Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity

by William Leisner

  “Defense Corps efficiency,” Deeshal said. McCoy had to admit, there didn’t seem to be a wasted cubic centimeter in the tiny space. The walls were lined with cabinets, all meticulously labeled and color coded. On the deck, he noted the seams where a table could be raised if needed, and above, an array of lights and sensor pods. Deeshal pressed his hand to a panel by the door, which opened to reveal a library computer interface. “I’ve got the passenger and crew manifest lists of the 043, finally.” He started reading off the information. “There were seventy-one Goeg, twenty-two—”

  “Are.”

  Deeshal turned. “What?”

  “There are seventy-one Goeg,” McCoy said firmly. “Don’t write them off yet, Doctor. We need to keep a positive outlook, and keep hoping for the best.”

  Deeshal’s head bobbed up and down as he said, “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. There are seventy-one Goeg, twenty-two Luriq, seventeen Rokeans, eleven Abesians, nine Icorrs, and three Urpires.” He typed in a sequence of instructions on the keyboard embedded on the inside of the panel doors. “All right, we’ll want at least two hundred units of pelazine ready. . . .” He clicked another key to bring up a new screen on the computer monitor, and then scowled. “I have only seventy-seven units in inventory.”

  “Pelazine,” McCoy said, referring to the Starfleet-issue data slate he carried. “Okay, this looks like a variation on cordrazine; our lab will have no trouble synthesizing all you need.”

  “Excellent,” Deeshal said with a soft sigh of relief. “And your tri-ox is close enough to our oxygenation enhancer that we don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Lucky, that,” McCoy said, his thoughts turning to the patient who had proven that similarity. Lieutenant D’Abruzzo was almost fully recovered, though the healing of his arm had slowed down considerably in the last day or two. McCoy had resisted releasing him, but once their rescue got under way, they would need every bed they could get.

  Deeshal continued, “We also should have a liter of diomotin on hand for the Urpires . . . for all the good it’ll do us,” he added under his breath.

  “What does that mean?” McCoy asked.

  “Urpires are notoriously fragile physically,” Deeshal told him. “Plus, there are none in the Corps, and I’ve never had to treat one.”

  “Well, you never had to treat a human before last week, either,” McCoy reminded him.

  “That was luck, like you just said,” Deeshal said with a sigh. “Giving D’Abruzzo that injection was no more than a calculated gamble on my part. If anyone deserves credit for saving that man, it’s you and Christine.”

  McCoy scowled at the younger physician. “Doctor, again: you have to stay positive here. You don’t have the luxury of doubt. I’ve never treated an Urpire before either, or a Goeg or a Liruq or any of the species on that transport. I’m relying on your help here. And Christine is relying on your help.”

  The mention of Chapel’s name had the intended effect on Deeshal. “Right,” he said, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders. “Right, so . . . if your lab can take care of the diomotin and the pelazine, I can have the rest transferred from our stores over to the Enterprise.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” McCoy said, making notes on his slate, and also making a mental note to thank Christine.

  * * *

  By the time they reached it, the Goeg Domain Civil Transport Class I/043 was already dead.

  Kirk had joined Laspas in the 814’s command center, and as soon as they were in visual range, he knew it was too late. He, along with Laspas, Satrav, and the rest of the crew, stared in horrified silence at the image displayed on the central viewscreen. The transport’s hull was still partially intact, thanks to whatever crew member had managed to eject the warp core and antimatter stores. But the secondary blast that had been detected, they now saw, was the ion-pulse impulse engines. The entire aft portion of the ship had been ripped away, opening large sections to vacuum. As Laspas issued a code command to scan for life signs, Kirk mentally reviewed the ship specs he had studied while they were in transit. Without warp or impulse engines, the vessel would have been left on emergency battery power only. And those batteries had a maximum life of only twenty hours, meaning any passengers that might have survived the explosion would have run out of breathable oxygen long before their arrival.

  “Negative, code 4-9,” said the Icorr officer at the main sensor station.

  “Repeat code 4-9,” Laspas ordered, without pulling his fixed glare away from the screen.

