The nearest guard gestured with its lance and spoke. Uhura’s universal translator immediately interpreted the words. “Who among you is the parent?”
Kirk exchanged glances with Xuur and his communications officer.
“Father-mother?” said the guard, trying again.
“I think he means leader, sir,” Uhura offered. “The UT is still processing all the syntax.”
Kirk nodded and stepped forward. “I am.”
“Father-mother,” the guard said again, this time more insistently.
“I am.” Xuur moved to stand at Kirk’s side and flashed him a sly wink.
“You will accompany us,” said the other Breg’Hel. “There are questions.”
Uhura placed the translator device in Kirk’s hand. “Keep it running, Captain,” she told him. “The more the UT can sample their language, the better our communications will get.”
He nodded. “You’re in charge until I return. Keep our people safe.”
She gave a determined smile. “Will do, sir.”
“Follow!” ordered the first guard, retracing its steps through the hatch. Kirk clipped the translator to his uniform and did as he was told, with Xuur a step behind him.
Back out in the corridor, the Breg’Hel guards closed the hatch and then formed a circle around them before moving off.
“It seemed the right thing to do,” said the diplomat, heading off Kirk’s question before he could voice it.
“I just don’t want these beings getting the wrong idea about our relationship, Envoy.”
“You flatter me,” she allowed. “And to be honest, yourself a little into the bargain.”
He raised an eyebrow at her tone. “Is that so?”
Xuur kept walking and didn’t meet his gaze. “There are other things your FDC file says about you, James.”
“And I’m sure they’re all equally unbiased,” he said dryly. For a moment, Kirk concentrated on placing one foot in front of another, calling on his low-g training to prevent himself from bouncing with each step. He quickly slipped into the rhythm of motion. The reduced gravity aboard the Breg’Hel ship could make someone raised in a Class-M standard environment become clumsy if they were not watchful. For her part, Xuur also adapted quickly, something that Kirk hadn’t expected. He thought again about the diplomat, about how much of her he couldn’t read. Like it or not, we’re working together now.
“This vessel,” she spoke quietly, jutting her chin at the curved corridor around them, “at first I believed it was carved out of an asteroid, but I was mistaken. The rocky material it is made of, it almost seems . . . sculpted.”
“Molded might be a more accurate term,” Kirk allowed. “I think what we’re looking at here is some sort of cast structure, fabricated from a solidified fluid medium.”
She nodded. “Yes, I see.” Xuur pointed as they walked beneath a vein of yellowish crystal that described a helical pattern around the walls. “And that material? Perhaps something injected into the structure as it forms?”
Kirk eyed the faint glow coming from deep inside the lines of mineral. “You could be right. It looks like dilithium, but without a tricorder there’s no way to be sure.”
“A ship made of stone and crystal,” said Xuur. “Not quite grown like Tholian vessels, not quite repurposed from planetesimals, but some combination of the two. I wonder, what would we see if we could compare the atomic structure of this ship with the leviathan creature?”
He considered the question. “Interesting point. If we can make peace with these beings, perhaps we can come back with Mister Spock and a geology team.”
“One step at a time,” Xuur replied. She was about to say more, but fell silent as a pair of Breg’Hel crew members—dressed differently from their captors—scuttled past. Without breaking their pace, the two of them clambered up the curved walls and hesitated, their large eyes swiveling to watch the two captives pass beneath.
Where the aliens had climbed the walls, Kirk saw there were more of the strange ivy-like plants that coated the walls of the holding chamber. But where the ones in the cell had been festooned with light-emitting buds, these plants had wide, oval leaf structures that reminded him of lily pads. Maybe a component of their life support system, he guessed, a natural air scrubber. Looking closer, he spotted fat beetles with iridescent green carapaces moving around in the foliage. Never taking its eyes off him, one of the watchful Breg’Hel reached out and snagged one of the bugs, popping it into its mouth with a crunch of chitin.
