CHAPTER ELEVEN
"One minute to designated coordinates," reported Lieutenant Curtis Winston as another tremor rocked the Enterprise. Followed closely by another. And then another. Sunset reported that shield power had dropped below 50%.
Good, Bairnson thought. That means they're losing patience.
Bairnson glanced behind him as he heard the turbolift doors hiss open. Lieutenant Commander Ryan Johnson, the Enterprise's boyish chief engineer, quickly exited the lift. He darted over to an unoccupied station on the bridge's upper level, no doubt wanting to get into position before the ship was fired upon again.
As Johnson sat at the station, he pressed a control pad and announced, "Transferring main engineering controls to the bridge."
After giving him a moment to orient himself to his station, Bairnson queried, "You ready, Ryan?"
Johnson nodded. "Main deflector dish is primed, but…"
Bairnson sat on pins and needles, anxiously awaiting the conclusion to Johnson's sentence. The apprehensive expression on his face told Bairnson that he wasn't going to like it.
"I'm sorry, Cap," said Johnson with regret. "Phasers are a no-go."
NO! Bairnson's mind screamed. If his plan was going to succeed, he needed those phasers. Bairnson pounded the left armrest of his chair in frustration. A wave of despair washed over him, as his old feelings of failure and inadequacy suddenly reared their ugly heads once more.
Winston reported that the Enterprise was now 45 seconds away from the designated coordinates.
"I'm sorry sir," pleaded Johnson. "But there just wasn't enough time…"
Bairnson tuned Johnson out as his mind raced. What could he do? How could he make lemonade out of the rotten lemons the universe had thrust upon him once again? Then, realization dawned on his face as the inspiration he was searching for finally struck! Or was it the new tremor that hit his ship?
At any rate, he whirled around in his chair to face Johnson. "How many bursts from the main deflector can you give me?"
Johnson's nose crinkled in confusion. "You said you only needed one!"
"Yeah, well, that was when I thought we were going to have phasers. Can you give me at least two?"
Taking the hint, Johnson turned in his chair with an exasperated huff, and his fingers began frantically tapping the pad. "I'll have to recalibrate the entire deflector array…" he said.
"Do it!" barked Bairnson as yet another tremor struck. Sunset reported that shields were down to 46%; and almost simultaneously, Winston reported that the Enterprise was 20 seconds away from the designated coordinates.
Bairnson impatiently turned back in the direction of Johnson's station. "The second burst needs to be a lot stronger than the first."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that," snapped Johnson with slight annoyance. Bairnson was well aware of good was Johnson at his job, but was he good enough to pull things together when Bairnson needed him?
"15 seconds to designated coordinates," reported Winston.
Beads of sweat trickled down Bairnson's forehead as yet another tremor rocked the ship. He wiped away the perspiration with the sleeve of his jacket, keeping his eyes glued to the viewer, which displayed the stars slowly passing by outside. He ordered Mirgant to keep the ship as steady as she went.
"Ryan…" said Bairnson nervously through gritted teeth.
"Just a second, Cap…"
"We don't have a second, Ryan!"
"Ten seconds to designated coordinates!" chimed Winston. He then began counting down the numbers until their arrival. Bairnson looked back over to Johnson, who was still frantically typing at his station. They weren't going to make it, he thought.
When Bairnson heard Winston call out the number five, he pressed the comm pad on his right armrest. "Y'Gar!" he called. "Get the hell outta here. Now!"
Four…
A yelp of joy erupted from Johnson!
Three…
"Main deflector array primed and ready, Cap!" he reported.
Yes! Thank you, Ryan! cried Bairnson's mind.
Two…
Bairnson's mouth instead said, "On my mark…"
Johnson placed his hand by the control pad in anticipation of his Captain's order.
One…
Winston reported that the Enterprise had arrived at the designated coordinates.
"Now, Johnson!" called Bairnson.
Johnson pressed the control pad, and the main viewer briefly flashed orange as the Enterprise's main deflector dish emitted its first energy pulse. A second later, the flash faded, and all that remained in view was the starfield the ship had been passing through all along.
The crew, including Bairnson, stared at the viewer with baited breath. To a casual observer, it hadn't been a particularly spectacular display by any means. In fact, some would have called it downright disappointing. The crew began regarding each other uncertainly.
