A Time to Die

by John Vornholt

  “There’s another Ontailian ship deeper inside,” said Wes. “We’ll find it, but we’ll have to be careful.”

  He gripped her hand, and they were off again, moving so deep inside the Rashanar site that they seemed to be at the eye of a hurricane. Here charred hulks and glimmering curtains of debris swirled all around them, and a massive blackness seemed to suck at the core of her ethereal body. Even her gifted guide seemed wary, and he retreated to a point some distance away from the shimmering vortex. Colleen was beginning to feel nauseated, but she was too exhilarated to say anything.

  When she was able to focus, she saw one of the unique Ontailian ships, with its lines like a three-bladed kitchen knife. It rippled strangely as it floated in front of an indeterminate blob of wreckage. Perhaps it was just a thick debris cloud, but it glittered gold and blue in the blackness of space.

  “What’s it doing?” she asked.

  “Expelling antimatter,” answered her guide.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. The Enterprise reported a similar incident, but it was lost in all the testimony at the inquiry.” He turned, scrutinizing her intently. “They’re not the only ship in here,” he said, removing his arm from her shivering shoulders and taking her hand once again. Before Colleen could take a breath, they were floating in another part of Rashanar. She could see sparks and lights glowing on the side of one abandoned hulk.

  As they drew closer, it was clear that this wasn’t an errant power spike but pinpoint phaser beams, welding or burning into the side of the crumpled relic. Attached to the greenish-hued wreck by umbilical cords was a smaller spacecraft that looked like a child’s fanciful toy made of so many colorful, mismatched parts. She could see workers in extravehicular suits punching their way into the hull of the crippled starship. They took no care to preserve anything.

  “Unauthorized salvagers,” said Wesley. “Scavengers. Those are Androssi—the ones who started the chase on that fateful day. Doesn’t look like the Ontailians have them under control.”

  Colleen nodded sheepishly, unable to speak; she could only grip his arm and hang on for dear life. Giving her a warm smile, the handsome guide seemed to sense that they should leave, and before she could blink, Colleen Cabot was sitting at her desk in her mundane office, her mind fuzzy and confused.

  Wesley was standing at the door, looking at her with sweet concern. “Are you all right?”

  The counselor nodded, still uncertain of her speaking voice. She finally wheezed, “When will I see you again?”

  He laughed and said, “Don’t make me come back as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.” With that, the door opened, and the alluring man in the gray jumpsuit vanished.

  Chapter Three

  THE TRAVELER STOOD in the maelstrom at the center of the Rashanar Battle Site, watching the sleek Ontailian vessel surreptitiously expel antimatter and move on. The blasted hulks of dead starships circled him like sharks waiting for the right moment to attack. He moved from his perch every few seconds. Wes wasn’t alone this time either, because in his hand was a blinking, high-tech, oblong container. After his journey here with Colleen Cabot, Wes had decided to offer Commodore Korgan a trip, minus the ill effects of warp travel. The Medusan had taken some time to respond, but in the end he had finally agreed to go, placing his faith and his life in the Traveler’s hands.

  Now Korgan’s sublime thoughts were filled with more happiness and pleasure than he could possibly express to Wesley. The human couldn’t help but grin at his companion. It wasn’t the danger that thrilled Korgan, as it had Colleen Cabot; it was the freedom. To move through space in the blink of an eye, without worrying about containers and logistics, the effect his appearance would have on humanoids, or the illness he usually suffered—these changes were like miracles to the Medusan. As Korgan radiated joy, Wes began to think that no one in the universe would enjoy being a Traveler more than the commodore.

  When he turned to look at the Ontailian ship, he found it blasting into reverse as glittering tentacles of debris reached toward it. A moment later, the sparkling space dust began to turn black, as if seeping with ink from within. While the Ontailian ship barely managed to escape, the dark anomaly exploded like a billion fireflies set loose at once. The tranquil section of the boneyard rippled like the surface of a pool.

  “Wild antimatter,” warned Wesley. “We’re getting out of here.” Before his companion could comment, they were back in Korgan’s elegant town house in the Russian Hill area of San Francisco. Streetlamps were the only objects glowing in the darkness.

