Star Trek - TNG - 63 - Maximum Warp, Book Two

by Dave Galanter

  Where is everyone? And how could he have lost his way? He'd studied the specifications on Enterprise. It was possible some intelligence on the vessel was

  wrong, but this much? And where was T'sart? He had to find him... Looking left, then right, Lotre saw no one else. He'd checked every room and not found even a sign of T'sart. And now neither Gorlat nor any of his other men were answering their communicators.

  His knuckles were scraped and bleeding, and pain both external and internal bit at him. He walked almost absently, and then, around a bend in the curving walkway, he finally saw the lift that had brought him to this deck.

  He rushed to it, the doors barely having time to part fully to allow his width. "Bridge," he ordered it, and as it sped toward deck one, he leaned against the rear wall for the short moment he knew he had.

  And the moment dragged on too long. There were only six decks to cross ... why was he not there yet? "Hold," he ordered, and checked the control panel. Still deck seven. He'd moved, but the computer said he hadn't. What kind of maze was this ship? What in all the hells was going on?

  Anger plucked at the veins in his neck and he aimed his weapon at the control panel and fired. So what if the whole damn thing exploded into his face? He didn't care anymore.

  In a shower of sparks and debris, the access controls erupted into flame. But he was unharmed. Reflex should not have saved him. Nothing should have saved him--a blast that close at full power should have given him third-degree burns at the very least.

  Something was very wrong and instinct told him it

  was not his own mind that was warped, but the world around him that had changed.

  The air sizzled with heat and smoke. Soot was filling the air, and he choked on it. But would it have killed him? Could he have asphyxiated on it?

  He took in a sharp breath, not only steadying himself, but testing a theory... to no avail. He needed more determinate evidence.

  Playing a very deadly hunch, Lotre kept his disruptor on the vaporize setting and pointed the barrel at his own head. He fingered the trigger and the whine of the weapon bounced off the lift walls and filled his ears.

  A flash of light--and he was not at all dead.

  His lungs pounding out fury with each breath, Lotre growled his understanding. "Of course." He shook his head in tortured regret.

  "Shut up and lie down!" Dr. Beverly Crasher didn't have time for bedside manner and Governor Kalor apparently was going to force her to muscle him down onto the bio bed near T'sart's.

  "Picard, I may have to help save this vile monster's life, but need I stand for such abuse from your doctor?" the Klingon pleaded.

  "I don't want you to stand at all," Crusher mumbled. "I told you to lie down."

  Kalor huffed and puffed, but Crusher was not made of straw and easily blown down. He did as she said.

  She quickly connected him to some contraption that was pulling blood from his very veins, doing something to it, and then injecting it into T'sart's arm.

  "Are not there curses like this?"

  Picard wondered the same himself. "Is this going to work?" he asked Crusher as she finished configuring a panel on the makeshift apparatus.

  "The official medical nomenclature is 'grasping at straws." " She picked up a medical tricorder and hovered the scanner over Kalor's body. "This is going to weaken you," she told him.

  "Picard mentioned that," Kalor said.

  "We're also going to raise your temperature," Crusher told him.

  Kalor blinked a few times and seemed to be weakening a bit already. "Why?"

  Crusher frowned, as she always did when having to talk about artificial diseases designed to be efficient killers. "T'sart's virus reacts to a rise in body temperature. It thrives on it. A devious bit of engineering that causes the body temperature to rise, then prospers on the heat, feeding itself."

  "And ... why must I... have a fever." Kalor was slowing down, and T'sart seemed to be stirring. Picard thought that more coincidence than a result of the new treatment. In any case, it was a good sign.

  The doctor glanced up at T'sart's bio-monitor and administered a hypospray into Kalor's neck. "Klingon blood runs hotter than a Romulan's," she explained slowly, compensating for Kalor's probably impeded perceptions. "We're giving you a mild fever that will be hotter than T'sart's high fever."

  The Klingon's eyelids were beginning to close. He was being forced to fight a disease not his own though inflicted by him on another--and his body was adjusting to the fight. "I still... don't see ... what that will do."