"Did it work?" asked Sunset, finally.
"Let's find out," said Bairnson. He ordered Mirgant to bring up the aft view. Following a few taps of her fingers, the image on the viewer changed from that of the stars coming toward the Enterprise to one of the stars passing away from it.
Not far in the distance, something was happening.
Narrow ribbons of orange light randomly darted and dashed about in space, occasionally colliding and sparking. That was what Bairnson had hoped would happen. The energy dispersed from the main deflector dish was exciting the residual neutrino particles left over from when the T'Lajia closed. But would it be enough? And did their enemy have any inkling of what the Enterprise was doing?
It didn't take long to find out. For at that moment, the ribbons of energy began to take on a peculiar shape, as if the hull of a ship was passing through them. It didn't penetrate the enemy ship's cloaking device, but it was almost as if a thin sheet had been suddenly dropped on top of it, revealing a crude shape.
This was their moment! Finally, the enemy could be seen!
"Helm – hard about!" Bairnson barked. "Sunset, lock onto the enemy vessel!"
Bairnson and the rest of the bridge crew felt the G-force pin them back to their chairs as Mirgant quickly reoriented the ship's position.
"Johnson, prepare to fire the second burst on my mark!"
"Cap!" Johnson interjected. "I can't guarantee that this burst will even damage the enemy vessel, let alone destroy it."
"Doesn't matter," said Bairnson. "As long as it disables their cloaking device!"
Johnson nodded his comprehension. Within seconds, the G-force subsided to a more normal level, and the Enterprise was face to face with its attacker.
Bairnson did not hesitate. "Now, Johnson!"
Another orange burst of light, slightly longer than the first, filled the main viewer as the Enterprise's main deflector dish carried out Bairnson's command. When it subsided, the crew watched as the mysterious shape that had been firing upon them only moments before slowly revealed its true self.
The orange energy ribbons began fizzling and fading away. Bit by bit, the energy dispersed into the ether; and in its place, a scarred and battered metallic hull took their place. Little by little, the hull's shape revealed itself, as if a conjurer made it magically appear from his hat.
"My gods…" Mirgant gasped. "What is that?"
Sunset shook her head in awe. "I never seen anything like it before…"
Bairnson had. But he daren't tell his crew—at least, not yet—that they would be seeing more of them in the years to come.
To him, the ship's configuration was unmistakable. Granted, it was a bit rough around the edges, not yet possessing the smooth angular lines that it eventually would. But the prominently beak-like bow and wings etched into its sides left no doubt in Bairnson's mind.
It was an early version of the Warbird he had seen in the 24th century. Possibly the first of its kind.
Bairnson turned to Sunset, asking her to scan the vessel for its current energy output. Sunset's fingers danced across her control pad as she worked to bring up the information he requested. After a moment, she reported, "I can't be certain because of the ship's configuration. But it appears to be hovering at just above 30%."
The sound of Saallak's voice calling his attention pulled Bairnson's gaze in her direction. She informed him that the enemy ship was hailing them. Bairnson told her to put the call through to the main viewer.
The image on the main viewer changed from the nascent Warbird to the head and shoulders of a Romulan male. It was difficult to make out what was behind him, but Bairnson did detect a wisp of smoke passing behind his head. The Romulan appeared to be as young as Johnson was. Of course, because Vulcans and Romulans aged at a slower rate than humans, it was impossible to say how old he really was.
Nevertheless, he did not appear to be old enough, perhaps, to be in command of the vessel. He had to have assumed that position after the original commander was incapacitated somehow.
"Federation starship," said the youthful Romulan, his voice cracking somewhat. "You have proven to be a worthy adversary." Bairnson smiled slightly at the unexpected compliment. "Nevertheless, I am prepared to accept your immediate and unconditional surrender."
Bairnson chuckled on the inside. Was this guy serious? He could tell by the looks on the faces of some of his crewmates, that they shared his amusement.
"I don't think so, Commander," said Bairnson, stressing the rank ironically as he rose to a standing position. "According to our sensors, it looks like you have just enough reserve power to safely make it back home to Romulus."
The Romulan's expression changed. He had been caught. He tried desperately to save face. "You know that is not our way, Captain."
