“What exactly are we seeking, sir?” Data asked.

“Doral referred to the edge of the Federation, approximately a century ago. I want to see if we can find the world where his people found their gateway.”

A star chart filled the space, engulfing the duo. It was large enough to allow individual solar systems and key planets to be named. At first, they began one hundred twenty years earlier, scanning for anything obvious based on what they currently knew. Allowing for Data’s more rapid visual receptors, Picard flashed around the edge of Federation space, marveling at how much they had grown in such a relatively short span of time. There had been their skirmishes and wars, repelling invaders of all sorts, but they held together and prospered. Could they ever reach a point like the Petraw, a point where they were too far apart? He certainly hoped not, but he was also reminded of how Starfleet Command had grown to the point where they weren’t communicating as effectively.

Once finished, Data admitted to seeing nothing obvious. With a shrug, Picard ordered the view forwarded by a year and again by a year. Paisner kept his fingers moving over the board, his wavy hair shaking with each movement.

“It might help if we had more context to work from,” Data admitted after five circuits.

“I agree, but it was not discovered by Doral, but his ancestor. I gather the records are scant,” Picard replied, hitting a control to forward the image another year.

Finally, at 2269, Data saw a smudge to the top right of the dome. Paisner enlarged the sector until it filled the area and then Data looked once more.

“What is it?”

“Although we are seeing the star charts as they existed around stardate 5700, the computer is also providing us with updated geological data. This faded area, for example.”

“Something is missing?” Picard felt the tug of something on his memory but dismissed it to concentrate on Data.

“Yes, sir, a planetoid was here and is not now.”

“It vanished?” Picard’s mind reeled at the possibility of a planet-sized gateway.

“I do not believe so. One moment.” He manipulated several more controls and then a stream of information was projected next to the faded space.

“An artificial world existed here, but exploded at approximately stardate 5750. Detonated by Commander Spock . . . of the Enterprise,” Picard read aloud.

“Interesting,” Data said.

“Wait a minute,” Picard suddenly interrupted, his brow furrowing. “What was it Scotty told me? They were thrown one thousand light-years away. . . .”

“Actually 990.7 light years,” Data corrected, reading from a report on the console.

“The Kalandan people were never explained, were they?”

“No, sir,” Data replied.

Things were starting to fall into place for Picard and he felt his blood beginning to rush, his lethargy replaced with renewed vigor. Taking over the console from a bemused Paisner, he fed in several planetary names. Within seconds, a brand-new map appeared before them. Several planets were highlighted, forming a crude line, almost bisecting the Alpha Quadrant.

“We know the Iconian civilization left its mark on Iccobar, Dewan, and Dinasia, but look if we link them to the Kalandan outpost and Iconia itself.”

“A clear path is formed,” Data observed.

“From Iconia, in the Romulan Neutral Zone, right across the Alpha Quadrant toward the Gamma Quadrant border. When their enemies bombarded Iconia, the people seemed to move across the galaxy. Maybe they stopped on each world to regroup or build new gateways.”

“It is certainly a possibility,” Data said. “Since we do not know how many Iconians could have survived, it is unclear what their needs were.”

“Or if they were followed. We only found the one operating system on the homeworld. And Kirk found one at the Kalandan outpost.” Picard briefly thought how his life and Kirk’s seemed to endlessly intersect, a link from one Enterprise captain to another.

“I do note that the remainder of that mission seems to be missing from the official Starfleet records.”

Picard nodded in agreement, a tight smile across his face. “I wonder at times if the classified records are larger than the public records.”

“I could perform an analysis, calculating the time allowed for all official log entries of active captains during Starfleet’s existence against the public record and come up with a total number of missing days. It might take some time, however.”

“Never mind,” Picard replied with a sigh.

The captain once again programmed in a series of commands and the screen shifted with a new projection, this one seemingly brighter than the ones seen previously. “When the universe was two hundred thousand years younger,” Picard said admiringly.

“Donald Varley found Iconia by adjusting for the galactic shift. If I do that for the worlds we know had Iconian influence, we get a brand-new direction.” He gestured at the new path that led straight across the Alpha Quadrant, avoiding the Gamma Quadrant entirely.

