Star Trek: Pantheon (53 page)

*   *   *

As the
Stargazer
hung motionless in space, her computer running yet another shield diagnostic, Gerda Asmund gazed at the immense, rose-colored expanse of the galactic barrier.

Of course, she didn’t blame Commander Picard for wanting to be thorough. The navigator wasn’t eager to go through the phenomenon with a soft spot in their shields either.

Beside her, her sister waited with the patience of a hunter for the order to engage engines and send them soaring through the barrier. Until recently, Idun had known everything about her.

But she didn’t know about Carter Greyhorse.

Life is funny, Gerda mused. Just when she discovered that battle was no longer enough for her, just when a hole had opened in her life, she found what she needed to fill it.

“Everything checks out,” said Vigo, interrupting her reverie.

Gerda liked the Pandrilite. He had been raw and unproven at the time of Werber’s mutiny, but no one could have done a better job at the weapons console than he had. In fact, he seemed to gain confidence with each passing day.

Picard turned to Vigo. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Looking to the viewscreen, he said, “Helm…warp six.” Then, with a gesture that suggested forward motion, he added, “Engage.”

And they sailed into the scarlet abyss of the barrier.

Picard considered the pinched, dark-haired man in the admiral’s uniform seated across the desk from him.

Admiral Mehdi was still studying the logs posted by the second officer in the wake of the Nuyyad’s ambush. He looked grim as he read from his monitor screen, his wrinkled brow creased down the middle.

Finally, Mehdi looked up. “You had quite a struggle, I see.”

Picard nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And a number of difficult choices to make.”

Picard sighed. “Admiral,” he said, “I am not certain I provided you with a full explanation of—”

Mehdi held a thin, almost spindly hand up for silence. “I can imagine what you’re about to say, Commander. However, I believe I already possess all the information I require.”

The second officer bit his lip and sat back in his chair. “Of course, sir,” he replied.

The admiral’s eyes seemed to reach into him. “To summarize, you pursued several rather unorthodox options. First, you advised Captain Ruhalter that Serenity Santana could be trusted…over the official protestations of First Officer Leach.”

Picard swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Second,” said Mehdi, “you chose to take your vessel to the Magnians’ colony instead of the galactic barrier, even though—as some of your officers were quick to point out—there was no proof the place even existed, much less that it could give you the assistance you needed.”

Picard didn’t like the way this was going. “That is correct, sir.”

“And in so doing,” the admiral continued, “you jeopardized not only the lives of your crew, but your ability to warn the Federation about the Nuyyad. Is this also correct?”

“It is.”

“Then,” said Mehdi, “knowing that the Magnians had already led you into an ambush, you beamed a number of them up to the
Stargazer
and gave them access to strategic systems. In addition, you allowed their mental powers to be amplified through the use of a synthetic neurotransmitter, thereby inviting the possibility of an enclave of Gary Mitchells running amok aboard your vessel.”

“I did,” Picard had to admit.

“And, finally, you removed the safeguards from your phaser technology in order to take out a single enemy installation—once again, wagering your ship and crew on a long shot. Is this true?”

Picard had only one answer. “It is, sir.”

The admiral considered the younger man a moment longer. “In your estimate, Commander, are these the actions of a Starfleet second officer?”

Picard sighed. “I’m not in a position to say, sir.”

“Then let me tell you,” Mehdi remarked, “they’re not. They’re the actions of a Starfleet captain—and a damned remarkable one at that.”

Picard wasn’t certain he had heard the older man correctly. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

“What you did,” Mehdi told him, “what you accomplished against staggering odds…shows me that you’re more than ready to command. And since you’ve already won the admiration of the
Stargazer’
s crew, it stands to reason that you should remain with that vessel—as her captain.”

Picard didn’t know what to say. “Sir—”

Again, the admiral held up his hand. “You’re grateful. I know. But between the two of us, I can’t tolerate maudlin displays.”

“Actually,” said Picard, “I was going to ask about Commander Leach.”

Mehdi frowned. “Fortunately, Commander Leach will make a full recovery from his injuries. But I don’t believe he was ever qualified to serve as first officer on a starship. Command will find a posting for him that’s more in line with his abilities.”

“I see,” said Picard.

It was almost exactly what Ruhalter had said about Leach. In that respect, at least, Ruhalter and Mehdi thought much alike.

“You’re a brilliant fellow,” the admiral informed him, “and a thoughtful commanding officer, who is obviously not afraid to take the unorthodox and even the unpopular path. I wish you, and those who serve under you, long and illustrious careers.”

