However, in a matter of less than three minutes he had become as knowledgeable about the Yosemite’s power relays as any engineer in the fleet. What was more, he knew that he could make the changes he needed without moving from the science station.
“I will be finished in thirty seconds,” the android announced. Recalling diagram after diagram, following the power circuitry in his mind, he directed his fingers from place to place on the control panel at a speed no flesh-and-blood organism could hope to even approach.
Again, the Yann whispered among themselves, expressing disbelief in tones they probably thought Data couldn’t hear. But his senses were many times more acute than theirs were, so he heard everything.
And, true to his word, he finished his task in thirty seconds—exactly. Sitting back, he turned to Sinna, “I can now reroute the power supply.”
She smiled, still not quite believing what she’d seen. “Then go ahead,” she said.
The android touched the appropriate space on the control panel. In the same instant the bridge’s normal light levels were restored—as if there were no problem with the ship’s engines and there never had been. All stations appeared to be in working order, even if many of them were linked up with crippled systems.
Of course, the starry image on their viewscreen hadn’t changed. It still failed to show them who and what they were up against. However, now that power had been restored to the bridge, that problem could be resolved with a minimum of effort.
“Computer,” Data said out loud, “rear view.” He had seen Captain Rumiel make such a voice-request when he and the Yann were given a tour of the bridge, shortly after their arrival.
In the next instant the scene on the viewscreen shifted—and they found themselves gaping at a huge spacegoing vessel, several times larger than their own. Angular and foreboding, it looked for all the world as if it had been chiseled out of a hunk of dark gray stone. There were a few green and gold lights positioned at various points on the ship’s hull, but nothing that even came close to resembling an observation port.
“That’s them,” breathed Lagon. He turned to Data. “You did that just by asking?”
The android nodded. “Apparently, simple functions can be voice-activated. More complex tasks, of course, must still be carried out manually—the reconfiguration of the Yosemite’s power flow being a case in point.”
“They’re still waiting,” Sinna reminded her companions. “One of us is going to have to answer them.”
She paused as the implications of her statement came home to roost. “That means one of us is going to have to pretend to be the captain.”
The Yann looked at one another. None of them appeared to feel qualified to take on the role.
Nor did Data blame them. After all, as Lagon had noted earlier, they weren’t even cadets yet. How could any of them be expected to impersonate the captain of a starship?
Still, someone would have to do it—and quickly. The android was trying to decide which of them it should be when he noticed that everyone was gazing in his direction. And even then, it took him a few seconds to understand what they had in mind.
“Me?” he queried.
Sinna nodded. “It can’t be anyone else, Data. You’re the only one who has even an inkling of how the ship works … and what it’s capable of. The rest of us would fall flat on our faces.”
“But I am not programmed for duplicity,” he protested. “It is not in my makeup to lie.”
“It’s not in ours, either,” explained Odril. “The ability to deceive has never been held in great esteem by the Yann.”
“At least your emotions won’t give you away,” argued Lagon. “If it was any of us in the captain’s chair, they’d see how nervous we were and suspect that we were up to something.”
The android shook his head. “Surely, there must be another option.”
Judging by his companions’ expressions, they didn’t seem to agree. And there was no time to mull the question over any further. At any moment the beings in the big gray vessel might make good on their threat and attack the Yosemite.
Turning to the captain’s chair, Data considered it for a moment. Then, very deliberately, he approached it. This would be the biggest challenge of his life, he mused. By far.
The fate of the Yann, the Yosemite, and perhaps even the missing crew depended on his performance in the next few minutes. He resolved that he would not let them down.
At least, not if he could help it.
CHAPTER
4
Gathering himself for the task ahead, Data sat down in the captain’s chair and took a long look at the viewscreen.
“Lagon?” he said.
Out of the corner of his eye the android could see his Yanna comrade turn toward him.
“Yes?”
“Can you bring the commander of the unidentified vessel on screen?”
Lagon hesitated as he inspected his control console.
“I think I can,” he responded at last.
“Then, by all means do so,” Data instructed.
He did not look back to see if Lagon was following his orders, just as a real captain would not have looked back. However, he knew that the orders had been carried out—because a moment later the viewscreen showed him the commander of the alien ship.
The being was almost skeletal in appearance, with deep, round eye sockets, prominent cheekbones, and a pair of collarbones, that jutted out at sharp angles. His eyes were small and red, like tiny drops of smoldering lava; they told Data that their owner was far from amused by the situation.
The alien’s bridge crew wore the same expressions. The android counted six of them in all, three of each sex. Though he didn’t know how their people divided up the responsibilities of running a spacegoing vessel, he guessed that their roles roughly corresponded to those used in Starfleet.
“My name,” he told the aliens, “is Data. I am in charge of this vessel, which is called the Yosemite.” It was hardly a lie, under the circumstances. “With regard to your earlier communication—”
The alien commander cut Data short with a wave of his hand. “Will you move off or not?” he insisted. His tone was one of impatience, even more so than before.
