Stargazer Three

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Picard’s teeth ground together. Their ploy had worked, but only to a point.

  A more cautious commander would likely have withdrawn then and there. But at the rate the anomaly was shrinking, Picard wouldn’t get another chance.

  It was now or never.

  Nikolas bit his lip as he watched Gerda Idun return to the transporter console. He couldn’t make himself get up off the floor, but he could still get a few words out.

  Was it possible to talk Gerda Idun out of what she was doing? He doubted it. She looked altogether too determined, too committed to her course.

  Maybe he could distract her, then. Make her think about something else. He didn’t know what good it would do, but it was better than doing nothing.

  “What do you need Simenon for?” Nikolas gasped.

  Gerda Idun inspected something on Refsland’s transporter console—the sensor monitor, maybe, to check the status of the anomaly. Then she looked up at him, her jaw set, her features devoid of emotion.

  “I’m from another universe,” she told him, “just as I said. But despite what I told your captain, it’s the same universe your Captain Kirk visited years ago.”

  Nikolas had heard about Kirk’s accidental transit at the Academy, and more recently in discussions among his peers. It was a natural topic of conversation when a woman from another universe came aboard.

  “In Kirk’s time,” Gerda Idun continued, “humanity was the oppressor of other species. In my time, it’s different. The Klingons and the Cardassians have formed an alliance. Its goal is to wipe us out—every last man, woman, and child.

  “They’ve had us on the run for some time now, but a few of our ships are still putting up a fight. The Stargazer is one of them.” Her eyes narrowed. “You asked about your counterpart in my universe? Well, he died, all right. But it wasn’t when he was in his teens. It was just a few weeks ago, in a battle with a Klingon bird-of-prey.”

  Nikolas swallowed. He had always known he could die in battle, but it had only been a theory, an abstraction. Suddenly, it was all too real.

  “We took other casualties too,” Gerda Idun said. “One of them was Simenon. Our Simenon.”

  The ensign was beginning to understand.

  “His engineering expertise had been the key to our survival,” said Gerda Idun. “One way or another, he had kept us alive through skirmish after bloody skirmish. But the real tragedy is that he was working on a new propulsion technology—something I couldn’t even begin to understand—that might have turned the tide of the war in our favor.”

  Nikolas saw a hint of pain in her face, and a distance in her gaze. It was working. He was distracting her.

  And it occurred to him that it might get him somewhere after all—because even though he still hurt like crazy, he felt that he could move his arms and legs a little if he had to.

  Keep talking, the ensign thought. Maybe I’ll get another shot at stopping you yet.

  As if in compliance with his silent instruction, Gerda Idun went on. “We had another engineering marvel, a man named Montgomery Scott. In the days of Kirk’s Empire, he had served on the Enterprise and made a name for himself as a real hardass, but he eventually saw the error of his ways.

  “When Simenon was killed, Scott was too old and tired to take over for him. But he was still sharp enough to re-create the circumstances that sent your Kirk from universe to universe—and to use them to transport me here.

  “My mission was to cross the transuniversal barrier, find Simenon—either here on the Stargazer or else-where—and bring him back with me.” Her gaze turned hard again. “And that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Despite the kindness the captain showed you,” he rasped. “Despite us.”

  He could see the muscles working in Gerda Idun’s jaw. “Yes,” she said, without the slightest trace of uncertainty in her voice. “Despite all that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  IDUN HELD ON to her control console as the Stargazer lurched to starboard under a Balduk barrage.

  “Shields down seventy-eight percent!” her sister called out from her navigation board.

  The air on the bridge was hot and heavy with smoke, there was a metallic reek of leaking EPS coolants, and the lighting faltered every few seconds. But the viewscreen remained in perfect working order, showing them every detail of their enemy’s volleys.

  Idun could accept the fact that the Stargazer was taking a beating. What irked her was that they weren’t getting any closer to their goal in the process.

