Rick Endres
Winner of the 1988 Fan Q Award for Best Writer & Story
PROLOGUE
Stars.
Uncounted swarms of them swirled placidly in the incandescent backwaters of the Perseus Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. Many of them were nameless, and would always remain so, doomed to be designated only by nondescript numerals in astronomical atlases. Others, blazing beacons of every spectral hue, carried fanciful appellations in thousands of languages throughout the far-flung cultures of this thriving island universe.
And others were not at all what they appeared to be.
Someone gazing across the Organian Treaty Zone in the direction of Imperial Klingon Space would have been startled by the abrupt appearance of one such "star" against the sun-spattered backdrop of the interstellar void. Perhaps a nova, a sudden blooming of brilliance signaling a violent death in the cosmos? No, wait--this sun was moving, and at relativistic speed, swelling larger and brighter until it assumed a coherent shape. It was a ship, a big one, with the distinctive cobra-head and wasp-waisted configuration of a Klingon K't'inga-class heavy battlecruiser. A gray-green ghost, the starship knifed through the velvet emptiness like a swooping bird of prey, intent and implacable in its singleness of purpose.
Commander Kona, captain of the battlecruiser Korvus, studied the mainviewer, peering at the shifting panorama laid out before him. His blood sang the song of the warrior. At long last he was fulfilling his sole purpose in life! Behind them lay the shattered ruins of Federation Monitoring Outpost Epsilon Four; ahead waited an unsuspecting sister station, Epsilon Three. The attack had been child's play, little more than a light maneuvering exercise. Thanks to the improved cloaking device recently acquired from the Romulans in a materiel exchange, the Korvus had been able to sneak to within point-blank range, and the first salvo of photon torpedoes had obliterated the luckless installation.
Kona turned towards the communications console. "Communications Officer, report status," he snarled.
"All frequencies interrupted," he reported. "All Federation and Starfleet communications in this sector are completely jammed, joHwI'," Communications Officer Tagan barked. "Epsilon Three, our next target, is blacked out, as was Epsilon Four."
"Good! Soon we will crush another enemy base with our might. When we have destroyed all of our designated targets, we will have blasted open a corridor in Federation defenses that will take them months to re-fortify. And then our time will come!"
Tagan raised a fist in approval as Kona settled back in his command throne. His large, bare, bone-knobbed skull and swarthy, bearded face shone dully in the dim bridge lighting. In his bristling battle armor, he was nightmare incarnate. His features contorted into a feral grin, a hideous, snaggle-toothed grimace that passed for a smile among the genetically-engineered Kh'myr subrace of the Klingons. It was almost too easy. Their targets hung helplessly in space like blind sheep awaiting their slaughter.
And he, Kona, was the wolf.
"joHwI'!"
"What is it, Bron?"
"Epsilon Three is now at extreme sensor range, Exalted One," the navigator reported. "Contact in twelve point four tup."
Kona snapped. "Battlestations. Gunner, stand ready. Charge weaponry."
A chorus of acknowledgments rang out as the cruiser geared up for battle. Kona leaned forward in his seat, his voice a hoarse growl. He was speaking in the harsh-sounding language of the Kh'myr instead of the Klingonese spoken by those non-Kh'myr weaklings. "Let us see how our soft Earther friends like surprises. Engage cloaking device!"
The helmsman did as commanded. "Cloaking device engaged."
And the Klingon cruiser Korvus melted into the blackness and vanished, becoming one with space itself.
*****
Strung out like a barbed wire fence along the disputed boundary between Federation and Klingon space, the Epsilon series of monitoring stations served both as communications relays and border defense outposts. The stations were outfitted with the most advanced intelligence gathering and communications equipment, and kept watch on the Organian Treaty Zone for any illegal Klingon activity that constituted a treaty violation. One of the bases had been annihilated nearly three years earlier by the nearly omnipotent alien machine-being that called itself V'ger. The complex had since been rebuilt.
Until today, there had been nine Epsilon outposts.
Now there were eight.
Commander Thomas Durston paced the deck in the control center of Epsilon Three, pausing every now and then to gaze out the large rectangular viewing port. The station had been on Red Alert for almost two hours now, ever since communications had suddenly, inexplicably blacked out. So far all attempts to reestablish them had been futile.
Durston strode to the communications console. "Any luck, Jess?"
Lieutenant Commander Jessica Owens, a pretty brunette in her early thirties, shook her head. "Nothing but static, sir. I've verified that we don't have an equipment malfunction. All systems are normal."
"Which means..."
"Which means there's either one hell of an ion storm nearby, or we're being jammed," Owens finished. Her large dark eyes flashed with frustration as she vainly tried to punch through the blanketing hiss that resonated in her earpiece.
Durston turned away, running a hand through his shock of salt-and-pepper brown hair, his gray eyes thoughtful in his lean, angular face. His executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Stephen Murphy, swiveled in his chair at the sensor bay. "I did a long range omnidirectional scan, Tom. Clean and green. WeatherScan reports there's nothing out there--no ion storms, no corona or aurora disturbances."
"What about ships--ours, or anybody else's?"
"Well, we've got Enterprise in Sector Twelve, Quad Two South, on approach path to Starbase Sixteen. That's the only vessel in range of our scanners. Nothing on the Klingon side."
"Damn!" Durston paced back to the portal again. "Let's get this straight. Our comm system checks out normal, but it's non-functional. No storms or natural disturbances nearby, no enemy ships. Then who or what is jamming us--if that's what's happening?" He stared fixedly out the port at the drifting star-field, as if it held his answer.
A yeoman entered the control deck at that moment with a freshly-brewed pot of coffee for the command crew. Murphy flagged him down. He drew two cups, then walked over to the viewport and offered one to Durston. "It doesn't have to be Klingons," Murphy said. "Maybe it's just an instrument malfunction we haven't isolated yet."
"Sure, Murph," Durston snorted. "How many times have you troubleshot your sensors in the last two hours?"
"Three," Murphy admitted.
"And they always checked out clean. Ditto with Jess' comm systems." The outpost commander sipped his coffee, wincing at the bitter taste. "Something's going on, Murph. Don't ask me how I know; it's just a feeling I've got. And it's not my usual Kh'myr paranoia, either."
"The 'new breed' has got you worried, huh?"
"The new breed, yeah--literally as well as figuratively. I keep waiting for those bone-headed bastards to come pouring across the border one day. Nothing intimidates them, not even the threat of Organian intervention. To them, the Treaty's not worth the paper it's written on."
He gulped his coffee again, and again made a face. Yes, the Klingon Kh'myr warrior caste worried him. The Kh'myr were the product of a little more than a century of accelerated genetic engineering. They were half again as strong as a healthy specimen of the parent Klingon race, as well as being quicker, more savage, and utterly fearless in battle. They were without doubt the ultimate Klingon warrior. In five standard years, they had come to dominate the military wing of the Empire. Only the fact that they were still outnumbered on the Klingon planets held them in check. But for how long? The Kh'myr were berserkers. There were rumors that they had even drawn up plans for a direct strike against Organia itself--despite the fact that the Organians had already proven they could immobilize entire starfleets with a mere thought.
"C'mon, Tom, quit sweating about it," Murphy chided, interrupting his reverie. "We're ready for 'em. Shields and screens are up, and sensors are clear to the limits of their range. There's nothing out there."
"Then, I repeat, what's wrong with communications?"
Murphy was about to make an exasperated reply when Jessica Owens interrupted them from her board. "Commander, I'm getting a strange--"
She didn't get a chance to finish.
Something hit the station, hard, shaking it with the brutal force of an earthquake. Coffee cups went flying as Durston and Murphy were slammed to the deck. They scrambled to their feet as the tremor subsided. Murphy dropped into his console chair, staring incredulously at his sensor display.
"That felt like a hit, but the sensors say there's nothing there!"
"Energize phaser batteries!" Durston snapped.
Even as Owens relayed the message to the weapons deck, Epsilon Three shuddered again--only far worse this time. The lights went out, plunging the control center into darkness. "Station support has been destroyed by a torpedo hit, sir!" Owens shouted. "Power plant is dead, deflectors are down, and phasers banks are inoperative! We're on battery power!"
"My God--there it is!" Murphy exclaimed.
Durston followed his exec's pointing finger. A Klingon battlecruiser hung outside the station, seemingly at arm's-length distance. Its forward torpedo tube glowed red with lambent hellfire as it prepared to strike again.
"How'd they get so close?" Durston shouted. "We should have picked them up!"
The cruiser fired.
The blast shook the command deck. Consoles exploded all about them, bursting into flames. There was a muffled scream as the ceiling caved in above the communications bay. Jessica Owens was engulfed in a lethal cascading hail of broken support beams and conduits.
Durston came up coughing, wiping blood out of his eyes from a deep gash in his forehead. His right leg was broken in several places. Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain, he gingerly crawled toward the wreckage marking the spot where Jessica had been sitting only seconds before. He pulled himself forward on his elbows through the choking dust and smoke; his trembling, out-stretched hand suddenly encountered something wet and sticky. Durston dragged himself another couple of feet, then stopped, moaning in shocked, sickened horror.
He realized he was crawling in a crimson pool of blood that was seeping from beneath the mountain of debris, spreading across the deck with alarming rapidity. Tears stung Durston's eyes as he fought back the impulse to gag. "Oh, Jess," he groaned. "Oh, God damn ...Jess!"
"T-Tom...help me," he heard Murphy gasp feebly.
"Where are you?"
No answer came. Durston tried to locate his exec, homing in on the direction from which he thought the voice had come.
He found him several painful seconds later. Murphy was pinned under the crushing weight of a durasteel ceiling beam.
He had no pulse.
Choking back a sob, Durston collapsed next to the body of his friend. He gently closed Murphy's wide, staring eyes. "Klingons, Murph," he whispered. "They caught us napping, and we paid for it."
He glanced up at the viewport. The thick glass was shattered into opaque, web-like patterns, but he could still see the battlecruiser making a final, deadly pass. He watched, transfixed, as a photon torpedo spiraled lazily toward the dying station.
Point blank, Durston thought. It's going to hit right here on the command deck! He somehow fought back the agony of his crushed leg and drew his knees up to his chest in a fetal position, as if this would protect him.
The last thing he saw was the viewport exploding inward a microsecond before the Klingon torpedo vaporized the outpost and all aboard it.
*****
Commander Kona watched with avid satisfaction as the dying embers of the fatal explosion dissipated into the ether. Around him, the victory whoops of his crew reverberated throughout the bridge. Another Federation outpost reduced to plasma! The new Romulan cloaking device had performed spectacularly thus far. Coupled with the increased engine power of the uprated K't'inga cruisers, they could drop out of the universe altogether while retaining the use of their own sensors. The drawback that had plagued earlier versions of the device--that of being forced to periodically deactivate it to conserve power--had been eliminated, and from what they had seen today, the Federation's powerful new sensors were completely blind to it. It was indeed formidable.
