by Diane Carey
threat in firepower and ruthlessness, they're predict-
able. If we just watch them, we should be able to tell
what they'll do next." I stopped to lick my lips, which
had dried up when I realized that Mr. Spock had
stopped his scanning and was also listening to me, and
Perten had turned my way too. Another deep breath.
"Even though the Romulans have lesser weapons,
they understand the concept of subtle attack. Things
like sneaking and bluffing. They're cunning. It makes
them dangerous. I'd watch out for them. I'd even
disable them if I got the chance." "Spock?"
I tensed, waiting.
"I concur," Spock said.
"So do I," was the captain's response.
Before I had a chance to exhale, Kirk demanded,
"Disable them how?"
It's not as if he didn't have ideas of his own. He was
testing me and using my reactions to test himself.
Evidently he was as curious about what made me tick
as I was about finding out what drove him. But
couldn't it wait for a better time? Sir?
Trying to push ideas through the whiskerbugs infest-
ing my brain, I shrugged and said, "Maybe... use
their distraction with each other... launch someone
in a shuttlecraft or one of the attack sleds and make for
open space to get a distress call out to Star Fleet..."
"They'd be caught in traction by one of those ships
and tak en prisoner."
"Yes... of course... sorry." And on top of being a
bad suggestion, it wasn't even the answer to what he'd
asked.
Luckily, James Kirk wasn't James Kirk for nothing.
He took his good question and my bad answer and
combined them into a wild card. "Shuttlecraft," he
239
murmured, watching the interplay of ships before us.
"Spock..."
They exchanged a long look--not a word, just a
look.
Spock nodded. "Excellent," he uttered. Had I
missed something?
Stepping down to the navigations console beside
me, he tapped through to the automation of the hangar
deck and computer-moved one of the shuttles into
launch position. As he worked, the only sounds were
the whirr-beeps of electrical cooperation and the muf-
fled, strained voice of Mr. Scott as he fed orders
through to the few engineers back on duty below
decks.
"Shuttlecraft Columbus ready for launch, sir,"
Spock said then. "Automation system locked in."
The captam nodded his acknowledgment.
Why was he taking me up on a stupid suggestion?
And an empty shuttlecraft at that . . . of course! A
decoy. Make the enemy waste their time following an
apparent escape. Like I said, he wasn't James Kirk for
nothing.
"Go ahead, Mr. Spock," he said, calmly watching
the enemy ships wheel and fire on each other like
dancers in some erotic alien ritual. As if to give my
analysis life, the small Romulan ships were using
supreme strategy, working together against more po-
tent enemy vessels, coordinating their attacks then
retreating to the rim of the solar system to regroup and
attack again, from different angles. The Klingons were
unable to tell where the Romulans would dive in upon
them next. The only surplus danger was that unidenti-
fied ship. The Klingons had their hands full trying to
maintain their pull on Enterprise and the unnamed ship
knew how to use that. Its forked hull lanced past us
several times, that green plasma ray cutting deeply
into the Klingon shields, only then to swing around
and potshot the Romulans into falling out of forma-
240
tion. All the while we continued slowly moving toward
the outside of the solar system, where, once clear, the
Klingons might be able to take us into warp speed.
Another clutch of guilt caught me by the heart. Tan-
gled motivations looked for excuses in my head. Si-
lent, I watched the battle tighten before me.
A small white speck appeared at the corner of the
screen. It drew my attention. The shuttlecraft--veer-
ing away for open space. As Kirk had anticipated, the
unnamed ship and two Romulan wings turned on their
tips and angled after it in a strange race. Because they
were closer in the first place, the Romulans overtook
the shuttlecraft first. Pulling it against its own thrust,
they drew it up alongside and tucked it under one
wing, then warned off the unnamed ship with a volley
of particle-beam fire.
The unidentified vessel peeled away, barely dodging
the milky white gauze of particle beam, leaving the
Romulans to their catch. They drew the shuttlecraft in
tight to their hull. Not large enough to bring the
shuttlecraft on board, they made good their possession
with magnetic couplings on their ship's underbelly.
When the shuttle was firmly attached, Captain Kirk
said, "Now, Mr. Spock."
Sarda and I both looked at Spock at the same
moment, after a questioning glance proved that neither
of us knew what was happening. As Spock's long
finger leaned on a toggle. It flipped.
The entire left side of the viewscreen lit up. Blue-
white particles spun through space, then redoubled as
a matter/antimatter explosion bubbled inside the first.
The Romulan ship was memory, nothing more than
scattering bits of fibercoil melting and dissolving in a
pyrotechnic bloom.
I came halfway out of my chair. "Wow!"
