If nothing else, I told myself, this gave people hope; it gave them something to do, which had to be better than withdrawing frightened and paralyzed and despairing into psychological cocoons, waiting in terror for death.
There was too much to do, and of course nobody knew how much time we had. Maybe we had all the time we wanted, maybe we could have spent weeks retrofitting the shuttles and harvesters, rebuilding them and outfitting them, planning carefully until everyone and everything was accounted for, packed and loaded, everyone leisurely boarded and settling themselves in for the long journey. Maybe the aliens would come the next day, and we wouldn't have a chance.
We tried to decide on the absolute minimum necessary to make it to Antioch and survive once we got there; then we set to work on that minimum. There were screwups and tempers and accidents, shouting and crying and fistfights, pouting and nervous breakdowns. But there was also laughter and tears of relief and companionship, stolen moments of affection, and much cooperation.
Through it all, the work got done. With the bishop's assistance, we installed the gravity generator in one of the harvesters. Partitions were erected into the vehicles; sleeping bunks and benches were built into walls. Bathrooms and recyclers, water tanks. Storage lockers and food systems. Minimal amounts of packaged foods in each vessel, just enough for the voyage to Antioch; larger stores would be loaded into the cargo harvester.
Fuel was a problem. We would maximize all tanks, butt he shuttles weren't designed for long-distance space travel. If there'd been more time, maybe we would've been able to build special tanks to store the fuel in the cargo harvester, build fueling systems so the shuttles could be refueled during the journey. There wasn't more time.
Even if there had been time, it wouldn't have been a good idea; we couldn't depend too much on what was loaded in the cargo harvester. It'd be the last vehicle to leave the Enterprise; what would happen if it was attacked by the aliens, destroyed or disabled? What would happen if there was some other kind of unforeseeable accident? Each vessel, each shuttle, and harvester, needed to be self-sufficient, equipped to be capable of making the journey to Antioch and landing without aid from any of the others.
We'd be crammed into the vessels, without privacy, like the herd animals down in the lower decks, but amazingly we had the capacity to take everyone. However, there were people who couldn't go. Decisions were hard to make, they were brutal, but there was no choice. Most of those in the downsiders' madhouse would have to stay. The same for a dozen people in the upper level psychiatric wards. Of those in the ship's jail cells, the lesser offenders were released; the more violent remained imprisoned.
One of the most difficult decisions was what to do with those people who had begun to behave strangely after going into the alien ship: Ben Jammer and his family, Leppink and Mawk-Betzel. We didn't know what was wrong with them. Infected somehow? Possibly contagious? Maybe they were in the early stages of being possessed by the spirits of alien beings. It was impossible to know. As hard as it was, amid the feelings of guilt at the price they were paying for all their efforts, in the end we knew we had no choice: they would have to remain.
Amber Faulken and William Riker might have presented another problem, but they were both still missing, apparently stalking each other throughout the Enterprise. We stopped looking for them.
There were also people who wouldn't go: some upper-level residents afraid of losing the power and authority they had enjoyed all their lives; twenty-three families who belonged to a religious sect called the First Ship of Christ, who believed it was blasphemous to leave the Enterprise; twenty or thirty people on the official ship census that could not be located; and some people who just couldn't imagine life outside the ship.
I can barely remember now everything that had to be done, everything that had to be accounted for. I can't remember everything. So much of what took place during that time has now become hazy, distorted by tension, anxiety, fear, and severe sleep deprivation.
But it got done, somehow, and soon it became clear that we would be ready to leave in less than twenty-four hours.
Pike came to see me down in the harvester bay, where I was helping to load cargo. I sat with him on bundles of packaged foodstuffs that weren't slated to be loaded for several hours.593Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMJd6imAFob
"I'm staying with the Enterprise," he said. "I wanted you to know."
I wasn't expecting it, but it didn't surprise me. "Why?"
"I'm not a martyr like the bishop. It's not that." He sighed and held up his cane. "I'm an old man, Pavel. I'm one hundred and thirty-eight years old, and I've spent every one of those years on this ship. I've been ship historian for sixty-seven years." He set the tip of the cane between his shoes, rubbed the carved wooden handle. "I need to stay here. I need to know how everything ends for the Enterprise. Finish its history, if possible."
"Finish its history? For whom?"
"I don't know. For me. Hopefully for others. I'll work until the last possible moment. I'll have a copy of the Histories in a burial capsule, and when I've written my final words I'll add them to the others. I'll seal the capsule and launch it into space. With luck, a great deal of luck, someone will find it someday and learn something from it." He smiled gently. "The historian's eternal hope."
I thought I understood how he felt. "I guess I won't try to talk you out of it," I told him.
