Crucible: McCoy

by David R. George III

  “We ran through a line of torpedoes,” Sulu told him. “Sensors must not have picked them up because of the radiation from the Minerva.” Next to him, Chekov clambered back up into his seat.

  Kirk nodded and moved back to the command chair. “Spock,” he said. “Where’s the Goren?”

  “Beginning pursuit,” Spock said. “We’ve now flown past both it and the station.”

  “Sulu, get us underway,” Kirk said. “Set a course directly away from the Goren, but prepare to loop back around.”

  “Aye, aye,” Sulu said, sending his hands back across his panel. The fingers of one hand still had no feeling, and he had to watch his own movements as he worked. Sulu quickly brought the ship back under control, and he continued away from the Einstein facility and the Goren.

  “Captain,” Uhura called, her tone urgent, “I’m picking up a distress signal from the Clemson.”

  “On screen,” the captain ordered. “Maximum magnification.” Sulu operated the proper buttons, but when he looked up, the main viewer remained blank. “Sulu?”

  “Trying, Captain,” he said as he rerouted power to the secondary. “The primary junction is—” Sulu stopped talking as the viewer winked to life, the Clemson visible at the center of the screen. A large fissure, its edges scorched black, had been opened in its upper nacelle, allowing plasma to vent into space. To the right, one of the Klingon vessels sped toward the wounded ship.

  “That is the Vintahg,” Spock said, and for just a moment, Sulu felt relieved. The Enterprise had disabled the Vintahg’s weapons systems, which would prevent the D7 from launching an attack now on the Clemson. But then he realized the intentions of the Klingon crew.

  “They’re going to—” Sulu cried, but too late. The Vintahg rammed broadside into the Clemson. The Klingon vessel gave way first, its thin neck fracturing as the forward control section plowed into the starboard side of the Clemson’s hull. But then the wide stern section of the Vintahg, the angular wings that carried its engines and weaponry, rammed itself home. Sulu couldn’t tell which ship exploded first, but fiery clouds erupted from the crash, doused at once in the vacuum of space. One of the Clemson’s nacelles went spinning away, and the Vintahg’s stern fractured into uncounted pieces. Then the Clemson’s entire crew hull blew apart.

  On the Enterprise, the undercurrent of voices calling in systems’ statuses only accentuated the silence of the bridge crew. “Oh, no,” Chekov finally whispered in obvious horror. Sulu knew that he had meant it for the lost men and women of the Clemson, but he might just as well have said it for the crew aboard the Enterprise. Four D7 Klingon warships had taken up battle against two Paladin destroyers and a Constitution-class starship, and now two of each—Rikkon and Vintahg, Minerva and Clemson—had been destroyed. That left two D7 battle cruisers against an Enterprise that no longer had any shields. They might be able to outrun the Goren and the Gr’oth, but that would mean the deaths of the personnel aboard the research station, and worse, would leave the Guardian of Forever in the hands of the Klingons—a situation that, as Sulu understood it, could result in the complete annihilation of the human race, or even of the entire Federation. Clearly, retreat was not an option.

  Sulu heard the captain press a button on the arm of the command chair. “Kirk to engineering,” he said. “Scotty, what’s happening with the weapons and shields?”

  “Captain, I’ve got one torpedo tube back online, but I don’t know for how long. The deflector grid’s got so many breaks in it, we can’t reenergize,” the chief engineer said. “We’re doing the best we can, but we only have so many work crews.”

  “Captain,” Spock said at once, “I can—”

  “Go,” Kirk said. “Use security or anybody else you need.” Sulu looked over to see the first officer start around the upper, outer arc of the bridge toward the turbolift. At the same time, Lieutenant Haines moved at once from a peripheral console to take over the sciences station. “Scotty, Spock is on the way with some help. Get those shields back up.” Without waiting for a response, the captain signed off and closed the channel. “Positions of the Klingons?” he said.

  “Checking,” Haines said as she settled in at Spock’s console. “The Goren is still in pursuit of the Enterprise,” she said just a few seconds later, “and the Gr’oth is now heading toward the station.”

  “How long until the Gr’oth gets there?” Kirk asked.

