Star Trek: The Next Generation™: Slings and Arrows Book 1: A Sea of Troubles Read online

  Star Trek:

  The Next Generation™:

  Slings and Arrows

  Book 1: A Sea of Troubles by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

  COMING SOON:

  Book 2: The Oppressor’s Wrong by Phaedra M. Weldon

  Book 3: The Insolence of Office by William Leisner

  Book 4: That Sleep of Death by Terri Osborne

  Book 5: A Weary Life by Robert Greenberger

  Book 6: Enterprises of Great Pitch and Moment by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  POCKET BOOKS,

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved. STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc.

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  trademarks of CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from CBS Studios Inc.

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  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5008-2

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-5008-9

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  On any project, a good editor can make a writer look great. For his help on this one, we salute Keith DeCandido, a god among editors. You know, not the smiley kind of god, with a robe and a white beard, but the cool kind. With tentacles.

  CHAPTER

  1

  The U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, sped through space. Long, lean, and muscular, like a hunting hound, she dodged and leapt through hedgerows of dust clouds and incandescent gas. As fast and nimble as she was graceful, her nearly seven-hundred meter length turned like a fighter as she threaded her way through the clouds of the vast planetary nebula that surrounded the bloated red star Pantera.

  But this hound was the hunted, not the hunter, and though she could not see her pursuer through the clouds and sensor echoes, the volley of pulse-phaser bolts that cut narrowly above her saucer section offered ample evidence of its presence. Responding, the Enterprise veered hard to starboard and dove headlong into a streamer of glowing yellow dust large enough to hide a planet.

  Sitting in his command chair on the bridge, Captain Jean-Luc Picard watched intently as his crew responded to the threat. They moved quickly in reaction to the readings flashing across their displays, without wasted motion. Despite the pursuit, the crew maintained their outward calm, their low tones a muted hum against the chirps and beeps of monitors relaying ever-changing warnings.

  Picard could sense the underlying tension, as palpable as the low rumble growing in the deck beneath his feet. The ship’s deflectors struggled to handle the huge concentrations of dust at speeds their designers could scarcely have imagined.

  “Status, Mr. Data.”

  “The star’s radiation flux is increasing. Shields at eighty-seven percent and deteriorating, Captain. We are suffering minor hull erosion at the leading edge of the saucer section.” A slight quaver in Data’s voice served to remind Picard of the functioning emotion chip that Data now carried.

  But Picard’s thoughts were more on the damage to his newly launched ship, and he couldn’t suppress a tiny, sad, flash of smile. We had to scratch the paint sometime. “Reduce to one-quarter impulse. Lieutenant Hawk, switch to evasion pattern omega two.”

  “Aye, sir.” There was a trace of emotion in Hawk’s voice as well. Excitement. Pride. Most of Picard’s senior staff had not come to this newest Enterprise until after its shakedown cruise. But Sean Hawk was what had been known since ancient nautical times as a plank-owner. He’d been with the ship since its space-frame had been assembled at drydock. He knew this ship and its capabilities as well as anyone aboard. Damn the manuals—if Hawk said it could be done, it could be done.

  Commander William T. Riker turned to look at Picard, his eyes narrow and intense. “No sign they followed us into the dust streamer—not that sensors do us much good here. Do you think we’ve lost them?”

  “What do you think, Number One?”

  Will grinned slightly, a brief flash of white teeth against his dark beard. He knew the outcome of this encounter, and therefore the safety of the ship, might depend on his evaluation, and though he relished the responsibility, he understood the importance of his decision.

  “If I were them, I’d risk a few tenths of a second of warp straight up out of the star’s elliptic to give the sensors the best view back down into the nebula. Then I’d warp back in at the first hint of a sensor contact.”

  Picard nodded. “They’ll be waiting for us on the other side. At most we’ll have a slight element of surprise. The question is, how to best use that to our advantage.”

  The captain pulled up a tactical display of the region on his console. The Pantera Nebula was only a few thousand standard years old, the cast-off gaseous shell of a class-G star gone nova and the pulverized dust of its inner planets. It would last no more than a few more tens of thousands of years before it began to dissipate.

  Metals in the dust made sensors unreliable, and the region was in constant flux, impossible to chart accurately for more than a few days at a time. Complicating things was the star itself, violent and variable, subject to occasional and not always predictable fluctuations in brightness and energy output.

  For astronomers and scientists it was an exciting and fascinating place. For a starship, it was a challenge, a hostile and dangerous place to operate. Yet this was also what made the region ideal for Picard’s purposes, if they could stay alive long enough to learn its secrets.

  “Mr. Hawk, plot a maximum-impulse course toward the alpha planetary remnant, closest possible approach.” The alpha remnant was little more than a molten, metallic ember, all that was left of a super-Jovian gas giant, its atmosphere long ago stripped away by the nova. Soon, even this would be swallowed by its expanding parent star.