The corridor widened into a windowless spherical chamber where dozens of Breg’Hel hung from all angles, each of them splayed over carved protruding nubs of rock that ended in glassy discs, each aglow with symbols and shapes Kirk couldn’t interpret; but he knew a command center when he saw one. Still, there was no central point that he could find, nothing that resembled a captain’s chair like he had aboard the Enterprise. It was only when another pair of Breg’Hel skittered down toward them that Kirk realized he was looking at the ship’s masters. The two of them differed from the rest of their crew by coloration, both with skin a shade of pale turquoise Kirk had not seen anywhere else. They were slightly taller too, with a whitening around the edges of their scales that became apparent as they approached.
Xuur pieced it together first. “They’re older than the rest,” she said. “The . . . parents?”
Is it possible? Kirk wondered, looking around the command center at the other, younger Breg’Hel. He knew that reptile life-forms could produce large clutches of eggs in a single fertility cycle. Could this whole crew be the literal family of these two?
The guards parted to allow the elders to examine Kirk and Xuur, and the captain saw another of their kind move up to accompany them—the yellow-skinned “secure-master” who had taken them into custody in the landing bay.
“Zud’Hoa,” said Xuur with a bow, “to whom do we have the honor of addressing?”
The yellow Breg’Hel gave a shake of its head that seemed dismissive, and spoke in its halting, chirping cadence. “Father-Mother. These are the aliens that seek to interfere with the war plan. They are of the not-known.”
The elder on the left, differing from its partner in the stark bottle-green coloration of its eyes, tilted its head and spoke. “I am Ret’Sed.”
“I am Ead’Aea,” said the other elder, whose eyes were a darker amber shade. Neither had any immediate visual signifiers to suggest gender.
“We co-command this vessel and the seeking of retribution.” Ret’Sed looked them up and down. “How is it that we converse in each other’s language?”
Slowly and carefully, so as not to alarm the aliens, Kirk unclipped the universal translator and showed it to them. “We have a technology that allows us to communicate. We might be able to share it with you, if you wish.”
“The known do not possess this instrument.” Ret’Sed’s tongue flicked at the corner of its mouth, and then the alien looked Kirk in the eye. “You will identify yourself.”
“James T. Kirk, captain of the Starship Enterprise. This is my colleague Envoy Xuur. We represent the United Federation of Planets, a galactic coalition of allied worlds, and we are here in the spirit of peace.”
Xuur nodded. “Indeed. We are not the enemies of the Breg’Hel. We have no wish for violence between our peoples. We ask only that we may speak with you.”
“There has been much violence already,” Ead’Aea replied firmly. “At the hands of the known.”
“The Syhaari?” said Kirk. “Yes, that may be so. But those were the acts of one individual. To blame millions for one person’s mistake—”
Ret’Sed and Ead’Aea both reached for each other’s hands and clasped fingers. “Blood-kin family and dynasty-children perish, that is a deed that cannot be undone,” said Ret’Sed. “One crime is all crimes.”
“One guilt is all guilt,” added Ea
d’Aea. “One blame is all blame.”
“Those who crewed the scout vessel, they were your kindred?” asked Xuur.
“A splinterhood,” said Zud’Hoa, with a clatter of teeth. “Sister-cousins perished there. A grave injustice.”
“Not only lives were taken,” Ead’Aea went on. “Matter and substance. There was theft, not-known Xuur. Murder and theft.”
Kirk thought about Rumen’s explanation back in the holding chamber. He could only begin to gauge the scope of the Breg’Hel societal structure on this first meeting, but it seemed his assumptions and those of the Syhaari pilot had been close to the mark. The lizard-like aliens appeared to have a complex web of interrelationships and familial loyalty that Tormid had blindly ripped through with his fear and ambition.
“The known did this,” intoned Ret’Sed. “Of that there is no doubt. You have seen the visual-witness. A threat to the greater brood exists here, and it must be expunged.”
