Available Light, page 27
Picard said, “Meaning the guild will look the other way so long as there’s a way to plausibly deny knowledge or involvement in anything illegal.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Picard asked, “Does that include murdering the passengers and crew of a ship they decide to salvage? Surely the guild cannot simply ignore such a grievous crime.”
Brinamar looked away, and Picard heard a muffled voice just out of range of whatever passed for an audio pickup on the Utenla. Reaching up to rub her forehead where the elaborate tattoo adorned it, she nodded at the apparent report from one of her subordinates before turning back to the screen.
“If someone undertakes a job and makes some . . . questionable . . . choices with respect to how that task is accomplished, and the details never reach guild leadership, such things are treated as if they never happened. The guild has gotten quite proficient at presenting a facade of legitimacy in the eyes of our government, at least while operating within the confines of our star system. Out here, well away from scrutiny and anyone who can corroborate any outlandish story?” Her expression fell. “There are even greater opportunities to remain blissfully unaware of the harsh realities of salvage life.”
“Is there any way you can reason with them?” asked Picard.
“I can certainly appeal to their desire to earn a profit with a minimum of risk and expense in time and resources on their part.” Brinamar closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead once more before adding, “You were very generous with me earlier. Perhaps a similar offering might suffice.”
As a gesture of good faith to help establish their working arrangement and in addition to transferring Senthilmal’s boarding party to her ship, Picard had instructed Worf to prepare a consignment of metals and other raw components Brinamar listed as having value within the Torrekmat economy. Indeed, the care package represented a sizable bounty, according to Brinamar’s estimate upon its receipt. Such materials were easy enough to produce with the Enterprise’s replicator systems, but he saw no reason to share that information with his new partner.
“I’m certainly willing to make such an offer,” he replied, “particularly if it will prevent our meeting with them from turning unpleasant.”
Brinamar gestured toward the screen. “I would suggest preparing that offering, Captain, but I cannot promise it will prevent Crelin from seeing it as just a portion of the much larger profit to be had from your ship.”
Suppressing a grunt of annoyance, Picard instead replied, “We’ll deal with that situation if and when it becomes necessary. Thank you, Brinamar.” Once the connection severed, he turned to Worf. “Your assessment, Number One?”
The first officer clasped his hands behind his back. “She seems genuinely troubled by the other ships. Given the assistance she has provided us thus far, it is possible she may be at odds with this Crelin when he arrives.”
“But do you trust her?” asked Picard.
“Not yet. It is also possible that when pressed, Brinamar will side with her fellow Torrekmat in any offensive action taken against us or the Osijemal.” The Klingon almost appeared to regret the observation, casting his eyes toward the bridge deck. “That would be most unfortunate.”
Picard said, “Agreed, but it’s a possibility for which we’ll be ready.”
“Captain,” replied Worf, stepping closer and lowering his voice, “if we are forced to take action against the Torrekmat ships, the numbers may well work in their favor, despite the Enterprise’s superior weapons and defenses.”
“I’m well aware of that, Number One,” said Picard. Despite the somber outlook, he at least had the knowledge that the starship’s main deflector array was back online, and its shield generators were functioning at peak efficiency.
The captain directed his gaze back to the viewscreen and its image of the ark ship. “Of course, having the Osijemal at something more than minimal operating capacity would certainly even the odds. Let’s just hope Commander La Forge and his team can pull off another of their miracles.”
• • •
Pieces of the Araguaia’s hull and onboard systems littered the room’s deck. Chen watched as members of Commander La Forge’s engineering team stepped over and around various components, dragging lengths of optical data cabling and larger, more robust shielded power cables between the partially disassembled runabout and the collection of conduits, access ports and panels, and control consoles packing the room.
“What exactly is this place again?” asked Chen. Once more ensconced in her environment suit, she moved about the floor while doing her best not to step onto or into anything. Even though the atmosphere had been removed from this part of the ship, artificial gravity remained active.
Wearing his own EV suit and kneeling next to a large, squat rectangular piece of equipment to which were connected several cables strung from the runabout’s port side, Taurik replied, “This is one of several distribution hubs that divert energy from the Osijemal’s primary power generators. It is also one of two that are in close proximity to those generators. With the assistance of the Nejamri engineers, we are attempting to convert this facility so that it can provide at least some power to the ship, allowing the primary plant to be repaired without fear of impacting the onboard computer.” He gestured to the equipment he was inspecting. “Commander La Forge and I have reconfigured this portable generator to act as a flow regulator for the actual distribution hub to which we are connecting. If our plan is successful, we will be able to channel energy from the runabout’s warp engine directly to the Osijemal’s power grid.”
Chen had tried to catch up with at least some of La Forge’s pre-mission briefing before boarding the Araguaia, and now felt sheepish about how many of the minor details had escaped her review. After being released from sickbay, she had wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and sleep for three days. She almost asked Doctor Crusher to keep her in sickbay for a little while longer so she could take advantage of the relative quiet. But there was no way she could let her shipmates carry out this daunting task without trying to contribute in some manner.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. “How can I help?”
