Werber grunted disparagingly. “I’ll say.”
“Give him credit,” Simenon rasped. “He’s got the courage of his convictions. We should be glad he’s on our side.”
The first officer knew that the Gnalish loved sarcasm. For a moment, he thought Simenon was demonstrating that love. Then he realized that his friend was serious.
“You really think so?” asked Werber.
“I do,” the engineer told him.
“Maybe Phigus is right,” Leach conceded, though in the privacy of his mind he sincerely doubted it.
“Maybe,” said Werber. “And maybe not.”
“Time will tell,” the first officer noted diplomatically. “Come on. Let’s get some lunch.”
Chapter 6
The galactic barrier was like a gaping wound in the fabric of space . . . a raw, red chasm seething with waves of violent energy. At least, that was the way it appeared to Picard, as he stood beside Captain Ruhalter’s chair and gazed at the forward viewscreen.
As far as the Stargazer’s instruments were concerned, it was a different story entirely.
“The barrier registers on optical scanners,” said Gerda Asmund from her navigation console, “but that’s it. I can’t get anything from any other sensor modality. Wideband electromagnetic, quark resonance, thermal imaging, neutrino spectrometry . . . not so much as a blip on any of them.”
“No gravimetric distortions either,” Idun observed. “Subspace field stress is zero.”
Ruhalter got up from his center seat and approached the viewscreen. “So as far as most of our expensive, state-of-the-art instruments are concerned, this thing doesn’t exist.”
Gerda glanced at him. “That would be one way of putting it, sir.”
It was a remarkable state of affairs indeed—and it came as no surprise to any of them.
In the sixty-eight years since Captain Kirk’s vessel plunged through the barrier, the Federation had sent out numerous expeditions to study the phenomenon. They all came back with the same results. In other words, none at all.
The barrier defied conventional analysis. It could be seen, certainly. It could be felt, once one got close enough. But for all other intents and purposes, it was a phantom.
“Helm, take us down to warp one,” said Ruhalter. “Navigation, divert all available power to the shields.”
“Done, sir,” the Asmunds replied at virtually the same time.
Despite the reduction in speed, the barrier loomed closer. Patterns of light began to emerge in it, taking the shape of globules and then flares. Picard felt his jaw clench.
He knew, of course, that there wasn’t really any cause for concern. Deflector shield technology had come a long way since Captain Kirk braved the barrier in the original Starship Enterprise. The chances of any ESPers being exposed to the phenomenon and metamorphosing into modern-day Gary Mitchells were ridiculously remote.
Nonetheless, the sight of the phenomenon strained the second officer’s nerves. If the shields dropped at the wrong moment, or if some part of the barrier proved much fiercer than the others . . .
“Status?” Ruhalter demanded.
“There’s some turbulence up ahead,” Idun reported evenly, “but nothing we can’t handle.”
Just then, the turbolift doors opened and Leach emerged. He had been overseeing a last-minute diagnostic on Jomar’s shield alterations.
The captain glanced at him. “Any problems, Commander?”
Leach frowned as he took in the spectacle on the viewscreen. “None, sir. Everything’s functioning perfectly.”
The first officer was still perturbed about the idea of taking Santana back to her side of the barrier. He hadn’t made any secret of that. And the bizarre spectacle on the screen couldn’t have made it any easier for him.
The captain turned back to Idun. “Steady as she goes,” he said.
“Aye, sir,” his helm officer responded.
“Five million kilometers and closing,” Gerda Asmund announced. “Four million. Three million . . .”
Picard felt a shudder run through the deck beneath his feet. He put his hand on the back of Ruhalter’s chair, just in case the shudder was a portent of something worse.
“Two million,” the navigator continued.
The barrier loomed in front of them, bigger than anything Picard had ever seen. He could discern vast shadows of light twisting within it, testing the limits of the screen’s illumination dampers.
Gerda Asmund looked up at the screen. “One million . . .”
As she spoke the words, the phenomenon engulfed them, closing its jaws on the Stargazer as if the ship was a helpless minnow and the barrier was a colossal, writhing serpent.
The deck shuddered again, then slid to the right. Picard tightened his grasp on the captain’s chair.
“Report,” Ruhalter snapped.
“Shields at eighty-eight percent,” the navigator responded.
“Warp drive operating at peak capacity,” her sister added.
The viewscreen was a confusion of ruby-red twisters, a mael-strom of heaving, burning lava. The Stargazer bucked once, twice, and again, and the second officer had to fight to keep his feet.
But it didn’t get any worse than that. Even under immense pressure, the shields held. The control consoles on the bridge managed not to spark or explode. And most importantly, no one was caught in the spasm of light that had signaled the beginning of Gary Mitchell’s transformation.
The Stargazer endured one last buffet from the barrier’s unknown energies, one last surge of hull-shivering fury. Then it burst free of the phenomenon into normal if unfamiliar space.
Picard took a deep breath . . . and smiled.
Without question, their passage through the barrier had been tense and plagued with uncertanties. It had been a study in faith and humility. But in retrospect, it had also been a thing of wonder.
