Текст книги "Summon the Thunder"

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

Sarith knew her ship. She was intimately familiar with all of its inner workings. She understood its defects as well as its strengths, its idiosyncrasies and the telltale sounds it made. Because of that awareness, she could decipher from the sound of the Talon’s engines—groaning as they received power once hoarded by the cloaking device and clamoring for more—that they would not achieve the levels needed to accelerate to warp speed before it was too late.

“Channel all available power to the shields!” she shouted. “Everything including life-support!”

Sarith heard the objecting groans of the Talon’s power-distribution system as the emergency changeover went into effect. Lights flickered across the bridge, and on the master systems station she saw computer-simulated representations of energy being redirected from systems that—should this tactic fail—would become irrelevant in short order.

Above it all, the force of the shock wave was becoming more pronounced. Every surface of the bridge vibrated, and a deep rumbling reverberated through the hull. In her mind’s eye, Sarith saw the wave coming at her, threatening to envelop her and the Talonlike a wave crashing over rocks on a distant shoreline.

Beside her, Ineti tapped the control on a wall-mounted communications interface. “All hands, brace for impact.” Then there was nothing more for him to do except grab Sarith by the arm and push her toward a nearby bulkhead and the handhold mounted there. She gripped the handle with both hands, muscles tensing as she counted down the ewauntil…

A deafening thunderclap roared through the bridge as Sarith felt herself upended and slammed into the bulkhead. Her handhold slipped from her fingers and she was thrown to the deck as the reverberation of the shock wave playing across the Talon’s overstressed deflector shields was translated through the hull of the ship. The cacophony all but drowned out the alarm klaxons and cries of fear and distress that came as the lights flickered and died, plunging the command deck into near darkness, with the only illumination coming from the room’s array of display monitors and consoles.

Still tumbling without control across the pitching deck, Sarith finally came to a halt as she slammed into the support mounting that housed the central hub workstations. The column’s sharp corner caught her in the side just below her rib cage and she felt bone snap, forcing the air from her lungs and making her cry out in pain.

“Emergency power to structural integrity and inertial dampeners!” she called out, each word like a stab to her injured side. She knew there was no way to outrun or outmaneuver the wave, and that their best option for survival was to ensure the continued operation of those shipboard systems which could prevent the crew from being killed simply by being tossed about the vessel’s interior.

The effects of the shock wave finally were ebbing, and Sarith felt the ship slowly beginning to calm itself as the dampeners compensated and reestablished normal gravity. Holding her damaged ribs, she gritted her teeth and struggled to sit up amid showers of sparks illuminating the otherwise gloomy bridge. The odor of burned wiring and insulation stung her nostrils and she looked up to see two of the master systems monitors erupt into flame, spewing glass and composite plastics across the deck.

Other muffled explosions echoed across the bridge, followed by a howl of agony from somewhere over her left shoulder that made Sarith flinch. She looked up to see N’tovek falling away from his workstation and landing with a sickening thud as his helmeted head struck the deck. Even in the feeble light she could make out mangled and flash-burned flesh on his hands and face.

No!

“Alert the doctor,” Sarith called out above the chaos enveloping the bridge. Clenching her jaw to bite back her own pain, she pulled herself around the central hub to where N’tovek lay unmoving. Ineti beat her there, kneeling down beside the fallen officer and immediately placing his fingers to the side of the other man’s neck. Sarith saw the fragments of shrapnel that mutilated the centurion’s once-handsome face, and that his eyes were fixed and staring at the ceiling, and knew without doubt that N’tovek was beyond any help the Talon’s physician, Ineti, or even she might provide.

“It does not appear that he suffered,” Ineti offered as he reached up to close the dead centurion’s eyes. “That much is fortunate, at least.”

Forcing the gamut of emotions raging inside her to remain beneath the veneer of composure she was fighting to keep in place, Sarith used her free hand to pull herself up, every movement agony as she rose to her feet. All around her, emergency lighting positioned at key points along the bridge’s perimeter struggled to activate, their weak attempts doing little to dispel the near total blackness engulfing the cramped chamber.

“Damage reports coming in from all decks,” Darjil called out from where he had resumed his duty station. “System overloads and malfunctions are scattered across the ship.”

