Stargazer Three

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Twelve o’clock. Time to go. “Have a pleasant—”

  Suddenly, Vigo thought he understood what Ejanix had been telling him.

  Of course, he thought, I may be misinterpreting the situation completely. Ejanix might not have meant to communicate such a thing at all.

  But Vigo’s instincts told him that he was right. They told him that Ejanix was trying to say something in words only the two of them would understand.

  Of course, there was only one way to find out—and if the weapons officer was correct, the opportunity to do so would present itself soon enough.

  Gerda was pacing her room like a caged targ when she heard a chime announce the presence of someone at her door.

  Greyhorse, she thought.

  He had come to try to apologize for what she had seen in him. But should I accept his apology? she asked herself. Or should I let him stew in his own bitter juices?

  Normally, she would have opted for the latter. But without Idun, she needed someone to talk to, and Grey-horse had always been happy to listen to her.

  I’ll accept it, then. But not easily. With her decision made, she said, “Come in.”

  The door slid aside. But it wasn’t Greyhorse it revealed. It was Idun.

  For a moment, they stood there staring at each other. Then Gerda moved to one side and let her sister enter.

  As the doors closed behind Idun, she glowered at Gerda. “What is the matter with you?” she asked.

  Gerda glared back at her with equal intensity. “I might ask you the same question.”

  Idun looked as if she had expected a different reaction. “Perhaps my memory is faulty—but as I recall, I’m not the one who turned her back on her sister and left the gym without an explanation. And I’m also not the one who attacked Refsland in the corridor.”

  “Nor are you the one who sees Gerda Idun for what she is,” the navigator shot back.

  Idun looked more confused than angry. “What in the name of Kahless are you talking about?”

  “She’s lying about something,” Gerda said. “I have seen it in her eyes. She’s keeping something from us.”

  Idun shook her head. “You’re insane. All Gerda Idun has done since she came aboard is cooperate with every request the captain has made of her. And if not for her courage, Joseph would likely be dead.”

  Gerda had to concede that the woman had saved the security officer’s life. But that didn’t change what she had seen—what her instincts told her was true.

  Idun poked her in the small of her shoulder. “I never thought I would be saying this, but you’re jealous of her.”

  Gerda knocked her sister’s hand aside with a snap of her wrist. “The hell I am.”

  “Admit it,” Idun pressed. “You didn’t see anything in her eyes. You just don’t like her being around. Because of the competition she represents. Because instead of two of us, there are three.”

  Gerda felt a surge of resentment. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “You are a liar,” her sister told her, her voice growing husky with anger. “And it’s not just me you’re lying to. If you think Gerda Idun is concealing something from us, you’re lying to yourself as well.”

  “How can you be certain?” Gerda demanded. “Do you really believe she just appeared on our transporter platform? That it was an accident, as she claims?”

  “It happened once,” said Idun, her eyes narrowing. “It could have happened again.”

  “Now who’s lying to herself?” Gerda snapped. “Me…or you?”

  “You have no proof,” Idun spat, “no evidence to support your claim. And yet you defame her!”

  “And you defend her,” Gerda snarled, her face turning hot with fury, “like a blind she-targ suckling a rodent!”

  Idun looked at her sister with unconcealed disgust. “Our father,” she rasped, her voice like a knife, “would have been ashamed to call you daughter!”

  It was the worst thing she could have said.

  For a long time, as they struggled to survive in an alien culture, the only reward they could embrace was their father’s approval. To be unworthy of it was to be worthless altogether—and Idun knew that.

  Gerda’s wrath carried her like an inexorable, black riptide. “Pahtk!” she growled, fully intending it as a challenge, a call to battle.

  And for a moment, it looked like Idun would accept it. Her face darkened and her hands balled into fists, as if she would strike her sister like any other enemy.

  And Gerda was ready for the blow, if it came.

  But it never happened. Little by little, the fire of anger left Idun’s face. Her hands opened and she drew a long, shuddering breath.

  Then, with a last look of reproach, she turned her back on her sister and left.

  The doors to Gerda’s anteroom remained open long enough for the navigator to hear Idun’s retreating footsteps. When they hissed closed, Gerda was left feeling emptier than she had ever felt in her life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  GREYHORSE WAS JUST LEAVING sickbay for his quarters when he saw Gerda in the corridor up ahead of him.

  She was wearing a formfitting, gray and scarlet gym ensemble, an outfit she hadn’t worn in quite some time—though the doctor didn’t know why, considering how good it looked on her.

  He hadn’t seen Gerda since she stormed out of his office the day before. Normally, one of the things he liked best about sickbay was that he didn’t have to interact with people very often. But in this case, it had prevented him from putting his love life in order.

  Greyhorse resolved to rectify the situation now, while he still had the chance.

  Loping down the corridor to catch up with Gerda, he made sure there was no one else around. Then he caught her by the arm and spun her around, knowing how much she liked it when he acted like a Klingon warrior.

  “I want you to listen to me,” he said.

  Gerda stared at him, obviously surprised that he was behaving so aggressively.