Bairnson nodded. He knew all too well from history that Romulans preferred suicide to returning home in shame after an enemy had bested them. But something about the look in the young Romulan's eyes made Bairnson think twice. Maybe things didn't have to go down that way.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" asked Bairnson gently.
The Romulan visibly swallowed, as if summoning his courage. "It is… an honor to die in service of the Praetor."
"But a Praetor that lied to you?" said Bairnson.
All heads on the bridge turned to Bairnson. He knew they were wondering what the hell he was doing, and he would explain everything to them.
Eventually.
"What do you mean?" growled the Romulan.
"She's planning to commit wholesale genocide. By letting the plague that you manufactured wipe out the entire population of the Epsilon Dräkmar system!"
The Romulan appeared stunned by Bairnson's pronouncement. "No!" he said in disbelief. "No. We have the vaccine! We are going to give it to them…"
"No," said Bairnson gently. "You won't."
Seeing the look in the Romulan's eyes, Bairnson added, "And I think you already know that…"
The Romulan glanced about him uncertainly. Bairnson knew then that the young man was having a crisis of conscience, something he hardly expected to see in a Romulan. But then again, if Sela's actions were any indication, Romulans were capable of just about anything.
"This is… not possible…" the Romulan finally said under his breath. He then faced forward again, addressing the Captain. "You are lying!" he spat.
Bairnson raised his arms out to his sides in a gesture of submission. "I'm a lot of things, sir. But a liar ain't one of `em," he said softly and evenly.
The Romulan was cornered. He stood uncertain of his next move. Finally, Bairnson gave him his out. "Go ahead," said Bairnson. "Scan me if you like. See if I'm telling you the truth."
The Romulan's right arm moved as his hand pressed a panel that Bairnson and the Enterprise bridge crew could not see on the viewer. Bairnson's body was quickly enveloped in an eerie greenish glow. Sunset sprang to her feet, ready to defend her Captain. A quick, calming look from Bairnson made her stand down.
After a moment, the glow surrounding Bairnson was gone. He lowered his arms back to his sides.
The expression on the Romulan's face revealed his shock.
"How can this be?" he asked.
"What's your name?" countered Bairnson kindly.
The question seemed taken the Romulan by surprise; but after a moment, he said nervously, "M… Meldet…" After a second, he got a hold of himself and added, more formally, "Centurion Meldet."
"Centurion Meldet," said Bairnson with a tilt of his head, a gesture of reverence for the young man's title. "The real question is: Now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"
Meldet pursed his lips as his mind seemed to race. Finally, he looked up, appearing as if he was staring directly into Bairnson's eyes. Time momentarily stood still, until Bairnson noticed Meldet's right shoulder shift slightly, as if his hand was reaching for a console. He quickly shook his head. "I will not be party to this…" he said firmly. The image cut off, and the battle-damaged Warbird prototype once again filled the viewer.
For a moment, the Enterprise bridge stared spellbound at the viewer, holding their collective breath in anticipation of what was to come next. Finally, the prototype Warbird slowly turned on its axis away from the Enterprise; and within moments, it began moving away from them. Apparently, in a direction that would take them back to Romulus, if Winston's report was to be believed.
Bairnson and the Enterprise bridge crew heaved a collective sigh of relief. Afterwards, a round of cheers and applause erupted from the bridge officers. Over the ship's intercraft system, Bairnson could hear the echoes of more accolades coming from the ships lower decks. He then noticed that all eyes on the bridge were focused upon him. The crew of the Enterprise was throwing those accolades his way.
Bairnson's cheeks flushed briefly before he raised his arms and waved his hands, calling for the crew to cease their applause. He felt he only deserved partial credit, at best, for saving them. As the roar began to subside, he took his seat, pressing the intercraft comm panel on the right arm rest. "All hands," he said. "Cancel red alert. Damage Control – report to affected areas."
Bairnson glanced over and noticed Johnson rise from his station and begin striding toward the turbolift. Of course, Johnson would have to supervise the damage control operation. But as the doors to the lift hissed open, he shot a smile to his captain and brought his right hand to his temple in an old-style to salute as the doors closed before him.
Bairnson then called to his communications officer. "Saallak, call Y'Gar. Tell him we're on our way…"
Captain's Log: Star Date 5885.3.
