Star Trek: The Next Generation - 115 - The Stuff of Dreams

by James Swallow

  Lines of orange-red fire lanced from the collimator ring on the Enterprise’s upper hull, shearing across the globe-shaped liberators; but they rolled away, shifting on their axis, absorbing the hits across the spread of their shields.

  “They’re turning. Coming around for another pass,” reported Glinn Dygan. “Orders, Captain?”

  Picard pointed. “Move us closer to the Newton, try to put us between the Kinshaya craft and Bryant’s ship. We need to buy him more time.”

  “Quantum torpedoes loaded in all tubes and ready to launch,” said Šmrhová. “I have firing solutions. We can take out the lead ship with a single salvo.”

  “Let’s not make this any more of a shooting match than it already is,” Picard demurred. “If we can avoid any loss of life . . .”

  “Wait for it,” said Worf, picking up on his plan. “The Kinshaya are a predictable foe.”

  A chime sounded from Chen’s panel. “Incoming hail. It’s them.”

  “Keep your finger on the trigger,” Picard told Šmrhová. “Just in case.” He glanced at Lieutenant Chen. “T’Ryssa, put them on.”

  He watched the image of the domed command pulpit reform in place of the exterior view, and with it the angry, beaked scowl of a bishop of the Kinshaya Holy Order. The gray-feathered female let out a snarling shriek that the universal translators could not parse into common speech, but the tone carried the meaning well enough. She turned her head and spat in disgust. “Get away,” she snapped. “Leave this place now, heretics. You dally in the territory of the Holy Order at your peril.”

  “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise, and we are in unclaimed space. You have no jurisdiction here, Ay’eh.”

  He had thought that using the traditional Kinshaya honorific would mollify the alien, but the result was the exact opposite. The bishop-captain flared her wings in a show of martial fury. “You dare speak my sanctified title without permission? I will gut you for your temerity, and regurgitate the remains to feed my nest-clutch!”

  “I meant no disrespect,” he replied. “There is no need for further violence here.”

  “I will be the judge of what is needed,” came the strident reply. “You bring a demon into our presence.” She glared out of the screen at Worf. “We should render you to atoms and sing a hymn to the splendor of it. Count yourself lucky, human, that we deign to give you the Holy Order’s grace this day. Take your vessels and run home to your Federation. This will be your only chance to leave with your lives.”

  “That is a generous offer,” said Picard, and he almost sounded as if he meant it. At his side, he saw Worf look down at a nearby monitor screen.

  “The price for this gift is the Orion. Surrender him to us and you are free to go.”

  “Oh.” He put on a rueful, contrite smile, and from the corner of his eye he saw La Forge give him a nod, tapping Kolb’s tricorder. Picard glanced at Worf, and Chen automatically muted the channel. “Status of the Newton?”

  “Commander Rhonu reports shields and impulse power will be operable in a few moments, but no warp drive,” said the Klingon swiftly.

  He looked back at the viewscreen; the bishop didn’t appear to have noticed the moment of silence. “I’m afraid that your . . . employee . . . will not be available. He has to answer for his actions.”

  “We have made him a counteroffer,” rumbled Worf. “A small, comfortable cell.”

  The Kinshaya commander’s talons audibly clattered against the metal decking of her bridge, and she clacked her beak twice as if she were biting at the air. “Then you will all perish. I declare the ribbon anomaly to be the work of our Gods and name it as a sacred object. Your violation of this blessed entity is the highest heresy that only blood will wash away.”

  “Captain . . .” Šmrhová’s voice was low and grim. “We’re detecting six more Kinshaya liberator-type ships at extreme range, on approach vectors.”

  “Die now,” said the Bishop, and cut the signal. In the next second, star fire filled the void.

  A renewed bombardment cut across the dark and slammed into the Enterprise’s shields as the two Kinshaya ships converged their fire on the same point. They were trying to maximize their attack potential by overwhelming the starship’s deflectors at one location, enough to break through and strike the vessel proper. Had the combat been a direct two-against-one, Picard knew that they would have rebuffed the assault easily; but, forced into the role of protector for the Newton, the Enterprise could do little more than stand and take the beating.