  “You were wrong about me,” Greyhorse said with an intensity even he hadn’t expected. “I’ve never even thought about her.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “I mean it,” he told her. “Not even once. You’re the only one I want to be with. The only one—”

  Gerda held up her hand. “Doctor,” she said, “I’ve got a feeling I’m not who you think I am.”

  Only then did Greyhorse realize that he had made a horrible mistake.

  Gerda Idun looked up at Greyhorse and saw his features contort into a mask of embarrassment.

  “S-sorry,” he stammered, “I thought you—”

  “Doctor,” she said, “please—”

  But he continued to sputter. “That is, I—”

  “It’s all right,” Gerda Idun said as firmly as she could. “I’m fine. No harm done.”

  “Yes,” said the doctor, still looking a little off balance.

  “Yes, of course. But you’re sure you’re not—?”

  “Not at all,” she insisted. “Really.”

  He nodded. “Good. Very good. Then I’ll…see you around, I suppose.”

  “I suppose,” she said.

  A moment later, Greyhorse was moving down the hall with long, purposeful strides, putting the situation behind him as quickly as he could. She watched until he disappeared around a bend in the corridor. Then she smiled.

  Obviously, she had stumbled onto something the doctor didn’t want her to know about. In fact, if the look on his face was any indication, he didn’t want anyone to know about it.

  Except the person for whom his affection had been intended—either Gerda or Idun, apparently. There was no way at this point to know which one.

  Of course, Gerda Idun could have investigated the matter further, and she had to admit to a certain curiosity about it. However, the doctor had been kind to her, and it was none of her business with whom her counterparts carried on their love affairs.

  Even if their choice wasn’t exactly the one Gerda I
dun would have made. She shook her head, bemused.

  Of all people…Greyhorse?

  Picard looked around the briefing room table at his command staff—minus Vigo, of course, and Simenon, who was working on reconfiguring one of the transporter systems. But Joseph was present, having recovered almost completely from his injuries.

  “As you know,” the captain said, “we have been unable to reason with the Balduk—in part, perhaps, because they now outnumber us nine to one. Nonetheless, I have made a commitment to get Gerda Idun home and I intend to fulfill it.”

  No one balked at his stance. But then, he hadn’t expected them to do so. To the best of his knowledge, everyone liked and respected Gerda Idun—Joseph in particular.

  “But,” he said, “I cannot do that without gaining access to the anomaly. Therefore, we must devise a method of getting past the Balduk without allowing the Stargazer to be destroyed in the process.”

  Kastiigan raised his hand. “Before we get to that,” he said, “there’s something I should point out.”

  Picard looked at him. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  The science officer reached for the hologram projector in the center of the table and tapped a command into it. A moment later, a three-dimensional representation of the anomaly appeared in their midst.

  But it didn’t look as it had on the forward viewscreen. It was fuzzy at the edges, indistinct.

  “The problem,” said Kastiigan, “is not the quality of the image. It’s the anomaly itself.”

  “It’s losing integrity,” Wu observed.

  “That it is,” said the science officer. “And at a most unfortunate pace.”

  Picard swore beneath his breath. “How long will it remain viable?”

  Kastiigan shrugged. “Four or five hours, perhaps. But that’s just a guess, sir. It could be a good deal less.”

  And without the anomaly to work with, Simenon couldn’t transport Gerda Idun back to her proper universe. Picard tapped his communicator badge.

  “Mr. Simenon?” he said.

  “Simenon here,” came the response.

  “How far are you from finishing your work on the transporter mechanism?”

  The engineer made a sound of disgust. “Not as soon as I’d like. Another few hours, at least.”

  “You will have to expedite that,” the captain said. Then he told him why.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Simenon said, clearly not happy about the new wrinkle in the situation.

  Picard regarded his officers again, the image of the anomaly looming over them like a sword of Damocles.

  “We still need a way to penetrate the Balduk formation,” he said, “or it won’t matter how quickly Mr. Simenon prepares his transporter system.”

  Idun, Joseph, and Wu all came up with suggestions, but none of them seemed to the captain to have a reasonable chance of success. Then, just when the idea mill seemed to have ground to a halt, Paxton made an observation about the Balduk’s vessels.

  It was the sort of thing only a com officer would have noticed. Normally, that didn’t constitute the basis for a promising combat strategy—but Picard believed this case might be an exception.

  He glanced at Ben Zoma. “What do you think, Number One?”

  The first officer shrugged. “I think Paxton may have something there. But let’s collect some more data to make sure we’re not jumping to conclusions.”

  “I’ll get to work on it,” Paxton promised.

  And with that, the meeting was adjourned.

  But on Kastiigan’s way out, he paused to speak with the captain. “Sir,” he said, “if there is a point in our encounter with the Balduk when you feel the need to imperil me, please don’t hesitate to do so.”

  Picard smiled. “Not for a moment.”

  The science officer inclined his head and said, “Thank you, sir. I am most grateful.”

  Then he departed as well, leaving Picard alone in the room to consider the deteriorating anomaly and their chances of reaching it in time.

