A Time to Die Page 12

  “Wesley,” she breathed with a grateful smile. “I knew you’d come to rescue us. Did you finally tell the others who you are?”

  “Yes, but there hasn’t been much time for a reunion,” he answered, gently holding her hand and swabbing the grime off her face. “You had that whole bar entertained—we had to destroy the place to get you out.”

  “Just biding my time until you got there, love,” she answered weakly.

  Picard looked away, realizing that these two were much more than accidental shipmates. He had a million questions for young Crusher, but this was hardly the time or place to catch up. It was enough just to see him and know he was safe, even if he was possessed of remarkable abilities which he wasn’t using as intended. That much was clear from everything Picard knew about the remarkable beings called Travelers. It was also apparent from the anguished expression on Wes’s face—he was risking everything for his old comrades and the young woman lying before him.

  “Wesley,” said the captain, “do you know someplace safe we can go to rest and get our bearings?”

  The Traveler nodded. “Yes, let me take over the controls. Here, Captain, will you check Colleen with the tricorder?”

  “I’m okay,” insisted the counselor. “Something just hit me on the head.”

  “Yeah, like the butt of a Klingon disruptor,” muttered Wes angrily. “I don’t much like your Orion friends.”

  “I had them right where I wanted them. You’re just jealous.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “Captain?”

  “I’m stopping to let you take over,” said Picard. “Be careful.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  A few moments later, they had switched seats, and the captain was tending the wounded counselor. He maintained his best poker face as he checked her with the medical tricorder. She seemed to have a serious hematoma under her bruises.

  “She should see your mother,” suggested Picard, “although the lectrazine has stabilized the injury.”

  Wes nodded with determination. “That’s the next step—getting the Enterprise in.”

  The captain cleared his throat, wondering if his next question was overstepping the Traveler’s boundaries, but he had to ask. “Did you see it, Wes? Is the mimic ship real?”

  “I haven’t actually seen it, Captain, but I’ve seen enough to make me think it’s real. The Ontailians are very afraid of something out there.”

  “So are the looters,” added Vale. “That big Orion turned chartreuse when we asked him about the demon ship.”

  “The demon flyer,” corrected Cabot. “Let’s be accurate in translation—I’m sure Data was.”

  “You should rest,” insisted Wesley.

  Cabot gave him that smile he had gotten to know—the one that said you have no control over me. “To me,” she said, “a flyer means a bird or something alive. How could it be a mechanical vessel or a mammoth replicator? Christine, you thought Wes was a shapeshifter. What if what we’re looking for is just another shapeshifter…only larger?”

  “A living being?” asked Picard, disliking that prospect more than the other theories.

  “Which means that we shouldn’t kill it,” added Cabot.

  She was only a few centimeters away from him, and the captain narrowed his eyes at her. “If we get a chance, we’re destroying that thing.”

  “Jean-Luc,” she said in the tone of voice a mother uses with a toddler, “you aren’t letting your personal feelings get in the way, are you?”

  “There’s nothing personal about an entity that paralyzes your ship without provocation, pretends to be your ship, destroys you, and then uses this new disguise to stalk another vessel. That’s predatory behavior, which I have no compunction about ending.”

  “Whatever you say.” Cabot lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes.

  “You know,” said Wesley at the controls, “it almost sounds like a computer virus. They attack looking like something familiar and innocuous, paralyze the system, take it over, then replicate themselves to attack another prey. It almost is mechanical, although it could well be alive. In fact, that’s not much different from how an actual virus works.”

  Picard sighed and rose from the edge of Colleen’s bunk. “So far I’ve heard about ten theories, which all sound plausible. Starfleet even seems to think it’s a giant hologram. Where are we, Mr. Crusher?”

  “We’re almost at our destination, the Ambassador- class Hickock. It has the advantage of a stable orbit, and it was cleaned out before the looters got to it, so they’ve left it basically intact. There it is.”