  “Their drive appears to have been damaged,” Haines said. “Estimating…almost three minutes.”

  “Uhura,” Kirk said, “can you raise the station?”

  “No, sir,” Uhura said. “Still too much interference.”

  Kirk stood up again and moved to stand between the helmsman and navigator. “Sulu,” he said, “bring us around. Feint toward the station, but take us in past the Minerva.” Sulu worked his panel at once. He had no idea what the captain had planned, but he had no doubt that the Enterprise commander wouldn’t go down without giving his crew its best chance for survival.

  “Aye, coming around,” Sulu said.

  “Chekov, prepare to fire photon torpedoes,” Kirk said. “I want to talk to the research station, and we need to eliminate the interference.

  “Of course,” Kirk said. “In a few seconds, it’ll be the two of them against the one of us.” Sulu heard him step back over to the command chair and press a button on its arm. “Kirk to transporter room.”

  “Kyle here, sir,” came the immediate response. Go ahead.”

  “Mister Kyle, get down to the cargo transporter,” Kirk said. “We’re going to be making an exchange.” He told the transporter chief precisely what he wanted him to do. Sulu looked over at Chekov and saw that the navigator’s expression reflected the odd mix of emotions that he himself felt: confusion and hope.

  After Kyle had acknowledged the orders and Kirk had closed the channel, the captain told Chekov what he would need to do when the time came. Then he said, “Fire on the Minerva wreckage the instant we’re safely past it. Uhura, I want somebody from the station on screen as soon as those channels clear. Not the head researcher, but the top security officer. Give me a secure channel.” Chekov and Uhura acknowledged their orders, and then Kirk moved over to the helm and leaned in over Sulu’s shoulder, examining the panel. “Sulu, can you split the distance between the two Klingon ships, so that after we pass the Minerva and change course, they’ll be relatively close to each other?”

  Sulu considered the proposition. He would need to time the Enterprise’s approach to the Minerva perfectly, but he thought he should be able to do so in a way that brought the two Klingon vessels together. Their captains would want to close ranks anyway. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Good,” Kirk said. “Do it. Once we’re by the Minerva, bring us in past the station, as close to it as possible, but follow a course that takes at least half a minute to get there from the Minerva.”

  “Aye, captain,” Sulu said, beginning to see the plan the captain had devised.

  Seconds passed, and Sulu felt the strain weighing down on the bridge crew. On the helm scanner, he watched as the Enterprise approached the Einstein station, and he adjusted the ship’s velocity in order to carry out the captain’s orders. Finally, he told Chekov, “Five seconds until I veer.” Then, as he worked his controls, he said, “Bringing us about.” On the main screen, the research station slipped away off to starboard, while the Minerva moved to the center of view, the great arc of the planet hanging in the background.

  “The Goren is closest to us,” Haines said, “but the Gr’oth is not much farther away.”

  Sulu watched the image of the Minerva grow large on the viewscreen, and then the Enterprise raced past it. “Torpedoes away,” Chekov said. The captain did not ask to see the Starfleet vessel’s destruction, for which Sulu felt grateful.

  “Setting course for the Einstein station,” the helmsman said. “We’ll be there in thirty seconds.”

  “The Minerva has been destroyed,” Haines said. “The Goren is closi
ng on us, and the Gr’oth is falling in line behind it.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kirk said. “Uhura?”

  “Trying, sir,” Uhura said, and then, “I have Commander Vort for you.”

  “Twenty seconds,” Sulu said, checking his scanner for the Enterprise’s distance to the station. He looked at the main viewer as a Tellarite in a red Starfleet uniform appeared on it. Several men and women in civilian garb stood together behind him.

  “Captain, we’ve been monitoring—” the security officer began.

  “Commander, I have no time to explain,” Kirk said. “I need you to lower your shields.”

  “What?” Vort replied, clearly astonished by the suggestion. “Captain, our shields are our only defense.”

  “Commander, the Enterprise is your only real defense right now,” Kirk said. “Without it, you’ll never get off your station alive.”

  “Ten seconds,” Sulu said as he waited for the security officer to respond to the captain’s exigent request.

  Vort stared at the screen, seemingly nonplussed.

