Star Trek - TOS - Battlestations

by Diane Carey

  from one another in classic formation, their shapes

  flattened into graceful disks and grew limbs. Sound

  caught in my throat. I choked it out.

  "Captain, hold your fire! Starships!"

  All eyes struck the viewer.

  "Spock, confirm!" Kirk snapped.

  Spock hung a receiver in his ear and fingered his

  controls. He met the captain's disbelieving gaze.

  "Confirmed, sir. Commodore of the Fleet Lyle Craig

  aboard U.S.S. Hood--"

  The captain burst to his feet.

  264 265

  Spock went on, his voice strong now. "Captain

  Jarboe on the U.S.S. Yorktown... Captain Andreoni

  on board Exeter, and Captain Long with the destroyer

  Majestic. Commodore Craig suggests we sit back and

  .. watch the nickelodeon." His brow rose over the

  unfamiliar word.

  But it wasn't unfamiliar to the captain. His face was

  alight with triumph as we watched the starships move

  in around us, and saw the sudden action of the sur-

  prised Klingon cruisers. Kirk slapped the command

  console with both hands and roared, "Advise they are

  welcome, Mr. Spock!"

  "With a capital 'well,'" I whispered. We made it

  work, Scanner. Rest easy.

  The United Federation of Planets dumped politics

  on the floor and moved in as ff to a trumpet carillon.

  Three Klingon battleships wheeled to meet four

  Federation starships, and we could nearly taste the

  surprise. From our Alert-darkened bridge, we

  watched as the starships took on the battle cruisers

  and the destroyer Majestic peeled off after the uniden-

  tified ship that was still haunting us. Two of the

  Klingon vessels suddenly moved in on Enterprise.

  They were going to use us as a backdrop--a safety net.

  Kirk saw it. His sharp words cut through my fasci-

  nation with the screen. "Piper, take the helm! Plot a

  course astern, z-minus thirty degrees. Lock and exe-

  cute. Give them a clear field to open fire. Sarda, arm

  photon torpedoes. Wide dispersal. Fire!"

  I should have known he wouldn't just sit back and

  watch the nickelodeon, whatever that was. Jim Kirk

  would fire a bologna sandwich out the photon tubes if

  he had to, but he'd do something.

  Photons burst through inner space, blasting a

  Klingon ship out of our way as Enterprise descended

  gracefully out of the center of battle. The Klingon ship

  pivoted away, its hull dazzling with crackles of energy,

  and nearly collided with the nameless forked ship as

  266

  the latter reared away from our fire. We could nearly

  taste their rage.

  Cut free from us and roaring like teased animals, the

  Klingon ship recovered and whirled around on an

  imaginary axis, bringing its full disruptor banks to bear

  on us. A bright glow opened on their firing ports, and

  the bolt streaked toward our bare port hull. Instinc-

  tively, we braced for an impact that would tear the

  skin right off the ship.

  But the cavalry was still here. From the top of our

  viewer came a gleaming ivory disk, immense and

  instantly blanking out the whole screen. Massive call

  letters flashed by, black against the creamy plated hull,

  and we heard the thunder of disruptor fire striking full

  shields. Hood!

  The other starship flooded past our viewer and was

  gone almost as suddenly as she had appeared. She'd

  taken the bolt on her own shields, leaving us intact to

  move downward and out of the way. Now she was

  turning on the Klingon who had attacked us, slicing

  hard into the damage we'd done, redoubling it.

  We descended into a clear spaceway. Hood and

  Yorktown moved in over us, taking our place among

  the clutter of ships. They opened fire. The Empire

  cruisers cut away suddenly, swinging after each other

  in retreat, and disappeared into light speed.

  Exeter was chewing Romulan bones. By now, there

  was nothing left of the Praetor's ships to return to his

  distant Neutral Zone. Even the dangerous forked ship,

  after firing three final shots on Yorktown and learning

  what it was like to have a starship turn on it, turned on

  a pointed hullfoil and streaked into open space. Majes-

  tic wheeled after them, nipping at their heels.

  "They did it!" I shouted. At least one foot left the

  deck. From opposite sides of the bridge, Sarda and I

  shared a penetrating gaze. His relief was plain. He

  slumped back on the weapons control console, sur-

  veyed the screen, and looked at me again. Against my

  267

  flight suit, I raised a thumb in silent tribute. Perhaps it

  was the space between us, or the red dimness of the

  bridge, but I thought he almost smiled.

  Kirk rested a hand on his command chair, but said

  nothing. That was all right; he didn't need to say

  anything.

  Spock was standing near communications, receiving

  a message. "Sir, Hood is hailing us." His voice was

  soft now with that charismatic smoothness that said

  the danger was over and we had survived in high style.