  The classic lines of a massive Federation starship shimmered just ahead. Wes killed the impulse engines and applied thrusters to slow their speed, while Picard glanced out the viewport just to make sure no one was following them. He couldn’t see any salvagers, but then again, the shadows were deep and dark in Rashanar. The ripplings of errant energy beams made it look as if a bloody battle were still being waged over the bones of the dead.

  Wes skillfully piloted them under the cover of the Hickock’s heavily damaged but still discernible saucer section. The ventral plane seemed to have rectangular holes all over it where panel sections had blown outward. The captain didn’t want to imagine what kind of death throes they had suffered. For now, he was reminded of old Westerns he had read, where the wounded cavalrymen sought refuge in a crumbling old mission in the middle of Apache country. They had only just arrived, with a difficult time ahead of them, and already it seemed as if they had been beaten to a pulp.

  Wes timed their drift with the speed of the shredded saucer section and deactivated the thrusters. After sitting in silence for several moments with no evident danger about to pounce, everyone let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m putting her on low power,” said Vale. “I can’t believe this crate held together through all of that.”

  “Thank the Ekosians,” said Crusher, “although I helped make these two tugs available to Nechayev.”

  Picard cleared his throat, assembling his words very carefully. “Wes, now that we know about your secret—and I don’t judge you for anything you’ve done—what else are you able to do for us?”

  “I can go back to the Enterprise right now and lead them here.”

  “What about finding the mimic ship?”

  “I know instinctively where to find anyone I’m familiar with, or anything in the Travelers’ experience, but I’m drawing a blank on the thing that haunts Rashanar.”

  A low chuckle came from the bunk, and they all turned to look at Colleen, whom Picard had thought was asleep. “Find the Ontailians,” she offered. “They know. And there’s something about the antimatter—the way they expel it. You know that too, Wes.”

  Crusher nodded and rose to his feet. Picard marveled that the lad had gotten taller since he had last seen him. Of course, that was six or seven years ago, and he was still in his teens back then. “First things first,” said the Traveler. “Let me get the Enterprise.”

  The captain grinned, grasped his long-lost comrade by his shoulders, and said, “I don’t care how you came to be here, Wes, or if you can do anything to help us. I’m just glad to see you’re safe and well.”

  His former officer smiled back, and neither one of them seemed to trust their voices to speak without cracking. Wes gripped the captain’s forearms in return. They gradually lowered their hands to gaze at one another in admiration.

  Crusher looked past Picard’s shoulder to the young woman lying in the lower bunk. “Colleen,” he said, “I could take you back to sickbay right now.”

  Weakly she waved him off. “I’m not going anywhere. They need me here. Who will do card tricks if we get captured?”

  Crusher gave her a brave smile, although he still looked gravely concerned. Then in front of Picard’s startled eyes, the former Ensign Brewster disappeared as if he were no more than a fond memory on a summer’s afternoon.

  “Captain Riker,” came a voice, which startled the acting skipper as he lo
oked over Kell Perim’s shoulder on the conn. Deanna Troi was also on the Enterprise bridge, working the ops console in Data’s absence, and she turned to look as well.

  “Brewster, you sure give a guy a start,” muttered Riker. “What about the Skegge and her crew? Are they all right?”

  “They’ve been rescued,” answered the ensign. “But Counselor Cabot is injured. We should get the Enterprise into Rashanar as soon as possible.”

  Riker pointed out the viewport and said, “Data is out there on an EVA, changing our markings to make us look like a Starfleet impostor. La Forge has already altered our warp signature just enough to make it look suspicious. What do you have in mind?”

  “Captain,” said Kell Perim urgently. “I’ve detected a ship at five thousand kilometers—they’ve just come out of warp and are closing fast.”

  Forgetting all about Brewster, Riker turned to his conn officer. “Who is it?”

  “Ontailian,” she answered grimly. “The Yoxced. They must have picked us up on their scanners.”

  Riker hit his combadge and barked, “Bridge to Data! Get inside now. We’ve got Ontailians headed this way.”