“Give me vital systems status,” Sarith ordered, moving her way across the bridge to the chair behind her small yet functional desk. As she slumped into the chair, she noted that the computer terminal was charred black, it too a victim of the rampant overloads plaguing the ship.

Darjil replied, “Life-support is operating on backup power systems, and warp drive is offline.” Looking up from his console, he added, “The engineer reports that the antimatter containment sphere was cracked and he was forced to eject the entire assembly.”

Sarith looked to Ineti as she absorbed the report, saw her own anxiety mirrored in her friend’s eyes. Both of them just as quickly buried their momentary emotional lapse beneath their professional façades for the sake of their subordinates on the bridge, all of whom were now regarding her with varying expressions of fear and uncertainty. There was no need for anyone to say anything more with regard to what Darjil had just conveyed.

To a person, all of them knew what the loss of the antimatter containment system meant. Without it, the Talon’s warp drive was useless. Unable to achieve faster-than-light velocities, the ship and its crew were centuries from Romulan space.

They would never see home again.

“What about communications?” she asked Darjil, for the first time noting that dark green blood was streaming down the younger man’s face.

“Partially functional,” the centurion replied. “Long-range communications are offline, but initial reports are that it can be repaired.”

Crossing the deck toward the central hub, Ineti asked, “What about the cloak?”

Darjil nodded. “Still functional, Subcommander.”

How propitious,Sarith mused with no small amount of bitterness. If we die out here, we still can do so with utmost stealth. Almost as soon as the thought manifested itself, she forced it away. There were always alternatives, even in the most desperate of situations, but unchecked emotion could blind one’s judgment and ability to see those options.

“Notify the engineer that communications and life-support are priority,” she said, sucking air through gritted teeth as the pain in her ribs began to assert itself with renewed force. She knew she would soon have to see the physician, but now was not the time. With the crisis they faced just becoming clear, her officers needed to see her maintaining her position of leadership and control over the situation.

Such as it is.

As if reading her mind, Ineti added, “Pass on to the crew that we’ll need to conserve power as much as possible.”

Sarith nodded in approval at the subcommander’s initiative. Without the warp engines to provide primary power, she knew that the additional strain on the impulse drive would force some shipboard systems to rely on battery backups until repairs were complete and power requirements assessed and appropriately redirected.

The bridge’s softer secondary illumination, coupled with the thin shroud of smoke hanging in the air, appeared to make the angled bulkheads loom even closer in the feeble, flickering light.

For an insane moment, Sarith was reminded of her childhood aversion to small, confined spaces, which had manifested itself one fateful summer when torrential rains had flooded caves littering the mining quarry near her family’s village. Naturally she and her young companions had disregarded parental warnings to stay away from the dangerous mines, a willful decision that exacted a tragic cost. It had taken several dierhato reach the surface in the dark, and only after one of her friends and playmates, a young boy whose name escaped her now, had been swept deep into the maze of underground tunnels by the onrushing water. His body was never recovered, and it was the last time Sarith ever would set foot anywhere near the quarry.

If only such a choice were available now.

Looking about the damage-stricken bridge, she could not keep her gaze from finding N’tovek. Even in death, she still could discern some of the same peace and vulnerability she had observed while watching him sleep. Once more she felt a pang of sorrow grip her heart, made all the worse from knowing that she never again would enjoy the pleasure of observing her lover in repose, to say nothing of the other joys the younger man had managed to bring to her otherwise lonely, duty-bound life.

“What happened?” she finally asked after a moment, looking to Ineti for guidance and answers. “Only massive tectonic stress could have destroyed a planet like that, but our sensors detected nothing? That’s ludicrous. How could Darjil or…” She shook her head as a sudden lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it before continuing. “How could he or N’tovek miss something like that?”

“They didn’t,” Ineti said, moving around from the far side of the central hub, taking a moment to offer a paternal pat to Darjil’s shoulder before continuing over to her. “No sensor scans detected anything unusual about this planet, save for the Klingon presence. It’s only been in the last dierhathat we received indications of anything untoward occurring down there.”

Sarith nodded. The power readings, while significant and emanating from multiple points around the planet, had come as something of a surprise, particularly given Darjil’s original report, which showed the indigenous population as being a preindustrial society. The only technology in existence had belonged to the Klingon garrison that had usurped the native civilization, though that in itself also was a mystery.

