She stepped clear, turned, and exited the transporter bay. Even at a distance Kirk could see that her eyes were moist.
“Time, gentlemen.” From his position behind the main transporter controls, Montgomery Scott eyed both officers solemnly. First Kirk, then Spock, stepped up onto the transporter platform. Turning, they placed their hands behind their backs and positioned themselves in readiness. Spock’s mind was focused laser-like on the dangerous task on which they were about to embark. Kirk’s was—momentarily distracted.
“Her first name is…” He broke off, careful not to stray from the transporter pad on which he stood. “How’d you pull that one off?”
Leveled straight ahead, Spock’s gaze, like his attention, did not wander. “I have no comment on the matter.” Kirk just stood on his own pad, grinning at the science officer.
“If there’s any common sense to their ship design and if it relates in any practical way to what we know of smaller Romulan vessels, then I’ll be puttin’ ye right in the cargo bay,” Scott told them. “Big enough open space to ensure you don’t materialize inside one of the crew. Considerin’ they’re not here to pick up a load of souvenirs, there shouldn’t be a soul in sight. Good luck to ye.”
Kirk nodded. There was little left to say. There was only to do.
“Energize, Mister Scott.”
Slower than Spock’s or Sulu’s fingers but, if anything, more sure of themselves, the engineer’s hands moved over the transporter controls. Light flickered within the bay, and in a matter of seconds the two men were gone, taking with them the hopes of every man, woman, and Vulcan on board the Enterprise.
And the future of planet Earth.
It turned out that Scott’s physics were far more accurate than his suppositions. Kirk and Spock materialized right where the engineer said they should, in the center of the Narada’s rambling, multicompartmented cargo bay.
It was not, however, empty.
Half a dozen crew reacted with surprise as the two Starfleet officers appeared in their midst, so close that there was barely time to react. Arriving mentally ready for combat, human and Vulcan lit into their foes with a deadly combination of speed, skill, and desperation. Unlike the Romulans, they had nowhere to go if they went down.
Fortunately, only one of the cargo bay workers was armed. Singling him out, Kirk engaged him immediately. Mindful of the difficulty he’d had with hand-to-hand combat atop the drill platform in Vulcan’s atmosphere, he made sure to go on the offensive immediately and not let up. Being general crew, this Romulan proved easier to get a hand on than the more highly trained specialist Kirk had tackled high above Vulcan. That left Spock to deal with all the remaining Romulans.
It was difficult to tell, but it was possible that he was pleased.
Fighting the Vulcan was like trying to grapple with a shadow. Spock was a blur—dodging a wild swing while knocking one crew member unconscious, leaning back just out of the reach of clutching hands and then putting his assailant on the deck, spinning around to snap the heel of his palm upward to crack open the nose of yet another. Though the Romulans swarmed him, they might as well have been one instead of five. When one broke away from the fight in an attempt to get within range of an audio pickup, Spock found just the right piece of cargo to fling in his direction. The Romulan reached the wall panel containing the comm unit—and slammed into it, thanks to the cylindrical container that struck him precisely in the back of his head. As the Romulan slid down the wall, a fully energized Spock turned swiftly to confront his next attacker.
There were no more attackers.
Breathing hard but evenly, Kirk surveyed the carnage that had been wrought by the Enterprise’s science officer. Everything had happened so fast he couldn’t be sure, but it occurred to him that Spock had put down the five Romulans in order of size, beginning with the biggest and finishing up with the least threatening.
He even fought logically, the younger officer realized. Doubtless he played a mean game of three-dimensional chess.
At Kirk’s feet the Romulan whom he had been battling emitted a final pained snuffling sound before going motionless. Kirk eyed him, then the five enemy Spock had rendered unconscious.
“Mine had a gun,” he pointed out, perhaps a bit self-consciously.
“Indeed he did.” There was not a trace of condescension in the science officer’s voice. “I am trained in the Vulcan martial art of Suus Mahna. Techniques for dealing with multiple opponents are among the first that an acolyte strives to master.”
Kirk moved to where one of the Romulans who had challenged Spock was groaning and trying to sit up. “See if you can master the whereabouts of the device.”
While his companion stood guard over the dazed Romulan, Spock knelt and placed his hands on the alien’s temples and closed his eyes. His fingers appraised—knowingly, precisely. After a long moment he looked up at Kirk.
“I am unable to meld with this Romulan. There are subtle differences in their physiology. Or it may be that my traditional skills are lacking. Whatever the reason, I cannot draw forth the information we need.”
“Then we’ll have to resort to traditional human skills.”
Spock frowned. “In what sense?”
“Punch him in the face. Make him talk. Suus Mahna his ass!”
The science officer sounded doubtful. “Suus Mahna is only intended for self-defense. This individual is no longer a threat.”
Kirk rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Pretend he’s a threat. That’s an order!”
“Vulcan strictures insist that the techniques of Suus Mahna should only be employed on occasions of…”
Kirk glared at his fellow officer. “This is one of the people who destroyed your homeworld and is preparing to blow up mine! Excuse me if I mistakenly interpret him as a threat!”