  "You're connected to one another. And this ..." Crusher pointed to the appliance that quietly was manipulating both Kalor's and T'sart's blood. "... will keep any foreign elements, other than his virus and your antibodies, from passing between your two bodies." Only when he finally, wearily looked up at the contraption did Crusher stop pointing at it.

  "Y-you will not be able to ..." Kalor seemed as if he was searching for the right word. "Fuh-filter ... out the virus cuh-completely ... from his organs."

  The doctor seemed to both shrug and shake her head. "We're not that sure. The virus may move to your body when it senses the higher temperature."

  "Thuh-that could take s-some time." Kalor sounded cold, tired, and Picard thought he might begin shivering any moment.

  "It might take some time, yes," Crusher said softly, and her warmer bedside manner was showing. Care for everyone, compassion for those who deserved it? Picard wondered. After all, Kalor was the one who infected T'sart in the first place.

  "Just rest," she told Kalor, then looked up at Picard. "The cure could kill him," she said, "and it might not even save T'sart."

  Picard began to answer but his com badge chirped and he turned his attention to that.

  "Spock to Picard."

  "Picard here."

  "Captain, we have a concern."

  "With?"

  "Our rendezvous with Commander Riker."

  "I'll be right there." He tapped his com badge again and looked to Crusher.

  She was standing at the foot of Kalor's bio bed "I'm coming with you," she told him, in that tone that suggested he shouldn't take the time to argue.

  "Can you get away?" Picard indicated her two very important patients.

  "Would I leave if I couldn't?" she snapped--or came close to it anyway.

  Picard pursed his lips. She wouldn't. "Come along."

  Crasher close behind him, Picard went directly to Spock at the science station from the turbolift. "Spock?"

  "We are close to the rendezvous coordinates." The Vulcan stood to greet Picard with presumably troublesome news. It wasn't Spock's expression that broadcast that, but the fact that whatever information he did have, he didn't want to share over the comm.

  "Why only close?" Picard asked.

  "There is a dead zone--"

  Picard cut him off with the pertinent question. "And Riker's runabout?"

  "We don't know. There is a vessel near the center of the event. The mass would be right for the runabout."

  The captain now noticed that the bridge personnel were gathered around, and Geordi La Forge.

  "Life signs?" Picard asked, and his throat felt very dry.

  "Indeterminate. Our sensors will not penetrate the

  zone enough to know. But we read only null power levels on the vessel." Spock's words were chosen carefully, Picard thought--for accuracy, not for impact.

  The idea of the runabout trapped in a dead zone staggered the captain. Riker, Troi, even Data would be affected. "How long might they have been there?"

  "There is no way to know," Spock said with the slightest shake of his head. "Our sensors are greatly impeded by the dead zone itself."

  Chest feeling tight, Picard turned toward the forward viewscreen. He looked past Rossi and Shapiro at conn and ops, who were angled around to look at him, and instead watched the static view of the starscape before them. "How close can we get to them without falling into the dead zone ourselves?"

  "
Two million kilometers." Spock didn't check the calculation. "We're that close now. We attempted to get the most accurate sensor readings possible."

  Geordi La Forge stepped forward. "Captain, I'm sure we could get to it with another shuttle. I can rig an extra thruster pack and bring the whole thing out."

  "How long would that take?" Picard asked.

  Hesitating just a moment, Geordi said, "Ten, maybe twelve hours?"

  The captain shook his head. "We can't spare the time." And as he said it, the words hurt and even shocked him as much as it seemed they did the rest of his crew. It was against his instinct, it was against his will, and his heart.

  But without knowing how much time the galaxy had ... what other choice did he have?

  "Jean-Luc, surely you're not suggesting we just

  leave them." Beverly Crusher didn't sound angry so much as indignantly outraged, and he knew her well enough to tell the subtle difference.

  "We can't spare the time," Picard repeated more emphatically.

  "Then leave me behind," Geordi offered. "With a shuttle and the right supplies--"

  "You could find yourself stranded as well," Spock said.

