Star Trek: Pantheon (38 page)

Abruptly, a deep and commanding voice filled the bridge. “This is Administrator Najak,” it said.

Ruhalter looked up at the intercom grid. “Captain Ruhalter here. It’s a pleasure to speak with you, Administrator.”

“The pleasure is mine,” said Najak. “And thank you for respecting my privacy, Captain. Over the years, we have come to appreciate how monstrous we seem to other Federation species. This fact has occasionally led to…let us call them ‘misunderstandings.’”

“It’s no problem at all,” Ruhalter replied. “We don’t want to intrude on you any more than we have to.”

“Jomar will be ready in a matter of minutes,” Najak advised. “If you give us the coordinates of your transporter room, our technicians will be pleased to effect his transport.”

“Acknowledged,” said the captain. He turned to Paxton. “Send them whatever they need, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll do that, sir,” Paxton responded.

Ruhalter returned his attention to the Kelvan. “With luck, I’ll have good news when I bring Jomar back to you.”

“With luck,” the administrator echoed. “Najak out.”

The captain glanced at Leach, who was standing beside Simenon at the engineering console. “You’ve got the conn, Number One. Commander Picard, you’re with me.”

With that, he got up and made his way aft to the turbolift. As the second officer followed him, he saw the expression on Leach’s face. If looks could have killed, Picard would have been torn atom from atom.

Ruhalter couldn’t have failed to notice his exec’s displeasure. However, he didn’t comment on it as he and Picard entered the lift and watched the sliding doors close behind them.

Instead, he said, “I was really looking forward to beaming down and seeing that Kelvan colony.”

Picard nodded. “So was I, sir.”

“I guess we shouldn’t complain. We’ll no doubt be seeing plenty on the other side of the galactic barrier.”

“No doubt,” the second officer agreed.

Just then, the turbolift doors opened again. The captain exited ahead of Picard and led the way to the transporter room, where a woman named Vandermeer was working the control console.

“Anything yet?” Ruhalter asked her.

“No, sir,” said the transporter operator, consulting her monitor. “Wait…I’m getting a message from the surface.”

“The colony administrator’s office?” asked the captain.

“Yes. They say they’re ready to beam someone up.”

Ruhalter nodded. “Contact the bridge and tell Mr. Leach I want the shields dropped. Then let the Kelvans know we’re ready. But as soon as our visitor arrives, I want the shields back up again.”

“Aye, sir,” said Vandermeer, carrying out her orders.

Picard too felt uneasy when the
Stargazer’
s deflectors were lowered. After all, it left the ship vulnerable to all manner of mishaps. Unfortunately, they couldn’t effect a transport with the shields in place.

“He’s on his way,” Vandermeer announced.

Picard turned to the raised, oval platform in the back of the room. A shaft of light appeared there, then slowly resolved itself into a humanoid form. A moment later, the light died, leaving a tall, fair-skinned man with unruly red hair and haunting, pale-blue eyes.

“You must be Jomar,” Ruhalter observed. He smiled a craggy smile. “Welcome to the Federation
Starship Stargazer.
I’m Captain Ruhalter…and this is Commander Picard, my second officer.”

The Kelvan stared at Ruhalter for a full second before he answered. “Thank you, Captain.” He turned to Picard. “Commander.”

Jomar’s tone was flat and utterly devoid of enthusiasm. And his expression—or rather, his lack of one—would have been the envy of many a logical Vulcan.

“If you’ll follow us,” said the captain, “we’ll show you to your quarters. I think you’ll find them—”

“I have a great deal of work to do,” the Kelvan declared, unceremoniously interrupting Ruhalter’s invitation. “I would prefer to familiarize myself with your ship’s tactical systems and subsystems before I give any thought to sleeping accommodations.”

The captain appeared unoffended. “Of course,” he told Jomar. “We can start in engineering, if you like.”

“That would be satisfactory,” said the Kelvan.

Ruhalter tapped the Starfleet insignia on his chest. “Captain to bridge. Break orbit, Mr. Leach. We’ve got our passenger.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” said Leach.

