Star Trek: Pantheon (40 page)

Picard was surprised. Captains didn’t normally make such comments about their execs—especially to subordinate officers.

“It’s unfortunate, really,” Ruhalter went on. “Captain Osborne expressed every confidence in Leach, and I relied heavily on his recommendation. It was one of the few times since I became a captain that I
didn’t
go with my instincts—and look what happened.”

The second officer had wondered how Ruhalter could have made such an error in judgment. Now he understood.

“I wound up with a man I can’t get along with,” said the captain. “A man eminently capable of carrying out a project on his own, yet plainly
in
capable of leading others.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s not a good situation, Jean-Luc. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t do something about it.”

Do something?
Picard repeated to himself. Might that mean what he thought it meant?

“As soon as we come back from this mission,” Ruhalter told him, “I’m going to arrange for Commander Leach to be transferred to another ship. Or, failing that, to some other Starfleet facility. Of course, that’s going to leave me short a first officer…” He smiled. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have serving in that capacity than you.”

The second officer was at a loss for words. Finally, he found a few. “I would be honored, sir,” he replied graciously. “That is, when the appropriate time comes.”

The captain nodded approvingly. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Commander. It’ll give me something to look forward to when I’m wrangling with your predecessor over Serenity Santana.”

“Commander Leach still insists it was a mistake to bring her along?”

“Yes,” said Ruhalter, “he does. And at every opportunity, I might add. It’s making my head spin.”

Picard understood. The first officer made
his
head spin sometimes too.

“In the meantime,” the captain told him, “we have an important mission on our hands—and frankly, I’m afraid that Leach will do something to muck it up. I want you to keep an eye on him for me. If he gives an order that you think will lead to trouble, you’re to let me know immediately. Is that understood?”

“It is,” the second officer assured him.

“Good,” said Ruhalter. “I—”

Abruptly, the lounge filled with the voice of the very man they were talking about. “Captain,” said Leach, his tone taut with concern, “we’ve got a situation up here.”

Ruhalter’s brow knit. “Elaborate.”

“There’s a vessel approaching on an intercept course,” Leach reported. “Bearing two-four-four-mark two. I have to tell you, sir, it doesn’t look like anything we’ve encountered before.”

The captain frowned and got to his feet. “Go to red alert, Commander. I’m on my way.”

Picard was right behind him as he headed for the doors. His stomach muscles clenched as he wondered what they were up against. And then, all of a sudden, it came to him.

The Nuyyad.

As Picard pelted along the corridor in pursuit of Captain Ruhalter, he turned the idea over in his mind.
The Nuyyad.

It was just a hunch, of course. He had no proof to back it up, no information on which to build a case. For all he knew, they hadn’t been detected by the Nuyyad at all, but rather by some other species—one that only meant to investigate the
Stargazer’
s unfamiliar presence here.

But his instincts—the kind his commanding officer always spoke about—were working overtime, and they had come to a conclusion on their own.

Ruhalter might have been thinking along the same lines, but he needed some corroboration. Slightly more than halfway to the turbolift, he tapped his communicator badge. “Jomar,” he said, “this is the captain. I need you on the bridge immediately.”

The Kelvan replied just as the lift compartment arrived. “Coming,” he said over the intercom system, his voice as empty of inflection as ever.

Then Picard and his commanding officer were inside the lift, the doors closed, moving silently toward the
Stargazer’
s bridge. Ruhalter scowled, but he didn’t say anything. There was no point in doing so, Picard recognized, until they could see the problem for themselves.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the turbolift doors opened and they emerged onto the bridge. The place was bathed in the crimson light of a red alert. As the captain replaced Leach in the center seat, Picard took in the sight depicted on the viewscreen.

“You see?” Leach asked Ruhalter.

The captain saw, all right. And so did Picard.

He saw an almost flat, silver diamond—one so large that it seemed to dominate the dark spaces around it. The similarly diamond-shaped appendages on either side of it were probably its warp nacelles, or whatever analogous equipment the vessel’s occupants used for propulsion.

A cold and efficient-looking ship, Picard reflected. No doubt, it had been built by a cold and efficient people.

Ruhalter turned to Gerda Asmund. “How much time do we have before our paths converge, Lieutenant?”

“At the alien vessel’s current rate of speed,” said the navigator, “she’ll reach us in less than six minutes.”

The muscles in the captain’s jaw rippled uncomfortably. “Keep me posted,” he told Gerda.

Just then, the lift doors hissed open again. Glancing over his shoulder, Picard saw Jomar come out onto the bridge. The Kelvan’s pale-blue eyes were immediately drawn to the viewscreen.

He uttered a single, colorless word: “Nuyyad.”

Ruhalter grunted. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

Jomar turned to him. “Captain,” he said, “we did not expect to encounter the enemy so quickly. The modifications to the deflector grid have not yet been completed.”

Ruhalter swore under his breath. “How far along are we?”

