Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #6: Mystery of the Missing Crew (10 page)

“One more minute,” gulped Odril. His face was an open appeal. “Please … before it’s too late.”

But, true to his word, the android didn’t move. He simply watched the viewscreen, with Sinna at his side.

“Forty seconds,” came Odril’s reminder. “Thirty-five. Thirty.” His voice was drenched with despair, but he seemed to feel it was his duty to mark the passage of time for the others. “Twenty-five. Twenty.”

“Hail the alien vessel,” Data said suddenly.

The Yann all turned to look at him, including Sinna.

“It’s about time,” muttered Felai.

Sinna’s eyes narrowed. “I thought—”

But she never got a chance to finish her remark. It was interrupted by the appearance of the alien commander on the viewscreen.

“Your time is almost up,” the alien reminded them. “If you intend to leave this sector, you must do so without delay.”

The android shook his head. “I only contacted you to say that we have not changed our minds. We intend to remain here. What is more, we will take no action to prevent your attack.”

The alien’s brows knit over his bony nose. “What?” he rasped.

“You heard me correctly,” Data confirmed. “We will neither move from our position nor employ defensive measures. If you have the ability to carry out your threat, feel free to do so.”

The alien’s eyes opened wide. He blinked—not once, but twice. “Are you insane?” he asked.

The android shrugged. “My internal diagnostics give no indication of any positronic malfunction,” he replied honestly. “Why do you ask?”

The alien seemed on the verge of answering the question, then stopped himself. “It is not important,” he said. “All that matters is your defiance of our mandate. Since you refuse to leave, you give me no choice … but to blast you and your ship to atoms.”

He waited then, as if expecting a more reasonable response. And if it were up to Odril, Lagon, or Felai, there no doubt would have been. But the Yann kept their silence.

Despite their frustration, they must have known it would do them no good to beg for mercy. If they were going to die, it seemed, they were going to do it with a little dignity.

Now, thought Data, the only question was … had he interpreted the facts of the situation correctly? Or had he doomed them all to certain destruction?

“Five,” whispered Odril. “Four. Three. Two.” He shivered and looked at the viewscreen.

“One.”

Looking away from them, the alien commander gestured to one of his bridge officers. “Activate the weapons array, Thibra. Full power.”

“Full power,” echoed the officer, acknowledging the order with a nod for good measure. Lowering her gaze to a particular spot on her control panel, she raised her hand. Then, slowly and deliberately, she brought it down on an oval padd.

At which point … nothing happened.

No sizzling energy beams, no hurtling plasma packets, no fiery tachyon torpedoes. Nothing.

“Sweet, deities,” murmured Felai. “The android was right. Their weapons don’t work. They were bluffing the whole time.”

Sinna turned to Data and smiled. She didn’t have to say anything. Her expression alone told the android how happy she was that she had supported him. And also, how
relieved
.

The alien commander, too, was eyeing Data with new respect. “It seems,” he said, “you have discovered our helplessness—as much as we tried to conceal it. All I ask is that you terminate us quickly.”

The android shook his head. “We have no intention of destroying you,” he explained. “Our crew is no bigger or more experienced than your own—and our vessel, like yours, is defective in several key operating areas. In short, we are in the same predicament you are.”

Data’s counterpart looked at him suspiciously. “
You
are helpless as well?" he asked.

The android nodded. “It seems logical that whatever happened to your ship happened to ours, and vice versa.”

The alien commander looked perplexed. “But if you didn’t set up the field that removed our senior officers … who
did
?”

Data cocked his head slightly. “I confess to having no knowledge of any field,” he commented. “Could you provide us with the relevant data?”

The alien shrugged. “Under the circumstances, I don’t see why not.”

A moment later the commander’s image was replaced by an array of computer graphics. Of course, the symbols on the screen were slightly different from those used by the Federation, but there were enough similarities to permit interpretation.

“Fascinating,” muttered the android. “This is the sensor log maintained by the Opsarra’s shipboard computer—”

“Opsarra?” repeated Sinna.

Glancing at her, he nodded. “That is what they call themselves. At any rate, this log shows the events that occurred just prior to the disappearance of the Opsarra’s senior officers. Apparently, their instruments are more sensitive than ours, because…” He pointed to a spot near the left-hand margin of the screen, about halfway down. “At this point they detected a rather large energy field.”

“Large enough for a ship to pass through?” inquired Sinna, though she already seemed to know the answer.

“Indeed,” Data responded, “large enough for several ships to pass through, if they are the size of the
Yosemite
. In fact, I believe that is what happened. Both our vessel and the Opsarra’s entered the field at roughly the same time, and experienced roughly the same conditions.”

Lagon grunted. “Are you saying that this … this
field
… is what caused the disappearance of the crew? And disabled the ship’s systems?”

“That would seem to be the logical conclusion,” the android told him, continuing to scrutinize the symbols on the viewscreen. “What is more, there is evidence that the field may have interacted with the
Yosemite
’s intraship communications network … possibly, in an attempt to locate the
Yosemite
’s crew via their communicators.”

Sinna looked at him. “Then what you said earlier … about our lack of communicators having saved us from disappearing with the rest of the crew…”

The android nodded. “This does seem to support that observation. However, it also leads us to a couple of much larger questions. First, who made the field? And second, for what purpose was it made?”