  Data turned his chair to face Picard. “Captain, I should point out that this will bring us dangerously close to the star’s corona. With our degraded shields…”

  “As we make our closest approach, you’ll divert power from propulsion to shields and structural integrity fields. We’ll use the remnant’s gravity to slingshot around and away from the star.”

  Data raised an eyebrow and nodded. “That will conserve power and minimize our exposure to solar radiation.” He turned back to his console and set immediately to work. “I will program an optimized power redistribution pattern.”

  “Mr. Hawk, do you concur?”

  Hawk was already busy with the new course. “She’ll hold together, Captain.”

  “See that she does.”

  Ahead, the clouds of dust were clearing, the glowing red eye of the central star peeking through. “Put the remnant on-screen.”

  Even at maximum magnification, the remnant barely filled the screen. But it grew rapidly,
the day side black, veined with silver, the night side glowing orange, seas of molten metal in which black, slowly dissolving continents floated like ice cubes in a neglected glass of Andorian glow-ale.

  “The planet’s crust is highly unstable. It will be difficult to determine the surface elevation at the point of our closest pass.”

  There was that quaver in Data’s voice again, so slight that someone who knew him less well than Picard would not have noticed. Fear.

  That was new. Data had only recently installed his emotion chip, and in dealing with his emotions, Picard’s most trusted officer remained unseasoned and relatively untested.

  “Then I trust you’ll give Mr. Hawk your best guess, Commander,” Picard said.

  “Aye, sir.” Something on his console caught Data’s eye. “The pursuit vessel has spotted us, Captain. They have warped in two hundred and eighty thousand kilometers behind us and are following at maximum impulse.”

  The image of the planet remnant overflowed the screen as they approached, plumes of volcanic ash interrupting the razor line of the planet’s horizon. A huge mountain range, jagged and raw, appeared over the horizon and raced toward them with alarming speed.

  Picard leaned forward in his chair. “Lieutenant Hawk.”

  Hawk said nothing, his brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers danced over the console. Thrusters fired. The view on the screen rolled slightly, and the Enterprise shot through a narrow mountain pass like a thread through the eye of a needle.

  “The pursuit vessel,” said Data, “is taking a looser arc around the planet. Sensors show that their shields are weakening, and they are losing speed. Captain, readings indicate a solar flare is beginning only slightly off-axis from our current position. Particle density is already climbing.”

  “Mr. Hawk, get us in the planet’s shadow. Now! Data, where is the pursuit ship?”

  “Still lagging behind, Captain. I do not believe they will make the planet’s shadow before—”

  On the screen, a streamer of glowing plasma swept past them like a passing train, catching and shaking the small dot that was the pursuing spacecraft.

  Data tapped his console rapidly. “Captain, their shields are down to thirty percent. Radiation flux is still increasing. They have damage to weapons, warp, and impulse systems. I cannot be more precise due to the radiation interference.”

  Picard’s jaw clenched. This had suddenly gone from a combat situation to a rescue. “Transporters?”

  Data shook his head, never looking up from his console. “Nonoperational due to the radiation, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant, bring us within tractor range, best possible speed, then plot an immediate return course back into the planet’s shadow. Data, prepare to take them in tow.”

  Now they were rushing headlong toward the vessel they’d just spent the last six hours trying to elude. The ship grew from a dot to a saucer with two under-slung nacelles. Picard was able to read U.S.S. SAMSON across the saucer in the blue glow of the tractor beam.

  A Federation officer appeared on the screen, square-jawed and distinguished-looking, with wavy silver hair and captain’s pips on his uniform. “Looks like you win this engagement, Jean-Luc.”

  “If we don’t survive this, Roger, nobody wins.”

  The captain grunted. “Impulse is down. Main power is down. I’m routing all available secondary power to shields and structural integrity.” On the screen, Picard could see the Samson’s bridge shake as the tractor beam took hold.

  “Full ahead, Mr. Hawk.”

  “Shields are down to twenty-five percent, Captain.”

  “Put everything you can between us and the star, Data. And keep an eye on the Samson’s shields. If they fail, we may have to protect them as well.”

  There was an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation before Data replied. “Aye, sir. Radiation flux still increasing. I estimate six minutes before it peaks.”

  “Thirty seconds till we enter the penumbra, Captain,” said Hawk, referring to the area of partial shadow behind the planet. They would not be truly safe until they entered the total darkness of the umbra, a narrow cone directly behind the planet.

  “The Samson’s shields are failing,” said Data, “I am attempting to compensate.” He tapped rapidly at his console. “Our shield power is draining rapidly, Captain.”

  “Star on-screen,” ordered Picard. The glowing red eye of Pantera filled the screen, and as he watched, the black disk of the planetary remnant began to slide across it.

  “Radiation is falling,” reported Data, “but shield power is becoming critical.”