“We have finished perhaps eighty percent of the job,” said the Kelvan. “But it would take several hours to do the rest.”

“And we don’t
have
several hours,” Leach reminded them.

Picard looked at the first officer. Leach’s expression seemed to say “I told you so.” He had predicted that they would run into trouble if they followed Santana’s instructions—and now, it seemed, they had.

“Four minutes,” Gerda announced.

The second officer moved to the navigator’s console, planted the heel of his hand on its edge and leaned in to get a better look. He could see a green blip crawling across the black background of Gerda’s monitor.

The blip seemed so abstract, so theoretical. But the ship it represented was making warp eight, if their sensors were correct, with no sign whatsoever of slowing down.

“Activate what we have,” Ruhalter said, referring to the shields. “And keep working. Let’s see if we can get some more capacity on-line.”

“As you wish,” Jomar responded dispassionately, and made his way back to the turbolift.

The captain eased himself back in his seat, his expression as grave as Picard had ever seen it. They were at a disadvantage, the second officer told himself, and the captain knew it.

On the other hand, the
Stargazer
was a fast, well-equipped ship, and her crew had been battle-tested on other Starfleet vessels. They could yet prevail, Picard told himself.

“Three minutes,” said Gerda.

Ruhalter’s eyes narrowed. “Battle stations. Raise shields where we have them. Power phasers and arm photon torpedoes.”

“Done, sir,” said Lieutenant Werber, working at his weapons console aft of the center seat.

The second officer looked around the bridge. In addition to the captain, Leach, and himself, there were four officers present—the Asmunds, Werber, and Paxton. Every one of them was going about his business coolly and methodically, as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

For a moment, he almost thought he saw Idun Asmund smiling. Then the moment passed and he chalked it up to his imagination.

“Two minutes,” Gerda told them.

The captain glanced at his communications officer. “Hail them, Mr. Paxton. Let’s see what they do.”

“Aye, sir,” said Paxton.

Everyone waited for the results of his efforts. Finally, the communications officer looked up from his console.

“Nothing,” he told Ruhalter.

The captain nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“One minute,” said Gerda, “and closing. Fifty seconds. Forty…”

Picard latched onto the back of the navigator’s chair with his free hand. It made him feel a trifle more secure.

“Thirty seconds,” Gerda announced. “Twenty. Ten…”

“Weapons range,” said Lieutenant Werber, sounding too eager by half for Picard’s taste.

“They’re firing!” Gerda announced.

A barrage of green witch-lights streamed from the Nuyyad’s weapons ports and exploded to spectacular effect on the viewscreen. The Federation ship bucked under the impact of the vidrion assault, but not so badly that anyone was hurt.

“Shields down twenty-two percent!” Werber called out.

Not good, Picard reflected. But if not for the Kelvan’s modifications, they might have been destroyed altogether.

Ruhalter leaned forward in his seat, a look of determination on his face. “Target and fire!”

A moment later, the
Stargazer
released a series of yellow-white photon torpedoes—packets of matter and antimatter bound together by magnetic forces. They found their target in quick succession, returning the enemy’s attack blow for ponderous blow.

But the Federation vessel couldn’t continue to trade punches with her adversary—not when the Nuyyad possessed a weapon as devastating as a vidrion cannon. She had to make her move—and quickly.

“Evasive maneuvers!” the captain barked. “Pattern Delta!”

Idun Asmund pulled the
Stargazer
into a tight upward turn, taking her out of the enemy’s sights for a moment. The Nuyyad obviously hadn’t expected such an action, because they sent an emerald-green vidrion volley slicing through empty space.

“Target and fire!” Ruhalter bellowed.

Again, Werber released a flight of photon torpedoes. Again, they found their mark, wreaking havoc with the enemy’s shields.

Picard’s heart leaped. They were winning. If they could keep it going, the battle would be over in short order.

Unfortunately, the Nuyyad seemed to have another outcome in mind. They pumped out yet another round of vidrion particles, hammering the
Stargazer
even harder than before.

An aft console erupted in flames, prompting the second officer to grab a fire extinguisher and douse the blaze with white spray. Before he was done, he heard Gerda’s status report.

“Shields down forty-eight percent, sir! Damage to decks six, seven, eight, and eleven!”

“Dispatch repair crews!” the captain told her.

It was a setback, Picard told himself, but no more than that. If anything, the enemy had only evened the odds.

“Pattern Epsilon!” Ruhalter called out.

This time, Idun sent the ship veering to starboard—just as the Nuyyad hurled another barrage at them. For a heartbeat, the second officer thought the maneuver would do the trick.

Then he found out otherwise. The deck slipped out from under him, pitching him forcibly into an aft console.

“Shields down eighty-two percent!” Gerda thundered. “Damage to decks five, nine, and ten!”

She had just gotten the words out when the viewscreen flooded with bright green fury. Picard barely had time to brace himself before the ship staggered hard to starboard, jerking his fellow officers half out of their seats.