The captain turned to Jomar. “Next stop, engineering.”

The Kelvan didn’t respond. He just waited for Ruhalter and Picard to lead the way, then fell in behind them.

Charming, thought the second officer. But then, they hadn’t enlisted Jomar’s assistance because of his advanced social skills. If all went well, he would be their secret weapon against the Nuyyad.

Picard sat in his usual place at the black oval table in the
Stargazer’
s lounge and watched Captain Ruhalter bring the meeting to order.

Unlike the last meeting the second officer had attended there, this one didn’t call for the presence of the entire senior staff. The topic was a largely technical one, so all of the officers present—with the exceptions of Ruhalter, Commander Leach, and Picard himself—were from the weapons and engineering sections.

And then, of course, there was the Kelvan. He was sitting beside the captain with his bright red hair in disarray, a deadpan expression on his face that betrayed his lack of humanity.

“I called this meeting,” said Ruhalter, “so you could all meet Jomar here and hear his plans for the
Stargazer’
s tactical systems.” He turned to the Kelvan. “Go ahead.”

Jomar inclined his head. “Thank you, Captain.” He scanned the other faces at the table without a hint of emotion. “As you may have heard,” he went on abruptly, “the Nuyyad are a formidable enemy, with a long list of conquests to their credit.”

“So we’ve been given to understand,” said Ruhalter.

“However,” the Kelvan went on, “the Nuyyad’s vessels are no faster or more maneuverable than this one. Their shields are no stronger than the
Stargazer’
s shields. In fact, they may be a little weaker. Where the Nuyyad far outstrip Federation technology is in a single area…”

“Firepower?” Simenon suggested.

“Firepower,” Jomar confirmed ominously. “More specifically, a quartet of vidrion particle cannons, any one of which could pierce your shields with a single high-intensity barrage.”

It wasn’t good news. For a moment, they pondered it from one end of the table to the other.

Then Picard spoke up. “Vidrion particles? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of them.”

“That is because they have not been discovered on this side of the barrier,” the Kelvan explained. “My people have known of them for centuries, though we always considered them too unstable to be harnessed as directed energy. The Nuyyad have apparently solved that problem.”

Ruhalter leaned forward. “You’ve got our attention, Jomar. How can we defend ourselves against these vidrion cannons?”

“By fighting fire with fire,” said the Kelvan, “as the human expression articulates. We have discovered that lacing a standard, graviton-based deflector shield with a certain percentage of vidrion particles renders it all but impermeable to the Nuyyad’s beams.”

“And that,” observed Ruhalter, “will give us a chance to launch an offensive of our own.”

Jomar regarded the captain with his strange, pale-blue eyes. As in the transporter room, he seemed to stare. “Yes,” the Kelvan said finally, “that is the intention.”

Suddenly, Picard realized something. Jomar wasn’t staring after all. It was just that his eyes weren’t blinking.

But then, when the second officer thought about it, that made sense. The Kelvan had only assumed this form for the sake of convenience. His “eyes” were ornaments, lacking function, created to make the humanoids on the
Stargazer
feel more comfortable in his presence.

As for his true sensory organs, the ones he used to see and hear and so on…where
they
were located was anybody’s guess.

“However,” Jomar went on in his monotone, “it will not be enough to merely defend ourselves. If we are to hold our own against the Nuyyad, we must increase the power of our own weapons.”

“Increase it
how?”
asked Werber.

The Kelvan shrugged. “By routing your warp chamber’s plasma flow to your emitter crystals in a more pure and unadulterated form.”

The weapons chief’s eyes narrowed warily. “Go on.”

“As the system is currently configured,” said Jomar, “electroplasma must pass through a flow regulator, a distribution manifold, and a prefire chamber before it reaches the crystal. I propose that we delete the flow regulator and distribution manifold in favor of a single device, which would do the work of both of them—and at the same time, facilitate a higher subatomic energy level at the end of the process.”

For a moment, every technician in the room was silent. Picard could see them pondering the Kelvan’s idea, turning it over in their minds. Then Simenon broke the silence.

“Where did you come up with this?” he asked.

