It was a challenge and everyone in the room knew it. Stiles, Shumar, the other captains, Abute … and the gathering of engineers, of course. Their expressions told Cobaryn that this was much more entertaining than any of them might have expected.
Stiles lifted his chin, accepting the gauntlet Shumar had thrown down. “I read the data just as you did,” he responded crisply. “I heard the argument for all those research facilities. My question is … how much of it do we need? Couldn’t we cut out some of that space and come up with a better, more maneuverable ship?”
Shumar shook his head. “Maybe more maneuverable, Captain, but not better—not if you consider all the capabilities that would be lost if the Daedalus was sized down.”
“And if it’s not sized down,” Stiles insisted, “the whole ship could be lost … the first time it engages the enemy.”
Again, Director Abute intervened before the exchange could grow too heated. He held up his hand for peace and said, “I would say it’s your turn, Captain Shumar. To make a suggestion, I mean.”
Shumar cast a last baleful glance at Stiles. “Fine with me,” he replied. Taking a deep breath, he pointed to the hologram. “As we learned yesterday, we’ve improved our tactical systems considerably. Thanks to all the extra graviton emitters on the Daedalus, we’ve now got six layers of deflector protection—and as someone who’s been shot at with atomic missiles, I say that’s terrific.”
Cobaryn hoped there was a “but” coming in his colleague’s declaration. He wasn’t disappointed.
“But what if we were to covert one or two of the extra emitters to another use?” Shumar suggested. “Say … as tractor beam projectors?”
Matsura made a face. “Tractor beams?”
“Tightbeam graviton projections,” Hagedorn explained, his voice echoing easily throughout the amphitheater. “When their interference patterns are focused on a remote target, they create a certain amount of spatial stress—which either pulls the target closer to the source of the beam or pushes it farther away.”
Shumar nodded approvingly. “That’s exactly right.”
“However,” said Hagedorn in the same even tone, “tractor beams are very much in the development stage right now. Some people say it’ll be a long time before they can be made practical … if ever.”
The Rigelian saw some nods among the engineers. It wasn’t a good sign, he told himself.
Shumar frowned. “Others say tractor beams will be made practical in the next few months. Those are the people I prefer to put my faith in.”
Hagedorn shrugged with obvious confidence. “I was simply putting the matter in perspective, Captain.”
“As we all should,” Abute said hopefully.
“Is it my turn now?” Hagedorn asked.
The director shrugged. “If you like.”
Hagedorn began by circling the hologram in an almost theatrical fashion. For a few seconds, he refrained from speaking … so when he began, his words had a certain weight to them.
“You’ve made some interesting improvements in the ship’s transporter function,” he told the assembled engineers. “Some very interesting improvements. For instance, it’ll be a lot easier to shoot survey teams and diplomatic envoys to their destinations than to send them in shuttles.
“But frankly,” he continued, running his hand over the Daedalus’s immaterial hull, “I don’t think these enhancements will be of any use to us in combat. As we proved during the war, it’s impossible to force-beam our personnel through an enemy’s deflector shields.”
“Not everything is intended to have a military application,” Director Abute reminded him, anticipating an objection from Shumar or Cobaryn.
“I recognize that,” Hagedorn told him, as expressionless as ever. “However, transporters can have military applications. Are you familiar with the work of Winston and Kampouris?”
Abute’s eyes narrowed. “It seems to me I’ve heard their names …”
So had Cobaryn. “They are military strategists,” he stated. “They have postulated we can use transporter systems to penetrate deflector shields by sending streams of antimatter along their annular confinement beams.”
Shumar made a sound of derision. “Talk about being in the development stage,” he said. “Transmitting antimatter through a pattern buffer is and always will be suicide.”
Hagedorn shrugged. “Not if the buffer has been built the way we might build a warp core?”
“In which case it would have to be a warp core,” Shumar insisted. “The same elements that would protect the pattern buffer would make it impermeable to matter transmission.”
“Not according to Winston and Kampouris,” Hagedorn remarked.
But this time, Cobaryn observed, the engineers seemed to rule in Shumar’s favor. They shook their heads at Hagedorn’s comment.
Taking notice of the same thing, Abute scowled. “Which leaves us at another impasse, I take it.”
Shumar eyed Hagedorn, then Stiles and Matsura. “I guess it does.”
The director turned to Dane. “We have one more captain to hear from. Perhaps he can put forth a design recommendation on which we can all agree before we call it a day.”
He didn’t sound very optimistic, the Rigelian noted. But in his place, Cobaryn wouldn’t have been very optimistic either.
Like everyone else in the amphitheater, he looked to Dane. The man considered Abute for a moment, then glanced at the engineers. “Communications,” he said simply. “You say you can’t do anything to improve what we’ve got. I say you’re not trying hard enough.”
The director seemed taken aback—but not nearly as much as the crowd of engineers. “I’ve been assured by our design team,” he replied, “that nothing can be done at this time.”
Dane regarded the men and women sitting all around him in their white labcoats. “I’ve got an assurance for your engineers,” he said. “If they don’t come up with a quicker way for me to contact headquarters, they can find themselves another starship captain.”
Cobaryn had to smile. The Cochrane jockey had not shown himself to be a particularly charming individual. However, he did seem to have more than his share of vertebrae.
Abute looked at Dane for a second or two. Then he turned to his engineers. “You heard the man,” he told them. “Let’s see what we can do.”
There was a rush of objections, but they died out quickly. After all, any engineer worth his degree relished a challenge. Even Cobaryn knew that.
“Thank you again,” the director told the people in the gallery. “You may return to your work.”
Clearly, that was the engineers’ signal to depart. The Rigelian watched them toss comments back and forth as they descended to the level of the stage and filed out of the room. Then he turned to Abute, expecting to be dismissed as well.
But Abute wasn’t ready to do that yet, it seemed. He regarded all six of his captains for a moment, his nostrils flaring. Finally, he shook his head.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we obviously have some differences. Honest ones, I assume. However, we must make an effort to seek common ground.”
Cobaryn nodded. So did Shumar, Hagedorn, Stiles and Matsura—everyone except Dane, in fact. But the Rigelian knew that Dane was the only one who was being honest with the director.
After all, there was a war raging. The first battle had been fought to a standoff there in the amphitheater, but Cobaryn didn’t expect that it would be the last.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resem
blance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.
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Copyright © 1999 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.
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ISBN: 0-7434-5574-6
First Pocket Books printing November 1999
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ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-5574-9 (ebook)
Peter David, The Quiet Place
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