Ruhalter thrust himself to his feet and came forward to glare at the screen, as if he could stop the Nuyyad by force of will alone. “Pattern Omega!” he snarled.

Idun sent them plummeting in a tight spiral, vidrion bundles bursting savagely all around them. Somehow, they emerged unscathed—but the enemy didn’t let them go far. The Nuyyad ship banked and dogged their trail, like a predator that had smelled its victim’s blood.

“Pattern Omicron!” the captain cried out, trying desperately to give them some breathing room.

Idun coerced the ship into a sudden, excruciatingly tight loop, causing the hull to groan and shiver under the strain. But the maneuver worked. Unable to stop in time, the Nuyyad vessel shot past them.

“Maximum warp!” Ruhalter commanded.

The
Stargazer
tore through the void at a thousand times the speed of light, putting a hundred million kilometers between herself and the enemy with each passing second. Picard eyed the viewscreen, but he saw no sign of the Nuyyad. All he could see were the stars streaming by.

The tension on the bridge eased a notch. Commander Leach, who had lost all the color in his face, sighed and eased himself into a vacant seat by the forward engineering console.

“Report,” breathed the captain.

Gerda consulted her monitor. “Hull breaches on decks twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. Repair teams have been deployed to all damaged areas. Sickbay reports nine injured.”

“Dead?” asked Ruhalter.

“No one,” the navigator replied.

The captain seemed relieved. “Well,” he said, “that’s something to be thankful for. What about our shields?”

Gerda glanced at him and shook her head. “There aren’t any, sir. That last volley took out the last of them.”

No shields,
thought Picard. It was a good thing they had escaped when they did. Another barrage like the last one, and—

“Captain!” exclaimed Werber, his face caught in the ruddy glare of his control panel. “They’re on our tail again!”

“Give me a visual,” said Ruhalter.

Once again, the viewscreen showed them the Nuyyad ship. Picard felt his jaw clench. Though they were pushing the
Stargazer’
s warp drive as hard as they dared, the enemy was slowly catching up to them.

“Weapons range,” Werber told them.

“Stand by, helm,” the captain told Idun. “If we can’t outrun them, we’ll have to outfight them.”

Picard stared at him, wondering about the wisdom of Ruhalter’s strategy. As if he sensed the younger man’s scrutiny, Ruhalter looked back.

I know, Jean-Luc,
his expression seemed to say.
Without shields, we don’t stand much of a chance. But what choice do I have?

Picard wished he had a good answer.
None,
he conceded silently.

“Target photon torpedoes,” said the captain.

“Aye, sir,” came Werber’s response.

Ruhalter’s eyes narrowed with resolve. “Pattern Alpha.”

All at once, Idun swung them hard to port. The
Stargazer
wheeled more quickly and gracefully than she had a right to, coming about a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Before the second officer knew it, he found himself face-to-face with the Nuyyad.

And the enemy hadn’t cut his speed one iota.

“Fire!” the captain roared.

A swarm of photon torpedoes took flight, illuminating the void between the two combatants. At the same time, the Nuyyad vessel unleashed its most devastating attack yet.

It was a glorious, breathtaking spectacle, emerald green mingling with gold, brilliance weaving its way through brilliance. Unfortunately, it lasted only a fraction of a second.

Then the
Stargazer
reeled under the hull-buckling onslaught, sending Picard crashing into a bulkhead. Pain shot through his ribs and the side of his head and blackness began to overwhelm him.

No, he told himself, fighting to regain his senses. I cannot give in. I need to know what has happened. The taste of blood strong in his mouth, he pulled himself up along a console and took stock of the bridge.

The air was full of smoke and sparks and fire. Unmanned consoles beeped frantically and open conduits hissed deadly plasma. The second officer blinked, trying to see through the haze with badly stinging eyes, and spied someone sprawled on the deck near the captain’s chair.

It was Ruhalter—and he wasn’t moving.

Darting to the captain’s side, Picard saw why. Half the man’s face had been burned away in the explosion of a still-sputtering plasma conduit.

The second officer shook his head. No, he thought, denying it as hard as he could. It cannot be. It is not possible.

But it
was.

Daithan Ruhalter was dead.

Abruptly, he realized that someone was standing next to him. Looking up, he saw that it was Paxton.

“My god,” said the communications officer, gaping at the captain’s corpse in disbelief.

Picard saw the look on Paxton’s face and imagined the same look on his own—and a feeling of shame welled up inside him. He had to accept the situation, he told himself. He had to move on.

After all, the ship was in deadly danger. Their shields were down and they had an enemy taking shots at them with impunity.

As Picard thought that, he felt another jolt run through the ship—but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the last one. Obviously, Idun Asmund was still at the helm, doing her job.

They needed a leader, however. And with Ruhalter dead, that left Leach—whether the man was up to the task or not. Starfleet protocol wouldn’t tolerate anything less.