The alien is a danger to us. Kirk heard the echo of Tormid’s words in the Breg’Hel commander’s statement.
“Captain,” Xuur whispered, nudging him with her elbow, “look there.” He turned in the direction the envoy was indicating and saw a visual display on one of the larger control units. It was a long-range image of Gadmuur, the orbital shipyards and space platforms appearing as glittering motes of light around it.
He couldn’t determine how far they were from the planet, but it was clear to the captain that the arrival of the Icarus had not slowed the Breg’Hel approach. He took a breath and raised his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture of goodwill. “You see that we are not from this place, and you know that we had no part in what happened to your ship and your people.”
“This is so.” Ead’Aea blinked. “It is why you are being given audience. The question. Why are you here, not-known Kirk?”
“To intercede,” he said, taking the opportunity. “Warfare is destructive, and it ultimately leads only to more bloodshed. We can make a promise to you, the Breg’Hel, on behalf of the Federation. Hold back your advance into Syhaari space and in return we will help you seek a different path to resolution.”
Xuur nodded. “The Federation can take a neutral stance in this conflict. We can mediate between the Breg’Hel and the Syhaari. Your grievances will be heard. Together, we will find a way to provide you with restitution and justice. A way that does not require acts of war and greater murder.”
The aliens fell silent, and for a moment Kirk was afraid they had misunderstood what he and the envoy were offering. Then Ead’Aea released Ret’Sed’s hand and pointed a thick, fleshy finger at them. “You, the not-known of the Federation. We have no quarrel with your kindred. We will release your small-craft, you may go to your vessel and depart without punishment.”
“What about Rumen and Kaleo, the Syhaari?” said Xuur.
“The known will remain our prisoners,” grated Ret’Sed. “They are blamed.”
“Your offer is rejected,” said Ead’Aea. “An arbiter is not required. We will find justice in our own manner.”
Kirk’s lips thinned. “I can’t stand by and let that happen,” he told them. “I understand your pain, but you must see . . . those you have already attacked, and those you plan to attack . . .” He pointed toward the image of Gadmuur. “They are not the ones who hurt your kindred. You are striking at innocents.”
“One crime is all crimes,” spat Zud’Hoa. “This is truth.”
Ead’Aea raised a hand, and the guards returned, moving back to surround Kirk and the envoy. “No more words. You were given a choice. You did not take it. You are now the known, Kirk and Xuur. You will suffer the same punishment as the deserving.”
With a snap of metal on metal, the guards extended their lances and crowded in on them.
Ten
The distant light of the sun Sya fell upon the intruder as it closed in on the star’s third planet. Those down on Gadmuur’s arid surface, who turned their faces to the thin, cloudless sky and held their breaths, could see a ghostly sketch of the object as it approached. Passing inside the orbital path of Gadmuur’s outer moon, the leviathan’s presence began to stir the larger planet, its gravitation exerting a tidal force on the atmosphere. Storm cells formed spontaneously, hurricanes full of razor-edged dust sprouting across the plains. Almost all the workers on the industrial colony ran for the safety of their underground bunkers, and so it was that only a handful remained to see the distant flashes of fire that marked the battle raging above them.
The ships of the grand Syhaari flotilla waited until the last possible second before they committed themselves to the engagement. There had been a hope, a vain and wishful one, that the monolithic intruder might veer away when faced with a sky filled with warships. But the leviathan did not turn, its first act of defiance to bleed off velocity through the discharge of massive surges of electroplasma, preventing itself from taking a collision course into Gadmuur’s gravity well. Such a meeting would have torn apart both the planet and the strange, monstrous life-form—but the leviathan was not here to martyr itself.
