Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity

by William Leisner

  * * *

  When Chekov had first set foot in the 814’s command center, he had been convinced that the purpose of the Defense Corps’s coding system was to keep outsiders from knowing what they were doing. During those first few days, the ensign felt like he had no idea what was going on around him. He’d become used to the Domain crew considering him as some kind of slow-witted child for needing to think in complete sentences. But after two weeks of immersive learning, Chekov was surprised by how much he had absorbed. He had even begun to understand the logic behind the numbering system, and could hazard a pretty good guess at the meaning if a new one came up.

  When he first heard the order for code 8-59, though, he was confused. Codes beginning with the prefix 8, he’d figured out, were related to communications—8-1 was “Scan subspace frequencies,” code 8-2 was “Open hailing frequencies,” and so on. Code 8-59 was unfamiliar, and as he scrolled down the list on his slate, he was surprised to learn that code 8-59 was “Communication silence.”

  Odd, Chekov thought, wondering what had prompted that order. He looked from his slate over to the Liruq officer at the communications station, on the far side of the command center. As he lifted his head, he saw a number of other crew members looking at him, or pretending not to be looking at him. Chekov froze, realizing that they were all expecting something to happen very shortly.

  To him.

  “Mister Chekov!” His head whipped around toward Commander Laspas, standing at the front of the room, the warp-streaked stars on the main screen seeming to radiate out from behind his head. “Code 10,” the Goeg leader said, cueing a pair of guards to move from their posts and advance on him.

  Chekov reached for his communicator, even as it now dawned on him why code 8-59 had been issued. Still, as he tried vainly to elude the soldiers, he flipped the grille open and shouted, “Chekov to Enterprise!” Unsurprisingly, the only response he got, before his wrist was grabbed and twisted back behind him, was static. “What is this about?” he demanded as both guards took hold of him and directed him roughly toward the command center exit. “You can’t do this!”

  Laspas turned his back and pointedly ignored Chekov. He was escorted out into the corridor and toward the gangway that led to the airlock. However, instead of heading up to the Enterprise, they started down, into the 814’s lower levels.

  Until now, Chekov had not been cooperative with his escorts, but he hadn’t resisted his unexplained expulsion, either. Now, realizing that going along quietly could end badly for him, he let his step falter, trying to bring the soldiers off balance. As they reacted to the way his weight had shifted in their arms, he pulled with his shoulder, and broke the hold of the guard on his left-hand side. He twisted then, driving his right shoulder into his other captor’s chest, while at the same time bringing his left leg up and driving his heel into the first soldier’s knee.

  Unfortunately, given the cramped confines of the Domain starvessel, the two-against-one odds, and the considerable size disparity between himself and his opponents, Chekov quickly found himself on the losing side of the fight. “So you want to play, do you, human?” the larger of the two said as he grabbed Chekov by the hair and threw him down the gangway, face-first into a bulkhead. Explosions of pain lit up the insides of his closed eyelids, and he tasted the blood that was flowing freely from both nostrils.

  “Easy,” the other one said, “you don’t want to leave any marks.”

  The big one snorted dismissively. “If anyone asks, he tripped.”

  They half carried, half dragged Chekov the rest of the way down the gangway to the lowest deck, and then down the corridor to a small room, where they dropped him unceremoniously to the deck before leaving him and sealing the door behind them.

  “Mister Chekov!” a voice said, and he looked up to see two other red-uniformed Enterprise officers, one moving across the deck to check on him, and the other lying in pain on the room’s single narrow bunk, clutching her injured ankle. “Are you okay?”

  Chekov looked up at the engineer, and then around at their small cell. “It doesn’t look like it,” he answered.

  * * *

  “Captain,” Scotty reported from the bridge engineering station, “I’ve just lost contact with all of my engineering teams over on the 814.”

  Kirk swiveled in his chair to face Scotty, and then Uhura to his left. “Lieutenant?”

  Uhura’s jaw tensed as she ran through a sequence of settings on her panel. “All communication with the 814 is being jammed, sir.”

  “Jammed? By what?”

