Part 5 (1/2)
”Negative, sir, we can't beam into the complex. It's one of these dead zones-”
”Here?” On Mars. Hitting a bit too close to home now. ”Alert Starfleet Command. And have Data and an engineering team take a runabout. They can beam me aboard on their way down.”
”You're going with the team, sir?”
”Yes, Mr. Riker, I am. And if this weren't so important, I'd have you beam down here and continue the meetings in my stead. This time, you're lucky. Heard out.”
S.S. Ralul Sector D17c In Orbit of Tellar V ”Commander, I swear, no mistake was made.” Grono lowered his head and tensed himself for his boss's tirade.
”The mistakes you've made could not be counted by the most complex of computers, Grono!”
”Yes, sir.”
”I don't know why I let you live.”
”No, sir.”
The commander grabbed the data tablet, looked at it a moment without seeming to actually read it, then tossed it back to Grono. ”How can three freighters and their escorts be lost on a trade route they've traversed a million times?”
With the commander, such a question could be rhetorical. All Grono could do was wait to see if his silence was ignored or condemned.
”Well?” The commander barked. ”Have you no input? Are you worth even a tenth of what I pay you?”
”I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what happened. There was a subs.p.a.ce message of power fluctuations in one of the haulers, and then silence from all three.”
”That tells me what I know. You are to tell me what I don't know: why?”
When the commander's voice took such a tone, Grono often had to suppress a wince. This time he could not.
The commander noticed. ”You are useless!”
”Sir, there are some rumors... other s.h.i.+ps losing power and becoming disabled, even Starfleet vessels.”
”Starfleet?” The commander straightened, shocked. ”This must be very widespread, if Starfleet is involved.” The commander turned away. ”Send out my normal complaints to the Tellarite/Federation Liaison.” He turned back quickly. ”And I want you to contact the other trade ministers. I want to know who else has lost s.h.i.+ps under these conditions.”
Grono wrote that all down on the data padd. ”Yes, sir.” He wasn't sure how to react. His commander's tone seemed different from his other tirades.
”Something tells me that if this has happened to Starfleet's s.h.i.+ps, it's more serious than a few lost freighters.” The commander looked suddenly more calm, but also more tense. ”I want to talk to Starfleet myself. I still have some friends there.”
”Yourself, sir?”
Rather than admonis.h.i.+ng Grono for questioning his superior, the commander was uncharacteristically solemn. ”Yes. Contact Admiral Tarlan.” He rose from his chair and turned toward the door. ”I'll be in my quarters. Tell me when you have the admiral on the comm.”
Enterprise Runabout Hubble Sal IV [Mars]
Descending aver Vanes Marineris ”We have lost main power, sir.”
”I can see that, Data.” Heard watched the pilot struggle with the runabout controls more than should've been necessary. Had the research center been in the domed part of the city, there would have been no crosswind. As it was, with only thrusters for maneuvering, the ride was rough.
”We are still two kilometers from the research plant. Apparently, the area of the dead zone is increasing.”
”I can see that, too, Data,” Picard grumbled. ”See if you can raise the station using non subs.p.a.ce frequencies.”
”Aye, sir.” Data turned away and Picard looked out the runabout's windows. Picard thought there was no sense in being guided completely by sensors that might cut out at any moment. And, perhaps it was old-fas.h.i.+oned, but something about flying in an atmosphere demanded a true bird's-eye view.
”No response, sir,” Data said as he turned back toward Picard. The android looked out the window, down to his console, then out the windows again, following a point with his gaze as it pa.s.sed out of view. Then he turned to the pilot. ”Ensign, we are pa.s.sing the landing pad.”
”Ensign Sanderson is operating under my orders, Mr. Data,” Picard said before the young man could defend himself to his superior officer. ”The landing pad has a lift to the main building, and that lift might not be operational.”
”But the dangers of landing so close to the building-”
”Won't matter if we don't get in there quickly and find a solution to the problem.”
”Aye, sir.”
One of the oddities about Data, Picard thought, was that, unless he was in decision-mode, he didn't think like a commander, he thought like one of the commanded, and so he thought mostly about rules, and not when it was a good time to break such rules. Picard had seen Data in command, and found him to be quite good, but when Picard was in charge, Data always seemed a bit different, his mind in a different thought pattern. Not the most severe of problems, and Data wasn't insubordinate. He just asked bothersome questions at times.
Of course, Picard could order Data not to do so, but the one time he had, Picard found the android too quiet, too sterile. It was Data's personality to be the way he was, and Picard liked him. As with all those one calls friends, one understands the balance that is toleration.
A wind gust suddenly turned the runabout's bow away from the research reactor, and Sanderson had to turn into the gale before trying to zigzag back on course. As slowly as possible with the sudden down current Picard felt on the hull, the runabout landed on the sidewalk near the main entrance. It was part of the terra formed but rough Mars terrain, no s.p.a.ce suits were necessary, but out of doors the atmosphere was on the thin side, the temperature on the cold side, and the gravity on the light side.
Picard, Data, Gibson, and a crew of six engineers spilled quickly out of the runabout and through the main doors. Once the outer doors closed behind them, the inner set parted way.
”You're from Starfleet?” A tall man greeted them, somewhat relieved, somewhat weary.
”Picard, from Enterprise. We have a crew to a.s.sist-”
The man shook his head. He looked old and tired, his eyes sunken, his hair a mess of blond and gray. ”No, there is nothing to do. Leave, and take my staff with you. Everyone else has evacuated.”
With a wave of his hand, Picard ordered his team forward. ”Data, find the main control room. Sanderson, gather any nonessential personnel and see them to the runabout.” His men left quickly to carry out their orders, and the captain turned to face the man who'd warned them all away. ”Who are you?”
”La Croix. I'm the project director,” he said. ”I appreciate you want to help, but...” The man had obviously been up all night, and as Picard began walking past him, La Croix seemed almost too tired to follow. ”There's nothing to be done. I've tried everything, thought of everything. Our containment systems are offline. Pressure has caused a partial fuel meltdown and the coolant lines are closed off. Do you understand what that means?”
At first Picard thought he might moderate his gait to accommodate the director, but he decided to pick up his pace toward what signs had told him was the station control room. ”I understand, Mr. La Croix. I'm familiar with the technology, and I understand why these things happened a few hundred years back, but today?”
The door to the control center opening too slowly for him, Picard stepped sideways and pushed through before the panel was completely out of his way.
La Croix followed. ”You don't understand. It shouldn't have happened 'today.” We had fail-safe upon fail-safe, but we expected containment fields to be working. They won't. We can't explain it but-”
”But only batteries are working, and those don't have enough power, correct?”
Surprised, La Croix stopped walking as Picard marched toward Data. ”Ah... yes, correct.”
”Data?” the captain prompted.
The android turned away from the console, a bit more slowly than it seemed he should have. Picard had to remind himself that within these dead-power zones Data wasn't at his most efficient. ”The situation is grave, sir. There is very little time before the pressure builds to a point where the outer seals will crack, contaminating the atmosphere. Most of Vanes Marineris is domed, but some parts are not....”
His shoulders stooped, La Croix looked down sadly. ”This just shouldn't be. The chances of this happening were seven billion to one.”
Picard glanced up at Data.