Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #6: Mystery of the Missing Crew (5 page)

“Lagon is correct,” he announced. “We have no training. We are not prepared to react to a situation of this complexity. Our primary goal should be to make contact with a Starfleet facility.”

“How do we do that?” asked Odril.

Data thought about it—though his android mind worked so quickly, he arrived at a conclusion before his companions could even blink.

“We must go up to the bridge,” he answered. “If the ship’s subspace communications system is working, we will be able to access it from there.”

“And then what?” asked Felai. “We wait for hours, maybe even
days
, until Starfleet can respond—with that other ship out there liable to find out about us at any moment?”

It was true that Starfleet might take some time to come to their rescue, depending on which base received their call for help and the position of the nearest vessel. There was no point in wasting that time.

“We could make use of the waiting period,” the android replied, “to investigate what happened to the ship’s crew … and to recover it, if that is at all possible. Perhaps, in the process, we may learn how we may defend ourselves against the actions of our adversary—whoever it may be.”

The others looked skeptical. However, no one challenged the idea. After all, none of them seemed to have a better one.

CHAPTER
3

Data watched the doors of the turbolift open, revealing the bridge of the
Yosemite
and the star-specked viewscreen at the far end of it.

The place was ghostly silent. Neither the android nor the Yann did much to lift that silence as they emerged from the lift and headed for one dimly illuminated console or another.

“It’s just as the computer said,” reported Sinna from the navigator’s position. Her features were bathed in greenish light as she leaned out over the instrument panels. She kept her voice low, as if out of respect for those who were no longer here.

“All tactical systems are down,” she continued, “except for the transporter unit and a limited shields function. All battery backup power is being used for life support and to maintain deflectors.”

“Wonderful,” remarked Odril, who was standing by the helm. “What else could go wrong?"

As if on cue, Lagon gasped. Everyone turned to look at the communications console, where he had stopped and was staring intently at the monitor.

Looking up at them, Lagon said: “We’re receiving a hailing signal from an unidentified vessel. They want to speak with our captain.” His eyes grew wide with worry. “It’s
them
,” he concluded. “The ones who fired on us.”

“Why can’t we see them?” asked Odril. “Shouldn’t they be visible on the viewscreen?”

“Not necessarily,” Data replied. “They may be out of visual range at this point—or simply positioned behind us, where the viewscreen would not detect them unless specifically directed to do so.”

“They want to speak with our captain?” repeated Felai. “But they already
have
him. They can speak to him face to face.”

“There is still no proof that they were responsible for Captain Rumiel’s disappearance,” the android reminded him. “To this point, we have only speculated to that effect.”

“That’s true,” Lagon conceded, trying to make sense of the situation.

“But who
else
could have done it?” asked Felai, his eyes flickering in Data’s direction. “Who else is out there? It
had
to have been them.”

Sinna looked to the android as well. “What are we going to do, Data? They want an answer. And there’s no telling how they’ll react if they don’t get one.”

The android had no ready solution to the problem—as much as he wished it were otherwise.

“Sinna’s right,” agreed Odril. “If we don’t give them some kind of reply, it will only alert them as to how helpless we are….”

“Assuming they don’t know that already,” added Felai.

“Yes,” said Odril. “Of course, Brother. But let’s not make that assumption before we speak to them or we could be giving ourselves away without needing to.”

Seeing the wisdom in Odril’s remark, Felai gave in—though reluctantly. “As you say, Brother, we’ll speak to them first.”

“But if we speak to them,” Lagon added, “won’t that reveal our helplessness even more surely than our silence? After all, the crew is gone. There’s no one here but us—and we’re hardly in a position to run a starship.”

“A good point,” said Odril solemnly.

Data was in agreement as well. “Unless …” he said.

Sinna looked at him. “What?”

The android thought for a moment. “What if we were to give the appearance that the captain was still here? That the
Yosemite
was still fully manned and ready for action?”

Sinna’s eyes brightened. “You mean … take their places? Act as if
we
were the ship’s senior officers?”

“Yes,” Odril confirmed. “That’s exactly what he means. Let’s see …” He stroked his chin. “There are five of us … enough to pose as captain, navigator, helmsman, communications officer, and science officer.”

“But we can’t carry out the jobs of those officers,” complained Felai. “All we can do is stand at their posts.”

“That may be enough,” commented Data.

“And what about the bridge itself?” Felai reminded them, indicating its confines with a sweeping gesture.

“One look at this place, and they’ll see that we’re working with emergency power.”

Felai was correct, Data mused. Still, there might be a remedy for that.

