Enterprise: Broken Bow

by Diane Carey

  CHAPTER 12

  THE TEMPORAL ARCHWAY GLOWED AND SIZZLED AS IF IN anger. The barrier of energy blocking the way to the future, and also providing a window to it, now glared fitfully in its cylindrical housing. The murky, milky figure of the future being stood passively, but Silik could tell the individual was displeased.

  “Did Sarin give them anything?” it asked.

  “I don’t know,” Silik said, both truthful and impatient. He didn’t like being made responsible for dangerous things of such undefinition.

  “What do you know?” the figure demanded.

  “They followed us here.”

  “Looking for Klaang? Or for you?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll destroy them before they locate the Helix.”

  The being was still for many seconds. When it spoke again, the words curdled Silik’s blood to his very core.

  “We didn’t plan to involve the humans, or the Vulcans. Not yet. Sarin’s message cannot reach Qo’noS. If the humans have it, you must stop them.”

  “It’s a gas giant.”

  Archer settled into his command chair as T’Pol stepped out of it, and eyed the big orange mass on the viewscreen—a gargantuan planet of mostly gravity and dust holding each other together on a vast scale.

  “From the looks of it, a class six or seven,” he muttered.

  “Class seven,” T’Pol confirmed. “The Suliban vessel dropped to impulse a few hours ago and altered course. Their new heading took them through its outer radiation belt.”

  “We’ve lost them?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “Move us in closer.”

  Mayweather glanced at him, then worked to obey that order. Archer pushed out of his chair and paced, working his leg to keep it from stiffening up. Phlox’s pet liver had done a good job. He felt twinges, but no loss of strength.

  The ship moved closer toward the radiation belt of the orange gas giant. The planet loomed large and imposing on their screens, causing warnings to go off on several stations, but not the right ones.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “The radiation’s dissipating their warp trail,” Reed reported. “I’m only picking up fragments.”

  Archer gave T’Pol his hunting-eagle glare. “You finished helping us?” he challenged.

  She went to Reed’s station and eyed the graphics, then hit a control. One simple click.

  On the main screen, an enhanced picture of the giant appeared, this time with a fragmented ion trail faintly traced in colors, being broken up by the winds.

  “Lieutenant,” she said, “run a spectral analysis of the fragments.”

  Reed hit a series of controls in specific order. On the graphic, a sequence of numbers appeared near each fragment, all different.

  “There’s too much distortion,” Reed complained. “The decay rates don’t even match.”

  “Calculate the trajectory of each fragment.”

  He looked a bit dubious, and glanced at Archer, who nodded. “You heard her.”

  Reed clearly hadn’t a clue what she was looking for, but he did as he was bidden.

  T’Pol, while Reed worked, turned and met Archer’s eyes. For the first time they seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  The graphic now displayed telemetry for each fragment. Archer nodded at T’Pol, who moved to another station and began doing the work for herself.

  “Recalibrate the sensor array,” Archer authorized. “Narrowband, short to midrange.”

  “Measure the particle density of the thermosphere,” T’Pol added.

  Archer looked at her again. “Those fragments weren’t from the Suliban ship.”

  T’Pol confirmed, “They were from fourteen… and all within the last six hours. I believe we’ve found what we’re looking for.”

  Despite her reticence until now, she had a lilt of victory in her voice.

  Archer dropped a hand on Reed’s shoulder. “How are your targeting scanners?”

  “Aligned and ready, sir!”

  “Bring weapons on-line and polarize the hull plating.”

  The crew jumped to action all over the bridge. That was no by-the-book order!

  Armed conflict during the shakedown voyage!

  “Lay in a sixty degree vector,” Archer said calmly. “We’re going in.”

  CHAPTER 13

  EVERYONE WAS AT HIS STATION. THE APPEARANCE OF THEM there was beginning to gain a rhythm in the captain’s mind. He had started knowing which person he was addressing without turning to see who was there. He felt their tension without any words to confirm it. He knew what they were feeling and sometimes thinking.

