by Peter David
“I’m just teasing, Kat. The captain probably just wants to talk about the sensor probe we modified.”
Mueller had spent little time on the bridge, occasionally operating the engineering console during gamma or delta shift over her ten months aboard the Grissom. So when the turbolift doors parted to reveal the bridge, she saw the less familiar alpha-shift crew. Romeo Takahashi at ops and Mick Gold at conn she knew only by name; she had worked with First Officer Christine Parsons, Lieutenant Cray at tactical, and Lieutenant Chu’lak at sciences on the Sarn mission.
“Lieutenant Mueller reporting to the bridge, as ordered.”
Commander Parsons rose from the center seat. “Lieutenant, the captain wishes to meet you in his ready room.”
Mueller nodded silently and tapped on the ready-room door chime.
Captain Kenyon’s deep voice answered, “Come,” and the doors swished open.
Mueller entered the room and stood ramrod straight. “You wished to see me, Captain.” Only then did she notice Commander Todd Kogutt, the Grissom’s chief engineer, standing off to the side. Sitting atop Kenyon’s desk was the sensor probe Mueller and McLauren had modified the day before.
“I did, Lieutenant. At ease. You may have a seat. You, too, Commander,” Kenyon added with a look at Kogutt.
As Mueller took the proffered seat, Captain Norman Kenyon took a glance at a padd on his desk. Mueller knew Kenyon more through reputation than personal experience. He was a heavyset man in his mid-fifties with thinning gray hair. A career Starfleet officer, Kenyon had lost his previous ship, the Harriman, by intervening in a confrontation between a Klingon cargo transport and a Romulan warbird near Nimbus III a year and a half before. Among the casualties was Kenyon’s wife, Marsha, also his science officer, and while Starfleet had wanted to ground Kenyon to give him time to recuperate from the twin losses, he instead asked for another command, the Grissom, which Starfleet granted after a brief review.
“You are assistant chief engineer, is that correct, Lieutenant?”
Mueller nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“One of three, Captain,” added Kogutt.
“Thank you for the precision, Commander.” Kenyon looked directly at Mueller. “I read Mr. Kogutt’s report on the sensor array delivery system you’ve developed and inspected the probe myself. I must say, Lieutenant, I’m impressed.”
Mueller felt her spirits buoyed. “Thank you, sir. It was a team effort.”
“Oh?” said Kenyon.
“The initial idea was mine, sir, and with Lieutenant McLauren’s assistance, I modified a class-one sensor probe to test its feasibility.”
“McLauren?” prompted Kenyon.
Kogutt replied. “Rachel McLauren, assistant chief engineer.”
“One of three, correct?” said Kenyon as he gave a sly smile.
Kogutt returned the smile. “Yes, sir.”
Kenyon cleared his throat. “In all seriousness, Lieutenant, the sensor arrays Starfleet deployed a century ago along the Neutral Zone no longer have the sensitivity to be a useful early-warning system, and your solution for deploying new sensors without attracting Romulan attention holds promise.” He indicated Kogutt with a tilt of his head. “I asked Commander Kogutt to show me your probe. Starfleet Command, as you might imagine, has concerns with the recent Romulan reemergence onto the galactic stage, particularly after last month’s attempted defection by Admiral Jarok to the Enterprise. If we have a stealthy method of deploying sensor probes along the Neutral Zone we’re going to take it. Tell me, Lieutenant, how exactly will the sensor deployment work?”
Mueller took a breath and launched into the explanation, wondering only briefly why Kogutt hadn’t provided those specifics. “The Grissom will launch the probe toward a cometary nucleus on a ballistic trajectory. When it lands on the surface, heating units inside the casing will switch on, melting the frozen surface gases and allow the probe to sink into the nucleus. Once it has achieved a preset depth, the heating units will shut off, the comet’s surface will refreeze, and the sensor probe will be in place.”
“Why a ballistic trajectory?”