  He turned toward the tactical station. “Lieutenant, give them a bloody nose, see if that will make them back off.”

  “Firing,” said Šmrhová.

  A pair of quantum torpedoes leapt from the forward launcher tubes and homed in on the enemy craft. Each one detonated with a sunburst flash, the first a direct hit, the second a glancing shot.

  “The secondary vessel’s shields are down fifty percent,” said Worf. “Lead ship absorbed the majority of the blast, still coming.” He looked at his captain. “They will keep at us until we retreat or destroy them.”

  Picard took the center seat as the Enterprise rocked under another salvo. “We’re not going to leave just yet.”

  “Report from the Newton,” called Chen. “Sir, they’re raising shields but their weapons are still inactive.”

  “A Nebula-class ship in that condition is no match for two Kinshaya liberators,” said Dygan.

  Picard nodded grimly. “I know.” He glanced at La Forge. “Geordi, do you have the verteron membrane projections?”

  The engineer tapped his panel with a finger, his artificial eyes wide. “Aye, sir. I was looking at developing something similar myself, but the data I had was incomplete. . . . Captain, you understand what will happen to the nexus if we use this?”

  “It will be sealed off from the outside. Locked shut, in effect.”

  Worf frowned. “Captain Bryant won’t agree to that.”

  “I didn’t plan on asking his permission, Number One,” Picard replied. He thought about Kolb, wherever or whenever he was. If they could complete the work the scientist had started, it would rebalance the scales of power in this situation and render the nexus inaccessible . . . for the foreseeable future, at least.

  “If we do this, we may not be able to reverse the lock effect again,” added Lieutenant Elfiki.

  “We’ll take that chance.” Picard leaned forward in his chair. “Reconfigure the main deflector dish to project the verteron initiator discharge.”

  “We will need to get closer,” said the engineer, working his console. “We’ll only get one shot at it.”

  “Then let’s make it count.” The captain gestured to Dygan and Faur. “On my mark, full ahead, take us to the outer penumbra of the nexus.” He looked toward Šmrhová. “All power to the forward shields, Lieutenant. Punch us through.”

  “Ready,” they replied, one after another.

  “Engage.”

  * * *

  The Enterprise’s thruster coils flared with power and the starship burst into motion, going from a standing stop to maximum impulse speed in nanoseconds, testing the structural integrity fields as it vaulted away from the Newton. The science vessel set off at high speed on an escape vector, but the Enterprise dove straight into the heart of the enemy formation, cutting through the Kinshaya attack pattern like a saw blade.

  The orb-shaped liberators reacted quickly, a testament to the attentiveness of the Kreel crew-slaves at their helms; a moment slower, and the ships might have collided. Impulse grids gushed fusion fire as the Holy Order vessels initiated emergency maneuvers to get clear of the Federation starship’s surprise gambit. The hulls of the Kinshaya ships were studded with dozens of turret hemispheres, each home to a lethal energy cannon or missile battery. The turrets twitched and tracked Enterprise, firing their war-shots into the path of the Sovereign-class vessel. The reinforced shields flashed as the ship punched through the enemy line. Phaser fire tracked back down the line
s of attack and reduced several of the automated gun cupolas to oily black smears across the hulls of the Kinshaya sphere-craft.

  Spinning in her wake, the Holy Order ships were buffeted by the backwash from the Enterprise’s drives, and they lost vital seconds recovering as their target vessel streaked away, racing toward the nexus.

  * * *

  The energy ribbon loomed large on the main viewscreen, and Picard’s hands tensed on the arms of his chair. A part of him recoiled from what the nexus represented, the open gateway into a world of utopian dreams and endless peace. It was difficult to admit, but every second he had been inside the nexus, the power of it had dragged on him like a tidal, gravitational effect. It was something no one should have to face.

  “Time to target?” he asked.

  “Twenty seconds,” said Worf. “Mister La Forge, are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” replied the engineer. “Main deflector reconfigured. Verteron discharge is ready to release.”

  A strident tone sounded from Lieutenant Faur’s console. “The Kinshaya are closing the distance. They’re locking weapons.”