“Computer, adjust map to accommodate the highlighted planet’s position during the first known evidence of Iconian activity.” It beeped compliantly and the planets shifted ever so slightly on the dome, once more changing the line’s direction.

“The Kalandan outpost was the last known visit, just ten thousand years ago. Perhaps an offshoot or the last remaining people. Now, Data, look at the distances from planet to planet,” he observed, having the computer add measurements to the screen. It became apparent, there was a mathematical progression from point to point.

“Excellent detective work, Captain,” Data said.

Picard gave him a genuine smile, his first in a while. “You have your Holmes, I have my Dixon Hill, and neither liked to be stumped. These were not capricious people, Data. Everything the Iconians left behind spoke of high intelligence and precision. These markers reinforce that belief.”

“Do you believe they still exist?”

“We need them to exist since they hold the key to the gateways. Unless you’ve managed to decipher their language.”

“I have not been successful,” Data admitted.

“Then we have to find them or their records, don’t we?”

Data turned and studied the captain’s determined face. “You have a plan, sir, do you not?”

“When don’t I, Data?”

Riker was waiting for them on the bridge. Like the captain, he was a little better rested but still felt the strain of the mission. And he missed Deanna. Now that they were together once again he found himself reluctant to let her be apart. Still, there was a time for love and a time for duty.

He wished he were beside Picard, finding out more about these Petraw, but someone had to remain on the bridge, coordinating information from the fleet. It seemed as if everything had progressed smoothly once Doral confessed. The Petraw acted like a beaten people, which made them seem more than a little pathetic. It irritated him, but there was nothing he could offer them other than a stern lecture, and that was something Picard was far better at.

Vale had returned from the Petraw ship, changed into a clean uniform, and was once again on alert behind him. She never seemed to sleep and was always at the top of her game, which impressed and surprised him. How did she manage to do all that?

When the turbolift doors snapped open, Riker turned and was pleased to see Picard and Data stride onto the bridge. Picard seemed refreshed, so something had gone right down below. In fact, the captain seemed positively eager, not something he imagined would have happened. Picard nodded in acknowledgment of his first officer and tilted his head toward the ready room. Gesturing to La Forge, who had been bent over the engineering post, the two went into Picard’s sanctum.

“I believe I know where the Iconians are or last were,” he said.

This took Riker aback. He didn’t think Picard or Data had enough to go on but clearly something had changed. He was pleased by this but began to suspect there was more to it and was trying to think ahead of his captain.

“Can we get there?”

“Not all of us, Number One,” Picard replied. Riker was now definitely getting a sense of why Picard was getting to be so eager.

“So you’re going into the gateway,” he said.

Now it was Picard’s turn to look surprised. He and Riker looked at one another, as a silent discussion—one they had had many times before—played out. Data and La Forge kept silent, waiting for someone to speak next.

“Can I send Vale with you?”

Picard smiled slightly, Riker noting he had the better argument—who else knew the Iconians well enough to deal with them should they still be there? Who better to eloquently state the urgency of the problem? Of course Picard was going to risk this, not Riker. Circumstances pointed to Picard this time, when on so many occasions, Riker won the day.

“If I’m wrong, I will not risk another’s life.”

“Even a volunteer’s?” This from La Forge, who displayed as much curiosity about things as Picard did.

“Even yours, Geordi.”

“When?”

“We can’t wait long, Number One,” Picard replied thoughtfully. “I want to talk to the other captains and send a quick report to Admiral Ross. If this fails, I want Starfleet to know it was entirely my doing.”

Riker nodded and waited for the dismissal. After a moment, the men were released back to the bridge and they slowly walked out. There was nothing left to argue, but they didn’t necessarily want to leave the captain either. After all, if there was a danger, he’d be lost to them.

Once back in the command chair, Riker didn’t feel comfortable, but had to make peace with the situation. He also had to start thinking like the officer in charge, because once Picard made the attempt, everything would fall to him. Grekor would object and Desan might even try a play on her own, so he had to plan accordingly. He was like a chess master preparing to play multiple opponents, some of whom he had never met before.

Turning the watch over to Data, Riker excused himself to the observation lounge, where he began reviewing reports, statistics, and tactical readings. If he was going to be in command, he needed every shred of information to be familiar so he could react accordingly. Those plans, though, were interrupted by Vale, who told him a signal was coming in from Troi on the Marco Polo.