The word came from the command deck of The Light of Strength, and with the dedication born of desperation and hope in their hearts, the first flights of Syhaari rangers blazed a trail from their staging points and into weapons range with the alien object. Twenty ships, some of them veterans of exploration missions to the outer worlds of the Sya system, others having only been sealed up days ago and launched from their drydocks while their welds were still fresh. Each had a skeleton crew, a need forced on them by the nature of their battle plan, with every trained spacer recalled from other duties to join the fighting line. In the hours before the final order had come, the makeshift crews had drifted in the darkness, opening collective comm channels to one another so that they could share clan-hymns while they marked the time. The Syhaari kept up their spirits with the gruff singing as best they could, until the leviathan grew large on their scanner screens and the inexorable approach made them all fall silent.
Of the crews aboard the twenty ships in the first wave, there would be none that would sing again. The rangers came at the object in an angry swarm, releasing salvoes of fusion missiles that roared across the distance between attacker and target. Lines of bright light webbed the zone around the leviathan before the myriad warheads fell in tumbling, corkscrew paths through the object’s outer atmospheric mantle. Ripples of chain reactions detonated over the leviathan’s surface as it reacted to the aggression.
The plan had been to concentrate all the firepower of the first wave in one spot on the leviathan’s crust, to be the equivalent of a thousand needles stabbing a giant in the same place. If they could wound this thing, if it were possible to make it bleed, then perhaps it would see the error of its ways and push back against the malevolent impulses that was driving it forward.
But that was not to be. The leviathan’s ephemeral corposant sheath, glittering like captured lightning, flashed brightly as the fusion missiles struck. They detonated early, far too early, and clouds of fire bloomed in an ugly crimson smear across the object’s southern hemisphere.
The leviathan seemed to shudder. Whatever consciousness it possessed, the Syhaari attack force had certainly succeeded in getting its attention. Torrents of amber flame grew out of electrostatic reactions in the stone flesh of the leviathan, and towers of lightning rose from the surface in dazzling profusion. Burning through the haze of nuclear smoke brought forth by the missile bombardment, the great pillars of energy became writhing serpents as they passed into the vacuum. Branching wildly, the storm of power engulfed the twenty rangers as their commanders tried in vain to alter course and gain distance. In panic, one junior captain, who had never before steered anything bigger than an aero-lifter, killed himself and his crew by flying into the fusion drive plume of a sister-ship. His self-inflicted ending came only a fraction of a second before his nineteen cohorts were speared by the l
eviathan’s vicious counterattack.
Lines of lightning pierced the hulls of the rangers, opening them to the void, jumping from ship to ship in manic jolts. Reactor cores overloaded, unspent missiles cooked off in their launching tubes, and then the first wave was gone.
The second wave was only moments behind the leaders, all of these smaller and more maneuverable ships that had been hastily converted into gunboats bristling with retrofitted particle cannons. Their crews could do nothing but watch the deaths of their comrades in as much time as it had taken to draw a breath.
Ahead of them, the leviathan gathered up more power to meet their approach with the same terrible violence.
* * *
On the bridge of the Enterprise, the only sound Montgomery Scott could hear was the rough gasp that escaped his throat. His flesh crawled as a sudden, horrible chill washed over him. There on the main viewer, the mad fires cast out by the alien intruder were briefly dissipating to reveal the graveyard of dozens more Syhaari ships. Nothing there, he thought to himself, only dust and debris.
“Mother of Ages,” whispered M’Ress, breaking the silence. “Could anyone have survived that?”
Scott looked across the bridge to where Ensign Haines was clinging to the science station, her knuckles white around the viewer hood. She met his gaze with a bleak shake of the head.
“The next group of Syhaari vessels is still closing with the object,” said Sulu, finding his voice. Before him on the helm console, the prism-shaped alert light blinked a steady red beacon.
“How many of them in the next wave?” asked Scott.
Lieutenant Leslie answered the question. “Eight ships, sensors reading three life-forms on board each. Damn, they’re just flying right into the teeth of that monster.” He turned back to look at Spock, who sat still as a statue in the command chair. “Sir, it’s not a military operation, it’s a suicide charge.”
“A point I made to their commander myself,” Spock said quietly.
The Latter Fire Page 17