Kirk soon saw that his shots were doing little if any harm, producing nothing but sparks on the flanks of the armored jumpship. Staring into the darkness, he could clearly make out the figure of the pilot seated in the cockpit. For a moment, John Harrison was staring directly at him. There was no anger in the man’s expression, no unrestrained fury. For all the emotion he was showing as he continued raining mass murder on the interior of the tower, Harrison might as well have been a machine. In the brief instant he locked eyes with the desperate Kirk, there was no sign of strain, no indication of stress. No humanity.
Putting down the useless rifle, Kirk retreated into the building. There had to be something else he could use to put an end to the massacre. Something, anything. He looked around wildly. There was nothing in the offices he had entered that could be used to take down a flock of seagulls from the Farallons, much less a Federation jumpship. Desks, projection units, personal effects—he was about to give up and race back to check on Pike’s condition when he spotted the fire panel in the far wall.
Fashioned of an unyielding carbon fiber designed to withstand the enormous pressure it had to contain, the thin fire hose coiled in the wall recess could fill a burning suite of offices with retardant in a matter of seconds, smothering an incipient blaze before it had a chance to spread. Unspooling it, Kirk frantically wrapped it around the rifle. That the weapon was still perfectly functional was evident when he used it to blow out the section of wall that framed the broken window.
* * *
Spock raced over to the severely wounded Admiral Pike; their eyes met in recognition an instant before yet another lethal burst from the jumpship struck both the floor of the room and the crawling Pike, sending him spinning to one side.
Marcus, to his credit, had not fled the room. Standing by the entrance to the hall, he fought to direct the activities of an increasing rush of personnel, waving and gesturing frantically. “Get those people out of here!”
As the jumpship was forced to dodge ever wider to evade the increasing stream of defensive fire from inside the building, Spock managed to reach Pike. Already in shock, mouth agape, the admiral now focused his gaze on something distant and unseen. Grabbing him under his arms, the science officer dragged his limp body out of immediate danger.
* * *
Rushing to the edge of the now-windowless gap and sliding to his knees, Kirk clutched the tied-off rifle. Eighty stories below, the main quad beckoned. Lights everywhere swept the sky as they tried to focus on the jumpship, whose weaponry continued to pour death and destruction into the tower. As ground-based defenses began to gather around the base of the tower, Harrison kept his craft bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter. He would dart upward, then down at a sharp angle, cut around one flank of the building before returning to let off another burst at the interior.
Forcing himself to bide his time, Kirk waited until the jumpship came closer. Then he rose and flung the pulse rifle as hard and far as he could in the direction of the deadly craft’s starboard cylindrical air intake. One of the office desks would have served his purpose even better had he been able to tie it to the fire hose, but though strong, he was no Vulcan. The rifle would have to do.
Striking the jumpship’s intake, the weapon was immediately sucked inside. Its arrival presented no difficulty to the craft’s sophisticated propulsion system. Neither did the slender fire hose that remained fastened to the weapon. The considerable section of wall to which the sturdy end of the high-tech hose was secured, however, was a different matter entirely. As the massive chunk of free-pour polycrete and reinforcing metal mesh was ripped from its place, Kirk had to dive to one side to avoid it. Just missing taking off his head, the irregular mess whooshed past, ripping through office furniture as if it were made of cardboard.
Following the pulse rifle and the coil of hose, the heavy chunk of building slammed into the jumpship’s critical intake. This was followed by an eruption of light, flames, and a thunderous explosion. Belching smoke, the fatally stricken ship shuddered, lost power, heeled to one side, and started to spin uncontrollably, picking up speed as it did so.
Rushing to the open edge of the building, Kirk looked out. A single figure was discernible through the transparent cockpit. For the second time, the two men locked eyes: one staring downward with satisfaction, the other peering upward through the transparent canopy and—unreadable.
