by Greg Cox
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Kirk said grimly, prepared to go down fighting if it came to that. Red alert lights flashed all around the bridge, just as they did throughout the entire ship, he knew. His crew were at their posts. They were as ready as they’d ever be. Kirk just wished the odds weren’t so much against them. Three against one, he thought, and on their home-ground to boot. He carefully excised any trace of apprehension from his voice as he spoke, “Lieutenant Uhura, hail the commander of the battle cruiser.” Maybe it was still possible to talk his way out of this mess, although he wasn’t very hopeful about it.
“Yes, sir,” Uhura said crisply, her dark eyes fixed on her console as she deftly manipulated the external communications controls. “Transmitting on all known Romulan frequencies . . . Captain, I have a response.”
“Put it on the screen,” he instructed, glad that the Romulans hadn’t chosen to shoot first and ask questions later.
The image of the three oncoming warships was replaced by the head and shoulders of a Romulan officer. Kirk was struck by how much the man resembled Spock, albeit a few years older; he had the same arched eyebrows, dark hair, and pointed ears, although the lines of his face were etched deeper, making the Romulan’s stern scowl look even more severe. Kirk found it impossible to estimate the officer’s age, especially given the sizable disparity between the human and Romulan lifespans; the man on the screen could have been anywhere from fifty to a hundred years old. A heavy red sash was draped over the man’s right shoulder. It seemed to be made from the same thick, quilted fabric as his gray military uniform.
“I am Commander Motak of the Imperial battle cruiser Gladiator. You have been identified as the U.S.S. Enterprise, in direct violation of the Treaty of Algeron. You are hereby ordered to surrender immediately and turn your ship over to my command.”
Just once, Kirk thought, I’d like to run into a Romulan ship when I wasn’t in violation of some treaty. It made it hard to take the moral high ground—and refute the smug self-righteousness of the enemy commander. He knew he couldn’t surrender, though, regardless of the circumstances. The Federation would never see the Enterprise again, and Romulan Intelligence would receive a bounty of military secrets from the captured ship.
“This is Captain James T. Kirk,” he said, “in command of the Enterprise. I apologize for our unexpected arrival within your borders, but I can assure you it was an accident, entirely beyond our control. We had an unfortunate encounter with a wormhole that knocked us badly off course.” He chose not to mention Gary Seven’s involvement in the creation of that wormhole; that would just complicate matters.
“Ah, Captain Kirk.” A very unVulcanlike smirk appeared on Motak’s face. “I was hoping you were still in command of this ship. As you may or may not be aware, there is an outstanding warrant for your arrest on charges of espionage and crimes against the Empire. The Praetor himself has offered a sizable reward for your capture. I look forward to collecting it.”
Easier said than done, Kirk thought. “It’s gratifying to know that I’m so popular these days, but I don’t intend to do anything except return to Federation territory as quickly as possible. You’re welcome to escort us to the Neutral Zone if that will make you feel more comfortable.”
“Your very presence here constitutes an illegal incursion into our space,” Motak declared harshly. “You will surrender, or you will be destroyed.”
“I told you, we’re here by accident,” Kirk protested. “We have no military objectives.” He glimpsed a portion of the Romulan cruiser’s bridge behind Motak. Romulan soldiers wearing golden helmets manned their posts, ready to fire upon the Enterprise.
“Captain,” Chekov interrupted, keeping his voice low. “The other ships are spreading out around us. They have us blocked in three directions.”
Let me guess, Kirk thought. All three ships are positioned between us and the Neutral Zone. Keeping his hands well below the usual boundaries of the viewer, he silently pointed to the lower righthand corner of the screen. Chekov responded to his signal by projecting a tactical display onto that corner of the screen while the remainder of the viewer continued to be dominated by Motak’s grim visage. Sure enough, Kirk noted, the warbirds had positioned themselves above and below the Enterprise, leaving the battle cruiser directly in their path. The only available escape route led even deeper into Romulan territory, not exactly a direction he was eager to explore. He could feel the pincers closing in. “There’s no need to fight a battle over this,” he insisted, consciously averting his eyes from the tactical display so as not to alert Motak. “We just want to return home without starting a war.”