  A funereal silence filled the crowded space. “Negative, code 4-9,” the officer repeated.

  “Kirk,” Satrav said, also not turning his eyes from the screen, “while I don’t believe your Starfleet sensors will detect anything different than ours will . . .”

  Without letting him finish, Kirk pulled out his communicator and signaled the Enterprise. “Mister Spock, scan the transport for any evidence of life signs,” he said. Given the advantage the Domain sensors had over their own in the Nystrom system, Kirk was just as doubtful as Satrav, but if there was the slightest chance . . .

  “Negative, Captain,” Spock reported back after several seconds. “We are detecting one hundred twenty-eight bodies in and around the vessel, all deceased.”

  “Acknowledged,” Kirk said quietly as he folded his device shut and looked to Laspas. “I’m sorry.”

  “All for nothing.” The words rattled in Satrav’s throat before being forced through his clenched teeth. “This is what we all had our hopes raised for. To find . . . this . . .”

  Laspas finally turned from the image of the transport and toward his exec. “Satrav . . .” he said in a muted, sympathetic tone, “code 10.” Satrav nodded and marched for the command center exit, doing his best to maintain his dignified, commanding air. “His daughter and her family were lost in a similar accident,” Laspas told Kirk in a low whisper as they watched the older man’s shoulders sag as he disappeared behind the closing door.

  Kirk didn’t know what to say in response to that. What words were there at a time like this? How many people had he lost over the years? How many more had he failed to save? “I’m sorry there wasn’t more we could do,” he finally offered.

  Laspas nodded. “As am I, James,” he said, and then fell silent, standing with his back to the viewer, unable to bear the sight anymore.

  The stillness that had taken the command center was then shattered. “Commander!” one of the Domain officers called from her station. “Code 1-7!”

  Hearing that, Laspas instantly pushed his mournfulness aside and spun to the viewer again, as if expecting that some immediate threat had suddenly appeared there. When he saw the image was unchanged, he wheeled back on the crew member. “Clarify!” he practically roared at her.

  “I executed a series three scan on the area of the breach, Commander,” she said, “and I’ve detected residual evidence of weapons fire. The transport was defending itself against something at the time the reactor was ejected and detonated.”

  Laspas considered his junior officer with narrowed eyes. “First Hand Asmar, I don’t recall issuing a code 4-70,” he said.

  “No, Commander. I . . .” She faltered for a second, then said, “It was when the Starfleet officer—Sulu?—looked deeper into the sensor data that we learned the transport vessel was still partially intact. I thought doing the same now, we might discover . . .”

  “Code 4-71!” Laspas called out urgently. “The Enterprise, too, James! Scan for any subspace distortion trails leading away from this area!”

  Kirk was momentarily caught off guard by the vehemence of that order, but gathered himself and withdrew his communicator again. “Spock, it looks like the transport may have been attacked by another ship. Scan for any sign of another warp vessel leaving the area.”

  “We are currently on one of the Goeg Domain’s primary space routes, Captain,” Spock pointed out.

  “Understood, Spock. Run the scan.”

  “Positive co
de 4-71!” called out a Liruq sensor technician. “Seven-five-one-two mark three-six-nine-eight, bearing four-five-one-two mark nine-nine-eight-five.”

  “Spock, did you copy that?” Kirk said into his communicator.

  “Affirmative, Captain,” he answered. “Scanning those coordinates. . . . Confirmed, sir. Detecting a recent subspace trail deviating from any established local space lanes.”

  “The Taarpi!” Laspas said. “Code 2-44!”

  Kirk felt the deckplates under his boots vibrate, and saw the image of the dead transport slide below the bottom edge of the center viewscreen and disappear. He snapped his head to Laspas as the vibrations gained in intensity. “What is code 2-44?” he demanded.

  “Pursuit course,” Laspas told him, his lips curling up in something other than a smile. “We’re going after the pyurbs, James!”