The android straightened a bit in the captain’s chair. This was a most important juncture, he recognized. If he chose his words less than carefully, he would be responsible not only for his own destruction, but that of the Yann and the Yosemite as well.
“We have no intention of moving away from our current coordinates,” he announced. “We are here on a peaceful mission of exploration, with no desire to harm anyone. Unless you can give me a sufficient reason to depart, we will maintain our belief that this sector is as open to the Federation as to anyone else.”
Data waited for the alien’s response. It wasn’t long in coming.
“We do not feel obligated to give you a reason to leave,” their commander “informed him, “other than the destructiveness of our weapons. What is more, if you do not withdraw from this sector in five lunar millicycles, we will demonstrate just how destructive those weapons can be.”
Without pausing for a reply, the aliens terminated the communications link. Instead of their bridge crew, all Data saw on the viewscreen now was a picture of their vessel hanging ominously in space.
Looking around at his fellow cadets, the android did not see a great deal of confidence displayed among them. The Yann looked off-balance, even fearful, as they exchanged glances. Even Sinna seemed to be at a loss.
“How much is five lunar millicycles?” asked Odril. “Is that a lot of time or a little?”
Data could only guess. “Given the average length of a lunar cycle in our galaxy,” he said, “five millicycles would translate into about five minutes.” He could have supplied a more precise answer, but he was beginning to learn that most people did not require such exact information.
Lagon slumped at his communications post. “We are lost,” he moaned. “We do not stan
d a chance of surviving an assault—not with our shields at minimal strength.”
“And not with both propulsion and weapons facilities on the blink,” Felai added mournfully.
Sinna sighed. “And even if those systems were in working order,” she observed, “none of us have the expertise to operate the ship.” She looked at the android. “With the exception of you, Data—and even you can’t be everywhere at once.”
He had to agree that that was true. They were indeed in a bind, with no obvious way to get themselves out of it.
Odril glanced from one of his fellow Yann to the other. “If we are to die,” he said, “at least we can do it together. We can take some solace in that, if nothing else.”
And what could Data take solace in? His uniqueness? His lonely status as the only known positronic consciousness in the universe?
Fortunately, the android was not ready to die—not in any sense of the word. Not as long as there was even a slim chance of avoiding it. He said so, too.
“We can still survive this,” he told the Yann. They looked at him as if he had just claimed to be the head of Starfleet Command. “It is not probable, but it is possible. And I, for one, do not intend to give up until I have exhausted all avenues of resistance.”
Having said his piece, Data got up and headed for the turbolift. The lift doors opened and he walked inside.
“Deck Two,” he said. He was surprised when he heard footsteps behind him—and even more so when he saw Sinna hurrying after him.
As she joined him in the compartment, he saw her face turn up toward his. “You are coming with me,” he noted. It was more of a question than a statement.
“Yes,” answered Sinna. “I guess I don’t believe things are completely hopeless, either. And even if we do eventually meet with destruction, I’ll be able to face it better knowing that I did everything in my power to prevent it.”
Data tilted his head, puzzled. “I do not understand,” he confessed. “I have been given to believe that your people always act as a group. I find it remarkable that you would diverge from the actions and apparent feelings of your fellow Yann.”
Sinna didn’t respond. Perhaps she found her behavior remarkable as well. In any case, they didn’t have much more time to ponder the question—because the turbolift doors were already opening on the Yosemite’s weapons room.
The place was bathed in a thin red light—all the computer had allowed it under emergency conditions. Still, it would be sufficient for the purpose at hand.
“Obviously,” the android said as they stepped out, “we cannot get all the ship’s systems up and working again in such a limited amount of time. However, the weapons function is one of the simplest to bring back online. And if we are successful with it—”
“It’ll buy us time to restore some of the other systems,” Sinna finished enthusiastically.
Data looked at her as they walked. “Exactly.”
Arriving at the primary phaser control console—a large, metal unit with several control padds built into it—he attempted to carry out a manual command. The system didn’t respond. Of course, he hadn’t expected it to, but it never hurt to check.
“We will have to make further adjustments in the power-supply network,” he explained. “And then run a diagnostic, to make sure the phasers themselves have not been damaged.”
Sinna nodded. “What can I do to help you?” she asked.
The android indicated one of the secondary consoles with a tilt of his head. “Run the diagnostic. It will not be difficult; the readout itself will guide you. In the meantime, I will attempt to link us to an appropriate power source.”
As they set to work, Sinna’s jaw muscles fluttering with concentration in the ruddy light, Data resolved to keep track of how much time they had left. So far, they had expended nearly a minute—giving them slightly more than four left, by his reckoning. Even with luck on their side, they would need all of it….
For a while, there were no sounds in the weapons room but those of Sinna’s breathing and the tapping of their fingertips on the control padds. They didn’t talk, because, that would only have slowed them down. And if the Yanna was turning up any questions, she was apparently able to figure out the answers on her own.