Swirls of white light from the cockpit grew so intense that Kirk was forced to momentarily glance away. When he managed to look back, there was no sign of the jumpship’s pilot. Kirk was still pondering that when the crippled craft smashed into the side of the building. Flames erupted from within. For an instant, he thought it might hang there, eighty stories above the ground. Then it broke free of its temporary perch to plunge to the paved quad far below. When it smashed into the ground, it sent up gouts of flame and debris that fell far short of reaching him. Clinging to dangling cables for support, Kirk gazed hard at the remnants of the ruined jumpship.
For a long moment there was no sound but the wind whipping in off the bay. That, and the distant cries of wounded officers and security personnel seeping out from the battered conference room nearby.
* * *
Within that scene of fire and destruction, an intent Spock gently laid a hand on Pike’s face and commenced to do what he could. Too late. Not even a Vulcan meld could retrieve and heal that which was no longer present.
* * *
Returning to the scene of the attack, Kirk found Spock peering helplessly down at Pike’s limp form. The admiral’s eyes were still open. While there was no expression on the Vulcan’s face, there was bereavement in his eyes as he removed his right hand from the dead admiral’s head. Kirk put the tips of his fingers against Pike’s throat. The gesture only confirmed what the science officer did not say. Both survivors—one fully human, the other only half—exchanged a wordless glance. As Spock looked on in silence, Kirk lowered his head and fought to stem the rush of emotion that surged within him.
Christopher Pike was dead. The man who had not only stimulated Kirk to enter Starfleet, but who had quietly mentored him, encouraged him, chastised him when necessary, and grudgingly praised him when possible, would no longer be there to provide advice, suggestions, consolation, and yes, discipline, when needed. Another father lost. Another of the very, very few with whom Kirk could reveal himself, with whom he could be open and straightforward and . . . innocent . . . was gone. Wordlessly, he rose, resting a hand on the science officer’s shoulder for support. Spock did not object.
Relief and medical teams were pouring into the conference room. Hasty organization was taking the place of chaos. The injured were being evacuated, the dead placed to one side. Kirk might have assisted, but his heart wasn’t in it. Given his present state of mind, it was more likely he would have simply been in the way.
That’s what Pike would have told him.
* * *
Kirk did not get much sleep that night. His mind was filled with the sights and sounds of destruction and of men and women dying. Every time he would start to drift off, a face would catch his attention. It was that of John Harrison, shrinking away from him, trapped in the crippled jumpship, falling toward his death eighty floors below, and utterly, voicelessly, indifferent to his apparently imminent destruction. Falling—and vanishing, in spirals of white luminance. What had happened, there at that moment fraught with death and devastation? A brilliant flare, and then nothing. Was the man dead? Kirk doubted it. There had been too much purpose in that burst of luminosity—and in that preternaturally calm upward-gazing stare.
His communicator demanded attention, shattering his contemplation. “Yeah?” he said toward the unit.
The instant he heard who was on the other end, Kirk was fully attentive.
“Jim,” Scotty was saying, “I searched the wreckage of the jumpship. You’re not gonna believe what I found. You’ve got ta come, right away.”
* * *
“D’you have an
y idea what we’re dealin’ with here, man?”
Belying the bedlam of the previous night, the day had dawned clear and sunny. Only the presence of crews working atop the headquarters’ tower and around the crash scene at its base indicated that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. Repairs were being made to the eightieth floor, and the wreckage of the shattered jumpship was being hauled away. Not far from the damaged headquarters, oceangoing commerce on the bay moved normally.
Waiting for Kirk and Spock near the building’s undamaged entrance, Montgomery Scott was cradling a piece of debris.
Kirk arrived out of breath. “Scotty. I got your message.” He frowned at the mangled lump of metal, metallic glass, and synthetics. “Please tell me that you’ve got something that’ll help us find who did this.”
The Enterprise’s chief engineer hefted the mass of battered and fused material. Within its depths, like spots of color in a pointillist painting, could be seen individual components that were still recognizable. Most were shocked and scorched, but some stood out as nearly intact.
