U.S.S. Enterprise
Pergamum Nebula
“Captain!” Avedis Galadjian nearly vaulted the computer console he was working at when he noticed Pike’s arrival in main engineering. “Welcome!”
“Lieutenant Commander.”
“Doctor is fine.” The human in red seized the captain’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I so rarely see you here. It’s an exciting day, and we’re delighted to have you.”
“Thank you, Doctor—but we still don’t do handshakes.”
“How foolish of me.” Bald with a finely coiffed gray goatee and beard, the sixtyish Galadjian released Pike’s hand. “That is a pity, but needs of the service.”
“Right.” At least he wasn’t saluting anymore, Pike thought. “We’re nearly through the Acheron Formation. What’s your status?”
“Excellent! It has gone very well.”
I’d have won the pool on that answer, Pike thought. Galadjian’s first name meant “good news” in his native language, and that had quickly become his nickname. The captain surveyed the junior engineers bustling about at their assignments. “I don’t suppose you noticed the shaking down here?” As if on cue, Enterprise, moving again, shuddered around them. “Like that?”
“Of course I felt it. Very exciting.”
“Was the excitement in any way concerning?”
Galadjian walked toward one of the engineering displays before turning, apparently having had a flash of insight. “You see, Captain Pike,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “the calculations for the creation of a magnetodynamic envelope in which a vessel, V, travels through a medium, M, without harm to occupant O are a simple mathematical matter. What is unusual in this case is that I am inside the problem myself.”
“You’re O.”
“Doctor O. But yes. My presence makes me more than a mere observer in this system. And that is a hazard. If I were to allow my feelings as a sentient being to enter into my thinking, it might influence my calculations and introduce error.”
“Or give us a less bumpy ride.”
“Ah, but the tolerance levels of our occupants have already been taken into account, and our journey has been entirely within prescribed parameters.”
That’s a relief, Pike thought. “How about that big bump earlier?”
“Big bump?” Galadjian looked at him attentively. “Perhaps some clarification.”
“When the ship went pinwheeling. You must have noticed that.”
Galadjian nodded. “Again, very exciting. There are no moments like this back home at the institute.”
“Lieutenant Connolly seems to think it might have been caused by a photon torpedo.”
“A photon—” Galadjian repeated. His head tilted forty-five degrees. Dark eyes stared into space for a moment, as if the new information needed to be submitted through internal channels only the engineer could see. “That is a remarkable possibility,” he said after a few moments. “We will turn to our good and trusty friend, the sensor logs.”
“Commander Nhan has already started collating data.”
“Magnificent! I will see if I have anything to add.” As Galadjian headed to a far terminal, several engineers stepped from their stations to join him.
Pike braced himself against a bulkhead and waited—and looked again at the busy officers about. He saw nothing unusual: if Enterprise’s rough transit was posing a crisis, there was little trace of it. This was an experienced team—
—save one. Even the ensigns had been in Starfleet longer than Galadjian.
The problem with Enterprise being a showcase for Starfleet was that the coveted chief engineer’s post had become something of a revolving door. People came and went, often taking personnel with them; sometimes they even came back. Kursley, Marvick, Grace, Burnstein—even Transporter Chief Pitcairn briefly had filled the top slot for a mission. Caitlin Barry had been the most recent chief engineer to depart, taking several assistants on a leave of absence before the Pergamum mission to advise Starfleet’s shipyards about the Constitution class. Now, with a war on, Pike had no idea whether they’d return. He hoped they would. One of the junior officers Barry had taken, Scott, had seemed pretty bright.
Galadjian was as accomplished in warp physics as Richard Daystrom was in computing—and if anything, he was more famous, because he welcomed interactions with laypeople and the media. Where other theoreticians tended to be distant and obscure, Galadjian thought his complex models were never complete unless he got the average person excited about them.
Galadjian’s mastery in the physics of shields and their interactions with nebulae had made him Starfleet’s choice for the Pergamum mission. Many of his ideas had gone into the most recent refit, reshaping and optimizing Enterprise for nebular travel. While Pike could understand why Galadjian had been awarded a commission—if not the lofty brevet rank—the captain still had no idea why the man had wanted to go to space.
But his credentials impressed Spock and Number One, and he had seemed to settle in well. Among his engineering colleagues, Galadjian’s exuberance kicked into overdrive. Lately, every trip Pike had taken to main engineering had felt like wandering into the after-party of a Cochrane Medal awards ceremony, with Galadjian quipping about the latest discoveries as if they were the juiciest bits of gossip around.
