by Dayton Ward
Pulling the disruptor from where he had tucked it at his back and beneath his shirt, Kirk felt its weight as he raised his arm. The weapon was still awkward in his hand, but he ignored that as he concentrated on simply aiming the damned thing. In front of him, Vathrael recoiled from his sudden movement, turning to bring up her own disruptor to aim at him as Kirk leveled his weapon at his intended target.
“Kirk!” the Romulan shouted as he fired.
He felt the vibration coursing through his hand as the disruptor whined and spat forth its bolt of controlled energy, which screamed across the space separating him from the control cube hanging from the center of the room. The bolt struck the cube, followed by a second and third salvo as Kirk fired again. This entire gambit, shaky as it was, had relied upon the Romulans focusing on confiscating his and Sortino’s phasers and not considering the possibility that they might be harboring other weapons.
The greater risk, Kirk figured, was firing directly on the sensitive control mechanism even with the disruptor set to a lower power setting. He had no idea how it or the rest of the security system might react, considering the Romulans had already disabled the room’s automated defense weapon. Was there another turret lurking somewhere else in the chamber, or was there some other, possibly lethal countermeasure waiting to be deployed? What other tricks might the long-dead Losira and her creators have hidden up their respective sleeves? Whatever was going to happen, Kirk was certain it would happen in the next handful of seconds.
It took rather less time for fate—or whatever it was that had looked after Kirk on so many occasions over the years as it tolerated even his more aggressive and often outlandish tactics—to choose once more to smile upon him.
The cube’s internal light show accelerated and the patterns it emitted turned from fluid to chaotic as displays and lights began flaring and blinking on various panels around the room. The overhead illumination faded, dropping the room into near darkness broken only by the light cast by the surrounding control consoles. Maybe his shots had only disoriented the cube and this was its way of resetting itself, but there was no way to know for sure. Behind him, Kirk heard the drone of hidden motors as the reinforced hatch began to slide downward.
“Commander!” a male voice shouted. “The door!”
As the door continued to close, Kirk saw Dana Sortino lunge to her right, away from him, as she pulled her own captured disruptor from behind her back. Rather than seek cover, the ambassador was moving forward, searching for a target and firing with seemingly reckless abandon in the general direction of two centurions, prompting the Romulans to drop in search of cover.
That woman is certifiable.
The thought echoed in Kirk’s mind as the door sealed itself, locking everyone within the room. Visibility was compromised due to the diminished lighting, but he was able to see Spock dispatching one of the centurions with a nerve pinch. He was fast, turning to face Vathrael at the same instant the Romulan commander perceived his movements. Rather than shoot him, she blocked his arm before he could reach her neck, then lashed out with her other fist, punching him in the midsection. Spock stumbled in the face of the sudden attack, though he did not fall or even back away. His right hand struck hers, freeing her grip on her disruptor and sending the weapon across the room, where it bounced off a control console.
“Spock!”
Despite his training and experience, the Vulcan seemed to be no match for Vathrael, who Kirk could see possessed formidable unarmed combat skills. Raising his disruptor, he raced forward, taking aim at her back as she kicked Spock with sufficient force to slam him into the nearby wall.
“Commander!” he snapped. “Stop right there!”
Moving with startling speed, Vathrael pivoted on her left foot and ducked just as he pressed the weapon’s firing stud, dropping beneath the energy bolt that tore through the space she had occupied heartbeats earlier. Kirk adjusted his aim, trying to track her, but she was too fast. Her right foot caught the end of the disruptor, and Kirk felt it rip from his hand. He had no time to think about recovering the weapon before Vathrael was closing on him, and then he felt the first strike to his rib cage. Pain exploded in his side and he gasped from the intensity of the punch even as instinct pushed him away from the attack. He felt a hand on his right arm as Vathrael latched on to him, gripping part of his shirt as she tried to move closer. Kirk jerked away from her, twisting his arm until he heard the material of his shirt sleeve begin to tear. The material stretched and Vathrael tried to wrap her hand around it in a bid to keep Kirk from escaping. He saw the next hit coming from his left, and lowered his arm to block the strike. As Vathrael began to pull back her arm he grabbed it, twisting his hand around her bicep. The Romulan responded by swinging at his head with her right fist, which Kirk also deflected. Their movements brought them face-to-face, centimeters from each other just as the room’s lighting stabilized and returned to normal levels, and he now saw the fury in the commander’s eyes.