  “They’re generating a low-level subspace inversion field,” Uhura said as she continued to study and manipulate her board. “The hard connections are still intact, but personal communicators have been neutralized.”

  Kirk felt a ball of fury building up in his chest. He pushed himself up from his chair and ordered Uhura, “Get me Laspas.”

  “I’ve been trying, sir,” Uhura answered. “They aren’t responding.”

  “Can you punch through the jamming field?” he said, gripping the railing in front of her station.

  Before she could answer, though, Arex interrupted, saying, “Captain, we’re dropping out of warp.”

  Kirk spun back forward, and saw that the stars on the main viewscreen had indeed come to a standstill as the ship reentered relative space. At last estimate, they weren’t due to reach Wezonvu for another fifteen hours. The hairs on the back of his neck were sticking out straight as he ordered, “Full sensor sweep. Location.”

  “Just under zero point nine light-years from our destination,” Spock answered from the science station. “I am also detecting—”

  “Sir!” Arex said, talking over the first officer. “Four ships approaching at full impulse, intercept course!”

  “On the viewscreen, full magnification,” Kirk nearly shouted. The starfield before him jumped, and the incoming vessels appeared, little more than slivers of reflected light at their current distance, but unmistakably growing closer.

  Spock, peering into his hooded viewer, added, “The computer has identified them as Goeg Domain Defense Corps Short-Range Enforcement Vessels, Class I.” Those, Kirk recalled from what he had studied of the Defense Corps over the past two weeks, were the Domain’s top-of-the-line fighter ships. Highly agile and maneuverable, and each equipped with nearly three times as much firepower as any comparably sized Federation ship.

  Spock then lifted his head away from his viewer and turned to face Kirk directly. “Their weapons systems are fully armed.”

  Ten

  Through the blaring of the Red Alert klaxons, and the sound of his own pulse pounding madly in his ears, Kirk almost missed Uhura’s report: “I’ve managed to get through the jamming field to the 814, sir. No response.”

  Kirk silently vowed to make Laspas pay for this massive betrayal, assuming that they didn’t get blown out of space before he had the chance. “Can we hail the incoming ships?”

  “I haven’t been able to get through the jamming,” Uhura answered.

  “Keep trying,” he ordered, moving over to the engineering station. “Scotty,” the captain said, leaning close and speaking in a low voice, “I think it may be time to burn some bridges.”

  “Aye,” Scotty said, then added grimly, “The idea of abandoning our people over there, though . . .”

  “I know,” Kirk said. The fact that five men and two women were being held hostage was the only thing that gave him pause about breaking their connection to Laspas’s ship. But there were 423 people aboard the Enterprise. “Transporters?” he asked Scotty.

  The engineer shook his head. “Not as long as we’re joined; it’d be the same as attempting intraship transport. I can have the transporter room ready to lock onto any human life signs once we’re at least two hundred meters apart.”

  “Do it,” Kirk said, even though he knew that they could be under attack by that point and might not have the time to drop shields and beam his crew back. The captain pushed those
concerns aside and asked Scotty, “Are we ready to separate, then?”

  “I’ve sealed off the umbilicals and the airlock, but we’ll need another”—Scotty paused to check the chronometer on his console—“forty-seven seconds for the warp plasma levels to fall far enough. Otherwise we’ll end up ripping sections of the hull off in the process.”

  Kirk nodded. “Carry on.” The roster of those he was potentially leaving behind—Chekov, Cleveland, Farrell, Fradella, Kent, Nakahara, Strassman—ran through his mind. I hope you all can forgive me. “Mister Arex, ready shields and phasers.”

  “Standing ready, sir,” the Triexian navigator acknowledged.

  “Scotty?”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  Kirk drew a breath, silently counting off the seconds. Just before he reached zero and gave Scotty his order, the tension on the bridge was broken by Uhura saying, “Captain, we’re receiving an incoming hail from the lead fighter.”

  “Scotty, Arex, stand by,” Kirk said, then stood up before saying to Uhura over his shoulder, “Open a channel, and put it on the main viewer.”

