The one at whom Picard pointed moved off. “On it, sir.”

  They were holding up well. They were young, and they graduated from Starfleet Academy in a time of war. They thought they knew what to expect. They were wrong, because war wasn’t something that was so easily related in a class—it had to be, sadly, experienced. Their real training began now.

  “The rest of you new engineers will join me in the transporter room. All others, comb as much of the building as you can for survivors. Bring them here, and then Counselor Troi will bring you all to the transporter room as well. Understood?”

  Most of them nodded, and a few said, “Aye, sir.” The most eager ones added an extra “Aye.”

  Picard hoped that enthusiastic attitude would serve them all well. “Make it so.”

  Enterprise was storm-tossed, thrust from side to side as the ion storm wreaked havoc with its warp field. Support struts creaked and structural integrity field generators sizzled with overloads as the deckplates seemed to shimmy beneath Riker’s feet.

  “We’re losing number two shield, sir.” Daniels’s voice was stressed, but Riker himself wasn’t as calm as a sleeping puppy.

  Riker had left a comm connection open to engineering. “Geordi, number two shield?”

  “Generators are weakening, Commander. Ionic disruption in the storms is messing up our systems, and more power is needed to maintain a stable warp field.”

  “We can’t lose the shields, Mr. La Forge.”

  “I’m aware of that, sir.”

  And Riker knew that, and regretted stating something so self-evident. “Do your best, Geordi.”

  Data turned slightly, catching Riker’s gaze. “Should we lose the shields, deflector systems will be overwhelmed and we will be torn apart, sir.”

  Riker sighed deeply. “Data, I would sincerely appreciate if you’d turn off your obvious chip.”

  Because Data now actually had a working emotion chip he rarely turned off anymore, Data managed a somewhat wry smile. “Sorry, sir.”

  “How much longer, Ilan?” Captain Husband was awash in tension.

  “I’d say we’re about half done, sir,” Ramon said, adjusting the phaser controls.

  “Any way to speed it up?”

  “This is as fast as it gets.”

  Columbia was a coiled snake, spitting slow phaser fire in a controlled beam when she wanted to be slinging photon torpedoes at a brazen enemy.

  “You know what would help?” Ramon offered suddenly.

  His captain hovered over him with intent. “Tell me.”

  “A tractor beam,” Ramon said, wagging a finger at the doors on the main viewer. “To pull from the other side.”

  “I don’t understand,” Husband admitted. “Why can’t we just push on this side?”

  “Our phasers would disrupt the tractor. If someone could pull as we’re cutting away the inner door supports, the doors would be flung right off.”

  Nodding, the captain moved toward the tactical station. “We need some co-ordination. Chawla?”

  “Sir?”

  “Get on the K band.”

  “Where is that coming from?” Amarante asked of the explosions in the distance.

  “The city,” one of the other Academy graduates said. “They’re attacking the city.”

  “This makes no sense,” someone else muttered.

  “How did they get past all our defenses?”

  “A few ways, I’d guess,” Amarante offered, and Picard listened with some interest to her theories. “First, notice that they’re using conventional and rather weak plasma weapons. More high energy phasers or photon torpedoes would have been impossible to hide from scans at checkpoints. And I’ll assume they somehow made it past, or disabled, or destroyed, planetary defenses.”

  Exchanging a long glance with Deanna as they all worked on the transporter circuits, Picard was fascinated by how spot-on Amarante was in her analysis.

  “Also,” she continued, “a slow, continuous attack makes people feel as if it may never end. I don’t think this is an attack on anything more than our will to continue the war.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Indeed it won’t,” Picard agreed with whichever ensign spoke.

  “She’s remarkable,” Deanna whispered to him as they closed the access panel they’d been working under.

  “She is. But—” Another explosion, closer, rattled the walls as well as a few of the youngsters within them. Even Amarante seemed a bit spooked. “There’s much left to do and we shall see if she’s up to it,” Picard added.

  “Do you have an equal level of skepticism in the other graduates?”

  “Of course.”

  Deanna accepted that. “All right.”

  “I tried to get to ops on my way to meet you and the others,” Picard told her in a more hushed tone.

  “How far did you get?”

  “Quite far,” he said, holding out his hand for a scanner from the toolbox. “The ops level is destroyed.”

  “Admiral Ling?” She handed him one item, then readied another.

  The captain shook his head. “I doubt anyone survived. The tricorder I gave to Amarante…I’d used it to scan for life signs. There were none.”

  Deanna paused a moment, holding in what in a less experienced officer might have been a gasp. “Then why are we working on the transporter? I assumed you wanted to beam survivors out of ops or…”

  “I don’t remember the exact year,” Picard began quietly, “but it was after a similar attack on the Earth. It may even have been before the founding of the Federation. A bunker was built deep below here, protected from attack, protected from earthquake, protected from all access but transporter and one elevator. Now, I don’t know where that lift shaft is, which is why I’m hoping we can get schematics of the building. But if we can’t, this is our way down there.”

  “And what’s down there?”

  “Duplicate systems from ops.”

  “Modern? This has been maintained?”