  “Commander,” Kirk said, “this may be our only opportunity to save you and your people. We’re out of time.” As Sulu watched the distance to the station decrease, he took note of the captain’s words, juxtaposed with the existence of the Guardian of Forever on the planet below.

  “Lower the shields,” Vort called to somebody.

  “Five seconds,” Sulu said. He heard the captain bring his hand down hard on the intercom switch. “Bridge to cargo transporter. Now, Mister Kyle.”

  Sulu glanced up from his scanner for a moment and saw Vort and the others dematerialize in a transporter beam. A moment later, several low, cylindrical objects appeared in their place, transported over by Kyle directly from the Enterprise’s weapons cache: six photon torpedoes.

  “Got them, Captain!” Kyle said excitedly.

  “Viewer ahead,” the captain said, and Sulu quickly complied with the order. As the starscape reappeared on the screen, one of the station’s tapering blue spires loomed directly ahead. An instant later, the Enterprise zoomed past it.

  “Goren is fifteen seconds from the station,” Haines said. “Gr’oth is a few seconds behind that.”

  “Viewer astern,” the captain said, and Sulu touched a button. The glistening shape of the research station now fell quickly away from the ship, the Goren and the Gr’oth visible just beyond it.

  “Ten seconds,” Haines said. When she got to “five,” the captain called out.

  “Now, Chekov!”

  His hands already in position, the ensign pushed the necessary controls. Behind Enterprise, Sulu knew, within the Einstein station, where seventeen men and women had stood only seconds before, six photon torpedoes detonated. On the main viewer, the structure flew apart. The Goren and the Gr’oth disappeared momentarily behind a wall of fire that quickly vanished, and Sulu waited to see if they would emerge from the conflagration unharmed.

  They didn’t.

  The Goren came past the demolished station in parts, the bulbous control section severed from the main body of the ship. Both twirled end over end, until a series of explosions erupted from them. In just seconds, virtually nothing remained of the Klingon battle cruiser.

  “Got him!” Chekov said, pumping a fist.

  “Easy, Mister, we’re not out of this yet,” the captain said. As though providing support for his statement, the Gr’oth appeared on the viewscreen, still chasing the Enterprise. As Sulu watched, though, he saw electric-blue surges crackling across the hull of the Klingon vessel, and he saw something protruding from the underside of one wing.

  “A piece of the station penetrated the Gr’oth’s hull,” Haines said. “I’m reading heavy casualties. They’ve lost most of their systems, including shields and weapons, and their life support is faltering.”

  Sulu studied his helm scanner. “They’re now drifting,” he said, and when he peered at the main viewer, saw the attitude of the Klingon vessel beginning to falter.

  “Sulu, reverse course. Close to within transporter range,” Kirk said. Then, into the intercom, he said, “Mister Kyle, have our guests escorted to quarters, and then have security report to the cargo transporter. We may be taking on some prisoners.”

  “Aye, sir,” Kyle said.

  “Kirk out.”

  “Captain,” Uhura said, “we’re being hailed.”

  “Now they want to talk,” Kirk said. “Put them on screen, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir,” Uhura said.

  On the main viewer, Sulu saw the dark, hard-edged bridge of the Gr’oth appear, its dim green lighting tinting clouds of smoke. At its center stood its commanding officer, a man Sulu had never met, but who he recognized, and who he knew had once picked a fight on Space Station K-7 with Scotty, Chekov, and Ensign Freeman. Goateed and with a mop of unkempt brown hair, he wore the standard black-and-gold uniform of the Klingon military. “Kirk,” he roared, staring straight ahead with an expression that seemed equal parts hatred and glee. “You managed to conduct a battle without the help of the Organians.” Sulu had wondered about that himself. Three years ago, the powerful energy beings had forcibly prevented a war from breaking out between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, but they’d subsequently absented themselves from relations between the two powers. “Could it be because the Organians don’t approve of Starfleet attempting to build a new weapon to use against us?” Sulu found Korax’s brashness startling, given the circumstances.

  “There is no weapon, Korax,” the captain said.

  “Then you won’t mind me sending a landing party down to the planet to investigate for myself,” Korax said.