"Thank you. I don't have the energy for it."
"Have you told LaForge yet?" I asked.
"No."
"You should. He'll be our captain. Or already is."
Pike nodded. "Yes. I will. And I'll suggest to him that he maintain the position of historian on Antioch. On the journey as well. It's more important than most people realize. Sophia Garcia has been well trained. She'll make a fine historian."
"I'll lend my own support," I told him.
"Thank you, Pavel." He leaned forward and with the help of his cane rose to his feet. "I'll return with the Church archives, now." He slowly shook his head. "They'll be a great loss." His gaze became unfocused for a moment, then he looked at me. "Goodbye, Pavel."
"Goodbye, Christopher."
He limped across the bay, his thin figure surprisingly erect, then went through one of the passage doorways and was gone. I never saw him again.
There were only a few hours until the first shuttle was scheduled to leave. Jean-Luc and I met in the command salon. The clear dome was two-thirds filled with stars and one-third with the deep black hulk of the alien ship looming over us. There was still so much to do, and we both felt slightly guilty taking time away from the preparations. But this would be our only opportunity, our last opportunity.593Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQvU3YdBU2s
He had a bottle of Scotch and two glasses with him; he held up the bottle and offered me a drink.593Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2Uyk0k1Qcw
"Just one," I said.
He nodded, and poured some for each of us. "This is my first drink in weeks," he said.
I'd wondered about that. The Scotch burned, but it burned cool and smooth going down.
"This is the last of the best," he said. "Why let it go to waste? I'll probably finish the bottle once we've pulled this off."
Pulled it off, I thought. I watched him, trying to guess whether or not he was frightened. Not, I decided. Or at least not much. He'd come to terms with it, and if I knew Jean-Luc, which I did, he was ready with a way to end it quickly for himself. He and Hernandez and the others might've talked about it.
"It's been an eventful year," he said.
I smiled. "That's one way of putting it."
"You and I have had our differences."
"Long done with," I replied.
He nodded slowly, sipped at his drink. He looked up and out through the duranium at the alien ship. "That could've been the most fantastic discovery in history. It was the most fantastic discovery. But it's turned into the most fantastic nightmare. It's done terrible things to most of us." He turned back to me. "I'm sorry about some things, Pavel."
"So am I, Jean-Luc."
I was afraid he was going to get specific. It would've been a bad idea. It was possible that the things he was sorry about were not what I thought he should be sorry about. And vice versa. We didn't need that now.
Isolated in the salon, we couldn't hear anything at all except our own breathing. We might've been the only people on the Enterprise.593Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcES3qmuZzM
Jean-Luc finished his drink. "After all these years," he said, "there's not really much to say, is there?"
"No," I answered.
"Pavel." Then he hesitated, unsure. "Pavel, do you want to know who your parents are?"
"You know?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Since I became captain."
I didn't have to think about it long. I felt surprisingly little curiosity. "No," I told him. "It's too late for that. They've been dead and buried in space to me all my life. Better they stay that way."
Jean-Luc smiled. "I thought you'd say something like that." The smile quickly faded. "Well, I have a strange request. It seems strange to me anyway." He glanced into his empty glass. "Watch my wife for me, Pavel. Make sure she's all right. She's----she won't ask for help, especially not from you."
"Constance doesn't like me."
"No." He looked up at me. "Will you do that for me, Pavel?"
"Are you surprised she chose not to stay with you?"
He didn't answer immediately, but I could see the pain working into his features. "Maybe. A little. Should I not have been?"
"I don't know, Jean-Luc. You know her far better than I do."
"Were you surprised?'
I wondered what answer he wanted to hear. Probably not the one I would give him. Maybe I should have lied, but I just couldn't.
"No," I said. "I wasn't surprised.
He nodded and turned his attention once again to the alien vessel. There were still no signs of activity on that sinister, black ship. Sometimes, looking at it, it was hard to believe what was happening.
"I have to go," I said. "There isn't much time. Final preparations..."
"I would've stayed with her," he said.
"I know." I felt pity for him, and wished there was something I could do or say to ease his pain. But I knew there wasn't, or if there was, I had no idea what it could be.
"This won't be forgotten," I said. "What you and Macha and the others are doing. What you're doing for us, for..."
He shook his head, cutting me off. "Just get to Antioch alive, Pavel. Make it worthwhile."
"We will, Jean-Luc."
He turned back to me one final time and took a step forward. For a moment I thought he was going to embrace me. But we had never done anything like that in all the years we'd known each other, and I couldn't imagine it even now. Apparently he thought the same thing, for he did not come any closer.
"Goodbye, Pavel."
"Goodbye, Jean-Luc."
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