  Intensity could do that.

  The Enterprise moved through disruptions of gaseous energy and storms the size of whole planets. Her running lights cut through the dense layers, but it was still strangely similar to that ice cyclone on Rigel Ten.

  Hoshi’s little voice at his side had a new tremor in it when she spoke this time. “Sensor resolution’s falling off at about twelve kilometers …”

  Archer leaned forward. “Travis?”

  Mayweather worked feverishly. “I’m okay, Captain.”

  The ship trembled and rolled—full swings her entire beam-width from side to side. Even her massive power was nothing against the natural monstrosity of a gas giant. This was a terrible risk, something Archer knew would take weeks of exploration, testing, and measurements in another circumstance.

  He wanted to know what the ship could do. This would tell him.

  T’Pol worked almost anxiously at her console. “Our situation should improve. We’re about to break through the cyclohexane layer.”

  The orange color gave way to an even denser layer of roiling blue liquid. The blue color, normally peaceful, seemed even angrier than the outer atmosphere, and more eerie. It was also more solid, slamming the bow every few seconds with powerful strikes. The ship trembled so hard that Archer held himself in place with both hands.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call this an improvement,” Archer commented.

  “Liquid phosphorescence,” T’Pol explained. “I wouldn’t have expected that beneath a layer of cyclohexane.”

  The ship rocked sideways again, then took a hard drop forward.

  Hoshi hunched her shoulders and hung on until her knuckles turned white. “You might think about recommending seat belts when we get home.”

  “It’s just a little bad weather,” Archer assured.

  The roiling on the main screen thinned and changed again.

  The console near Hoshi suddenly cried out—peep peep peep peep!

  “We’ve got sensors!” she called at the same pitch.

  “Level off,” Archer ordered. “Go to long-range scan.”

  He almost corrected himself—long-range meant a light-year. This was just a planetary atmosphere. On a starship level, this was next door. But they seemed to understand his context.

  “I’m detecting two vessels,” T’Pol reported, “bearing one-one-nine mark 7.”

  “Put it up.”

  Hoshi worked her board. The viewscreen changed to show two Suliban ships moving away in the distance. The little vessels were unique to Archer’s eyes, about twice the size of shuttlepods.

  “Impulse and warp engines,” Reed reported.

  “What kind of weapons?” Archer asked.

  “We’re too far away.”

  “Sir,” Mayweather broke in, “I’m picking up something at three-forty-two mark 12 … and it’s a lot bigger!”

  The viewscreen shifted as Hoshi worked faster.

  “All sensors,” Archer instructed T’Pol. “Get whatever you can!”

  Before them on the changing screen, a huge complex came into focus. Was it a ship? Or buildings? Archer couldn’t tell, but it was massive. It had to be free-floating, because this gas giant had no surface.

  “Go tighter.”

  The screen zeroed in closer. The complex was indeed some kind of moving object, made of hundreds of Suliban ships i
nterlocked to form a massive spiraled space station. A few individual cell ships engaged and disengaged from the mother complex.

  “Biosigns?” he asked.

  “Over three thousand,” Hoshi reported. “but I can’t isolate a Klingon, if there is one—”

  A jolt rammed the body of the ship.

  “That was a particle weapon, sir,” Reed reported, too little and too late.

  Hit again!

  “Bridge!” a call came in from Trip Tucker. “We’re taking damage down here! What’s going on?”

  “Just a little trouble with the bad guys,” Archer assured. He used his voice as a tool, uttering pointless vocalizations just to show them he was in control and not ready to be afraid. Somehow the Suliban didn’t scare him so much anymore. The fight with them on the planet had equalized things. T’Pol was wrong—the Suliban weren’t so much more advanced than he was. Maybe the mystery had gone away, or maybe he was concentrating on the bigger badder guys from the future who could use such as the Suliban as a tool.

  “I suggest returning to the phosphorous layer,” T’Pol called over the boom of the next hit.

  “Take us up,” Archer obliged.