  “It’s supposed to be. It certainly was when I graduated from the Academy.” Interlocking one conduit to another, Picard finished the second connection he need to. He also didn’t remind Deanna that his Academy graduation was almost five decades ago. “Before being transferred to Starbase Earhart I did some duty here at Command and was given a tour. That’s the last time I saw it, but it should be good enough. From there we’ll be able to coordinate with others, and get them information about the attack.”

  “Won’t communications still be jammed?”

  “From the bunkers below, all outgoing communications are physical land lines protected by the Earth’s crust itself.”

  Amarante approached and handed Picard his tricorder. “Captain, I can access both the globalnet and if I could get more power to this, I think I could link into Marsnet as well.”

  “This will do,” Picard said, taking the device.

  “May I ask, sir, what you’re looking for?” Amarante was never afraid to ask a question.

  “Nonstandard communications. If Starfleet frequencies are being jammed, there’s an alternative.” After making a few adjustments to the scanning range, Picard handed the tricorder back to her. “Monitor all sub-bands on every commercial channel.”

  “Ah, of course. Starfleet will piggyback communications on the commercial nets.”

  “If they can,” Picard said. “We won’t be able to communicate back with that, but—”

  Another ensign, a Bolian, stepped over from the main transporter console. “Sir, I think we’ve got it now.”

  “Battery power to the transporter?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Picard nodded his approval and felt his face flush with the fancy that came with taking more aggressive action. “Excellent, Ensign. I don’t trust this structure. Bring all survivors here for transport.”

  “Arrival at outer Sol system in thirty-four seconds, sir,” Data reported.

  Riker gripped the arms of the command chair, more for something physical to do than because of nervous tension. “Maintain warp speed until the moon, then slow to one half impulse power.”

  “Until the moon, sir?” Perim asked.

  “We’re not wasting time with an impulse approach from Jupiter, Ensign.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Twenty seconds now,” Data said.

  “Tactical, stand by on all weapons.”

  Daniels was practically riveted to his console. “Standing by.”

  Picard nearly bounded off the transporter dais while still materializing, and as soon as his feet touched the floor, lights automatically snapped on. He crooked his hand over his shoulder at Amarante. “See to the safety of all personnel. There should be a medical center for anyone injured.”

  “I’ve been trained as a medic, sir,” one of her classmates said.

  The captain nodded. “You’re my chief medical officer, then. Go.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Counselor, with me, please.”

  As they strode into main complex, the air was suddenly light with freshly created oxygen.

  “Computer, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, commanding the U.S.S. Enterprise. I am assuming command of Starfleet Command Headquarters, authorization Picard-Gamma-two-seven-three, Sigma-nine-

  nine.”

  “Picard, Captain Jean-Luc. Identity recognized, authority granted.”

  “Computer, transfer Starfleet HQ Command to Bunker SF-Zero-One.”

  “Transferred.” Console after console around a large control center semicircle lit up and chirped to life.

  Soon after Deanna and Picard slid into two of the more central chairs, Amarante entered. “Sir, I’m picking something up on the K band.”

  “Let me see.” Picard looked down at the tricorder, reading the frequency from it, then pivoted toward the communications console. “Weak, but there.” He punched in the frequency and tried to boost reception as best he could. Once he saw the ID coded into the transmission, he turned to Deanna. “We’re not alone.”

  “Sir, I’ve got Starfleet Command. Audio only.”

  Captain Husband expectantly jumped down to his command chair. “Put it on the speaker.”

  “—read you, Columbia. Come in.”

  “This is Husband on the Columbia. Go ahead, Command.”

  “This is Picard, on coded channel 46-A, Captain.”

  Husband nodded. “Acknowledged, Captain. I read you on that channel.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Rick. We’d thought the worst, down here. What is your status?”

  “We’re without main power, and even if we could restore that, the spacedoors are closed and would need to be pulled open from the outside. I’m sure we couldn’t cut through them.”

  “We have no one to spare to help, Captain. There are three ships up there, attacking the city. That’s our main concern.”

  Smiling, Husband let himself relax just a bit and he leaned back in the command chair. “Wish we could help, Jean-Luc. I guess we’ll have to wait this one out. I could use a five-minute nap anyway.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain. We’ll be in touch. Picard out.”

  “He’s going to take a nap?” Amarante was indignant and incredulous. “Is he insane?”

  “Ensign,” Deanna admonished. “You’re speaking of a starship captain!”

  Picard didn’t have time to explain and not work at the same time, so he merely reminded his niece of that which she should already know. “Regulation 46-A, Ensign. If you’ve not remembered that one I recommend you look it up.”

  “I—” She pulled in a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. Of course. I just was listening so closely—”

  The captain smiled. “So closely that you didn’t hear everything that was said. That’s why you’re an ensign, and not a captain.”

  “Yes, sir.” He didn’t mean to, but by her expression one might have thought Picard had stepped on her kitten.

  She’d have to get over it fast. “Now, we have less than five minutes to help pull the doors off Starbase 1.”

