Star Trek: The Next Generation - 119 - Armageddon's Arrow (32 page)

32

Beverly Crusher placed the hypospray against Rennan Konya’s neck and heard the pneumatic hiss as it discharged its medication into the lieutenant’s bloodstream. Within seconds, his eyes fluttered and opened, and he turned his head upon noticing Crusher sitting next to him.

“Where am I?” he asked, his words slow and slurred.

Crusher said, “On the
Jefferies
. We’re getting ready to head back to the
Enterprise
.”

Frowning, Konya raised his head to look around, and she watched him take in their surroundings. He was lying on one of the couches in the rear of the shuttlecraft’s passenger area. The compartment was packed with equipment and members of the away team as well as Lieutenant Šmrhová’s security detail. “There are a lot more people here than I remember. What did I miss?”

“A lot, my friend,” said Lieutenant Jarata Beyn, sitting on the couch next to Konya’s head. “It’s been a rather exciting couple of hours.”

“What?” Konya, still weakened from his injuries, failed in his attempt to push himself from the couch and let his head fall back against the cushion. “Did something heavy fall on me? I hurt everywhere.”

“I’ve treated the worst of your injuries,” Crusher said, “at least enough to get us back to the ship. You’ll be fine once we get you to sickbay.” After treating the wounds he had sustained from the Golvonek grenade blast, she had opted against using the portable transporter pad to return Konya to the
Enterprise
. T’Ryssa Chen had warned that the
Arrow
, operating as it was under the protected contingency protocol that was fighting to assume total control of the ship, it might attempt to fire on the
Enterprise
as it drew to within transporter range. The
Jefferies
was the safer option for the away team’s extraction, so everyone had piled into the compact craft.

“Great,” Konya said. “I can use the rest.” Reaching up with one hand, he touched the dermal patch Crusher had placed on his forehead as a replacement for the crude bandages she and Harstad had used. “How’s Doctor Harstad?”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” she replied, sitting near his feet. “My leg’s going to be sore for a couple of days, but I’ll live.”

“How’d I even get down here, anyway?”

Jarata patted his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

The mock expression of annoyance and shame was enough to tell Crusher that Konya was feeling somewhat better. “Oh, wow. Moose? You’re going to make me pay for that, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am,” replied the muscled Bajoran. “And not for nothing, but I think you might want to talk to the doctor about a better diet. I suggest more fruits and salads.”

A small, dry laugh escaped Konya’s lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t make me do that. Well, at least I avoided having Chen carry me.” That made him open his eyes, and he turned his head, looking about the shuttle’s interior. “Wait, where is she?”

Crusher gave him a shortened account of the events that had transpired after his injuries, but it was when she got to the part about Chen remaining behind to help Jodis and Bnira that the Betazoid found new strength. He pushed himself from the couch, wincing with every move but ignoring his own discomfort.

“We can’t leave Trys alone back there,” he snapped, gritting his teeth in obvious pain as he bit off each word.

Crusher placed her hands on his shoulders, stopping him from standing. “Cruzen’s with her, Rennan. Jodis and Bnira need her help to steer the ship to a safe location.”

Footsteps on the
Jefferies
’s boarding ramp made Crusher look to see Lieutenants Šmrhová and T’Sona making their way through the open rear hatch.

“That’s it,” Šmrhová said, handing her phaser rifle to T’Sona for return to the shuttle’s storage locker. “Everybody’s aboard. We can button up and get out of here.”

“What about Chen and Cruzen?” Konya asked. “Hell, what about the Golvonek?”

Looking out through the hatch, Crusher saw several Golvonek soldiers and other personnel, all of them readying their own transport craft for departure. She had heard the warning broadcast over the
Arrow
’s internal communications system by Foctine Vedapir, alerting everyone aboard the weapon ship to depart at once. No one had given the away team or the
Jefferies
a second glance in their haste to flee.

“They’re evacuating, just like us,” she said. “Chen and Cruzen will use the transporter pad once they’re finished helping Jodis and Bnira.”

Konya replied, “I hate that plan.”

“You’re in no condition to help, Lieutenant,” Šmrhová said. “Now lie there and let Doctor Crusher take care of you. I didn’t come all this way just to have you die on me.”

“I’m not going to die.” Konya gestured toward Crusher. “She already made sure of that.”

Šmrhová, her expression flat, did not hesitate. “Then I’ll kill you if you don’t behave.”

The remark drew another pained laugh from the Betazoid, who raised a hand in weak surrender. “All right, you win.” Shifting his gaze to Crusher, he said, “Tell me whatever they’re doing up there isn’t dangerous or stupid.”

Crusher laid a hand on Konya’s arm. “Relax, Rennan. Chen knows what she’s doing.” As she tried to reassure him, her own thoughts to turned to T’Ryssa Chen and Kirsten Cruzen.

Don’t you two make a liar out of me.

*   *   *

“This may have been a bad idea.”

Chen felt beads of sweat running down her torso beneath her uniform. For the fourth time in thirty minutes, she renewed her attempts to outwit the invasive program worming its way through every facet of the
Arrow
’s computer network. She now understood how its computer design, intended to assist a minimal crew with managing all of the vessel’s automated processes, was working against her.

“Whoever wrote this code was a damned genius,” she said, “and one twisted son of a bitch.” She paused to wipe perspiration from her brow, feeling the dampness of her uniform sleeve. Once more, she set to creating on the fly a new protocol to deflect the malicious software’s latest, relentless efforts to seize total control of the system.

“I do not believe the creator of this protocol has been born yet,” remarked Bnira.