  Picard nodded his agreement. "We can't know the age of this dead zone. You could put inside and not be able to get back, even with chemical thrusters."

  "It's worth the risk." Geordi stepped toward his captain and let the man see his determined visage.

  "No," Picard said a bit more quietly than he would have liked, "it's not. Not to this mission. I need you-all of you--to see this through."

  "What about Commander Riker and Counselor Troi, captain?" Geordi asked. "What about Data?"

  Picard understood. These people were not merely friends and crewmates, but as long as they'd served together, they were family. "Spock, without life-support, how long before ... they would freeze?"

  "Three hours."

  The captain nodded slowly, sadly. "Your attempt, Mr. La Forge. How long would it take?"

  Geordi didn't answer, but deflected Picard's question into a new request. "What about Data, sir? He doesn't need life-support. He'll be alive."

  "Alive," Crusher mumbled mostly to herself, "and watching the others die."

  The guilt of having to send people to their deaths

  was one every captain dealt with at some point. Picard was no stranger to it. But this obvious torture that Data might go through... "God help him, I hope he turns off his emotion chip."

  Geordi sighed, loudly, plaintively. "Knowing Data, sir... he won't."

  That, Picard thought, was perhaps correct. Data wouldn't want to disrespect his own loss by not feeling it.

  A small alert signal wrenched Picard's attention away from that thought, and he was grateful for it.

  "What is it?"

  Spock was already bent over his console. "Two vessels," he said, looking up for only an instant. "Decloaking." "Shields!" Picard quickly jumped down to the lower deck and his command chair.

  "Design is Klingon, sir," Chamberlain reported.

  The captain swiveled toward him. "Kalor's ship?"

  Chamberlain nodded. "One of them."

  "Alert them to the presence of the dead zone. Transmit the known coordinates." Picard then turned to Spock. "How did you detect them with their cloaks?" he asked.

  Spock jabbed a view commands into his console and turned toward the captain. "I did not. I've reconfigured the main deflector array to send out a subspace frequency wave to help detect dead zones before we encounter them. When we scan ahead and fail to receive back resonance from that frequency, we know a dead zone, or in this case, a cloaked vessel, is in range of our main deflector array."

  Picard nodded. "Radio detecting and ranging. RADAR, but with subspace radio."

  "A somewhat inaccurate, but serviceable analogy," Spock said.

  "Parl is hailing us, sir," said Chamberlain from tactical.

  "On screen."

  "Captain Picard--"

  "I thought Kalor ordered you to secure your sector and report your situation to the next governorship."

  "He did. And he also had us reconnoiter for you. The next ten sectors are clear. After that, reports are that the Romulan fleet has pulled back."

  "Pulled back?" Picard felt his brow furrow and he leaned forward in his seat. "Explain."

  "Word is there are a large number of tightly placed dead zones around the Romulan homeworld and the most populated systems. The Romulan Senate fears this is prelude to invasion."

  "From the Federation?" Picard asked. "From everyone," Parl said quite soberly. "They are protecting themselves. In any case, your way is clear."

  "You're sure of this?" the captain asked.

  "I've seen it myself. We offer assistance. We would accompany you."

  Picard nodded, and his heart felt no better than before. "Follow from behind. We have a way to see the dead zones. And run cloaked--a convoy would draw more attention."

  Parl nodded. "How is the governor?" he asked.

  "He's assisting us... in another manner." Picard

  wasn't sure what Kalor had told Parl, and what he'd want Parl to know, so he remained vague.

  "We are, at his order, under your command, Picard."

  The captain nodded. He'd need the help. "Stand by to get under way. Picard out."

  It was all for nothing, Picard thought as he stared passed the Klingon vessel and into the unremarkable dead zone. If the Romulan fleet had pulled back, Enterprise didn't even need the element he'd sent Riker and Troi and Data to retrieve.

  He'd sent his crew on a suicide mission, and there wasn't now even a reason for them to have made the attempt.