“What you intend, and why you are here, no longer matters,” Motak replied, his smirk giving way to a look of cool Romulan determination. “The fact remains that you are here. You have no choice except to surrender. Let me demonstrate that I am quite serious.” He nodded to an offscreen subordinate and Kirk felt a chill run down his spine. He sensed the time for talking was running out.
“Captain!” Chekov called out, confirming Kirk’s fears. “The cruiser is firing its disruptors!”
* * *
“Hello? Computer?” Roberta repeated, encouraged by the way the screen on terminal had lit up, until an abrupt shock rocked the entire room, sending her tumbling out of her chair onto the floor. It felt like an earthquake, although she didn’t think you could have earthquakes in outer space.
Good heavens, she thought, glancing up at the lighted computer terminal. Did I do that?
* * *
“Deflectors down to seventy-three percent,” Spock announced calmly. Kirk held on tightly to the armrests on his chair, anticipating another jolt. On the screen in front of him, Motak’s head and shoulders had been replaced by a view of the attacking battle cruiser. A flash of violet energy at the prow of the ship alerted Kirk to another attack. Strategic options raced through his brain, none of them very appealing.
Worst-case scenario: the combined efforts of the trio of Romulan warships reduce the Enterprise to spacedust. Casualties: one hundred percent.
Best-case scenario: beating the odds, he destroys all three Romulan vessels, almost certainly sparking an interstellar war. Casualty: peace throughout the galaxy.
Another disruptor blast shook the bridge. Bright blue sparks flew from a control panel near Uhura, who jumped away from her seat to avoid the energy discharge. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked.
“I’m fine, Captain,” she replied, eyeing the console carefully as she rerouted the communications systems through the auxiliary circuits. She listened intently to her earpiece. “Commander Motak is calling again for our surrender.”
“I guess he’s not joking,” Kirk said.
“In my experience,” Spock commented, “Romulans are not known for their humor.”
Violet energy burst once more from the battle cruiser.
* * *
In the brig, confined behind an invisible wall of repulsive energy, Gary Seven felt the third blast knock the ship about and wondered when he should make his move. His brow furrowed in thought, he remained seated on the simple bench provided by his cell.
Obviously, the Enterprise had encountered hostilities, just as Captain Kirk had feared—and Seven had anticipated. He wasted no thoughts on guilt or self-recrimination; he had done what he had to do, and he was confident in Kirk’s ability to defend the Enterprise for as long as was necessary to reach their ultimate destination. So far the mission was going exactly as planned. The only question was whether they would arrive in time to rescue Agent 146. Time travel, alas, was not an exact science, even for his superiors. Seven regretted momentarily that Isis had not been confined with him; he would have appreciated her advice.
* * *
Isis did not like being caged. The rectangular carrier was designed for transporting biological specimens, not pets or honored guests, and was far from luxurious. She paced around and around in the cage, although there was only barely enough room to do so, nor could
she even extend her tail fully. And as for her other form . . . well, that was just impossible under the circumstances. The floor of the cage was layered with some sort of absorbent synthetic pad that smelled vaguely medicinal. Her ears bumped into the hard metal lid of the cage every time she tried to raise her head. It was cramped for a cat, let alone anything else.
The cage was frustratingly effective as well. The metal lattice that surrounded her on all four sides was tight enough that she could not stick more than a single claw out through the bars, and the metal had already proven resistant to both her jaws and her claws. The lid itself was held down by some sort of magnetic locking mechanism that was both out of reach and difficult to outwit. These humans, alas, were much more clever than the ones she usually encountered.