And yet, the cloaking device was a mere toy compared to what they would soon possess.
Kona grinned. It was ironic. The Federation would supply the weapon that would bring about its own destruction. Today, he would clear a path that would enable Imperial starships to pass back and forth into Federation space at will--and to 'acquire' the services of the man whose brilliant mind would cause the downfall of their hated enemy.
And then they would fall on the Federation weaklings like hunting bloodhawks diving on their prey.
"Course programmed for Starbase Sixteen, my lord," Bron called out.
"Excellent. Graf Factor Ten. This is our final target. As soon as we destroy it, we return to Kazh--and victory."
A cheer went up from his men. Shouts of "Victory, joHwI'" rang out, accompanied by the traditional Klingon upraised-fist salute.
He lounged back in his chair, rubbing his gauntleted hands together in anticipation of his next triumph.
CHAPTER ONE
Captain James T. Kirk's fingers played over the touch-sensor membrane keyboard on the arm of his command console. He stabbed a button and opened intraship communications. "Kirk to Engineering. Scotty, how're you holding up down there?"
"We're showin' some fluctuation on the intermix phase balancin' circuits," came the Scot's thick burr. "We should be all right if ye don't ask me for any more speed--then we might go into engine imbalance."
"Is it that bad? I thought you weren't too worried about it."
"Aye, but it's been gettin' progressively worse for the past several hours. I'll sure be glad to get her into drydock, Cap'n."
Kirk grinned. "Just hang on a few more minutes, Scotty. We're almost there. Kirk out."
He sat back in his console, exhaling slowly. We're almost there. He couldn't remember the last time he had so looked forward to shore leave. He was bone-weary; fatigue hung from his eyelids like lead weights, squeezed at his chest until his lungs burned when he breathed.
And why not? It had been two years since he had reassumed command of the new, up-rated Enterprise for the V'ger encounter. He could not recall ever having spent two busier years in his life. Even his first historic five-year mission had not been this hectic. They had explored farther into the reaches of deep space than anyone before them, guiding the awesome power of this gleaming starship into the black, unknown void.
There was always the threat of Klingon activity. Lately, alarming reports from 'fleet Intelligence indicated that they seemed to be gearing up for something. No one was certain exactly what the Klingons were doing; there had been a great deal of Imperial fleet deployment, and that could only bode ill for Starfleet and the Federation.
James T. Kirk had plenty to keep him occupied. For the most part, he enjoyed himself immensely, but even he had his limits. He drove himself, his crew, his ship, always farther and deeper into space. They were often out of contact with Starfleet Command for months at a time. Somehow, he was not troubled by this communications lapse. He thought he had convinced himself that this was just one of the necessary evils of deep space exploration, but he knew that, deep down, he was glad of every parsec of emptiness he could put between himself and Starfleet Command, between himself and his old life.
The specter of the two and a half miserable years he had spent on ground duty during the Enterprise's refitting still haunted his dreams, sometimes even his waking hours. Those had been bad times, times of frustration, times of longing for a chance to roam once more among the stars, to be truly free again. He did not want to go back to that. He could not bear up under that strain, that terrible empty feeling of being used up, over the hill. Commanding Admiral Heihachiro Nogura had only reluctantly allowed him a "temporary grade reduction to captain," a return to active duty, stating that he felt Kirk would be more valuable to Starfleet in the Admiralty--on Earth.
On the ground.
Maybe I'm running, Kirk thought. Maybe I'm deliberately trying to stay out of touch so they can't catch up to me and force me to come back.
He started, and his face reddened as he realized he had almost nodded off to sleep. He cast a sheepish glance around the bridge, hoping no one had noticed. The faces of his crew were drawn and tired; they looked as bad as he felt. His people always gave him more than he asked for, but, like him, they could only give so much. Eventually, the well had to run dry.
Kirk watched them, realizing somewhat guiltily how long it had been since they'd had a decent shore leave. Lieutenant Commander Chekov sat at the weapons control station, half-heartedly running simulations through his battle computer. Before him, their console on automatic, Commander Sulu and Ensign Thalon, the young Andorian navigator, chatted quietly, occasionally consulting readouts and telltales on their panels. Spock, of course, was a stranger to fatigue--or if he wasn't, the Vulcan did a remarkable job of appearing alert and relaxed as he recalibrated his sensors. And Commander Uhura...
"Captain."
There was an odd note in her voice that made Kirk spin his command chair about to face her station. She was frowning in deep concentration, touching her fingertips to her receiver earpiece. "I've been trying to raise Starbase Sixteen, sir, and I'm getting no response, not even static on their frequency."
"Nothing at all? Have you tried other sidebands?"
"Affirmative, sir. I'm not getting a thing. In fact, I'm not receiving any radio traffic from the planet whatsoever, not even a directional beacon. All channels appear to be dead."
Dead. Kirk's stomach tightened. Starbase Sixteen is so close to the Organian Treaty Zone--and the Klingons...
"Sensors detect an object at extreme scanning range," Spock reported. "It may be a ship, but it is too distant yet to confirm. However, it is blue-shifting. Definitely moving toward us." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "It's gone, Captain."
Kirk bounded out of his command chair, moving swiftly to the science console. He bent over Spock's viewer and peered down into the screen. "As you can see, Captain, not even a ghost echo. It simply vanished."
"Instrument malfunction?"
Spock's eyebrows arched in horrified indignation. "Negative, Captain. I just ran a diagnostic program on them."
Kirk whirled back to the conn; this seemed only too familiar. "Go to Red Alert! It could be a vessel using a cloaking device."
Alarm klaxons blared as the crew scrambled to battlestations. Kirk hunched forward in his seat, eyes locked on the mainviewer. The heady rush of adrenalin through his system purged all traces of fatigue. He felt more alert and alive than he had in days, as, around him, duty stations reported their status.
"Helm and Navigation restored to manual control," Sulu sang out. "Shields and screens at maximum, sir."
"Phasers and photon torpedoes at full load status," Chekov said.
"Spock, anything else on sensors?" Kirk asked.
"Negative, Captain. I have a clear screen."
"Damn! Where is it--and what is it? We should be able to pick up at least an occasional carrier transform, even if it's a ship with a cloaking screen! Unless they've--"
His conjecture was abruptly and dramatically cut short. A vague, half-perceived shape popped in and out of existence for a subliminal half-second, and a lethal, glaring crimson sphere of plasma energy spun toward them at horrifyingly close range.
"Sulu, evasive!"
The Oriental helmsman's expert hands were already flying over his controls even as Kirk shouted. He wheeled the ship hard to starboard, frantically attempting to get her out of the path of the deadly photon torpedo.
He was only partially successful.
The Enterprise shuddered as the missile grazed a forward shield on the leading edge of the disc-shaped primary hull. The bridge lighting flickered. It came back up at less than full strength.
Kirk exhaled a brief sigh of relief. If they hadn't raised their shield...
"Kyptin!" Pavel Chekov's voice was edged with barely-controlled panic. "The readout--I can't get a phaser-lock, sir! My computers can't pick up a target!"
"Sulu, maintain evasive maneuvers," Kirk snapped. "Spock, sensors! Are you reading anything at all? We need something to shoot at!"
"Negative. I am attempting to scan on different frequencies. Still nothing."
"Mister Scott for you on intraship, Captain," Uhura cut in.
"Cap'n! I've got some circuits here that went critical on that pass! Power's down nineteen percent, and we had to jury-rig some by-passes! We canna--"
"Look!" someone shouted.
The phantom shape reappeared just long enough to spit another fireball at them. This time, there was nowhere to run; the Enterprise rocked violently as she took a direct hit on the saucer hull. Emergency motion restraints snapped into place over the laps of the bridge crew personnel, locking them all securely in their console chairs. Uhura's board lit up as damage reports and frantic requests for assistance clogged her channels. She cleared the lines and put Scott on again.
"Cap'n, if we take one more hit like thot, we're finished! Power's down fifty-two percent!"
"Understood, Engineer!" Kirk returned. "Sulu, continue evasive. Mister Chekov, program phasers for automatic lock, tying in full engine power. The instant our attacker becomes visible, I want all batteries rigged to cut loose with everything we've got! If it doesn't work..."
"Aye, sir," Chekov responded. His hands cued in a programming sequence on his keyboard. "Phaser lock now fully automatic."
"I have been unable to locate the aggressor with our sensors, Captain," Spock said. "If it is a Klingon warship, it must be employing an improved version of the Romulan cloaking device. I cannot pick up so much as a DeBroglie transform. They are totally undetectable."
"If it's a Klingon warship," Kirk echoed. "Given our present location, I would say that's a safe assumption, Mister Spock." He turned back to the viewer. "Keep your eyes open. He could be coming from anywhere--but I'll bet he comes right down our throat again!"
All eyes were riveted to the screen. The bridge was silent; no one spoke. No one even breathed as they waited for the ghost ship to reappear. Seconds dragged on into minutes. Still nothing.
Where in Hell is it? Kirk's hands bunched into clenched fists. It isn't like the Klingons to walk away and leave a fight unfinished...
He was slammed against the back of his chair. The Enterprise bucked as the phasers locked and fired automatically. Twin beams of searing blue-white energy screamed through space; the viewscreen flared with a blinding actinic light until the damper filters blacked it out.
When the screen came back on, all that remained of their unseen attacker was a drifting, glowing cloud of scattered atoms.
Chekov let out a nervous breath. "We got it!"
"But just by the skin of our teeth," Kirk admonished. "One more solid hit and that would've been us floating around in pieces out there. Maintain yellow alert, and keep scanning."
"We never even got a good look at that ship," Sulu observed.
"Yes," he acknowledged.
Kirk sat back in his command console, his expression grim. No proof, no solid evidence of who or what had attacked them. Without it, his hands were tied. He was convinced to the core of his being that a Klingon vessel had fired upon them, but he would have a difficult time proving that to the recently-appointed "Peacemaker" contingent which now controlled the Federation Council.
"Commander Uhura, send to Starfleet Command: U.S.S. Enterprise, James T. Kirk, commanding. We have been fired upon by--" Kirk's eyes caught Spock's. "--by an unidentified vessel. En route to Starbase Sixteen as scheduled, and will investigate the lack of communications from the base. Starbase Sixteen may also have been attacked, possibly by the same ship which fired upon us." He paused. "Send it scrambled, Uhura, code six."
Kirk was about to call Engineering when a mild tremor shook the Enterprise. The bridge was engulfed in an inky, Stygian blackness. There was a chorus of muffled curses and shouts of consternation as the bridge crew reacted to the sudden darkness. "Mind your posts," Kirk called out over the din. "Emergency power should come on shortly. Spock?"
"Unable to ascertain what has happened, Captain. The concussion did not seem strong enough to be a phaser or torpedo hit; however, we have lost all power. Even the power to the consoles is out."