  “Thank you for going with me,” said Wes as he set the Medusan’s box on the dining table.

  Thank you, Traveler, replied Korgan, speaking to him telepathically. I normally dread travel, but this experience was extraordinary. Yes, now I understand how so many things could have gone wrong so quickly. I am unsure what to do about it.

  Wes took a deep breath. “Someone from Starfleet has to go back there,” he replied. “The Enterprise crew has experience at Rashanar and the most to gain—they should be the ones to go.”

  The oblong box blinked a few times before the young man heard the reply in his mind: So do you want me to intercede on Captain Picard’s behalf?

  “Commander Riker can captain the Enterprise,” said Wes, “but don’t you think we owe it to Picard to let him clear himself?”

  I will do what I can, promised the Medusan. Thank you again, Traveler, for trusting me with this knowledge of your existence. Just knowing there is an advanced race watching us, remembering what we do for posterity, gives increased meaning to one’s life.

  Wesley nodded thoughtfully as he walked toward the door, and he stopped to add, “Your actions give our lives meaning, not the other way around.”

  But you are breaking your vows to help your friends, are you not?

  “I am,” agreed the young Traveler. “Even though we make all kinds of vows and promises in our lives, some are still more important than others. Good-bye, Commodore.”

  Go in peace, Traveler.

  Walking through walls and space and dimension as if they were puddles on the sidewalk, the Traveler moved back onto the Enterprise just as it arrived in orbit over Earth. At this moment, it was the most painful place to be in the entire galaxy. Everyone was so gloomy and angry, even those who seldom got that way, such as Geordi La Forge and Deanna Troi. His mother would have been in that category if he hadn’t revealed himself to her with a promise of help. He only hoped her expectations of him weren’t unrealistic, because whatever demons lurked in the Rashanar graveyard were not going to be exorcised easily.

  Wes arrived in transporter room two in time to see a happy reunion between Geordi and Data, who had also just returned to the Enterprise. The Traveler hovered in the background, blending in with a number of workers moving supplies onto the ship. He saw La Forge grasp his friend warmly by the shoulders.

  “Are you okay? What did they do to you?” Geordi asked with concern.

  “I am unchanged,” answered Data. “Admiral Nakamura had plans to insert a prototype chip in the socket dedicated to my emotion chip.”

  “Damn him,” grumbled La Forge under his breath. “You told him not to, right?”

  The android cocked his head. “I am not in the habit of disobeying orders, even dubious ones, so I was relieved when they could not find the new chip. They had to let me go.”

  La Forge beamed. “Wow, somebody is looking out for you.”

  Data nodded thoughtfully. “It would appear so. I have sensed for several days now that somebody is indeed looking out for me. Today was the most dramatic instance.”

  The engineer grimaced as he moved toward the door. “We’ve been snakebitten until now, so maybe we deserve a break or two. We’re going to be in dock another day at least.”

  “Why?” asked Data. “Were the warp trials unsuccessful?”

  “Successful enough,” admitted the engineer. “But we could stand to tweak the engines a bit. Say, several of u
s are going to see the captain tomorrow—do you want to go?”

  “Give him my regards, but I should stay on the ship,” answered Data.

  The Traveler allowed the two senior officers to go on their way without him. He doubted if he was going to learn much more from them.

  Maybe I should just rest, he thought, and let the seeds I’ve sown take root.

  Then again, there were those who deserved more scrutiny than he had given them. He couldn’t risk stealing them away to Rashanar to prove his point, but he could see how they were living with their decisions. A wink in time later, the Traveler strode down a nearly deserted corridor in Starfleet Command to the office of Admiral Ross. As he neared the door, his acute hearing picked up Counselor Cabot’s voice, which was distinctly argumentative. Even facing an admiral, she gave as good as she got.

  “I tell you, Admiral Ross,” insisted Colleen’s voice, “I have come to believe that Jean-Luc Picard is perfectly rational. I think he had enough justification to believe in this mimic ship to act as he did.”

