Have Tech, Will Travel

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Soloman,” 110 said softly, liking how the awkward words sounded on his tongue. “May I then take the name Soloman? I will need one, now that I am unbonded.”

  “Soloman it is,” said Gold. “Now, what’s up with Friend?”

  As best he could, utilizing the clumsy and inefficient method of the spoken word, the newly dubbed Soloman tried to convey what had transpired. He was frustrated at his lack of ability to convey the nuances, the intimacy of the joining with the ship, but Gold was a wise human. He seemed to understand what could not be spoken, only sensed. He listened intently, his dark eyes intense under his bushy brows.

  “Do you think Friend trusts us?” he asked.

  “He has bonded with me, and I trust you. Therefore, he must trust you also.”

  Gold nodded. He rose, and patted Soloman’s leg. “Let me see what I can do.”

  * * *

  “Hello, Jean-Luc, you old son of a gun. Late as usual. You missed all the excitement.”

  The normally formal visage of Captain Jean-Luc Picard broke into a smile. Gomez didn’t think she’d ever seen that before, and, for a moment, was mildly startled to hear Gold speaking to Picard in such a fashion. But Picard seemed unoffended; in fact, he appeared pleased.

  “Seems like, the last time, you were called late on the scene, David,” he replied.

  Gold laughed, a short, quick bark. “Starfleet called us in to clean up after the Enterprise. Run any marathons recently, Jean-Luc? You’re looking a little soft around the middle.”

  “Not for some time,” Picard answered, “but I could still beat you, old man.” His dark gaze flickered to Gomez. “Commander Gomez, Lieutenant Commander Duffy. A pleasure to see you both again. So, David, I understand you called the Enterprise and the Lexington all the way out here on a wild-goose chase.”

  “And we caught the goose,” Gold said. “Wong, please transmit the information we learned about Friend to the Enterprise .”

  “ ‘Friend’?” echoed Picard. “An odd name for a ship, especially one that did so much damage to an innocent planet.”

  “It’s a long story, Captain,” said La Forge, “but one with a happy ending, I hope. This isn’t a Borg vessel, but the ship was designed to uniquely bond with its pilot. It’s sentient. It—sort of panicked when its pilot died. Went a little crazy. They were searching for a new homeland for her people. They seem like a benevolent, peaceful race, and I’m hopeful that the Federation might be able to lend them a hand in that quest.”

  Picard had been listening intently, and now he nodded. “We’ll do what we can. If this species is, indeed, as peaceful as you say they are, then I’m certain we’ll be able to assist them. I understand that your last few missions have not been without cost, David. I’m sorry for the loss of 111.”

  “Thank you, Jean-Luc. I’ll pass that on to Soloman.”

  Gomez almost giggled at the expression on Picard’s patrician mien. “I beg your pardon?” asked the captain of the Enterprise .

  “110 won’t be coming back with me, Captain,” explained Geordi, stifling a smile of his own. “He’s decided to stay on with the da Vinci —unpaired. Captain Gold has nicknamed him Soloman.”

  Picard frowned. “You run a bit of a lax ship, Gold.”

  Gold appeared unruffled. “You know what we do, Jean-Luc, what we deal with every day. My team’s sharp enough when it counts, and that’s what matters to me.”

  Picard relaxed. “As it should. I’ve worked with some of your crew, and you know I think they’re among the finest in Starfleet.”

  Gomez felt a blush suffuse her cheeks.

  “Mr. La Forge, I’m certain you’ll be reluctant to rejoin our boring old vessel after serving with this crew. But we need you back here.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll be there right away.”

  “Picard out.” The screen was filled with the image of the Enterprise, awaiting Geordi’s transport.

  “Geordi La Forge,” said Gold expansively, “the door is always open. We could use someone like you more than occasionally, you know.”

  La Forge smiled. “Thank you, sir. It’s been quite the experience.” He looked over at Gomez. “ Commander Gomez, it was good to see you again.”

