Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #6: Mystery of the Missing Crew (11 page)

Still, as seconds stretched into minutes, there was no response. Data could see ,the Yann showing signs of impatience—tapping their fingers on the bridge’s work stations and exchanging worried glances.

“They’re not doing anything about the hole,” noted Felai. “That’s not a good sign.”

Odril came up beside the android and surveyed the tactical monitors. He couldn’t understand much of what they said—but he could understand enough to see what kind of trouble they were in.

He looked up at Data. “You used all the power in the ship’s batteries. There’s just enough to keep the life support going on the bridge—and pretty soon, that will be used up, too.”

Felai’s brow furrowed. “But without life support to sustain us…” His voice trailed off soberly.

Odril nodded solemnly. “We’ll all die.” He glanced meaningfully at Data. “Or maybe not
all
of us. Only those who need to
breathe
in order to survive.”

“There was no other way,” the android countered.

“It was either expend all our energy or resign ourselves to defeat.”

“Maybe there
was
another way,” Lagon chimed in. “At least, we could have given it some thought. We could have talked about it. Now it’s too late for that.”

“Wait a minute,” Sinna said. “Data did the best he could. None of us has any reason to—”

She was interrupted by a sudden flash of light from the viewscreen—a flash which obliterated the Opsarran graphics there and replaced them with something else. It was only after a second or two that the android realized it was a
face
.

Of course, it was different from any face he’d ever seen before. Not even vaguely humanoid; it resembled a collection of leathery bulges supported by a thin, metallic-looking stalk. If it wasn’t for the smooth, black orbs set roughly where eyes ought to be, Data might not have figured it out at all.

“I am S’rannit of the T’chakat,” said the alien. His voice—or perhaps it was
her
voice—was little more than a rasp. “I am confused. Why do you attack our field? Having discovered it, would it not have been simpler to go around it and proceed to your
true
target—our civilization?”

The android took a step forward. “I am Data of the Federation. We mean no harm to your civilization—or to any other, for that matter. Our vessel’s computer log will prove that—as will the log of our comrades, the Opsarra. All we want is for you to return our comrades to us.”

The leathery bulges seemed to contract and then enlarge again, though not all at the same time. “If you mean us no harm, as you claim, what are you doing here?”

“We were simply passing through this sector,” the android explained. “We did not know that we would be disturbing anyone by doing so.”

“And your assault on our field?” asked S’rannit.

“We had no way to contact you … to initiate a dialogue. By attacking your field, we hoped to prod you into communicating with us.”

The alien made the sort of noises that humans made when something was stuck in their throats. However, he—or was it
she
?—displayed no signs of discomfort. The android got the distinct impression that S’rannit found some small degree of
humor
in the situation.

“Obviously,” noted the alien, “you were successful in your efforts to encourage communication. That was quite clever of you.”

Again, the bulges of S’rannit’s face seemed to shrink and expand. If Data was correct in his interpretation of what that meant, the alien had assumed a more serious demeanor again.

For a while—a full minute, perhaps—there was silence on S’rannit’s part. The Yann began to get fidgety, to whisper among themselves. But the android didn’t say anything. He just returned the alien’s scrutiny and waited.

Finally S’rannit spoke again. “We have decided to comply with your request and return your comrades … as well as those of the Opsarra. Unfortunately, our civilization has had much contact with aggressors in the recent past, which is why we created the defense field in the first place. However, our experience has been that truly warlike races seldom try to recover their vanished comrades. They simply desist and look for easier prey.”

Data felt Sinna grab his arm. “We did it,” she breathed, careful to keep her voice from being heard by the T’chakat.

But S’rannit seemed to hear her anyway. Apparently, his or her auditory sense was more acute than that of the Yann.

“Yes,” the alien. agreed. “You accomplished your objective. However, we require that you—and the Opsarra as well—withdraw from this area as soon as your crews have been restored to you.”

“I regret to inform you,” said the android, “that we cannot do that. You see, both our vessel and that of the Opsarra are in immediate need of repairs as a result of our encounters with your field—and in both cases, one of the systems that has malfunctioned is the one which propels us through space.”

Again, S’rannit made that gagging noise. This time Data was
certain
that it bore a close kinship to laughter.

“Very well,” responded the alien. “You will be granted a reasonable amount of time to effect the necessary repairs. What is more, we are discharging power from our field into your ship’s batteries, since we see now that you expended your reserves with your bold maneuver. But when you are again capable of interstellar flight, you must leave us and promise never to return.”

“I agree to your most generous terms,” the android declared. “What is more, I believe my Opsarran counterpart will agree to them as well.”

“Good,” said S’rannit. “Then we have an understanding.”

