THE VALIANT

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Until just a couple of minutes ago.

  Standing outside the ready room doors, Vigo waited for the internal sensors to recognize his presence and alert Picard to the fact. A moment later, Vigo knew that the sensors had done their job, because the doors whispered open and gave him access.

  He could see the second officer standing near an observation port, to one side of the captain’s sleek, black desk. Picard smiled. “Please, Lieutenant. Take a seat.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Vigo replied. He pulled out a chair that stood across the desk from the captain’s and tried to make himself comfortable—not an easy thing for a being of his bulk.

  Picard regarded him for a moment. Then he said, “I take it you heard about Lieutenant Werber.”

  The Pandrilite nodded. “That he was caught. Yes, sir.”

  Vigo had been forced to carry out his regular assignments, pretending that he didn’t know anything about the mutiny. Otherwise, Werber and his comrades might have suspected a leak and called it off.

  Knowing what was taking place elsewhere on the ship, it was difficult for him to keep his mind on his work. Almost impossible, in fact. But somehow, he had managed.

  Then, early that morning, while he and two other crewmen were repairing a phaser turret, Vigo had heard the news. Werber and his mutineers had been caught. Picard and Ben Zoma had prevailed.

  It hadn’t given him any special pleasure to know that he was the one who had scuttled the mutiny. He had only done his duty, after all. There was nothing personal in it—only a sense of relief.

  “Obviously,” said Picard, “I can’t allow Lieutenant Werber to go free. Not after what he tried to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vigo agreed.

  “And if he’s in the brig,” the second officer continued, “he can hardly serve as weapons chief.”

  The Pandrilite began to see where the conversation was going. Why would Picard discuss this with him unless . . .

  “Sir,” he blurted, “I didn’t expose Lieutenant Werber’s plans so I could replace him as weapons chief.”

  Picard smiled understandingly. “I know that, Lieutenant. In point of fact, I have had my eye on you for some time. I can tell you that few crewmen in any section, weapons or otherwise, have demonstrated as much dedication to their work as you have.”

  The Pandrilite was surprised. As far as he had been able to tell, only Werber had had the chance to see how hard he was working—and for whatever reason, the weapons chief had refused to acknowledge it.

  “That’s kind of you, sir,” said Vigo.

  “You needn’t be humble,” Picard told him. “It’s part of my job to identify personnel with the potential for advancement. And, I’m happy to say, you have such potential. Even if Mr. Werber hadn’t acted as he did, you would still have been considered for a promotion.”

  The Pandrilite found himself smiling. “It’s gratifying to hear you say that, sir.”

  “Then you’ll accept a promotion to weapons chief?” Picard asked.

  Vigo’s conscience was clear. Under the circumstances, how could he refuse? “I will,” he assured the second officer. “Thank you again, sir.”

  “No, Mr. Vigo. Thank you. And by the way, your promotion is effective immediately. I will inform Commander Ben Zoma.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the Pandrilite.

  As he left the lounge, he felt a little dazed. But more than that, he felt vindicated. He had acted honorably . . . and contrary to the expectations of his friends, his actions had been rewarded.

  There was some justice in the universe after all.

  It was part of Gerda Asmund’s job to conduct periodic long-range sensor scans—even when they weren’t in an unfamiliar and potentially hostile sector of space.

  Since the attack by the Nuyyad ship, she had been inclined to conduct her scans three times as often as usual. For the first thirty-two hours, she hadn’t turned up anything interesting—including the colony described by Serenity Santana. But then, at that point, the place’s coordinates were still outside their sensor range.

  In the thirty-third hour, one of Gerda’s sweeps picked up a concentration of thermal and electromagnetic radiation on what appeared to be a M-Class planet. She knew the signs. This wasn’t a natural phenomenon. It was an installation of some kind—manufactured by a sentient civilization.

  Just to be certain, Gerda checked its coordinates. Then she examined its sensor profile a second time. It was then that she noticed a second energy concentration—one so close to the first that it was almost indistinguishable from it at this distance.