While her initial assessment had been that the Klingons perhaps had claimed this planet to act as a base to support ship operations within the sector, even casual scrutiny revealed the problems with that theory. The Talon’s sensors had detected no hints of ship maintenance facilities, for instance, not so much as a lone orbital drydock. Likewise, there were no indications of planet-based refining or manufacturing installations.

“Those power readings,” Sarith said after a moment. “They were far above anything the Klingons could have generated with the equipment of theirs that we detected. Could they have found something else? Something unknown even to the local population?”

Pausing to consider the idea, Ineti nodded. “I suppose it’s possible.” Then he shrugged. “We’ll never know for certain, though.”

Tempted to chastise her friend for stating the obvious, Sarith instead grunted an acknowledgment of the subcommander’s observation before turning back toward the rest of the bridge. The ache in her ribs was announcing its presence with relish now, but she ignored it. Ineti must have seen the wince she could not hold in check, however, and leaned forward.

“Let me call the physician,” he said, concern swathing every word. “You do not look well.”

Sarith waved away the suggestion. “Later,” she replied as she saw Darjil turn from his station and look to her with what appeared to be an expression of puzzlement clouding his bloody, soiled features. “We have much to see to first.” To the centurion, she asked, “What is it?”

“Commander,” Darjil said, “before the planet exploded, our sensors were operating in both passive and active modes, at least so far as the cloak would allow. I missed it before, but it seems that the sensors registered a low-level energy signature connecting the different sites on the planet where we detected the unexplained power readings.”

Her brow furrowing in confusion, Sarith shook her head. “They were connected? Like a network?”

The centurion nodded. “Correct, Commander.”

Sarith’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A global, interconnected weapons system?” If true, it was an impressive achievement, unlike anything she had ever seen before. No race encountered by the Romulans had ever displayed technology on such a scale.

Releasing a tired sigh, Ineti said, “So, was a similar weapon used to destroy the planet, or was it merely a colossal, tragic accident?”

“Even if it was misfortune, the potential for such power to be weaponized cannot be ignored, particularly if it’s in the hands of an enemy.” If a civilization located in the Taurus Reach possessed or was developing weapons technology capable of destroying entire planets, then prudence demanded that their potential threat to the security of the Romulan people be investigated with all due haste.

Unfortunately, Sarith reminded herself, the only Romulans in a position to report this prospective hazard were here, with her, aboard a wounded and dying ship stranded several lifetimes away from home.

29

In the privacy of her quarters aboard the Endeavour,Atish Khatami stared at herself in the mirror as she tugged at the hem of her new tunic, pulling it more tightly against her body. The wrap-around-style top was tinted in a light green that struck her as a little less harsh against her brownish skin than did her former yellow uniform, while offering a nice contrast to the black trousers she had opted to wear. She smoothed her fingers against the flap of fabric running from the tunic’s V-neck and cutting diagonally across her chest. Just for a moment, she wondered whether the design seemed more provocative than professional.

Then, using the back of her hand, she brushed her thick black hair to one side and revealed a set of gold braids sewn in sweeping arrowheads into the tunic’s shoulders.

You’re not ready for this, Tish.

Upon the ship’s arrival at Starbase 47, Khatami had presumed that word about a new captain would be forthcoming from Starfleet Command—that the starship might be routed away from the Taurus Reach on orders to pick up its new commanding officer before returning to Erilon.

Those orders never came.

Instead, Commodore Reyes had simply appeared on the bridge the morning of the Endeavour’s departure, ordering the communications officer on duty to open the ship’s intercom so that he might address the entire crew. Standing before the main viewer, his voice carrying forward the authority he seemed to wear with the comfort of a favored shirt, the commodore without preamble read aloud from the folder he had brought with him the orders from Starfleet Command promoting Khatami to the rank of captain as well as assigning her as commanding officer of the Endeavour.

Certain that the color had drained from her face even as her fellow bridge officers slowly broke into a round of what she perceived as stunned, polite applause, Khatami had stood unmoving while Reyes offered her a narrow-eyed, tight-lipped grin.