“A ballistic trajectory expends no motive energy, hence nothing to be observed by Romulan sensors. The probe would appear for all intents and purposes to be space detritus. By melting a probe into the comet’s nucleus, the probe’s deployment would have all the signs of being a routine outgassing, whereas if the probe drilled into the nucleus, its power supply could be detected by Romulan sensors.”
“How did you come up with this idea, Lieutenant?”
“Basic chemistry and physics, sir. Starfleet engineers tend to overthink simple problems and come up with complex solutions. But putting a sensor array inside a cometary core doesn’t require a complex solution, not when a nucleus is essentially ice.”
Kenyon nodded. “And ice melts.”
“Correct, sir,” Mueller answered. “Comets are more than just water ice—there’s also hydrogen ice, helium ice, ammonia ice, and these have melting points far below that of water. An object at room temperature would melt the cometary ice on impact and vaporize the volatiles to their gaseous state, all without the energy that drilling into the nucleus would entail.”
“Have you tested the system yet?”
Mueller shook her head. “Not yet, sir. My team has run several simulations and built the one prototype, but we’ve had no real-world test as yet.”
Kenyon smiled. “Lieutenant, you’ll have your real-world test.”
“How soon?”
Kenyon drummed his fingers on his desk. “The Grissom is currently en route to a rogue cometary field near the Neutral Zone. How long will it take to equip six or eight probes with the necessary hardware?”
“No time at all, sir. Perhaps two hours per probe.”
Kenyon nodded. “Very well. Our ETA is tomorrow’s alpha shift. Have your team equip eight probes with the internal heating units.” He paused. “Good work, Lieutenant.”
Mueller smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
Kogutt stood. “If that will be all, sir?”
“Yes, Todd, thank you.” He handed Kogutt the probe and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Lieutenant, if I could have a few moments of your time?”
“Of course, sir,” Mueller said, an edge of confusion creeping into her voice.
Once Kogutt departed, Kenyon folded his hands on the ready-room desk. “As you may be aware, I will in all likelihood have a command vacancy shortly.”
“Commander Parsons is taking command of the Tolstoi.” Seeing no confirmation in Kenyon’s face, she quickly added, “Or so I’ve heard.”
“The lower decks are remarkably well informed. Christine’s promotion hasn’t yet been finalized.”
“One hears things.”
“Obviously,” said Kenyon sardonically.
“The position of first officer is vacant, then.”
“Assuming all goes to plan, I’ve made a tentative offer of the first-officer position to Paullina Simons.” Commander Simons served as the Grissom’s executive officer, the commander of the nightside watch. While her duties as executive officer differed in no respect from those of the first officer, the move from XO to first officer was considered a promotion and a stepping-stone to eventual command.
“The nightside commander position is available, then,” Mueller said in a flat tone that indicated a statement, not a question.
“Again, assuming all goes to plan, correct. I intend to fill it from within the Grissom community.” Kenyon paused. “Commander Kogutt thinks highly of you, and I trust his judgment. I like the elegance of your solution to placing the sensor probes. It shows thinking outside the conventional box, a prerequisite of command. And I understand you have command training.”
Mueller frowned. “My command training is limited, sir, just a year in the command program at the Academy.”
“You received high marks. Admiral Stell noted that you had a fine tactical mind.”
“I wasn’t aware that th
e admiral thought highly of me, sir,” Mueller said. Admiral Stell taught Historical Perspectives on Military Tactics. “His class was one I had difficulty with.”
“It might surprise you that he noted in your file that your analysis of the Battle of Ghioghe demonstrated convincingly to his mind that it was Kirk’s recklessness that led to the loss of the Lydia Sutherland, and had he shown more patience the battle might have been avoided altogether.” Kenyon leaned back in his chair. “I’ve known Stell since I attended the Academy. Let me assure you, Lieutenant, he doesn’t often offer praise. Yet, you left the command training program after taking the Kobayashi Maru examination.”
“My performance in the simulation was not…” She paused, searching for the right word, then decided to start the thought fresh. “I felt that Starfleet would be better served in command by someone capable of achieving more than I did in the simulation and that I had more to offer the engineering services.” She sighed deeply. “I lost my command to the Romulan warbirds without destroying a single one. I should have managed at least one kill, and the Kobayashi Maru was still lost.”