“Not really important right now,” said Kirsten Cruzen, from where she stood next to Chen. Looking around the room, the security officer shook her head. “I feel about as useless as a tuxedo at a Betazoid wedding.”

Chen could not help the chuckle her friend’s comment prompted. “I can’t wait to tell Konya that one.”

“What is a tuxedo?” Bnira asked.

“Later.”

Like Chen and Jodis, Bnira had been devoting her full attention to fighting the contingency program, using whatever openings Chen could provide to maintain the
Arrow
’s present course away from the planet Henlona and across the Canborek system toward its new target. Glancing to one screen, Chen noted that their escorts, thirteen Raqilan warships and the
Enterprise
, were maintaining their positions all around the weapon ship, having traveled with it from the Raqilan homeworld. During the transit from Henlona, Chen and Jodis had been forced to engineer a workaround when the override program had momentarily taken control of the
Arrow
’s weapons and fired on one of the Raqilan ships.

Another alarm sounded from one of the screens, and Chen noted the message relayed by the computer that another weapon port now was offline.

“That’s fifteen, Lieutenant,”
said Captain Picard over her combadge’s open frequency.
“We’re continuing our attacks.”
After the persistent program had been circumvented yet again, and with the weapon ship’s defensive field generators taken offline by Jodis, the escort fleet and the
Enterprise
had taken the opportunity to disable or destroy several of the
Arrow
’s weapon ports. Outwitting the protocol was proving more and more difficult, however, as it had begun replicating itself and depositing self-sufficient subroutines throughout the computer system, each one branching out and snatching control of other automated processes without the need for direct oversight from the main program.

“At least twenty-two of the ports are operating under independent control, Captain,” Chen warned. “I’m trying to find a way to grab them back, but it’s taking time.” She had realized that this new ploy was deliberate on the program’s part, diverting her efforts to neutralize the core processes and return total control of the vessel to Jodis.

“I have isolated the process overseeing the particle cannon’s power nodes,” said the Raqilan, his attention focused on his own console, “though I do not know how long it will endure before the protocol makes another attempt to commandeer that part of the system. It is an impressive construct.”

Chen grunted in irritation. “That’s one way to put it.” As far as she had been able to determine, the contingency protocol, along with being able to take over the ship’s function in the event of the crew’s incapacitation or death, also had been designed as a means of guaranteeing the
Arrow
carried out her mission even if Jodis or the others decided not to follow their orders. “Someone in your resistance movement is one cold bastard.”

“I do not understand your statement,” Jodis replied, “but if you mean that they were misguided when they decided on including this measure, I am forced to agree with you.”

“Desperate times, I suppose,” Chen said. Though she could not condone even the idea of an act as heinous as genocide, she at least thought she might understand those who may have viewed such a tactic as necessary. After generations of incessant conflict and the promise of societal upheaval as both sides eventually succumbed to the ravages of war inflicted upon their worlds and their civilizations, Chen imagined more than a few Raqilan and Golvonek able to justify the
Arrow
and its peculiar mission to prevent the war from happening at all. In some ways, it reminded her of the decisions with which Starfleet—and Captain Picard in particular—had wrestled when it seemed all but certain that the Borg would overrun the Alpha Quadrant and destroy the Federation. As she had then, Chen now tried to understand and even sympathize with the stresses faced by these people who had known nothing but generations of war.

No
, she decided.
It’s still insane
.

An alert tone sounded on Bnira’s console, and she said, “Jodis, we are approaching outer orbital perimeter.”

“Good,” Jodis replied. “Enter the final coordinates to navigational control.” He swept his hand across one of his station’s interfaces, and one of the larger monitors shifted to show a pale gray moon. The lifeless orb filled the screen, its image enhanced so that Chen could make out craters and other terrain features.

“Captain,” Cruzen said, “has the base been evacuated?”

Picard replied,
“Yes. The last transport departed just moments ago, and our sensors have verified no life-forms within the projected blast radius. You’re all clear, Lieutenant.”

“Coordinates locked into navigation,” Bnira reported, and Chen noted on one of the displays that the target of the
Arrow
’s new—and final—course now was visible on the screen. Illuminated by the brilliant Canborek sun, the Landorem moon’s arid gray soil surrounding the mountain served to highlight the network of metal support structures enclosing the skeletal framework of . . . the
Arrow
. Even from this distance far above the surface of the moon, it was easy for Chen to discern the weapon ship in its embryonic state of construction.

“Well, that’s just weird to look at.” Chen knew she should not be surprised to see the nascent vessel, its construction decades away from completion, but the sight only reinforced the bizarre nature of this entire affair and to what lengths the Raqilan had gone—or would go—in pursuit of total victory over the Golvonek.

“You should probably know that the Raqilan government is none too pleased with this course of action,”
Picard said, breaking Chen from her reverie.

Cruzen replied, “I’m guessing the alternative’s a bit less agreeable.”

“That seems to be the consensus. I was worried that the Raqilan might try to interfere once they realized where you were heading, but their ships are keeping their distance.”

Chen said, “In a couple of minutes, it won’t matter.” Like the captain, she also had been worried that the Raqilan might be spurred by the realization that they were about to lose the weapon which their military promised would bring about an end to the war. She had anticipated some measure of resistance, if nothing else than to force Jodis to select another location for disposing of the
Arrow
. On the other hand, she had admired the audacity of his choice, which was just so perfect on so many levels. Of course, she supposed there might be temporal ramifications to consider, such as the apparent paradox of using the completed version of the weapon ship to destroy its earlier, burgeoning self. How would the supposed rules of time travel view such a thing?