This time, Picard
did
want to thank the man. But to his chagrin, he didn’t get the chance.

“Now get out of my office,” said Mehdi, “and start showing me I made the right choice.”

Captain Jean-Luc Picard smiled. “Yes, sir,” he replied, and took his leave of the admiral.

*   *   *

Hans Werber had to admit that the accommodations in the Starfleet brig were a little better than in the
Stargazer’
s. But that didn’t make him feel a whole lot better.

Hearing the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside his cell, he looked up—and saw a familiar if unexpected face through the barrier.

“Picard?” he said.

“In the flesh,” said his visitor.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see
you
again,” Werber confessed.

Picard regarded him. “You mean because you tried to stun me in my sleep and take over a vessel under my command?”

“Well,” said the weapons officer, “yeah.”

The other man smiled a taut smile. “I don’t believe I will forget that incident anytime soon. But neither will I forget that you helped me uncover Jomar’s clandestine activities—or that, in the end, you put your resentment aside and did what your duty demanded.”

Werber shrugged. “You didn’t have to come here to tell me that.”

“I also didn’t have to put in a word on your behalf with the judge advocate general,” said Picard. “Nonetheless, I did. Perhaps he’ll take it into account when he tries your case.”

The weapons officer couldn’t believe it. “You did that for me? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I am not,” his visitor assured him. “I wanted the court to have all the facts in front of it.”

Werber didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“We’ll see each other again,” Picard told him. Then he turned and started down the corridor.

“Hey, Picard!” the prisoner called, getting to his feet and approaching the energy barrier.

The other man stopped and looked back. “Yes?”

“You know what?” said Werber. “I was wrong. You’re going to make a hell of a captain someday.”

Picard nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

Dennis Gardenhire checked his instruments. “Hold on,” he said. “It could be a rough ride.”

Activating the reverse thrusters, the navigator felt them slow the escape pod’s descent. Then he made adjustments in the shape of their shields to minimize the stress of entry.

Gardenhire had piloted a pod prototype a dozen times before the
Valiant
left Earth orbit, and gone through escape simulations a hundred times more. But penetrating the atmosphere of an alien world with shield generators that hadn’t been dependable for weeks and an inertial damper that hadn’t worked correctly from the beginning…

That was a different story entirely.

Still, Gardenhire asked himself, what choice did they have? Their pod was low on fuel and even lower on nutritional packets and potable water, and this was the only habitable world they had come across.

Through the pod’s observation portal, he could see the ragged white of dense clouds ripping past them. But they were high clouds—sixty-five thousand kilometers high. The pod still had a long way to go before it reached the planet’s surface.

Gardenhire looked around at the other faces in the escape vehicle. They looked back at him with trust if not complete confidence, knowing he would do his best to land them safely despite the pod’s limitations.

There was Coquillette, the little medic who had seen them through everything from seasickness to bedsores. And O’Shaugnessy, the craggy-faced assistant engineer who had nursed their engines as deftly as Coquillette had nursed the crew.

There was Santana, the stoic and uncomplaining security officer, and Daniels, the astrophysicist with the wicked sense of humor. And finally, Williamson, the balding supply officer who had bullied them into surviving one day after another, regardless of whether they wanted to or not.

By getting this far, they had already set themselves apart as the lucky ones, the ones on whom Fortune had smiled. Only twelve of the
Valiant’
s fourteen escape pods had cleared the explosion that destroyed the ship, and one of those twelve had fallen victim to a plasma breach days later.

The units that remained intact were packed with six or seven people each, with so little living space that only one person could move around at a time. But then, the pods hadn’t been designed with an eye to creature comfort. They were survival tools, and survival was a grim business at best.

Gardenhire had always prided himself on his ability to stay cool, to perform calmly under pressure. But after just a month of such close confinement, his nerves had frayed to the breaking point. He was tense, irritable, ready to lash out at anyone who looked at him sideways.

Then came the change.

It was subtle at first, so subtle that the navigator had to wonder if he was losing his mind. But as it turned out, he wasn’t losing anything. He was gaining something remarkable.

He could hear the thoughts of his fellow crewmen.

Not all of them, of course—just a stray reflection or two. But it distracted Gardenhire from his misery. It gave him something to think about as he lay prone in his padded shock bunk and waited for his appointed exercise period.

