William Shatner - Captain's Glory

“Will, the Araldii ship has arrived,” Troi announced.

“Onscreen,” Riker said, though he didn’t know if those systems had been restored.

But the viewscreen switched on to reveal Ship Leader Fortral, floating among a web of netting on her ship’s zero-gravity bridge. Even though Riker had known her for less than two weeks, he could see that she was upset.

“Captain Riker,” the Araldon said through the com circuit’s translator, “you’ve experienced a warp-core breach?”

“That’s correct, Ship Leader. And there’s no time to install our backup.”

Fortral’s secondary mouth opened for just an instant. It was a disconcerting sight, and Riker felt as if the alien’s face had gone out of focus. His eyes struggled to accept the image of two mouths, one over the other.

“I regret we don’t have the ability to tow your ship at warp.”

“Then tow us at impulse,” Riker said. “The farther away we are when the radiation hits, the better the chance our shields will be able to protect us.” Riker didn’t bother looking at Burke; he knew it was a long shot. Then he thought of another strategy. “Ship Leader Fortral-can your shields withstand the radiation at this distance?”

Fortral looked up at something beyond the range of the visual sensor, as if checking a reading. “Barely.”

At a nod from her captain, Lavena made her next report. “Radiation front is one minute, ten seconds from arrival.”

“I won’t ask you to endanger yourselves for us,” Riker told Fortral truthfully. “But for whatever help you can provide, we will be grateful.”

“Understood,” the Araldon replied.

The screen went dead.

“They’re leaving,” Troi said with surprise.

Riker was startled. He had expected some kind of assistance. “Raise them again.”

“No response.”

The lights on the bridge of the Titan dimmed.

“Engineering to bridge. Diverting all power to aft shields.”

“Captain, one minute to radiation front,” Lavena said. The conn officer’s voice, produced by muscle contractions, not airflow, was subdued, uncertain.

Riker leaned forward in his chair. His racing mind considered, discarded, reconsidered all his options, as limited as they were. He ran through everything he knew about supernovas… turned sharply in his chair.

“Doctor Burke! If we detonate all our quantum torpedoes just ahead of the radiation front, can we create a pressure bubble? One that might absorb or divert at least some of the energy heading toward us?”

Burke stared back at him, her gaze fixed as if she were attempting to solve all the equations his question required.

“Yes or no, Doctor?”

Burke did not respond at once, still lost in thought.

Riker had no more time to waste. He twisted back to face his tactical officer. “Tuvok… fire all quantum torpedoes on my mark, directly astern.” He addressed the astronomer, without looking back at her. “Best guess, Doctor-at what distance do they detonate? How much in advance of the radiation front? Now!”

Burke’s tense voice betrayed that she was flustered, but she knew the stakes. “Detonate as close as you can to the ship.” Then she had a question of her own for Riker. “How long for a quantum-torpedo explosion to reach maximum pressure?”

Riker shook his head, frustrated, knowing that Data would have given him the answer at once. He, in contrast, would have to look it up, discuss it with-The answer suddenly came to him. “A tenth of a second!” Whether that was really the figure, remembered from some long-ago lecture, or simply a bad guess, Riker didn’t know. But there was no chance to confirm or change it.

“Then set them off two-tenths of a second ahead of the radiation front!”

Riker felt Burke put a hand on his shoulder as if in apology. “It’s the best I can do! Sorry!”

“Lavena!” Riker said.

“Twenty-five seconds to arrival.”

“Tuvok, can you program the delay?”

“No time, Captain. I will have to do it manually.”

“Two-tenths of a second-no more, no less.”

“Understood, Captain… fifteen seconds… fourteen…”

Then the whole ship rocked violently, inertial dampers barely keeping up with the change in orientation.

Riker quickly scanned all the displays he could, searching for an explanation for the shock. “Report!”

This time, Burke was first to answer. The astrophysicist was reading from her sensors. “The Araldii ship… it exploded… directly astern…”

“Three seconds,” Lavena called out from the conn.

Riker looked over at Troi. From the look on his wife’s face, Riker knew she felt as he did, that she longed for one final embrace. But he stayed where he was, as did she. Whatever else they were to each other, first and foremost they were Starfleet officers.

“Two seconds…”

Looking straight ahead, Riker stood up, put his hand on his chair arm. Bracing for-

“Firing!”

The capacitor twang of a full spread of quantum torpedoes launching echoed through the bridge. Almost instantly the deck tilted violently as the ship pitched down, and Riker was thrown back, slamming into the step leading down from the engineering station.

The Titan’s shields will be out of alignment! Next time we should…

The utter foolishness of this sudden thought made Riker laugh before he sank into blackness with a different realization filling his mind.

He and his crew and his wife and their ship were finished.

There would be no next time.

S.S. BELLE REVE, VULCAN

STARDATE 58552.2

When Kirk had taken formal command of the Belle Reve, the first thing he had done was reconfigure the bridge. Or, to be accurate, he had had Scotty reconfigure it.

As part of the Calypso, the ship’s bridge had been a tightly constrained control room, with the captain’s office on the aft bulkhead, separated from the crew by a transparent wall. Information flowed in only one direction, from a particular crew station to the captain. Somewhere, sometime, for some other captain, that command structure had been acceptable for the merchant fleet or a private yacht. But Kirk believed in Starfleet’s original ideal of sharing critical information among all senior personnel. So now his bridge was almost circular-a drawn-out ellipse, at least-with the captain’s chair elevated just back of the center point. There, Kirk was properly surrounded by duty stations, with all other bridge personnel able to see all displays at all times.

About the only key component left over from the old design was the three-panel main viewscreen. On it now were three different magnifications of Vulcan terrain as the Belle Reve orbited that world. Kirk had come to appreciate having three different sets of critical information available to him, and had asked Scotty to retain that system as it was.

Everything else on the bridge, though, had changed. Most of it had been custom-built by a private shipyard under confidential contract to Starfleet. The result was that all of the ship’s brand-new, state-of-the-art, cutting-edge equipment was encased in artistically dented, distressed, and discolored console housings. Kirk smiled, remembering how much Joseph, his child, had been fascinated by that last stage of Scott’s installation, when a team of specialists had come aboard with their paints and tools to be sure the Belle Reve looked as old and unthreatening on the inside as she did on the outside.

“I see you’ve added your own special touches,” Janeway said as she stepped from the ladder alcove onto the bridge. She hadn’t been aboard the Belle Reve since the refit.

“You signed off on all of them,” Kirk reminded her. Somehow, almost everything Janeway said to him felt as if it was the prelude to an argument.