Taurik replied, “Our modifications are nearly complete, and I have finished my safety checks. The next step is a controlled test of the connection to ensure system compatibility.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Taurik to Commander La Forge. We are ready to proceed.”
“Same here, Taurik,” replied the chief engineer. “The Nejamri engineers are making some final adjustments of their own, and we should be set.”
At the room’s far end, just beyond the Araguaia’s nose, La Forge and a Nejamri, each protected by environment suits, emerged from an open hatchway into which a large cable, easily a half meter in diameter, snaked from the runabout. The engineer and his companion stepped over the cabling, making their way across the equipment-strewn floor. While La Forge proceeded toward the ship, the Nejamri stopped at a console set into the room’s far bulkhead, where two other members of his engineering team were working.
“I don’t know if it’s the neatest job I’ve ever done,” said La Forge, “but it should work, at least long enough to get the Osijemal running under its own power again.”
“Even a runabout’s warp core isn’t big enough to handle the job?” asked Chen.
La Forge replied, “It’s not about the size or even the power output. The key here is regulating the energy consistently so it doesn’t disrupt the main computer core or trip any of a few dozen security protocols built into the ship’s automated processes.” He gestured around them. “Even with the Nejamri able to monitor almost everything from inside the Haven, they couldn’t fix problems that required their physical bodies.”
“The first power transfer from the Enterprise stabilized their systems to a point that allowed them to dispatch a small number of engineers to assist us,” Taurik added, “but it, along with damage from the destroyed Torrekmat vessel, had a detrimental effect on their remaining energy reserves. Our current strategy will provide greater stability for the ship’s critical energy needs while permitting us to work without haste and risk potential carelessness in our actions.”
“Assuming those salvage ships let us do that,” said Chen. According to the last report from the Enterprise, fewer than fifty minutes remained until the new group of Torrekmat vessels arrived. Everything now under way was a gamble, for Captain Picard, the away team, the Nejamri, and even Brinamar and her two ships that had been aiding in the relief effort.
La Forge said, “If we can stabilize the power, the Nejamri will have enough energy for more of their weapons. That should help the Enterprise if things get dicey, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Stepping away from the control console his companions were overseeing, the Nejamri engineer in his cumbersome environment suit made his way toward them. His plump, orange face was little more than a broad smile as he approached. Chen recognized him as Kersis, Yidemi’s assistant. Portly in appearance, he seemed almost ready to burst from his suit, but his movements were fast, graceful, and confident as one would expect from someone skilled in extravehicular activities.
“Commander La Forge,” he said as he stopped before them. “Our final adjustments are complete. We are ready to proceed.”
The chief engineer moved to the reconfigured generator, and Chen watched him give it one final check before calling out, “La Forge to Faur. Bring the warp core back online.”
Over the comm channel, the Enterprise flight controller replied, “Copy that, Commander. Reengaging primary systems . . . now.”
Even through her suit, Chen felt the slight rumble in the deck as the Araguaia’s warp engine, disconnected from the rest of the runabout’s systems without being powered down, reasserted itself. The squat nacelles that also functioned as landing gear flared to life, pulsing with vibrant blue-white energy yearning to be unharnessed. Within seconds, energy transferred from the ship made its presence known at the field generator turned flow regulator, as that component’s various displays and indicators flared to life.
“Here we go,” said La Forge.
Chen followed Taurik, who along with Kersis stepped away from the makeshift regulator and made his way to the console along the compartment’s far wall. The engineer had dispatched his two companions through the open hatch, ostensibly to check on something there, but Chen could not see anything through the portal.
Consulting his tricorder, Taurik said, “Kersis, I am detecting fluctuations in the flow rate as it reaches the distribution hub.”
“We anticipated some initial deviations during this first test,” replied the engineer. “Adjustments will be necessary before we increase the rate of transfer.”
Based on lessons learned from the Enterprise’s first attempt to direct energy to the beleaguered Osijemal, Chen knew that La Forge’s insistence on finding a means of controlling the rate and intensity of this next try came with good reason. It was hoped such measures would avoid the sort of issues the ark ship had taken to protect itself from a perceived assault on its systems.
“I am detecting a response from automated oversight processes,” reported Taurik. “Similar to what hindered the previous energy transfer. The Osijemal’s security protocols are quite formidable.”
Kersis, his attention on the workstation, said, “I do not understand. According to our tests, we addressed and bypassed those processes. This should not be happening.”
“Then we obviously missed something,” replied Chen. “Or maybe the damage was worse than we thought, and that’s having an effect?”
Before Taurik or Kersis could respond, more than a dozen of the console’s alert indicators flared to life, flashing and blinking for attention. Despite all of the messages and other advisories being rendered in Nejamri script, it was obvious to Chen what was happening.
“I am picking up a massive feedback pulse,” said Taurik. Turning from the console, he waved toward La Forge and the Araguaia “Commander, discontinue the transfer.”