  “Not at all,” Kirk responded, in what Sulu recognized as a brazen bluff. Of course, the Klingon crew were in no position to do anything but attempt to survive.

  Sulu checked his scanner and saw that the Enterprise had come within transporter range of the Gr’oth. He worked the helm to bring the ship to a stop as Korax spat out something like a laugh. “Funny,” the Klingon commander said. “The captains of the Minerva and the Clemson didn’t seem quite so accommodating as you.”

  Kirk stood from his chair. “I’m an accommodating fellow,” he said evenly. “Let us transport your crew aboard the Enterprise before your life support fails.”

  Korax threw his head back and laughed heartily this time. “You are also an amusing fellow, Kirk. I look forward to bringing your ship back to the Empire. A minor trophy, to be sure, but still a trophy.” Sulu couldn’t believe that—

  “Uhura!” the captain called, and the image of the Gr’oth tumbling through space returned to the viewer. “Chekov, fire torpedoes!”

  What? Sulu thought. Had the captain perceived something in what Korax had said? Sulu watched Chekov punch at his controls, but nothing happened. “Captain, weapons are all offline.”

  “Clear the bridge!” the captain ordered, startling Sulu. “Now!” Kirk called, and Sulu bolted from his chair and sprinted for the turbolift. When he got there, Leslie had made it into the car from the engineering station and Uhura from communications, and Haines and Sulu entered at the same time. He turned and looked back into the bridge and saw Chekov and the captain striding toward the lift. Beyond them, in front of the main viewer, flickered the red-and-orange patterns of a Klingon transporter beam.

  Chekov entered the car, and then the captain. As Sulu heard somebody order the lift to another deck, he saw at least ten Klingons materialize on the bridge. One of them peered around and made eye contact with Sulu, then leveled a handheld disruptor in his direction. As the turbolift doors closed, a burst of green light pulsed across the bridge.

  Sulu felt himself thrown backwards before he realized that he’d been hit. Incredulous, he peered down at his chest, where a large, dark circle had formed in his gold uniform shirt. He saw wisps of smoke rising from the wound, and he smelled the aroma of his own burned flesh.

  “Sulu,” he heard somebody say from a long distance away. His legs let go bene
ath him, and he collapsed to the floor of the lift. He couldn’t feel the wound or anything else. And then he couldn’t hear or see anything.

  And then there was nothing at all.

  McCoy helped Lieutenant Rahda from the antigrav gurney, supporting her as she hopped forward on one leg. During the Enterprise’s battle with the Klingons, she had been thrown against a bulkhead, fracturing her tibia. With the number of other wounded—including Nurses Chapel and Doran—who’d arrived in sickbay at the same time, none of the doctors had yet had a chance to treat her. When the Enterprise had responded to a distress signal from the Einstein research post, Uhura had contacted sickbay to inform McCoy of the reason for the red alert, namely that the ship had encountered a squadron of Klingon vessels and would be going into battle. She’d forewarned him of the potential for numerous casualties, and unfortunately, the notice she’d provided had been well founded.

  As McCoy walked Rahda though the low, circular hatchway, her leg struck its side and she winced. “Sorry, Sitara,” McCoy said.

  “It’s all right,” Rahda said as Lieutenant Palmer reached up from the bench seat to assist her. “I know we need to move quickly.” With Palmer’s assistance, Rahda sat down, then shifted as far into the module as she could, leaving room for two more.

  Behind him, McCoy heard footsteps, and he quickly turned. As far as he knew, there should have been nobody left in sickbay. He saw no patient standing there, nor any of the medical staff, but Spock. “Doctor,” he said, “have you finished evacuating sickbay?”

  “These are the last two,” McCoy said, pointing into the escape pod. “Well, and me.” He still had trouble believing that this had happened on the Enterprise’s way back to base, its five-year mission concluded. In all that time, they’d never had to abandon ship. “Have you located the captain?” he asked.

  Spock looked down for just a second. “The captain remains unaccounted for. He was on the bridge when the Klingons first boarded the ship.”

  McCoy nodded slowly. It seemed unthinkable. How could Jim have brought the ship and crew this far, for this long, only to die on the way home? “Spock—” McCoy started, but the first officer interrupted him.