Constellations (39 page)

Sulu smiled modestly. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

Scotty nodded, and then gestured subtly over his shoulder. “Tell me, Sulu…Ensign Frank there…”

“He started on bridge rotation just three weeks ago. He's green, but he'll be fine, I'm sure.”

Scott nodded again, though he was far from satisfied. “I'd like for you to pair up with him for this mission.”

Sulu's face fell. “Sir?”

“I trust he'll mature into a fine officer someday. But this is an emergency situation and…well, Mr. Spock does leave some mighty big shoes to fill. Given your science background, it makes the most sense that you'd be the one to help do that.”

Sulu considered that. “I suppose when you put it that way, I can't argue.”

“Good lad,” Scotty said, favoring Sulu with a grateful pat on the shoulder.

 

Sulu had tried to tell himself that being asked to “fill Spock's shoes” meant that Scott, as commander, saw him in the role of the ship's first officer: a trusted advisor and respected sounding board. But huddled with the junior officer at Mr. Spock's station, scrolling through back issues of Andorian scientific journals, he couldn't help but feel as if he'd in fact been knocked a few steps down the ship's hierarchy.

Sulu had spent the first seven years of his Starfleet career in science division blue. However, he soon learned that the great discoveries didn't get made in starship labs; those labs and their staffs were there to test and confirm discoveries made by members of the bridge crew. He resolved to do what he had to to make the transition—no easy matter, not only in terms of the testing, but also in terms of convincing his superiors to take a chance on an officer with a mid-career change of heart. There was no good reason for Captain Kirk to agree to give the head of his ship's astrophysics department the helmsman's position, but he had seen something in him and was willing to give him the chance to show what he could do.

And Montgomery Scott is no James Kirk.

Sulu silently reprimanded himself for that uncharitable thought. He was a Starfleet officer, and that sort of bitterness was beneath him. Yet, as he entered the briefing room, it was with the feeling that he had no real purpose to serve here.

Once everyone was seated, Scott started the meeting with a question to Uhura. “Have you got any more news from Thraz?”

“Yes, sir. Most of the colony is still on backup power only, but their emergency services are beginning to get a handle on matters. So far, casualties are being reported as lighter than initially estimated.”

“Well, thank heavens for that,” McCoy said.

“Yes, however, reports now are that the attack somehow triggered a series of quakes across the planet's main landmass. They're concerned that whatever the weapon the aliens used, it may have actually created a new fault line.”

“It would take a hell of a weapon to do that,” Sulu said, eyes wide in disbelief. “Were they able to say anything more about the alien ship? Track it at all as it left the system?”

Uhura shook her head. “They never detected it on approach, and the attack disrupted all their sensor and tracking systems.”

Before Sulu could ask any further questions, Scott turned to Frank. “Have you found out anything about what these Andorian scientists are doing out here?”

“Aye, sir.” Frank reached forward and activated the three-sided monitor at the center of the table. The screens all lit up, displaying a five-planet star system and a bright, unlabeled line running just beyond the orbit of the outermost planet. “Thraz Outpost was established sixty-six years ago in order to study the Thraz Streamer.” With a touch of a button, the screen diagram became animated, with the planets orbiting their star and the line undulating like a flowing river. “The streamer, named for the Andorian captain who discovered it, is a flume of tachyons, faster-than-light particles ejected from the rotational axis of a nearby pulsar, and extending out beyond the edge of the galaxy. In theory, a starship would be able to ride the stream like sailing ships ride ocean currents.”

“Warp speed without warp engines,” Scott said, studying the display screen in fascination. “That would certainly be the kind of technology a lot of species would like to get their hands on.”

“Except the Andorians have had almost no practical success along those lines,” Frank continued. “The streamer is only about twenty meters at its widest, too narrow for anything much larger than a shuttlecraft. It also has a disruptive effect on the warp fields of any ships that come within close proximity, which makes entering the streamer without being torn apart by delta-v forces tricky at best.”

“And by tricky, I take it, you mean insanely dangerous,” McCoy interjected.

Scott frowned. “So you're saying their research wasn't such that it could have been reasonable motive for the attack.”

“I wouldn't think so, no, sir,” Frank answered.

“Well…it's not something we need to worry ourselves with right now—”

“Isn't it?” Sulu hadn't meant to blurt out that reaction aloud. Though he couldn't say he regretted it.

Scott, showing no offense to this borderline insubordination, answered, “Our first concern is for the colony and their injured.”

Engineer's thinking,
Sulu thought to himself.
Focus only on fixing what's broken, without looking at the bigger picture.
“Of course, sir. But whoever did this—”

“Once we deal with the immediate crisis, of course we'll gather whatever evidence we can to point to a perpetrator. But what's to be done beyond that will be decided by Captain Kirk and Starfleet Command.”

Sulu still wasn't comfortable with Scott's almost dismissive attitude toward the unknown enemy. But he was still his superior officer. “Aye, sir,” he said, then rose with the others as the meeting concluded. Everyone filed out of the briefing room, heading back to their regular duties, while Sulu fell in behind Ensign Frank and followed him back to the bridge.

 

The
Enterprise
's route from Pentam brought them within two astronomical units of the tachyon streamer. Ship's sensors resolved the dynamic particle flow on the main screen as a shimmering band, vibrating with energy like a taut harp string, flashing through all the colors of the spectrum. It was a sight that made Scotty, if for only a moment, forget all about being back in the engine room.

