STAR TREK: TOS #7 - Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

by Vonda N. McIntyre (Novelization)

[132] “Reliant’s delta-vee just decreased to one-half impulse; power, Admiral,” Mr. Sulu said.

  “Any evidence of damage?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Sir,” Saavik said, “if I may quote general order twelve: ‘On the approach of any vessel, when communications have not been established—’ ”

  “The admiral is aware of the regulations.”

  Saavik forced herself not to react. “Yes, sir,” she said stiffly.

  “This is damned peculiar,” Kirk said, almost to himself. “Yellow alert.”

  “Energize defense fields,” Saavik said.

  The Klaxon sounded; the lights dimmed. It took only a moment for the backup crew to arrive and staff their battle stations.

  “Transmission from Reliant, sir. ... A moment ... on the short-range band. They say their Chambers coil is shorting out their main communications.”

  “Spock?”

  Spock bent down to scan Reliant.

  “They still haven’t raised their shields,” Joachim said. Everything that was happening seemed to exist at a very great distance. Only his memories stayed close to him, terrifyingly immediate, flashing into his vision every time he blinked or even let his attention drift: the expression in March’s eyes, the blood flowing down Madison’s face, the suicide of Chitirih-Ra-Payjh. And he could not forget what Madison had said to him.

  “Be careful, Joachim,” Khan said. “Not all at once. The engine room, lock on the engine room. Be prepared to fire.”

  Joachim obeyed. Two hundred years ago, he had given his word; so he obeyed.

  Spock studied the scan results. They were precisely the same as the first set: no evidence of damage. “Their coil emissions are normal, Admiral.” And [133] then he saw the signal of a new change that was not normal. “Their shields are going up—”

  “Reliant’s phasers are locking!” Sulu said at the same moment.

  “Raise shields!” Kirk said. “Energize phasers, stand by to—”

  Reliant fired.

  Peter stood ready at his console, wishing, wishing desperately, that he had something he could really do. The ship was on battle alert, with the Klaxon alarm sounding around him and all the engine room crew—the veterans—hurrying to their places or already completely involved in their work. The trainees could only wait at their backup positions and watch. And a lowly cadet could only grit his teeth and try to pretend he was here for a reason.

  Till now, Peter had suspected that the whole trip was an elaborate charade, nothing more than a simulation with real equipment. But maybe he had been wrong. Surely, if this were another test, the veterans would stand back and let the trainees handle everything. Peter’s heart beat faster. He wondered how Saavik would analyze it, logically. It would be fun to talk to her about it as soon as it was over, whether or not it was for real! He had not even seen her since Commander Scott postponed his math lessons.

  Uncle Montgomery had told Captain Spock that Peter could not be spared because there was too much work in the engine room; but to Peter he said that the lessons would resume only when Peter “stopped neglecting his work.” Peter recognized the disparity as an attempt to teach him a lesson without damaging his record, which he appreciated—yet still resented, because he did not think that this was a lesson he needed to learn.

  He’ll quit in another day or so, Peter thought. Maybe even as soon as we’re finished with this. Whatever it is.

  From out of nowhere, a shock wave slammed him to [134] the deck. A moment later, the noise of the explosion struck. As Peter scrambled up, metal shrieked and a great wind whipped past him. The breach in the hull sucked air from the engine room. An eerie silence clamped down and Peter feared his eardrums had burst. The emergency doors slid abruptly closed, and fresh air poured into the partially depressurized area. Sound returned: he could hear screams, and shrieks of pain, beyond the ringing in his ears.

  He grabbed the edges of his console to steady himself. The general alarms moaned at a low pitch.

  “Oh, my God!” Grenni cried. His console was alight with warnings. “Pres; we gotta get out of here—”

  Peter looked up. Right above them, a heat-transfer pipe hissed thick yellow-green smoke through a crack in the triple-layered unbreakable matrix of the tube. Peter watched with horror. Coolant leak was supposed to be impossible.

  The radiation signal flashed stroboscopically while the noxious-gas warning hooted. The poisonous coolant gas flooded the trainees’ area. Peter’s eyes burned. Grenni grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away as the rest of the group fled.