The navigator wasn’t oblivious to the fact that telepathy had been one of Agnarsson’s talents too. In the back of his mind, he knew he might become what the engineer had become.

But somehow, he felt confident that it wouldn’t happen. After all, it had been weeks since the crew was exposed to the Big Red phenomenon. If Gardenhire was going to be altered to the same extent as Agnarsson, if he was going to mutate into a gray-haired, silver-eyed superman, it seemed likely that it would have happened already.

Besides, it was different when the individual undergoing the transformation was oneself. For obvious reasons, it made the prospect seem a lot less chilling.

Then, one day when the navigator was skimming Coquillette’s thoughts, he felt an awareness there—a facility capable of not only recognizing his intrusion, but responding to it.

He was afraid that the medic would balk at his invasion of her privacy—for clearly, that was what it was. And in a tinderbox like the escape pod, that was the last thing they needed.

But as it happened, Coquillette didn’t mind his trespass at all. In fact, she seemed to welcome it.

It made her feel less lonely, she told him—communicating not in spoken words, but in precise and evocative thoughts. It let her know she wasn’t the only one who was experiencing some kind of transformation.

It made Gardenhire wonder…if he and Coquillette had changed, was it possible that some of the others were changing as well? And like the medic, were they too uneasy with the situation to speak of it?

Both of them wanted to discuss the matter with the group. However, they were concerned…if they were the only ones who had been affected, how would their companions look at them? Would they see Gardenhire and Coquillette as threats to the welfare of their miniature society—threats that had to be dealt with in a harsh and immediate manner?

Then, while they were wondering what to do, O’Shaugnessy responded to their telepathic intrusions as well. And a day later, Williamson did the same. It was Williamson who insisted that they let the others in on what was happening to them.

As Gardenhire had expected, the revelation didn’t go very well. Santana didn’t say much, but his thoughts were decidedly frightened ones. And though Daniels made a joke about it, it didn’t take a telepath to see he was every bit as scared as Santana.

The atmosphere in the pod became taut and uneasy. No one said anything more about the transformations, but they were a subtext in every conversation, a stubborn and nettlesome ghost haunting them every hour of the artificially induced day and night.

Until Santana and Daniels found themselves with telepathic powers of their own, their discoveries coming less than a day apart. At that point, the air of suspicion went away. They were all equals again, working together toward a common goal.

But there were other surprises in store for them. One day, when Williamson was delving in a locker for a hard-to-reach nutritional packet, he saw the thing move obediently into his outstretched hand.

Apparently, he had developed a knack for telekinesis. Announcing his discovery to his podmates (as if he could have kept it secret from a bunch of telepaths), the supply officer challenged them to test their own talents in that regard.

At that juncture, only O’Shaugnessy and Santana exhibited rudimentary telekinetic abilities. But in the days that followed, the rest of them followed suit. Only Coquillette seemed to lag behind, never becoming anywhere near as adept as the rest of them.

They never figured out why. But then, they never figured out anything else about their powers either. Their newfound facilities were a mystery to them through and through.

Eventually, there was only one more step they had to take.

Since the destruction of the
Valiant,
the pods had maintained periodic radio contact—in the beginning, communicating as often as several times a day. Then, as tedium set in and there was less and less to say, their conversations had become correspondingly less frequent.

But in none of these give-and-takes had Gardenhire and his companions ever mentioned their transformations. The main reason for this restraint was simple—it seemed imprudent to give the crews of the other pods a reason to fear them.

Of course, Santana and Daniels could have sent a message to the other pods when they found out about their comrades’ powers. At that juncture, they still appeared to be unaltered human beings, and they might have seen it as their duty to send out a warning.

Why had they hesitated? Not just out of fear that they might get caught, as they quite willingly revealed later. It was because they were explorers by nature, and they wanted to see where their podmates’ transformations ultimately led them.

Such considerations notwithstanding, they all knew they would have to spill the beans someday. And that day arrived when the pods came within scanner range of a solar system.

By unanimous agreement, Gardenhire radioed McMillan and the other ranking officers and revealed everything that had happened. But far from exhibiting concern, the other pods appeared to be relieved.

Because they had been experiencing the same things.

It wasn’t a possibility the navigator hadn’t weighed in the back of his mind. The individuals in his group had been exposed to the same stimuli as the men and women in the other vehicles. It stood to reason that they might be changing too.

But it felt good to know for sure.

Especially when their scanners showed them a habitable planet in the solar system they had discovered. A planet with plenty of water and plant life. A planet where they might have a future.

