Available Light, page 22
“Excellent,” said Picard. “Is there anything else we can do, Mister La Forge?”
Before the chief engineer could respond, everything came undone.
• • •
“Power surge!”
Standing well away from the workstations, Chen could only watch as a half dozen Nejamri engineers converged on one console, upon which now flashed a variety of status displays and other schematics indicating the rise of a serious problem.
“It is not a power surge,” said one technician, pointing to a monitor as she spoke. “But the system perceives the energy transfer as one.” Reaching forward, the female Nejamri tapped several controls. “See? One of the flow regulator circuits is not functioning. Without it, that conduit is unable to direct the incoming energy stream at a controlled rate, so it’s pushing it back the way it came.”
Another of the engineers, a short, squat male, asked, “How did this escape our notice before now?”
“The physical component is damaged,” replied the female tech. “And it is in an area we cannot reach from within the Haven.” She pressed other controls. “Shut down that conduit and reroute the incoming flow to an alternative channel.”
It was only when she found herself standing right behind the engineer that Chen realized she had advanced on the cluster of Nejamri workers. Peering over the nearest technician’s shoulder, she tried to get a better look at the workstation. Despite the indecipherable native script, she still could make out a few of the readouts showing a number of areas bathed in harsh crimson.
“Lorrander,” said Alehuguet, who also had moved closer so that she might better observe the proceedings. “Should we notify the Enterprise to stop the power transfer?”
“I do not believe that is necessary,” replied the female engineer. “We should be able to redirect the incoming stream without interrupting it. The problem is that our own system is treating this like a security breach, rather than the simple act of the collector’s absorbing solar energy. The components were not designed for this sort of direct energy transference, but the Enterprise engineers are attempting to govern the transfer with their equipment.”
Chen said, “But there’s an obvious incompatibility getting in the way.”
“Correct,” replied Lorrander. “Your engineers are quite talented, and so are ours, but that still may not be enough to overcome all of the differences in our respective technologies. It is quite a unique challenge.” With her left arm, the engineer reached behind herself to scratch just beneath the area corresponding to a typical humanoid’s shoulder blades. The extra joint appeared to make the action far easier than those occasions Chen felt the need to scratch such an itch.
And how does a computer program get an itch, anyway?
It was an odd thought, but one Chen could not resist. Was the Haven’s computer matrix so sophisticated that even mundane realities of daily life like unwelcome itches, aches, and pains were part of the programming? What about runny noses, acne, or the gunk that formed in her eyes when she slept? Did a computer simulation really need to go into that much detail?
Maybe not the best time for this sort of thing, Trys.
“Taurik, can you hear me?” she called out, knowing her voice would be routed through the Haven and to the proper communications channel linking her with the away team. “They’re having some trouble in here with what sounds like the solar collectors’ power-flow regulation. They’re trying to craft a workaround, but part of the problem is a damaged component they can’t reach. Is that something you can check out?”
The Vulcan replied, “We are attempting to do just that, T’Ryssa. It appears the mechanism in question is located at a junction from which energy absorbed by numerous collectors is channeled before being routed to the battery storage facility. According to the schematics at our disposal, accessing it requires us to disassemble several other components. It is a process that will take some time.”
A new round of alerts sounded from the console, prompting Lorrander to assume control of the workstation while her companions scrambled for adjacent terminals. Several of the monitors within Chen’s field of view changed to varying shades of red as numerous indicators flared to life.
“I think we may be past that, Taurik.”
• • •
La Forge leaned over the master situation table, his hands moving as though of their own accord as he tried to head off what he could see was about to happen, but his gut was already telling him he could not stop it.
“Computer, disengage the transfer!”
Why had the automated systems not already done this? There was no time to ponder the answer to that question, and La Forge pushed it aside as he hovered over the instrument panels. Both hands worked at different tasks as he tried to get ahead of the power surge rushing back through the tenuous connection linking the Enterprise to the Osijemal. Even as he entered frantic strings of commands and willed the computer to carry out his instructions, he could see nothing he did was coming fast enough.
“The link’s still active,” said Linn Payne from where she hunched over the table’s opposite side. “I think the power spike overloaded the frequency modulation.”
La Forge replied, “I’m trying to reconfigure it manually.” If he could find a frequency that the Nejamri ship’s technology did not understand or could not process, that might be enough to cancel the transfer and, more importantly, sever the connection between the two ships.
It’s not going to work.
“I’m trying to bring the deflector offline, but the power spike’s causing some kind of lag,” said Payne.
The table’s displays were illustrating that, along with the computer’s representation of the six beams of energy projecting forward from the Enterprise’s deflector array. Even with the transfer being conducted at one-quarter of the deflector’s ability to transmit energy, the feedback coming their way still posed a threat to sensitive relays and other components of the ship’s systems. Trying to get any of his commands to register, La Forge watched the streams turning red as they moved from the Osijemal toward the Enterprise.
“I’ve got it!” Payne shouted. “The deflector—”
It was too late.