"Uhura, any chance of raising Engineering?"
"Negative, sir. Even the emergency link is out."
"What in hell is going on down there? We should at least have emergency power by now."
"Mister Scott spoke of being forced to re-route some circuitry," Spock remarked. "Perhaps between the strain of deflecting the torpedo strikes and the power drain of our phaser fire, his bypasses gave out."
"Well, whatever happened, we're a sitting duck out here without power or sensors. If there's another hostile ship in the vicinity, we don't stand a chance."
Kirk stood up cautiously, blindly groping for the helm-nav console. "I'm going down to Engineering via emergency stairwell. Spock, take the conn."
"Captain..." the Vulcan began.
The emergency lighting finally came on. Its feeble red-amber glow barely illuminated the bridge, but to Kirk, it was as welcome and beautiful as any sunrise he had ever seen. A spontaneous cheer went up from the command crew.
Kirk turned towards Uhura's console. "Commander--"
The horrified expression on her face stopped him cold. "Captain! Engineering reports an emergency! They've called for fire control and medical teams!"
"Put me through to Scotty!"
"I can't, sir! The line's open, but no one's responding. It-it sounds so horrible! Screaming and shouting--"
"Order all available hands to assist in fire control. Spock, take over. I'm going down there!"
He bolted into the starboard turbolift as his first officer took the center seat. The doors hissed shut sluggishly. "Engineering," Kirk snapped into the speaker grid.
The lift dropped with intolerable, agonizing slowness. Kirk fidgeted from foot to foot. His ship was all but dead, and he had no idea what was happening. Right now, they couldn't even move, much less defend themselves. "Come on!" he growled through gritted teeth.
The turbolift finally reached its destination. The doors parted; a thin, haze of smoke filtered into the lift, stinging Kirk's eyes and nose. He coughed, wiping at his streaming eyes as he knelt down to fresher air. He waddled out into the smoky corridor. He wanted to run, but knew he stood a good chance of burning his eyes seriously, not to mention his lungs. He crawled along the wall, counting the sealed doorways as a blind man might. After a few meters of tentative searching, he found the main entrance to the multilevel Engineering deck. He crawled inside the doors which had been forcefully blown open.
Only to focus on a scene of horror and chaos.
Engineering looked as though it had been hit by a fusion grenade. The deck was littered with an amalgam of shattered wreckage--blasted consoles and panels, broken plastiplex, twisted metal, and, Kirk noted with sick horror, Human bodies. Most of them, thankfully, still appeared to be alive.
But some of them could not be.
The screaming and shouting Uhura had described had abated, to be replaced by the low moans of the injured and dying. He could hear the ship's ventilating system working overtime to clear away the smoke. It was getting easier to see now; he wished to God it were not. A trio of fire control personnel sprayed down a stubborn blaze spouting from a ruined console. Their thickly-padded protective suits were smudged with soot and grime. Behind them, Kirk could make out the immensity of the giant intermix chamber rearing up through seven levels of the great starship. It was dark and silent now, its wave-energy collectors dead, inactive. Emergency systems had immediately flushed the antimatter from the column.
Kirk heard the familiar voice of Doctor Leonard McCoy. He peered through the haze until he located the chief surgeon, who was hunkered down alongside the inert form of a young engineering technician. Kirk moved toward them, picking his way through the clutter of wreckage. He stopped and swore savagely under his breath, grimacing when he saw the extent of the technician's horrible injuries. He was not a physician, but he had seen enough of death to know that it was even now reaching out to claim this young man. His chest had been laid open by flying metal; pink, frothy blood bubbled up from his shredded lungs and onto the deck. Too much blood flowing far too fast.
McCoy glanced up to see Kirk standing, horrified, above him. He shook his head in response to the captain's unspoken question.
"Oh, God...hurts..." the youth moaned. He trembled, whimpering against the pain.
"Just relax, son," McCoy murmured as he scanned with his medical tricorder. "Somebody'll be here to take you to Sickbay in just a few minutes."
"It--it just blew up," the technician sobbed. "One minute...Hilly's sitting th-there ...watching her instruments...then she's gone..."
"Quiet now," McCoy admonished. He applied a wad of sterile, absorbent cloth from his trauma kit to the massive wounds in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood--futile because McCoy knew his patient could not survive. Tissue and organ damage, blood loss, shock, they were all far too extensive. The best he could do was make him comfortable for the time he had left. God, he's so young, McCoy thought. He's got no business dying yet.
He began coding a hypospray for another dose of painkiller when a great tremor coursed through the boy's body. The engineer exhaled one long, ragged breath then lay still, eyes fixed and glazed in death. McCoy pulled a reflective blanket up over the dead face. "He was just a kid. I didn't even ask him his name."
"What happened down here?" Kirk asked in a voice hoarse with shock, the image of the youth's piercing gaze still in his mind.
"Dunno. Console exploded, or something. We've got two dead, three now with this boy--I don't know how many were injured. I treated five myself, but Christine and M'Benga are down here somewhere."
"Three dead," Kirk echoed.
"Yeah. The other two were a support technician, an Ensign Paul Stoker, and a Lieutenant Hillary McBain. She was the console operator." McCoy shuddered involuntarily. He would never forget the gruesome sight of those few lumps of flesh and shattered bone against the bulkhead behind the ruined console. Not as long as I live.
Kirk's eyes scanned over the carnage, unfocused like a sleepwalker's. "Where's Scotty? I've got to know how soon we can get on line--or if we can."
"I haven't seen him," McCoy replied. "I've been too busy with casualties."
"Scotty?" Kirk called.
"Over here, sir!"
The chief engineer shuffled toward them in a daze. He gripped an antimatter flux meter loosely in his right hand. Rivulets of sweat had cut tracks through the grime that smeared his face; his protective suit was torn and dirty, his features taut with grief and rage. His crew, his beloved engines...
"Scotty," Kirk's tone was gentle, "what happened?"
"It was the phase balancing console, sir. The circuitry exploded. I dinna ken how. In all me years as an engineer, I've never seen thot happen." He glanced at the charred skeleton of the console. "Poor Hillary. The lass was lookin' right at the board when it blew. She never had a chance..."
His voice trailed off as a weary Doctor Christine Chapel trudged by, accompanied by two medtechs. A blood-soaked sheet covered the body they carried on a stretcher.
McCoy excused himself and followed them; he belonged in Sickbay now, where the injured required his full medical attention.
Four now, Kirk thought. He looked at Scotty, whose eyes followed the progress of the technicians and their grim, silent burden. "I'm sorry," Kirk said softly. "Please understand, Scotty, but I've got to know how soon we can be underway."
"Aye," Scotty returned, wearily dragging a soiled sleeve across his face. "I've already got crews workin' on restorin' impulse power. It's nae tied into this system, and damage was minimal. It should be ready almost any minute now."
"What about warp capability?" Kirk was afraid he knew the answer, and his worst fears were confirmed when Scotty shook his head sorrowfully.
"I canna give ye warp drive, Cap'n. We can only rebuild the phase balancin' unit and the damaged circuitry in a fully equipped drydock facility, an' without it, we canna fire up the warp engines. We'd go into engine imbalance immediately, and generate a wormhole--or worse."
"Damn. What's your estimate on repair time?"
"Thot's four solid days of work there, sir--after we get to a starbase dock."
"Get me impulse power, and I'll get you to a starbase." Kirk reached out and clapped the Scot on the shoulder. "Do your best, Scotty. I've got to get back to the bridge."
"Aye, sir," came the reply. "We'll be limpin' along, but I'll get us there."
Kirk strode out of the damaged engineering deck and grabbed a turbolift. Four dead, God knows how many injured, and a crippled starship that can only crawl along on impulse drive. And he dreaded what they would find when they reached Starbase 16. He clenched his jaw. The Klingons had a lot to answer for; he was convinced they were responsible for the attack on the Enterprise, and he would press his case--even though his claim would probably be dismissed for lack of evidence.
The lift reached its destination, and the doors snapped open. Spock relinquished the command chair as Kirk descended to the lower level of the bridge. "Damage control reports are complete, Captain," the Vulcan said. "Most of it is circuitry overloads, and is centered in Engineering. No structural damage. Doctor McCoy's final casualty list is comprised of four dead and twelve injured. Five of those are critical."
The ruddy emergency lighting suddenly brightened. Scotty had come through.
"Mister Scott reports impulse power is back on line," Uhura confirmed.
"Mister Sulu, ahead Warp factor zero point nine, same heading," Kirk ordered. "Maintain Yellow Alert. Uhura, all decks are to conserve power by shutting down all unnecessary systems. Continue trying to raise Starbase Sixteen."
"Aye, sir," she replied, then turned to relay the captain's directives. The Enterprise surged forward as Sulu nudged the impulse engines up to speed.
"Warp zero point nine," the helmsman said.
"Drift calculations and course adjustments laid in, sir," the Andorian navigator, Thalon, reported. "Locked back on course for Starbase Sixteen."
"Acknowledged, gentlemen," Kirk returned. He settled back to watch the stars painfully crawl by on the screen. Now we wait, he thought. With the reaction drive, they could only manage a mere snail's pace fraction of their normal faster-than-light cruising speed.
This was going to be a long ride.
It did, in fact, take the Enterprise nearly three-quarters of an hour to traverse the distance she could have crossed in a few minutes with the warp drive. Kirk was up and pacing impatiently by the time the red-orange globe of Syran III, Starbase 16's home planet, swam into view. The planet should have been blue-green.
"Standard orbit achieved," Sulu announced.
"Power priority to weapons and deflectors," Kirk snapped. "All stations maintain Yellow Alert."
Spock consulted his instruments, and the data they relayed to him was grim. He made one last confirming check of his screen, then swiveled around to face an anxious Kirk, who had come over to stand by the science console.
"It is as you feared, Captain. Syran Three has been bombarded with some type of energy weapon. Starbase Sixteen is gone, annihilated."
"Any survivors?"
"Negative. No humanoid life readings of any kind. However, sensors are operating on extremely reduced power. They cannot be considered one hundred percent reliable when scanning for individual life forms."
"There were seven million inhabitants on that planet, Spock," Kirk said. He stared at the mainviewer. Syran III shone like a huge, sparkling ruby set in an ebony firmament. It was incomprehensible to imagine the destructive power needed to reduce a lush planet to a wasteland of death and destruction. A cold rage gripped Kirk.
"All those people," he whispered. "A starbase is gone, an entire planetary defense system has been breached and destroyed. The Klingons must have surprised them like they did us, and gotten under their screens."
"Jim," Spock said quietly. "You are convinced that the Klingons are responsible for this attack and the assault on the Enterprise. Logic tends to support your position. However, I must remind you that without evidence--"
"I'm aware of the situation, Spock," Kirk flared. "They've got a bunch of faint-hearted bureaucrats on the Council these days. They're determined to maintain peace at any cost--even if it means the lives of millions of innocent people."