“This was recovered from the crashed jump-ship.” Turning, Scott nodded at where the salvage team was still picking apart the remaining wreckage. “Nobody was quite sure what it might be, so images were flashed around. As soon as I saw it, I came down and requested possession. Close inspection confirms that I saw what I thought I saw . . . I think.”
Kirk cocked his head to one side. “So what is it you saw that you say you think you saw? Something worth saying?”
“I’ll say.” Scott turned serious. “If I’m right, and I’d bet ’alf the contents of the best back bar in Aberdeen that I am, this is the remains of a portable transwarp beamin’ device. No wonder the scrap iron boys cuttin’ apart that mess o’ a jumpship didn’t recognize it!”
Kirk stared hard at the engineer. “You know what happened here?”
The chief nodded somberly. “Makes no sense. Word is it might be some kind o’ personal vendetta or somethin’.”
“We’ll learn the motivation when we find the perpetrator.” Reaching out, Kirk tapped the ruined transporter. “Do you think there’s enough math left in this thing’s memory for you to trace where he went?”
“I already did, sir.” Scott’s tone was unusually grim. “And you’re not gonna like it.”
Though the device Scott cradled showed ample evidence of the damage it had suffered, one readout was intact. It showed only a simple number:
2314-3456
Kirk knew what it signified, and it only confirmed what the chief engineer had said.
He did not like it at all.
VI
The sheer number of security and administrative personnel packed into the office of Admiral Marcus made it difficult for anyone else to enter. Kirk and Spock lingered outside until the crowd had thinned considerably before deciding they could wait no longer. Ignoring frowns of disapproval and annoyed stares, they pushed their way forward until they stood in front and slightly to one side of Marcus’s desk.
Though he spoke with resolve and clarity, the admiral had the look of a horse rode too long and put up wet. Kirk found himself sympathizing with the senior Starfleet officer. The higher up that one rose in the chain of command, the greater the pressure to perform. An emergency situation like the present one soon separated out those who could handle stress from those who crumpled beneath its weight.
“. . . triple security details outside all major Federation facilities: Paris, Rome, Sydney. All automatics are to be activated, and I want anyone requesting access to a sensitive area to have to pass visual inspection based on the latest distributed data, as well as face-to-face querying from a live human being. Right now we can’t trust security to mere machines. I want yellow alert imposed on—”
“Admiral.” Kirk spoke rapidly to get Marcus’s attention. Before the senior officer could lay into him for interrupting the string of orders he was unspooling, Kirk charged ahead. “There’s no need for the enhanced security, sir. Not if your intention is to take him into custody. He’s no longer on Earth.” With the image of the dying Admiral Pike still at the forefront of his thoughts, it was all Kirk could do to maintain his composure. The fact that the ever-unshakable Spock was standing behind him helped. Aware that everyone including Marcus was now staring at him, Kirk breathlessly continued.
“He’s on Qo’noS, sir.”
Dead silence enveloped the room until Marcus spoke anew. “Gentlemen, ladies, others—give us a minute.”
Casting curious glances at the two newly arrived officers, the security and administration personnel filed out of the room. The quiet that took the place of their absence was almost painful. Marcus did not allow it to last.
“Qo’noS?”
Kirk straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“And you know this how?”
“Mr. Montgomery Scott, my—former—chief engineer, is an expert on many things, from the newest warp drive to the oldest scotch. Something in the widely disseminated visuals of the wreck of the jumpship Harrison used to attack Starfleet caught Mr. Scott’s attention. At his request, this object was delivered to him. Upon more detailed examination and analysis, it was determined to be a portable transwarp beaming device. Externally it was a mess, but internally, much of it remained intact. By examining its innards and its inner records, Mr. Scott was able to divine the receive point from its last use.” His gaze flicked upward. “Obviously no matter how advanced its tech, a unit small enough to fit on a jumpship wouldn’t have the power to transport anyone much farther than orbit. Under Mr. Scott’s probing, the device gave up a whole sequence of numbers and coordinates. Harrison transported to an automated cargo station. Before anyone on a nearby inhabited monitoring station could think to question what he was doing there, he had accessed its heavy-load transporter to continue on his way. According to Mr. Scott, that transporter was employed to relay him to an unmanned vessel in orbit around the moon. Subsequent inspection revealed that another unauthorized transwarp device had been placed on it and wired into the empty ship’s engine. A device powerful enough, if its entire energy output was compiled and utilized for a single massive burst, to send someone willing to take the risk of attenuated physical dissemination and consequent serious injury to a single destination anywhere in this galactic region. The effort burned out the device, but a record of the attempt was retained.” Kirk paused. “Mathematically, at least, it appears to have been successful.”