  But the second concentration wasn’t on the planet’s surface. The navigator could see that now. Unless she was mistaken, it was marginally closer than the first concentration.

  In orbit above it.

  Gerda turned to Commander Picard. “Sir?”

  Picard approached her. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “I think you should see this,” she told him.

  Picard again found himself addressing a lounge full of officers. As before, he had convened them on the heels of a tumultuous event that had resulted in a new face among them.

  But it wasn’t Werber’s mutiny that had spurred this meeting. It was something a good deal more ominous.

  The second officer leaned forward in his chair. The captain’s chair, he remarked inwardly, correcting himself. “I called you here to apprise you of our most recent long-range sensor report. Though I normally steer clear of glib remarks, I cannot help describing it as good news and bad news.”

  “First,” he said, “the good news. It seems the colony described by Serenity Santana exists after all. Furthermore, it is located at the coordinates with which she provided us.”

  There were expressions of relief all around the table. If the long-range sensors hadn’t found Santana’s colony, their chances of survival would have been almost nil.

  “You are certain of this?” asked Jomar.

  “Quite certain,” Picard assured him.

  The Kelvan’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “And how long will it take us to reach this colony?”

  “Approximately nine days,” said the second officer. “Unless, of course, we can find a way to go faster than warp five.”

  “Which isn’t likely,” Simenon interjected flatly.

  “What’s the bad news?” asked Greyhorse.

  Picard frowned. “There is a ship in orbit around Santana’s colony. We believe it is a Nuyyad vessel.”

  He could feel the air in the lounge turning sour as his news sank in. He wasn’t surprised in the least. The Stargazer was in no shape to endure another battle with the Nuyyad.

  And yet, the only way to make themselves battle-ready again was to go through the enemy. They were in a quandary, to say the least.

  “Clearly,” he said, “we need a plan.”

  Jomar shook his head scornfully. “What we need, Commander, are weapons. And we have very few of those.”

  “Then we’ll make some,” Vigo interjected.

  The Kelvan turned to him, his features in repose but his posture one of skepticism. “Out of what, if I may ask?”

  “That is the question,” Picard agreed. He looked around the table. “Considering the ingenuity and expertise represented in this room, I was hoping to get some answers.”

  It was a challenge, nothing more. However, there was an unexpected edge in Jomar’s normally neutral voice as he answered it.

  “We could have had weapons specifically designed with the Nuyyad in mind,” he reminded them. “However, you turned down my offer to make them for you. Now it is too late for that.”

  “With all due respect,” Picard told him, “there were reasons we turned down your offer. And as you say, it’s too late to contemplate making those weapons now, so let’s discuss something we can accomplish.”

  He addressed the entire group again. “In nine days, we will reach Ms. Santana’s colony. If by that time, we cannot come up with a way to neutralize the Nuyyad presence there, we wi
ll have failed in our duty to the Federation—and I, for one, will not accept such an outcome.”

  For a moment, no one said anything. Then Vigo spoke up again, his blue brow furrowed with concentration. “I think I have an idea, sir.”

  “By all means,” Picard told him, “share it with us.”

  The Pandrilite described what he had in mind. It didn’t involve any exotic technology. But before he was finished, everyone in the lounge was a little more hopeful.

  Even Jomar.

  Chapter 10

  Picard stood in front of the captain’s chair and gazed at the forward viewscreen, where he could clearly see a Nuyyad vessel in orbit around a blue, green, and white planet.

  The enemy ship looked exactly like the first one they had encountered. It was immense, flat, diamond-shaped . . . and more than likely, equipped with the same powerful vidrion cannons that had inflicted so much punishment on the Stargazer already.

  Picard tried not to contemplate how much more damage they could do without any shields to slow them down.

  “There it is,” said Ben Zoma, who had come over to stand beside him.

  The second officer nodded. “Slow to half impulse, helm.”