He outfoxed me.

Following her interview with members of the station’s JAG contingent regarding the incident on Erilon—a process that, based on the questions she was asked, seemed to her to be little more than an attempt to assess any possible negligence that might have contributed to Captain Zhao’s death—Khatami had been summoned to Reyes’s office for what she thought would be her official briefing on the future of the Endeavour’s command. Instead, she had found herself reviewing his greatly expedited repair schedule for the ship, the majority of it executed by station personnel while her crew rested, only then to slip into nearly an hour’s worth of swapping humorous and admiring tales regarding the career and achievements of their mutual friend Zhao Sheng. She had been dismissed from the meeting with the question of Zhao’s successor—and her role with regards to that person—still unanswered.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He was sure I’d turn it down if given the chance. Maybe I would have.

Maybe Ishould have.

Khatami knew that she possessed the skills and the intellect to perform the duties required of a starship captain. Indeed, her entire career to this point had unfolded in anticipation of this moment. So, why now was she grappling with insecurity even as the Endeavourmade its way back to Erilon? Why was she plagued by an inner demon that ate away her self-confidence, tormenting her thoughts and emotions, telling her that the trust of those around her in her ability to lead was misplaced? Each time Khatami watched one officer lean over and whisper to another, she wondered if they saw through the façade of calm and control she to this point had managed to affect, exposing her for the fraud her inner voice told her she was.

What will you do next time, “Captain”? Who will you leave behind? Of course there’ll be a next time. There’s always a next time.

The ping of the door chime startled Khatami, and she glanced at her desk chronometer on her desk to see that she had been standing before her mirror for almost ten minutes. “Time to pull yourself together, Captain,” she said to herself, running her hands down the sides of her tunic to smooth it into place one final time before calling toward the door, “Come in.”

In response to her command the door slid aside to reveal Mog, all but filling the entryway.

“Well,” the burly Tellarite remarked with no small amount of enthusiasm as he stepped into the room, “command colors and braid appear to suit you, Captain. Though I have to say, I miss the skirt.”

Khatami smiled at the remark, one that only a close friend such as Mog even would attempt in the first place. “Captain’s prerogative. I always liked the pants, anyway.” Moving toward her desk, she indicated for the engineer to do the same. “I take it that’s your report?” she asked, noting the data slate in his meaty right hand with a nod.

“Indeed it is,” Mog replied, “and it’s even filed early, I might add.” He dropped his considerable frame into the chair situated in front of her desk. “Everything is green across the board, thanks to the Vanguard maintenance crews. We’re maintaining warp six point five.” Shrugging his brawny shoulders, he added, “I’d push us a bit faster, but between you and me, I don’t think our escort ship would be able to keep up.”

“The Lovell?” Khatami shook her head as she thought of the deceptively decrepit-looking Daedalus-class vessel accompanying them back to Erilon. “From what I’ve read, you shouldn’t underestimate those Corps of Engineers ships or their crews. Engineers with lots of time to tinker, rewire, reroute, and rebuild? If Captain Okagawa says he can keep pace with us even at warp seven or better, I’m not betting against him.” Nodding her head toward the bulkhead and, presumably, in the direction where the Lovellwas traveling somewhere to stern, she added, “Besides, I don’t think Lieutenant Xiong would have gotten aboard that thing if she were going to shake apart on the way.”

Mog laughed. “You’re probably right. In any event, we’ve got two days before we get to Erilon, but we’re ready to go right now. We’ll hit the ground running for sure.”

Khatami nodded in approval. The assignment handed to the Endeavourand the Lovellwas not an easy one: reestablish the research outpost wrecked by the mysterious being which had attacked Captain Zhao and the landing party, while at the same time searching for answers about why the assault had occurred in the first place—preferably without triggering another such incident. While the orders as delivered by Commodore Reyes also included instructions on attempting to find and make peaceful contact with the mysterious alien entity should the opportunity arise, his actual words on the subject had been quite clear: Take whatever action necessary to protect the ships and their crews.

“Lieutenant Xiong and the engineering group have been analyzing the data we collected from…the last time we were here,” Mog said. “Whatever happens this time, we’ll be ready, Captain.”