  Sonya smiled, a warm, genuine smile. She’d worried about clashing with La Forge, about him stepping on her territory. But he was a good man, and had been a good friend. She was glad she had been granted the opportunity to work things out with him, and found herself realizing she was going to miss him.

  “It was wonderful to see you, Lieutenant,” she said, and the words could not have been more sincere. “Give my best to everyone over in engineering, will you?”

  “You got it. Picard looks like he’s itching for me to get back, so do me a favor. Say good-bye to Bart and Soloman for me, will you?”

  She nodded and followed him with her eyes as he stepped into the turbolift. He almost bumped into Soloman.

  “Whoa!” exclaimed Geordi. “Shouldn’t you still be in sickbay?”

  “I must say good-bye to Friend. And I am glad to have the chance to say good-bye to you, Geordi.”

  “Take care of yourself, Soloman,” said Geordi as the turbolift doors closed.

  “Captain . . . may I?” asked Soloman.

  Gold nodded. “Wong, contact the ship. Go ahead, Soloman.”

  Gomez watched intently, her gaze flickering between the screen, on which Friend appeared, and Soloman. “How are you feeling, Friend?” the Bynar asked.

  “I am a little afraid,” the ship admitted in a halting voice. And we thought that thing was a killer on a rampage. Thought it was Borg. How wrong can you be? Gomez thought to herself.

  “So am I,” said Soloman. “But I think we have chosen the right path, you and I.” He hesitated. “If you would like, we could transport Jaldark back to you, so that you may deliver her body to her people. Or else we can send her to the stars, as is the custom with Federation ships.”

  Gomez couldn’t believe it, but her eyes prickled with tears again. It had been a long, long time since any mission had moved her this deeply. Perhaps it was because one of their own had been so profoundly affected. Or maybe it was because they had seen the young, lively Jaldark before her death. Regardless, the whole thing was stirring up deep emotions inside her.

  “I . . . I think I would like to have her with me. I would like to take her home, one final time.”

  Soloman turned to Gold, who nodded. “We will transport the body in a sealed coffin, Friend. We will handle her with all respect and honor,” said the captain.

  “I am sorry for my attack on your ship, Captain Gold,” apologized Friend. “You are kind to forgive me.”

  Gold cleared his throat. Gomez shot him a quick glance. His face revealed nothing, but that one sound told her that even her grizzled captain was moved.

  “It wasn’t the ideal first-contact situation. But the second contact worked out pretty well,” Gold replied.

  “I am being hailed by the Enterprise. They are ready to depart.”

  “Soloman,” said Gold, very softly. “If you want to change your mind, either about Friend or about returning to your homeworld, now’s the time.”

  “No,” said Soloman firmly. “I know what I want, what I need. I can do this, and so can you, Friend,” insisted Soloman. “Farewell.”

  “Farewell,” echoed the ship. The Enterprise powered up, and Friend obediently moved into position alongside it. Both ships jumped into warp, and were gone.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Captain’s personal log, supplemental: We started with a dead ship, then a live ship, then a dead pilot, then a Borg. We ended up with a formal first contact that could save an entire species, if it’s handled right, and saw two individuals display strength and courage as they chose to stand alone. You know, Picard and the others can have their Galaxy- class behemoths. I’ll stick with this little vessel and its crew any day. Look what we get to do.

  Gomez was surprised to see someone else awake at t
his hour when she entered the mess. The lighting was dim; after all, it was well past midnight. But even in this faint light, she could tell it was Duffy. He seemed as surprised, and as uncomfortable, as she. They exchanged awkward smiles.

  She stood in front of the replicator for a long moment. Gomez almost didn’t make the order she’d intended to make. She’d rarely requested this over the last ten years as it was. But she wanted it badly tonight.

  “Cocoa, hot,” she finally instructed the replicator. “With whipped cream,” she added quickly, and took the steaming mug the replicator offered.

  “Whipped cream, huh?” commented Duffy. “You must be having a rough night.”