“You’re forgetting the biggest question of all,” Sinna reminded him. “And that’s how we can convince the field makers to give our people back.” She turned to the alien graphics on the viewscreen. “
All
of them.”

“You’re assuming they’re still alive,” commented Lagon.

Data turned to the Yanna. “Though I lack instincts in such matters, Lagon, I believe that our comrades have been allowed to survive. After all, there are simpler ways to destroy unwanted intruders, if destruction were the only requirement. It seems to me that the energy field is a
humane
defense—an advanced sort of transporter mechanism devised by a race that values its isolation.”

“In that case,” asked Felai, “why wouldn’t the entire ship have been transported?”

The android shook his head. “It may be that the field creators’ technology is simply not capable of so large a task.”

Odril leaned forward. “For the time being, let’s say you’re right. Do you have a plan in mind?”

“I confess that I do not,” Data answered. “However, it seems clear that we must get the attention of the field creators—and alert them to the fact that neither we nor the Opsarra mean them any harm.”

Lagon snorted. “How are we supposed to get the attention of a race we know nothing about?”

“We always have the phaser banks,” said Sinna. “If they’re in working order, they ought to at least put a
dent
in the energy barrier.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Felai. As the others turned to him, he swallowed …
hard
. “What if this advanced race of yours is simply collecting samples of different life forms? Are we sure we want to get their attention?”

Data pondered the question. “If they were the sort of collectors you describe,” he concluded, “they would probably be actively engaged in the activity—rather than waiting for specimens to come to them.”

Odril nodded slowly. “That makes sense. In fact,” he decided, “everything you’ve said makes sense.” He turned to his fellow Yann. “I think we ought to try it—the phaser plan, I mean.”

Lagon took in a breath and let it out. “We must do something—and it’s the most
promising
option we have.”

Felai nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Sinna turned to Data. “Then we are unanimous on this point. We will activate the phasers and try to create a stir in the energy field—no matter the outcome.”

The android looked at her. Again, he found himself grateful for her assistance. “Very well,” he responded. “But first, we must speak again with the Opsarra, and let them know of our intentions.”

CHAPTER
9

Fortunately, the Opsarra agreed with Data’s assessment of the situation. In fact, they complimented him on his inventiveness.

However, as the android stood on the bridge and worked at the tactical console, he had his doubts. The questions that the Yann had raised were valid ones. Attracting the field creators’ attention might only encourage them to finish the job they had started.

Of course, there was only one way to find out. Turning to Sinna, who was handling the controls at the bridge engineering station, Data nodded.

That was the signal for her to take the energy-field information being transmitted by the Opsarra and place it on the viewscreen. A moment later the screen filled with bright green graphics.

Since their own sensors couldn’t detect the field, this was the only way they had of knowing what kind of damage they were doing. It would be up to Sinna to maintain the communications link, so the information flow could continue.

The other Yann just stood and watched. Their expressions were all the same: a mixture of fear and fascination. The android hoped that when this was all over, only their fascination would be justified.

The next step was to aim the
Yosemite
’s phasers at the proper point in the field. To make sure that they had the maximum effect, Data identified what appeared to be a weak point—one of several, surprisingly. Then, with his target defined, he pressed the firing button.

For a unit of time almost too small to comprehend, the android considered the possibility that their earlier work in the weapons room had not been effective after all, and that the phasers would not work. Then his concerns were laid to rest … as the graphics on the viewscreen reflected a full and direct phaser hit.

However, they hadn’t made much of a dent; the field was still intact. As Data watched, it began to mend itself—correcting even the little bit of damage that had been done.

“What’s happening?” wondered Felai.

“What’s wrong?” asked Odril.

“We require more firepower,” the android thought out loud.

Focusing on the tactical board, he overrode the
Yosemite
’s security programs and diverted the energy he needed from other systems.

First, he sapped the strength of the deflector shields—knowing full weH how vulnerable it left them. Second, he shut down life support in every deck but the one they currently occupied.

At last, with virtually all the ship’s resources at the beck and call of the phaser batteries, Data tried his strategy a second time. Pressing the firing button, he scanned the viewscreen.

This time the impact was more significant—but it still wasn’t enough to punch through the field. The android followed the flow of the alien graphics, noting how the mending process was carried out. He saw that where there were even a few, slender threads of energy in a given spot, they drew in other threads to effect repairs.

“It’s not working,” prodded Lagon. “Why isn’t it working?”

“We haven’t got enough power,” Sinna told him. “But we’ll address that.” She stole a glance at Data. “Won’t we?”

The android nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We will.”

To penetrate the energy barrier, to attract the attention of its creators, he would be forced to … what was the expression Captain Thorsson favored?
Put all his eggs in one basket.
In other words, he would have to pour all available power into a single blast—and trust that he would not need a second one. Because if he did, there would be no power left to create it.

For the last time Data targeted the weak spot in the energy field. Locking phasers, he called for the narrowest, most intense beam the batteries could muster up. Then he tired.

The viewscreen showed him the result. As he watched, the blast met the alien grid—and tore a hole right through it. It was not a particularly large hole, but it was big enough to keep the energy field from making itself whole again.

“We did it!” cheered Lagon, bursting with relief. “We ripped a gap in it big enough to fit a
ship
through.”

That wasn’t exactly an accurate assessment, Data mused. However, they had indeed accomplished their goal. They had damaged the barrier to the point where its creators couldn’t help but take notice—
if
they were still in existence.