“And most serious,” Burnett concluded, “after the time and effort these beings have expended in infiltrating our vessels and installations, they appear to be all too willing to die in the malfunctions they create.”
There the fleet admiral paused as several heated conversations began.
For all the questions that Picard wanted answered, one was critical. He had little doubt that all other answers would flow from it.
“Admiral,” Picard said, cutting through the background clamor of other speakers, “why have we been brought here?”
Burnett grimaced, and Picard did not need the abilities of a Betazoid to sense the weight of defeat the admiral felt.
“For the moment,” Burnett said, “all of us at this table are Starfleet Command.”
The room fell silent.
“What about Admiral Mueller?” Picard asked in bewilderment. Eric Mueller was the commander-in-chief of Starfleet, only a few months into his posting.
“He’s presumed lost. The Erebus was en route from Vulcan six days ago. The warp core breached so suddenly, it couldn’t be ejected. No survivors.”
Picard understood that he was no longer in the company of strangers. Everyone present was now his colleague and he theirs. The U.S.S. Erebus was a Sovereign-class starship, as was the Enterprise. Admiral Mueller’s fate, and the fate of all those on his ship, could also have been the fate of Picard and his crew-if not for his encounter with Shinzon and the subsequent installation of an old-model warp core.
“Are we to presume other personnel losses have brought us to this?” Picard asked.
“A combination of factors,” Burnett said tersely. “Some members of Command are known to have perished. Others are known to be stranded in interstellar space, awaiting transport by warp-capable rescue vessels. So many, though, that it could take months for all of them to be returned to Mercury. Others are simply missing. Admiral Janeway will brief us on that aspect of what we’re facing, later.”
Picard had no idea what Janeway could have to say about missing personnel, but one other detail of what Burnett had just said needed clarification.
“Why Mercury?”
The admiral gestured to a gaunt, bearded man at his right. Like Burnett and most of the others present, he appeared to have gone several days without sleep. “I’ll leave that to Doctor Muirhead.”
Though they had never met, Picard recognized the engineer’s name. He was the chief administrator of Starfleet’s Propulsion Technologies Division.
Muirhead stood as Burnett sat. He was equally plain-spoken.
“We don’t know what’s causing the rash of core malfunctions. In the beginning, only certain models were affected. However, we do have detailed engineering logs from a handful of incidents and they appear to indicate that in almost all cases the cores failed during power-up.”
“What about the other cases?” someone at the table called out. Picard couldn’t see who the questioner was.
“Location also appears to play a part in the malfunctions,” Muirhead answered. “Vessels, even those with susceptible cores, that went to warp deep within the gravity well of a star or other massive object were not affected. This suggests to us that whatever technique is being used to trigger warp-core failures involves the distortion of ordinary space-time. Where a particular volume of space-time is already distorted by a strong gravity source, the technique is not effective. This could also account for why the larger Romulan vessels, powered as they are by miniature black holes, have not experienced the same failure rate.”
Now Picard understood why Starfleet Command had been relocated to Mercury. That planet was so close to Earth’s sun that even five hundred years ago, in the infancy of multiphysics, the sun’s relativistic effects on Mercury’s orbit had been noted by astronomers.
“However,” Muirhead continued, “what little protection a gravity well provides is likely going to be temporary.” He picked up a small padd from the table, input some commands, and the holographic screen changed its display to show a three-dimensional graph. The primary values being charted on it progressed to zero over time.
“As you see, the characteristics of the affected warp cores are following a diminishing energy curve. Our most powerful designs were affected first, beginning eleven days ago with the devastating breach at the Cochrane Institute. Since that time, however, less powerful cores are being affected. If the pattern continues, as shown on this chart, within ten more days, Cochrane-based warp travel will be… impossible.”
Shocked silence greeted that revelation.
Muirhead sat. Burnett folded his hands on the table and the weariness he felt, and his despair, were evident in his heavy tone. “In other words, what we are faced with is the end of interstellar trade, interstellar traffic, interstellar culture…”
Burnett looked around the table, as if making sure everyone understood exactly what their position was.
“In ten days, the United Federation of Planets will cease to exist.”
13
PLANETARY DEFENSE PLATFORM 22, VULCAN
STARDATE 58563.6
Kirk resolved from the transporter effect determined he had had enough of Vulcan obstructionism.
But even as he prepared to logically register his objections to being beamed against his will, he realized he was facing not a Vulcan, but a human.
A compellingly attractive, dark-haired woman in a Starfleet captain’s uniform.
“Mister Kirk, I’m Captain Blakely. Sorry for the abrupt– “
“No apologies,” Kirk said. He wanted no wasted words. “My son’s been kidnapped. The sensor records of the Vulcan authorities have been compromised. I need a starship with a full sensor suite and I need it now.”
The captain was unperturbed, as if she had anticipated Kirk’s defiance. “I am sorry about your child. I had no– “
“I’m not interested in ‘sorry.’” Kirk pushed past Blakely, heading for a viewport. From the steady lights of the stars he could see through it, it was obvious he was in space. Even more obvious, from the idealized painting of Mount Selaya on the far bulkhead, he was on a Vulcan facility. He needed to know if it was a vessel or a space station.
“What ship are you from?” Kirk asked sharply.
Blakely stepped beside him as if they were having no more than a casual conversation. “The Magellan.”
Kirk wasn’t familiar with it. He took a guess. “A science vessel.”
“Yes,” she said, inexplicably smiling, “but that’s not the point.”
“No, it’s not,” Kirk agreed. He peered out the viewport, saw from the nested cylindrical projections that he was on a space station. Judging from the size of Vulcan far below, the station was in a geostationary orbit. Not good enough for a full planetary sensor sweep. He needed to be able to scan the entire planet. “Where is it?”
Blakely studied him with curiosity as if he, not she, were out of line.
“Your ship, Captain Blakely. The Magellan.”
The captain finally found her voice. “It no longer exists, Mister Kirk. That’s why I’m commandeering the Belle Reve.”
“No. You’re not.”
Blakely held up a small Starfleet padd, showed its screen to Kirk.
“These are my orders,” she said. “The Belle Reve is one of the last Starfleet vessels in the Vulcan system cleared for warp. I’m to take it to Earth at once.”
Kirk didn’t bother reading the orders. He gently but firmly pushed the padd aside.
“I’m under orders from Admiral Janeway. And she wants me on Vulcan.”