  The captain was not surprised to find himself looking at the image of another Goeg. This one did not wear the Domain Defense Corps uniform; instead, he wore a green suit of clothes, which Kirk took for Goeg civilian wear. His mane was a darker brown and cut shorter than that of Laspas and the rest of his crew. “Captain James Kirk, I presume?” he said, offering a small, tight smile.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Kirk answered. “And you are . . . ?”

  “My name is Fallag, chargé d’affaires for the Goeg Domain,” he introduced himself. “On behalf of President Raltgel and the Executive Congress, allow me to welcome you to our space.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” Kirk told him, exchanging a quick look with Spock before continuing, “but sending out a squadron of Class I enforcers isn’t exactly laying out the welcome mat.”

  Fallag’s smile slipped then. “The reason for this welcome, Captain Kirk, is due to the Abesian woman you are holding aboard your vessel. I know Laspas has tried to impress upon you the seriousness with which we take the Taarpi threat, but it was felt that we needed to ensure there were no additional ‘miscommunications.’ ”

  Kirk felt the muscles in his jaw tense. “Commander Laspas and I have already come to an agreement, and he has given me his word that the Enterprise would be safely conducted to the repair base at Wezonvu.”

  “And it will be, unless you would like to carry through with the immediate decoupling you were preparing to initiate just now?” Fallag asked archly. Kirk gave nothing away, even as he heard Scotty mutter something indistinguishable behind him. “Just be warned that if you do so,” Fallag continued, “it will be taken as a hostile act by the enforcer commanders.”

  “Understood,” Kirk said through his tightened jaw, then turned to Scotty. The engineer returned a look of resignation and started to reverse the steps that he had taken.

  Fallag smiled again, saying, “The enforcers will escort the Enterprise and Starvessel 814 for the remainder of your transit. And I should like to come aboard the Enterprise, with your permission.”

  “Permission granted,” Kirk said, idly wondering if refusing permission would make any difference.

  “Excellent,” Fallag said. “I’m quite hopeful, Captain Kirk, that this meeting will mark the beginning of a long-lasting relationship between the Goeg Domain and the United Federation of Planets. Until then.” The envoy’s transmission ended, and the four alien ships appeared on the screen. They were in a diamond formation and close enough now that their deadly-looking profiles were clearly visible. The captain rubbed his hand across his eyes as a dull ache throbbed behind them.

  “Sir?” Kirk turned to Lieutenant Uhura, who told him, “We’re receiving a message from the 814. All of our people are being put off their ship. They want us to unseal the airlock.”

  Scotty stepped up to the rail, saying, “We can still break away and try to make a fight of it, sir.”

  “No, Mister Scott,” Kirk said. “Do we still have Domain engineering teams aboard?”

  “Only for as long as it takes me to toss ’em out by the scruff of their necks,” Scotty said.

  Kirk nodded his approval. “Once you’ve done that, alert the shuttlebay to stand by. Mister Spock,” he said, stepping out of the command well. “We have guests to greet.”

  * * *

  “If there’s one thing worse than a thug, it’s a stupid thug,” McCoy said as he held Chekov’s chin and tilted it backward as he ran a tissue regenerator over his patient’s nose. In addition to Chekov, four of the six engineers who had been held aboard the 814 had sustained minor injuries. In all cases, the official explanation from the 814 was that they had accidentally tripped and fallen. “If you’re going to lie,” McCoy grumbled as he repaired the damage done to the ensign’s septum, “at least be creative about it.”

  “Yeah, that’s the reason to be angry with them.” The regenerator had the effect of making Chekov sound heavily congested when he spoke, though it did nothing to muffle the sarcastic undertone of his words.

  McCoy deactivated his instrument and released his grip. “Sorry, Pavel. I don’t mean to minimize what they did to you . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it, Doctor,” Chekov said. “At least now they’ve shown their true colors, huh?”