It was for just such experiences that the second officer had joined Starfleet. Looking around, he saw that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Paxton, the Asmunds, Cariello . . . they all looked pleased.
Even Ruhalter seemed to have relished the experience, if the bright glint in the man’s eyes was any indication. Only Commander Leach looked vaguely disapproving. But then, knowing the man as he did, Picard wouldn’t have expected anything else.
“Shields at seventy-eight percent,” Gerda Asmund observed.
“All systems operational,” said Idun.
The captain nodded. “Excellent.” Then he turned to his first and second officers. “You’re with me, gentlemen.”
Without any explanation, he rose and made his way to the turbolift. Picard saw Leach hurry to fall in behind Ruhalter, as if it made a difference who was behind the captain as he entered the lift. Sighing, the second officer followed Leach into the compartment.
The doors whispered closed behind them. “Ship’s lounge,” said Ruhalter, his voice echoing in the enclosure.
Apparently, the captain meant to conduct a meeting with his two senior officers. However, Picard had no idea what the meeting was about.
The lift’s progress through the ship was imperceptible to its occupants, except for a tiny monitor that showed their location. They were halfway to their destination when Ruhalter did something surprising.
“Computer,” he said, “stop turbolift.”
Picard looked at him. So did Leach.
“It just occurred to me,” said the captain, “that we don’t have to go to the lounge to have this meeting. After all, there’s only the three of us, and this shouldn’t take long.”
“As you wish, sir,” Leach responded.
Ruhalter regarded each of them in turn. “I have one question, gentlemen—and that’s whether Serenity Santana can be trusted.”
The first officer smiled a lopsided smile. “Since you’re asking, sir, I don’t think the woman is even remotely trustworthy—and for the record, I’ve felt that way since we arrived at Starbase Two-oh-nine.”
&nbs
p; The captain nodded, then turned to Picard. “What about you, Jean-Luc? What do you think?”
The second officer took some time to consider the question. “As you know,” he said finally, “I’ve had a chance to get to know Ms. Santana. However, I would have to know her a lot better before I could vouch for her with any assurance.”
“Unfortunately,” Ruhalter told him, “we don’t have time for you to get to know her better. You’ll have to give me your appraisal of her based on what you know now.”
Picard frowned, hating to be pinned down this way. “Based on that,” he said, “I’m inclined to believe she can be trusted.”
Leach didn’t seem surprised. “It’s clear,” he pointed out, “that Commander Picard is quite taken with Ms. Santana. I don’t think he’s thinking as clearly as he should be.”
“Perhaps not,” the captain conceded.
Leach looked pleased with himself.
But the second officer felt betrayed. He was thinking as incisively as ever, he assured himself. If Ruhalter disagreed with his conclusion, that was one thing. But to question his clarity . . .
Suddenly, a mischievous smile broke out on the captain’s face. “Then again, Number One, Commander Picard may be right on target.”
Leach’s mouth fell open. “Sir . . . ?”
“You see,” said Ruhalter, “I agree with Picard one hundred percent. I too think Ms. Santana can be trusted—and like you, Mr. Leach, I formed my opinion the moment I met her.”
The second officer understood. “You went with your instincts.”
“Yes,” said the captain, his eyes twinkling. “As always.”
“But, sir,” Leach began, “if you had already made your decision—”
“Why did I ask for your opinions? Simple, Commander. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed something.”
The first officer looked as if he had been slapped in the face. “I have to protest, sir. If necessary, through official means.”
Ruhalter seemed unperturbed by the remark. “That’s your option, Mr. Leach—as always. But I hope you’ll refrain from exercising it until after we’ve completed our mission.”
“By then,” Leach said coldly, “it may be too late.”
“We’ll see,” the captain rejoined. “In any case, Santana has given us two sets of coordinates. One describes the location of her colony. The other will lead us to a Nuyyad supply depot.”
“We’re going to head for the depot,” Picard guessed.
“Absolutely right,” Ruhalter confirmed. “Why waste time? If there’s a threat, let’s see it.”
“And if it’s a trap?” Leach suggested.
“Then we’ll see that too,” said the captain. “Though my instincts tell me that won’t happen.”
The first officer’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything more.
“Thank you for your input,” Ruhalter told them. “Both of you. Computer, return us to the bridge.”
Again, the turbolift began to move.
Pug Joseph closed his eyes and concentrated. “Okay,” he said. “See if you can picture this.”
Santana answered from the other side of the translucent barrier. “Protruding brow ridge, bony forehead, a preference for facial hair. Strong, by the look of him. And fierce.”
Opening his eyes, the security officer smiled at the woman’s skill. “He’s called a Klingon.”
“Friend?” Santana guessed.
“Friend now,” Joseph told her.
“But not always?”
“Until fifty years ago,” he said, “the Klingons were almost constantly at war with us. Then we signed a nonaggression treaty with them.”
“Got it,” she responded. “Who’s next?”
Again, the security officer closed his eyes and conjured an image. “How about this one?”
“Let’s see,” said Santana. “Aristocratic bearing, pointed ears, painfully precise haircut. If not for the subtle ridges above the eyes, I’d be tempted to say he’s Vulcan.”
