Part 3 (1/2)

”Heat output-”

”Negative, sir.”

Picard shared a glance with Riker, then with Troi.

No heat No Me. Probably hadn't been for some time.

The captain rose. ”All dead. In the dead zone,” Pi card murmured.

Now Riker stood. ”The what?”

Dead zone. It was what Folan had called it. And it fit. Phasers, disrupters ... none of their most powerful technology worked there. Not even life support, once batteries had drained. A hole in physics you couldn't drive a stars.h.i.+p through.

”How many people ...” Picard began to ask, but the actual number was almost meaningless. One was enough. He almost didn't want to know how many more than one had been lost.

What he did want to know, more than anything, was why.

And the answer sat in the middle of unreachable, dead s.p.a.ce.

Chapter Four.

Federation Stars.h.i.+p Exeter Alpha Quadrant Unexplored sector Nineteen days ago ”where's that auxiliary power?” Captain James Venes anxiously scratched the back of his neck as he made his way down toward the command chair. ”Aux power's not responding. Batteries only, sir.” ”Is Ortiz in Engineering yet? What's going on down there?” The captain thumbed a b.u.t.ton on the command chair, but did not lower himself into the seat. ”Venes to Engineering. We've lost helm control now, people.”

”Ortiz, here, sir. I can't explain it. There's no reason -”

”I don't need a reason, Alvaro, I just need power before we lose life support. Batteries won't last long with all these refugees on board.”

Venes heard his engineer breathe out a slight sigh. ”Aye, sir.”

”Hey, if anyone can lick this problem, it's you. Let me know when you have something. Venes out” The small pep talk seemed un inspirational even desperate. The captain knew it, but there just wasn't much to say. His people knew their jobs, and they'd do them for duty, not kudos.

Finally setting himself into the command chair, Venes tried to relax his body, if not his mind. He couldn't. He was getting too old for this, he chided himself. Too old for deep s.p.a.ce and mystery. Too old for refugees and missions away from Jenny. Too old to die because someone forgot to pay his stars.h.i.+p's electric bill.

”Send out a log buoy,” he ordered finally. ”And let's make sure our pa.s.sengers don't panic, but see if we can cram them into some more confined accommodations. Crew, too. Conserve as much energy as possible.” He hit the intercom again. At least that was still working. For now. ”Engineering.”

”Alvaro, what about other sources of battery power on the s.h.i.+p?”

”Other sources, sir?” ”Yeah. Batteries from shuttles, runabouts, whatever.”

There was a brief pause as Ortiz considered it. ”Yes, sir. Will take some doing, but we can rig that up. Won't buy us a lot of time, but some.”

”Take the batteries from the escape pods, too, Alvaro.”

A much longer pause. Venes thought his engineer might be considering confirming the order.

”We don't even have enough pods, with all the refugees on board. Might as well do all we can to save the s.h.i.+p.”

”Aye, sir.”

”Venes out.”

”Sir?” said the ops officer. ”Decks seven and eight have lost all power.”

Venes almost sighed, but decided against it. ”Understood,” he said finally. It was one thing to lose power when under attack, but such a sudden loss of functionality Sure, he told his engineer he didn't care what had caused it, but of course he did care, since that would tell them how to fix it and keep it from happening again. He hoped.

In the back of his mind he remembered something similar happening just a day or two ago. He hadn't read the full report, just skimmed it because he was tired. If the computers were working, he'd simply call it up, but no such luck today. Rubbing his temple thoughtfully, Venes searched his memory a long moment, then recalled a detail or two.

”Enterprise,” he murmured, but remembering did him little good. He did seem to recall something about needing two s.h.i.+ps to solve the problem, and so he was short one vessel for such work.

The lights dimmed, and the captain thought perhaps he was short more than one s.h.i.+p. Perhaps he needed help from two.

They'd try to come up with some other alternative. They'd do everything possible to find some answer... but something told Venes that there was little to do now but wait... either for help to arrive, or for death.

Personal s.p.a.cecraft R'laga Jacaria system-Romulan s.p.a.ce Orbiting Moon of Jacaria VII ”Are you sure?” T'sart asked again. Rarely did he show such an imperfection as shock. But he was shocked, and if Loire saw it... well, he would be the only one T'sart would trust to witness his faults.

”I am sure,” Lotre said. ”Varnell was a member of the Tal s.h.i.+ar... and we killed him.” The Klingon smoothed the traditional Romulan tunic that stretched over his broad shoulders.

We. Even in these harsh times, Lotre was loyal. The Praetor and the Senate were not. T'sart seethed with hatred, for them and for the dead Tal s.h.i.+ar spy.

”Poor timing,” T'sart said finally as he paced the meager length of the small s.h.i.+p. Four bulkheads, one room, two days on this blasted s.h.i.+p. He was used to a bedroom this large. He hated being confined, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

”Had he had time to fully encrypt his last message to them, we might never have known. I'd say your timing was impeccable, as always.” Lotre tucked a padd into a case and put it on the deck as T'sart paced past it. ”Knowing that the Tal s.h.i.+ar will be after you for killing their operative, are you sure you want to follow through with this plan?”

Stopping, a brief smile pa.s.sing his lips, T'sart asked, ”Are you afraid of the Tal s.h.i.+ar?”

Lotre was grim. ”I'm afraid that you are not.”

”We continue with my plans,” T'sart said, ”with just a few deviations.”

The Klingon of Romulan upbringing waited, and when T'sart said no more, he prodded him. ”And those are?”

”Well, the best way for the Tal s.h.i.+ar to not waste resources on me ... is for them to think me dead.”

”But you won't be dead.”

”Perish the thought,” T'sart said with a smile.

Romulan Homeworld City of Chaladra Two blacks off Tatar Street Seventeen days ago If there was anything T'sart liked less than a blindly loyal Romulan, it was a foolishly disloyal one. That's why he didn't mind if the boy died slowly. He preferred it, even, getting a certain satisfaction from the suffering. Especially considering all the trouble T'sart had had to put up with: an area of the city he would not usually go, the moist heat he hated so much in this province, and the type of people he had to deal with in order to remain generally unseen.

”And now, my youthful friend, die,” T'sart whispered as the boy, perhaps all of thirty-five years, withered out of his grip and slid down the stone wall.

”But... I told you and ... you said you-”

T'sart smiled the smile that, after many years of practice, he knew to be both treacherous and gleeful. ”Yes, yes, I did. And I lied. I tend to do that, m'boy.”

He turned his grin to the small hypospray in his left hand. Another of his ingenious potions. This was better than the one he'd given to the government. He was careful to always keep a slightly more potent concoction for himself. He did that with anything he created for the Empire. His intellect was his own, and he would always see that the benefits of that were his before others'. Considering how he'd been treated recently, that was doubly wise.