  "Commodore Craig reports this sector is clear. He and

  Ambassador Shamirian are awaiting your reply."

  Kirk's cheeks grew round with a repressed grin. He

  pounced on the intercom. "Ben! You old sea gypsy.

  You're late."

  "Now, Jim, you know as well as I do what it takes to

  round up four starships. Pardon my saying so, but

  Enterprise looks a little ill around the mainmast."

  "Don't worry about my ship," Jim Kirk countered,

  pleased with himself. "We're still in one piece." "I never worry about you, Jim."

  Another voice interrupted now. "Jim, this is Craig.

  Don't ask me how you stayed in that one piece in the

  middle of a scramble. I'm impressed right down to my

  birthday suit."

  "That's one I owe you, Lyle."

  "Deduct it from the three I owe you. What else can

  we do for you while we arrange to tow you to star-

  base?"

  "We have a medical emergency here," Kirk told

  him. "We need as many medical personnel as you can

  spare, a damage control team, and a skeleton crew

  while my crew recuperates."

  "You've got it. Patch me through to Leonard. I can

  tie in my ship's surgeon and let them share details. No

  sense in us captains horning in." "Thanks again, Lyle."

  "Glad to help, Jim. Craig out."

  268

  The captain settled into his command chair and

  surveyed the bridge before turning to Spock. "Mr.

  Spock," he said, a definite lilt in his voice, "secure

  from Red Alert. Patch our sickbay through to Hood."

  "My pleasure, Captain." Another lilt, clear as bells.

  The bridge lights came back on.

  Within an hour we were under tow, this time toward

  home territory. Yorktown and Hood were towing En-

  terprise, and behind us, Majestic was towing Rex.

  Exeter had stayed behind in the Ciatella Star System to

  make sure the area was sec
ure. Starbase Four had

  been alerted and was preparing its space dock to

  accommodate a heavy cruiser. Breathing time.

  And that's just about all I was doing breathing. And

  gazing in disbelief at the beautiful starships ahead of us

  as we rolled through open space. When Captain Kirk

  appeared in my periphery, I hardly noticed.

  "Everything all right, Commander?"

  "Hm? Oh . . . yes, sir, of course. Everything's

  fine," I said, trying to convince myself. I wasn't used

  to this. I kept waiting for things to start going wrong

  again. "Captain.. 2'

  His eyes narrowed. "I thought so. What is it?"

  "Sir... what's going to happen to Perren? I mean,

  what do we do with a Vulcan? Lock him up and throw

  away all that brilliance? He did help us..."

  "Yes, and I'm sure the Judicial Committee at Star

  Fleet Command will take that into consideration. I'm

  going to submit a recommendation that he be re-

  manded to the custody of his home planet. We'll let the

  Vulcans decide. That's equitable, I think. Don't

  you?"

  This time I couldn't stop the nonregulation sigh of

  relief. "Yes, sir, I sure do."

  He stayed by me for a few minutes. Together we

  watched the elegant starships as they towed us along.

  Finally, he urged, "What else?"

  269

  I looked at him. He was watching me carefully, his

  head at a slight angle. How did he always know?

  But he did know. I made no more attempts to hide it.

  I looked once again out into space. "That unidentified

  ship..."

  The captain nodded, and clasped his hands behind

  his back. He thought about it for a moment before

  answering. "A blemish on the art of war, Piper," he

  told me. "You don't always get the comfort of know-

  ing."

  At least he understood. It made me feel better. The

  sniggering doubt would always remain, but at least it

  was a shared doubt. Now only one question remained.

  "Sir, how did you get out of trouble at Starfleet

  Command?"

  He resisted a grin and tipped his hat. "Trouble is

  only a minor annoyance when you've engineered it

  yourself. And don't worry. The assault charges against

  you were dropped due to extenuating circumstances."

  "Before I ever laid a hand on those security people,

  I'll bet."

  Now he did smile. Then he said, "You'd win."

  I shook my head and sighed. The captain watched

  me passively.

  "We've got a lot of cleaning up to do," he said. "Go

  to your quarters and get some rest."

  "My quarters, sir? But I thought--"

  "You're still officially assigned to my command."

  He paused then. "Banana Republic or not, Enterprise

  is still your home ship."

  Swelling in the compliment, I hardly knew what to

  say anymore. I let my hips rest against the bridge rail

  and, finally, I relaxed in his company. "I seem to be

  thanking you a lot lately, sir."

  A little shrug softened the soldier in him. "And we

  don't thank you enough. It evens out. Go on. Get

  some rest."

  I flexed my shoulders. "Aye, sir. I will."

  270

  "Oh, and Piper--"

  "Sir?"