The first indications came just heartbeats later, in the benign form of green status indicators on the situation table shifting to red. What followed was a series of alarms erupting from various consoles around engineering. Other members of his team were already moving to address the new alerts, silencing the blaring tones and reporting status amongst themselves. Thankfully, it took them only seconds to remove the annoying drone of the alarms, allowing La Forge to hear snippets of the various updates exchanged by his team members. He listened for anything that might hint at a truly serious issue, but the status reports scrolling across monitors on the situation table told him the Enterprise had managed to avoid serious damage.
“Relay overloads and circuit burnouts all through the deflector array,” reported Payne, her fingers sweeping across her console. “Some of the adjacent sensor nodes are affected too.” She looked up from the table, her expression that of irritation. “The computer finally disengaged the deflector and severed the power transfer.”
La Forge grunted, shaking his head. “Better late than never.”
“Bridge to engineering,” said the voice of Captain Picard over the intercom. “Status, Mister La Forge?”
Continuing to work as he switched to diagnosing the litany of new issues now confronting him, the chief engineer replied, “Feedback from the power transfer is giving us some grief, Captain. Mostly overloads and the like; nothing we can’t handle, thankfully, but the main deflector’s offline until we repair the damage or route around it.”
Neither he nor Picard needed to say out loud what that meant, even in light of their current circumstances. With the deflector array out of commission, even temporarily, the ship’s defenses would be compromised, and traveling at warp speeds was all but impossible without the array to scan ahead of the starship and warn of obstacles or other dangers in its path. Returning it to full operation was of paramount importance.
“What caused the feedback?” asked the captain.
For the first time since the new problems surfaced, La Forge halted what he was doing. Planting his palms on the situation table, he leaned forward so that he rested on his arms. “Right now, my best guess is some kind of automated response from the Osijemal. According to Taurik, the Nejamri found some damaged equipment on their end that regulated incoming power flow, and other processes jumped in to compensate or protect against what they interpreted as an attempt to breach their system. It’s not something anyone anticipated, sir.”
This, of course, did nothing to ease La Forge’s frustration at the entire situation. He should have anticipated it, along with any other possibility no matter how unlikely or even outlandish. As chief engineer, it was his job to plan for such eventualities, and he had failed. He and his staff had only just completed the repairs from the ship’s previous skirmishes with the Torrekmat salvage ship, and now he had thrust more work onto them.
Quit whining, he told himself. Get to work.
“I’ve already got teams assessing the damage, sir. I’ll have an estimate to you within fifteen minutes.”
Over the intercom, Picard replied, “Understood. In the meantime, the power transfer wasn’t a complete waste. Sensors show it restored thirty-six percent of their battery capacity.”
Across the table from him, Payne said, “Well, I guess that’s something.”
“It gives the Nejamri a little breathing room while we figure out how to do this the right way,” replied La Forge. “But before that, we’ve got some cleanup to do.”
As though mocking his intentions, the ship’s red alert klaxon began wailing and echoing through the engineering section.
“Bridge,” he called out. “What’s happening?”
Picard’s voice, now taut and clipped, replied. “We have company.”
24
Three ships, approaching in a loose formation, appeared on the bridge’s main viewscreen. While each was similar to the Zetoq in its basic configuration, Picard noted a number of differences in their overall composition that altered their respective silhouettes.
“Sensors show variations in mounted weapons along with other equipment like grappler systems, extendable docking collars, and even remotely guided cutting and welding tools,” reported Ensign Jody Fraser from the tactical station. “Their weapons are comparable to those on the other Torrekmat vessel, Captain, and they’re active. Time to intercept is two minutes, seventeen seconds.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” replied Picard from where he stood between his command chair and the conn and ops positions. He turned and offered a reassuring glance over his shoulder to the young woman.
A young, blond human woman assigned to beta shift, Fraser had reported to the bridge less than thirty minutes earlier, called to duty by Lieutenant Faur so that Aneta Šmrhová could take advantage of a brief yet overdue and much-deserved respite after manning her station for two full duty shifts and well into a third. As expected, Šmrhová had protested, but Picard made it official by ordering her off the bridge with orders not to return for atleast four hours. It was a command he expected her to disobey given the sudden turn of events, and his suspicions were rewarded a moment later when the starboard turbolift doors opened and the security chief all but ran onto the bridge. Stopping just outside the car, she regarded Picard.
“I know you ordered me to rest, sir, but—”
With a knowing look, Picard gestured toward the tactical console. “By all means, Lieutenant.” To Fraser, he said, “Ensign, I won’t turn away good help. Take the auxiliary station.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the security officer as she moved to the console opposite Šmrhová’s.
Wasting no time taking up her station, Šmrhová reported, “The ships are maintaining course and speed, and I’m detecting sensor sweeps from the lead vessel. They know we’re here, sir.”
“Raise shields,” ordered Picard, knowing the lieutenant would make the necessary adjustments to account for the main deflector array’s current unavailability. “Phasers and quantum torpedoes on standby.”