  The helm officer was too busy weaving through the enemy’s formations to pay attention to her sensor screen, but she knew time was running out on Gerda Idun. If the situation didn’t improve—and quickly—the anomaly would vanish and the woman would be stuck in a universe not her own.

  Captain Picard seemed to be as determined as anyone to send Gerda Idun home. But even he had his limits, and Idun had a feeling he was about to reach them.

  Suddenly, the Balduk pulled a maneuver of which she hadn’t thought them capable. Even without the Coordinator to guide them, the Satellite ships pinched the Stargazer into the narrowest of escape slots.

  Idun drove the ship forward at full impulse. But just when she thought she had slipped their trap, the Independent rose up in front of her.

  Blood of Kahless, she thought, the muscles in her temples working furiously.

  She tried a roll to starboard—a move that had stood her in good stead before. But not this time. The weapons officer on the Balduk ship tracked the Stargazer and buried his phaser beams in her saucer section.

  Before Idun could try another tack, the console next to her exploded in a gout of sparks, sending Gerda flying out of her seat. Her heart pounding against her ribs, the helm officer glanced at her sister to make sure she hadn’t been killed.

  Gerda’s hands and face were badly burned, but she was alive. Alive. Swearing beneath her breath, Idun turned to her task with a new resolve.

  Gerda was the only blood kin she had left in the entire universe. She would be damned if she would let some Balduk marauder take her life.

  Diving and twisting to port, she shook the Balduk ship for the moment. Seizing the opportunity, Paris blasted away at the Independent and battered her hindquarters, but not enough to slow her down.

  By then, Gerda had gotten to her feet. Even with her injuries, she wanted to stay on the bridge—just as Idun would have, if it had been she who was hurt.

  But when the captain ordered her to report to sickbay, she had no choice but to comply. Reluctantly, she limped to the turbolift and disappeared inside it.

  Idun felt a pang as her sister departed. But it was only natural for Idun to feel the loss. They were a team.

  A team…

  She looked at the viewscreen and the enemy vessel depicted there in all her martial glory. Picard had dubbed her the Independent for a reason.

  Had the Balduk worked together, they might have driven the Stargazer off immediately. But they hadn’t. They hadn’t even attempted to communicate with each other.

  Klingons were warriors too. But they talked. They worked together in a space battle.

  Why didn’t the Balduk talk? she wondered. Why?

  It was then that Idun found herself turning to Picard. “Captain,” she said, “I have an idea.”

  It was unorthodox, to say the least. Her father would never have approved of it. But if not for what she had learned from him, she would never have been able to come up with it.

  “What is it?” Picard asked, no doubt willing to entertain any idea at this point.

  “When warriors like these Balduk refuse to talk to each other, it’s because they’re competing for the right to claim victory—in this case, the victory that would come with driving the Stargazer out of Balduk territory.”

  Picard looked at Idun. “And if that’s so?”

  “Then we can use it to our advantage.” And she told him how.

  The captain seemed surprised that she would consider s
uch an approach. After all, she was a warrior herself. But he didn’t reject it out of hand.

  Finally, he said, “All right. Let’s give it a shot.”

  Idun was gratified that Picard had embraced her suggestion. But she would be a lot more gratified if it got them closer to the anomaly.

  Wutor Qiyuntor glowered at his data-collection officer. “What did you say?”

  Delakan repeated the message she had received from the Federation ship, this time more slowly and carefully. Still, it was hard for Wutor to believe he had heard correctly.

  He turned to his viewscreen, where the Stargazer was still veering to one side or the other, trying to shake him from her trail. “I will talk to Picard,” he growled.

  A moment later, the human’s pale, smooth visage appeared on his screen. “Commander,” he said, “so nice to hear from you.”

  “Are you insane?” Wutor demanded.

  “Perhaps. Men do strange things in the heat of battle. But for some reason, I feel compelled to surrender to your colleague in the larger vessel.”

  “You crippled him!” Wutor insisted. “He’s no longer a threat to you!”