  The ship rapidly ascended, leaving the attacking cell ships behind with admirable grace. The Suliban cells quickly homed toward the main complex.

  Prodding, Archer asked a general question to any who wanted to contribute. “What’ve you got?”

  “It appears,” T’Pol began, “to be an aggregate structure, comprised of hundreds of vessels. They’re held in place by an interlocking system of magnetic seals.”

  Not unheard of in the realm of shipbuilding and tactical considerations. Apartment buildings had been around for thousands of years, aircraft carriers and trains—there were plenty of examples of composite ships out there. Archer resolved not to be intimidated.

  “There!” Hoshi yelped. “Right there!”

  Biodata tumbled across the main screen over a small section of the Suliban aggregate.

  “These bioreadings are not Suliban!” she added.

  T’Pol looked at her. “We can’t be certain they’re Klingon,” she warned.

  “Even if it is Klaang,” Archer accepted, “we’d have a tough time getting him off of there.”

  Reed turned in his chair and broached a touchy subject. “We could always try the transporting device… .”

  “No,” Archer quietly said. “We’ve risked too much to bring him back inside out. Would the grappler work in a liquid atmosphere?”

  “I believe so …”

  “Bring it on-line. One more time, Mr. Mayweather. Take us down to proximity range.”

  “Proximity range, sir.”

  Once again the ship descended into the smooth lower atmosphere, the clear layer that seemed so welcoming, yet held the primary threat.

  “Make it aggressive,” Archer said. “Don’t hold back.”

  “Understood, sir,” Mayweather agreed. “I won’t.”

  The ship hummed with power, and soared like a giant albatross on an arctic crest.

  “Suliban ships in patrol formation, sir,” Reed instantly reported. “They’ve seen us!”

  “Let’s give them a closer look, Mr. Mayweather.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Mr. Reed, open fire.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir, so much.”

  “Ready that grappling system.”

  “It shall indeed be ready, sir.”

  The ship took a compressive dive into the clear, burst out, and trumpeted her presence in the sky. Rapid-blast torpedoes of compressed energy made a luminous announcement.

  The artillery shells spoke out across the giant’s sky bound seas and scattered through the Suliban patrol. Were there hits? Archer couldn’t tell. The Suliban returned fire, but also broke formation.

  Enterprise absorbed a tremendous hit.

  “The ventral plating’s down!” Reed called over the noise. “I’m having trouble getting a weapons lock! These scanners weren’t designed for a liquid atmosphere!” Again the ship was hit, driving him to comment, “Though apparently theirs were …”

  A hard shake caused the console next to Hoshi to blow a plume of sparks. She shrieked and leapt back.

  “Hold your position, Travis,” Archer said calmly.

  “The lead ship’s closing,” Reed reported. “Seven thousand meters … six thousand …”

  “We should ascend!” T’Pol called.

  “Hold your position!” Archer repeated. He didn’t like repeating.

  Reed glanced at him. “One thousand meters. Forward plating’s off-line!”

  “Now, Mr. Reed!”

  One of the cell ships veered almost directly to the star-ship’s bow. Reed struck his controls. Two grappling devices shot from ports on the launch bay arm, trailing thin cables that Archer could see partly on the forward screen.

  The grapplers struck the Suliban ship and magnetically adhered to its hull. Archer gripped his chair, glad that metal was metal on any side of the galaxy.

  “He’s ejecting!” Hoshi called, and pointed.

  A cockpit hatch sprang open on the Suliban cell. The pilot was gone in a blast of vapor and disappeared through the layer below.

  To land where? Archer winced. No surface …

  He hoped the Suliban had that covered, but there was no way to tell.

  “Back up, Travis,” he ordered.

  “Rising, sir.”

  The ship moved back up toward the turbulent layers, now trailing its prey on a silken cord, drawing it closer and closer to the hangar bay.

  Reed eyed his station and uttered, “Hello … their ship is in the launch bay, sir.”

  Archer nodded. Reed smiled. A new toy.