  “Yes, Captain,” responded the android. “It will take me two minutes and twenty-two seconds to reach the hatch.”

  “We’ll transport you. Stand by.” Riker scowled at his sparse bridge crew. “We can’t put up shields until Data gets inside.”

  “But we’re outside Ontailian space,” Troi pointed out. “They haven’t got any business bothering us.”

  “I don’t think they see it that way,” grumbled Riker. “Bridge to transporter room one.”

  “Erwin here.”

  “Lock on to Data and get him inside right now.”

  “Yes, sir. Locking on signal.”

  “Who’s on tactical?” Riker turned to see that Ensign Brewster had manned the crucial weapons console. At the moment, there were no extra personnel on the bridge to take the station. “Do you know what you’re doing back there?” he asked.

  Brewster nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Transporter room one to bridge,” broke in a voice.

  “Go ahead,” snapped Riker.

  “I can’t get a lock on Data, sir. Something is jamming the transporter signal.”

  “That’s confirmed,” replied Troi, checking her ops board. “The Ontailians are jamming all of our frequencies with their own transporters.”

  “Their transporters?” Riker’s worst fears were realized a moment later as swarms of Ontailians materialized on the bridge of the Enterprise. Three of the long-limbed, furry creatures descended upon him, wrapping their boa-like appendages around his neck and trying to strangle him. More of them attacked his legs and brought him crashing to the deck, struggling for air. It took both hands and all his strength just to keep the hairy appendages from crushing his windpipe.

  Riker heard screams, and saw Deanna and Perim fighting for their lives with a seething morass of the chittering slothlike beasts.

  “Computer!” he rasped. “Increase gravity fifty percent shipwide!”

  “Increasing gravity,” replied the calm mechanical voice.

  Now it was as if he were swimming in quicksand while fighting a dozen furry boa constrictors. But his desperate manuever worked, and he was able to peel off the Ontailians. They stuck to the deck where he slammed them, squirming around like immense, multilimbed caterpillars. Data appeared from nowhere with Brewster clasping his arm. The android turned into a blur as he pried Ontailians off Troi and Perim and flung them into a corner. Data and Brewster were like avenging exterminators, ridding the bridge of a horrible infestation. As the wounded foe writhed around, they screeched in a manner that made his teeth hurt.

  Riker lumbered to his feet in the heavy gravity and pointed to the conn, abandoned by Perim during the attack. “Data, take the conn, put up shields, and get us out of here!”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the android, jumping into the seat as if the gravity were at normal.

  While Data worked his board, Riker helped Troi and Perim to their feet, keeping an eye on the subdued intruders.

  “We are under way,” said Data. “The Ontailian ship is not pursuing.”

  “Good.” Riker went to his command chair and hit the com panel. “Bridge to engineering.”

  “La Forge here,” came a breathless reply.

  “Were you attacked down there?”

  “Yes, sir, but that gravity trick worked. They tried to sabotage the engines. A few attacked the computer.”

  “We’re shorthanded on security,” said Riker. “Do you think you can manage down there?”

  “A phaser set to stun calms them down pretty well,” answered La Forge. “We’ll round them up and take them to the brig. So are we headed into Rashanar?”

  Wondering what his supernatural scout would say, Riker turned to look at Ensign Brewster, who stood behind Data at the conn. He nodded to Riker and said, “Captain, there’s no reason for subterfuge now.”

  “We’re headed in,” declared Riker. “Geordi, I’ll keep you posted. Riker out.”

  “Why did the Ontailians board us?” asked Troi, glancing at the wriggling mass of fur and spidery appendages cowering in a corner of the bridge. There had to be a least twenty of the slender creatures, who now seemed pathetic and harmless.

  “They didn’t want to destroy the ship,” answered Brewster, “They could have with our shields down. They wanted the Enterprise for some reason.”

  “Brewster, I need some answers from you,” Riker snapped. “Like how are you transporting on and off the Enterprise?”

