straps to anchor themselves to the runabout's deck near the engineering access panels. If they had to, the engineers and the counselor had told Kirk they would keep the warp core together with their bare hands.
So the ten flew on, each at their own station, each with their own thoughts. After ten minutes of silence, interrupted only by the creaking caused by the slow rise and fall of the plasma displacement swells, a sensor alarm finally chimed. But as quickly as everyone automatically tensed in expectation, Riker announced it was coolant temperature warning.
La Forge reached over to a small access panel, opened it, and made an adjustment. The alarm stopped.
More silence.
Then a second alarm sounded.
"That's a mass alert," Riker said.
"Which one?" McCoy asked.
The delay as Riker checked his readings was unbearable.
But the answer was worth waiting for.
"It's the Voyager."
Kirk and Janeway exchanged a look of relief, and of nervous expectation. Kirk had guessed from the attack formation the two starships had taken up when they had tried to snare the St. Lawrence in a pincer that the Voyager would cover the asteroids to the relative starboard.
His guess had been right.
Now, if this was going to work, they would have their answer in only minutes.
Or they would never know anything again.
Data began a running commentary. Now that contact had been made, everything was dependent on proper timing. "I am setting course toward the Voyager, one-quarter impulse."
The low speed had been part of Kirk's plan. It would give the commander of the Voyager ample time to change course and bear down on the small runabout, prow first.
Kirk was counting on that.
When the Voyager opened fire, he needed its torpedoes to approach in
a clean, direct, straight-ahead trajectory.
"The Voyager is changing course to meet us. Holding at one-quarter impulse," Data said.
Riker leaned over to operate the sensor controls at the top of Data's board. "Voyager's phasers are online, but are not powering up," he said. "Quantum torpedo tubes are loaded."
Another good sign, Kirk thought. "How are those shields, Commander?"
"Forward shields at ninety-eight percent," Riker said as he read the console.
Ninety-eight percent was an impressive figure, and Kirk knew by the time the Voyager might possibly fly by the runabout, and notice that she had no side or aft shields—all power being forced to the forward screens—it would be too late for her to do anything about it.
"We're receiving a transmission," Data announced. "Refuse it," Kirk said quickly. "Let's get them worried. Commander Riker, if you please . . ."
Riker cleared his throat, then opened a channel to the mirror Voyager and, in his most guttural Klingon, snarled, "Today is a good day to die!"
"That got their attention," Data said. "Their shields are up to full power, phasers coming online, and—"
The first phaser blast made the runabout yaw, but Data expertly corrected for unwanted movement.
"Shields holding at eighty-one percent. Accelerating to half-impulse," he said, each measured response according to the script Kirk had set out.
Now, Kirk hoped, whoever was commanding the Voyager would believe the St. Lawrence was on a suicide mission, intending only to collide head-on with the starship.
In a sense, that was right.
But not completely.
"Phasers firing again," Data warned.
This time, at closer range, the effect was more violent.
But still Data held the runabout to her course and her proper orientation.
"Shields at seventy-two percent. They must be wondering what we've done to this ship," Data said. Though in truth, to maintain high shield figures, Scott and La Forge had stolen power from almost every other system in the runabout, including life-support.
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