"I was merely pointing out that you may be required to furnish physical evidence of Klingon involvement in the form of prisoners or materiel if you wish to file formal charges, as we have no clear visual image on our log tapes."
Kirk's laugh was brittle. "Yes, the burden of proof is on us, isn't it? The Klingons have always had a method of handling embarrassing situations. If one of their ships gets caught in the act in Federation space, Klingon High Command disavows any responsibility for the commander's actions. 'A treaty of peace is in effect between the Federation and the Empire, so obviously our errant captain is an outlaw,' they say. 'We regret if he has caused you any inconvenience.'"
He paused and his features tightened into an expression of determination. "Well, let's see if we can't get some proof to back us up. Commander Uhura, have Doctor McCoy report to the transporter room for landing party duty. Spock, Chekov, come with me. Mister Chekov, I want seven of your best men to go with us, full body armor and phaser rifles just in case. Mister Sulu, you have--"
He was interrupted by Chekov. "Kyptin, I must formally object to the inclusion of yourself and Mister Spock in the landing party. You are placing yourselves in unnecessary danger, sir. Security teams can scout the area, and Doctor McCoy can take care of any survivors. There is no need for the two of you to beam down. Enemy forces may still be in the area."
All eyes were on Kirk as he turned to face his security chief. Chekov had been taking his job very seriously of late, particularly when it concerned Kirk's penchant for beaming down into hazardous situations, and the captain was growing increasingly annoyed with the young Russian's behavior.
"Your objection is formally noted, Mister Chekov," Kirk grated in clipped, terse tones. "May I remind you, however, that it is a captain's prerogative to engage in any landing party activity at any time at his own discretion? And might I add that a captain may also designate any personnel he wishes to engage in such activity?"
"Yes, sir, but--"
"You have your orders, Mister," Kirk said evenly. "Now, as I was saying, Mister Sulu, you have the conn." He turned on his heel and strode to the starboard turbolift with Spock and a chastised Chekov. The doors slid shut behind them.
Sulu took his place in the center seat. He glanced at Uhura, shaking his head. "You'd think after all this time, Pavel would realize he's fighting a losing battle."
"He's trying to do his job," Uhura put in. "He might be getting a little bit overzealous since his promotion to lieutenant commander, but he does have a point."
"Well, I think he'd have better luck wrestling a Denebian slime devil in a quicksand pit." Sulu hit the intraship link. "Ensign David and Lieutenant Mo'thak, report to the bridge, please." He watched the viewscreen, hoping fervently he would not have to test the crippled Enterprise against a fully-operational enemy cruiser.
*****
They were far too late.
Starbase 16, the major planet-based Federation outpost closest to the Klingon border, lay in smoldering ruins. James T. Kirk had witnessed grisly scenarios like this one more times during his Starfleet career than he cared to remember. He grimaced, blinking his eyes to ward off the stinging miasma of smoke and dust hanging in the air. Kirk had spent several pleasant shore leaves here. He remembered the beautiful, almost Earth-like parks, the clean symmetry of starbase architecture rearing up into Syran III's sunny, pale-green skies like crystalline sculpture.
But the starbase was gone.
What he saw now was a landscape from Hell. Scorched earth, pockmarked with blast craters, glazed into a vitreous substance by the awesome energy of photon torpedoes, stretched into the distance to the limits of his vision. The mellow red-orange sun of his memory was obscured by an occluding haze, dulled into a lead-gray orb. Fires burned out of control on the horizon.
"All right, we'll split up into two groups of five," Kirk said. "Mister Chekov, give us two of your people. You can take the rest of your personnel as an advance team to fan out ahead of us. We'll bring up the rear. Will that satisfy you?"
Chekov bristled at the remark, but decided to let it pass. "Yes, sir. It vwill. Lieutenant Perez, Ensign Valin, you vwill accompany the kyptin and his party. The rest of you move out vwith me."
Kirk watched for a moment as the young security chief led his men away. Then he turned to Spock, who was already scanning the area with his tricorder. "Anything so far?"
"No life form readings of any kind," the Vulcan answered. "Energy readings would tend to indicate that the planet was bombarded by a high concentration of photon torpedoes and disruptor fire."
"The types of weapons used by a Klingon battlecruiser."
"Affirmative. However, the readings in themselves are insufficient evidence to incriminate the Klingons. We require--"
"I know, I know," Kirk returned angrily. "Spock, whose side are you on, anyway?"
"I would think after all this time, Captain, that my loyalties would be clear," the first officer replied in his best formal tone. "However, that is not at issue here. Certain requirements must be met if you wish to file a claim against the Klingon Empire. As your science officer, it is my duty to see that you are furnished with sufficient data to support your case."
Kirk grinned. "Sorry, Spock. It's just that I..."
The Vulcan shook his head, allowing himself the merest ghost of a smile. "No apologies are necessary, Captain. I am unaffected by emotional outbursts directed at me."
Sure you are, Kirk thought. "All right, gentlemen. Let's go," he ordered. "I think we've given Mister Chekov enough time to scout the area ahead of us."
The two heavily-armed and armored security guards moved out first, with the three officers following behind them. Spock resumed his tricorder scan. Except for the readings of the landing party personnel, the screen read clear.
McCoy had remained silent during the exchange between Kirk and Spock. Now he moved in close to the captain as they trudged away from the wasteland where Starbase 16 once stood.
"A little edgy today, aren't we?" the physician murmured.
"Aren't you?" Kirk shot back.
"Sure I am. In case you've forgotten, Captain, four people were killed down in Engineering. We've got three more who probably aren't going to make it, and the rest of the injured are gonna be on their backs for a while. Add to that an entire planet's population has been bombed out of existence...but you're not accomplishing anything by goin' off half-cocked at the drop of a hat!"
"Spock understands, Bones. He--"
"I'm not talkin' about Spock, Jim," McCoy said. "Nothing gets under that thick Vulcan hide of his. I meant Chekov. I never knew you were one for beating a dead horse. This isn't the first time you've carped at him about this, but you've never reprimanded him in front of his men before."
"Hold on a minute! That wasn't a reprimand, it--"
"Okay, maybe 'reprimand' is the wrong word. But his people know that the two of you have been at odds over this landing party thing. When you take shots at him in public, it doesn't do much for his credibility as a section chief."
Kirk didn't answer immediately. He strode on in brooding silence, his expression grim as he glanced about the charred terrain. Finally, he stopped walking. He turned to face his chief surgeon. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "Maybe I have been riding Chekov too hard. I don't know, maybe I'm just looking for an excuse, but I don't like somebody nursemaiding me."
"It's his job to protect you, Jim," McCoy reminded gently. "You don't make it too easy for him the way you like to go barging right into the middle of things."
"I can't help it, Bones. That's the way I am--always have been. He should know that by now."
"He probably does. But put yourself in his shoes. What if you were Security Chief, and something happened to your captain? You'd probably be pretty hard on yourself, wouldn't you?"
A slow, resigned grin spread across Kirk's handsome features. "Okay, you win. I'll have a talk with him later. Right now, though, we'd better catch up with the others, or Chekov'll really let me have it for slipping away from my security protection!"
They didn't have to go very far. Lieutenant Antonio Perez was waiting for them just a few minutes further on. When the officers had dropped back, the assistant security chief had stayed with them. He remained out of earshot, realizing that Kirk and McCoy probably wished to talk in private, yet he never let the two of them out of his sight. The three men quickened their pace and soon rejoined Spock and Valin.
The landing party headed out into what had once been the residential area surrounding the starbase. They had found nothing so far. Everything--bodies, buildings, vegetation--had been reduced into that hideous glassine slag of constituent elements.
"One hour," Kirk said. "If we'd gotten here just one hour sooner, we might have been able to prevent this."
"Or we might have gotten ourselves blown to Hell and back," McCoy mumbled under his breath.
The captain pretended not to hear the remark. "They didn't even get off a distress signal. From the looks of things, they never knew what hit them."
"Indeed," Spock said. "It seems inconceivable that a heavily-armed starbase could be so utterly devastated. Surprise must have been total."
"It could have been the same ship that attacked us," mused Kirk. "With a new cloaking device, it could have been on them before they could raise their shields, even before the automatics kicked in. The first hit probably took out the power for their defense fields; after that, it would've been like shooting fish in a barrel. Seven million people..."
They moved farther away from the base, and their boots kicked up puffs of thick, gray ash, blast debris that covered the ground like layers of dirty snow. Here and there, the shattered remnants of building foundations jutted grimly from the blighted landscape. Kirk stumbled over something, and bent to examine the object.
He found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of a burnt, grinning Human skull. "Damn!" he exploded. "Come on, let's keep moving."
But Spock stood like a statue, aiming his tricorder at a pile of rubble. "Captain, I am picking up a life reading," the Vulcan reported. "It's Human, but faint and weak."
"Let's check it out," Kirk said. "But be careful."
It was a leveled foundation, almost buried by blast fragments. They found an opening, and Valin cleared away some of the debris. He peered down into the dark hole. "It looks like a sub-level, or a cellar of some kind," he called over his shoulder. Valin started down a half-demolished stairway, and Kirk moved to follow him.
Suddenly, the air howled with liberated energy. Valin vanished, screaming, in a bright, explosive flash. Even as Kirk dived for cover, grabbing for a phaser, a blinding blue beam lanced up from the basement. Something stung the back of his neck; he lost his balance and tumbled, landing hard on his back as his weapon clattered off across the darkened floor.
"Don't come any closer!" a muffled, distorted voice wailed at him from the shadows. "I don't want to kill anyone else!"
Perez came rushing down the stairway, brandishing his phaser rifle.
"Hold your fire!" Kirk wheezed at the security man as he tried to catch the wind that had been knocked out of him by his fall. He rolled over on his side and levered himself up on his elbows, wincing at a sudden shooting pain in the right shoulder. "We mean you no harm. I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise. We're here on a rescue mission."
"Enterprise...Starfleet? Oh my God! I--I didn't mean to kill him! I didn't know! I thought they had come down to finish the job." The voice broke down into wretched sobs. Something came skidding across the floor towards Kirk.
It was the phaser that had killed Valin.
Kirk breathed a long sigh of relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Perez ease into the basement, followed by Spock and McCoy. He got up to his knees, gripping his injured shoulder. His eyes had adapted to the darkness, and he could now make out a shadowy, trembling figure slumped on the floor. It looked like a man, but he couldn't be sure.
McCoy paused at his side. "You okay?"
"I'm all right." Kirk motioned toward the figure. "See to that poor devil."
The physician scrambled across the floor. He cursed under his breath when he got a good look at his patient.
It was a man--or, rather, what was left of one. He had been horribly burned over most of his body. Only the fact that he had been in the sub-level of the building had saved his life--for a time.
Fate hadn't done him any favors.