Releasing a long sigh, Khatami affected what she knew to be a weak smile. “Hopefully, we’ll allbe ready.”

The Tellarite paused a moment, and she noted how his expression seemed to turn sour in response to the remark. His features softened after a moment and he shifted in his chair, and Khatami sensed he might try to change the subject, a suspicion confirmed the instant Mog opened his mouth.

“You know, those were some very nice words that Commodore Reyes shared with the crew yesterday.”

“Yes, they were,” Khatami replied. “He and Captain Zhao were friends for a long time.”

“I meant,”Mog interrupted, “what he said about you.”

Khatami swallowed a lump that materialized in her throat. “I suppose those were nice, too.”

Leaning closer, the engineer locked eyes with her. “Your promotion wasn’t someone’s idea of a grand joke, Atish, and it wasn’t a mistake. I don’t know Commodore Reyes that well, but I’ve seen enough to figure he’s not one to make stupid or ill-informed decisions. He had to have pushed for your promotion in order for it to go through as fast as it did. Would he have done that if he didn’t think you were suited to the job, and that you deserved a chance to prove it to any and all doubters?”

“I didn’t deserve it this way,” Khatami said, shaking her head. “Not at the expense of a good man’s life.”

“You need to stop that kind of thinking right now.” Reaching across the desk, Mog took her hand in his much larger one. “Atish, for your own sake, and the rest of the crew’s, you need to quit agonizing over your last decision and start worrying about your next one, and the ones after that.”

Comforted by her friend’s forthright demeanor, Khatami squeezed the Tellarite’s hand in reassurance. “Thank you, Mog.” Tilting her head as she regarded him, she said, “Actually, it’s my next decision I wanted to talk to you about. I still need to select a first officer, you know.”

“Excellent,” Mog said, his smile revealing a mouth of uneven teeth. “Who do you have in mind?” As the highest-ranking member of the crew after her, he had been serving in that capacity on a temporary basis, but she knew that the added responsibility was taking him away from his primary duties. A decision needed to be made one way or another, in order to best serve the needs of the ship and her crew.

Khatami said nothing, allowing her own smile to communicate her answer, and she watched as the Tellarite’s robust features melted and realization took hold.

“Not me,” he said, his voice containing more than a bit of pleading. “I already have a job.”

“You’ve already shown me you can do it, Mog,” Khatami replied. “This isn’t the time for transitioning in someone new. I need somebody I can trust without question, who knows me and what I expect, particularly now.”

“But I’m not on the command track,” the engineer replied, “never have been. I’m not even remotely qualified to do this full time.” Shaking his head, he added, “Besides, all you’d be getting is a mediocre babysitter, and losing a damn fine engineer.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Khatami said.

Mog nodded. “Of course I say so, myself,” he snapped, his Tellarite ire coming to the fore. Relaxing a bit, his eyes narrowed as he offered another playful smile. “Besides, I look better in red.”

Despite the teasing nature of the comment, Khatami could not help but feel the genuine sting of rejection the words carried.

Evenhe wants to keep some distance from you,the demon whispered.

Apparently realizing that his words might have carried the wrong sentiment, Mog held his hands out in a gesture of entreaty. “Atish, as your chief engineer, I can give you the best-running ship in the fleet, and you know I’m always here if you need support or a confidant. But I’m not suited to command, and we both know that.” Grunting, he replied, “Can you imagine me trying to be nice to admirals and ambassadors? I’d probably end up starting a war.”

Khatami allowed herself a small chuckle at the comment. “Well then, what do you suggest I do, my confidant and supporter?”

“You need someone you can trust to second-guess you and tell you where you might be heading down the wrong path,” Mog replied. “Someone who’ll get in your face a bit if that’s what it takes. In other words, someone like me, though not an engineer. I wouldn’t bet on finding someone as handsome as me, either.” Making a show of examining his fingernails, he added, “You have a number of capable officers under your command. Something tells me you might find what you’re looking for in one.”

Weighing her friend’s counsel, Khatami nodded after a moment. “You may be right. My main concern is how this change will affect the crew. I respected Sheng, and part of me really liked him, Mog, but I know that I don’t want to command like he did. I can’t match up to any comparisons between us, and I don’t even want to try.”