Sarda's cool gaze washed over me, and I got the
feeling that only my yip of delight kept him from an
embarrassing smile. He probably saw how ridiculous I
looked and decided to interiorize that grin pulling at
his upper lip.
Spock bent over his readout screen at the library
computer. "One Romulan ship obliterated... another
slightly disabled from impact fallout."
"Good, Spock, good," the captain murmured.
Victory earned us a slap on the wrist. The third
Romulan ship flashed by us at attack angle and lay
open the skin of Enterprise's forward half-shields with
a shot full of revenge. The bolt crumpled our shields
and burst through with just enough remaining energy
to send us staggering. I was thrown out of my chair
altogether, and Sarda careened backward, barely
missing Mr. Scott, who was clinging to his board with
whatever strength he had. When the bolt faded and the
ship stopped shuddering, Sarda was picking me up and
Perren was picking himself up. Kirk and Spock, darn
them, were already up.
Kirk was holding tight to the bridge rail, his eyes
ablaze with satisfaction. I felt it too---that rare sense of
triumph that came from outthinking an enemy when
the enemy already had an upper hand. It was worth
that spanking they'd given us. Suddenly I understood
the captain's advantage. He knew what I had forgot-
ten. None of these ships dared destroy
Enterprise. We
had what they wanted.
"I think they're annoyed, Mr. Spock," the captain
crowed.
"Yes," Spock agreed. "They do seem... vexed,
Captain." With that, he returned to his readout screen.
That comforting thought left only the possibility of
being dragged into Klingon space, or being acciden-
tally blown to bits by wild shots, or being boarded by
the enemy, or--
Spock straightened abruptly and glared at the
viewscreen. "More ships, Captain! Veering in from
various directions in open space," he said, his tone
edged with surprise.
242
Kirk raised his voice. "Scotty, where's that shield
power?"
Mr. Scott turned slightly, even that an effort since
he was standing up--leaning, really--and running a
protosensor rod over the board. "Nearly there, sir...
up to 83 percent." His eyes narrowed in discomfort,
and he was breathing heavily. "Working on impulse
thrust--" He slipped and collapsed forward over his
console. By the time Captain Kirk reached him, he
was wiping his face with a blanched hand and pushing
himself up.
The captain took him by the arms and steered him
back into his chair. "Scotty? Can you make it?"
Scott fought for his part in the play, forcing his eyes
to meet Kirk's without a flinch, in spite of the pain
showing in his face. "Aye, sir... those spine-headed
pirates'11 not have this ship if I can help it." The
promise drained him, but he pulled on an inner sturdi-
ness and straightened under the captain's grasp.
Even in the midst of trouble, Kirk found a personal
moment to pat Scott's arm. "Good, Scotty. We need
you."
"Captain, forward deflector power is impaired,"
Spock reported. "Unlikely to regain."
"Identify those ships," Captain Kirk ordered.
"Attempting to do so."
I leaned toward Sarda, who still had a grip on my
arm, and said, "We're trying to get photon capacity."
"All right," he said simply, and moved to the weap-
ons control console on the upper deck. Mirroring that,
I dashed back to the helm and drifted into my chair. At
least it looked like we were helping.
"Come on, Spock," the captain urged. "I want to
know who I'm up against."
Spock nodded, very slightly, then gave voice to
what he was seeing on his monitor. "Tholians, sir. At
least four. Sensors are unsure. And at least three more
v. essels... checking design catalog to identify." He
243
moved across his computer, arms sweeping the board
as he tapped into the fabulous memory system. Even
in that short time, the cuneiform shape of the Tholian
ships had become clear on our screen. Behind them,
other vessels appeared, all different--claviform, tur-
nip-shaped, biform, full-orbed, all different colors.
When Spock returned to the monitor and the blue light
once again washed his features, the answers were
there. His brows went up. "Captain, they are
Klingons. However, not Empire-sanctioned vessels.
One is of a configuration currently being used by the
Rumaiym, a racial tier of the Empire."
Captain Kirk moved to the deck below Spock, draw-
ing the two of them together into that intangible bubble
they shared when I looked closely. "Analysis,
Spock," Kirk softly invited.
Spock tilted his head, observing the action in space,
then turned his gaze downward to his captain, as if
they were alone. "It's not surprising that sections of
the Empire might attempt to gain a bargaining weight
within the power structure. In fact, if current intelli-
gence is accurate, we are seeing agents of at least four
Klingon strains Klinzhai, Rumaiym, Wijngan, and ff I
am correct about that triformed vessel, the race calling
themselves Daqawlu--the Remembered."