The man gazed up at McCoy. Flames had ravaged his face, twisting it into a skull-like, almost fleshless mask of blistered tissue. The grotesque gash of his mouth opened and closed, quivering as he fought to speak. He must have been strong. The burns and shock had sapped him, but still he clung tenaciously to the last unraveling threads of life.
"I'm...sorry. I didn't know."
"It's all right," McCoy said soothingly. "Just rest now." He injected the man with a painkiller, then stood to face Kirk and Spock. "I can't help him," the chief surgeon whispered. "That seems to be the order of the day today."
"Can I talk to him, Bones?" Kirk queried, trying to ignore the by now unbearable pain in his shoulder.
"It won't make any difference, so go ahead. I've done everything I can for him--which is not very much."
Kirk knelt by the dying man, who looked up at him through shining, pain-glazed eyes.
"Y-you're...the captain. I'm sorry...about your man. I-I--"
"Don't talk about it. What can you tell me about the attack? It's very important."
"Fire...It started raining f-fire. Some kind of...energy. Everything was burning, and...we..." His seared eyes brimmed with tears. "We were upstairs when it started ...my wife and--and the babies. Oh God...I tried to get them downstairs when something hit the house. I--I came to down here...and they were gone."
"Did you see anything at all? Anything that could tell us who did this? Were there any landing parties?"
"I...I don't know. I d-didn't see anything except...except the fire..."
His head flopped to one side. McCoy stepped in with his medical tricorder, scanning the tortured body. Then he lowered his instrument, shaking his head as he hit the 'off' switch.
"He's dead, Jim. I'm sorry."
"He didn't see anything--except the fire, he said. He thought we were coming to finish him off. Poor Valin..." moaned Perez.
Kirk turned away from the pitiful corpse to see the security guard staring numbly at the phaser the burned man had thrown across the floor. The lieutenant's dark eyes were clouded with grief and bewilderment.
"Let's get out of here," Kirk rasped. He strode to the opposite corner and bent to retrieve his own weapon, instinctively reaching for it with his injured arm. He gasped involuntarily at the sudden, renewed pain.
McCoy heard his sharp intake of breath. "Come on, Jim. Let's have look at that arm."
"I'm all right, Bones."
"Like Hell you are. Do I have to make that a medical order?"
"All right. But let's get out of this hole first, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned and clambered up the crumbling steps. McCoy shrugged his shoulders and followed, with Spock and a disconsolate Perez in tow.
When they got outside, they saw Chekov and his squad coming toward them across the desolate, blasted ground, each of them wearing the look of a man who had seen things he wished he hadn't.
"Did you find anything?" Kirk asked.
"No survivors, sair," Chekov reported. "Several bodies still intact, some very badly charred remains." He paused and glanced around, puzzled. "Where's Valin?"
Kirk's face darkened. "He's dead, Pavel. I'm sorry."
"How? What happened? Klingons?"
"No. There was a survivor in the sub-level of this building. He was dying, frightened. He thought Valin was coming in to get him, and he fired first."
"Damn!" Chekov's eyes blazed with accusing, sorrowful anger. "Now do you see vwhy I vwish you vwould stay in the background? That could have been you!" He whirled away from them, storming off across what had once been a broad, tree-lined street.
Kirk started after him, but McCoy gripped his elbow, holding him back. "Let him go, Jim. You can't help him right now. Besides, I want to take a look at that wing of yours." He activated his medicorder once again.
"This isn't what we're out here for," Kirk muttered, watching as Chekov stared unseeingly up into the ugly, swirling sky. "We're supposed to be out here on a peaceful mission of exploration, remember? We're not warriors--not by choice, at least."
"True, Captain," Spock put in, his eyes narrowing at the way Kirk unconsciously shrugged his right shoulder. "Unfortunately, that choice is not always ours. There are certain parties who do not share the Federation's philosophy of galaxy-wide peace."
"Peace." Kirk shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if it isn't just a word, Spock. I almost hope that we can't prove the Klingons did this--because the alternative could be war."
He jumped suddenly, crying out in pain and dismay. "Owww! Damn it, Bones! What are you trying to do--pull my arm off?"
"Hold still!" McCoy grunted. "You're all right, huh, Doctor Kirk? You dislocated your shoulder in that fall. I'm trying to put it back for you."
Spock's right eyebrow canted alarmingly as the physician pushed against Kirk's arm. "Another of your medieval medical techniques, Doctor?"
McCoy didn't respond as he gave one last mighty shove. There was an audible snap, and Kirk went white. "Feel better?" McCoy asked innocently.
"I don't know--I think so." Kirk's eyes widened in surprised wonder. He rotated his right arm, then shook it vigorously. "Yes. Yes, I do. That's wonderful, Bones. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." McCoy walked around behind Kirk and began kneading the captain's shoulders, but stopped almost immediately, frowning at what he saw. He reached into his medikit, pulling out a can of anesthetic foam. He sprayed a liberal dose of the mixture on the angry, glowing weal on his patient's neck.
"What's that, Bones?"
"You've got a phaser burn on your neck, Jim," McCoy answered quietly. "The nimbus of the beam must've grazed you before you fell into the basement. You were damned lucky."
Kirk turned around, a shocked expression frozen on his face. "A phaser burn?"
McCoy nodded, his bright blue eyes boring into the captain's. "Valin almost had some company. A few inches closer..."
Kirk paled. An involuntary shudder rippled down his spine. "My God," he whispered. "That close."
"It could have been closer. Maybe Chekov's right, Jim. You didn't really have to come down here for this, you know."
"Not now, McCoy!" Kirk bristled. "I'm not in the mood for--" He was interrupted by the beeping of his wrist communicator. "Kirk here," he snapped into the speaker grid, glaring at his chief surgeon.
"Captain, this is Sulu. Mister Scott managed to rig a temporary bypass booster to sensors and communications. We've been in touch with Starbase Twenty-seven. Sir, they've lost all contact with Epsilon Outposts Three and Four. They've disappeared from long-range sensors and are presumed destroyed."
"Oh my God. How long ago?"
"About three hours. The stations gave no indication of trouble before their communications blacked out. Due to the proximity of the Organian Treaty Zone, Starfleet suspects the Klingons, but..."
"There's no way to verify it," Kirk finished. He glanced at Spock. The Vulcan's expression was unreadable behind the emotionless mask of his face.
"Oh, there's one other thing, sir. Our diagnostic program claims that sensors are now at one hundred percent with the power booster, but we got a strange reading a few minutes ago. I'm not sure if they're working right yet or not. We had eleven life form readings on the screen--the landing party, and, we assumed, a survivor. Then suddenly, we lost one, then another. I've continued to recheck calibration, but it keeps coming up green."
"Your sensors aren't malfunctioning, Mister Sulu," Kirk said wearily. "There was a survivor. He died, but not before he mistakenly killed Ensign Valin."
"Damn," said Sulu. "Do you need any assistance?"
"No--we're all right. Have you done another planet-wide scan since sensors were boosted?"
"Yes, sir. I'm afraid Syran Three is totally dead. No survivors. Fires are still burning on the dark side, and the computer indicates the ecological damage will take centuries to repair. We've plotted and laid in a course for Starbase Twenty-seven, but it'll take us two and a half solar days to get there under impulse power. We can beam you up any time you're ready."
"We're ready, Commander," Kirk said. "There's nothing we can do here. Stand by to beam us up." He motioned to Chekov. The security chief rejoined the group, but kept his eyes fixed forward.
Kirk's gaze swept over the ash-covered ground one last time. All those people--everything they lived and worked for--were gone, blasted into oblivion. It was as if Starbase 16 and its surrounding colony had never existed. And the victims of the massacre would not rest easy. Without proof, he could do little except voice his speculations, which in the eyes of the Federation Council would be worth less than nothing.
It would be a long time before justice was done--if ever.
He sighed, raising his communicator to his lips. "Energize," he ordered.
Within seconds, the coruscating swirl of transporter effect engulfed them, and they were gone.
CHAPTER TWO
His name was Kor, and in these troubled times, he was not happy.
He sat at his desk in Klingon High Command, lost in his reverie, dreaming of victories as yet unrealized. He was Chief of the Imperial Fleet these days, and although he had briefly commanded a battlecruiser recently, he was soon once again locked into a desk job.
Khalian, the Kh'myr, had seen to it, he was sure. The Admiral had been demoted in a fit of anger by the Invincible One, Kudan, but it was only temporary...just as his command had been. No doubt the Kh'myr-bred Chief of Admirals was still plotting against the Segh vav, the 'parent race.'
Originally, there had been three races of Klingon. The Kh'teb, such as himself, were dark-skinned and dark-haired. The Kh'fjin were yellow-skinned with dark hair, and the now extinct Kh'yrlov, had dark-skin and blonde hair. Then, over a hundred years ago, Emperor Kjimeg commissioned genetic researchers to create the ultimate weapon, the ultimate warrior. And the knob-headed Kh'myr were the result. They were larger, more powerful, and more dangerous than their progenitors.
The Invincible One, Kudan Kuras, the youngest son of Kjimeg, had decided to give them more and more power. They now commanded the majority of Klingon Imperial Ships. They brutalized the Segh vav at every opportunity. And the Invincible One had become so frightened by them that he dared not interfere with their plans.
Kudan was looking more and more like a doddering old fool with the passing of each year. Kor shrugged. Perhaps things would change. But he doubted it. Kang was now in trouble since Admiral Khalian wanted his mate, Mara, as a concubine. Krell had been killed outright by an assassin who coveted his post. Koloth and Kumara had mysteriously disappeared. It would only be a matter of time before one of the Kh'myr decided he wanted Kor's position as Chief of the Imperial Fleet.
A buzzer sounded on his intercom. Khum, his adjutant, was on the line. "What is it?" Kor growled.
"Commander Krax is here to see you," came the gruff reply.
"I will see him in a minute."
"Yes, Exalted One."
Kor smiled the smile of a wolf. Khum still called him by that outdated term. Most Kh'myr preferred the title of "My lord" or "Lord Commander." Phah! What arrogance on their part. Many of them no longer even bothered to speak in High Klingon, preferring the baser Kh'myr dialect, pIqaD.
He drew a deep breath to brace him for his confrontation.
Suddenly, the door burst inward. "Kor, I will see you now!"
The admiral whipped up his disruptor instinctively. He fired a shot that barely missed Krax's head.
The ship commander roared in surprise and pawed for his own weapon.
"Not so fast," Kor warned. He spat contemptuously. "I could kill you right now for this kind of an intrusion."
"You do not dare!" snarled Krax. "I am a special envoy from Admiral Khalian. If you were to send me to the Netherworld, he would have your head hanging on a wall in his cabin." He roared riotously at the notion. "You old graybeard! You are not worthy to command anything, not even a desk."
Khum entered the office, nursing an injured arm. "Most Exalted, allow me the honor..."