  “Hold off. Full stop. Keep us behind the moon.” Riker spun a small monitor toward the captain’s chair and studied the code for himself. “You’re sure that’s from the captain?”

  Daniels half shrugged. “As sure as I can be, sir.”

  Riker looked up toward ops. “Data?”

  The android nodded, his brown hair looking more orange under the bright red-alert lighting. “It is not coded, but he does mention—”

  “I see that,” Riker said. “Clever. You know what’s strange? Those three ships should have noticed our entry into the system, but they’re maintaining their attack on the city and ignoring us.”

  “Maybe they missed it?” Daniels asked.

  Riker shook his head. “Or maybe there’s a reason they’re not worried about us.”

  “I can’t get to planetary sensors,” Deanna called from one of the stations. It was the second one she’d moved to as she quickly set up more and more ensigns to monitor certain consoles for the captain.

  What had been distant rumbles above them now grew louder.

  “They’re attacking above us,” Picard mumbled. “Trying to get through to the bunker. I’d say they figured out where we are.”

  “Can they get through?” Amarante asked.

  “Eventually, but as soon as we beamed down here, shielding clicked on. They can’t transport down here, and they can raze a crater above us but—”

  Another explosion, closer, and the lights and console power browned out for only a split second.

  “Or, perhaps they’re more tenacious than I thought.” Picard stood. “We have a contingency if they get through the shields. For now, however, we need to get sensors up.”

  “I don’t see how, sir,” one of the ensigns, the taller one who looked to be a bit Vulcan, said. “They are jamming all sensor frequencies.”

  “You were monitoring news reports,” Picard said to his niece, as he thumbed his chin thoughtfully. “Did they have visual channels from satellites?”

  She nodded slowly, seeming to search her memory. “I think so.”

  “Let’s bring that up.”

  Beginning to work like an actual team, Amarante and her classmates functioned as a more cohesive unit than just twenty minutes before, when all this had begun. “I’ve got a picture of Starbase 1, Captain.”

  “One minute until the Enterprise makes her move,” Picard said, checking the monitor and then a chronometer. “And as a little distraction…” He called up a console that would use the K band and opened a channel to the moon. “Lunar Base 3, this is Picard, are you ready?”

  “Ready when you are, sir.”

  “Look sharp, and wait for Enterprise.”

  “Now!”

  The Enterprise shot out from behind the moon, pushing quickly toward Starbase 1.

  “The three enemy vessels are in low orbit, continuing to attack the city.” Data’s hands were a flurry over the ops console. His fingers were practically a blur as Starbase 1 grew large on the main viewscreen.

  “Several runabouts have been launched from the moon and—” Daniels’s voice choked. “Sir! DP-7 is firing on the runabouts.”

  High in his chest Riker felt a heavy lump. There was little he could do to help them now. “Follow the plan, Data. Maintain course, Ensign.”

  “Tractor beam ready,” Data said.

  “Engage.”

  Kalpana Chawla’s hands were doing their own dance across her console. “Short range sensors show Enterprise on the other side of the space doors, sir.”

  “Ramon?” Husband leaned forward, willing his ship forward with him.

  “We’re ready,” Ramon called.

  “Go!”

  With a crackle of electric flame and a wrench they could neither hear nor feel, the large space doors of Starbase 1 fell forward and swung away.

  Husband was ready for Columbia to move. “McCool?”

  “Course set.”

  “All ahead full,” the captain ordered. Unable to sit, he was at Willie McCool’s back, gripping onto the headrest of the pilot’s chair. “Come about once we’re clear.”

  “Captain,” Chawla called, “the runabouts are drifting, powerless.”

  “Survivors?” Husband asked, his upper body twisted toward tactical.

  Chawla shook her head in dismay, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Minimal life signs.”

  The captain tapped his combadge. “Transporter room, stand by to beam casualties directly to sickbay. Bridge to Dr. Brown. Stand by with emergency medical teams.”

  “Standing by.”

  Before Husband could bark another order, high-powered phasers, stronger than any starship could have mustered, pounded into Columbia’s underbelly from the DP-7 platform.

  The captain nearly lost his footing as he jabbed at his combadge again. “Mike, we need more power for the shields.”

  Anderson replied after too long a pause. “We weren’t fully repaired, sir. We got some major coolant leaks here and not enough staff. Relays to the shield generators are overheating.”

  “Mike, work with me, buddy.”

  Sighing, as all chief engineers were wont to do with their captains, Mike Anderson said, “We’ll do our best, sir.”

  “Columbia is venting plasma, sir.”

  “Advise them to back off.” Frustrated by what he saw on the tactical display, Riker shoved the side monitor away from his view. “We need to do the same, lock on torpedoes when out of range of fire from the platform.”

  When they were far enough back, and Enterprise fired her white-hot quantum torpedoes, they never made it to target. Intercepting fire from the defense platform detonated the munitions well before Earth orbit.

  “We have to go in,” Riker said, his voice firm and taut. “We’ll distract the platform while Columbia attacks the three ships.”

  “Sir,” Data said, too busy to turn away from his console. “The platform can handle contact with several ships—”

  “What did I say about that obvious chip, Data?”