  Enterprise rocked as it crossed over the outer edge of the nexus’s gravity shadow, the stresses and tensions from the turbulent forces at work inside the ribbon pressing on the ship’s protective shields. Ropes of plasmatic material lashed at the darkness, reaching out like plant tendrils groping toward sunlight. This was as close as they dared to come; any nearer and they risked plunging into the phenomenon, like the Cam or the ill-fated El-Aurian ships before it.

  The order was there on Picard’s lips, but he hesitated for a fractional moment. Staring at the spinning thread of the nexus, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when he gave the command. What would happen to Soran’s echo and all the other beings who still existed within the phenomenon, suspended in timelessness?

  This isn’t the end of the story, Captain. Soran’s words came back to him, and he drew himself up. “Commander La Forge. Initiate discharge . . . now.”

  * * *

  A flickering pinpoint of emerald fire gathered in the center of the Enterprise’s deflector dish, in seconds growing to become a seething ball of energy. As it reached a point of critical mass, the writhing clump of captured verteron particles shot away and distorted. The accumulation opened, unfurling into a skein of gossamer, jade-colored lightning that sparked violently as it brushed the energy tendrils issuing out from the nexus.

  The two phantasmal energies came together in a pulse of light and force that flared brighter than a supernova. A shock-front of liberated radiation exploded from the nexus in a perfect sphere, and the Enterprise was caught by it as the ship tried to turn away. Gathered up like a piece of flotsam on the swell of a wave, the vessel was carried off course and away, its thrusters useless against the discharge. The shock hit the two Kinshaya ships in close pursuit and spun them about, dragging them along with the expanding radius. Neither of the Holy Order’s craft had been ready, and they suffered damage as outer hull plates buckled and engine intercoolers were blown open.

  For long seconds the dizzying, turbulent wave rolled on before finally losing potential; it dissipated into a wash of sparkling, short-duration particle effects. Enterprise pulled out from a lazy yawing tumble, angling back toward the Newton, whose crew had stood witness to it all. The Kinshaya ships floated in the blackness, drifting in slicks of spilled breathing gases and hull fragments.

  Beyond them, the nexus changed.

  * * *

  Picard winced and got slowly to his feet. The shock effect had been far stronger than he had expected, and the shifting gravity slammed him into the arm of his chair with such force that his arm was now a mess of purple bruises.

  “Captain, are you all right?” asked Worf, pulling his baldric straight across his chest.

  Picard waved him away, searching the faces of his crew. “Report . . .” The word faded on his lips as his gaze found the image on the main viewscreen.

  The energy ribbon was different. The motion of its movement, almost like a living thing, was unaltered, but now there was a ghostly green haze that flickered about it, like some kind of cosmic St. Elmo’s fire. As he watched, the edge-effect tendrils of the nexus brushed the interface between the cowl of verterons. Flashes of light marked the collision, but no secondary shock waves were emitted.

  “I think it worked,” offered La Forge.

  “Scanning,” said Elfiki. The aft display screen showed a graphic of the object, and rendered around it was a vaguely ovoid shell of shimmering particles. “Confirmed. The verteron membrane is in place. It’s self-sustaining—decay rate is near zero-point-zero percent.” Her lip curled. “Huh. The nexus is now officially closed for business.”

  “What will happen if any ships make an approach?” asked Worf.

  “They’ll run into an increasing gravity gradient the closer they get,” La Forge explained. “It’ll push them back the way they came, like a surge tide in an ocean.”

  “Good work, Commander La Forge,” said Picard, favoring his arm. He turned to Worf. “Number One, secure the ship, bring us alongside the Newton.”

  “Captain Bryant will not be happy,” noted the Klingon.

  “I don’t doubt it. But we’re getting closer to Kinshaya space with every moment, and those other liberators are still coming. We’ve done enough. It’s time for us to go.”

  Chen’s console emitted a chime. “Incoming hail from our friend the bishop, sir. Shall I let her eat static?”

  Picard straightened his uniform tunic and shook his head. “Let’s not be rude.”