  “Half impulse,” Idun confirmed.

  Picard turned to Vigo, who was sitting in Werber’s spot behind the weapons console. “Are the shuttles ready?” he asked.

  “They are, sir,” came the Pandrilite’s response.

  The second officer turned back to the screen. “Release them.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Vigo.

  Picard watched the viewscreen. If the Nuyyad vessel had picked up the Stargazer on her sensors, she wasn’t giving the least indication of it. She was just sitting there in orbit around Santana’s planet, looking like a large, deadly blade.

  Abruptly, a handful of smaller craft invaded the screen from its bottom edge—seven remote-controlled Starfleet shuttles hurtling through the void at full impulse, rapidly leaving the Stargazer behind. The shuttles, which ranged in size up to a Type-7 personnel carrier, looked dwarfed by the Nuyyad ship even though the latter was much more distant.

  “Status?” Picard demanded.

  Gerda answered him. “Eighty seconds to target.”

  The commander could feel his heart thud against his ribs. Eighty seconds. Five million kilometers. The difference between victory and defeat, life and death, survival and annihilation.

  Ben Zoma cast him a look of confidence, a look that seemed to assure Picard that everything would be all right. Then he retreated to the engineering console and began monitoring ship’s systems.

  Each of the shuttles carried an antimatter payload big enough to punch a hole in the Nuyyad vessel’s shields. But to accomplish that feat, they would have to reach the enemy unscathed—and that, Picard reflected, was easier said than done.

  He had barely completed the thought when one of the shuttles became a flare of white light on the viewscreen. Cursing beneath his breath, he whirled on his weapons officer.

  “What happened, Mr. Vigo?”

  The Pandrilite shook his large blue head, obviously as confused by the premature explosion as Picard was. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t trigger it, I can tell you that.”

  “I can confirm that,” Ben Zoma interjected. “The payload seemed to go off on its own.”

  The second officer could feel his teeth grinding. If the other shuttles went off prematurely, they would be all but toothless. The Nuyyad vessel could pick them off at its leisure.

  “Fifty seconds,” Gerda announced.

  It was time for the Stargazer to enter the fray. “Full impulse,” Picard told Idun Asmund.

  “Aye, sir,” said the helm officer.

  “Power phasers,” the commander added.

  “Powering phasers,” Vigo replied, activating the batteries that could still generate a charge.

  “Forty seconds,” declared Gerda, her face caught in the glare of her navigation controls.

  He glanced at Ben Zoma. His friend returned it—and even managed a jaunty smile. I’ve still got confidence in you, it seemed to say.

  Suddenly, a green globe shot out from the Nuyyad ship and skewered one of the shuttles. Again, Picard saw a flash of brilliance. Then a second shuttle was hit. It too vanished in a splash of glory.

  That left four of the smaller craft—a little more than half of what they had started out with. And they still hadn’t gotten within two million kilometers of their target.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” said the second officer.

  “Aye, sir,” Vigo responded, implementing one of the patterns they had programmed in advance.

  On the screen, the shuttles began banking and weaving, making the enemy’s job that much more difficult. Unfortunately, it would get easier again as they got closer to the Nuyyad vessel.

  “Thirty seconds,” said the navigator.

  Picard desperately wanted to accelerate the shuttles’ progress. But he didn’t dare have them drop in and out of warp speed so close to a planet, where gravity added a potentially disastrous layer of difficulty.

  In the end, he had no choice. He would have to grit his teeth and hope the shuttles did their job.

  The Nuyyad fired another series of green vidrion blasts. However, to Picard’s relief, none of them found their marks. The four remaining shuttles went on, intact.

  Gerda looked up from her controls, no doubt eager to see the drama with her own eyes. “Twenty seconds.”

  The enemy vessel unleashed yet another wave of vidrion splendor. For a moment, as the Stargazer’s shuttles passed through it, Picard lost sight of them. Then the emerald brilliance of the energy bursts faded and he was able to catch a glimpse of the smaller craft.