The same planet toward which Gardenhire’s pod was now dropping like a very large stone.

“We’re falling too quickly,” said Daniels, his brow uncharacteristically creased with concern.

“Much
too quickly,” agreed Coquillette.

Through the observation portal, the navigator could see a faint reddish hue—the play of friction about the shields. And as he had noted earlier, the shield generators had seen better days.

“Something’s wrong with the thrusters,” O’Shaugnessy said.

“Can you see that?” Gardenhire asked. “Or are you just guessing?”

“I can see it,” the engineer assured him, his eyes glazing over as he focused his mind. “One of the release apertures is jammed shut.”

The navigator knew that that was no small matter. There were only four apertures and they needed all of them to brake their descent.

“Can you
un
jam it?” asked Coquillette.

O’Shaugnessy shook his head. “This isn’t a nutritional packet we’re talking about. It’s a machine part.”

“What if we were to work
together?”
asked Williamson.

Daniels seemed to like the idea. “It’s worth a shot—and we don’t have too many other options.”

Outside the pod, the heat was increasing. What had been a faint red glow was now a deep crimson. They were starting to vibrate as well, starting to experience the roughness Gardenhire had warned them about.

“How’s this going to work?” asked Santana.

Gardenhire turned to O’Shaugnessy. “If you can picture the lever that opens the aperture, we can try to access it through you.”

“Then we all put pressure on it at once,” Daniels added.

“Exactly,” said the navigator.

O’Shaugnessy nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Gardenhire concentrated on linking his thoughts to the engineer’s, picturing what O’Shaugnessy was picturing. It turned out to be easier than he had imagined. He could see the lever in question, even feel the place where the thing was stuck.

If the navigator could have reached into the mechanism with his hand, he might have been able to free the offending lever. As it was, he focused on moving it with the power of his mind.

He sensed the others, vague presences all around him. They were pushing with their minds as well.

Come on,
came a thought—O’Shaugnessy’s.
We can do it.

And the lever moved.

In fact, Gardenhire was surprised at how little resistance it offered them. It was like moving a feather.

But were they in time? The navigator looked out the observation portal and saw that the aura had become an actual flame. Their shields were rapidly losing their battle with the planet’s atmosphere.

Turning to his instrument panel, he checked the pod’s rate of descent. It was less than it had been, certainly, but still a good deal more than what safety demanded.

“What’s the verdict?” asked Daniels.

“Not good,” Gardenhire told him.

“We’re still falling too fast,” said Coquillette, “aren’t we?”

The navigator nodded.

“Wait a minute,” said Santana. “O’Shaugnessy couldn’t move that lever at all—but when we worked together, it moved easily. Maybe we could slow the pod down the same way.”

At first blush, it seemed like a crazy idea. But the more Gardenhire thought about it, the less crazy it sounded.

“Let’s try it,” said Williamson.

Outside, the flames of their descent had completely obscured their view of the alien sky. Soon, they would feel the temperature begin to rise inside the pod. And after that…

“O’Shaugnessy will be our point again,” said the navigator, “since he did such a good job last time.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the engineer closed his eyes. “All right…I’m picturing the underside of the pod. We need to push against it, to slow it down…”

Linking his mind to O’Shaugnessy’s, Gardenhire could see the flat titanium surface. Surrounded by the four thruster apertures, he pushed up against it. He wasn’t alone, either. He felt the others with him, around him and inside him, adding their strength to his own.

At first, he didn’t perceive any difference. Then their efforts began to pay off. The pod began to slow down.

Breaking contact with O’Shaugnessy for a moment, the navigator darted a glance at his instruments. They confirmed it—the escape vehicle was falling at a slower rate than before.

Keep it up,
Gardenhire told the others.

They did as he asked, continuing to toil against the pull of gravity with all the telekinetic power at their disposal. And little by little, the pod continued to decelerate.

He glanced at the observation portal. The shields were all but gone, but so were the flames that had blocked his view. He could see clouds again. And through them, patches of blue.

If he and the others had had enough time, they might have teamed up with the thrusters to stop their descent altogether. Unfortunately, they didn’t have that much time. Gardenhire could see that all too clearly on his monitor, the harsh truth expressed in cold mathematical certainties.

The planet’s surface was rushing up eagerly to meet them. And when it did, it would crack them open like an egg.

The injustice of it pierced the navigator’s heart like a dagger. To have come this far, to have tried this hard, only to be crushed on a hard and unfeeling alien landscape…