  Vigo checked the digital chronometer on the cargo room wall. It told him that it was precisely two minutes before midnight.

  If he were at Velluto’s in San Francisco, the manager would be telling him that it was closing time. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen. Have a very pleasant evening.

  Time to leave, the weapons officer reflected. Time to take one’s friends and go elsewhere.

  With a prolonged groan, he got to his feet and stretched—and saw his guards’ heads turn vigilantly in his direction. Sebring and Runj had noticed him too, but neither of them seemed to think anything of it.

  And why should they? One or another of them had been standing up or sitting down every few minutes since they found themselves imprisoned. It hadn’t meant anything before. Why would it mean something now?

  Why indeed, Vigo thought.

  He walked across the room as if for exercise, passing close by the transparent barrier and the rebels outside it. But he didn’t look at them. Why should he?

  He was working out the kinks in his legs. He wasn’t up to anything trickier than that. Just working out the kinks.

  When he reached the far wall, he turned around and walked back the other way. This time, when he peeked at the guards out of the corner of his eye, they took less interest in him.

  No surprise there. After all, he was just walking around. It was understandable that someone forced to stay in a room would want to walk around now and then.

  But as soon as he was past the entrance, he glanced at the wall chronometer again. It indicated that it was now twenty-eight seconds to midnight.

  If Sebring and Runj had guessed what he was up to, they were hiding it exceptionally well. Neither of them seemed to be taking any particular note of their Pandrilite colleague. They weren’t even talking. They were just sitting there, their gazes fixed on something only they could see.

  Vigo forced himself to walk all the way to the wall again. Then he turned around and headed back the other way, as if he wasn’t quite satisfied yet.

  If they were in Velluto’s, the manager would be ushering them out the door. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.

  Now that it was Vigo’s third pass, the guards were showing even less interest than before. That was good, he told himself. Because if he was right, he didn’t want them any more interested than they had to be.

  He consulted the chronometer. It was only a couple of seconds until the stroke of midnight.

  Time, he thought.

  And a moment later, the transparent barrier separating him from the corridor fizzled out.

  Before either guard could react, Vigo hurtled into them, slamming them into the wall behind them with bone-jarring force. Then he struck one of them square in the face with all his strength, driving him sideways to the floor.

  When he whirled to face the other one, he saw that Sebring and Runj hadn’t been as oblivious as they seemed. They were pounding away at the other guard with short, vicious blows, making sure he didn’t have a chance to use his weapon on them.

  A moment later, he slumped to the floor beside his comrade, a trickle of blue blood issuing from his nose. Neither of the rebels looked like he would wake up anytime soon.

  And their phaser pistols lay on the floor beside them, freed from their senseless hands. Vigo snatched one up and Runj secured the other.

  “Good work,” whispered Sebring, massaging his knuckles. “But how did you know the barrier was going down?”

  “We’ve got a friend in Ejanix,” the Pandrilite whispered back, though he still wasn’t sure why his mentor had reversed his position.

  Sebring smiled. “That guy changes sides more often than I change my uniform.”

  “What now?” asked Runj.

  “We free the others,” Vigo told him, and started down the corridor toward the heart of the installation.

  But he hadn’t gotten far before he glanced back at their guards and thought, Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.

  One
day, Picard promised himself, he would have a spacious shipboard office with room for mementos and decorations—maybe even a couch for visitors. But for now, he would make do with his ready room on the Stargazer.

  Sitting in front of his monitor, he studied the data that his com officer had assembled for him over the last half hour or so. Then he turned and looked over his shoulders at Ben Zoma and Wu, who were hovering over him.

  “It seems Paxton was correct,” the captain said. “Our Balduk friends do appear to exhibit some rather interesting communications patterns.”

  More specifically, the largest of the nine enemy ships—the vessel Picard had taken to calling the “Coordinator”—had transmitted instructions to the seven smaller ships clustered around her almost constantly.

  However, the smaller ships—which he had dubbed “Satellites”—had seldom transmitted any communications of their own. And when they did it was only to acknowledge that they had received the transmissions of the Coordinator.

  Furthermore, the Satellites never spoke with each other. They communicated only with the Coordinator.

  Then there was the ninth ship—the one the Stargazer had intitially clashed with, which Picard now thought of as the “Independent.” She communicated with neither the Coordinator nor the Satellites, but kept her own counsel.

  “That they do,” Ben Zoma agreed. “And if we play our cards right, we may have an opportunity here.”

  “The only question,” said Wu, “is how to exploit it. I suppose the obvious move is to try to jam the Coordinator’s messages at a critical juncture, leaving the Satellites without direction.”

  “Better yet,” said Ben Zoma, “let’s see if we can feed them some bogus commands.”

  “And make them our pawns instead of the Coordinator’s,” said Picard. He nodded, envisioning the possibilities. “Make it so, Number One.”

  Ben Zoma looked at him. “Make it so…I like the sound of that.”

  The captain sighed. “If it pleases you, I’ll make it a permanent part of my repertoire. Now go.”