The wall screen shimmered and the smiling face of his lover greeted him.

“How can I help you, Captain Troi?” he said, giving her a broad grin. She seemed concerned, though.

“You’re troubled, Will. What’s wrong?”

Riker was surprised by this long-range diagnosis. “Now how did you know that?”

“Imzadi, I can read you even when surrounded by thousands of life-forms. Especially when you’re agitated.”

“Strong emotions again?” Riker filled her in and he saw her expression grow concerned. She fully understood; how could she not after spending most of her adult life with Riker, as well as Picard.

“You know this is something he has to do for himself as well as Starfleet,” she said.

“Of course. He’d never forgive himself if one of us strolled through and made a faux pas in front of a real Iconian.”

“Do you think he’ll be successful?”

“He got us this far, Deanna. Outnumbered, we held off the Petraw and got the truth with minimal loss. Even the Romulans are behaving around him.”

“Are you ready to take over?”

“Now that’s an entirely different question,” he admitted. “I’ve never had to coordinate this much before. He can do it his way, but I need to be myself.”

“And so you will be. You’ve gotten Klingon respect before. If there’s anyone to worry about it’s the Carreon. We know so little about them. They’ve behaved so far, but who knows what will happen with them next? Desan will play along while there remains information to be learned. Even repaired, she won’t leave the area until we know what happens to Captain Picard. And it behooves her to help out, just in case she needs help herself.”

Riker shook his head in amazement. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be doing this job?”

“Oh, I’m quite content sitting here with my own little crew. I’m growing quite fond of them actually.”

“Good enough. Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it when you have Klingons and Romulans at your back,” she said, and ended the message.

Grimly, Riker mused, wondering if those people were supporting him, or plotting against him.

Picard nodded to the security guard posted outside Doral’s cabin. The officer turned and unlocked the door, allowing the captain to enter.

Doral was seated at the small desk, the computer screen showing an image of his ships. Picard appreciated the concern a leader was showing for his people.

“Is there anything, in any of your records, that will tell us how to read their language?”

Doral slowly shook his head and gestured for Picard to sit. The captain took the chair opposite the Petraw pod leader and they sat in silence for several moments. Picard saw that the bed was untouched, the replicator empty. He suspected Doral had been at the desk the whole time, wondering how he got into this mess. Still unsure of how he felt about the Petraw, Picard kept his own counsel for the moment.

“With no other choice, I am going to use the gateway on your ship and try to find the Iconians. We need to turn off the network and do it before more lives are lost. Those deaths will have to weigh on your conscience. If I don’t try, they will be on mine, too.”

“If you find the mechanism, will you keep it to yourself?”

“I will do what needs be done to turn them all off, and then if it means sharing it with those we normally consider our adversaries, then yes. Whatever our differences, we will not allow the innocent to die.”

Doral looked deep into Picard’s eyes, and the captain met the stare with equanimity. He held it for a moment, then two, and finally blinked. “Such a strong will,” the Petraw softly said.

“The mark of a captain,” Picard said. “And the burden of one.”

“When you return, and the gateways are turned off, what of my people?”

Picard sat thoughtful, not really having spent much time on the issue. He admitted as much and then added, “What you did was criminal. I don’t know if there’s a way to charge you for such reckless endangerment, but you certainly cannot be allowed to go unpunished. Your current plight has to take a place behind the more immediate danger.”

Doral nodded in understanding. Picard stood and walked out, not saying another word, letting the guilt hang in the air.

La Forge and Kliv were bent over the gateway console when Picard arrived on the Petraw ship. They were passing equipment back and forth, having opened up a panel on the Iconian console, spare parts littering the floor by their boots.

“If we can place the microfusion initiators here . . .” La Forge muttered.

“Then the EPS power stabilizer can fit below it,” Kliv finished. They continued working and muttering, totally ignoring Picard’s presence. He smiled toward them but walked over to Grekor and Worf, who seemed irritable, just watching.

“Regardless of race, engineers always speak in their own tongue,” Grekor said.

“They are a breed apart,” Worf said.

Picard came aboard equipped with field medical kit, tricorder, hand phaser, and rations. There was little knowing what awaited him on the other side, but Picard knew enough to be prepared. Crusher had berated him for going alone but then had stoically talked him through how to use some of the latest diagnostic devices, how to store readings in case the Iconians allowed themselves to be studied, and how to counteract the dozen most common poisons.