In the next moment his face—or could it have been
her
face?—disappeared from the viewscreen in a flash of light, leaving in its wake the collection of Opsarran graphics that had been there previously.

Data looked back at Lagon, Odril, and Felai, who seemed to have clustered in one spot behind him. The Yann looked back.

“They said they would return our crew,” Felai reminded the android. “So where are—”

Before he could complete his query, the bridge was bathed in a blue-white radiance that even Data had to flinch from. When it subsided, the place was full of people in Starfleet uniforms.

The bridge crew had been restored. And not just the bridge crew, the android guessed, but every officer on the ship … as if they had never been gone in the first place.

Captain Rumiel was standing in front of his chair. He looked around. “We’re back,” he whispered. “We’re on the
Yosemite
.”

“That is correct,” said Data, though he knew he was stating the obvious. “The T’chakat let you go, once they realized they had nothing to fear from us.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “The … T’chakat? Those are the people who put us in that huge cell?”

“I am not familiar with the place of which you speak,” the android responded. “However, they are indeed the ones who imprisoned you.”

Rumiel tilted his head to one side. “And how do you know that?”

“We spoke with them,” Data responded. “And they are quite reasonable, once you get to know them.”

The captain seemed to be at a loss. “What are you saying? That
you
were responsible for their releasing us?” He took in Data and the Yann with a disbelieving glance. “Come on. Don’t tell me a handful of cadets did that.”

“I will comply with your wishes,” the android told him. “However, it will leave a significant gap in your understanding of the situation.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed even more. “Then you
are
responsible.” Slowly a smile crept over his face. “You’ll have to tell me more about this, Mr. Data—later. First, I’ve got an alien ship to deal with.”

“You mean the Opsarra?” asked Data.

Captain Rumiel was swinging into his seat, turning his gaze on the viewscreen. “The Opsarra?” he replied offhandedly. “Who are
they
?”

“The Opsarra,” the android replied smoothly, “are the beings you are attempting to contact … whom
we
have
already
contacted. You will find that their experience at the hands of the field creators was much the same as ours, and that they will be only too happy to leave this sector—once they effect the same repairs we will need to effect.”

The captain’s eyebrows converged over the bridge of his nose. “Repairs,” he muttered, remembering. “That’s right … we took quite a hit, didn’t we?”

Turning to his Ops officer, he asked: “What’s our status, Ensign Turner?”

The woman frowned. “Most of our systems are down, sir—including the warpdrive—though we seem to have plenty of power for the time being.” She paused. “Fortunately, life support. is one of the systems still functioning—though it seems it was shut off on all decks except this one until just a few minutes ago.”

Inwardly, Data thanked the T’chakat. Not only had they charged up the
Yosemite
’s batteries as they promised—they had also reactivated the life support systems. Had they failed to do that, crewmen would be at risk all over the ship at that very moment.

“And the Opsarra?” continued Captain Rumiel.

“They’re as badly off as we are,” replied Ensign Turner.

The captain snorted and turned to his first officer. “Commander Leyritz, you`ve got the conn. Before we go one step further, I think I ought to speak at length with our young friends here.”

Rising from his seat, Rumiel headed for the bridge’s single set of turbolift doors. “Cadets,” he called back over his shoulder. “Briefing room.
Now
.”

Obediently, the android fell in behind the
Yosemite
’s commanding officer. Despite the name of the room that was their destination, he was sure that their meeting would be anything but brief.

After all, Data hadn’t even mentioned the robots yet.

CHAPTER
10

As Data turned a corner and headed for the ship’s lounge, he observed that life on the
Yosemite
had returned to normal. There was no evidence of the Opsarra’s robots or the gravity traps that had held them in place, and the bulkhead panels that had been scarred by the robots’ fire had been replaced with new ones.

One other thing had not changed. As before, the crewpeople he met in the corridor began to whisper as soon as they had passed him.

But this time their remarks weren’t about his lack of blood, or the color of his eyes, or his skin. Now they talked about his accomplishments in their absence.

“He was the one who saved us,” said one. “He and those other cadets.”

“Without them, we’d still be in that holding cell, hoping someone would come along and find us.”

“The captain says what they did was brilliant. And brave, to boot.”

“I’ll go along with that. I don’t think
I
would have had the smarts to get out of that mess.”

The remarks were different, all right. And once in a while one of the crewpeople even smiled at him. But he wished they would have said those things
to
him, instead of
about
him. It would have enabled him to see himself as less of an oddity in their midst. It would have made him feel less … apart.

Fortunately, Captain Rumiel had been more direct with his praise. “Data,” he’d said, “you and your friends showed some pretty good ingenuity. You figured out that the Opsarra weren’t your enemy, you found the people who made the field, and you convinced those people to let us go.