Spock replied softly. “I take your point.” Bending over, he proceeded to ram his closed fist square into the Romulan’s face while making sure his words were directed as much as possible toward the tiny translation device Uhura had fastened to his uniform.
“What is your ship computer prefix code?”
Smirking, the Romulan spat green blood at his tormentor. With the methodical precision and relentless consistency of a machine, Spock continued the questioning session while Kirk divided his attention between the ongoing interrogation and the still unoccupied corridors that entered the vast cargo bay.
“Tell [punch] me [punch] the [punch] code [PUNCH!]…”
The torrent of tightly contained tornadic plasma that roared forth from the mouth of the Romulan drill platform was directed with precision. As at Vulcan, it could have been aimed at any point on the Earth’s surface. The most practical place for deployment and the one that would have produced the quickest result was the Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean. There the plasma would have hissed its way through kilometers of water in mere seconds to strike the planetary crust at one of its thinnest points.
But the individual behind the drill and the eventual obliteration of the planet it was piercing was not in a hurry. It would all be over soon enough, this second induced armageddon, and he wanted to remember it in all its annihilating glory. There was no rush. Providentially, the rest of Starfleet was infinitely far away engaging in pointless maneuvers in the Laurentian sector. The few armed atmospheric aircraft that took to the clear skies and made feeble attempts to attack the drill were effortlessly brushed aside by the Narada’s infinitely greater firepower. Earth’s multiple automated defensive stations had been electronically disabled, thanks to the codes extracted from the admirably stubborn but eventually responsive prisoner Pike. The captured captain had resisted the interrogation manfully, but he was only composed of flesh and blood. He was not even aware that he had surrendered the information necessary to allow the Narada to safely assume its unassailable geosynchronous position above the west coast of North America.
A valiant representative of his species, Nero mused, however futile his efforts at resistance. The co
mmander of the Narada had already decided that his brave prisoner would live. Pike would comprise one of several interesting exhibits to be returned to the triumphant Romulus of this time frame.
“Magnification,” he commanded. The science officer complied, and the view on the forward viewscreen increased exponentially.
The view showed the plasma stream boring into the rock beneath an extensive saltwater bay. What could be discerned of the surrounding terrain was exceptionally beautiful. It was no wonder, he thought, that Starfleet had chosen this particular coastal location for the site of Starfleet Headquarters and its noisome Academy. Reports from the drill’s sensors indicated that the city itself sat atop a major but now stabilized earthquake fault. Doubly ironic, then, that it should be the site for the insertion of the Red Matter that would initiate the reaction that would destroy the planet. Ironic, and also fitting. The commander of the Narada was pleased.
He considered himself, in his own megalomaniacal fashion, also very logical.
On the bridge of the Enterprise a broad expanse of readouts simultaneously went blank. No amount of effort or attempts at work-arounds were able to restore the flow of information. Several instruments that did continue to function provided the explanation.
“They’ve activated the drill,” Chekov muttered. “We’re now subject to the same interference as we were at Vulcan.”
Turning in her seat, Uhura added confirmation. “Communications and transporter inoperative. I’ve broadcast the usual plethora of amplified queries in an attempt to punch through, without any luck. Distortion is across the board.”
Seated in the command chair, Sulu studied what limited data was available. “We can’t talk to them and we can’t bring them back until the drill goes off-line or is disabled.” He stared at the viewscreen that was opaque with turbulent brown clouds.
“They’re on their own now…”
XVII
The speed with which Spock worked not only an alien input device but one whose layout was both different and advanced in design was breathtaking to see. Looking on, Kirk could barely keep track of the flying fingers. He shook his head in amazement.
“How the hell are you doing this?”
The science officer replied without looking up from what he was doing. “I am familiar with the technology of several other space-going species besides that of Romulus. While the design of this instrumentation is different, it is not so radically advanced that I cannot fill in the divergences with intuition. One plus one equals two no matter where one happens to be in the known cosmos, and the means for generating such a result are not beyond inference to one who is familiar with the basics.”
“Yeah,” Kirk agreed readily. “My sentiments exactly.”
Seconds later a pair of images appeared within the projection screen. One showed a small starship of unique design that resembled nothing Kirk had ever seen before. He said as much to his companion.
“I perceive sufficient design elements to identify it as Vulcan in origin.” Spock indicated a glowing point within the ship schematic. “What you refer to as the Red Matter device is still located on board. It may be too tightly integrated with the ship’s superstructure to be removed.” One finger traced the peculiar torus shape that encircled the rear of the singular craft. “This section appears capable of movement independent from that of the rest of the vessel. I suspect it may have something to do with containing the Red Matter when the ship is in motion.”
The second image was less heartening. Lying on a platform suspended above a pool of liquid in the depths of a dark chamber was the supine body of Christopher Pike. His eyes were closed, and insofar as they could tell from the remote image, he was not moving. A lack of magnification prevented them from discerning if his chest was moving up and down, however slowly.
Spock’s verbal evaluation confirmed what Kirk was seeing.
“We now know that the Red Matter device is on board the small ship in the main hangar—and as you can see, I have also located Captain Pike.”