“Actually,” Jomar told him, “it is the approach we have taken in Kelvan vessels for the last seventy years.”

Vigo, a Pandrilite officer in the weapons section, leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t understand,” he confessed. “How can you achieve higher energy levels in the crystals without—”

Werber cut Vigo off with a preemptive wave of his hand. “Without compromising the integrity of the conduit network?” he asked, finishing the Pandrilite’s question himself.

As Picard watched, Vigo slumped back in his chair again and fell silent. However, he didn’t look at all happy about it.

Meanwhile, the Kelvan answered Werber’s question. “Starfleet Command has made available to me considerable data concerning the conduit network and its rated tolerances. As far as I can tell, it is somewhat less durable than the energy channels in my people’s ships—but nonetheless strong enough to withstand even a substantial increase in subatomic activity.”

Simenon shook his lizardlike head from side to side. “Not from where I stand, it’s not.”

“No question about it,” Werber added. “That plasma will never reach the prefire chamber. It’ll blow up in the conduits first.”

“And send us all to kingdom come,” Leach agreed.

For once, Picard found himself on the first officer’s side. He turned to Ruhalter. “It would be imprudent to make the kind of changes that are being discussed without considerable study. I advise against it.”

“As do
I,”
Leach chimed in, obviously reluctant to let Picard receive the credit for anything.

Ruhalter addressed the Kelvan. “To be honest, Jomar, I’m not thrilled with the idea either. It seems too damned dangerous. But your strategy for beefing up the shields…that I like.” He glanced at Simenon, then Werber. “I want you to get started on that as soon as possible.”

“Aye, sir,” said the weapons chief.

“As you wish,” the engineer added.

If the Kelvan resented the rejection of his phaser idea, he didn’t show it. His expression was as neutral as ever.

“What else?” asked the captain.

“Nothing
else,” Jomar told him. “I have discussed all the possibilities I meant to discusss.”

Ruhalter nodded. “All right, then. Thank you all for attending. Now let’s get to work.”

And with that, the meeting ended.

As Pug Joseph approached the
Stargazer’
s brig, he was forced to admit something to himself.

He had guarded his share of prisoners in the course of his brief career. Every security officer had. But he had never actually looked forward to guarding one until now.

Garner, the officer on duty in the brig, acknowledged Joseph with a businesslike nod. “All quiet,” she reported.

“Good,” he replied.

Not that he had expected Garner to say anything else. After all, it wasn’t exactly a Nausicaan slave-runner they were holding. It was just a woman, and a very cooperative woman at that.

He looked past the brig’s translucent, yellow barrier and saw Santana sitting upright on the edge of her sleeping pallet, her eyes closed, her hands held out in front of her as if in supplication. She had told Joseph about the technique during his last shift—a form of meditation, it was used widely in her colony as a way of achieving calm…

And perspective. She certainly needed that right now.

“Go ahead,” he told Garner. “I can take it from here.”

His colleague smiled as she passed him on her way out. “I’ll see you later,” she said.

“Later,” he echoed.

But his mind was already focused on Santana, who hadn’t fluttered an eyelash since he arrived. He considered saying something to let her know he was there, but he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Mr. Joseph,” she said abruptly. “Nice of you to drop by.”

The security officer chuckled. “As if I had a choice.”

Santana opened her eyes, disappointment etched in her face. “You mean you only come to see me because you
have
to?”

For a moment, he felt the need to apologize. Then he realized that she was just joking with him…again.

“Funny,” he said.

“I’m glad you think so,” Santana replied. “After all, you
are
my only audience.”

“You didn’t get along so well with Garner?”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s not the friendliest person around. So, tell me…have you met the Kelvan yet?”

Joseph shook his head. “I haven’t even caught a glimpse of him.”

The woman’s expression turned sour. “Figures. He’s the one you
really
ought to be watching.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

Santana looked as if she were about to say something critical—then stopped herself. “Never mind. I don’t want to start any controversies. This mission is too important to all of us.”

But it was too late. She had roused the old Pug Joseph—the one who couldn’t help seeing danger at every turn.