  “Thank you for confirming that,” said Picard. “Nonetheless, it’s he to whom I’ll surrender.” His eyes narrowed, as if something had occurred to him. “Unless…”

  Wutor leaned forward in his command brace. “Unless what?”

  “Unless you give us some time to return our guest to her proper universe.”

  “Impossible,” Wutor spat.

  The human shrugged. “The commander of the larger vessel will be pleased to hear that.”

  Wutor’s tongue slid over his flat-teeth. This Picard was cleverer than he would have imagined.

  The commander couldn’t allow victory to elude him. But if the human surrendered to Ujawekwit, Wutor would emerge from the battle empty-handed—and perhaps remain in the brace of a Middle Order vessel the rest of his life.

  On the other hand, he couldn’t simply give a Federation vessel an open field in which to squat. He was a Balduk commander. He had a responsibility to guard and defend.

  Not to mention a crew who might be inclined to tell tales if he dealt too mercifully with an enemy.

  Wutor eyed Picard. “You have fifty heartbeats,” he said, “to do what you need to do.”

  Then, hoping that fifty heartbeats would be enough to resolve all their problems, he broke the line of communication.

  Fifty heartbeats will have to do, Picard thought.

  “Idun,” he said, “get us as close to the anomaly as you can.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the helm officer’s reply.

  “Captain,” said a voice at Picard’s shoulder, “I just wanted to take this opportunity to remind you of my availability should the need arise.”

  Recognizing the tone, the captain darted a glance at its source and said, “Not now, Mr. Kastiigan!”

  The science officer nodded. “Very well,” he replied, and retreated to his station.

  Picard looked up at the intercom grid concealed in the ceiling. “Transporter Room One, this is the captain. We’re approaching the anomaly. Get ready to—”

  “The intercom,” said the Stargazer’s computer, “is no longer functioning in Transporter Room One.”

  Picard frowned. “Mr. Refsland, this is the captain.”

  There was no response.

  “Mr. Simenon,” said Picard.

  Still no answer.

  “Mr. Joseph?”

  Nothing.

  The captain glanced at Ben Zoma, who had moved up from one of the aft stations to join him. “Something’s wrong,” Picard said, though he couldn’t say what it might be.

  The first officer seemed to think so too. “Security,” he said, “this is Ben Zoma. Get a team over to Transporter Room One on the double.”

  The captain eyed the Independent, hanging in space with her weapons still trained on the Stargazer. Fifty heartbeats, he reflected, might not be enough after all.

  Gerda hated the idea of retreating to sickbay. It was true that her hands had been burned and her console had been rendered useless, but she couldn’t help feeling there might be something she could do to help.

  She was still thinking that when she came across Pierzynski, his long, lean form lying along the left-hand wall of the corridor between the turbolift and sickbay.

  The security officer looked up at her, his face badly bruised and one of his legs lying at an awkward angle. Then Gerda saw the reason for it—a still-smoking EPS junction that had exploded a little farther down the corridor.

  “I’m all right,” Pierzynski gasped.

  Judging by the size of his pupils, he had sustained a pretty bad concussion, and his leg was probably broken. But at least he hadn’t suffered anything life-threatening.

  “Did you call security?” Gerda asked him.

  He nodded. “Yes. They’re…on their way. But…there are casualties…all over the ship.”

  The navigator had already decided to stay with Pierzynski until help came when she heard Ben Zoma’s voice issue from the security officer’s badge.

  “Security,” the first officer said, “this is Ben Zoma. Get a team over to Transporter Room One on the double.”

  Transporter Room One was where Gerda Idun would be, along with Simenon, Joseph, and Refsland. It was unlikely that anyone there had been hurt—all the transporter rooms had been overbuilt in order to minimize the possibility of damage.

  So why would the captain have dispatched security there? Gerda had a feeling she knew.

  “I’ve got to go,” she told Pierzynski.