Resigned, for the moment, to her captivity, Isis settled down on the spongy floor of the cage to inspect the world outside her prison. The carrier had been placed on a shelf overlooking the sickbay. Empty beds, equipped with elaborate displays of monitors, lined the wall opposite her perch. There were at least three such beds in view, separated from each other by one or two cat-lengths, but very little activity to watch. The cross-sounding human who had brought her here after they’d taken Seven and the other one away had left the premises almost as soon as he had locked Isis into the carrier. The only human left was a blonde-haired female who seemed to work here. At the moment, she appeared to be checking the inventory of a built-in cabinet at the far end of the room. Isis meowed experimentally, and the female turned around to look at the cage.
Intrigued, Isis made another sound and the human female came closer. Hmmm, this had possibilities. Isis wondered if, perhaps, this particular human might be a cat-lover, and if, just maybe, she could be persuaded to undo the lock and let Isis free.
Stranger things had happened. . . .
* * *
How many Romulan vessels was Kirk engaged with, Gary Seven wondered. Not for the first time, he wished that he could have beamed directly from his own base in 1969 to Supervisor 146’s base in the Romulan Empire, instead of depending on the Enterprise for transportation, but that would not have been wise, not while hostile forces apparently held dominion over the transporter controls at the receiving end of his trip. Under the circumstances, the last thing he wanted to do was beam directly into a trap, or, worse yet, be scattered to atoms due to interference from this base.
Now, when the guards posted to the brig were distracted by the larger battle beyond these walls, would be an excellent opportunity to escape the brig, but, Seven decided, it was doubtful that he could elude capture until the Enterprise reached the proper coordinates. Better to wait for an occasion when he can put his freedom to better use. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was distract Captain Kirk at such a perilous juncture.
He waited patiently in his cell while yet another jolt buffeted the ship, shaking the guards outside off their feet.
* * *
“Shields down to sixty-two percent,” Spock reported. Wisps of smoke from one or two small fires irritated Kirk’s nostrils and added a slight haze to the atmosphere upon the bridge. Automatic flame suppression systems snuffed out the flames before they could consume too much oxygen, but Kirk knew that the burning circuitry were merely minor symptoms of the wholesale battering the Enterprise was receiving. The ship couldn’t take many more blasts. He could just imagine what Scotty had to be going through down in engineering, trying to keep the warp engines on-line despite the damage done by the Romulan disruptor beams.
“Captain?” Chekov asked anxiously. “Shall I return fire?”
Kirk hesitated for only a heartbeat. What he was about to say went against his instincts and disposition, but, as Spock would surely say, it was the only logical alternative.
“Hold your fire,” he instructed Chekov. The Enterprise was precious, but it wasn’t worth starting a war for. “Mr. Sulu, full retreat. Head away from all three ships as fast as we can go.”
“Yes, sir,” Sulu said, responding immediately. Kirk felt a slight tug of centrifugal force as the Enterprise spun around on its axis, then leaped forward at warp speed, pushing the limits of its inertial dampers. On the main viewer, the attacking battle cruiser was replaced by an open starfield.
Here we go, Kirk thought. Zooming off into the unknown. He hated to turn and run like this, but it was the only way to avoid a fight with the Romulans without risking his ship and crew. He couldn’t help wondering if this was all part of Gary Seven’s unknown mission. He felt like a sheep being herded toward the slaughter. “Rear view on screen,” he commanded, restoring the battle cruiser to the main viewer. Gladiator fell behind them, still in pursuit but shrinking as the Enterprise gained a lead on the other ship. But where were the warbirds? “Position of the other ships?” he demanded.
“They are pursuing us at impulse speed,” Chekov stated, “but the big cruiser is still hot on our tail.”
So far, so good, Kirk thought. At least they were leaving the smaller ships behind, but how long would it be before Motak called in reinforcements—or set up a blockade in front of them? For all they knew, they could be heading straight toward a Romulan armada. As fast as the Enterprise flew, they couldn’t outrace a subspace message sent ahead of them by Motak. Or could they?
“Lieutenant,” Kirk called to Uhura. The communications specialist had returned to her chair after bringing the short circuits at her console under control. “Is there any way we can block transmissions from Gladiator?”