Joseph laughed softly. “Very good. He’s called a Romulan. And his people are an offshoot of the Vulcan species.”
“Enemy?” she suggested.
“I’ll say. We haven’t seen them in more than twenty years, but people still worry about them.”
“Give me another one,” Santana told him.
“All right,” he said, picturing someone else. “Here’s one.”
“Hmmm. Mottled red skin, long jaw tusks like an elephant’s, spiny scalp projections instead of hair.”
Joseph opened his eyes and shook his head in admiration. “A Vobilite.”
“An enemy?”
“A friend. In fact, the Vobilites were one of the first species to support the idea of a United Federation of Planets. I served with one of them on my previous assignment.”
Santana nodded. “Now it’s my turn.”
The security officer felt a chill climb his spine. “I didn’t know you could project your thoughts.”
She smiled. “I can’t. I meant I was going to describe them out loud.”
Joseph blushed. “Oh.”
The woman thought for a moment. “Here’s one. Tall and thin, with jet black fur and silver eyes.”
He tried to put the information together. What he came up with seemed pretty elegant. “Sounds easy on the eyes.”
“I’ve always thought so. They’re called the Yotaavo.”
“Friend?” he ventured, playing the game.
“Friend. We’ve done quite a bit of trading with them over the years. Want another one?”
Joseph shrugged. “Sure.”
Again, Santana took a moment to choose. “Small and muscular, with four arms, short legs, and scaly, yellow skin.”
The security officer constructed an image in his head. “I think I’ve got it. What are they called?”
“The Caddis.”
“I’ll say . . . friend.”
“Actually,” said the prisoner, “they’ve been both. When we first established the colony, they were always making life difficult for us. In the last fifty or sixty years, they’ve gotten to know us better. As a result, things have improved.”
“How about an enemy?” Joseph asked. “A current one, I mean.”
She frowned. “We’ve only got one of those. Big and fleshy, with shiny, black eyes and a fringe of dark hair around their skulls.”
“The Nuyyad?” he asked.
Santana nodded. “Not that we’ve ever had a run-in with them—but we consider them our enemy just the same.”
“I can’t wait to meet them,” Joseph said, injecting a note of sarcasm into his voice.
The woman didn’t seem to notice the irony. “Oh yes, you can, Mr. Joseph. Believe me, you can.”
Picard sat down at the black, oval table in the Stargazer’s lounge and faced his captain. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Ruhalter nodded from the other side of the table. “I do indeed, Commander.” He paused, as if choosing his words more carefully than usual. “According to regulations, we shouldn’t be having this conversation. Nonetheless, I feel it’s necessary.”
The second officer waited patiently. The captain wasn’t the sort to need any prodding.
“As you’ve no doubt noticed,” said Ruhalter, “Commander Leach and I don’t often see eye to eye. Don’t get me wrong—he’s an efficient officer, with an impressive background and considerable skill in some areas. But he’s not a first officer. At least, not in my book.”
Picard was surprised. Captains didn’t normally make such comments about their execs—especially to subordinate officers.
“It’s unfortunate, really,” Ruhalter went on. “Captain Osborne expressed every confidence in Leach, and I relied heavily on his recommendation. It was one of the few times since I became a captain that I didn’t go with my instincts—and look what happened.”
The second officer had wondered how Ruhalter could have made such an error in judgment. Now he understood.
“I
wound up with a man I can’t get along with,” said the captain. “A man eminently capable of carrying out a project on his own, yet plainly incapable of leading others.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s not a good situation, Jean-Luc. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t do something about it.”
Do something? Picard repeated to himself. Might that mean what he thought it meant?
“As soon as we come back from this mission,” Ruhalter told him, “I’m going to arrange for Commander Leach to be transferred to another ship. Or, failing that, to some other Starfleet facility. Of course, that’s going to leave me short a first officer . . .” He smiled. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have serving in that capacity than you.”
The second officer was at a loss for words. Finally, he found a few. “I would be honored, sir,” he replied graciously. “That is, when the appropriate time comes.”
The captain nodded approvingly. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Commander. It’ll give me something to look forward to when I’m wrangling with your predecessor over Serenity Santana.”
“Commander Leach still insists it was a mistake to bring her along?”
“Yes,” said Ruhalter, “he does. And at every opportunity, I might add. It’s making my head spin.”
Picard understood. The first officer made his head spin sometimes too.
“In the meantime,” the captain told him, “we have an important mission on our hands—and frankly, I’m afraid that Leach will do something to muck it up. I want you to keep an eye on him for me. If he gives an order that you think will lead to trouble, you’re to let me know immediately. Is that understood?”
“It is,” the second officer assured him.
“Good,” said Ruhalter. “I—”
Abruptly, the lounge filled with the voice of the very man they were talking about. “Captain,” said Leach, his tone taut with concern, “we’ve got a situation up here.”
Ruhalter’s brow knit. “Elaborate.”
“There’s a vessel approaching on an intercept course,” Leach reported. “Bearing two-four-four-mark two. I have to tell you, sir, it doesn’t look like anything we’ve encountered before.”
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