With a dry nod, Kirk commented, "Oh, they'll be
remembered, all right."
"Obviously the Klingon Empire is not so unified as
they would have us believe."
"Obviously. Well, we can't keep feeding them shut-
tlecraft. We'll have to come up with something else."
Kirk circled the command module, giving me a clear
view of the harsh determination that brought his brows
together and tightened his lips. His words hummed
with bottled ferocity. "I don't like being the pawn."
I cast a brief glare at him, but broke it off before he
saw it. Neither did I.
Kirk spun suddenly, and I braced for a reprimand.
244
But it was Spock he caught in his net. "You told me
about a transwarp accident while you were aboard
Piper's ship."
"Yes," Spock acknowledged. "Quite unsettling."
"Unsettling enough to disable those ships?"
Spock hadn't thought of that, judging from his ex-
pression. As he added up the elements, Sarda, Perren,
and I turned to watch, and wait.
With a nod of contemplation, Spock said, "Possi-
bly."
Kirk inhaled deeply. "Describe it."
"I believe improper imbalance in the matter/anti-
matter flow through the holding chamber caused the
trilithium to degenerate. The result is not thrust, but
dimensional warp. Am I correct, Mr. Sarda?"
Sarda shifted his feet and nodded. "You are, sir."
The captain gripped the raft harder. "Can it be
repeated?"
"Repeated in what form?" Spock asked.
"If the transwarp mechanisms were patched into the
Enterprise's defense system, could those conditions
be duplicated?"
Spock held the hot potato for a few seconds, then
tossed it across the bridge. "Mr. Sarda?"
Sarda dropped his gaze as he contemplated his
safety equipment and, knowing him, about a thousand
other alternatives. He hated having his inventions
used for military offense, but it was that or imprison-
ment behind Klingon lines. His innermost struggles
shone faintly behind his eyes. I tensed, wishing there
was some way I could help him. For a long self-
conscious moment, our eyes met. Perhaps he drew
strength from me, for he straightened and faced the
captain. "It could be done," he said. "We could not, in
fact, prevent it from happening, considering the condi-
tion of the Enterprise. Rather than the defense system,
the mechanisms would have to be connected into the
propulsion system, the warp drive itself, then expelled
245
through the sensory in order to do what you require
with any control. However... I do not trust myself to
a task so complicated. At least, not alone. The dangers
to ourselves, with an untested system--"
"I'll help." I was on my feet already. Kirk and
Spock looked at me. Ridiculous! What I knew about
transwarp would fit under a fingernail. Then, in an
instant, I knew what I could do. I rounded on Perren.
My words were potent as sh
arp wind. "You'll help
tOO."
Perren's narrow features paled, but his eyes grew
intense.
"You know what I'm talking about," I pressed. In
my periphery, Kirk and Spock waited, knowing when
silence was the key to winning.
"Yes," Perren murmured. "Yes, I must." He ap-
proached Captain Kirk. "You must let me. I can cut
installation time by two-thirds. I beg you, allow it."
Kirk glared at him, partially in threat, partially in
disbelief, partially in that special way he had of cutting
through the thoughts of others. Put his ship in the
hands of a traitor? Even now, Perren's face was
backed by a tangle of enemy ships firing on each other,
haloed by the fluorescent sparkles of direct hits.
I couldn't stand it. I couldn't let the doubt dangle. I
rushed around the command module in a move I hoped
was dramatic and arresting, until I was nearly at
Perren's side, and faced the captain. "Sir, you've got
to let him. He means it."
Kirk's glare carried a definite how-do-you-know as
it snapped to me, yet he said nothing. I knew I'd better
be right.
"How long?" he demanded.
Perten tensed. "Roughly . . . seventy minutes. An
estimate only, of course."
A commanding hand swept from Perren to Sarda.
"Both of you, get to it." The hand folded into a point,
246
and swung straight at me. "Piper, I want you down
there too."
I swallowed a lump of liability. "Aye, sir. I under-
stand."
A brief glance from me sent Sarda toward the turbo-
lift, Perren close behind, and I brought up the rear
guard, deliberately not picking up one of the discarded
phasers in a vote of faith for Perten. Kirk noticed, and
raised a brow at me as though he knew what I was
thinking. No real surprises there, though. Gambling
was part of the game--sometimes the wiser part. We
both knew it.
I reached the back of the bridge and was about to
join the Vulcans in the turbolift when a crack of energy
struck the port side of Enterprise, and rocked us hard.
My shoulder, with the rest of me behind it, rammed
into the frame of the turbolift, and I managed to catch
myself and hang there until the ship stabilized. In the
wide viewscreen, the unidentified ship streaked out