  If he lived, how would he live with that?

  "Set the course," Picard ordered, mustering the most authoritative tone he could. "The Caltiskan system."

  "Course set," Rossi said.

  The captain slumped back in the center seat and made the smallest of gestures with his right hand. "Engage. Maximum warp."

  Chapter Six

  Private vessel Loa-var Romulan space Sector 36

  "MR. data? are you all right?" Whispering, Tobin opened the access panel just outside his vessel's bridge and peered within. The Starfleet lieutenant commander had been hiding from the repair crew by concealing himself behind a false bulkhead.

  "I am well, thank you," came Data's almost cheerful response.

  Tobin shook his head and stood back to allow Data to escape from the access alcove. "It's hard to believe you didn't suffocate."

  "I do not breathe," he said matter-of-factly. "I am an android." Data did not attempt to remove himself, but

  instead stood his ground, his pale yellow face cast half in shadow.

  "It's not easy to remember that you're not a bio form Tobin admitted sheepishly.

  "It is easy for me," Data told him.

  "Of course," Tobin replied. "Aren't you going to come out now?"

  "I would rather stay until all repair personnel are off the vessel."

  Tobin looked around suspiciously and he felt his heart quicken. "I thought they were. Aren't they finished yet? I got word that repairs were complete."

  Standing oddly at attention behind the opening in the wall, Data's response seemed straightforward and yet surreal. "The barantium cargo was loaded, but in monitoring communication frequencies of the repair crew, I gleaned that repairs were finished, and then later seemingly not."

  A slight panic rose in Tobin's chest and he looked away. "As if they finished, then decided they'd done so too early?"

  Data cocked his head to one side and when Tobin looked back he saw more of the android's pale yellow skin which seemed to almost glow in the low light of the powered-down ship. "That is one possibility."

  Hesitating a moment, Tobin tried to concentrate. What did all this mean? How would they all escape if the authorities were onto them? "Can you fix what they'd apparently repaired and then un-repaired?" he asked.

  "Of course," Data said. "I broke it in the first place."


  Sadly true, Tobin thought to himself. "How fast can you work?"

  "My speed and manual dexterity are, on average, seven point three times better than an average human's; five point seven times better than an average Vulcan's or Romulan's; six point--"

  "I see the pattern, thank you." Tobin stood back again and this time Data took the invitation to exit his protective alcove. "They're not going to let us leave space dock in disrepair, even if we wanted to. It's a regulation. They'd fire on is if we did. And if we fix it, they'll want to know how. But I think you need to fix it anyway. So that we're ready for any contingency."

  Walking past Tobin, Data seemed to be making his way toward the aft section and the transporter alcove. "We should beam Commander Riker and Counselor Troi back to the ship."

  The Romulan shook his head. "Not while in space dock The energy surge would be noticed and investigated, and perhaps even stopped in transit when the station puts their shields up. Someone caught in a beam would die."

  Data stopped and turned to Tobin. "We must get them back to the ship. If we break out of space dock once repaired, we will not be able to beam them back while cloaked, or with our shields up."

  "I know. I'm not sure what to do," Tobin admitted.

  "I will repair the ship," Data told him. "You must go to Commander Riker and advise him of the situation."

  Tobin sighed. "They might not beam me down. I'll need a shuttle or some vessel to get to the surface."

  "Please find one. I will expedite repairs." The

  android turned and walked toward the small engineering access room.

  Find one, he tells me, Tobin thought. In the Federation, are spaceships of such abundance it is as if they hatch from eggs?

  The Romulan shook his head despondently. Find one, his mind echoed, and he sighed.

  As made his way past one of the security stations, Tobin was nodded to by the guard, and he felt obligated to nod back.

  The situation, he decided, was bad. He knew the look the guard had--the stance of a cautious sentry who was eyeing a suspect. Security personnel had two manners about them: they either ignored you, or watched you with interest. Tobin was not being ignored.

  He was now sure that something had gone wrong. He had an idea what, but couldn't be sure and anyway it didn't much matter now.