She seemed to go into lengthy detail, forcing him to spend more time in sickbay. He knew she wouldn’t like the solo nature of the mission, but he refused to argue the point. With great patience, he had allowed her to discuss the kit’s contents, noting how often her hands found his. There never seemed to be enough time for these feelings, but in case he wasn’t coming back soon, he stored the emotions.

As he had begun to leave sickbay, Crusher had called to him one more time and he found himself in a tight embrace. She had said it was for luck but he knew better and said nothing.

Riker had been waiting for him in the transporter room, padd in hand. He had tried to convince Picard there were some orders needing his thumbprint but the captain knew his friend better than that.

“I’ll be fine, Will,” he had said confidently.

“I hope so, sir,” Riker had said, the twinkle appearing in his eye. “I want my own command, but not like this.”

“Careful of the fleet,” Picard had said. “It’s fragile and will need a gentle hand. Bractor will try and gain any advantage while Mel Rosa may continue his battle with Oliv when this is finished.”

“At least the Gorn are out of the picture,” Riker had said, a grim smile on his face. No one wished their deaths, Picard knew, but not having them around would certainly make Riker’s job simpler.

“Look after my ship, I’ll be back for it.”

“As always,” Riker had said with a laugh.

They had looked at one another for a moment and then Picard had taken his place and simply said, “Energize.”

Now he was aboard the Petraw ship and felt how alien it was to him. Every race had their own sense of design and functionality but again, there was not time to study the hodgepodge vessel. He hoped there would be when he returned.

“From what we saw on Iconia, my best guess is that the coordinates are input here,” La Forge said, gesturing to a hooded portion of the board. It contained three triangular areas with brightly colored buttons.

“I want all portals to have the same coordinates so as it rotates, all doors lead to the same place. It seems safest.”

La Forge shrugged, “Guess we can try it. I’ll need another photonic amplifier or two. . . .”

“We have determined each color represents a set of binary data combinations and tapping them begins the sequencing,” the Klingon engineer added.

“We’re taking an awful lot on faith,” La Forge added.

“Sometimes, Mr. La Forge, faith is all we have.” Picard handed his friend a tricorder with the coordinates on it. “Based on the mathematical progression of each planetary jump, and then factoring the shift over the millennia, I believe I’m going here.”

Grekor and Worf had drawn closer, looking at the information. It seemed to Picard that Grekor was more interested than he had let on, but he would not remark on it. Worf, however, turned to Picard with some alarm on his face.

“Sir, that’s uncharted space. You have no idea what sort of planet that might be. You should not go alone. Or first.”

“Fortune favors the foolish, Ambassador,” Picard said. He smiled at his friend. “I will allow no one else to take the risk.”

“You are a warrior after all,” Grekor said.

“He has the heart of a Klingon,” Worf said with pride.

“Actually, I have a heart of steel thanks to Dr. Van Doren.” He chuckled at the confused expression on Grekor’s face.

La Forge had ignored the exchange, concentrating on the coordinates. He tapped a few, looked at the tricorder and tapped again, muttering to himself, “amber, amber, blue, red, amber, blue . . . no, amber.”

The equipment suddenly chirped and La Forge scrambled backward. Lights blinked on and off and as Picard looked; the space within the gateway’s arch began to shimmer. Within a few seconds, it cleared to depict a starfield.

Then it began to rotate, and the starfield became a solar system . . .

. . . then a green planet . . .

. . . then a brown continent . . .

. . . then a golden field . . .

. . . then a lush rain forest . . .

. . . then a high domed building, glistening damply in the sunlight . . .

. . . then a high domed building, glistening damply in the sunlight . . .

. . . then a high domed building, glistening damply in the sunlight . . .

“I think that’s my port of call,” Picard said, more to himself than anyone.

“Good luck,” La Forge said.

“Qapla’!” Grekor and Worf said simultaneously, their voices resounding off the walls.

Without turning his back, Picard took two steps and entered the gateway without knowing what lay beyond.

To Be Continued In . . .

STAR TREK: GATEWAYS, BOOK 7 WHAT LAY BEYOND