  She lowered her voice to add, “I know there are also practical reasons why we acted as we did. I, for one, don’t want to see the Federation weakened. But we ought to have some sympathy for Picard’s position. Nobody’s saying there weren’t mistakes made, but look at the situation you put the Enterprise in! I have gone…and done some research on conditions in Rashanar—I know we’ve given our forces an impossible task.”

  The Traveler edged into the admiral’s office and was glad to see that it was both large and dimly lit, befitting the late hour. He found a shadow behind a potted palm tree and melted into the collection of darkness. Admiral Ross looked properly dumbfounded by this uprising among one of his minions, who was no longer playing by the agreed-upon rules.

  “Counselor, you were the one who suggested putting him in your care,” insisted Ross. “Now are you saying you want to throw him back at us? Reopening this case would be like batting a hornets’ nest with a stick!”

  “I would rather see Picard on his own ship,” answered Cabot. “You’re not only trying to sweep Picard under the rug, but Rashanar too! The Ontailians are hiding something in that graveyard.”

  “What?” asked Ross skeptically. “Since when are you an expert on the Rashanar Battle Site? Or Ontailians?” He rose to his feet and tugged imperiously on his brocaded and bedecked tunic. “Counselor Cabot, what you are telling me is that you have fallen under Captain Picard’s spell. I know he’s a charming, erudite man, but he agreed to a settlement for the good of the situation. Even he agreed to keep a low profile. You want to push him back into the spotlight!”

  The admiral heaved his brawny shoulders. His once proud visage looked worn and care-ridden, as if the weight of too many bad choices and too much death was taking its toll. Ross finally said, “Look, as soon as we work it out with the Ontailians, we’ll send more ships to Rashanar, but we won’t risk any more ships. You just follow our agreement and keep the captain safe and content.”

  “Content?” asked Cabot, shaking her head. “Yes, I know about the pact that you, me, and Admiral Nakamura made, but I’m saying that I’m beginning to believe him.”

  That remark made Ross wince, and he took on the pained expression of a sweet old granddad. “You can’t show a little bit of patience, Counselor? And let’s give the Ontailians a little respect before we either negotiate in good faith or invade them. Rashanar is in their space, and I don’t want to fight a war over the right to retrieve our dead.”

  Colleen sighed loudly and collected herself. Wes marveled at how she could stand toe-to-toe with Starfleet Command and not break a sweat. He had taken on a lot of responsibility at a young age, so he knew how it felt.

  “Couldn’t we send a small craft disguised as a looter?” she asked. “We just need proof that this mimic ship exists.”

  “If it does exist, we’d be putting a ship in danger,” answered Ross. “If it doesn’t exist, we’d be driving the Ontailians out of the Federation for nothing. To go back in force, we need their blessing. Waiting is the prudent thing to do in this case.”

  “All right, I’ll have some patience,” muttered Cabot, backing toward the door. “Admiral, do you know officers who are still floating around in that miasma of scorched hulls and wild antimatter?”

  Ross’s face turned pale, and he looked as if he had aged a few more years. “Yes, I know a lot of them. They won’t be the first Starfleet officers to be buried in space.”

  Feeling defeated, Colleen stepped into the corridor. Well, that was a bust, she finally decided. She wasn’t sure how she could go over Ross’s head, especially since her only other ally was Nakamura, who agreed with him. After several moments spent shuffling rather than walking, Colleen felt another presence at her side. She turned to see an average-looking ensign.

  The officer smiled shyly at her and asked, “Counselor Cabot, do you remember me?”

  “I know I should, and I’m usually good with names. You’re, uh—”

  “Ensign Brewster. Sometimes I help Admiral Nechayev.”

  “Ah, yes,” answered Colleen, biting her tongue. She hadn’t been impressed by Nechayev’s defense of Picard, and she wasn’t particularly impressed by the admiral’s aide either.

  “Nechayev’s office is just on the floor below,” said Brewster. “I think she could use a visit from you, if you have something to tell her. She has another visitor at the moment—Commodore Korgan.”

  Colleen stopped in her tracks to look at him. “Why should that interest me?”

