Firestorm

by L. A. Graf

  Chekov wondered why it was that people always felt the need to find neutral words for the horrible things in which they were involved. Polar bears that wandered into villages and ate the local dogs became "nuisance animals," people blown up by careless military fire became "acceptable civilian losses," and avalanches and cave-ins became "realignment of the local features." Scrubbing his hands against the leg of his trousers, he asked, "Do these earthquakes mean anything?"

  Mutchler glanced over at him. "Like what?"

  "Well …"

  "I think what he's asking," Sulu picked up with a somewhat evil grin, "is whether or not this volcano is getting ready to explode." Chekov felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment, and Sulu shook his head in that wise-older-brother fashion that could be so damned annoying. "I can't believe you made it through four years at the Academy without ever getting caught in a tremor even once."

  Well, there'd been twice when half the class swore there'd been some shaking—especially the group in the aquatics class. Chekov had been asleep once and practicing takeoff and landing maneuvers the second time. He never felt even the slightest rumble. "I suppose my life is charmed."

  Sulu snorted, but didn't make a verbal comment. His snort was answer enough.

  "I don't think you have to worry about the volcano," Mutchler assured him, blissfully oblivious of any snide comments Sulu had—or hadn't—made. "Rakatan Mons doesn't have much of a history of cataclysmic eruptions. The magma moves around a lot inside the chamber, but for some reason it tends to erupt along small flanking rifts. That takes the pressure off, so the volcano doesn't need to blow its top to make more room. It's the magma movement that makes the crust expand and contract to cause the earthquakes." A fond smile flashed across his face, and his eyes focused elsewhere for just the barest instant. "It also causes Wendy Metcalfe to dream she hears aliens talking in the seismographs."

  Chekov studied the barren landscape below them, and thought about all the different forms of life they'd found in places even less hospitable than this. "Sometimes alien life-forms are harder to recognize than you'd realize." At least Rakatan had an atmosphere, and an ocean not covered in ice. "Dr. Metcalfe is wise not to discount anything."

  Mutchler shrugged one shoulder, his mouth twisted into a skeptical grimace.

  "You don't believe her?"

  Mutchler shrugged again. "Do you?"

  Chekov was saved from having to answer by a shrill whistle from Gamow's communication board. Sulu reached for the reply stud without lifting his eyes from his controls. "Gamow, Sulu here. Go ahead."

  "Underling Sulu." The coarse, deep voice shocked Chekov when he'd been expecting Uhura's softer tones. He straightened in his seat and pushed Mutchler back toward the door to the passenger compartment. "This is Oben."

  "Oben," he said, leaning toward the pickup, "this is Chekov. Where is Dohlman Uhura?"

  Voices clamored at the back of the channel, and somewhere beneath them Chekov heard the ring of metal on broken metal and something that sounded like crying. "You must come back now." The cold stillness of Oben's voice spoke of pain beyond the simply physical. "There is a terrible thing has happened here at the campsite. I … I must say that your Dohlman is dead."

  Chapter Ten

  THE WALLS OF THE Enterprise's main transporter room materialized around Uhura, blessedly solid and motionless. Her hearing returned, as always, just in time to catch the last chiming note of the transporter. Then the stasis field faded, and she slammed to the floor. She heard Israi yelp in mingled pain and outrage beside her.

  "Lass!" Montgomery Scott rounded the control console and leapt up onto the pad, Transporter Chief Kyle on his heels. The chief engineer bent over Uhura, his craggy face concerned. "Are you all right?"

  Uhura accepted his outstretched hand, wincing as she rose to her feet. "A little bruised, Mr. Scott, that's all." She turned toward the Dohlman, then dropped to her knees again in quick concern. "Israi, you're hurt!"

  The Dohlman scowled and raised a hand as if to slap her, then gasped and cradled it against her chest. Pale, cinnamon-colored blood trickled down her bare left arm where one of her bracelets had been caught and driven into her flesh by the falling sheet metal. Her other hand still clutched the Elasian charts, the muscles white with strain.

  "I did not give you permission to use my name!" Israi's voice was hoarse but still fiercely arrogant. "And don't touch me!"

  "I apologize, Your Glory." Uhura drew her hand back, recognizing the irrational anger of shock. She looked up at Kyle. "Call Dr. McCoy and tell him we have a medical emergency in the main transporter room."