“Are you saying he poses some kind of threat?” Joseph asked.

“Not necessarily,” Santana said. “My people have had some unpleasant experiences with Kelvans, that’s all. It doesn’t mean this particular one is going to be a problem.”

He searched her eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

She smiled disarmingly. “Why would I lie?”

Why indeed? Joseph asked himself. He couldn’t come up with a good answer. When Santana first came aboard, he had been as suspicious of her as anyone else. Now he knew better.

“So,” he said, switching tacks, “where were we?”

She knew exactly what he meant. “Let’s see…you were telling me about the place where you were raised. Boston, wasn’t it? And there’s a river there where your parents took you for picnics…”

Joseph was pleased that she remembered. “The Charles.”

“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes so she could pick the image from his brain. “The Charles.” Her brow creased with concentration. “And you had a little brother named Matthew, who lost his sneaker somehow and put his foot in the potato salad…”

Suddenly, Santana began to laugh, and before he knew it he was laughing with her, both of them caught up helplessly in the memory of little Matt stepping where he shouldn’t have. The brig rang with their hilarity.

Pug Joseph found that he liked Santana very much, no matter what Commander Leach or anyone else said about her. In fact, he wished he could have felt this way about
everyone
he guarded.

Vigo wasn’t particularly enamored of Jefferies tubes. His Pandrilite musculature made crawling through the cylindrical, circuit-laden passageways a cramped and uncomfortable proposition at best.

Fortunately for him, Starfleet weapons officers seldom had to negotiate the tubes the way engineers did. Their maintenance and repair activities were typically restricted to one of the ship’s weapons rooms, or on a rare occasion, the bridge.

But there were exceptions to every rule. And at the moment, Vigo was caught up in one.

For some political reason that escaped the Pandrilite, Lieutenant Werber wanted his section to be well represented in the effort to implement the Kelvan’s shield strategy. As a result, Vigo and several of his fellow weapons officers had been asked to assist their counterparts from engineering in retrofitting field generators and distortion amplifiers from one end of the ship to the other.

And that meant crawling through one Jefferies tube after another, enduring muscle cramps and skin abrasions in the process.

“Pass the spanner,” said Engineer First Class Pernell, a spare, fair-haired man lying just ahead of the Pandrilite in the passageway.

Vigo found the requisite tool and removed it from his equipment bag. “Here it is,” he said, and handed it to Pernell.

They were busy installing new graviton relays in one of the
Stargazer’
s field generators. The relays, which had been fabricated only an hour earlier, were designed to expedite the passage of vidrion particles through the deflector system.

The Pandrilite wiped perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. It was hot in the tube too, so hot that he had begun to wonder if something had gone wrong with the ventilation system.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. His shoulders stung where he had rubbed them raw against the walls of the passage, his hip hurt where he was forced to press it against a circuit bundle, and his legs were so contorted he could barely feel his feet.

But Vigo wasn’t going to complain. He was a Pandrilite. He had been given an assignment and he would carry it out.

Suddenly, the weapons officer saw something move into the tube from a perpendicular passageway far down the line. At first, he thought it was one of his fellow crewmen, on his way to an assignment much like his own.

Then he realized that it wasn’t a crewman. It wasn’t even humanoid. It was the kind of life-form one might have seen at the bottom of an alien ocean, slithering out from under a rock to snatch unsuspecting sea creatures with its long, dark tentacles.

As Vigo watched, anxious and fascinated at the same time, the thing pulled itself along the tube with chilling efficiency. His hand darted to his hip instinctively, but he wasn’t wearing a phaser.

“What is that?” Pernell asked, his voice thick with consternation.

The Pandrilite shook his head, his eyes glued to the tentacled monstrosity. “I don’t know. I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, before he could even think about getting out of the Jefferies tube and calling for security, the thing began to change. Right before his eyes, its tentacles grew shorter and the mass at its core lengthened, until it wasn’t nearly as horrific.

In a matter of seconds, it became the kind of figure Vigo had expected all along: a black set of work togs accommodating two arms and two legs and—in this case—a head full of fiery red hair.