Kor waved him off. "No, Khum. Not today. Some other, perhaps."
"How charming!" Krax laughed at them. "You two must be good friends," the Kh'myr said quietly, implying that there was more than friendship between the Admiral and his aide. "Let us get to business! I have a ship to run, and you are wasting my time, Kor!" He sat down in the nearest chair.
Kor dismissed his adjutant with a nod. He aimed his weapon; the disruptor tip glowed. "I suggest you use the title I earned."
"Very well, then, Admiral Kor." Not a hint of respect. "My cruiser is ready. We're on Priority status, awaiting instructions."
"You have been selected to spearhead military support for the Daystrom Project. Your ship will be outfitted with the new Romulan cloaking device, which is even now being tested under attack conditions in Federation space by the cruiser Korvus. We should be receiving word concerning the success of that mission very soon."
"Well, well, well!" Krax exclaimed, his eyes widening with excitement. "I have heard rumors of this Daystrom Project. It involves computers, does it not?"
"It is no secret that Starfleet computer systems are far superior to the best Klingon designs, even though our warships have always been able to hold their own in battle. It is time we evened the odds."
The Klingon admiral touched a key on his desk console. At the far end of his office, a wall-mounted viewscreen flickered into life. The image it displayed was a holoportrait of a black-skinned Terran. The man appeared to be middle-aged, craggedly handsome, with intense, burning eyes. The tight, black curls of his hair and neatly-trimmed beard were sprinkled with gray.
"Doctor Richard Daystrom," Kor intoned. "He is the computer genius who designed and built the duotronic computer systems now in use on Federation starships. He has had some great achievements in his career, but we are interested in his most spectacular failure."
"How's that again?" Krax asked, puzzled. "His failure?"
"Several standard years ago, Daystrom designed what he called the M-5 system. It was the first workable multitronic computer, built to control the functions of an entire starship by itself. Daystrom's thesis was that Terrans should not risk their lives in hostile space. He wanted to design the perfect computer to face the dangers for them, giving Terran-kind the freedom to better itself through intellectual and cultural pursuits. So, the M-5 was installed on the U.S.S. Enterprise, under the command of Captain James T. Kirk, and engaged in mock war games with four other starships."
Krax spat in derision. "Typical of the cowardly Earthers...I gather something went wrong."
"Everything went wrong. The M-5 system was conceived to think independently, like a sentient being. But it also developed a will of its own. When the mock force attacked, the computer mistook the games maneuver as a real threat. It responded with full phaser strikes against the unshielded ships. The Excalibur was completely destroyed with all hands; the others suffered various degrees of damage and sustained heavy casualties. Instead of serving Humans, the computer destroyed them."
"Delightful. The M-5 went berserk. Why?"
"The computer's main logic circuits were imprinted with Human engrams. Engrams are memory traces, physiological changes in cerebral tissue that are triggered by learning."
"Thank you for the biology lesson," Krax snarled. "That didn't answer my question; why did the computer malfunction?"
"Daystrom impressed his own engrams on the computer," Kor answered tightly. "Unfortunately for Starfleet, Daystrom's mind was not entirely stable at that time. He was what the Earthers refer to as a 'boy wonder'; he achieved his initial success with his duotronic computers at an early age--and then did little else for years except live on his laurels. In time, his inability to follow up on the duotronic breakthrough frustrated and humiliated him. His resentment grew as his colleagues scoffed at him, until it finally developed into a neurosis."
"Which he passed on to the computer."
"Exactly. The disorder surfaced during the war games."
"What has this got to do with me and my ship?"
"You are to 'persuade' Doctor Daystrom to offer his services to the Klingon Empire. Since he is not likely to volunteer to go with you, you are to take him by force, if necessary."
"So, I am to kidnap a mad computer genius," Krax mused. "Wonderful. This is to be our ultimate weapon against the Federation?"
Kor nodded. "Daystrom has since been cured. He spent a few years under the care of a Vulcan healer who worked him through his `problems.' He now teaches classes in computer science at the Donnelon Institute of Technology on the Federation planet Modoc. Our intelligence source reports that he seems quite happy with his lot in life; he is content with his past achievements and no longer has that burning, obsessive drive to prove himself. His movements have been monitored by our agents for some time. The locations of his home, his laboratories, his classrooms, all will be provided for you. Procuring Doctor Daystrom should be relatively easy, but forcing him to cooperate may be a different matter--he is reportedly still a very strong-willed individual, despite his newly acquired peace of mind. You may need a bit of leverage."
Kor punched another stud on his desk console. Daystrom's holograph was replaced with that of a beautiful young black woman. Her heart-shaped face was dominated by enormous dark eyes and framed with a soft halo of natural curls. her dazzling smile displayed twin rows of perfect, even white teeth. The woman was petite, almost tiny, but the loose-fitting jumpsuit she wore could not hide her ripe figure.
"Melinda Daystrom, the doctor's daughter," the Admiral said. "Her mother died shortly after Daystrom had his breakdown; she came to live with her father at that time and to help care for him. She resides in a campus dormitory, and her movements and routines have been observed for you as well."
"Exquisite!" Krax exclaimed, his admiring, appreciative gaze glued to the screen. "She is quite comely, especially for an Earther. This assignment is becoming more interesting all the time, Kor...excuse me--Admiral Kor."
"A bit of advice, Commander. I suggest you see to it that no harm befalls the female until you are assured of Daystrom's cooperation. After you have that, you may do anything you wish with her."
"And you can bet that I will, Admiral," the Kh'myr muttered under his breath. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the viewer. "The intelligence source you keep mentioning--just how reliable is it?"
"The best. Our contact is--"
He was interrupted as the intercom signaled for attention once again.
"Yes, Khum?"
"News of the Korvus, Exalted One. It is both good and bad. Battlestation T'elth near planet Kura monitored their transmissions. All targets were destroyed; communications were jammed, so no messages were sent out from any of the Federation bases. However, Commander Kona sighted a Federation battlecruiser entering the area just as he set course for Homeworld. He veered off to attack." Khum hesitated. "It was the last transmission from the Korvus."
"Explanation?"
"The station picked up a transmission from the battlecruiser Enterprise to Starfleet Command. They reported destroying an unidentified vessel--apparently the Korvus."
"Kirk!" Kor snarled. "Damn him! He has found a way to defeat the new cloaking device!"
"I will relay any new information to you as it comes in, Exalted One."
"Do that," Kor said, snapping the circuit off.
"Kona was like a brother to me," Krax said, his voice brimming with anger. "We grew up together. We were assigned to the same battlecruiser. I will have this Kirk's head for this outrage!"
"Do not allow your judgment to be clouded by a desire for vengeance!" Kor warned. "Remember that 'revenge is a dish that is best served cold.' Your mission is to kidnap Daystrom and his daughter, and to force him to construct M-5 systems for the Imperial fleet. The first computer will be installed on your cruiser, the Karak. You will then seek out a Federation starship and test the system in combat. Since you will be operating in the designated patrol area of the Enterprise, chances are very good that you will draw Kirk's ship. You may get your wish of meeting him after all."
A wolfish grin wreathed Krax's face. "That would suit me just fine. Kona will be avenged."
"I sincerely hope that you are not overlooking one minor detail, Commander. First you must defeat the Enterprise. That will be the ultimate test for the M-5 system. Kirk is Starfleet's finest line commander, and a formidable opponent."
"Perhaps you found him so, Admiral, but he will be like putty in my hands," Krax sneered derisively. "I won't need a computer to destroy him. He is but a soft, spineless Earther, and older now...as are you."
Kor bristled. "You are insolent, Krax. I warn you, do not underestimate Kirk. Many have...and have never been heard from again."
"He will die with all those on his ship," stated Krax as though it were a foregone conclusion. "Let us not discuss him any further; I wish to learn more of the background regarding this mission. You were going to tell me about our intelligence sources."
"Commander, I believe you are taking this too lightly. You should--"
"I said we shall not discuss Kirk any further!" Krax's eyes blazed like glowing red coals, and the fingers of his right hand twitched nervously just a few centimeters above the butt of his disruptor pistol.
Kor shifted his weapon, slipping the safety off. "Do not try me. Understood?"
There was no response. No indication that Krax had even heard him.
"Very well. Our contact is placed in Starfleet--code named Kyr. Kyr uncovered the data on the M-5 incident in the first place, as it was classified as Top Secret by Starfleet Records."
"Kyr? The Earther?" Krax's face twisted into grimace of incredulous contempt.
"A loyal operative, despite a somewhat questionable heritage, Commander. Kyr was conditioned and reprogrammed at the qal'elmalth Institute of Corruption facility, and has been of immeasurable assistance to the Empire on many occasions."
"...and could very well be a double agent!"
"Rest assured--Kyr is required to submit to a Force Three mind-sifter scan before and after every mission. No one could outwit that. Not even a Vulcan."
"Risky. Kyr is not a Kh'myr--not even Klingon! Why..."
Kor gestured impatiently with the disruptor pistol. "It is not open to discussion, Commander. The Invincible One himself made the selection. Kyr can move among the Earthers unsuspected, as one of their own. I can not do that--can you?"
"That is not the point!" Krax persisted, carefully watching the tip of the disruptor. "By Kahless, Kyr is an Earther--an Earther! Does it not trouble you that an alien will be assisting us in such an important mission?"
Kor allowed himself a slow, savage grin. "There is considerably more to it than that, Commander. I am sure you will not enjoy hearing that the Emperor also chose Kyr to coordinate the Daystrom Project."
"What?!" Krax bolted to his feet, enraged. "Kyr is heading up this mission, and will be my superior? Outrageous! I will not tolerate this!"
The tip of Kor's disruptor was glowing again. "You have no choice. The Emperor has decreed--"
"A pox on Kudan Kuras! He is a weak-willed, incompetent fool who will soon be replaced!"
"That is enough," Kor said very quietly. His tone left no doubt that he was considering pulling the trigger all the way.
Krax regained some composure and took his seat. "This entire plan is madness! I should let a machine command my ship? Fight my battles for me? Preposterous! I was willing to humor you and that doddering excuse for an Emperor up to a point, but I draw the line at being subject to the commands of an Earther! There is only one way to crush the Federation--a mass attack by our fleet! We do not need computers for that! The Earthers are weak; they could not stand against us!"
Kor shook his head almost sadly. "Listen to you. You say that the Daystrom Project is madness, then turn around and suggest a full-scale attack on the Federation. You simpleton! You would bring the Organians down on our heads! They would interdict us from space flight forever, neutralize our weapons. The Klingon races would be doomed to extinction. You know that the planets of the home system are poor, barren. If we cannot compete in space, we are finished."
"You and the rest of the Segh vav invoke the Organians at every turn," Krax snarled. "Is it to conceal your cowardice, your fear of engaging the Federation Starfleet? The Organians are a myth!"