The Enterprise is currently orbiting Dräkmar IV where medical teams from the ship, led by Dr. Crispin, are currently aiding Dräkmarian officials in distributing and administering the plague vaccine amongst the populace.
Meanwhile, damage control teams are working on repairing damage the ship sustained in battle. And while they are doing an admirable job, I believe we will still have to stop at a nearby star base to completely return the Enterprise to fully operational status.
The Romulan ship we encountered has shown no signs of returning. My guess is that it's well beyond the Neutral Zone by now and on its way back to Romulus. No signs of any other Romulan incursions to report, either.
Bairnson paused the recording of his log entry. He sat alone at the desk in his office just off the bridge. It was late, and he had yet to take a rest period. He rubbed his fatigued eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It had been a hell of a day.
He glanced out the office window to see the orange and yellow orb that was Dräkmar IV passing by miles below the ship. It still held the same inhospitable aura it had when Bairnson first saw it in the 24th century. But as Bairnson watched one of the Enterprise's other shuttlecraft descend toward the planet's surface, he smiled, knowing that life on the planet would not come to end on this day.
He turned back to the computer terminal atop his desk and squinted when he noticed something out of the ordinary on the monitor: A file named "Bairnson_X". He didn't remember putting the file onto the computer. But, then again, his memory of the past few days had been greatly jostled.
He called out to the Enterprise's main computer, which had recently been upgraded to include new voice-activated Assistant program. "What's this file on my terminal?" he asked.
"Please be more specific," intoned the Assistant.
"There's a file named 'Bairnson_X' on my terminal."
"Affirmative."
Bairnson rolled his eyes. It was too late to be dealing with an Assistant that was so pedantic that it required great specificity to give you the answer you were looking for. "Well, I don't remember putting it there."
The Assistant was silent as it attempted to decipher what information it could report in response to Bairnson's statement. When it seemed like an answer wasn't forthcoming, Bairnson decided to try a different approach. "Never mind," he said, stopping the Assistant's virtual wheels from spinning. "What can you tell me about the file?"
The Assistant was silent another moment as it analyzed the file. When it was finished, the Assistant stated that the file was created on Star Date 46117.5. Bairnson's eyes widened in shock. He asked the Assistant to confirm its assessment, and it repeated the exact same star date.
How could that be? Bairnson wondered. That meant that the file was created 80 years from now. Or was it… will be created? Linguists constantly argued over the correct application of semantics when time travel was involved. They had yet to come to a satisfactory conclusion. Bairnson pondered who could have possibly created the file, but only one name came to mind.
Sela.
Upon realizing this, he ordered the Assistant to scan the file for any viruses that it could unleash on the Enterprise's systems. The Assistant reported that it could detect no evidence of malware. Bairnson certainly hoped that this was indeed the case, because his curiosity over what the file could possibly contain was trouncing any other rational thoughts. He told the Assistant to play the file. It advised him that, to achieve the optimum experience from the file, it would be necessary to run it on a holodeck.
All right then, Bairnson thought, rising from his chair. He ordered the Assistant to transfer the file to the Enterprise's holodeck.
When Bairnson arrived at the ship's lone holodeck, he was somewhat relieved to discover that it was currently unoccupied. He shouldn't have been too surprised, though. With most of the crew either off the ship on Dräkmar IV or attending to other business on board, who would have time to indulge in a holodeck simulation right now, except him?
In fact, he should probably be finishing his own report to Starfleet right now. But, in all honesty, the temptation was just too great. He pressed the panel beside the holodeck's entranceway. The door slid open, revealing the room with the floor-to-ceiling grid pattern on the other side. Bairnson stepped through the open archway and heard the door close behind him as he strode to the center of the room.
When he stopped, he inhaled again, steeling himself, before asking the Assistant to run program "Bairnson_X". Within moments, a humanoid figure began to form in the center of the room. With far greater speed than a transporter could ever hope to accomplish, the form quickly revealed itself to be distinctly feminine.
Bairnson appreciated how her legs were long and muscular, even under the leggings she wore. Most of her upper femininity was concealed beneath the unflattering silver tunic, but her blunt pointed ears, barely upswept eyebrows, and close-cropped blonde hair made her individual identity unmistakable.