  "Aye, sir." The transporter chief retreated back to his console as if he had been chased there by Israi's glare.

  "No! I will not be treated by any of your incompetent human physicians!" The Dohlman turned her scowl on Uhura again as Kyle spoke urgently into the intercom. "Return me to my camp at once."

  Uhura sat back on her heels, anticipating another angry slap. "We can't do that, Your Glory. It's against Starfleet law to transport anyone with an untreated injury, except in an emergency."

  "Starfleet law?" Israi repeated. Her almond eyes flared with contempt. "If you are Dohlman here, Uhura, you make the law. Now tell your underling to send me back."

  "Not until you've seen a doctor," Uhura said flatly. "I am the Dohlman here, and that's my decision."

  Israi hissed with rage and scrambled to her feet, clutching her injured arm against her ribs and swaying slightly. Uhura rose with her, careful to stay within arm's reach in case she fell. The Dohlman ignored her, swinging around to glare at the chief engineer instead.

  "Scott-reptile, beam me down to my planet at once."

  Scott winced under the scorching look, but didn't move toward the console. "I canna do that, lass," he said, his rich voice apologetic but firm. "I must obey my Dohlman."

  An almost comical look of surprise blossomed on Israi's dark young face. Before she could reply, however, the whistle of opening doors interrupted them.

  "Uhura." Captain Kirk came to a sudden stop, eyebrows sliding upward when he saw her companion. Behind him, McCoy's astounded look more than made up for the sudden lack of expression on the captain's face. Then the doctor noticed the blood on Israi's arm, and his eyes sharpened with professional concern. He pushed past Kirk and into the room.

  "Dammit, I don't have my medical kit—"

  "Dr. Chapel's bringing one, sir," Kyle told him. "She said she'd be here in just a minute."

  "Good." Uhura saw McCoy's eyes slide sideways toward Kirk, watching him with curious intensity.

  Some emotion stirred in the captain's hazel eyes, so deeply hidden that Uhura couldn't put a name to it. Then Kirk startled her with a quick, graceful bow. "Your Glory. Welcome to the Enterprise."

  Israi made a spitting noise that wouldn't have disgraced a cat. "I do not wish to be on the Enterprise, welcome or otherwise, Kirk-insect," the young Dohlman snapped. "You are the spineless underling of a dishonorable Dohlman. I command that you send me back to my planet immediately!"

  To Israi's evident surprise, this passionate tirade provoked nothing more than a quick flash of smile from the captain. "You know," Kirk said reminiscently, "you sound exactly like your sister."

  "Jim …" McCoy warned, taking a step forward to stand between the Dohlman and Kirk. Kirk glanced at the doctor, and McCoy stepped back again, sighing in relief. Even from where she stood, half-hidden behind Israi's swaying figure, Uhura could see that it was quiet amusement that lit Kirk's face, nothing more.

  "Your Glory." Kirk met the Dohlman's simmering almond eyes, his smile fading into a look of smooth politeness. "Forgive me for not obeying you, but we have not yet established that Rakatan is indeed your planet. And I may be a spineless underling, but I will not endanger my Dohlman or the rest of my people by sending you back to your cohort with an injury they could blame on us." Kirk glanced at McCoy. "Take her down to sickbay, Bones, and get her treated for that cut."

  "I will
not be so insulted!" Israi flung her charts onto the floor and used her good hand to grab for her knife. Only Uhura, standing behind her, could see the effort it took her to draw the blade from its sheath. Kirk must have guessed at it. He made a restraining gesture at Scott when the engineer would have lunged forward. "I warn you, Kirk-insect, I will gut your doctor like a flopping fish if he touches me!"

  The doors whistled open again to admit Christine Chapel with a medical kit slung over her shoulder. She paused beside McCoy, eyeing the blood-streaked and infuriated alien on the transporter pad with her usual calm gaze. "You're going to need a pressure sleeve for that cut."

  McCoy snorted. "That shows what you know, Doctor. What I really need is a tranquilizer dart." He glanced from Israi's scowl to Kirk's equally determined frown and back again. "Give me the antiseptic spray first. At least I can get that on her from a safe distance."