Finally the android raised his head. “Phasers are back online,” he said, “though it will take another minute or so before they charge up. How is the diagnostic routine coming?”
“Almost done,” Sinna replied. A moment later she turned to Data with a grim smile on her face. “You were right … the readout did guide me. And it seems everything is running perfectly.”
She had barely finished her statement when Lagon’s voice flooded the room. “Data?” he called, a distinct note of urgency in his voice.
“I am here,” the android assured him. “Sinna and I have completed our task. We are only waiting for the—”
“It’s too late for that,” groaned Lagon. “Our time is up. The aliens have struck, as they said they would.”
He paused, as if trying to fight down a wave of panic. “They’ve beamed something aboard,” he said. “Several somethings, in fact.”
Data absorbed the information. “Are these somethings objects or organisms?” he inquired.
There was another pause. “We can’t tell,” came the response. “And we don’t know enough about the internal sensors to find out.”
The android frowned ever so slightly. He could have gotten the answer readily enough if he were on the bridge. However, as things stood, there was a quicker way to obtain the facts.
“Which of these things is closest to the weapons room?” he asked.
Again, there was a pause. “There’s one in the corridor outside,” the Yanna declared at last. “Maybe thirty meters forward of your position.”
Data turned to look at the open doorway. “Acknowledged,” he said. “I recommend that you obtain phasers for yourselves from the closest supply facility. Just in case.”
He didn’t remain to hear Lagon’s reaction to that. He was already crossing the room and peering out into the corridor.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t obtain a clear view of the intruder—if it was an intruder—so easily. From this vantage point, the corridor looked empty. However, less than ten meters from the weapons room, the corridor bent to the left and thereby obscured whatever was past that point.
“Where are you going?" asked Sinna, who had caught up with him.
“I am attempting to determine the nature of what—or who—was beamed aboard,” the android told her.
“But what if it’s dangerous?” she asked. “Or it has a weapon?”
“Then it will be better to find that out sooner rather than later,” he advised.
CHAPTER
5
As Data made his way down the corridor, Sinna was right behind him—despite her apparent misgivings. It only took a few strides before he reached the bend.
Craning his neck to see around it, he studied the being that the aliens had transported onto the Yosemite. No, he realized—not a being, but an artificial construct, like himself.
Except this was a much more primitive construct, made of slick, dark metal that barely reflected the light. It had three obviously mechanical arms and three equally mechanical legs, with a globelike head and a short, hourglass-shaped torso.
And its purpose, if the weaponlike attachment at the end of each arm was any indication, was to destroy anything in its way.
Data had only a fraction of a second to make all these observations before one of the thing’s arms swiveled and sent a seething barrage of crimson energy in his direction. Making use of his android reflexes, he pulled his head back around the corner—narrowly avoiding the blast, which charred and bubbled the tough duranium bulkhead behind him.
Sinna gripped him by his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice shrill with concern for him.
Data nodded. “I am unharmed,” he told her. “However, that
may change if we do not retreat—and quickly.”
Taking the Yanna by the hand, the android raced back down the corridor the way they had come. He could hear the artificial intruder giving pursuit, its feet making loud clicking sounds as it came after them.
Judging from the frequency of the sounds and his estimate of the thing’s stride, Data decided that it was nearly as fast as he was. His conclusion was borne out by a glance back over his shoulder—which told him that if he didn’t duck in less than a second, both he and Sinna would be blackened husks.
Darting sideways and pulling his companion after him, the android saw another of the invader’s energy beams flash down the corridor and strike the bulkhead at the end of it. As before, it left a blistered, black spot on the duranium surface.
Careening the other way, Data avoided yet another deadly beam, which seared a second spot on the distant bulkhead. Then, spying a turn in the corridor just ahead, he headed for it. Sinna kept up as best she could.
“We can’t just keep running,” she told him, her voice taut with fear. “Eventually, it’ll catch up with us.”
“I agree,” said the android. “We need to go on the offensive.”
But how? They had neither phasers nor anything else that might be used as a weapon. They would have to find something that was not designed to be a weapon, then—and use it to suit their purpose.
Abruptly a plan formed in Data’s positronic brain. If they had access to a transporter room, they might be able to beam the alien constructs out into space.
“Bridge,” he called out as he ran, “I need to reach the nearest transporter room. Can you tell me where it is? And where the other invaders are, so we may avoid them?”
This time Lagon’s answer was almost instantaneous. “Heading for a transporter room isn’t a good idea. All three of them are occupied by the—did you call them invaders? Does that mean they’re alive after all?”
“Yes,” said Data. “They are alive." At least, by his standards.
And there was no time for a more elaborate response, with the construct still chasing them. Apparently, the aliens had anticipated his transporter idea and deployed their forces to preclude it.
Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #6: Mystery of the Missing Crew Page 4