Chapter Four
CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE 44775.6: We have reached the coordinates where the distress call originated, but there is no ship in sight. Lieutenant Commander Data has been scanning the area, but can find neither indication of a ship nor any remainder of a ship. There is no sign of intelligence in this sector, and no trace of debris or anything else that might tell us what has happened. Lieutenant Worf is no longer receiving the distress signal. For some reason, we have been unable to trace its origin to any specific coordinates of late, we lost it thirteen hours ago.
"Riker to Picard," Commander Riker stood on the bridge of the starship Enterprise and spoke slightly toward the ceiling. "Sir, Commander Data believes he's found something," Riker never took his eyes off the immense viewscreen that dominated the entire forward wall of the bridge. To the screen's lower left, Data sat at the Ops station, his fingers flying over the board.
"On my way, Number One." Picard was out his ready room door almost as soon as their commlink was severed. To the screen's lower right, Ensign Wesley Crusher sat at the Conn station, hands poised, awaiting the order he'd already anticipated.
"Full stop, Mister Crusher," Captain Jean-Luc Picard dictated without even looking at the young ensign.
"Aye, sir," Wesley tried to answer evenly. His hands jumped into action at the helm as he tried to hide his excitement. Once again, here he was on the bridge at exactly the right time. He always tries to get where the action is, and this time, his timing was perfect. Or whatever it was out there had perfect timing.
"Mister Data, report," Picard requested no sooner than he had taken his seat. Picard's entrance had been one swift movement. Take the bridge, striding toward the Center Seat, order Helm without pausing, take command without stopping, order Ops without blinking. Sometimes the captain seemed like more of a perfect machine than Data.
"Sir," the gold-skinned android began, "it appears that there is a ship present which is using an obsolete model of a cloaking device. Our long-range sensors could not identify it as a ship. We had to narrow the compass of the beam and intensify the output in order to--"
"Thank you, Mister Data," Picard cut him off, "what kind of ship it is? To whom does it belong?"
"I am not certain, sir. They have not been responding to our hails."
"Could it be they do not know we are here? Perhaps there is no one left to answer?" Picard's voice was deferentially lowered.
"No, sir. They are aware of our presence," Data answered with all certainty.
"You're sure?" Picard asked. "Explain," he demanded of the entire bridge crew.
"Sir," Chief of Security, Lieutenant Worf, addressed the captain from the aft section of the bridge, jabbing a huge finger at the panel on the aft rail in front of him, "we were scanned. But the beam disappeared almost instantly. Either it was an extremely short scan -- or something is blocking the computer from identifying the beam. Or perhaps something stopped the scan."
Riker couldn't help wondering if it had been a strain on Worf to make such a long speech. He had paused between each sentence as if planning his next one. Not that Worf lacked the intelligence to speak so, it's just that he rarely did.
"Thank you, Mister Worf. Mister Data, can you confirm that?"
"Yes, captain. Although I do not believe we are still being scanned. The type of beam used to scan our ship was so intense that I do not believe a ship with limited cloaking technology could disguise a beam of such intensity for any considerable length of time. I believe that we were scanned with an energy burst lasting 0.84 seconds."
Picard's eyes widened. "We were completely scanned in less than one second?"
"Yes, sir," Data replied, attempting to rise to Picard's level of surprise, "It would appear so."
Suddenly, Wesley leapt to life, checking all his readings, glancing at the viewscreen as if to confirm his readings, tabbing wildly at his console. Picard studied the boy for a fraction of a second, expecting Wesley to volunteer an explanation for his sudden actions. But Wesley was not yet sure what was happening. Picard prompted him.
"Report, ensign."
"Captain, we're moving forward! One-sixteenth impulse! I had all engines full stop... I still have all engines full stop! But now it's like we're in some kind of tractor beam -- in fact, that's exactly what it's like -- only I'm not reading any beam."
"Confirmed," Data volunteered, checking his own console for speed and trajectory, as well as any sign of a tractor beam.
"It is some kind of energy field," Worf put in. "Similar to gravitational." As soon as Worf had heard Wes's report, he had begun running diagnostics on the shields. He had found a field surrounding the Enterprise. A very cleverly hidden one.
Picard prompted the Klingon to elaborate. "Mister Worf?"
Worf did not look at Picard, but remained busy with his own panel. "The tractor beam latched on so subtly that we could neither feel it nor even detect it. If no one had been at the Conn, we would not have noticed our captivity."
Wes began to smile a self-congratulatory smile, then blushed. Helm is the only station on the bridge that must always be occupied, and any bonehead sitting in his chair would have seen that they were moving instead of sitting still.
Riker turned around to face Worf. "We're in the tractor beam of a cloaked ship? They can use a tractor beam through a cloaking device?"
"Apparently so, Number One," Picard said, the surprise in his own voice assuring Riker that his comment was not sarcastic.
"Sir, the ship is uncloaking," Data reported, glancing up at the screen.
"I still can't believe they have a cloaking device," Riker muttered, distinct jealousy in his voice. The Federation had no such devices. Yet.
There, on the huge viewscreen, appeared a ship that occupied most of the entire screen by itself. It was bigger than any two of the Federation's starships put together and had technology that the Federation hadn't even dreamed of yet. Picard tapped his insignia.
"Picard to Counselor Troi. Report to the bridge immediately."
Troi's voice answered, "On my way, captain."
"Sir, they are hailing us," Worf reported.
"On screen," Picard ordered, and the picture of the huge, imposing ship was replaced with the face of a young woman - a very young woman - sitting in the Center Seat of the bridge of a ship.
"Enterprise, you will surrender your ship to us, or we will be forced to destroy you."
CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE 44775.6: We have reached the coordinates where the distress call originated, but there is no ship in sight. Lieutenant Commander Data has been scanning the area, but can find neither indication of a ship nor any remainder of a ship. There is no sign of intelligence in this sector, and no trace of debris or anything else that might tell us what has happened. Lieutenant Worf is no longer receiving the distress signal. For some reason, we have been unable to trace its origin to any specific coordinates of late, we lost it thirteen hours ago.
"Riker to Picard," Commander Riker stood on the bridge of the starship Enterprise and spoke slightly toward the ceiling. "Sir, Commander Data believes he's found something," Riker never took his eyes off the immense viewscreen that dominated the entire forward wall of the bridge. To the screen's lower left, Data sat at the Ops station, his fingers flying over the board.
"On my way, Number One." Picard was out his ready room door almost as soon as their commlink was severed. To the screen's lower right, Ensign Wesley Crusher sat at the Conn station, hands poised, awaiting the order he'd already anticipated.
"Full stop, Mister Crusher," Captain Jean-Luc Picard dictated without even looking at the young ensign.
"Aye, sir," Wesley tried to answer evenly. His hands jumped into action at the helm as he tried to hide his excitement. Once again, here he was on the bridge at exactly the right time. He always tries to get where the action is, and this time, his timing was perfect. Or whatever it was out there had perfect timing.
"Mister Data, report," Picard requested no sooner than he had taken his seat. Picard's entrance had been one swift movement. Take the bridge, striding toward the Center Seat, order Helm without pausing, take command without stopping, order Ops without blinking. Sometimes the captain seemed like more of a perfect machine than Data.
"Sir," the gold-skinned android began, "it appears that there is a ship present which is using an obsolete model of a cloaking device. Our long-range sensors could not identify it as a ship. We had to narrow the compass of the beam and intensify the output in order to--"
"Thank you, Mister Data," Picard cut him off, "what kind of ship it is? To whom does it belong?"
"I am not certain, sir. They have not been responding to our hails."
"Could it be they do not know we are here? Perhaps there is no one left to answer?" Picard's voice was deferentially lowered.
"No, sir. They are aware of our presence," Data answered with all certainty.
"You're sure?" Picard asked. "Explain," he demanded of the entire bridge crew.
"Sir," Chief of Security, Lieutenant Worf, addressed the captain from the aft section of the bridge, jabbing a huge finger at the panel on the aft rail in front of him, "we were scanned. But the beam disappeared almost instantly. Either it was an extremely short scan -- or something is blocking the computer from identifying the beam. Or perhaps something stopped the scan."
Riker couldn't help wondering if it had been a strain on Worf to make such a long speech. He had paused between each sentence as if planning his next one. Not that Worf lacked the intelligence to speak so, it's just that he rarely did.
"Thank you, Mister Worf. Mister Data, can you confirm that?"
"Yes, captain. Although I do not believe we are still being scanned. The type of beam used to scan our ship was so intense that I do not believe a ship with limited cloaking technology could disguise a beam of such intensity for any considerable length of time. I believe that we were scanned with an energy burst lasting 0.84 seconds."
Picard's eyes widened. "We were completely scanned in less than one second?"
"Yes, sir," Data replied, attempting to rise to Picard's level of surprise, "It would appear so."
Suddenly, Wesley leapt to life, checking all his readings, glancing at the viewscreen as if to confirm his readings, tabbing wildly at his console. Picard studied the boy for a fraction of a second, expecting Wesley to volunteer an explanation for his sudden actions. But Wesley was not yet sure what was happening. Picard prompted him.
"Report, ensign."
"Captain, we're moving forward! One-sixteenth impulse! I had all engines full stop... I still have all engines full stop! But now it's like we're in some kind of tractor beam -- in fact, that's exactly what it's like -- only I'm not reading any beam."
"Confirmed," Data volunteered, checking his own console for speed and trajectory, as well as any sign of a tractor beam.
"It is some kind of energy field," Worf put in. "Similar to gravitational." As soon as Worf had heard Wes's report, he had begun running diagnostics on the shields. He had found a field surrounding the Enterprise. A very cleverly hidden one.
Picard prompted the Klingon to elaborate. "Mister Worf?"
Worf did not look at Picard, but remained busy with his own panel. "The tractor beam latched on so subtly that we could neither feel it nor even detect it. If no one had been at the Conn, we would not have noticed our captivity."
Wes began to smile a self-congratulatory smile, then blushed. Helm is the only station on the bridge that must always be occupied, and any bonehead sitting in his chair would have seen that they were moving instead of sitting still.
Riker turned around to face Worf. "We're in the tractor beam of a cloaked ship? They can use a tractor beam through a cloaking device?"
"Apparently so, Number One," Picard said, the surprise in his own voice assuring Riker that his comment was not sarcastic.
"Sir, the ship is uncloaking," Data reported, glancing up at the screen.
"I still can't believe they have a cloaking device," Riker muttered, distinct jealousy in his voice. The Federation had no such devices. Yet.
There, on the huge viewscreen, appeared a ship that occupied most of the entire screen by itself. It was bigger than any two of the Federation's starships put together and had technology that the Federation hadn't even dreamed of yet. Picard tapped his insignia.
"Picard to Counselor Troi. Report to the bridge immediately."
Troi's voice answered, "On my way, captain."
"Sir, they are hailing us," Worf reported.
"On screen," Picard ordered, and the picture of the huge, imposing ship was replaced with the face of a young woman - a very young woman - sitting in the Center Seat of the bridge of a ship.
"Enterprise, you will surrender your ship to us, or we will be forced to destroy you."