Kirk tried to will his vision to clarify the image on the screen, to no avail. “Is he alive?”
Spock tuned a couple of inputs. The details they supplied were extraneous and immaterial. “Unknown. This is the cargo bay, and we only have access here to minimal visualizations, not medical information.”
Kirk nodded. “Let’s move.”
As the science officer turned from the Romulan console, he nodded in the direction of the still-unconscious half-dozen crew members. One was covered in green blood.
“They will begin to recover within a short time.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Kirk lengthened his stride. “A short time is all we’ve got. A short time is all everyone on Earth has got. Either we resolve this fast or it won’t matter.” He smiled thinly. “It’s the Matter that matters now.”
This time the vastness of the Narada worked to their advantage.
Only once did they encounter members of the crew. Having no reason to believe intruders might be aboard, and with their own transporter intentionally disabled to prevent any enemy from potentially making forcible use of it (there being no reason to suspect any Federation vessel in this time frame capable of transwarp beaming), Kirk and Spock managed to avoid being seen before continuing on their way.
Resting in the huge main hangar alongside Captain Pike’s shuttlecraft, the strange Vulcan vessel sat open and unguarded. The two officers nevertheless boarded cautiously, not allowing themselves to relax until they stood in the forward cabin. Searching the interior, Kirk was reminded of what Spock had said only moments earlier about utilizing intuition to fill in the blanks in one’s knowledge. Because of his studies at the Academy, the basics of Vulcan flight technology were almost as familiar to Kirk as to the science officer. The panel he was looking for should be…there.
Sure enough, as soon as he hit the intuited place on the most likely console, a friendly voice responded in basic Vulcan. On command it switched to Federation Standard and repeated what it had said.
“Voice print, face, pheromone, body density, and retinal recognition analysis enabled.”
Taking a step back, Kirk gestured to his companion. “Spock, you’ll be piloting the ship alone.”
The science officer had been studying the extensive command layout intently. “Which may be problematic. While I recognize, as did you, certain essential instrumentation, I have to confess that I am unfamiliar with this particular vessel’s design and construction.”
Responding to his voice, the ship immediately sent a scan playing across his features. Other less visible security instruments took note of everything from his height to the color of his eyes to his general respiration. It all took only a couple of seconds.
“Access granted, Ambassador Spock. All ship functions are now at your disposal.”
Kirk’s exaggerated exclamation of surprise did nothing to fool the Vulcan.
“Wow, what a coincidence, huh? Weird.”
It took a moment for the science officer to make certain mental connections. Ambassador Spock, the ship had called him. “You’ll be piloting the ship alone,” Kirk had insisted. Vulcan intuition was applicable to more than just instrumentation.
“Computer,” he asked, “what is your manufacturing origin and date of commission?”
The ship replied without delay. “Stardate twenty-three eighty-seven, commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy under special emergency declaration twelve-oh-eight.”
Spock digested this, then turned to Kirk. “It appears you’ve been keeping rather important information from me.”
Kirk repressed a grin. “You’re just going to have to trust me, Mister Spock. Can you do that?”
“Once again you ask for trust. For a deceiving stowaway who advanced in short order from the would-be instigator of a near-mutiny to becoming acting captain of the same vessel, you certainly ask for a lot of trust.”
Kirk could no longer hold back a smile. “I’m not the shy type.”
&nbs
p; Spock considered this, then nodded thoughtfully. “While I attempt to engage with this vessel, I presume you are going to try and find Captain Pike.”
Kirk shrugged, as if what Spock had just surmised was the most natural thing in the world. “He told me to come and get him. Just following orders. Like I always do.”
The science officer seemed ready to say something else, but every considered comment took time, and time was the one commodity of which they were running short. With a last nod he settled himself into the command seat and resumed his detailed examination of the strange instrumentation. This console should activate the engines, that one communications, the one next to it was new to him but he felt he could puzzle it out, the next…
He could have departed sooner, but he had to wait until Kirk had enough time to exit the hangar—or at least until his fellow officer had moved beyond the nearest blast airlock door. When he felt that sufficient time had passed, he began moving his hands over the gleaming, futuristic cabin controls. A few of the elements that sprang to life were unfamiliar to him. But not those that controlled the impulse engine.
Detecting a rising hum where there should have been only silence, a contingent of crew conversed briefly among themselves before advancing in the direction of the captured Vulcan craft. Unlike their now semiconscious comrades lying in the cargo bay, this group was armed. As they approached the now internally illuminated vessel, they cautiously drew their sidearms. While it was impossible for any enemy to have boarded the Narada, there was no reason to take chances. Perhaps the captain was running a drill, in which case their need to respond appropriately was self-evident. Or possibly a distraught comrade had finally given in to an overwhelming desire to try and return home, even if only by himself.
Soon the leader of the squad was near enough to the Vulcan ship to see that someone was indeed sitting in the forward cabin—someone far too sallow to pass muster as even the most pallid Romulan. Shouts and sidearms arose simultaneously as the Vulcan craft lifted from the deck. Someone pulled their comm unit and started to shout the alarm.
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