"Greetings, Captain Bairnson," said Sela's hologram pleasantly. "If you are seeing this recording, then it is safe to assume that your mission was successful. Congratulations."
Bairnson began circling the hologram, taking in every detail of it. Apart from some slight improvements in resolution, it appeared as if 24th century holodeck technology remained more or less the same as it currently was. And why not? After all, you can enhance a virtual experience only so far.
"As I said to you on the infiltrator pod," the hologram continued. "I'm sure you must have many questions. That is why I created this holodeck avatar and programmed the pod to transmit it to your personal terminal inside your emergency transporter beam."
Clever, Bairnson thought with admiration. If the mission failed, the file would have been destroyed along with the ship, and no one would have been the wiser.
Sela's hologram informed Bairnson that the avatar was programmed with full responsive capabilities and would answer as many questions as it was programmed to anticipate him asking.
Bairnson shook his head, bewildered. "When did you find time to do all this?" he asked with a slight chuckle.
"I am a woman of many talents," she unexpectedly responded. Was it Bairnson's imagination, or was she actually being coy with him? Furthermore, she seemed to be actually looking at him, as if she was aware of his presence. Bairnson shook the thought off. It must have been an optical illusion, like how the eyes in a really good portrait painting seem to follow the gazer. Or it could have just easily been a 24th century holodeck simulation improvement.
"All right," Bairnson nodded, ready to begin. "Why did you send me back instead of killing of me?"
"In your cell," Sela began. "You said—rather sardonically—that you and I had something in common. Well… you do not know how accurate that statement was."
Sela explained that both she and Bairnson were temporal paradoxes. In other words, they were people who shouldn't exist in the 24th century. But, because of the chaotic and illogical nature of the universe, they did nonetheless. Bairnson asked Sela how she was displaced in time. She responded that she was not. Her mother was.
"At least… that's what she always claimed," added Sela. "I never really believed her completely. But then, I met you."
"Who was she?" asked Bairnson. "Your mother?"
Sela told him that her mother was a Starfleet lieutenant named Natasha Yar who was taken prisoner along with several other Enterprise crewmembers following the Battle of Narendra III. Bairnson stood still momentarily, his heart suddenly racing and his face flushed with worry. Had Sela just revealed some bit of information about the future that he shouldn't have known?
He queried the Assistant to search the ship's personnel files for someone by that name. It came back empty. He then ordered it to search Starfleet's vast database for the same information. Again, after a moment, it returned no results.
The hologram must have detected what he was doing, because it said reassuringly, "Oh. Not your Enterprise. The one that will come after you: The Enterprise-C."
Bairnson heaved a sigh of relief. "So," he said, ensuring his facts were straight. "She was from the Enterprise-C…"
"No," said Sela surprisingly. "She was from the ship you encountered: The Enterprise-D. Or… some… variant of it."
"Okay, I'm confused," said Bairnson, his brow furrowed. "If your mother was from the Enterprise-D, how did she end up on the Enterprise-C?"
"A T'Lajia," said Sela. "Not unlike the phenomenon you encountered."
Aaahhh…, thought Bairnson. Now it was starting to make sense.
Sela explained that the Enterprise-C had also come into the 24th century via a T'Lajia. And when it returned to its own time, Lieutenant Tasha Yar went with it.
Sela's explanation of events—while mostly satisfactory—still left Bairnson to wonder, "Why would she do that? Why would she voluntarily go back in time on a doomed ship?"
"That is not important," said Sela flatly. "And quite frankly, I don't have the memory to explain the entire incident. Moreover, it gives me a headache trying to make sense of it all myself. What is important… is that she became my father Meldet's consort."
Meldet? The name sent an electric shock through Bairnson's being. The boyish Centurion from the prototype Warbird?
Sela explained how her father was a young officer on board the prototype Warbird that the Enterprise fought at Dräkmar IV. How he was badly disfigured in the battle, and how even though he and the remaining crew of the ship were hailed as heroes upon their return to Romulus, no Romulan woman would ever have him because of his injuries.