  "The Annual Atlantic Wind Ships Race is coming

  up. I need crew. Interested?"

  The deck of Enterprise felt as if it was surging on a

  wave. "Just try setting sail without me," I said.

  "Wouldn't think of it. Good night, Commander."

  "Fair weather, Captain."

  271

  Chapter Thirteen

  "A little suffering is good for the soul."

  --The Corbomite Maneuver

  SICKBAY WAS A ZOO. Several doctors, nurses, and

  orderlies had beamed over from the three ships escort-

  ing us and were preparing to beam back to their own

  ships with groups of our ill crewpeople. All four sick-

  bays were hard at work trying to ease the aftereffects

  of the heavy drugging. Some people were on their feet.

  Others were still unconscious. Many still hovered in

  between. Sarda was here already, apparently for the

  same reason that brought me here before following the

  captain's suggestion to rest.

  Scanner was one of those in-betweens still in bed,

  but the light had returned to his eyes and the whip to

  his tongue.

  "Piper! You daughter of a snake. How are yawl?"

  I tweeked the forefinger that waggled at me and said,

  "You don't want to know. Are you all fight?"

  "Naw, I died. I'm just here as an example of what

  not to do."

  Sarda offered a straighter answer. "Merete esti-

  mates he will be duty-fit in a day." The sentence

  sounded awkward until I realized I'd never heard him

  call Merete anything but "Doctor." Sarda had

  changed. Not for the human, but for the better.

  Scanner tugged at the lapel of my flight suit. "So

  how's it gonna feel carryin' a rank of full Com-

  mander?"

  272

  I backed off a step. "Oh, no, not again! Not a

  chance, not a prayer! Maybe they'll promote you, but

  they're not going to do that to me again, not for a long,

  long, long time! I'll resign first!"

  "Okay, okay... forget I mentioned it."

  "You'd better forget you mentioned it, because ff

  Star Fleet gets any bright ideas I'll know where they

  came from."

  "Hey, this is me forgettin'." He held his hands up in

  surrender.

  Luckily for him, a roll of laughter from a group of

  recovering crewpeople distracted me from my reaction

  to that unsavory idea. "What's going on over there?"

  "Oh, nothin'," Scanner said. "Really nothin'."

  I looked at Sarda. A Vulcan version of a shrug

  tightened his shoulders. "Judd has evidently rigged

  some holographs into the patients' lounge, to entertain

  the crew as they recuperate. I have not as yet seen

  them, but they seem to be efficacious."

  "Are you telling me," I began, "that we actually

  have a visual record of Scanner's idea of entertain-

  ment? What is it, Scanner? Old Laurel and Hardy

  tapes? Films of test flight crashes? What?"

  "Ain't teHin' 2' Whether he wanted to tell or not, his

  cheeks grew rosy.

  "This I've got to see."

  "Piper, it's dull, I'm telling you!"

  "Sure. I know a setup when I see one. Come on,

  Sarda."

  We elbowed our way through the lump of crewpeo-

  ple--easy, because most of them were still weak.

  Laughter is the best medicine, Confucius or somebody

  once said, and it showed in the blanched faces around

  us as health slowly returned. When we got through to

  the specially rigged holo platform, I saw why. I also

  remembered that a certain Tyrannosaurus Rex lover

  had been armed with a tricorder during a particularly

  opportune moment.

  273

  The group rippled with laughter again, in time for me

  to see a small holographic version of myself, engaged

  in a vi
gorous dance. Veils whipped in and out of the

  image periphery, as did a grasping Klingon hand from

  below. Veils!

  Sarda's voice was fuel on the fire. "Piper, I had no

  idea you were so... athletic."

  "Scanner!"

  It took three strong orderlies, but eventually peace

  reigned again and I was forced to accept my share of it.

  In a ship still empty of most of its crew, I discovered

  what quiet really meant. It was nice, for a change;

  soothing. My quarters were the same as I had left

  them Merete's bunk pleated and pin straight, mine a

  little rumpled. I never could make a bed.

  That didn't matter now anyway. I planned to add to

  the rumples. I ordered all the lights off except the one

  tiny courtesy bulb in the head. Darkness folded

  around me, welcome as a warm cloak, and my head

  felt like an iron ball when it hit the pillow.

  One deep breath to usher me into sleep---and the

  door buzzer sounded.

  Ease off, guys, I'm under orders to sleep.

  My voice triggered the door. "Come."

  The doorway was dark, and as the panel opened,

  bland corridor light molded around a stock authority.

  "Commander Piper..."

  I struggled into a sitting position. "Oh---Mr. Scott.

  Come in, please."

  Still silhouetted, he moved into my lightless quar-

  ters. "Lassie... I'd like a worrrd wi' you."