Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [55]
Unfortunately, this vessel would be of little or no use to them from a tactical standpoint. He had a hard time believing that it bore any real resemblance to the Starfleet ships in use today.
However, here it was. Someone had gone to the trouble to construct it. And beyond that, someone had used it to cross the Federation Neutral Zone.
Of course, there was speculation that the one who had performed that feat was demented. A madman, the report said, who had somehow had the gall and the great good luck to steal a Federation starship, only to be caught by the ever-vigilant imperial border patrols.
A madman with the talent to run a fair-sized, space-going vessel all on his own. Eragian had heard of idiot savants capable of such things among his own people— but this was the first he’d heard of a human with such capabilities.
Eragian approached the red-orange railing that encircled the command center and ran his fingertips along its surface. Even the materials used in the structure seemed outmoded, somehow. Antiquated.
“A middle-aged human on an antique vessel,” he said out loud. “A mission that defied all logic. And yet, a mission—whatever it was—that came dangerously close to succeeding.”
Again Lennex was noncommittal. No help there, thought Eragian. Clearly the Tal Shiar thought his time was being wasted.
The proconsul sighed. He was certain there was something missing here—some bit of information he tacked, which would have imposed sense on the situation. But what could it be? Where might he find it? Frustrated, Eragian rapped his knuckles sharply on the railing.
“Proconsul?” said a voice.
He turned and saw one of his aides approaching him, data padd in hand. The man’s name was Trace. Though one of the youngest in Eragian’s technical entourage, he was also one of the brightest.
And the one with the finest grasp of protocol as well, the proconsul reflected. Nodding once, he gave Trace permission to speak.
“We wondered how the vessel’s command functions could have been operated by a single individual,” his aide explained. “Now we know.”
He handed Eragian his padd, with his analysis on its tiny data screen.
“It seems many of these functions—those which could be handled automatically, at least—were slaved to a smaller vehicle in the ship’s shuttlebay. 1 believe it is called a shuttlecraft.”
The proconsul considered the graphic representation of T’racc’s analysis. The human had been clever—devilishly clever.
But he had a question. “What prevented him from using the computer aboard the starship for this purpose?” he inquired.
His aide answered without hesitation. “The computer aboard the shuttle is more advanced than the one on the starship.”
That piqued Eragian’s interest. “Is it really? Then the shuttle might have originated with a different vessel entirely—one significantly closer to the cutting edge of Federation science?”
T’racc nodded. “So it would seem, Your Eminence.”
The proconsul grunted. Could this be the clue he’d been hoping for? Or just another question to set beside all the others?
His meditations were cut short by the approach of a second aide. This one—a man named Orath—was considerably older than the first.
Once, like T’racc, Orath had been eager to show off his brilliance. Now in a more advanced stage of life, he was content simply to do his job.
Fortunately for him, he was still very good at what he did. Otherwise Eragian might have taken offense at the man’s lack of initiative.
“You have something for me?” he asked Orath.
The man nodded. “I do, Your Eminence.” He said the words with a measure of satisfaction. “There is an energy leak in the vessel’s warp engine.”
“An energy leak?” the proconsul echoed. “Is it dangerous?”
That seemed to have gotten Lennex’s attention. He looked on silently, but with interest.
Orath shook his head. “I do not regard it as such, for the time being. However, if it becomes any worse, you may wish to consider an early departure.”