Star Trek (2 page)

“And we'll need a linguist,” Captain David Gold was saying to Geordi la Forge as Faulwell entered the room. “And there's one now,” Gold added, with a lift of his bushy eyebrows as he caught sight of Faulwell. The rest of the crew who had been asked to report were filling the small briefing room, gently pushing past Faulwell to take their seats.

Faulwell smiled weakly. His brief note would have to wait.

Something brushed past his leg; P8 Blue, scurrying toward her specially designed seat. She was muttering under her breath. Bart wondered what this mission was about, that it got the normally calm Pattie so agitated.

He sat between Commander Sonya Gomez and Carol Abromowitz. Carol leaned over and whispered, “Culture specialist
and
linguist, huh? Wonder if it's a first-contact situation.”

Her dark eyes glowed with excitement. Abromowitz loved first-contact situations, but they always made the academic Faulwell nervous as hell. He, more than anyone, knew just how important choosing the right word in delicate negotiations could be. Sometimes, it was literally a matter of life or death. He figured each of the first-contact situations in which he'd participated had aged him at least a year. No wonder his hair was thinning and turning gray.

110, as always, was the last one to enter. Sometimes he was quite late in reporting to the briefings, but Gold had not reprimanded him. Everyone was sympathetic to 110's situation. Bart had begun to worry about him, after their recent conversation. The little Bynar edged into the room as if fearing an attack, his eyes—so small in his round, pale face—darting about. Bart remembered how the unified pair used to move—each step in synch, quickly, but with grace. Now 110 moved jerkily, awkwardly, as if he was uncertain where to put hand or foot. There was no
rhythm in his movements anymore. In many ways, he reminded Bart of nothing so much as a broken toy. He did not take a seat, but chose to stand next to the door.

Gold's sharp eyes scanned his crew. He nodded, as if satisfied.

“We got the notification from Scotty about fifteen minutes ago. We're going to have to move quickly, boys, girls, and others. We've got a delicate situation on our hands. Commander, if you will?”

La Forge touched a button. Bart felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the image that appeared. A large ship lay like a beached whale in the center of tons of debris. The pile of rubble had once been, if the graceful curves and arcs of the surviving buildings were any indication, a highly civilized city. The vessel was oval in shape, with four peculiar extensions jutting out of its fore and aft sections that looked like spikes. It seemed as if the impact had severely damaged the vessel, but the unfortunate city had gotten the worst of the deal.

Faulwell's mind raced. High population area, doubtless.

“Casualties?” asked Gomez, alert and focused.

“None that we know of, fortunately,” said Gold. “It's the capital city of Intar.”

“Not Intar!” gasped Abromowitz, her eyes wide with shock. “The Intarians are famous for their friendliness. I can't imagine anyone attacking them.”

“They also have an extremely advanced warning system,”
said Gold. “It was designed so that they could address approaching ships and send them a nice hello. The other, secondary, purpose was to identify drifting space debris that might do some damage. They were able to evacuate the entire city before impact.”

Bart felt the tension in his chest ease a little.

“However,” Geordi continued, “according to reports on the approach of the ship, everything points to the vessel deliberately crashing into the planet. The Intarians tried to contact it, and when contact failed, they opened fire. Intar doesn't have much of a defense system, and what little they did have seemed to have absolutely no impact on this thing. And while it's temporarily dormant, it's still emitting signals.” He tapped the screen with his knuckle. “It's wounded all right, but it's still alive.”

“Any vessel we're familiar with would have been broken to pieces on impact,” said Pattie, blinking her multifaceted eyes solemnly. “This is damaged, all right, but preliminary reports indicate it's made out of something we've never seen before. It's got a structure as impervious to damage as—”

“Yours,” joked Lieutenant Commander Kieran Duffy.

Pattie looked pleased. “That's not a bad comparison, actually. The difference between that ship's structure and a normal vessel's is, indeed, roughly comparable to the difference between my chitin and your thin human skin.” She extended a limb and delicately patted Duffy's hand.

“The first volley in a war?” theorized Lieutenant
Commander Domenica Corsi. The chief of security was always looking for the martial explanation, and, sadly, she was often right.

“As I said, I can't imagine a more unlikely target for such an attack than the Intarians,” said Abromowitz, frowning a little. “They don't have a lot of resources, other than a pleasant climate and a pleasant people. Nor do they have an extensive weapons array. On Intar, it's pretty much come when you like, stay as long as you like, and don't forget to write.”

“Nonetheless, we ought to be prepared.” Corsi stuck out her chin a little. “I recommend we proceed with Tactical Code Level—”

Gold held up a hand. “No life signs, Corsi. No one to fight. No one on the long-range sensors hovering about, watching like vultures, either.”