“Kirk!” she hissed through gritted teeth, followed by something he did not understand, spoken in her native language. There was no way to decipher the invective.
He smashed her face with his forehead.
Stars danced in his vision, but he ignored them along with the sharp ache above his brow, feeling Vathrael sag as she recoiled from the attack. It was enough for him to free his right arm, and he used it to strike a second time. The edge of his hand caught the side of her head, but she held her ground, bringing up her arm in an attempt to retaliate. Kirk, having shaken off most of the pain from Vathrael’s initial assault, pressed forward, landing two fast jabs to her sides and forcing her backward. Wincing in obvious pain, the commander tucked her left arm close to her ribs as though protecting them even as she recovered her footing, and Kirk knew she was readying for another attack. He moved to his right, trying to come at her from her weakened left flank. His eyes locked with hers, and he saw the mounting hatred in the Romulan’s eyes.
So focused was he on trying to anticipate her next move that he was almost caught by surprise when her expression flattened and her body went limp. Only then did Kirk see Spock’s hand on her shoulder. Vathrael collapsed into the Vulcan’s arms, and he lowered her with care to the floor.
“If it’s the last thing I ever do,” Kirk said, catching his breath as he regarded the torn material of his uniform shirt, which had separated at the shoulder, “I’m going to learn how to do that.”
“I remain optimistic, Captain,” Spock replied, rising to his feet. “I hope that you did not take offense at her suggestion regarding improper physical relations with your ancestors.”
Straightening what remained of his tunic, Kirk eyed the unconscious Romulan. “Is that what that was?” He and Spock turned to see that Ambassador Sortino had done an admirable job subduing the other Romulans. The two who remained conscious were now under the watchful eye of Uhura and Boma, both of whom now wielded the disruptors Sortino had given them.
“Very nicely done, Ambassador,” Kirk said.
Sortino smiled as she recovered the phasers confiscated from the landing party and held one out to him. “Are you kidding? I haven’t had this much excitement in years. And didn’t I tell you to call me Dana?”
The comment evoked a chuckle from Kirk as he made his way over to Boma. “Lieutenant, are you all right?”
Boma nodded. “I’ll be fine sir. Just a bump on the head.”
Emerging from the smaller room, McCoy stepped around Boma and looked to Kirk. “Johnson will be okay, too. A couple of days’ bed rest and he’ll be ready for duty, assuming we get out of this, that is.”
“Spock?” Kirk prompted.
The first officer was already moving toward one of the consoles. “Understood, Captain. Lieutenant Uhura, I shall require your assistance once again.”
McCoy made his way to where Vathrael still lay on the floor. Glancing at Kirk as he knelt beside her, he muttered, “Fine way to treat a lady. This isn’t going to do your reputation any
favors, you know.”
“Next time, I’ll let her punch you,” Kirk replied, rubbing his side where Vathrael had hit him and wondering about the size and color of the resulting bruise he knew would be there in a few hours. Making an attempt to tuck in the edge of his torn sleeve, Kirk sighed in resignation.
“You were overdue for that to happen, weren’t you?” McCoy asked.
Though he smiled at his friend’s playful jab, Kirk chose not to respond and instead nodded toward Vathrael. “Is she all right?”
Waving his diagnostic scanner over the unconscious Romulan, McCoy’s business-like manner returned. “She’ll be right enough once I’m finished.”
“Can you wake her up?” Kirk asked.