  The turbolift door opened, and Beverly Crusher walked out slowly under the increased gravity. “Wesley!” she blurted. “Are you all right?”

  “Wesley?” echoed Riker. He felt as if he’d been hit in the head by a conduit pipe, but that one word was the only answer he needed. “Ah, Wesley,” he said with a big grin. “Welcome home.”

  Begrudgingly, Wesley Crusher showed the Enterprise bridge crew his true appearance. He now felt as if he had lost another piece of his identity—the uniqueness that made him a Traveler. His mother eagerly filled in some of the blanks since he had disappeared eight years ago. While they talked, Wesley helped Data navigate to the entry point closest to the Skegge’s position. Whether it was from embarrassment after their unsuccessful attack, concern about the prisoners, or plain fear, the Ontailians allowed them to enter the graveyard of ships without incident. The Enterprise’s sensors spotted the Yoxced and three other Ontailian ships in the vicinity, but they kept their distance.

  A security team showed up and threw a big net around the captured Ontailians, who also didn’t put up any resistance now that the fight was knocked out of them following their foiled surprise attack. Four Ontailians were dead; Riker had personally killed two of them in the melee. The remaining forty-three were secured in the brig, where they lay despondent on the deck, barely moving.

  Counselor Troi tried to question them via the universal translator, but the Ontailians refused to answer even the most rudimentary queries, such as “Do you want food?” Apparently, they were content to die in ignominy after their failure. It was impossible to say for certain what they had hoped to accomplish. Riker ordered Dr. Crusher to watch them and force-feed them, if necessary. No prisoners were going to die on his watch.

  Carefully, the mighty starship picked its way through dazzling energy arcs, shimmering clouds of debris, and somber wrecks. As before, the shields took a considerable beating but held up. Data’s skill on the conn was crucial to getting anywhere inside the eerie boneyard. Even before they reached the shipwreck of the Hickock, Wes had a feeling of dread. As usual, sensors were unreliable inside Rashanar, but he didn’t need them to know that something was wrong. By the time they reached the Hickock, he could see the awful truth for himself.

  The Skegge was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  “WHERE ARE THEY?” demanded Captain Riker impatiently. “Wes, I thought you said they were her
e?”

  “They were…I mean, this is where I left them.” The young man stared at the Enterprise viewscreen, where the blackened Ambassador-class hulk was clearly visible.

  To Riker, the Hickock seemed to be enmeshed in confetti from a ghostly parade. Cold ripples of light turned it into a haunted specter every few seconds.

  The captain turned to Data at ops, who was concentrating intently on his readouts. “I do not detect the Skegge,” said Data, “but I believe there is an Androssi ship on the other side of the Hickock.”

  Riker turned his attention to tactical, and transporter chief Erwin, a slim Bolian who’d been drafted into bridge duty.

  “Ready phasers. Yellow alert.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Erwin.

  “Send subspace to the Skegge,” ordered Riker. “No encryption—just send message one on your list.”

  “Wait a second, Captain,” said Wes Crusher, stepping toward the viewscreen and peering closely at the wreck. In due time, a relieved smile slid across the young man’s face. “They’re in there…somewhere.”

  “There is no indication,” began Data, but he never got a chance to finish.

  “They’re cloaked…or something,” Wes cut in. “Let’s back out of here before we send that subspace message.”

  Riker shook his head. “Wes, we’re glad to see you, but you’re not in charge of the ship.”

  “I’ll check on them,” promised the young man, who was more mature and serious than Riker remembered him. “Come on, sir, you’ve trusted me this far.”

  Beverly looked beseechingly at him. Even Deanna nodded to show that they had to use the Traveler if they had one in their midst.

  “Be careful,” warned his mother, wringing her hands.

  “Please back off a distance…until I find out what’s going on. I can go to the Androssi vessel too.” With that, he was gone. Riker glanced at Beverly, who didn’t seem to know whether to be proud or terrified of her son’s extraordinary abilities. Deanna put her arm around the doctor and said, “Good job of keeping a secret.”