  “You’re on-line!” Peter cried.

  “Shit!” Grenni yelled. He broke and ran.

  Peter fumbled for his respirator. He could barely see by the time he got it on. His chest felt crushed.

  The primary control panel was damaged, and Lieutenant Kasatsuki lay unconscious on the deck. She was responsible for the auxiliary power main controls that Grenni and Peter were supposed to back up. Now, Grenni’s console blinked and beeped for attention. If no one did anything, auxiliary power would fail completely.

  The gas closed in around Peter as he overrode the hardware hierarchy and brought his own machine on-line. Despite the respirator, his eyes still teared and burned.

  The screams of pain and fear crashed over him like [135] waves. Commander Scott shouted orders amid the chaos. Peter heard it all, but it was a light-year away; he felt almost as if he had merged with the Enterprise—his actions came so smoothly and he knew so easily and so certainly what he had to do.

  Back on the bridge, Jim Kirk had his hands full.

  “Mr. Sulu—the shields!”

  “Trying, sir!”

  The intercom broke through the disorder.

  “Medical alert, engine room!”

  McCoy was already halfway to the turbo-lift. He plunged into it and disappeared.

  “I can’t get any power, sir,” Sulu said.

  Kirk slammed his hand down on an intercom button. “Scotty!”

  A cacophony spilled from the intercom as every channel on the ship tried to break through.

  “Uhura, turn off that damned noise!”

  She hit the main cutoff.

  Silence.

  “Mr. Scott on discrete,” she said.

  “Scotty, let’s have it.”

  His voice sounded strange: throat mike, Jim thought. He’s wearing a respirator! What the hell happened down there?

  “We’re just hanging on, sir. The main energizers are out.”

  “Auxiliary power,” Kirk said. “Damage report.”

  The forward viewscreen switched over to a schematic display of the Enterprise, with a shockingly large red high-damage area spreading outward from the engine room. Kirk and Spock surveyed the report.

  “Their attack indicates detailed knowledge of our vulnerabilities,” Spock said.

  “But who are those guys? Reliant is under—who?”

  “Clark Terrell,” Spock said. “A highly regarded commander, one likely neither to go berserk nor to become the victim of a mutiny.”

  “Then who’s attacking us? And why?”

  [136] “One thing is certain,” Spock said. “We cannot escape on auxiliary power.”

  “Visual!” Kirk snapped. The screen flashed into a forward view from the bridge. Reliant, very close, faced them head-on. “Mr. Sulu, divert everything to the phasers.”

  “Too late—” Spock said.

  In the viewscreen, Reliant’s photon torpedoes streaked toward them with an awful inevitability.

  The blast of energy sizzled through the ship, searing and melting computer chips, blowing out screens, crashing whole systems. A fire broke out on the upper deck. The acrid odor of singed plastic and vaporized metals clouded the air.

  “Scotty!” Kirk yelled. “What have we got left?”

  “Only the batteries, sir. I can have auxiliary power in a few minutes—”

  “We haven’t got a few minutes. Can you give me phasers?”

  “No’
but a few shots, sir.”

  “Not enough,” Spock said, “against their shields.”

  “Who the hell are they?” Kirk said again.

  “Admiral,” Uhura said, “Commander, Reliant, is signaling. ...” She hesitated. “He wishes to discuss ... terms of our surrender.”

  Kirk looked at Spock, who met his gaze impassively; he glanced at Saavik, expecting—he did not know what to expect from Saavik. Her self-control was as impenetrable as Spock’s.

  “On screen,” Kirk said.

  “Admiral ...” Uhura said.

  “Do it—while we still have time.”

  The viewscreen changed slowly, pixel by pixel, filling in a new image that gradually took the form of a face.

  “Khan!” Jim Kirk exclaimed.

  “You remember, Admiral, after all these years. I cannot help but be touched. I feared you might have forgotten me. Of course I remember you.”

  [137] “What’s the meaning of this?” Kirk said angrily. “Where’s Reliant’s crew?”

  “Have I not made my meaning plain?” Khan said dangerously. “I mean to avenge myself, Admiral. Upon you. I’ve deprived your ship of its power, and soon I intend to deprive you of your life.”