The doctor deactivated the scanner before returning it to his tricorder’s storage compartment. “Are you sure you want that? She was a handful before.”
Kirk nodded. “It’ll be fine.”
McCoy administered a hypospray and a moment later Vathrael stirred. She grimaced, perhaps from some lingering pain from her injuries during the fight. Reaching up to rub her forehead where Kirk had struck her, she cleared her throat.
“So,” she said, “I am your prisoner.”
“For the time being, anyway,” McCoy replied, returning his hypospray to the medical kit on his hip.
Kirk turned as Boma moved to stand beside him, aiming his phaser at Vathrael. “We’re a bit shorthanded, so far as guards are concerned,” he said, and Kirk could see that the man was still enduring some residual discomfort from his own skirmish with the Romulans.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kirk said before moving to where Spock and Uhura were working at the control console. “Spock? How much time?”
“Thirty-five minutes, eleven seconds,” the Vulcan replied, not turning from the console.
Kirk gestured toward the console. “Can you at least break through whatever’s jamming communications?” He had been cut off from Lieutenant Kyle without warning, and now worried that the young officer, having secured the Romulan ship, might be considering making his way here in order to assist his captain. “We’ve got to tell the rest of our people to stay away, and warn the Dolysians what’s coming.”
His attention still on his workstation, Spock replied, “I do not believe we will be able to do that and disable the destruct protocol in the time remaining to us, Captain.”
Time and options were running out, Kirk knew. Looking to Vathrael, he said, “You still have time to evacuate, Commander.”
“What?” Boma asked, frowning.
“Are you kidding, Jim?” McCoy asked, his expression one of disbelief.
Shaking his head, Kirk kept his gaze on Vathrael. “She was only following whatever orders she was given.” To the commander, he said, “If you leave now, there should still be time for you to warn your people on the surface.” As he spoke the words, he imagined there would be people in the upper echelons of Starfleet Command who would disagree with his thinking, but none of them were here at the moment.
So, to hell with them.
His thought was interrupted by the sound of a new alert tone emanating from the console where Spock and Uhura stood. Turning to look, Kirk saw the expression of worry on Uhura’s face even as Spock’s hands seemed to move with greater speed across the panel.
“What’s going on?” Kirk asked.
Spock replied, “We appear to have triggered some other form of anti-intrusion device, Captain. The result is an acceleration of the countdown.”
Feeling the knot of anxiety already forming in his gut, Kirk asked, “Tell me you can stop it?”
“Unknown at this time,” Spock said.
“Well, how much time’s left?” McCoy asked.
His hands moving across the panel’s surface, Spock’s index finger paused on one illuminated red control before replying, “Twelve minutes, forty-two seconds, but the countdown is continuing to accelerate.”
“Wait!” Uhura shouted. “I think I can . . .” The rest of her sentence faded as the lieutenant leaned closer to the console, reaching toward one of the displays she had paused. Kirk saw her eyes narrow as she studied the depiction of Kalandan text, her fingers tracing over a grouping of characters and other symbols he did not recognize.
Movement from his left caught his attention and he turned to see the two remaining conscious Romulans looking to take advantage of the current chaotic situation. Sortino, as though anticipating the maneuver, was ready for them. The ambassador did not hesitate, firing her phaser and catching both centurions before they could even take their first steps. Both Romulans collapsed back into the adjacent room, and Kirk looked to where Vathrael was still under guard by Boma, her features clouding with irritation.
“They’re just stunned, Commander,” Kirk said. “You’re free to join them, if you like.”
Scowling at his flippant comment, Vathrael said nothing.
Kirk returned his attention to where Uhura was still working. “Lieutenant?” he asked, but she ignored him, her long fingers moving across the interface panel and its rows of illuminated controls as though possessed of their own will. One display on the wall above her showed a grouping of characters that was refreshing at an alarming rate, which Kirk interpreted as the countdown timer.
“Somebody say something!” McCoy barked.