"You are a fool indeed if you doubt the existence of those meddlers! The Organians may not concern themselves with skirmishes and isolated incidents; they seem interested in major battles where there is a massing of opposing fleets."
"I find it difficult to believe in these unseen meddlers. Let me take a squad of three cruisers to Organia. I will level the planet and lay your ghosts to rest once and for all. Perhaps then all you old women in High Command will breathe easier. Perhaps you invented these meddlers to save face after a defeat by an Earther commander."
Kor fired the disruptor.
Krax hollered in anger as the bolt destroyed the chair's base. He tumbled onto the floor, and Kor shoved the blaster's tip up his snout. "Learn some respect, Commander Krax. You are to leave at sunrise tomorrow for the Federation planet Modoc to procure Doctor Daystrom and his daughter. That is your primary mission; you are to avoid contact of any kind with Federation vessels, and you will not attack any Federation bases or colonies on your route. Another ship will arrange a diversion for you. You do understand, don't you, Commander? No attacks!"
Kor did not receive an answer--not that he had expected one. Any sudden move of Krax's head could accidentally push the trigger. "Well, I hope you do. We do not wish to tip our hand to the enemy. Daystrom's disappearance is to be a mystery; we want it to seem as though he just decided to drop out of sight."
A number of Segh vav troops appeared at the door. Kor's office, of course, was monitored. Kor smiled, put the safety on and slipped the weapon into his sash. He also opted to removed Krax's blaster and battle dagger...just in case.
"Is that all, Admiral?" Krax asked, scowling blackly as he gingerly rubbed his nose.
"Not quite, Commander," Kor replied tersely, echoing Krax's mocking emphasis of his title. "There is one thing more; you and your warriors are to activate the q'yta rings on your gauntlets for this mission. If you fail, you are not to return--nor are you to leave evidence of your presence for Starfleet investigators."
q'yta--ritual suicide. Krax flinched despite himself. The seemingly decorative rings on the battle gauntlets served a two-fold purpose. When activated, sensors in the rings monitored the wearer's vital signs. Were he to die, his body would be instantly immolated. The disruptor effect could also be set off at any time by crossing the wrists and slamming the rings of both gauntlets together.
"Rest assured, Admiral, I will not fail. I fully intend to return to settle my score with you."
"Your mission comes first, Commander. If you survive, we can attend to any unfinished business between us." Kor looked up to the troops awaiting his orders. "Escort the commander to his ship."
As the soldiers left with the ship commander, Khum entered Kor's office. "Shall I have the guards--"
Kor shook his head. "No, the Invincible One chose him for this mission. See to it that he arrives safely."
Khum saluted and left.
Kor looked out the window over the High Command complex. "What have we done to ourselves?" he asked. "The wolf may soon become extinct."
*****
Twilight on Trylias was a stunningly beautiful spectacle. Her twin suns, a gleaming golden
star and its smaller azure companion, hung low in the darkening emerald sky above a dusky
mountain range. The first bright stars of evening winked on as one of Trylias' five major
moons followed the day stars in their descent to the horizon. It was exquisite; to a
bone-weary, over-extended starship captain like James Kirk, it was just what the doctor
ordered, a balm for tension-sore muscles and joints. He could appreciate the lovely sky
scene for its aesthetic value alone. He smiled as he envisioned Spock in this same
setting, busily calculating the odds against a binary star system developing stable,
life-supporting planets.
Kirk drew in a deep breath, reveling in the damp, earthy scents of growing things--not the stale greenhouse odors of a herbarium, but real, live trees and plants in the great outdoors. He stood on a redwood balcony of Starbase 27's guest lodge, overlooking a clearing that would have been at home in a primeval Terran forest. Trylias' soil was very friendly; there were numerous species of deciduous and coniferous trees from Earth mixed in with the native flora. And Starfleet botanists had even improved on nature. Thanks to the advanced techniques of genetic engineering, the three-year-old oak whose lower limbs brushed the balcony railing towered into the sky with the height and girth of a centuries-old forest denizen.
He peered into the deepening gloom, swirling the Saurian brandy around his glass, feeling uncomfortable, as he always did, in his full-dress uniform. The formal party in honor of the Enterprise crew would soon begin. It was the brainstorm of Commodore Gene Thacker, Starbase 27's commander, and the gesture had been deeply appreciated by Kirk's people. It offered them the chance to unwind and relax, to return to a semblance of normalcy after the horror of the attack on the Enterprise and the subsequent grim discovery on Starbase 16.
The suns were sinking down rapidly now. He could make out one star halfway to the zenith that was impossibly, almost painfully bright. Kirk realized with a start that this "star" was actually Starbase 27's drydock, where his ship was now ensconced. He experienced an unwelcome shiver of deja vu. On Earth, during the eighteen months of the Enterprise's refitting, he had spent many miserable evening hours staring at the "star" of the Centroplex dock which burned in a perpetual, mocking, synchronous orbit above San Francisco. His nightly skywatch became an obsession with him. There, he knew, his beloved starship hung gently cradled in the grid latticework of the spacedock, forever out of his reach. She would be overhauled and refurbished--and then given to another man. It was a feeling much akin to standing by as another man, an intruder, stole your wife away from you. The fact that he himself had recommended Commander Will Decker as the next captain offered Kirk little solace. All he had left then were memories of the challenges, the excitement of his original five-year mission, memories which only intensified the suffocating dreariness of his ground assignment. Nothing he would ever do the rest of his life could possibly compare with the heady sense of fulfillment starship command had provided him.
Kirk took a sip of his drink as the memories faded. Of course, he had reassumed command of the Enterprise when the V'ger crisis arose, and it had seemed to him at the time that he had risen from the dead. But he often wondered what would have become of him if he had endured his aimless, empty existence as a Starfleet admiral for much longer.
It was not a pleasant line of thought.
"There you are! C'mon, Jim, you're gonna miss the party."
Kirk turned just as Leonard McCoy strolled out onto the deck, drink in hand. "Well, Bones, I'm impressed! You look downright jaunty in your dress blues."
McCoy snorted, stretching the spandex collar of his tunic with an index finger. "Come off it, Jim. You know I like these monkey suits about as much as you do. Let's go back in before Thacker comes chargin' out here."
They went back inside, and Kirk was surprised to see that the officers' lounge was already filled to near-capacity. Pine-scented logs blazed in a huge fireplace at the far end of the spacious room, casting flickering, mellow, amber shadows on the wood-paneled walls and high, beamed ceiling. There was a homey ambiance about the hall that was very relaxing.
"Nice," McCoy beamed. "Neo-rustic. It kinda reminds me of this resort lodge I stayed at once in the Piedmont National Forest in northern Georgia."
Kirk nodded in agreement, but made no comment. He had noticed a sudden, subtle shift in the atmosphere of the lounge as he and McCoy made their way through the crowd. The hubbub of conversation subsided. Several people now openly gaped at him. Not me, he thought, with a tinge of bitterness. They want to see James T. Kirk, the galactic hero, the living legend--not me. He caught a glimpse of several of his crewmembers standing near a heavily-laden buffet table, and gratefully steered McCoy toward the small knot of people, eager to escape the curious, probing stares. Hero-worship made him uncomfortable. In his own mind, he had just been doing his job during the Enterprise's five-year mission, and, in some ways, it even angered him that Starfleet used his exploits as a public-relations ploy.
Sulu and Uhura were engaged in conversation with the starbase commander, Thacker. He was a big, bluff, genial man who stood almost half a head taller than Kirk. His flame-red hair now sported ample streaks of gray, and his physique had grown a bit too rotund to be comfortably contained by the snug confines of his dress uniform. But, as Kirk knew only too well, appearances could be deceiving. Gene Thacker was a superb administrator; in his days as a line commander aboard the U.S.S. Republic, he had been the scourge of brigands running the border of the Barrier Alliance.
"Jim!" he bellowed, waving a nearly-empty glass. "Glad to see you could make it--and that Leonard could leave the hall, find you, and make his way back in here without losing his way. He's already had more than a touch of the grape!"
McCoy shrugged. "Why not? It's free."
Sulu and Uhura chuckled, but they were drowned out by the bull moose roar of Thacker's laugh, a machine-gun chortle that would probably have startled a Vegan Titanosaurus at half a kilometer.
"It wasn't that funny!" a bewildered McCoy protested.
"I see you've already met my junior officers," Kirk said.
"You're a lucky man, Jim. Not only does your crew boast the highest fitness record in Starfleet, but you've got the prettiest communications chief I've ever laid eyes on."
Uhura bowed her head, acknowledging the compliment, but Kirk could tell she was embarrassed. He grinned. Gene Thacker could be somewhat overbearing at times, but he was nothing if not sincere. Besides, he had sufficient cause. Uhura was a breathtaking vision in her translucent Andorian wrap-around gown.
"I'm sure Commander Uhura appreciates the compliment, as do I," Kirk said diplomatically. "Don't forget, though, that she is also the best communications chief in Starfleet."
"I know. I saw the last quarterly report. Each of your command crew scored higher at his or her station than any other member of the 'fleet with the same duty description, and the Enterprise set an all-time overall fitness record. You also have the most experienced crew, Jim. You've only got one officer on the primary command shift with a rank lower than lieutenant commander." Thacker took a long pull of his drink. "An embarrassment of riches. How come Nogura lets you get away with it, Jim?"
"Heihachiro and I have an understanding."
"That sounds like something you'd rather not go into."
"It is," Kirk replied. "This crew and I have been together for a long time. I'd like to keep it that way."
"That shouldn't be too difficult. I understand you can be very persuasive when you want to be, as our venerable Commander of Starfleet discovered--much to his dismay, I might add."
Kirk's only answer was an enigmatic smile, which prompted another of Thacker's mega-decibel belly laughs. He raised his glass in a mock toast, then drained it with one gulp.
"Oh, by the way, Jim. I almost forgot--there's a friend of yours here. She was looking for you. Said she'd be up on the sun deck. I'm sorry; I meant to tell you as soon as I saw you."
"She?!" McCoy's eyes widened with interest. "Well, well. A girl in every port, eh, Jim?"
Kirk scowled at the jibe. "Who was she, Gene?"
Now it was Thacker's turn to be inscrutable. "The staircase to the sun deck is through that port," he said, jerking his thumb toward a pneumo-door at the opposite end of the hall. "Why don't you go see for yourself?"
"I think I'll do that. Commander Uhura, gentlemen." He glared at the grinning McCoy. "And you, too, Doctor."
Kirk excused himself, leaving his amused and curious companions. He was more than a little curious himself. He could think of no one he knew who was assigned to Trylias, particularly any women friends.
There had been no women in his life for some time--no serious involvements or commitments, at least. Not since Lori Ciani...