Kenyon smiled. “Even though everyone loses the ship?”
“Not everyone. James Kirk survived the simulation and rescued the ship.”
“It’s not widely known, but Kirk also reprogrammed the simulation and played by a different set of rules. I wouldn’t count Kirk as a standard to hold oneself against in the Kobayashi Maru.”
“It’s said another cadet—I think his name was Quintin Stone—survived the simulation a decade ago.” She looked intently at Kenyon. “It can be done.”
Kenyon’s smile upturned slightly on the left side of his mouth, his head nodded slowly, and his eyes narrowed. “You set high standards for yourself, Lieutenant.”
Mueller’s facial scar turned white. “If I don’t, sir, no one else will.” She fixed Kenyon with a concerted look. “Might I ask who else are you considering for the XO position?”
“Cray.”
Mueller frowned.
Kenyon shook his head. “I know you and Cray haven’t had the best of relationships—”
“The Sarn mission,” she said.
“I wouldn’t let that concern you, Lieutenant. I’ve begun the selection process, not ended it.”
“May I ask what is your timetable for filling the position?”
Kenyon rose, and Mueller did likewise. “Commander Parsons will be aboard as first officer at least until we reach Starbase 65. Assuming her own promotion goes through as anticipated, I expect to have a decision made by that point.”
Mueller nodded. “Thank you, Captain, for the opportunity.”
Kenyon held out his hand. Mueller took it. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for your interest.”
Mueller turned, and as she reached the ready-room doors Kenyon said, “One last thing, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir?” she said.
“I’d like you on the bridge tomorrow when we deploy the first sensor probe. It’s your project. You deserve to be there.”
Mueller nodded. “I appreciate that, sir.”
As she stepped back onto the bridge, Cray gave her a withering glance. She had never been close to Cray, less friends than acquaintances, and he hadn’t spoken to her at all since the Sarn incident. She knew that Cray had blamed her for the explosion of the colony’s fusion-reaction core in his postmission report. In contrast, both Commander Parsons and Lieutenant Chu’lak reported that, even had the Grissom crew arrived to stabilize the ruptured core hours earlier, the damage had already been done and it was only a matter of time before it went critical. Shaking her head, Mueller stepped into the turbolift and tried to put the thoughts of that mission behind her.
“How did it go, Kat?” said Rachel McLauren as Mueller stepped into engineering.
Mueller smiled. “The captain wants to consider me for the XO position.”
“Oh, Kat, that’s wonderful!” She threw her arms around Mueller.
“Unfortunately, the captain is also considering Cray.”
McLauren backed away. “Oh,” she said. “That can’t be good.”
Mueller sighed. “I don’t have anything against Cray. I barely know Cray. But he hasn’t spoken to me since Sarn—”
“That was six months ago. No one blames you for that. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
Mueller frowned, biting the inside of her cheek. “He’s the chief of security. He serves on the bridge during alpha shift, alongside the captain day in and day out. The captain knows Cray’s work and his reputation. He only knows what Kogutt tells him about mine.”
“I wouldn’t get worked up over it.” MeLauren frowned. “I have to get back to calibrating the antimatter containment fields. Meet me in the lounge after shift? I’ll buy you a drink.”
Mueller nodded wearily. “Thanks, Rachel.”
“You worry too much, kiddo. You’ll give yourself wrinkles to match that scar of yours,” McLauren said, cutting her right hand across her cheek. “Promise me you won’t dwell too much on Cray and Sarn.”
“I promise,” Mueller said as McLauren disappeared into the bowels of engineering, but for the rest of her shift she couldn’t help but think of taking orders from Cray.
Against the icy blackness of space and the distant suns of the Romulan Star Empire the cometary nucleus appeared as nothing more than an indistinct smudge on the Grissom’s main viewscreen. So distant was this comet from the closest star that even at maximum magnification no surface details could be discerned, so little was the light of reflected starglow.
Kenyon rose from his command chair and gave two quick tugs to his uniform top. “What do you make of the comet, Lieutenant Chu’lak?” he asked.