  “Just a few more seconds, Data. A few more seconds—”

  The star vanished behind the planet, and they were instantly treated to a stunning sight as the visible cone of shadow appeared around them, outlined by brilliantly illuminated clouds of dust and glowing energetic plasma. Streaks of light and color hundreds of thousands of kilometers long danced around them. Even Data stared at the screen, awestruck.

  Picard tore his eyes from the screen. “There’ll be time for sightseeing later. Status.”

  “I’m assuming a stable position behind the planet while we make repairs,” said Hawk.

  “Shield power is already returning,” said Data. “There is widespread damage, but most is minor. Commander La Forge reports we should be fully operational within the hour.”

  “Very good. Contact the Samson and see if they need any assistance with repairs. Mr. Hawk, keep us in the planet’s shadow for now. Let’s give our shields a rest.” Picard stood and tugged at the hem of his tunic. “Number One, you have the bridge. I’ll be in my ready room.”

  He instinctively turned to port, then remembered that the Sovereign-class Enterprise-E had the ready room to starboard. It caused but the slightest swerve in his step, yet it made him feel no less the fool. Perhaps a new ship is a good thing. Maybe I was getting too comfortable, too set in my ways.

  The ready room had an enclosed, intimate feel, with a single vertical window through which he could glimpse the nebula’s stunning streamers of yellow, green, and gold beyond. He ignored them and slipped behind his slender arc of a desk, inlaid with dark hardwood from some world he had yet to identify. “Computer, open a channel to Captain Adrian on the Samson.”

  The screen came to life. The Samson’s ready room had been fitted with a large window onto the bridge, and in the background, Picard could see a flurry of activity. Captain Roger Adrian initially was turned away, concerned with some other matter. Finally he passed a padd to someone unseen off-screen, and turned to address Picard. “That was quite a chase you gave us, Jean-Luc.”

  “I trust repairs are going well.”

  Adrian nodded. “We’re short a few plasma diverters, but your chief engineer is beaming over some spares. Quite a beating we took just for a combat exercise.” He shook his head. “I hope this is all worth it. If I lost my ship in an exercise they’d bust me back to junior waste management engineer on an ore freighter.”

  Picard smiled sadly. “These are hard times, Roger. Starfleet needs every captain it can get. More likely, they’ll assign the waste management engineer as your first officer.”

  He chuckled. “It would serve me right.” But his smile faded and they just looked at each other for a moment, darker concerns looming, unspoken.

  Finally Picard broke the silence. “You’ve seen the latest intelligence projections?”

  He nodded. “I never thought I’d live to see so many wars. The Cardassians. The Borg. The Klingons. Now the Dominion. We’ve lost too many officers, and too many ships. And the Dominion is unlike any enemy we’ve faced before. Genetically engineered Jem’Hadar soldiers, Changeling infiltrators. We’re—” He hesitated, as though the word itself tasted foul. “—vulnerable.”

  Picard nodded. “But we’re also forewarned. That’s why we’re out here testing new tactics, new ways to refit modern weapons to old ships…”

  Captain Adrian frowned. “That’s putting a good face on it,
Jean-Luc. You can read between the lines as well as I.”

  Picard sighed. “We’re part of contingency planning. If the core Federation worlds, even Earth, should fall, Command believes this could turn into a guerrilla war of last resort. I admit that. Still, although it’s wise to consider every option, it does not sit well with me to plan on losing.”

  A bit of a smile crept back onto Captain Adrian’s face. “Then we’ll just have to win, won’t we?” He picked up a padd off his desk and briskly changed the subject, as though talking about the war had somehow brought it closer. “Well, this is a supply rendezvous as well as an exercise. I’ve got eight transfer officers from Starbase 11 for you, and two crates of assorted isolinear circuits so state-of-the-art that we couldn’t use them over here on a bet. I also picked up a case of ’57 Van Dozier chardonnay last time I was back on Earth. Very nice. I’m sending over a bottle, just as a reminder there are things worth fighting for.”

  “You should beam over, and we could raise a glass together. Our new lounge is an excellent place to observe the nebula.”

  “I’m sure it is, but we’re scheduled to return immediately to Jupiter Station for debriefing and analysis of our new targeting systems.” The regret in Adrian’s voice only served to underscore the growing threats that made such a visit impossible.

  “Another time then.” Picard lifted his chin, his posture ramrod straight. He was a man used to winning, and the coming battle would be no different.

  “We’ll toast to victory,” the Samson’s captain replied, his resolve mirroring Picard’s. “Adrian out.”

  Picard stared at the blank screen for a moment. Victory. If history had taught him anything, it was that victory was an elusive word. Hard to achieve. Often hard to define. Defeat, sadly, was more concrete, and much more easily accomplished.

  On an impulse, he tapped his combadge. “Picard to transporter room three. Have the transfer officers beamed over from the Samson yet?”

  “Chief Mun Ying here, Captain. The Samson’s transporter emitters were knocked out of alignment. They’re running final tests and estimate five minutes until they’re ready. Would you like me to do a direct beam-over?”