Uhura tapped a long, seemingly unending series of keys on the smooth panel, before reaching out with her right hand and slapping her palm against a triangular blue control. There was an audible tone, and the indicator that was the focus of Kirk’s attention froze. Other displays on the workstation halted in place, as well, their representation of text and graphics now static.
“What just happened?” Kirk asked.
Vathrael said, “I presume you were successful.”
“You presume correctly, Commander,” Spock replied, stepping back from the console. “The destruct protocol has been halted.”
“So has my heart,” McCoy added. “While I try to restart it, will somebody tell us what all that was about?”
It was Boma who answered, “It was the diagnostic, wasn’t it?”
Uhura turned from the console, smiling as she nodded. “I was able to forge the necessary credentials to give us access to the environmental control system. Once I was inside, it was easy to cross over to the master control protocols and halt any process currently being executed.” She shrugged. “So, I just canceled the program with the code to tell it that everything was fine and the crisis was over.”
“Absolutely wonderful,” Sortino said, crossing the room to join the group.
Even Vathrael, Kirk noticed, seemed appropriately impressed. “A simple, yet elegant solution.”
“And that’s it?” McCoy asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
“Sometimes that’s all you need, Bones,” Kirk replied, grinning. “Computers will listen to any instruction they’re given; you just have to know how to talk to them. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Uhura replied.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, Kirk said, “Very nicely done, Nyota.”
As though self-conscious at the praise, Uhura cast her gaze to the floor before replying, “Thank you, Captain.”
A now-familiar whine began from behind them, and everyone shifted their gaze to the cube at the center of the room, the illuminated interior of which once more was oscillating in a regular pattern. From its base was emitted the shaft of light aimed at the floor, which coalesced into the shifting, translucent image of Meyeliri. As in the previous transmissions offered by the control cube, the doctor once again was wearing a long-sleeved robe—mauve, this time—that concealed her body from neck to feet. The beam’s intense light highlighted her short-styled silver hair and her piercing blue-green eyes.
“Greetings, fellow Kalandans,” she said. “Our systems indicate that the threat to our outpost has been eliminated, the containment protocol is no longer required, and the storehouse of knowledge we have strived for generatio
ns to collect is no longer in danger. Unless and until such time as this repository is called upon to fulfill its primary function, the responsibility for its care and protection falls to you. If we are fortunate, our society will continue to thrive and endure, and we will never have need for such contingencies. Let us all hope that is always the case. Regardless of what the future may hold, I wish you well.”
“The Kalandans never did seem to catch a break, did they?” McCoy asked.
Kirk shook his head, considering the sobering message he had just heard. “They anticipated the fall of their civilization, and prepared for it, but they were so worried about external enemies, they never had a chance against the threat from within.”
“I’m sure there’s a lesson or three in there, somewhere,” Sortino offered.
“For another time, Ambassador,” Kirk replied before turning to Vathrael. “Commander, we seem to be at a crossroads here.”
The Romulan nodded. “I know you may not believe what I said to you earlier, Captain, but I do regret the loss of your security officer. As for everything else that has transpired here today, you were correct when you observed that we were merely following our orders, but that does not lessen the effect of a needless death.”
“I appreciate that, Commander,” Kirk said, his instincts telling him that her remarks were genuine, rather than a ruse. Before he could say anything else, he was interrupted by a new beeping from the console behind Spock and Uhura. Frowning, and more than a bit worried about what other surprises or booby traps might still be waiting to be triggered, Kirk asked, “What’s that?”
Uhura replied, “Sensors, sir. We’ve accessed what looks to be the entire network. This equipment’s able to scan beyond the barrier.”
“Is it still closed?” McCoy asked. “Can we contact the ship?”
Once again working next to Uhura, Spock replied, “I am able to detect the presence of the Enterprise, but we are still endeavoring to access the communications subsystem.” He paused, his fingers moving across the console before he added, “Captain, the Enterprise is not alone.”