  Seven

  Laspas led Kirk out of the command center into a small ready room situated just on the other side of the forward bulkhead. Like the rest of the vessel, the commander’s private retreat was small and efficiently laid out, with a narrow bunk, a workstation, and a head. It did boast a few personal touches, like the framed photograph on his desk that showed him as a younger man posing with an older couple Kirk assumed were his parents. On the small stand beside the bunk sat one of his Kawhye books, an illustration of a Geog gaat and rider embossed on its cover.

  Once they were both inside, and the door shut behind them, Laspas moved close in the cramped space and pushed his muzzle toward Kirk’s face. “James, we are going after them,” he said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

  Kirk held perfectly steady, and met the other man’s eyes with equal resolve. “I am still the captain of my own ship! The Enterprise is severely damaged; she’s not fit for a hostile engagement. You do not have the authority . . .”

  “I have all the authority I need!” Laspas roared. “They murdered over a hundred civilians! I have the duty to go after them, and make them answer for this atrocity!”

  Kirk countered Laspas’s rising frustration by keeping the tone of his own response calm and level. “You cannot unilaterally commandeer my ship and take it into an armed confrontation!”

  “Then I’ll have all the connectors cut, and set you and your damned ship adrift!”

  Laspas’s threat hit Kirk like a fist to the gut. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said, feeling none of the calm confidence he conveyed.

  To his immense relief, he was right to call Laspas’s bluff. “Damn it, James,” the commander said, deflating. “These are the same pyurbs who attacked your ship back at Nystrom. Why in Erhokor’s name are you opposing me on this?”

  “We’re both in this together, Laspas. I can’t let you simply push me to one side and take this kind of action unilaterally, without any regard for my ship or my people,” Kirk said.

  “I have no less regard for your ship and crew than I do for my own,” Laspas insisted, sounding slightly wounded.

  And perhaps that’s the problem, Kirk thought to himself, recalling the conversation he’d had with Spock earlier. He quickly dismissed that ungenerous estimation. He knew Laspas better than that.

  Or he thought he did.

  “I’m not a diplomat, James,” Laspas continued, and tried to pace the tiny space. “It is not my intention to deny you what is yours. But I’m not one for negotiating. I’m a commander of the Defense Corps. When action needs to be taken, I act.”

  “Diplomacy is not exactly my strongest suit, either,” Kirk told him. “We’re very much alike, you and I, Laspas. So I know you can understand why it’s so difficult for me to be in the position I’m in, and to have no control over my own command.”

  “I do understand,” Laspas agreed, and Kirk could see in his eyes that he did in fact empathize with him. Then he fixed Kirk with his sharp, intense eyes. “But if you were in my position? If it were a hundred humans who had been murdered?”

  “Of course I would want to go after their attackers,” Kirk said, “humans or not.” He’d done so time and again in the past, following attacks by the Romulans on the Neutral Zone listening stations, and by the Gorn on Cestus III. In such instances, if one of his officers had cautioned restraint, he had refused to let that stand in the way of doing what he felt was necessary.

  “Well, then?” Laspas asked expectantly.

  “If I were to agree to this,” Kirk said slowly, “I would be making a tremendous show of faith in you, Laspas. The Enterprise is still recovering from our first encounter with the Taarpi . . .”

  “But our combined abilities will give us a marked advantage over the vessel we’re going after,” Laspas told him.

  Kirk waved that claim away, and stared directly into the Goeg’s eyes, mustering all the persuasive power he could. “Understand this: I have pledged my life to keep my ship and my crew safe. If I’m to put the safety of my ship and the lives of my crew in your hands, then I need you to make that very same pledge.”

  “You have it, James,” Laspas said, lifting his muzzle high, showing his exposed throat to Kirk as he said, “On my own life, I swear it.”

  Kirk drew a deep sigh, and then slowly nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Let’s go after them.”

  * * *

  “Code 2-5, five minutes,” said the voice over the Enterprise bridge speakers.

  From the Domain ship, Commander Laspas replied, “Standby code 2-2.”

  “We’re approaching the Nalaing system,” Uhura interpreted for the benefit of Kirk and the rest of the bridge crew, “and preparing to drop out of warp.”