“Given a little time,” he told the Yann, "‘I may be able to reroute the power now providing life support to a low priority area such as the cargo bay—and deploy it here on the bridge. In that way we can at least create a semblance of business as usual.”

“Reroute the power?” echoed Lagon. “And how do you propose to do that—unless you have some technical expertise you’ve been hiding from us?”

The android shook his head. “My understanding of ship’s systems, gained during my time on the
Tripoli
, is regrettably basic. However, my positronic brain enables me to absorb a great deal of information in a short period of time.”

Sinna grunted. “And where are you going to get this information, Data?”

He moved to the science station. “Right here,” he told her. “All I have to do is access the
Yosemite
’s computer through this terminal. It should not be very difficult. In fact—”

“They’re sending another message,” Lagon announced from his position at the communications console. “They want us to move off right now. Otherwise …” His brow creased with concern. “Otherwise they’re going to take
hostile action
.”

For a moment no one moved. No one spoke. They just tried to come to grips with the deadly reality of their predicament.

At last Odril broke the silence. “We can’t move off,” he said with a sigh. “Our engines aren’t working.”

“But they don’t know that,” Sinna pointed out. She turned to Data. “And with any luck, it’ll stay that way.”

“Indeed,” said the android. Fired up by a new sense of urgency, he activated the science-station monitor and set about learning about the ship’s systems.

It would have taken a human being hundreds of hours to learn what he needed to know about the
Yosemite
. But then, Data was not a human being.

Being a great deal like a computer himself, he was able to scan the information on the monitor as quickly as it could scroll by him. The Yann muttered softly in the background, no doubt finding it hard to believe that anyone could learn at such an incredible rate.

However, in a matter of less than three minutes he had become as knowledgeable about the
Yosemite
’s power relays as any engineer in the fleet. What was more, he knew that he could make the changes he needed without moving from the science station.

“I will be finished in thirty seconds,” the android announced. Recalling diagram after diagram, following the power circuitry in his mind, he directed his fingers from place to place on the control panel at a speed no flesh-and-blood organism could hope to even approach.

Again, the Yann whispered among themselves, expressing disbelief in tones they probably thought Data couldn’t hear. But his senses were many times more acute than theirs were, so he heard everything.

And, true to his word, he finished his task in thirty seconds—
exactly
. Sitting back, he turned to Sinna, “I can now reroute the power supply.”

She smiled, still not quite believing what she’d seen. “Then go ahead,” she said.

The android touched the appropriate space on the control panel. In the same instant the bridge’s normal light levels were restored—as if there were no problem with the ship’s engines and there never had been. All stations appeared to be in working order, even if many of them were linked up with crippled systems.

Of course, the starry image on their viewscreen hadn’t changed. It still failed to show them who and what they were up against. However, now that power had been restored to the bridge, that problem could be resolved with a minimum of effort.

“Computer,” Data said out loud, “rear view.” He had seen Captain Rumiel make such a voice-request when he and the Yann were given a tour of the bridge, shortly after their arrival.

In the next instant the scene on the viewscreen shifted—and they found themselves gaping at a huge spacegoing vessel, several times larger than their own. Angular and foreboding, it looked for all the world as if it had been chiseled out of a hunk of dark gray stone. There were a few green and gold lights positioned at various points on the ship’s hull, but nothing that even came close to resembling an observation port.

“That’s them,” breathed Lagon. He turned to Data. “You did that just by asking?”

The android nodded. “Apparently, simple functions can be voice-activated. More complex tasks, of course, must still be carried out manually—the reconfiguration of the
Yosemite
’s power flow being a case in point.”

“They’re still waiting,” Sinna reminded her companions. “One of us is going to have to answer them.”

She paused as the implications of her statement came home to roost. “That means one of
us
is going to have to pretend to be the captain.”

The Yann looked at one another. None of them appeared to feel qualified to take on the role.

Nor did Data blame them. After all, as Lagon had noted earlier, they weren’t even cadets yet. How could any of them be expected to impersonate the captain of a starship?

Still, someone would have to do it—and quickly. The android was trying to decide which of them it should be when he noticed that everyone was gazing in his direction. And even then, it took him a few seconds to understand what they had in mind.

“Me?” he queried.

Sinna nodded. “It can’t be anyone else, Data. You’re the only one who has even an inkling of how the ship works … and what it’s capable of. The rest of us would fall flat on our faces.”

“But I am not programmed for duplicity,” he protested. “It is not in my makeup to lie.”

“It’s not in ours, either,” explained Odril. “The ability to deceive has never been held in great esteem by the Yann.”

“At least your emotions won’t give you away,” argued Lagon. “If it was any of
us
in the captain’s chair, they’d see how nervous we were and suspect that we were up to something.”