How, despite all that, Meldet still managed to rise to a position of power in the Romulan Senate. Yet, in spite of all his achievements, he remained a desperately lonely man. And then, after the Battle of Narendra III, he became smitten with the golden-haired human woman from the Enterprise-C. She agreed to be his consort in exchange for sparing the lives of her fellow crewmates.
And Sela was the product of their coupling. Bairnson nodded with comprehension. Being half-human would certainly explain her distinctly un-Romulan-like appearance. It all made sense to Bairnson.
"I get it now," he said, still somewhat surprised. "You sent me back to help your father somehow. Didn't you?"
Sela inclined her head, acknowledging his assertion. "I realize that—by sending you back—I've broken all Romulan protocols," the hologram said with finality. "I also realize that, in doing so, I may no longer exist. But I don't care."
Bairnson noticed that Sela's expression had grown melancholic. "While my duty and loyalty will always be to the Romulan Star Empire, my first duty—like that of any living being—is to family."
Sela seemed to stare intently into Bairnson's eyes. "I sincerely hope you found a non-lethal method of neutralizing my father's ship." And with those last words, Sela's hologram disappeared into the ether.
Bairnson stood silently in the center of the empty holodeck for a long moment, taking in all that he had been told. If he recalled correctly, Meldet didn't appear to have sustained any injuries. Nothing that would cause permanent disfigurement, at any rate.
Bairnson turned and walked back toward the holodeck entranceway. As the doors parted, he asked the Assistant to save program "Bairnson_X". The Assistant reported that no such file existed in the holodeck's memory core. He then asked the Assistant to find the file anywhere in the Enterprise's computer matrix. It could not.
Bairnson nodded with comprehension. Of course, Sela would have programmed the file to delete itself once it had played. Bairnson pressed the comm panel near the holodeck's entranceway, calling the bridge.
Y'Gar's voice responded over the speaker. Ever the overachiever, he must have taken an extra shift on the bridge.
Bairnson ordered Y'Gar to prepare a warning buoy for launch. He wanted it near the coordinates of the T'Lajia so that it couldn't cause any more temporal damage.
Somewhere in the 24th century, a Romulan Warbird made its way through the vastness of space, crossing the Neutral Zone into the safety of Romulan space.
In her quarters, Commander Sela sat at her desk, silently tapping her report to Romulan Central Command on a PADD. After a moment of typing, she seemed to reach an impasse. She stared at the PADD intently, seemingly waiting for inspiration to strike. But, no matter how hard she stared, the words would simply would not come to her.
She gently placed the PADD down on the glass desktop with a sigh of exasperation. She then glanced about her, as if ensuring that no other eyes were watching her. Years of living in a paranoid society like Romulus will do that to you. Satisfied that she was indeed alone, she reached down and pulled open a drawer in the desk.
From this drawer she retrieved a small disc that she cradled in her palm with all the gentleness and care of a mother caring for her newborn. She pressed a panel on the disc's edge with her thumb, and a still three-dimensional holographic image appeared.
It was Sela as young girl on Romulus standing beside her father Meldet, his right hand on her shoulder. Although both of them had stern, severe expressions on their faces, Sela remembered the moment this image was taken as one of her happiest with her father.
Meldet appeared to have one milky eye, and his left arm was missing, as if it had been amputated years before the image was taken.
Sela regarded the image with as much pride as she could muster. But then, her brow furrowed and her eyes squinted as she regarded the image more closely. It appeared to her as if, one moment, Meldet's milky eye drew her focus; and then the next, it appeared normal. As though it had never been injured at all.
And where he seemed to have had only his right hand on her shoulder, suddenly he had two strong-looking hands resting on her shoulders. Even their expressions seemed different. While they were still stern—as was customary for Romulan portraits—it actually appeared as if the pair had a brightness in their eyes that wasn't there just a moment before.
A brightness that, to an outside observer, seemed very close to joy.
For some reason she would ever explain—let alone admit to—she reached her free hand up to her shoulder, as if she could feel her father's spirit standing over her right now, the way he was in the image. After a moment, she moved that hand to her cheek to wipe away an irritant that had come into contact with it. When she regarded the spot on her finger, she noticed that it was suddenly moist with a clear liquid.
For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Sela was crying. But she wasn't crying because she felt sadness.
She was crying because—for the first time in as long as she could remember—she was feeling joy.