  There were three left, it seemed. Part of that light display must have been one of them exploding.

  One less shuttle meant one less shot at success. That was the inescapable reality of it. But they were getting close now to the enemy. With luck, Vigo’s plan would pan out.

  Again, Picard shot a look at Ben Zoma. As before, the man didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

  “Phaser range,” the weapons officer announced.

  “Fire on my mark,” Picard barked.

  The Nuyyad bombarded the shuttles again, lighting torches of pale green fire in the void. Picard squinted to see through them, to get an idea of whether any of his craft had made it through.

  “Five seconds,” said Gerda. “Four. Three . . .”

  Then Picard spotted them—not just one of the shuttles, but all three. As his navigator counted down to zero, they smashed headlong into the Nuyyad’s deflector shields.

  And went off.

  If the vidrion bursts had been showy, the shuttle explosions were positively magnificent, magnified by their reflection off the enemy’s shields. But Picard didn’t take any time to appreciate their glory. His sole interest was how much damage they could do.

  “Fire!” he bellowed.

  Instantly, the starboard phaser banks lashed out with everything they had, driving their crimson energy through each of the three spots where the shuttles had exploded.

  Picard turned to Gerda. “Report!”

  “We’ve penetrated their shields!” she told him. “Sensors show significant damage to their hull!”

  He turned back to the viewscreen, smelling the victory they had been hoping for. “Fire again, Mr. Vigo!”

  A second time, the Stargazer’s phaser beams slashed through the enemy’s tattered shields, piercing the vessel’s outer skin and setting off a string of small explosions.

  But the Nuyyad wasn’t ready to call it quits yet. A moment after Picard’s ship fired, the enemy unleashed a salvo of its own.

  “Brace yourselves!” the second officer called out.

  Fortunately, Idun managed to slip past most of the barrage—but not all of it. The force of the vidrion assault drove Picard to the deck, his head missing the base of Ruhalter’s chair by inches.

  Consoles exploded aft of him, sh
ooting geysers of white-hot sparks at the ceiling. As a cloud of smoke began to gather, he dragged himself up and glared at the viewscreen.

  The enemy ship had suffered extensive damage, her hull plates twisted and blackened from stem to stern. Still, she was functioning—and if she was functioning, she was a threat.

  Picard meant to put an end to it. “Mr. Vigo,” he said, trying not to choke on the smoke filling his bridge, “fire again!”

  On the screen, the Nuyyad vessel seemed to writhe under the impact of the Stargazer’s phaser beams. She was wracked by one internal explosion after another as the directed energy ripped into key systems. Finally, unable to endure the torment any longer, she flew apart in a splash of gold that blotted out the stars.

  Picard wasn’t a bloodthirsty man and never had been. However, he found himself nodding in approval as pieces of Nuyyad debris spun through space in an ever-expanding wave.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the ruined aft consoles. Ben Zoma and a couple of other officers had gotten hold of fire extinguishers and were spraying foam over the flames, though the control panels themselves would require extensive repairs.

  Ben Zoma seemed to sense that his friend was watching him. Returning the look, he smiled a big smile. You see? he seemed to say. I told you you could do it.

  The second officer turned to Gerda. “Report.”

  The navigator consulted her monitor. “Damage to decks three, four, and six,” she replied. “Photon torpedo launchers are offline. Likewise, the starboard sensor array.”

  Picard grunted. They were shieldless and half-blind, and their once-powerful arsenal was limited to a couple of battered phaser banks. But it could have been worse.

  Much worse.

  “Casualties?” he asked.

  Gerda paused for a moment, then looked up at him. “None, sir. Everyone made it through intact.”

  It was better than the second officer might have guessed—better even than he might have hoped. “Excellent,” he said.

  There was only one thing left to do. After all, they had come all this way for a reason. He regarded the forward screen, which now showed him an unobstructed view of the planet.