Uhura gave him a skeptical expression. “I can try to set up a countermodulation on their known frequencies, Captain, but it’s going to be difficult to get a proper fix on the Romulan ship when we’re both travelling at warp speed, plus I’m down to the backup communications array anyway.” She shook her head. “I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Understood,” Kirk said. “Do what you can, Lieutenant.” At best, he knew, Uhura could only buy them time. Ultimately, they had to get out of the Romulan Empire—or else find a safe place to hide until the Romulans stopped looking for them. What they could really use right now, Kirk realized, was another convenient wormhole.
“Chekov,” he asked urgently, rising from his chair, “is the cruiser gaining on us?”
“No, sir,” the young ensign reported. “We are maintaining a steady lead, although they remain in pursuit.”
Good enough for now, Kirk thought. “Mr. Spock, you have the bridge.” He stepped into a waiting turbolift. “I’m going to have another talk with Mr. Seven.”
Chapter Six
“I’M SORRY, CAPTAIN, but we cannot return to the Federation yet. I still have to complete my mission.”
The entrance to the detention cell appeared open. Only a string of bright white lights ran along both sides of the empty doorway. In fact, a powerful force field confined Seven to the spartan, simply furnished cell, which contained only a simple bench and a pair of double bunks built into the wall. Kirk stood so close to the force field that he could feel the repulsive energy of the field tingling his skin. Seven faced him on the opposite side of the invisible wall, looking Kirk in the eye. They were only centimeters apart, but more than an energy field divided them.
“Maybe you didn’t notice,” Kirk snarled, “but this ship is already under attack by the Romulans. Perhaps you thought you could slip in undetected, take care of your assignment, then sneak out again without the Romulans knowing, but that is no longer an option. There’s a Romulan battle cruiser out there that would like nothing better than to blow us all apart, and the longer we remain behind enemy lines, the more dangerous our situation becomes. Pretty soon we’re going to be surrounded by the entire Romulan fleet. If you know a way to return us to the Federation, you better show it to me now.”
Seven shook his head. “I regret that my actions have placed you and your crew in jeopardy, but my mission takes priority.”
“Your mission, whatever it is, has obviously failed,” Kirk said. Two security officers stood at attention at the entran
ce to the brig, each with a type-2 phaser pistol hanging on their belts. Seven was the only prisoner they were guarding right now. The other cells were empty. “Or are you determined to get me, my crew, and Miss Lincoln killed?”
“My mission has not failed, Captain,” Seven replied. “It has barely begun.” Seven walked away from Kirk and sat down on his bench. “Believe me, the effects of my failure would be catastrophic to the time line itself.”
“So you keep saying,” Kirk said, slightly unnerved by Seven’s eerie certainty. Even Spock seemed more human than Seven at times, more subject to doubt and human frailty. Could it be, Kirk permitted himself to wonder, that Seven actually knew what he was talking about? Kirk knew from personal experience just how fragile the time line could be. He had once sacrificed the life of a woman he loved to preserve the proper course of history; how different from that was Seven’s apparent willingness to sacrifice the Enterprise? It was a disturbing comparison, one that only grew more so the more he turned it over and over in his mind. Seven’s unrelenting secretiveness tested Kirk’s patience to its utmost. Then again, he thought, how much did I explain to Edith? The only difference seemed to be that Kirk had come from the future in that instance, whereas Gary Seven had come from the past, but in a universe subject to the mind-twisting paradoxes of time travel, how much of a difference did that make?
Kirk forcibly expelled such doubts from his mind. He couldn’t afford to let himself get caught up in all sorts of speculative abstractions. He had to focus on his primary responsibility: the safety of his ship and his crew.
Obviously, Seven wasn’t about to listen to reason, so Kirk switched tactics. “Listen to me, Seven,” he snarled, letting all his pent-up frustration and rage out into the open. “You have effectively taken my ship hostage, and I am not above using deadly force to get my people safely home. Either you reverse your wormhole stunt and take us back to the Federation, or I will personally have you beamed into space.” He smacked his hand against the force field, letting the crackle of discharged energy punctuate his threat. “Do you understand me, Mr. Seven?”