Part 1 (2/2)
Picard pressed his lips into a thin line. ”We can work with each other, or against each other, Commander. Which do you think will end this situation satisfactorily for us both?”
J'emery faltered a moment, looking at someone offscreen. ”I'll-” For a moment, the Romulan seemed to rise from his chair oddly, almost as if levitating. ”We'll consider that,” the Romulan said hastily, and the screen went blank.
Twisting her head toward her captain, Rossi's brows knitted in a quizzical look. ”They cut the feed.”
”Was he...” Picard hesitated. ”Did they just lose gravity?”
”What in the Praetor's name is going on?” Commander J'emery meant to be as severe as possible, SubCommander Folan was sure of it. Tyranny was just a difficult personality trait to convey while floating in midair.
Folan anch.o.r.ed herself to her science station by curling her fingers under the lip of one scanner console. ”Gravity systems have lost battery power, sir. Engineering is trying to route power from secondary batteries, but the relays are offline.”
”If this is Picard's weapon, why is he not gloating?” J'emery spat the question, rather literally, and a small bubble of saliva became a globe of liquid that floated before his nose until he angrily batted it out of his line of sight. ”This is maddening!”
”Yes, sir,” Folan said. ”It is possible the Enterprise is going through similar malfunctions. Their communications signal was not on a subs.p.a.ce frequency. Perhaps because they knew our subs.p.a.ce communications were down, or perhaps because they've lost that capability as well.” Her hair had come undone from its arrangement and was floating wildly above and in front of her. Suddenly she wished she'd chosen a shorter style last time she was cutting her hair. ”I don't believe the Federation would break the peace. It is not their-”
”Spare me your theories, Folan! If gravity control cannot be restored in a timely fas.h.i.+on, men issue the bridge magnetic boots. One or the other, now!”
”Yes, sir.” Folan issued a command into a small communicator she wore on her uniform tunic. When she turned back, her commander had righted himself and was using his tight fists to moor himself to the command chair.
He didn't like her, and she knew it. To a degree, she even understood it. The mission on which his s.h.i.+p was about to embark was for her experiments and tests. She had supplanted his usual science officer, and his orders were to help her study. He would have rather been on patrol.
”How much life support have we left?” he barked.
Folan checked a flickering screen on her console. ”Forty-three minutes, seventeen seconds.”
His face flushed green with anger, probably at Pi card, but also at Folan-not to mention the universe at large. J'emery seemed to be keeping himself from ranting. Instead he merely growled his next order. ”Get a weapon on-line. Any weapon at all.”
Chapter Two.
Scientific Center Prime Caltiska IV Caltiskan Star System-bordering Romulan Empire-claimed s.p.a.ce ”what was that? Did you feel that?” Varnell was a centurion, and though he only looked young, he often seemed unsophisticated. He asked too many questions, and while his skills and qualifications had checked out, T'sart hadn't liked him from the moment they'd met.
”Yes, I felt that,” Commander T'sart said calmly as he viewed one screen, then another, finding the alien console far less complex than his first glimpse two weeks ago. ”There has been a change in subs.p.a.ce resonance frequencies. Such interesting technology. We don't even have sensors that scan at this level.”
His up swept brows knitted in angst, Varnell had a film of perspiration above his lip. ”These frequencies are far-reaching. We could be affecting subs.p.a.ce as far away as the homeworld. And we're not in s.p.a.ce-we should not even be able to feel such a vibration on a planet.”
They were indeed on a planet, if it could be called that. A ball of rock that shouldn't even exist by every law of physics T'sart knew, a few of which he'd written himself. They'd put him in this system thinking the planet uninhabited and worthless. It was neither.
He keyed another command into the console, and they both felt that vibration again, only stronger. He needed to pay more attention to what he was doing. It wouldn't be good to destroy this dry, foul little planet, at least not until he was no longer standing on it.
”Sir,” Varnell said, ”as I said, it is likely these vibrations are traveling outside this system and are not local. We are increasing the spatial distortions rather than decreasing them. We should not have pulled the sphere.”
”I'm well aware of the situation, Varnell,” T'sart sighed. ”The disruptions may be far-reaching, but any disruption now will soon be controlled. If we finish these tests.”
Had it not been for the centurion's credentials in so many areas of subs.p.a.ce mechanics, T'sart would not have tolerated the spineless man on his staff at all.
The sub-commander in charge of securing the city walked in, and T'sart automatically encrypted his console's controls before he turned away. It was a habit he'd learned early in his career, and never forgot.
”Report,” he ordered, and hoped the news was good. Since they'd arrived more than two months ago, the native population had fought to the death to protect their science facility. Two weeks ago, when they lost it to T'sart and his forces, they'd fought even harder. It was as if they knew what they had, but their own technology was such that they surely could not Perhaps in myth and legend they knew what it did for them, but probably nothing more.
”Commander, the perimeter is secure.” The man still wore his battle helm. Here was someone T'sart could give some small measure of respect: strong, somewhat intelligent, and while no doubt still a fool in many ways, he at least had the courage to join his men in battle.
”Excellent.”
”The alien death toll is estimated at forty-four thousand.”
”Indeed?” T'sart asked, entering calculations into a tricorder. ”We're the aliens here. This is their planet.”
”Sir?” the sub-commander asked.
”The term you're looking for is 'native,” not alien.”
Nodding slowly, the man didn't seem to truly absorb the lesson. ”Yes, Commander.”
”I don't want estimates. I want actual numbers.” T'sart handed him the tricorder. ”Use this. It will scan for a common strand of then-DNA, and then verify if the owner of that strand is alive or dead.”
The man took the instrument and reviewed the settings. ”This ... this is ingenious.”
”Of course. Dismissed.”
They exchanged nods, and the sub-commander exited the control room.
”A bit bloodthirsty, aren't you?” Varnell asked.
A mysterious moment for him to grow a backbone. ”No one complained when it was my job to rid the empire of the four-hundred-and-four thousand, three-hundredandninety-two inhabitants of Qu'takt I'll,” T'sart said, sure to keep his tone even, though inside he seethed. ”I heard no insults of bloodl.u.s.t when it fell to me to design a genetic disease that could kill three different races in a matter of weeks, and then bio degrade into a minor illness for any Romulan who stumbled upon it. All I heard then were accolades and tributes.”
”I meant no offense, Commander,” Varnell murmured.
T'sart smiled warmly. ”Of course not.” He was bitter, yes ... but acrimony was no tool of persuasion. If anything, his new situation demanded he be more persuasive than ever. ”And I took no offense.” But he did. He took offense at Varnell, and at all those in the Senate who'd been so close to giving him up. And who had eventually put him in this hind end of s.p.a.ce, thinking T'sart would be forgotten. He refused.
Varnell nodded slowly in acceptance, but looked somewhat uncomfortable.
T'sart pondered attempting to soothe Varnell's ruffled feathers, but the door to the control room slid open and one of the Caltiskan survivors skittered in. He collapsed a meter from T'sart's feet.
”Does this belong to you?” In walked a tall, thin Romulan, his dark cloak impeccably crisp and clean. Obviously he'd been the one to throw the Caltiskan onto the floor.
With a flutter of his fingers, T'sart finished his encryption code and turned toward the man. ”And you are...”
The intruder ignored T'sart's question and looked at Varnell. ”Leave,” he ordered.
Varnell nodded to the man and promptly left without giving T'sart, his commander, a second look. That bothered T'sart a bit. He found it rude and disloyal. But perhaps the centurion was frightened. The tall man was, after all, Tal s.h.i.+ar.
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