His eyes gleaming with barely contained mischief, the engineer replied, “Have you stopped to consider there may be plenty of people on this ship hoping and praying that you are notlike Captain Zhao?”

Khatami laughed again in spite of herself. “Still, everything is so…different now, Mog. Sometimes, there’s no way of putting a finger on it, and other times it just slaps me in the face.” Her brow furrowing, she held out an open hand. “Like just now, and I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but when you talk about him, you don’t just say ‘the captain’ anymore. You say his name. Have you noticed that?”

“Of course, Atish,” Mog said as he rose from his chair. “That’s because you’re‘the captain’ now, and if there’s nothing else, Captain, I will take my leave.”

Nodding, Khatami reached for the data slate he had brought for her. “That’ll be all, Mog.” She looked up at him. “Thanks, for everything, and that includes not taking me up on my offer.”

The engineer shrugged. “So long as you’re screening candidates, there’s always Dr. Leone.”

She offered a mock grimace. “Please. You might start a war, but I’m pretty sure putting the good doctor in a position of command is a recipe for universal entropy.”

Roast beef sandwich. Vegetable soup. That’s all I want, and it shouldn’t be too much to ask from that damned contraption.

The thought continued to reverberate in Leone’s mind as he entered the officers’ mess. He regarded himself as a capable and intelligent man who felt completely comfortable with all manner of technology, be it a computer or a piece of equipment being field-tested by some young idealist stationed at Starfleet Medical. He even considered himself to be a shuttlecraft pilot of reasonable talent and skill.

The Endeavour’s food synthesizers, however, were his nemesis.

Gritting his teeth and forcing a smile onto his lean, nearly gaunt features, Leone nodded politely to an ensign he passed on his way to the bank of slots positioned along the dining facility’s rear bulkhead. Choosing one of the stations at random, the doctor inserted the menu selection card he had brought along from sickbay into the reader above the food slot’s main door and keyed its activation sequence. He rolled his eyes at the lyrical series of beeps and tones emitted by the unit until, seconds later, the door slid up to reveal his lunch.

A roast beef sandwich and a bowl of steaming soup.

“I don’t believe it,” he said to no one. “Somebody contact the FNS. Better yet, somebody check my pulse.”

Allowing a pinched grin of satisfaction, Leone retrieved his tray from the slot and made his way to an empty table next to one occupied by a trio of human officers. With a sigh of anticipation as he regarded his well-earned feast, he picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup. Noting what his movements were stirring up within the bowl, Leone’s brow furrowed in confusion. That bewilderment turned to suspicion as he raised the spoon to his lips—before devolving into defeat as he took a tentative sip.

Plomeek soup,he thought, a sneer curling his upper lip. Figures.

Trading his spoon for his sandwich, Leone raised it to his mouth and took a bite, savoring the taste of roast beef cooked almost to perfection—until his tongue registered a spicy burning sensation at the same instant a piquant odor assailed his nostrils.

“Gah,” Leone exclaimed, grimacing around his wad of chewed sandwich. Horseradish.He drew a sharp breath through sinuses now opened at the mercy of the pungent root. When in the hell will we be able to just tell those damned things what we want to eat?

“I’m telling you,” said one of the officers at the next table, just loud enough for Leone to hear, “if things don’t change soon, we’re going to be in big trouble.”

The doctor cocked his head at that, interested in where the conversation might be going while at the same time dreading that he already knew the destination. Taking his sandwich apart, Leone grabbed up his spoon to scrape the offending condiment from his roast beef while trying to listen to the discussion at the next table without appearing too obvious.

“C’mon, Muller,” said another man, who Leone saw in his peripheral vision wore a blue jumpsuit. “You can’t be serious.”

Without turning his head, the doctor was able to see the first man, who wore a gold uniform tunic, lean closer to his two comrades. “It was her indecision that got Captain Zhao killed, and now we’re heading back to the scene of the crime. What are we looking for? Another fight? You ask me, this ship isn’t safe with Khatami in charge.”

Leone dropped his spoon onto his tray, his appetite having disappeared now. Rising from his seat, he took his tray and made his way toward the row of recycling slots, walking slower than usual in order to continue listening to the conversation which went on as the three officers at the next table also concluded their meals and rose from their seats.