  Gomez smiled, feeling suddenly, absurdly shy. She had wanted to be alone, to think about things, but now she was glad Duffy was here. She had always been able to talk to him before. She wondered if that, too, had changed.

  “May I join you?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” he replied. She took the seat opposite him, and then suddenly laughed as she saw what he had ordered.

  “Macaroni and cheese?”

  “The ultimate comfort food. Like hot chocolate,” he said, forking up another mouthful. “Just like my mother used to make, if Mother had been a replicator. Good for what ails you.”

  Sonya took a sip, enjoying the chocolaty, sugary hit of the smooth beverage on her tongue. It had been too long. Ever since “the incident,” as her spilling encounter with Picard had been dubbed by some wag, she had refrained from ordering the infamous beverage in front of others.

  But Duffy was more than just someone she supervised. He’d been her friend, just like Geordi had, and then, he had become something more. He was someone she could trust, someone she could drink cocoa in front of when she really needed it, without fear of being teased.

  What he had just said suddenly registered. “Comfort food? Why do you need comfort food?”

  Now it was his turn to look away shyly. “You know.”

  Sonya supposed she did. It was time they talked about it, at least a little. She was tired of this unresolved business getting in the way.

  “What happened with 110—I mean, Soloman— and Friend,” she said softly. “Watching poor, young Jaldark dying alone, in pain, while her ship kept crying for her. And Soloman teaching it how to be by itself.”

  He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “It kind of brought home . . .”

  “That we’re here, but we’re not together anymore,” Sonya finished. “I know.” She gestured toward her mug. “Why do you think I’m drinking this?”

  “It was one thing when you got promoted and left,” said Duffy, leaning forward and talking quickly. “I mean, we said our good-byes, and we moved on.”

  “Yes,” Sonya said. It had been hard—harder, she supposed, on Duffy than on her. She had a promotion to look forward to and to provide distraction—a new ship, a new mission. He had remained on the Enterprise . Until they had both ended up here, on a ship far too small for them to avoid each other. “And then, here we are again.”

  He nodded. “And this time, you’re my boss.”

  “Another wrinkle in an already very wrinkled relationship.”

  “Very wrinkled.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  He looked up at her quickly. She held his gaze. Her heart began to beat faster. “I never got involved with anyone else,” Sonya continued.

  “You were probably just too busy,” said Duffy, but his voice shook, just a little.

  “I’d have made time for you,” Sonya replied.

  “You could now.”

  “Can I? Can I, really? Oh, Kieran,” she sighed, and she reached across the table to grasp his hand. “I’m tired. I don’t want to think about this right now. I just want to be with you, eat our comfort foods, and enjoy each other’s company.”

  He smiled, and, as she remembered, he looked just like a little boy when he grinned that grin. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  Gomez felt warm inside. They’d broken the ice, and she had learned something that was very important to her. Kieran Duffy was still her friend, despite the time and distance that had developed between them. There would be an opportunity to explore this further, if it was what they both wanted. For now, she laughed, and clinked her cup of cocoa against his bowl of macaroni and cheese.

  Alone in his quarters, Bart reread the letter he’d just finished writing to Anthony Mark. It was long, eight pages’ worth of small, neat script. He had told his partner everything. About their fear of the Borg, about finding Jaldark’s log, about Soloman and his new name, about the sorrow and joy both sentient ship and unpaired Bynar were discovering in their newfound solitary lives. He frowned, crumpled up the heavy cream-colored paper, and tossed it over his shoulder. It was all wrong. It was full of details, of description. Those were the things he’d tell Anthony Mark later, over a delicious candlelit dinner in his quarters on Starbase 92.

  Right now, he needed to say the important things. 111’s untimely death and Jaldark’s heartbreaking story had taught him that. There was no need for a long letter.

  He selected another sheet of stationery, and began again.

  My dearest Anthony, just a brief note to tell you how much I love you. Good night.