Sitting in the first officer’s chair, Lieutenant Faur said, “They’re scanning us, sir. Passive sensors, it looks like. Sizing us up, I’m guessing.”
“Hail them,” said Picard. He suspected the new arrivals would be anxious after doubtless scanning what little debris remained of the Zetoq. There was nothing to be done about the destroyed salvage vessel, but the last thing he wanted now was another confrontation while the Enterprise was operating at less than peak efficiency and he had an away team still aboard the Osijemal.
On the viewscreen, the image of the three approaching ships was replaced by that of another Torrekmat. A female this time, at least so far as Picard could tell; her physique was broader and more imposing than Senthilmal’s had been, though her brow and nose were much less pronounced. Her hair was lighter in color and long enough that it rested atop her shoulders. At the center of her large, smooth forehead was an ornate tattoo or some other type of mark, its white hue contrasting with her lavender skin. Her eyes likewise were a bright white and seemed to stare out at the screen with a visceral intensity. Also unlike Senthilmal, her general appearance was not at all disheveled, and her dark, utilitarian garments were clean and free of frays, tears, and stains.
“Greetings,” Picard began. “I am—”
“I am Brinamar, master of the salvage vessel Utenla, and I know who you are, Captain Picard,” replied the newcomer. “Senthilmal’s report was fragmented yet still informative. I suppose it was the best he could do before his ship’s distress buoy was launched and you destroyed his vessel.”
Picard, avoiding the bait, chose his words with care and kept his tone subdued. “If you did intercept the Zetoq’s buoy, then surely it reported that the ship was destroyed after a failure in its warp-core containment system caused by defensive weapons fire from the derelict and not the Enterprise.”
“A system that was originally damaged during a battle with your vessel, following your attempt to seize the derelict after Senthilmal and his crew made their claim.”
“An unprovoked attack on my ship.” Picard stepped between the conn and ops stations, keeping his gaze on Brinamar. “Let us be quite clear on this point. We discovered the derelict adrift. Our scans detected no signs of life aboard. Only after I sent a team to investigate was the presence of anyone else detected. Senthilmal’s boarding party was using technology to mask their movements aboard the derelict, and they attacked my people. Then the Zetoq arrived and attempted to assert a claim. We have no interest in salvage rights, but we have since learned that there are crew and passengers aboard that vessel. All of this could have been prevented if Senthilmal had simply chosen to talk to me, rather than attack the derelict and my ship.”
Brinamar’s eyes narrowed as she regarded him. “And yet, you are still here, and you still have a boarding party aboard the derelict.”
“Yes. We are attempting to render assistance. Their ship is damaged and they are unable to make the repairs without help.” After weighing the pros and cons of trying to explain the Nejamri and their predicament, Picard opted against it, at least for the moment. It was still a lot for him to understand and fully appreciate, and he was uncertain he could communicate the situation to Brinamar in a manner that would not serve to further inflame the current tensions.
“I do not know who you are or what you represent,” said the female Torrekmat, after a moment of scrutinizing Picard as though trying to bore through him with her eyes. “However, your life-form and ship design are unfamiliar to us, which leads me to believe you are a long way from whatever world you call home. Senthilmal’s report refers to something called a ‘Federation,’ but beyond your single vessel I see no evidence of such a union.”
The veiled threat was not lost on Picard, but he elected to ignore it. “We are its first representatives in this region of space, and I assure you ours is a mission of peaceful exploration. Our discovery of the derelict was a matter of happenstance. Our only interest lies in aiding the crew to repair its damage and helping them continue their journey.”
“They’re scanning us again, Captain,” reported Šmrhová from behind him. “More comprehensive sweeps this time, with an emphasis on our defenses.”
For the first time, Brinamar smiled, but there was no humor or warmth behind her expression. Instead, Picard sensed callousness tinged with more than a hint of menace.
“That sounds very noble on your part, but I assure you my people and I are motivated by vastly different concerns. The derelict represents a handsome profit for whoever returns it to our homeworld. As for you and your ship, Jirol Salvage Guild rules require us to seek compensation for the loss of the Zetoq and its crew, as well as the extra time and resources we are expending in order to complete his salvage claim. Senthilmal’s report and my own scans tell me your ship should more than cover the debt.”
Beginning to tire of the conversation and bravado, Picard replied, “Did Senthilmal’s report mention how well his ship fared when he decided to test mine?”
“Senthilmal was a fine salvager,” said Brinamar. “Very reliable, and always brought tidy profits for the guild. However, being a civilian pilot, he was not known for his tactical prowess. I am not surprised you bested him, as he possessed no real experience in such matters.” She stepped closer to the screen. “I do.”
The communication ended without warning and her image disappeared, replaced by the trio of approaching Torrekmat ships. Punctuating the conversation’s termination was a new red alert siren.
“They’re breaking formation,” called out Šmrhová. “Accelerating and moving to intercept us.”
Moving toward his chair, Picard ordered, “Target their engine sections and prepare to fire on my command. Conn, evasive action. They’re going to try flanking us. Don’t give them the chance.”