Chen watched the chief engineer reaching for something on the regulator at the same time she heard in her helmet, “Faur, cut the pow—”
Interrupting himself, La Forge turned and with sudden, even frantic speed began lumbering away from the regulator, seeking the room’s only nearby shelter: the Araguaia itself. He made it perhaps five meters before the regulator came apart, consumed by a tight, focused explosion that ripped out its innards and propelled them in all directions across the room.
Feeling herself pulled to the deck as Taurik yanked on her arm, Chen fell in a heap atop Kersis as the Vulcan covered her with his own body. Rolling to one side, she saw La Forge tossed toward the Araguaia, thrown off his feet until he slammed against the side of the runabout’s hull. His left arm bent at an unnatural angle and she saw his entire body go limp before falling toward the deck. Then her eyes widened at the sight of white vapor escaping the engineer’s suit helmet.
“Chen to Enterprise! Lock transporter on Commander La Forge! Emergency beam-out to sickbay. Now!”
29
There were days when Brinamar loved the choices she had made. Giving up a military career in favor of a civilian occupation often resulted in a less than favorable transition, bringing with it stress, depression, even anger. Despite an uneven start to such a transition, she had persevered.
Not that the change was without challenges. Just as she was cautioned when submitting herself to the interminable boredom of being processed out of the service, consumption of moodaltering beverages and other illicit substances was a risk, as was engaging in all manner of questionable if not dangerous behavior. Brinamar had certainly partaken of her share of such behaviors. Too much time spent in bars, casinos, brothels, and other disreputable establishments defined her life in those early days following her transition. It might well have ended that way for her if not for the timely intervention of a friend and former comrade-in-arms, Dovat. He gave her an alternative, employing her aboard his salvage ship and teaching her how to survive and thrive in an occupation that rewarded hard work and punished those who lacked the conviction to succeed. When Dovat opted to retire, he gave her this ship, the Utenla, to command and chart her own path to prosperity. Choosing to accept such a gift and the living earned since then had never given Brinamar any cause for regret.
Until today.
“It is not supposed to be like this,” she said, not realizing she had spoken the words aloud until her assistant captain, Cipal, turned away from his console at the rear of the Utenla’s command deck and regarded her with an expression of concern.
“Brinamar?”
Embarrassed at her lapse, Brinamar offered a dismissive gesture. “I apologize. I was wallowing in my own thoughts.”
“That seems to be a common malady,” said her friend, indicating with a wave the salvage vessel’s cramped command deck. Here, five other members of her crew, three females and two males, worked at the room’s various consoles or, in one case, crawled into the space beneath and behind one station to make repairs.
“It may be a sign that we are all well overdue for an extended rest,” Cipal continued, “preferably somewhere warm with lots of sun and the ability to swim in an ocean. I have a particular penchant for those resorts where random servers just bring you food before you even know you’re hungry, and they ensure my hand is never far from a tall, strong drink.”
Brinamar smiled. “I have a fondness for such destinations, as well.”
“If we leave now, we can be on a beach within three cycles.”
“Do not tempt me.” Brinamar eyed her friend. “It takes only a moment to plot a course.”
Taller than her, Cipal was of leaner build, appearing too thin for the monotone coverall garment he preferred to wear while aboard ship. An engineer by trade, he did not hesitate to crawl into any conduit or access crawlspace in order to diagnose or fix some problem, no matter how far it required him to delve into the Utenla’s darkest, dirtiest recesses. Brinamar had known him since her first days working under Dovat’s tutelage, and over time the engineer became her closest friend. Upon her own promotion to captain of the salvage vessel, she gave thought to no one else serving as her assistant captain.
“Has there been any further communication from Crelin?” he asked.
Closing her eyes, Brinamar rubbed her forehead. The ache behind her eyes was stronger than it was just a short while ago, and the pain-relief medication she had taken from the small medical kit in her cabin was proving ineffective.
“No. He is receiving our transmissions, but is simply electing not to respond.”
It was frustrating, but Brinamar had no idea what to do. Annoyed at the continued failure of her fellow shipmaster to acknowledge her communication attempts, she had recorded a message detailing the situation here and programmed the Utenla’s computer to continue broadcasting it until otherwise ordered. She had also included information about the consignments provided by Captain Picard and the promise of there being more in the offing, should the Torrekmat choose collaboration over confrontation. At this point, all she could do was hope Crelin would tire of hearing about the repeated calls until he surrendered and gave her a chance to speak.
“Crelin has a reputation for operating outside of guild rules,” said Cipal.
“True, but until now I have never known him to flagrantly defy the laws,” replied Brinamar. “And certainly not when it amounts to piracy.” Jirol Salvage Guild rules about illegally seizing ships not deemed to be derelicts were strict and unforgiving, but as with any such regulations, their power came from how well they were enforced. Once more, the truth was the Nejamri ship was well away from the Torrekmat home star system and definitely beyond established or even infrequently traveled extra-solar merchant routes. Who was to say what happened out here, far from guild rules and those who cared about them?