  Fifteen minutes later, he and Mayweather and Tucker crowded around a table graphic in the situation room off the bridge. The table showed graphics of the cell ship, all different angles of the exterior, engine schematics, flight controls … they tried to study these while the starship trembled and shook around them, battling the turbulence, but she was built to do that, like ships immemorial before her.

  “All right, what’s this?” Mayweather was pointing at something.

  “The pitch control,” Tucker said. He sounded confident about that one.

  “No,” Mayweather argued. “That’s the pitch control. This is the guidance system.”

  “Pitch control … guidance system … I got it.”

  “The docking interface,” Mayweather went on. “How do you deploy it?”

  Archer hunched over the graphics. “Looks like you release the inertial clamps here, here, and here, then initialize the coaxial ports.”

  “Good. Where’s the auxiliary throttle?”

  “Mmmm—” Tucker squinted. “It’s not this one …”

  Mayweather straightened up then. “With all due respect to Commander Tucker, I’m pretty sure I could fly this thing, sir.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Archer agreed. “But I need you here.”

  “Captain?” T’Pol’s voice thrummed under a low-frequency boooom that suddenly grew louder and erupted in a hard bam.

  They turned.

  “That charge contained a proximity sweep,” she said from her post. “If we remain here, they’re going to locate us.”

  Archer nodded and turned to Mayweather. “You’re gonna have to speed this up a little, Travis.”

  “How complicated can it be?” Tucker howled. “Up, down, forward, reverse! We’ll figure it out.”

  Booooom! Boooooom!

  “Inverted depth charges, Captain!” T’Pol called.

  She didn’t have to report the damage. Archer could feel it. He stepped out to her, and she met him in the middle of the bridge. “We’ll be back before you know it. Have Mayweather plot a course for Qo’noS.”

  “There’s a Vulcan ship less than two days away,” T’Pol offered. “It’s illogical to attempt this alone.”

  “I was beginning to think you understood why we have to do this alone.”<
br />
  She paused. “You could both be killed.”

  He looked up, rather sharply. “Am I sensing concern? Last time I checked, that was considered an emotion.”

  As soon as he said it, he regretted his cocky accusation. She hadn’t deserved that. Now who was the one doing the deliberate hurting and insulting?

  T’Pol’s expression turned blank again. “If anything happens to either of you, the Vulcan High Council will hold me responsible.”

  Archer smiled at her, offering a little understanding. Then Reed approached with two silver equipment cases, and Archer’s attention went there. “You’re finished?”

  Reed flipped the lid on one case to reveal a rectangular device. “It should reverse the polarity of any maglock within a hundred meters. Once you’ve set the sequence, you’ll have five seconds.”

  Archer looked down at the device with appreciation.

  “One more thing,” Reed added. He flipped open the second case and pulled out two Starfleet-colored hand weapons with pistol grips and handed them both to Archer.

  “Ah—our new weapons?”

  “They’re called ‘phase pistols,’ ” Reed introduced.

  “They have two settings. Stun and kill. It would be best not to confuse them.”

  Another low boom shook the vessel under them, followed by a startling jolt that rocked them back to the moment.

  To T’Pol he said, almost with delight, “The ship is yours! Trip, let’s go!”

  CHAPTER 14

  CRAMPED, TREMBLING, COLD, AND ADMITTEDLY OUT OF THEIR element, Jonathan Archer and Trip Tucker hunkered elbow to elbow inside the little Suliban cell ship as it blew free of the Enterprise and shot out into the swirling atmospheric sea. Visibility was almost nil—just a wall of blue gas.

  Tucker gripped the controls with passionate terror and forced himself to concentrate almost yard by yard as the ship raced forward, fighting its own power and the turbulence at the same time.

  Archer flinched when a light came on. “What’s that?”

  “Travis said not to worry about that panel.”

  “That’s reassuring …”

  They were thrown against each other when the cell hit an atmospheric pocket. Tucker held the steering mechanism with both hands and battled to compensate. He was dripping sweat despite the cold.