The Vulcan science officer turned from his console and looked to the drifting comet. “A typical nucleus, Captain. Thirty-five kilometers long, eighteen kilometers wide, ten deep. Composed of various ices—water, ammonia, methane, other organic compounds—and a nickel-iron core within. Surface temperature stands at eight degrees Kelvin.”
“An iceberg of the spaceways,” said Kenyon.
“Essentially, sir, yes.”
Commander Christine Parsons leaned from her chair toward Kenyon. “You’re thinking this would be a good test bed for Lieutenant Mueller’s deployment system?”
By way of an answer, Kenyon turned to Mueller at the engineering station. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”
“It’s a perfect candidate, sir.”
Kenyon gave a quick nod and resumed his seat. “Mr. Gold,” he said, addressing the conn officer, “bring us to a position two kilometers above the nucleus’s equator.”
“On our way, sir,” replied Gold as his hands danced across the helm console.
The captain tapped the companel on his chair’s armrest. “Kenyon to engineering.”
“Kogutt here, Captain.”
“Commander, have one of Lieutenant Mueller’s probes sent to the launching bay.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll have one there in five minutes.”
“Thanks. Kenyon out.”
“Captain,” said Cray, his right antenna twitching, “given our proximity to the Neutral Zone, I recommend yellow alert.”
Parsons nodded. “I concur, Captain. We’re ten AUs from the Zone. If the Romulans don’t know we’re here, then they’re not paying attention to their own doorstep, and that would be out of character.”
“Very well, Number One.” Kenyon turned to Cray. “Go to yellow alert, Mr. Cray.”
Cray inclined his head in a curt nod. “All decks confirm, Captain.”
Kenyon smiled. “On top of things as always, Cray. Carry on.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Cray.
“Tactical plot on viewscreen,” ordered Kenyon.
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Hash at ops. Given the lack of natural light, the only way to track the sensor probe would be a tactical plot.
Kenyon touched the companel. “Torpedo bay, are you ready?”
“At your command, sir.”
<
br /> “Stand by.” Kenyon closed the channel, and turned his command chair to face the rear of the bridge. “Lieutenant Mueller, it’s your project. The word is yours.”
A look of genuine surprise crossed her face, and she found herself at a temporary loss for words. “Thank you, sir,” she finally said. She stood, straightened her uniform top, and looked at the main viewscreen. “Mr. Cray, launch sensor probe.”
“Aye, Lieutenant,” Cray replied, touching his tactical console.
A sensor-enhanced image of the comet dominated the viewscreen; moments after Mueller gave the order, a moving dot representing the sensor probe appeared.
“Ten seconds to impact, Captain.”
“Thank you, Mr. Takahashi.” Kenyon took a step forward toward the viewscreen.
“Captain!” cried Hash. “I’ve lost contact with the probe.”
Every face turned toward Kenyon at the center of the bridge. The viewscreen showed the comet, and the notation representing the probe had vanished.
“Mueller, report,” said Kenyon. “Was the probe destroyed on impact?”
Mueller looked from screen to screen on her engineering console. “Captain, as best I can tell, the probe didn’t land.”
“Hash?” said Kenyon.
“Confirmed, Captain. The probe was four seconds from comet’s surface.”
“Three point eight-seven,” said Mueller. “To be precise.”
Commander Parsons came around the bridge railing and looked over Cray’s tactical displays. “Captain, we are reading probe debris approximately ten kilometers above the comet’s surface.” Parsons looked at Kenyon. “It appears the probe struck something.”
“But what, Commander?” said Kenyon.
“Captain,” said Cray, “Romulan ship decloaking directly beneath us.” Onscreen, a Romulan D’Deridex-class vessel shimmered into existence between the Grissom and the nucleus.
“Well,” said Hash, “that answers that.”
“Cray, raise shields. Red al—” Kenyon’s order trailed away as the bridge lighting dimmed from the natural lights and took on a reddish tinge.
“Red alert, aye.”
“You jumped the gun, Cray,” said Parsons.