“Captain, there's always the chance the ship was crewed by a kind of life-form we haven't yet encountered. Our scans wouldn't necessarily detect them,” Corsi pointed out. “Or, it could be a trap.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair, utilizing her always-intimidating height to its best advantage, even when seated. “The entire ship could be a threat. A bomb of some kind. It could explode at any moment. I repeat, I recommend—”

“Duly noted, Commander,” said Gold, his voice slightly harder than before. “But let's do a little investigating before we declare this planet a war zone, okay?”

Her eyes flashed, but Corsi settled back in her chair.
She pressed her lips together tightly. Gomez gave the security chief a reassuring smile, but Corsi would not relax.

“Lieutenant Commander Corsi does have a point.” It was Dr. Elizabeth Lense speaking. “The vessel could be automated. It could have been programmed to crash, especially if it's as tough as Pattie's theorizing. Is there any indication that there was a crew onboard?”

“No way to tell without investigating it with our own eyes,” said Geordi. “But that impact was pretty rough. Despite its thick hide, that ship's banged up quite a bit. Unless they were secured and protected somehow, humanoid bodies probably couldn't have survived that kind of crash even if the vessel itself did.”

“Nonhumanoid bodies could,” said Faulwell, speaking up. His mind was already racing with the possibilities. He needed to narrow it down as much as he could, in order to determine which branch of linguistics would be most effective to research. Armed with at least a rough idea of what to look for, he'd have a better chance translating the data they would retrieve from the ship's computer banks. As far as he was concerned, other than the concern a caring person must always feel at loss of life, he was relieved that there were no living beings aboard that ship to try to talk to.

He noticed that Carol, however, looked keenly disappointed. They'd called her in for her knowledge about the Intarians, not to speculate about the crew of the ship. There would be no first contact this time.

“Early indications are that the environment inside the ship is a nitrogen-oxygen mix, similar to Earth's. But that's no guarantee that the crew was humanoid,” said Geordi. He smiled a little. “We'll find out soon enough.”

“So, here's the situation.” Gold leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the table. “The ship has deliberately plowed into the heart of downtown. It's far less damaged than it ought to be for the impact it took. It is inactive at the moment, but we're still getting signals. No signs of life, but as Corsi astutely pointed out, that doesn't mean that something's not still alive in there. Now, sensors indicate there's only one central command area in the thing. Pattie, you get to examine the outside.”

“Certainly, Captain.” She wriggled several of her legs. “I could use a little exercise.”

Gold continued. “If we can get a transporter lock inside, you five—Commander La Forge, Gomez, Duffy, Faulwell, and 110—will be transporting into a ship about which we know absolutely nothing. Anything can happen, or nothing.”

“In short,” said Duffy, grinning, “an assignment much like any other.”

But Faulwell wasn't laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, Bart had noticed that the Bynar had physically shuddered at the news that he was being assigned to the team. It was, as a Vulcan would say, the only logical choice. 110 was their computer specialist, until Starfleet sent them another one. 110 had been very brave up until now,
expressing a willingness to continue with his work despite what had to be—
had
to be—extreme personal grief. But it was clearly taking a toll on the little fellow. He'd already delayed going home once. Now this had come up.

Even as Bart regarded the Bynar with sympathy, 110 straightened, pulled his tiny shoulders back, and resolutely lifted his large, hairless head. Faulwell was filled with admiration.

Jaldark? If you are conducting a test of some sort, you may cease. I am starting to worry. Please, please come in.

The worried face of the Intari Makestru, the leader of his people, appeared on the viewscreen. “Captain Gold,” he said anxiously. “You are a welcome sight. We have done nothing, as per orders from Starfleet, but I must say, it's been alarming having this ship just sitting there in our capital city.”

“I'm certain it has,” soothed Gold. “We're preparing to transport our people over to the ship. We'll contact you once we have the situation well in hand.”

“We are grateful.” The image blinked out. On the screen now was the strange, seemingly dead ship. Gold took a breath, said a quick prayer, and instructed the away team to report to the transporter room.

As they gathered in the transporter room, Sonya Gomez was still a bit on edge from the confrontation she'd
had with Domenica Corsi. Normally, she got along with “Core-Breach” Corsi better than anyone else aboard the
da Vinci
. But Corsi was still stinging from the rebuff she'd gotten from Gold during the briefing. While Gomez was heading for the transporter room, Corsi had fallen in step beside her and insisted that she be allowed to accompany the away team.

“There's no indication that that will be necessary, Dom,” Gomez had said, as sympathetically as she could.

“There's no indication that it won't,” Corsi had retorted.

“Look,” Gomez had finally said, exasperated, “the captain wants you on the bridge. And I think he's right. Suppose something does go wrong? We'll need you up here, in case that ship proves to be a danger to the Intarians.”