  "Wait." Israi lowered her knife a little, her fierce look fraying at the edges. "Why did you call this female 'Doctor'?"

  "Because she is a doctor." McCoy climbed onto the transporter pad and edged toward her, antiseptic clutched like a phaser in one nervous hand. "Now, just hold still a minute—"

  "No!" Israi jerked back from him, swaying. Uhura put a hand out to steady her, and the Dohlman reluctantly accepted her support. The bare skin of her shoulder was startlingly cold under Uhura's fingers. She hoped that was the Elasian's natural temperature, and not the effects of shock. "Not you, underling. I will let the female doctor treat me." Israi's hand shook as she pointed at Chapel with her knife. "Only her, so there is no insult."

  Kirk's eyebrows went up in quick understanding. "As you wish, Your Glory. Doctor Chapel?"

  "Of course, sir." Chapel took the antiseptic spray from McCoy and climbed onto the transporter pad without hesitation. Israi made a soft sound of relief when the antiseptic spray hissed out over her arm, then slowly closed her eyes and collapsed backward. Ignoring the protest from her bruised shoulders, Uhura braced the Dohlman's slight weight against hers and kept her from hitting the floor. The complete lack of tension in the sprawled frame told her Israi was unconscious.

  "She passed out?" Kirk vaulted up beside Uhura and helped her ease Israi to the floor while his chief medical officer dove for the medical kit Chapel had brought. "Is her wound that bad, Bones?"

  "I wouldn't have thought so." McCoy passed a medical sensor briefly across the Dohlman's face and chest, then turned a startled look on his associate. "Christine, when the hell did you find time to put tranquilizer in that antiseptic?"

  "Before I left sickbay," said Chapel calmly. "When Kyle told me who my patient was, I thought it might be helpful."

  McCoy grunted with laughter even as he bent to clean the metal shards out of Israi's torn arm. "You remembered how much trouble we got from the last Dohlman we had on board?"

  Chapel was careful not to glance at Kirk. "No. I could just hear how much trouble this one was making." She handed McCoy a pressure bandage while he finished spraying synthetic skin over the ragged slash. Seeing that Israi was in no danger, Kirk turned his attention to Uhura.

  "Spock says his long-range sensors detected an earthquake near the Elasian camp just before you called him." Kirk spoke quickly, one eye on the Dohlman to make sure she hadn't awakened. "What happened?"

  "The Dohlman's building collapsed, sir." Uhura answered his next question before he could ask it. "We were the only ones inside."

  Kirk's eyes narrowed. "No security guard?"

  "Ensign Murphy. But the Dohlman sent him out to stand guard with her cohort. Chekov and Sulu were still out—" Uhura's eyes widened suddenly. "Captain! The rest of the landing party is going to think we're still trapped inside that building. And if the Elasians think Israi's dead and decide to blame Starfleet for it—there's no telling what could happen!"

  Kirk shot to his feet, slamming one fist against the nearest communications panel. "Kirk to bridge."

  "Spock here, Captain."

  "Mr. Spock, contact the landing party and tell them that we have Uhura and the Dohlman safe aboard the Enterprise." Kirk released the communicator button and swung around. "That takes care of our side. Now we need to get the news to the Elasians." He turned a sharp look on McCoy. "Bones, are you done yet?"

  McCoy looked up, startled by the urgency in the captain's voice. "Well, I'd like to take the Dohlman down to sickbay and run her through the tissue regenerator—"

  "No time. I want to get her back to her cohort, before they murder someone to avenge her." Kirk glanced at Chapel. "How soon will that tranquilizer wear off, Doctor?"

  She was already loading a hypospray with another capsule. "I've got the antidote right here, Captain. It'll only take a few minutes to kick in."

  "Good." The captain swung toward the transporter console. "Scotty, contact the bridge and make sure that Elasian defense screen is still down. Kyle, I want you to beam the Dohlman back into her camp. Get her as close to the previous coordinates as you can manage."

  "Aye, sir." Scott began to speak into the intercom while Kyle bent over his board.