  “Because the Medusan wants to help Captain Picard, and you want to help, too.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

  Brewster shrugged. “I saw you coming out of Admiral Ross’s office, and you don’t look very happy. It was just a hunch. But don’t give up, Counselor, because Nechayev will listen to you. Come, I’ll show you the way.”

  She peered curiously at Brewster. It seemed for a moment that he wasn’t quite the cipher he appeared to be. In fact, she felt she knew him from somewhere else…someplace more exciting than the drab corridors of Starfleet.

  He opened the turbolift door and motioned for her to step inside. When she did, he followed her and said, “Computer, level three, northeast wing.”

  As they moved down and across, Cabot studied her escort with interest, and she said, “You know, I would be happy if we just gave Picard a vacation and released him on his own recognizance.”

  “No, we have to do better than that,” countered the ensign. “That would be like putting him out to pasture. He needs his ship back—at least to find the thing which put him here.”

  Now Cabot peered curiously at her escort. “Do you happen to know a fellow who gets around…name of Wesley?”

  He smiled slightly and replied, “It doesn’t sound familiar.”

  The door whooshed open, and they stepped out of the turbolift. Colleen felt oddly detached as Ensign Brewster led her to Admiral Nechayev’s office. It was late at night; few people were around Starfleet Command except for the ubiquitous security officers.

  When Brewster barged into the admiral’s private lair, the sandy-haired woman jumped to her feet as if to demand to know who they were, but her expression softened when she saw it was her trusted assistant. Also present were Commander Emery and, as Brewster had promised, the floating antigrav container that housed Commodore Korgan.

  “Admiral, I’m sorry to interrupt,” announced the ensign, “but I believe Counselor Cabot has had a similar change of heart over Captain Picard.” The humans looked at one another as if they didn’t know who should start the round of explanations.

  “It’s not a change of heart,” explained Commander Emery, wringing his hands with anxiety. “Oh, heck, I don’t know what it is. I only know that Commodore Korgan is now convinced that Picard is telling the truth.”

  “He is innocent,” declared Cabot. She wanted to ask the Medusan whether he had also met the mysterious stranger, Wesley. But she hated
to bring up bizarre evidence that couldn’t be proven.

  “Well,” said Nechayev, somewhat astounded, “I didn’t expect Picard’s prosecutor and custodian to step forward and say they want to reopen the case they won. This is highly unusual…but welcome. You realize, there is going to be no support for reopening Picard’s case. We don’t want to drag the Ontailians back here just to impugn their testimony, not when we’re involved in delicate negotiations with them to reopen Rashanar.”

  The lights on Korgan’s container blinked. Emery straightened and said, “There is a matter of justice.”

  “Justice?” said Nechayev with sarcasm. “You weren’t too concerned about that at the inquiry. Basically, we all agreed to placate the Ontailians and let Picard take one for the team. I’ve been convinced since day one that the captain was innocent, but you played hardball and forced us to settle.”

  Cabot stepped forward, taking on her third admiral of the long day. “Well, we were wrong. You’re wrong to hold us to a deal that isn’t in anyone’s best interest. I don’t know exactly what Commodore Korgan discovered that changed his mind, but I suspect he learned more about the Rashanar Battle Site than he knew before. Anyone who has been there can tell you that we left a nasty job unfinished.”

  “You’ve been to Rashanar?” asked Nechayev skeptically.

  Cabot gave the admiral a wistful smile. “In a way, I have. Please, Admiral, we’ve got to get back there, and we’ve got to reunite Captain Picard with his ship.”

  Nechayev stepped away from her chair and paced thoughtfully. “Counselor, you are Captain Picard’s sole master. Right now nobody can give him an order but you. You can set him to picking up trash in Golden Gate Park, if you wish. You could send him back to the Enterprise, but you can’t let him out of your custody. Until he’s officially absolved, you’re his ball and chain. Any place he goes, you have to go.”

  The young woman gulped but firmed up her resolve. “I will accompany Picard to the Enterprise. I’ll go back to Rashanar with him, too.”