  “That they have,” McCoy said, though that was of little consolation, as the Enterprise was still under the control of the Domain ship, and headed deeper into their territory. He lay the tissue regenerator aside, took up a hypospray, and gave Chekov a small dose of analgesic. “Go back to your cabin and get some rest. I’ve asked the captain to take you off duty for twenty-four hours.”

  “And I’ve approved that request.” McCoy turned as Kirk, followed by Spock, entered sickbay. Both were in their full dress uniform, having just finished their initial meeting with the envoy from the Goeg Domain. From the look on the captain’s face, that meeting hadn’t gone well. Even Spock’s expression seemed more dour than usual.

  The captain exchanged a few words of sympathy and appreciation with Chekov before the ensign went on his way back to his cabin. Once the three of them were alone, McCoy asked, “How did things go with this Fallag fellow?”

  Kirk answered by pressing his fingertips to the middle of his forehead and asking, “You wouldn’t happen to have any of your special prescriptions on hand, would you, Bones?”

  “That bad, huh?” McCoy said, and led them into his office. He unlocked a low cabinet where he kept his emergency supply of Kentucky bourbon, grabbing the bottle and three glasses. He set them on his desk and dispensed the amber elixir for the three of them. McCoy knew Spock would decline to drink, but his own upbringing wouldn’t allow him not to make the offer.

  True to form, Spock ignored his tumbler, while Kirk lifted his glass in a silent toast. The captain poured his drink back, then struggled to hide any reaction to the burning sensation as it ran down his throat. McCoy considered him with amusement as he savored his own drink, and once it looked as if the captain might be able to speak, he asked, “So, what happened?”

  “Well,” Kirk said, “the good news is, Mister Fallag has assured me that the 814 will be taking us the rest of the way to Wezonvu, that we will be able to have all our repair work completed there, and from there the Enterprise will be afforded free passage back to Federation space.”

  “Awful generous of them,” McCoy cracked. “What’s the bad news?”

  Kirk stared into his drink and said, “The bad news is that, to get that guarantee, I had to threaten him with war.”

  McCoy had just brought his own glass to his lips, and nearly sloshed half of his bourbon down his front when he heard that. “Come again?”

  “The captain is employing hyperbole,” Spock interjected. “We merely informed Mister Fallag that if the Enterprise were to remain missing for an extended period of time, Starfleet Command would send out a ship looking for us.” Spock pa
used before adding, “He may have given them the impression that Command would be sending several heavily armed Constitution-class vessels directly to Goega.”

  McCoy chortled. “All loaded with corbomite, I assume.” McCoy appreciated how big a bluff that was. Given the nature of the Enterprise’s current mission, out beyond the farthest edge of Federation space and outside of reliable subspace radio contact, it could be a year before anyone back home came looking for them, if not longer.

  “Not corbomite—photon torpedoes,” Kirk told McCoy with a scowl, then explained, “Fallag was highly impressed by the way our weapons destroyed the Taarpi ship so easily and so completely. Turns out we owe Laspas’s crew our thanks for providing such an effective demonstration of our strength for their leaders.” Kirk tilted his head back and drained the rest of the bourbon in his glass in a single swallow.

  The doctor winced at that bit of dark sarcasm from the captain. He hesitated and watched as Kirk refilled his glass before asking, “And what did he have to say about Ghalif?”

  “Oh, he was exceedingly diplomatic and polite as we discussed the precepts of due process and the rights of the accused. He was even polite as he informed us that, under Domain law, Ghalif is entitled to absolutely none of it.”

  “Well, then, we won’t be turning her over to them . . . right?” McCoy asked, even though he knew how tenuous their position was.

  Kirk sighed. “Fallag agreed to an extradition hearing,” he said, “though it’s fairly obvious that he’s looking at it as little more than a supervised interrogation, and that having us surrender her is a foregone conclusion.”

  “Jim—”

  Spock cut the doctor off. “Mister Fallag was very clear that Ghalif’s surrender was not negotiable. Even if there was an extradition treaty in effect between the Federation and the Domain, they would only need to demonstrate probable cause in order to have her remanded to their custody. Despite her claims of innocence, her presence on the vessel that destroyed the transport would satisfy that requirement.”