  “Reliant’s maneuvering, sir,” Sulu said very quietly. “Coming around for another shot.”

  “But I wanted you to know, as you die, who has beaten you: Khan Noonian Singh, the prince you tried to exile.”

  “Khan, listen to me!” Kirk said. “If it’s me you want, I’ll beam aboard your ship. All I ask is that you spare my crew. You can do what you want to me!”

  Khan lounged back, smiling pleasantly. He stretched his hands toward Kirk, palms up, as if weighing James Kirk, at his disposal, in one, against the Enterprise and Jim Kirk’s certain but more remote death, in the other.

  “That is a most intriguing offer. It is—” his voice became low and dangerous, “—typical of your sterling character. I shall consider it.”

  He paused for perhaps as much as a second.

  “I accept your terms—”

  Kirk stood up. Spock took one step toward him but halted when Kirk made an abrupt chopping gesture, back and down, with his hand.

  “—with only a single addition. You will also turn over to me all data and material regarding Project Genesis.”

  Jim Kirk forced himself not to react. “Genesis?” he said. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t play with me, Kirk. My hand is on the phaser control.”

  “I’ll have to put a search on it, Khan—give me some time. The computer damage—”

  “I give you sixty seconds, Admiral.”

  Kirk turned to Spock.

  “You cannot give him Genesis, Admiral,” the Vulcan said.

  [138] Kirk spoke softly and out of range of the highly directional transmitter mike. “At least we know he hasn’t got it. Just keep nodding as though I’m giving orders. Lieutenant Saavik, punch up the data charts on Reliant’s command console. Hurry.”

  “Reliant’s command—?”

  “Hurry up!” Jim whispered angrily.

  “The prefix code?” Spock asked.

  “It’s all we’ve got.”

  “Admiral,” Khan said, “you try my patience.”

  “We’re finding it, Khan! You know how much damage you inflicted on my ship. You’ve got to give us time!”

  “Time, James Kirk? You showed me that time is not a luxury, but a torture. You have forty-five seconds.”

  Mr. Sulu turned toward Kirk. “Reliant’s completed its maneuver, sir—we’re lined up in their sights, and they’re coming back.”

  Saavik found the information Kirk sought, but could see no way it could be of use. “I don’t understand—”

  “You’ve got to learn why things work on a starship, not just how,” Kirk turned back to Khan, trying to put real conviction in his dissembling. “It’s coming through right now, Khan—”

  “The prefix code is one-six-three-zero-nine,” Spock said.

  He set quickly to work. Saavik watched the prefix code thread its way through the schematics and dissolve Reliant’s defenses. She understood suddenly what Kirk intended to do: transfer control of Reliant to the Enterprise and lower its shields.

  “You have thirty seconds,” Khan said, lingering over each word.

  “His intelligence is extraordinary,” Spock said. “If he has changed the code ...”

  “Spock, wait for my signal,” Kirk said urgently. “Too soon, and he’ll figure it out; he’ll raise the shields again. ...”

  [139] Spock nodded, and Kirk turned back to the viewscreen.

  “Khan, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “Keep my word, Admiral? I gave you no word to keep. You have no alternative.”

  “I see your point. ...” Kirk said. “Mr. Spock, is the data ready?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Khan, stand by to receive our transmission.” He glanced down at Sulu. “Mr. Sulu—?”

  “Phasers locked. ...” Sulu said quietly.

  “Your time is up, Admiral,” Khan said.

  “Here it comes—we’re transmitting right now. Mr. Spock?”

  Spock stabbed the code through to Reliant and followed it instantly with the command to lower shields.

  Saavik’s monitor changed. “Shields down, Admiral!”

  “Fire!” James Kirk shouted as Khan, on the viewscreen, cried, “What—? Joachim, raise them—Where’s the override?”

  Mr. Sulu bled off all the power the crippled ship could bear and slammed it through to the phasers.

  A thin bright line of light sprang into existence, connecting Enterprise and Reliant with a lethal filament. Reliant’s hull glowed scarlet just at its bridge.