  Uhura helped maneuver Israi's sprawled body over a transporter locus, then picked up the fallen star charts and deliberately stepped onto the locus beside her. Kirk gave her a questioning look, and she answered it with a sigh. "I have to go back, too, Captain. I left my tricorder and the pad down in the Dohlman's quarters. And all of Israi's translations from the charts are stored there and nowhere else. Seeing the way she objected to our medical treatment, I suspect—"

  "—that she won't be in the mood to translate the charts over again for you," Kirk acknowledged wryly. "Very well, Commander." He stepped off the transporter pad, drawing McCoy and Chapel with him. "Energize."

  Chekov keyed open the shuttle's hatch before Sulu had even shut the engines down. Ash gray dust swirled like smoke through the disrupted mining camp, pattering down on the prefab roofs in a slithering, shushing rattle. Two of the storage buildings canted in against each other, standing only because neither would let the other fall, but nothing else had caved in under the earthquake's stress.

  Nothing, at least, but the Dohlman's quarters. It was tumbled so completely, Chekov didn't realize at first that the flattened pile of scrap used to be a building. His hands tightened on either side of the doorway, useless and angry.

  "Oh, my God …" Mutchler pressed up close behind him to peek out over his shoulder. He murmured something else, his voice too thin to hear.

  Chekov jumped down from the hatch just to get away from him. "This is your lovely earthquake, Dr. Mutchler," he said bitterly. He knew it was unfair to lash out at the geologist, but he couldn't help it. "It looked better from the air."

  Mutchler backed away from the open hatch, his young face pale and full of regret. "I'll see if there's a medikit," he said as he disappeared into the shuttle.

  Chekov didn't wait to see if he found one. It was already too late to matter.

  Thick Elasian voices clattered against the walls still standing, and only Oben's deep roar stood out above the other wailing and shouting. Chekov pushed through the first line of Israi's cohort, craning his neck for Takcas or the Dohlman. But he saw no flash of red hair among the sea of dark-skinned men, and no female voice rose up to cut across their shouting. He couldn't even see Murphy in the turmoil, and his heart clenched with dread to think how many other lives might be lost beneath that pile of ruined prefab. "Who's missing?"

  Oben turned in a dark blur, and his backhanded blow caught Chekov across the face before he even realized the guardsman intended to hit him.

  "Outworld vermin!"

  The ground smelled like burned cinders, and slipped like silk beneath him as he rolled to regain his footing.

  "Worthless maggot!" Oben surged forward, fists clenched, and Chekov scrabbled back to put more distance between them. His cheek already felt hot and swollen clear through to his sinuses—he didn't want to find out what a full-fisted blow could do. "Your Dohlman has brought nothing but misery upon us!"<
br />
  Chekov climbed slowly to his feet, blinking against the wash of dizziness that rose up with him. "You said our Dohlman was dead."

  "She is!" Oben spat on the ground between them, and the rest of the cohort cinched tighter around them. "She died protecting her foolish machines, and she held our Dohlman prisoner so that she would die as well!"

  Chekov scowled despite the knot of pain in his cheek. "That's a lie."

  One of the other guardsmen swung at him, but he expected it this time, and danced aside before the fist made contact. A roar of frustration went up all around him. "Uhura wouldn't do that!" he shouted, turning quickly to take inventory of their positions in the hope of finding some escape. Instead, his eyes caught on Sulu and Mutchler hurrying across from the wide-open shuttle, and panic shot through him. "Get back inside! That's an order!"

  "No!" Oben's voice cracked out. Sulu had already skidded to a stop, dragging on Mutchler's arm to slow him. "Bring them all! Make them pay for their Dohlman's crimes!"

  The cohort broke apart with frightful precision, and Chekov reminded himself with a sting of fear that they had to be better trained than their primitive gear suggested. Ducking around the arm that lashed out to grab him, he dropped to the ground just inside Oben's grasp and cut out the guardsman's knee with a sweep kick that almost got him pinned when Oben fell. The old Elasian was fast, stopping his tumble with one elbow and pushing to all fours with his damaged leg splayed awkwardly out beside him. Chekov caught him in that position, and locked his elbow beneath the Elasian's chin to jerk his head back so Oben could feel the point of his own knife against the base of his skull.

  "Don't do it," he warned Oben softly.

  The guardsman froze. Chekov couldn't see his face, but he recognized the trembling stillness of fear in Oben's rigid muscles. "Call the cohort back, and we'll search the wreckage for the bodies."