“Very clever,” Spock could not keep from commenting. “It would take an exceptionally robust human to survive such a radical transporting. Even a Vulcan would be stressed. But if successful, the perpetrator would be safe. Burning itself out with the effort, the transwarp device could not be used by anyone to follow.”
Marcus listened carefully to both men, missing nothing, before nodding that he understood. “So Harrison’s gone to the Klingon homeworld. Is he defecting? Or just defective?”
“There’s no way to know for sure, sir,” Kirk murmured, “without interviewing him for ourselves.”
Marcus shook his head slowly. “Somehow I don’t think John Harrison is going to sit still and answer questions, even if you could capture him alive. Which you cannot.”
“That remains to be seen, sir,” Spock pointed out. “The recordings preserved by the now-useless transwarp transporter were very precise. Not only can we tell that he transported to Qo’noS, we can resolve the transmitting to a specific corner of that world. It is apparent that he has taken refuge in the Ketha Province. His choice of Qo’noS as a refuge now makes sense. He likely believes that even if the Federation can determine where he went, it will not dare to follow. At the same time, he can hardly be certain of a welcome by the Klingons. So he transports to their homeworld, but chooses to materialize in a region that has been uninhabited for decades.”
Marcus frowned. “How do we know this Ketha Province is uninhabited?”
The science officer continued. “The Klingons make no secret of its long-ago abando
nment, sir. There was a plague in what was formerly a heavily developed region that their medical science could not counteract. The most ruthless methods were employed to finally stamp it out.”
“I’d rather not ponder what passes for ‘ruthless methods’ among the Klingons. And this province has not been repopulated since?”
“No, Admiral. It is a well-known fact among those who are familiar with Klingon history and society. While the Klingon Empire has expanded to other worlds, this one province on their own homeworld remains deserted, rather like the obverse of a national park. Its extensive central conurbation and abandoned industrial facilities remain a place to be noted but shunned, not visited.”
“He must be hiding there, sir.” Kirk stepped up to the edge of the desk. “Spock’s analysis is correct.” Beside and slightly behind him, the science officer half raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “He knows if we even go near Klingon space, much less their homeworld, without a formal invitation, that would be all the excuse they’d need to ignite all-out war. They’d welcome it, I suspect. Starfleet can’t go after him. Not formally. If we tell the Klingons there’s a human refugee wanted on Earth for mass murder, they’d delight in giving him sanctuary just to spite us. That’s if they haven’t done so already. We both know that a formal Federation request for extradition sent through normal diplomatic channels would be laughed at. But if the Enterprise can get in close enough to insert a small landing party—say, one hoping to quietly study the lingering effects of the plague that ravaged the Ketha Province . . . ”
Marcus let out a derisive snort. “And if the Klingons discover you . . . ?”
Kirk smiled. “We’ll say that we just wanted to do a quick study and be gone. That much is true. We’ll add that we did it without telling them because we know that if we’d asked they never would have given their permission. They’ll appreciate that: It’s in line with typical Klingon humor. They might still start shooting, but they’ll appreciate it. Hopefully we won’t have to employ that excuse. If we move fast enough, we can get in and out before they can detect our presence. We’ll have surprise on our side. By the time they get over their shock at having their planetary defenses breached, we’ll be warping out of the system, and no harm done. My guess is they’ll be too embarrassed to raise a stink.”
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