  On the viewscreen, Khan cried out in rage and pain as his ship shuddered around him. His transmission faded and the Enterprise’s viewscreen lost him.

  “You did it, Admiral!” Sulu said.

  “I didn’t do a damned thing—I got caught with my britches down. Damn, damn, I must be going senile.” He glanced up at Saavik and shook his head. “Lieutenant Saavik, you just keep on quoting regulations. Spock, come with me—we have to find out how bad the damage is.”

  [140] He strode to the turbo-lift; Spock followed. The doors closed—

  Joachim bore Khan’s hoarse rage as quietly, and with as much pain, as he would have borne the lash.

  “Fire! Fire! Joachim, you fool! Why don’t you fire!”

  “I cannot, Khan. They damaged the photon controls and the warp drive. We must withdraw.”

  “No!”

  “My lord, we must; we have no choice. We must repair the ship. Enterprise cannot escape.” He wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to sleep, but he was afraid of his memories and terrified of his dreams. He felt sick unto death of killing and revenge.

  —the lift dropped, and the doors opened at the level of the engine room. Kirk took one step forward and stopped, aghast.

  “Scotty! My God!”

  The engineer stood trembling, spattered with blood, holding Peter Preston in his arms. The boy lay limp, his eyes closed, blood flowing steadily from his nose and mouth.

  “I canna reach Dr. McCoy; I canna get through; I must get the boy to sick bay—” Tears tracked the soot on his face. He staggered into the lift. Kirk and Spock caught him. Kirk steadied him while Spock took the child gently from his arms.

  “Sick bay!” Kirk yelled.

  The turbo-lift accelerated.

  Spock stepped onto the bridge. His shirt was bloody—red blood darkening to brown: not his own.

  Saavik did not show the relief she felt. In silence, Spock joined her at the science officer’s station. As Saavik continued to coordinate the work of the repair crews, Spock slid a roster into the input drive. The information quickly sorted itself across the screen: [141] ENGINE ROOM CREW: SLIGHTLY INJURED. SERIOUSLY INJURED. CRITICAL.

  PETER PRESTON.

  Saavik caught her breath. Spock glanced at her—she felt has
gaze but could not meet it.

  Saavik’s hands began to tremble. She stared at them, thinking, this is shameful. You shame yourself and your teacher: must you bring even more humiliation to Vulcans?

  Her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Lieutenant Saavik,” Spock said.

  “Yes, Captain,” she whispered.

  “Take this list to Dr. McCoy.”

  She swallowed hard and tried to make her eyes focus on the sheet Spock handed her.

  The engine room casualty list—? Dr. McCoy had no use whatever for it: indeed it had just come from him.

  “Captain—?”

  “Please do not argue, Lieutenant,” Spock said. His cold tone revealed nothing. “The assignment should take you no more than fifteen minutes; the bridge can spare you no longer.”

  She stood up and took the copy from his hand. Her fingers clenched on it, crumpling the paper. She looked into Spock’s eyes.

  “The bridge can spare you no longer, Lieutenant,” he said again. “Go quickly. I am sorry.”

  She fled.

  McCoy worked desperately over Preston. He had to keep intensifying the anesthetic field, for the boy struggled toward consciousness.

  The life-sign sensors would not stabilize. No matter what McCoy did, the boy’s physical condition deteriorated. Lacerations, a couple of broken bones, some internal injuries with considerable loss of blood, a hairline fracture of the skull: nothing very serious. But Preston had been directly beneath the coolant-gas leak. Everything depended on how much he had breathed [142] and how long he had been within the cloud before the ventilators cleared it.

  McCoy cursed. The damned technicians claimed nothing else but this wretched, corrosive, teratogenic, gamma-emitting poison had a high enough specific heat to protect the engines against meltdown. Well, they also claimed its protection was fail-safe.

  “Dr. Chapel!” he yelled. “Where’s the damned analysis?”

  Scott watched him from outside the operating room; the engineer slumped against the glass.

  Chris Chapel came in, and McCoy knew the results from her expression.

  She handed him the analysis of Preston’s blood and tissue chemistry. “I’m sorry, Leonard,” she said.