“Mr. Chekov,” Scotty said, “are you detecting any effect the phenomenon is having on our warp drive at this distance?”

“A negligible one, sir. Less than a point-zero-one variance in our subspace field.”

Scotty nodded. “Steady as she goes.” He resolved, when this was over and the captain was back aboard, to compare his engine logs to Thraz's research. There'd likely be a journal article in that…

“Mr. Scott!” Scotty turned to the science station, where Lieutenant Sulu stood hunched over its hooded viewer. “I'm detecting an object traveling
inside
the streamer.” Sulu turned to meet Scotty's eyes. “It looks like a ship!”

“A ship?” Scotty was about to say something about that being impossible, but from Sulu's expression, the lieutenant was already aware of that fact. Instead, he said, “Put it onscreen. Full magnification.”

The multihued ribbon suddenly filled the middle third of the forward viewer, and the entire bridge was awash with its shifting colors. And sure enough, Scotty saw the large dark object that seemed to ride the tachyon current like a leaf in the wind, heading away from the Thraz system at superluminal speeds.

“That has to be the alien ship that attacked the colony,” Chekov declared, his voice rising with excitement. Scotty could find no reason to dispute his conclusion.

Not so with the next declaration, this one from Sulu. “We have to go after them.”

“Mr. Sulu, our orders are to provide assistance to the victims of the attack, not to go off and—”

“If we don't go after them, right now, we'll never find them again,” Sulu shot back. And in all likelihood, he was absolutely correct. “Mr. Scott,” Sulu continued, his already deep voice dropping further, “all reports so far indicate manageable casualty levels.”

Scotty turned to Uhura. She looked somewhat startled by the minor power struggle being played out before her, but maintained enough of her characteristic poise to answer the question immediately: “That's still the case, yes. There are, however, continued reports of widespread tremors stretching the colony's—”

“Sir,” Sulu interrupted, “if those tremors were triggered by an alien weapon, we're going to have to learn as much about that technology as possible.”

That bit of logic may as well have come from Spock; Scotty certainly had no way to refute it. The only reason he had now to dismiss Sulu's protests was to salvage his own pride. After a brief pause, he said, “Set intercept course with that ship.”

Sulu all but ran across the bridge to his helm station, his hands working the controls with confidence. The entire bridge seemed to hum in anticipation of the coming confrontation.

“Course laid in and ready, sir.”

Scotty, seated uncomfortably on the edge of the captain's chair, nodded slowly. “Very well. Take us after them.”

The starscape on the main viewer rotated, the streamer sliding away off the right edge of the screen. As it did, Scotty felt a slight vibration of the deck plating through the soles of his boots. His neck hair already started to prickle before Chekov spoke up to report, “The warp field disruption effect is becoming more pronounced as we take on a course parallel to the streamer, sir. It will grow exponentially as we maneuver closer.”

This time, Frank was ready with his information and, without prompting, said, “The reports from Thraz have the specs they used to modify their defensive screens and warp fields. Our systems aren't quite the same as their research ships—”

“Not so different, though,” Scotty said, jumping to his feet. “You have those specs up now, Mr. Frank?”

“Right here, sir,” Frank answered, as he too got out of his chair in deference to the senior officer.

Scott took the three steps up from the command well—and then, for the briefest of instances, hesitated.

“Transfer them down to main engineering,” he said, smoothly shifting his direction, now walking away from the science station, past Uhura's post, toward the orange double doors. “I'll look them over, and work on modifying them down there. Mr. Sulu: You have the conn.”

The turbolift doors slid closed. Scotty sighed as the car started its descent.

 

Sulu felt all eyes on him, waiting expectantly for his first order. “Chekov, maintain parallel course with the alien at safe distance.”

“Mr. Sulu,” Uhura said behind him, “shall I inform the Thraz Outpost authorities of our change of objective?”

Was there a coolness to Uhura's tone, or was he imagining it? “Let them know that we are in pursuit of their attackers,” Sulu said, “and to give us any updates if there's any change in their situation.”

“Aye, sir.”

That time he felt the shiver run up his spine.

He stood up out of the captain's chair and started to slowly pace the bridge, just as he'd watched Captain Kirk so often do in such situations. He circled the upper portion nonchalantly until he reached the communications station, where he paused, turned, and leaned in over Uhura's right shoulder. “Any response yet?”

“Our message was acknowledged as received,” she answered without looking at him.

“No protests?”

“The response was just as I said, sir.”

“I didn't mean the Andorians, Nyota,” he whispered.

Uhura jerked her head around, glaring at Sulu at first with anger, which shifted to something more closely resembling disappointment. “If you're asking me if I have a problem with command-level decisions, then no; it's not my place to question them.”

“Then what?”

Uhura hesitated, weighing her next words carefully. “Have you ever seen Mr. Spock arguing with the captain the way you were with Mr. Scott?”

Sulu's expression twisted in confusion. “Spock is
always
telling the captain what's the logical thing to do, challenging him when he thinks he's wrong…”

“But he always does so
respectfully.
He never does it in a way meant to make the captain feel unqualified for command…”

“Hold on, now. I never said anything like that to Scott!”

Uhura narrowed her eyes at him. “Mr. Sulu, I'm a communications specialist. You say a lot of things…just not all of them with words.”

Sulu realized what those dark eyes were communicating to him, and he found he had to shift his own gaze away. Uhura turned back to her board then, while Sulu returned to his slow pacing of the bridge.