After about a month of that, Pike had decided to let Number One handle making the rounds.
The latest confab broke up. “Captain, I have my analysis,” Galadjian said, stepping away from the terminal as his juniors returned to their stations. He picked up a cup and saucer from the deck where they had fallen during the tumult and held them up before Pike. “Let us consider this saucer as Enterprise and this cup as a high-speed projectile—”
“I have a grounding in physics, Doctor. Starfleet likes that in its captains.”
“Yes, of course!” In their short time together, Pike had found he could be a little acerbic with Galadjian because the man either didn’t register sarcasm or didn’t resent it. The chief engineer set down the dishes and led Pike to the terminal.
Galadjian pointed to the display. “Based on the distribution of damage to the aft section and the nacelles and the surge of particular particles, I project to ninety-five percent certainty that we were exposed to the reaction of antideuterium with magnetic borotenite, four-point-eight kilometers behind our position.”
“Just ninety-five percent certain, huh?” Pike stared at the findings. “That sounds like a torpedo—and not one of ours.”
Galadjian grinned. “If such reactions happen naturally, we have come to the right place—because there is definitely a paper to be written here.”
“After people are finished shooting at us. Damage assessments, Doctor. Can we safely go to warp once we’re outside the nebula?”
“I believe so, but would like to have Spock’s opinion, when he is done with his work on the deflector dish.”
He’s not a member of your section, Doctor. “It can’t wait. There’s an emergency—as you might have surmised.” He gestured to the nearby cup, which was starting to rattle. “I need your best judgment now.”
“Ah,” Galadjian said. He pursed his lips. “Yes. Yes, all systems should function normally. I guarantee it.” He clasped his hands behind him and straightened at dutiful attention—a pose that broke when the ship shook violently, once again knocking the nearby saucer and cup to the deck. Enterprise had entered another area of dense material. He looked at Pike. “I’m afraid I’ve lost track of which zone we’re in. Was that Upsilon or Phi?”
“I leave the alphabets to Spock.” Pike headed toward the exit. “Oh,” he called back, “as long as you’re working together, tell him I want to see him when he’s available. I have some news for him.”
“Aye, Captain!”
Inside the turbolift, Pike clapped his hand on the control lever and made his way to the bridge. The doors opened to a welcome sight: stars on the main viewer.
“Captain on the bridge,” Una announced, rising from the command chair. “Sir, that was the final layer of the formation. We are in the clear.”
“I’d almost forgotten what ‘clear’ looked like,” Pike said, relieved to be out of the giant chemistry set. He wandered toward the screen, admiring the open expanse.
Amin nudged Raden. “We just shaved a month off the transit.”
“Yes,” the helmsman whispered. “And a few centimeters off the hull.”
Pike’s jaw set. They’d done it; now it was time to report for duty—whatever duty—Starfleet required.
He turned to the bridge crew. “My mother used to say, ‘It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.’ I told you all that the message I received from Starfleet was broadcast a long time ago; what I did not say—except to Number One—is that we were also ordered to remain in the nebula.”
He paused, waiting for a reaction. Seeing his crew strangely relaxed, he plowed ahead. “Obviously, I have disregarded that order, judging that enough time has passed since it was sent that circumstances are likely to have changed. I accept full responsibility; none will fall on you. That said, I don’t want any of you thinking this is an okay practice when it comes to orders from me—or any future captains you may serve under.” Perhaps sooner than I’d like. “Is that understood?”
He got nods and statements of assent from the bridge crew. “Fine. All hands, prepare for warp. Lay in a course for—”
A chime sounded at communications. Lieutenant Vicente Nicola touched his earpiece. “Captain, we’re being hailed.”
Pike’s brow furrowed. “Is it whoever shot at us?”
“No, Captain. It’s Starfleet Command. They want to speak with you—immediately.” The dark-haired man hesitated. “It’s Admiral Terral, sir.”
Terral? Pike had clashed with him before over matters of policy, without ever once winning an argument. A joke around Starfleet had called him “the only Vulcan who could read minds remotely.” But the timing of this call was on a whole other level. “Vic, how would he even know we were here to—”
He stopped in midsentence and looked at Una. The woman’s expression was mild and serene, as it often was; as a human who grew up in the Illyrian colonies, she had adapted much of that placid species’ emotional self-control. Pike interpreted the current look to be the Illyrian version of trying to appear innocent.
“Never mind,” he said, heading back to the turbolift. “Keep the conn, Number One. I’ll take the call in my quarters.” He looked over his shoulder. “Unless somebody else wants to come along and enjoy the fun.”
There were no takers.