His face clouded in bittersweet remembrance. Vice Admiral Lori Ciani. She had been more than a lover to him, more, even, than a wife. She had been his friend. They had entered into a standard one-year marriage contract, and she had pulled him through those long, agonizing months of the Enterprise's refitting. She had done her best to soothe the deep emotional pain he carried from those harrowing five years in space, to heal the more recent wound of having lost his ship. God, how he missed her.
Kirk repressed a shudder. The memories of Ciani's grisly death were still raw and fresh, even after two years. She had beamed aboard the Enterprise with the Vulcan Science Officer, Commander Sonak, as the ship prepared to leave for the V'ger mission. Something happened. The transporter unit had malfunctioned; Kirk had been able only to stand by in helpless horror as the transporter literally turned its victims inside out, slowly, methodically, impersonally destroying them. There was little left of the beautiful, lithe-limbed woman he had loved that was even recognizable.
She was gone, forever taken from him.
"Captain Kirk!"
Startled, he exhaled the breath he had been unconsciously holding. A young man in his mid-thirties hailed him as he edged his way through the press of people with a somewhat subdued Lieutenant Commander Pavel Chekov in tow. The man was attired in a Starfleet commander's uniform. He seemed vaguely familiar, and Kirk tried hard to place him.
"Captain Kirk. I'm Ron Canfield," he said, offering a hand in greeting. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."
The name clicked, and recognition dawned in Kirk's eyes. "Commander Ronald Canfield? The new captain of the Lexington?" He shook the younger man's hand warmly. "Congratulations, Captain. She's a good ship. I take it you know Lieutenant Commander Chekov?"
"Commander Canfield vwas my instructor in Advwanced Armaments and Defense. It vwas one of my prerequisites for Starfleet Training Command."
"Pavel was a good student," Canfield put in. "Excellent, actually. He got the hang of the new weapons console design for the up-rated Constitution quicker than anybody I've seen."
"Mister Chekov is a fine officer," Kirk said, noting his security chief's discomfort. "Well, Commander, when do you take the reins?"
"The Lex's refitting is supposed to be completed in another eight days. I'll be back on Earth in six, so I'll take over then--get my captain's stripes then, too! That'll give me a couple of days while they finish the uprating to get the feel of things before I take her out." He paused, then continued almost shyly. "I wanted to thank you. You see, I've always looked up to you; you've been an inspiration to me. You're the best there is, and I only hope to become half as good as you."
Hero worship. Kirk felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He was at a loss for words; what could he say to this earnest, sandy-haired young man whose eyes sparkled with something close to adoration? "You're welcome," he finally managed.
Canfield seemed to be at loose ends. "Well, I, uh, just wanted to finally meet you," he stammered. "I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time."
"Not at all. It was a pleasure meeting you. Good luck with your new command."
"Thank you, sir," Canfield beamed. "Now, I think I'll steer Pavel over to the bar. A couple more vodkas and I might be able to persuade him to come over to the Lexington as her first officer."
Kirk's eyes met Chekov's, and he could have sworn he saw the Russian flinch. "He's a good man," Kirk said. "I wouldn't stand in the way of anyone who thought a transfer would be a good career move. I must warn you, however, that I won't give him up without a fight."
"I vwould not do anything behind your back, sair." Chekov's voice was tight. "I hope you realize that."
"I do." Kirk's features softened into a tentative smile. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have an appointment to keep."
He turned away. He'd have been lying to himself if he claimed that the prospect of Chekov transferring to another starship didn't bother him. He hated to lose a good officer, but it was more than that. He felt somehow responsible for the situation. He needed to talk to Chekov; he needed to iron out the difficulties and ease the tension that had sprung up between them. Then again, maybe his anxiety was premature. He would just have to wait and see how matters developed and deal with it if and when the time came.
Kirk hurried up the spiral staircase to the roof-level sun deck--so named because it offered an excellent vantage point for viewing Trylias' spectacular twilight displays. His curiosity was piqued; it swept away the clouds of his reminiscences of Lori Ciani and the encounter with Chekov and Canfield. Who was this 'mystery woman'? He drew a blank as he searched his sketchy memory of Starbase 27's personnel roster. The exit doors loomed before him; they hissed open, and Kirk stepped out into the balmy evening air.
She stood before a cedar guard rail, watching the last dying auroral embers of the breathtaking double sunset. The iridescent silver gown she wore recalled the elegant styles of Classical Greece; one shoulder was bared, displaying golden, evenly tanned skin. Indeed, she could have been a Greek goddess, standing on Olympus as she contemplated the follies of mankind. She was tall and slender, with the lithe, supple figure of a dancer or an athlete. Kirk admiringly watched the flickering highlights of sunset dances in her tawny mane of honey-blonde hair. She was still as stunningly beautiful as the last time he had seen her.
"I've been here six months, and I never grow tired of watching this," she murmured. She turned to face him, a slow smile illuminating her lovely features, her clear, sea-green eyes. "Hello, Jim. It's good to see you again."
"It's good to see you, too, Cheryl," Kirk said warmly. "I had no idea you were assigned here."
They embraced, a gesture that suggested a meeting of two close friends. Commander Cheryl M. Saunders had held the post of Assistant to the Chief of Starfleet Security at Starfleet Headquarters when Kirk was assigned there after the five-year mission. He and Lori Ciani had attended many social functions with Cheryl Saunders and her husband, Commander John Saunders. Kirk himself had often seen both Saunders at Starfleet during the course of a day. They had lunch together on occasion, and became good friends.
She stepped back, clasping his hand in her own. "You look great, Jim. Active duty does wonders for you."
He grinned boyishly. "I might say the same for you, Commander. What brings you here to the outskirts of Klingon country?"
"I needed a change. I'm security chief here; it was like a dream come true for me. I'm finally getting a chance to put all that training Starfleet's invested in me to good use. I felt like a command-grade 'gofer'. A yeoman could have done my job--for the most part, anyway."
"I guess you keep busy out here."
"Sure do. We're always on our toes with our location being so close to Klingon space; we're a potential prime target. Things have been really tight around here since the Outposts and Starbase Sixteen were wiped out. Sometimes I feel as though there's a gigantic bull's-eye painted on the surface of this planet, with the starbase right smack dab in the center. There's no telling what the Klingons might be up to."
"Try telling that to the Federation Council," Kirk muttered.
"I heard what happened to the Enterprise. I'm sorry."
"So am I. I lost some good people in that attack. Each time one of them dies, a little part of me dies with them." He sighed, gazing thoughtfully up at the now dark, star-sprinkled sky. "I don't want war with the Klingons, but, damn it, we've got to show them they can't come blasting into Federation space whenever they want and launch raids against peaceful planets. We've got to make a stand and discourage them. But Council won't back Starfleet up. They're so concerned about staving off a Klingon-Federation war that they'll let those barbarians walk all over us, killing billions of innocent people in the process."
"They've got to be blind!" Saunders exclaimed, shaking her head disgustedly. "Who do they think took Starbase Sixteen and the Epsilon stations?"
"Council wants proof positive. I'm surprised they don't require a full confession signed by the attacking Klingon commander." Kirk scowled. "Let's drop this. I'm supposed to be on shore leave. Besides, it's too nice a night to get up on a soapbox. Gives me indigestion."
She laughed. "It is a nice night. I don't know about you, but I don't think I want to go back to the party--even for a while. Want to go for a walk? There's a fern garden just a little way into the forest--it's the native equivalent of a fern garden. The plants at least look like ferns. It's a beautiful place to walk at night, and the trail leads right up to the patio behind the lodge. We can get there without going back inside."
"Sounds fine to me. I attended enough affairs like this when I was at Starfleet to last me a lifetime." He gallantly offered her his arm. "Lead on, my lady! I'll make any apologies to our host later."
They took a rustic wooden stairway off the sun deck and strolled into the woods along a wide, clear path lined with bark chips. Kirk drew a deep breath; he could feel months of accumulated tension draining away, leaving him refreshed, relaxed. Saunders clung to him. He glanced at her, marveling at her vibrant, glowing loveliness, and was startled to experience vague stirrings of emotions that had lain dormant in him for far too long. He almost halted in his tracks. Is it possible? Cheryl? They were just good friends. And she was married.
"So, I forgot to ask you," he said, almost guiltily. "How is John these days?"
He felt her stiffen against him. They stopped walking.
"You didn't know?" she whispered. "John was killed near the Orion border."
"No! I didn't know. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to stir up bad memories."
"It's okay. I've gotten over the initial grief. I still miss him terribly." She smiled sadly at him. "But then I guess I don't have to tell you about that."
"No," he answered, his voice almost inaudible. "What happened to John--if you feel like talking about it, that is."
"I don't mind. It happened right after the V'ger encounter. John was assigned to temporary duty aboard the U.S.S. Tarquin, a destroyer that patrols the Orion cusp of the Barrier Alliance. They were ambushed by Orion brigands. The Tarquin managed to destroy the enemy vessel, but she sustained a plasma torpedo hit that wiped out four decks."
Saunders closed her eyes, haunted by cold, bitter memories. "They couldn't even find his body. We buried an empty box with his name on it."
"If I'd only known," Kirk murmured. "I'm sorry. I would have at least gotten off a Stargram to you. We heard about the Tarquin, of course, but..."
"I know. As far as you knew, John was still assigned to the Commanding Admiral's staff. You had no idea he was on active duty. He'd applied for Command Training; he wanted to try for starship command, but he needed to log twenty more star hours. Only twenty more hours!"
"You don't have to talk about it anymore if it bothers you too much."
"It's okay. There's still a dull ache there when I think about him, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much anymore. One morning you wake up and realize you've got to go on with your own life."
"I know." Kirk decided to change the subject. "Listen, what do you say we finish that walk we were taking? I want to get a look at this fern garden you mentioned. I haven't seen one of those in years."
She brightened, taking his arm. "You'll love this one. Not only is it very, very beautiful, but it's like nothing you've ever seen!"
It was indeed like nothing he had ever seen.
Saunders' fern garden reposed in a forest clearing. Crystal-clear water splashed in a rock pool that was fed by a murmuring brook. But it was the ferns themselves that induced Kirk to stop short in admiring, open-mouthed wonderment.
They glowed in the dark, flooding the glade with a soft silver luminescence that rivaled the light of a dozen moons.
"Glowferns," Saunders explained. "They're phosphorescent; they store up sunlight during the day, then shine all night. Isn't that a beautiful sight?"
He looked at her. Her eyes sparkled, and her face shone almost as brightly as her beloved glowferns. She was almost unbearably lovely.
"Yes," Kirk whispered. "It is."
She turned to face him, and he saw an expression in her eyes that said volumes. She reached up and encircled his neck, then wordlessly kissed him. It was a warm, lingering kiss, and he pulled her to him as he responded to the intimacy of the moment.
Then he drew back just as suddenly. "Cheryl, I...I don't know. I shouldn't be feeling this way, but..."
"Please don't," she said breathlessly. "Just hold me. Oh, God, it's been so long since I've felt like this--s