  Trusting that the security officer would be all right, she made her way back to the turbolift. But this time, she didn’t walk.

  She ran.

  Picard could only guess the duration of a Balduk heartbeat, but he didn’t think it would be much different from his own. And his heart had certainly beat more than fifty times since the Balduk granted them a cease-fire.

  Come on, Picard thought, silently encouraging his security officers—or, rather, whichever of them arrived in Transporter Room One first. What’s going on down there?

  “Sir,” said Paxton, “sensors show an energy buildup in the Balduk ship’s weapons arrays.”

  The captain frowned. Clearly, their reprieve had come to an end. “Evasive maneuvers,” he told Idun.

  She sent them veering to port just in time to avoid a lurid volley from the Independent. Then, veering back to starboard, she slipped them past a crossfire from the Satellites.

  Unfortunately, each maneuver took them a little farther away from the anomaly—and it would be twice as hard to regain whatever ground they lost.

  Picard held on to his armrests. Once again, the hunt was on—and the Stargazer was more than ever the hunted.

  “What’s the matter?” Nikolas said, every word an effort.

  Gerda Idun frowned as she stood at the transporter console and studied its monitors. “We were almost there.”

  “Almost at the anomaly,” he speculated.

  She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. “Yes.”

  “You know,” Nikolas whispered, concealing the fact that his voice was a little stronger now, “I really would have gone back with you.”

  The muscles around Gerda Idun’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I would have left everything,” he told her, “to stay with you.”

  Her nostrils flared.

  “Everything,” Nikolas said.

  Gerda Idun covered her eyes with her free hand, and remained that way for a moment. When she took her hand away, her gaze wandered back to her monitor.

  And her eyes, shiny and red as they were with tears, opened wide.

  By that sign, Nikolas guessed that Idun had brought them closer to the anomaly again—maybe close enough to effect a transport. He watched Gerda Idun press a stud on the control panel, and hurry across the room to join Simenon on the transporter pad.

  If he was going to
stop her, he had to do it now, he told himself. Dragging himself along the floor, he worked his way toward Gerda Idun.

  Wiping her eyes so she could see better, she trained her phaser on him. “Please,” she said, “don’t.”

  Nikolas knew he might not get there quickly enough.

  And even if he could, he might not be strong enough to accomplish anything.

  Still, he had to try.

  Gerda burst into Transporter Room One with unchecked urgency, the doors sliding open for her as quickly as they could.

  With a glance, she saw several things. First, that Gerda Idun and Simenon were on the transporter pad, the former standing over the latter. Second, that Ensign Nikolas was dragging himself toward Gerda Idun, hobbled by some injury he must have sustained.

  And third, that Gerda Idun had a phaser.

  Gerda’s hands and face were damaged, but there was nothing wrong with her feet. Picking up speed, she sprinted across the room and leaped into Gerda Idun feetfirst.

  But not before Gerda Idun fired her weapon.

  Somehow, the phaser beam missed Gerda and struck a bulkhead behind her instead—and that one shot was all Gerda meant to allow. Plowing into Gerda Idun’s midsection, she sent the woman sprawling backward. More important, the impact jarred Gerda Idun’s phaser out of her hand.

  Gerda watched it skitter across the floor and come to a stop. Her every instinct told her to go after it—to get it before Gerda Idun could—and had it not been for Simenon, she would have done exactly that.

  However, she doubted that the Gnalish was lying on the transporter platform by accident. Gerda Idun’s purpose all along could have been to kidnap Simenon—though the navigator couldn’t begin to say why.

  But if it were so, the engineer might be beamed to another universe at any moment.

  So instead of going after Gerda Idun’s phaser, Gerda scrambled in the direction of the Gnalish. Her scorched hands and face felt as if they were on fire, but she managed to get to Simenon and drag him off the transporter pad.

  Then she turned her attention back to the phaser. By then, unfortunately, Gerda Idun had reclaimed it—and was raising it to fire in Gerda’s direction.