  The Kinshaya commander appeared on the screen, and it was clear her ship was the worse for wear after the passage of the shock front. She shrieked with open fury. “What have you done, heretic animal? How dare you interfere with a holy object—”

  At Picard’s side, his first officer’s rigid stance made it clear that he had taken more than he was willing to tolerate of the bishop’s constant posturing. “You have no right to lay claim to the nexus, or label it ‘holy’ on a whim so that you may do so! We are protecting the energy ribbon from those who would abuse it!”

  “Tell your masters this,” said Picard, meeting the black-eyed gaze of the Kinshaya commander. “The nexus is not yours. It belongs to no one. We have placed it out of your reach. You are free to study it at a distance as it passes through your space, and if you wish we will gladly open a dialogue toward mutual scientific understanding of this unique object.” His tone hardened. “But whatever plans your faction may have had to exploit it, to regain the upper hand in your society, will not be allowed to progress.”

  “This is an act of war!”

  “Against whom?” Picard demanded. “The Typhon Pact? I doubt the Pact’s ruling council is even aware of your presence in this sector. The lawful Devotionalist government of the Kinshaya? You do not speak for them. At best, you are a small band of hidebound agitators unwilling to accept progress and change.”

  “We are the true Kinshaya!” roared the alien. “We will take our rightful place once again and expunge the usurpers, and you will pay for your interference.” She glowered into the image pickup, her face filling the screen. “You have made a powerful enemy this day, human.”

  “I’m sure you think so,” Picard replied coldly, gesturing to Chen. “Close channel.”

  He found Worf looking at him with a wry smile on his lips. “That was almost Klingon of you, Captain.”

  “Almost?”

  “Indeed. But a Klingon commander would have followed up so cutting an insult to their prowess by also obliterating their ships.”

  Picard waved the comment away. “They’ve lost, and they know it. Their ships are dead in space, so let them lick their wounds and practice their bluster without us.” He looked back out at the energy ribbon; forever moving, its path unending, it carried on heedless of the conflicts and the questions it left in its wake. “The nexus will return . . . and we’ll be waiting.”

>   * * *

  “You went against my orders,” said Bryant, glaring at Picard from across his ready room. Behind him, through the tall window, the Enterprise’s captain could see the leading edge of the Newton’s saucer section as the science vessel kept pace with them, set against the light-displaced stars of warp speed. La Forge and Bryant’s engineer, Vetro, had managed to get the other ship’s drives up and running in short order, and now both craft were crossing the border back into Federation space.

  Picard could only nod. “It seemed the correct choice at the time.”

  Bryant folded his arms. “I would be within my rights to lodge a formal complaint with Starfleet Command.”

  “That is your right,” said Picard. “I won’t try to dissuade you.” The irony of this reversal of their earlier conversation did not escape him.

  “You had just exited a temporal anomaly,” continued the other officer. “Did it not occur to you that your judgment might have been compromised?”

  “It occurred to me,” he countered. “But I’ve been through that experience before, Captain. There was little time to act, so I took the initiative. Now the nexus is . . . a matter of détente. We don’t have it, and they don’t have it.”

  Bryant’s scowl deepened. “Your report makes some entertaining reading, Picard. According to you, in this original timeline of events, I and several of my staff were dead.” He paused, thinking it through. “I suppose I should thank you for rewriting history.”

  “I regret I couldn’t convince Doctor Kolb to return with me.” Picard glanced at the scientist’s tricorder, inert now and lying on his desk.

  “Federation databases from Styris IV indicate that there was an astrophysicist named Kolb resident on that planet. But he apparently went missing around the same time the Borg invasion took place.” Bryant paused again. “Odd, considering that the Styris system didn’t suffer any direct attacks by the Borg assault.”

  “Time adjusting itself, perhaps,” suggested Picard. “I’m sure the investigators from the DTI will have a theory about that.”

  “They won’t be pleased to see you again. You’re getting close to matching Kirk’s record for temporal infractions, I hear.” Bryant’s hard expression lessened a degree or two. “I understand why you locked the nexus, Picard, even if I don’t like what you did. You’ve been in there, you know what it is capable of better than any of us. Perhaps, when the ribbon’s orbit takes it out of Kinshaya territory and back into open space, we can return to it. Try to pick up where we left off. . . .”