“The Calypso is a Q-ship,” Kirk said. “Which means Starfleet and Admiral Janeway would expect me to carry out covert missions.”
“From time to time,” Picard agreed. “But the rest of the time, she’s your ship, your crew. Your home.” He patted Kirk’s shoulder. “Think about it?”
“I will.”
“And sooner, rather than later,” Picard suggested.
“Something I should know about?” Kirk asked.
“Talk to the Admiral,” Picard said. Then he left to speak to Riker.
For a few moments, Kirk stood alone on the bridge, surrounded by activity, but not sharing in it.
He lasted two minutes.
Then he tracked down a communicator, to contact Janeway.
What good was a captain without a ship?
What good was a ship without a mission?
Epilogue
The Monitor Transmission
STARBASE 499, STARDATE 57503.1
“The signal took almost two years to reach us,” Commander Soren said. She was Vulcan, chief science officer of the starbase, a specialist in communications. But unlike her audience, she already had seen the final transmission from the U.S.S. Monitor. And she was frightened.
From his place at the head of the long, black conference table, Admiral Meugniot objected. “From three hundred and fifty thousand light-years? Impossible.” His frown of disapproval was like a slash of paint on a ceremonial mask, its shape distorted in the shadow thrown up by the reading lamps on the table, for now the only source of light in the spacious briefing room.
Soren stood beside the main viewscreen, hands held behind her back. “Subspace radio travels at a pseudo velocity of warp factor nine-point-nine-nine-nine-nine.” Her voice was flat, lost in the quiet of the sound-deadened room.
“Within the galactic network,” Meugniot said, not bothering to hide his scorn. “With relay stations to boost the signal, keep it bound.” He made a show of impatiently scrolling through the text of the large, classified padd on the table before him. “But this signal, you claim, originated from outside the galaxy. One-sixth of the way to Andromeda.” He shook his head. “It’s a hoax, Commander. That’s the only explanation. I hear the Tal Shiar are back in business on Romulus, and this is exactly the kind of false intelligence they’d develop to have us switch our defense priorities.”
Soren waited for the whispered discussion among the others at the table to end. In addition to Meugniot, there were six admirals in attendance, along with four starship captains, their science officers, and three civilians—two men, one woman—who had pointedly not been introduced. Soren did not need her logic to know that meant the civilians were likely senior officers in Starfleet Intelligence. But at least their presence suggested someone at Command understood the serious nature of the Monitor transmission. Perhaps, Soren hoped, that person at Command was also frightened.
“There is a full engineering report included as a supplement to the main document,” Soren said, her voice betraying nothing of her true feelings. “Recall that the Monitor was a testbed for captured Borg technology, with many novel subsystems. Furthermore, Captain Lewinski and the surviving crew had three years to refine the onboard technology. In the end, anticipating their destruction, they reconfigured their forward sensor array to emit a single, five-second subspace pulse, drawing one hundred percent of the power output of the ship’s warp core.”
The crew of the Monitor had also been afraid, Soren knew. To see the need for that transmission, to carry it out, knowing that their ship would then be adrift in intergalactic space—that was the action of a desperate crew. But a crew who had stayed true to their duty as Starfleet officers.
“I don’t care how much power they had,” the admiral objected. “Over that distance, there is no way a subspace signal wouldn’t spread out to the point where it could not be distinguished from normal subspace static. Especially static from extragalactic sources. It’s the Romulans up to their old tricks.”
Soren wondered what it would feel like to take the admiral by his shoulders and shake him. To tell him he was missing the point of this gathering. The technology of the signal’s transmission was not the issue. It was the signal’s content that had led the commander of Starbase 499 to call this extraordinary meeting at Soren’s request.
But, instead, the science officer calmly said, “The signal was relayed, sir. By at least one of the Kelvan Expeditionary Return Probes currently presumed to be en route to Andromeda.”
The admiral was not one to be contradicted. “That probe is more than a century old.” He appeared to have more to say, but one of the civilians interrupted.
“Commander Soren, could you show us the transmission?”
Just that one, brief request from the thin pale man in the black suit was enough to silence every other voice at the table.
“Certainly,” Soren answered. “As noted in your briefing padds, this is a reconstruction based on a severely degraded transmission. Almost three months of effort has gone into restoring it to this stage, using existing engineering plans of the Monitor and images of the crew from their personnel files in order to create—”
“Show it,” Meugniot ordered.
Soren nodded to the admiral, then turned again to the civilian, for she knew that if there were to be a defense against the threat described in this transmission, it would come from Starfleet Intelligence—the only part of Starfleet that dared consider the unthinkable.
“The majority of the signal consists of text and instrument data which is proving almost impossible to reconstruct, due to lack of redundancy. But the last one-hundredth second of the transmission included the following visual images, which represent the last moments of the Starship Monitor, reported lost on a routine transwarp engine trial mission, Stardate 52027.4.”
She touched the playback control on her own padd. And because she had seen the transmission once, she did not need to see it again. She did not want to. Instead she watched the audience. The admirals, the captains, the science officers, the civilians. The last hope of the Federation.
The table lights dimmed, then Captain John Lewinski spoke to those people, giving his final captain’s log. Their upturned faces were painted by the flicker of subspace static, and the rippling lines of distortion that could not be removed for fear of losing any scraps of information still hidden in the signal.
Soren’s processing engineers had obtained recordings of Lewinski’s other logs, so they could be guided in the recreation of his voice. But it still warbled, an eerie effect, as if this really were a ghost now speaking to them across the years and the light-years since his death.
Lewinski told them about the Distortion.
It had made contact with the Monitor in intergalactic space, near the debris field of the first Kelvan Expeditionary Return Probe.
Lewinski’s investigation of that debris revealed the probe had been deliberately destroyed, by a process that appeared to alter the fundamental constants of space-time, making it impossible for complex matter to exist.
The other revelations were even more outrageous, more unnerving.
The Monitor had mapped a transwarp tunnel that had been constructed between the Andromeda Galaxy and the Milky Way. The Distortion traveled along that tunnel at a near-instantaneous speed, approaching the theoretically impossible warp ten.
The few seconds of sensor scans the Monitor had been able to make revealed that the Distortion was an artifact employing dimensional engineering, one part existing in normal space while the rest of it was in warp space at the same time. Another impossibility.
And then the Distortion responded to Lewinski’s hails by firing a dimensional weapon at his ship.