  INTERPHASE: BOOK ONE

  Dayton Ward &

  Kevin Dilmore

  CHAPTER

  1

  Nostrene could sense the tension permeating the room, though he himself refused to display any outward indications except that of perfect calm. His posture contrasted with that of his crew and the scientific advisors bustling about the command deck as they made last-minute adjustments or ran final tests. Consoles and viewscreens displayed a vast array of data, each one dedicated to some facet of the monumental experiment currently under way. “Holding at light speed minus three,” reported the subordinate manning the helm with no attempt to hide the excitement in his voice. Nostrene could not blame the younger officer, who was serving aboard ship on his first assignment and was displaying much of the same excitability and enthusiasm he himself had at that age.

  “Report current status, Dlyax.” In response, one of the scientists stationed near the front of the command deck turned to face Nostrene, the deep red hue of his crystalline body reflecting the harsh illumination emitted from the deck plating.

  “Commander, the drive system appears to be functioning normally. Our diagnostic scans show no anomalies or irregularities. It is our consensus that the test can proceed without further delay.”

  Of course they would think that , Nostrene mused. Their reputations are being tested here today as much as any new propulsion system .

  Tholian ships had enjoyed success with their ability to attack from positions of stealth and to utilize their much feared energy web generators, draining the power and crushing the hull of even the sturdiest enemy vessel. But it had been Nostrene’s experience that ships controlled by enemies he’d faced in past battles had possessed definite advantages in speed. While Tholian vessels had been able to travel faster than light for generations, they never had been able to achieve speeds comparable to those recorded by ships of other races. The vessels most frequently underscoring this shortcoming, to Nostrene’s chagrin, belonged to the United Federation of Planets.

  This concern had been brought to the forefront during the recent war between the Federation and the Dominion. Alpha Quadrant forces had nearly succumbed to the might of the so-called “ Founders” and their legions of genetically engineered soldiers, the Jem’Hadar. The Assembly’s tenuous state of peace with the Federation had strengthened during the conflict, allowing the Tholian people to largely observe the war. That position fit securely with the nonaggression pact they had established with the Dominion. Though it had not been popular opinion to state publicly at the time, Nostrene was certain that Tholian forces would have fallen quickly to the vastly superior strength exhibited by the Dominion. Fortunately the war had ended, with the Founders and the Jem’Hadar being forced back
into Gamma Quadrant space before his suspicions could be tested.

  Such concerns could soon be put to rest, however, should the experiment they were conducting here today prove successful. Tholian vessels would be regarded as among the fastest in the Quadrant. Additionally, the ability to channel newly harnessed stores of power would lend additional strength to the defenses and armament of their ships.

  Satisfied with Dlyax’s report, Nostrene said, “Very well, resume acceleration.”

  As he gave the order, his eyes shifted from screens displaying information transmitted by the ship’s network of sensors to the command deck’s main viewscreen. The stars as rendered by the computer remained still, but he knew that in a few moments they would twist and distort as their ship crossed the threshold into subspace.

  “Light speed minus one,” his helmsman called out, and Nostrene braced himself for the impending quantum shift. He knew it was an absurd notion, as the ship’s inertial dampening systems prevented him or anyone else on the ship from feeling the effects of acceleration. But it was something he had always done, almost instinctively, since childhood. It added to the thrill, he thought. In his mind’s eye, he saw the subspace field erupting into reality as the ship stretched, extended and distended into infinity.

  “Plus one,” the helmsman said. “Continuing to accelerate.” Except for the subordinate’s reports of the ship’s progress, all else was silent on the command deck as engineers and scientists continued checking the telemetry fed to them by the ship’s sensors. This was the easy part, in actuality, with the difficult tasks yet to come. First the ship had to accelerate successfully to its uppermost obtainable velocity. Then endurance tests would begin as the crew determined how long the ship could sustain that measure of speed. If those experiments were successful, then the celebrations would begin in earnest, and merely wary adversaries would now have reason to fear the Tholian Assembly.