  Kirk nodded in silent acknowledgment as he paced a circle around the upper level of the bridge. His nerves were on a razor’s edge, as they always were whenever heading into a potentially dangerous situation. When he was a cadet, he’d reprogrammed the Kobayashi Maru simulation test, doing away with some of the variables and allowing him to actually beat the test, a feat never achieved before. In the years since, he’d come to realize that he’d done himself a disservice. Out here, a captain didn’t have the luxury of setting his own conditions, or picking and choosing the variables of any situation. And now, there were even fewer variables he had any power to control.

  “Execute code 2-2,” Laspas ordered his crew, and a moment later, Kirk felt the change in the vibration of the deck plates under his feet. On the main screen, the streaks of light shrank back to small points, the brightest of which was the star the Goeg Domain designated Star 12-982-09, and called Nalaing-Qo by the natives of the second planet. That planet, called Nalaing, was a major center of interstellar commerce, and also long suspected to be a safe haven for the Taarpi.

  Kirk halted his circuit of the bridge beside Spock at the science station. “Any sign of the Taarpi ship on scans?” he asked.

  “Negative,” Spock answered. “The warp trail does indeed terminate here, but given the significant volume of sublight starship traffic in this system, it is impossible to determine where the vessel we have been pursuing may have gone from here.”

  “Captain,” Sulu interjected, “the 814 is taking us on a heading toward Nalaing, half impulse speed.”

  Kirk stepped down into the command well and hit the transmit key on his armrest. “Kirk to Laspas. Have you identified the attacker?”

  “Not yet,” the Domain commander answered. “We need to get into closer range.”

  “Do we mean to engage the enemy in such close proximity to planetary orbit?” Kirk asked as he took a step forward and looked at the readouts on the astrogation panel. There were a number of ships in orbit, almost all of them civilian judging from their transponder signals, and many appeared to match the general profile of the ship they’d been pursuing.

  “Don’t worry, Captain Kirk,” Laspas said, making a point of using his proper title during this stage of their operation. “Once we manage to identify the Taarpi ship, they’ll run. They can be vicious when preying on weaker vessels, but at heart they’re cowards. We only need to flush them out, and then we’ll ha
ve them.”

  Spock looked up from his viewer then and said, “It appears the commander’s prediction has come true. A ship matching our target’s profile has made an abrupt break from planetary orbit.”

  “On-screen,” Kirk ordered.

  The image of the planet on the screen switched from that of a distant bright disk to a Class-M world colored in blues and whites, half shrouded in the darkness of night. Computer augmentation highlighted a single small speck of light in motion across the black semicircle.

  “Captain,” Chekov said, first studying his console and then turning to look at Kirk over his shoulder. “They are not running, sir.”

  “Confirmed,” Spock reported. “They appear to be on an intercept course.”

  “Yellow Alert,” Kirk called, at the same time Laspas, over the speakers, declared what he assumed to be the equivalent status code. Kirk opened the channel to the other ship again. “Kirk to Laspas. This is not quite what you planned, is it?”

  Laspas answered with a sharp, “Code 1-2, Enterprise! Code 1-2!”

  Uhura was about to offer a translation, but that was one of the directives Kirk had made sure he had memorized. “Red Alert!” Kirk ordered. “All hands to battle stations. Screens up, extended configuration.”

  Chekov punched two rows of buttons on his console. “Screens up, sir. Extended configuration stable.” In their current joined configuration, the 814’s dorsal shield emitters were being obstructed by the Enterprise, and likewise, the majority of the emitters on the engineering section’s ventral hull were inoperative. The solution had been for the Starfleet ship, possessing the superior shield technology, to boost the power to the lateral defenses, and use those to shore up the Domain ship’s defenses.

  “Shield strength along the overlap?” Kirk asked, referring to the zone where the two ships’ defenses would be their weakest.

  From the engineering station, Ensign Strassman reported, “Eighty-one percent.” Kirk clenched and unclenched his jaw. They would just have to hope that would be enough.