The Latter Fire

by James Swallow

  “And what does he hope to do, sir?” Scott shook his head. “Keep feeding ships to the beast until it runs out of energy? I don’t think the leviathan will choke.”

  “If they’re trying to slow it down, they’ve already failed,” said Sulu. “Those fusion detonations? It took the damage without flinching.”

  “With no distinct target in the form of a Breg’Hel craft, there are few other tactical approaches open to the Syhaari,” noted Spock. “And I doubt those beings will reveal themselves until they are ready to.”

  Scott frowned. The Enterprise had lost all track of the ships that had taken the Icarus within seconds of them passing behind the leviathan’s energetic penumbra. He knew as well as anyone that the Breg’Hel—even if they were somehow herding the great cosmozoan—were beyond anyone’s reach for the moment.

  “Second wave of Syhaari ships is twenty seconds from weapons range,” Sulu noted. “They’re still going in.”

  “We have to do something!” said Leslie. “Warn them off!”

  “They are not unaware of the situation, Mister Leslie,” Spock reminded him. “Those crews are following their orders.”

  “Syhaari ships now firing in salvo!” said Sulu.

  Scott looked around to see the glittering beams of their weapon discharges shimmer brightly across the face of the leviathan, new blooms of exotic radiation flaring where the shots interacted with the object’s strangely charged atmosphere. Almost immediately, the lightning-force that had retaliated against the first wave of ships began to re-form. The smaller, more agile ships of the second wave broke away and powered back toward the main body of the Syhaari reprisal fleet, but Scott knew in his heart of hearts that they would not be quick enough. “Commander, sir . . .” He gave Spock an imploring look. “Leslie’s right. We can’t just sit here and be spectators to a massacre!”

  The Vulcan’s stoic expression never changed; he simply nodded once. “Mister Sulu, adjust attitude to mark three decimal two and take us in at half impulse power. Mister Leslie, bring our deflectors up to maximum and divert all energy from weapons systems to enhance them.”

  The Enterprise’s helmsman and the navigator didn’t need to be told twice. Suddenly the view on the main screen shifted as the ship left its station far outside the conflict zone and raced into the heart of the battle.

  * * *

  Kaleo listened intently as Kirk relayed the conversation he’d had with the Breg’Hel commanders, interrupting only once or twice to clarify a minor point. When he was finished, she let out a low, whistling sigh. “You should have accepted their offer, Kirk. These beings are correct about one thing—this matter is between us and them. There is no merit in risking your lives into the bargain.”

  Rumen spoke up from where he sat slumped against a rough-hewn wall. “Sister is right. If we have fallen into this war by the act of one of our kind, offworlder blood should not be shed because of it.”

  “This isn’t the first time my crew and I have been caught in the middle of someone else’s battle,” Kirk told them. “We weathered it then, and we’ll weather it now.”

  At his side, he saw Xuur give a shallow nod. “Yes, of course. The conflict between Eminiar and Vendikar.”

  “How did that end?” said Kaleo.

  “Better than it started,” Kirk replied, before Xuur was tempted to rake over the coals of that incident. “And the Federation always stands by its friends. Isn’t that right, Envoy?”

  The Rhaandarite woman nodded again. “We strive to do so.”

  Rumen gave a heavy sigh and took Kaleo’s hand. “My friend and pupil. Glad as I am to see you, I wish now you had not come.” He sniffed at her fur. “Too dangerous. You should not be out here in—”

  “Be quiet, you old fool,” she said gently. “That’s no concern of yours.”

  Nearby, Lieutenant Arex folded his three arms in a complex knot of limbs and elbows. “Captain, analyzing what you said. It seems that the Breg’Hel have closed off all avenues of diplomatic approach. I fear that may only leave us with other, more . . . kinetic methods of persuasion.”

  Kirk didn’t answer straightaway, but the fact was the Triexian was right. “They seem intractable,” he went on. “We tried to seek common ground with them, but we came up empty.”

  “Maybe violence is ingrained in their culture,” said Uhura ruefully. “We’ve seen that in other martial species, like the Klingons and the Romulans.”

  “No.” Rumen said the word, then shivered, realizing they were all watching him.

  “You have something to add?” Kirk prompted. “Please, go on. You’ve been aboard this ship for months, exposed to the Breg’Hel for all that time. Any insight you have could be vital.”

  Kaleo went to his side and stroked his shoulder. “Brother, listen to the human. If you know something, tell us.”

  Rumen fidgeted and then shook himself. “It is just . . . with all due respect to your sister officer, Kirk, and in spite of the evidence to the contrary, I do not believe the Breg’Hel are a warlike species. I would say they have been driven to this violence by something in their character. Because of their wounding at Tormid’s hands.”

  Kirk listened carefully to Rumen’s words. “You said before that the Breg’Hel are a network of blood relations and family ties; that they keenly felt the deaths of those killed on the scoutship.”

  Rumen’s large, hairy head bobbed in an approximation of a nod. “It is almost as if it were a physical wound upon every one of them.”

  “What if it is?” said Uhura. “Or, something like it? When we lose someone we care for, we suffer emotional pain and trauma that can last for a lifetime. What if the Breg’Hel connection is more empathic in nature?”

  “That would explain some of their behavior,” said Xuur. “If only we had a telepath with us. Captain Kirk, I think that the Breg’Hel might share a low-level psionic link with other members of their bloodline. When one dies, they all feel it. Quite literally.”

  Kirk nodded. “I’ve heard stories of human twins separated over great distances who felt a shock when their sibling was injured or perished. What you’re suggesting is something on the same spectrum.” He blew out a breath. “No wonder they want to strike back. ‘One crime is all crimes,’ that’s what Ret’Sed told us. They felt those deaths on the scoutship, and the anger at that is what drives them now.”

  “It also explains why they didn’t seem to grasp the concept of individual responsibility for those actions,” added the diplomat. “The Breg’Hel see other species as they see themselves, a community that shares all accountability for deeds done.”

  “If that is so,” Kaleo said quietly, “then how far will their punishment of my people progress? How many of us will they destroy before their need for revenge is sated?”

  Kirk had no answer to that question. “We can’t stay here and wait to find out. I’m inclined to follow Mister Arex’s suggestion and take a more forceful tack.”

  “A prison break?” said Uhura.

  “We’ve busted out of cells more than once, Lieutenant,” Kirk replied, moving to the iris hatch to study its rigid surface. “And this is our first obstacle.”

  “I could rig one of our communicator batteries to overload,” said the communications officer. “But it’ll be messy and hard to direct the discharge. There’s no way to know if it’ll even dent that metal.”

  Xuur gave a heavy sigh, and she reached up to her forehead to remove the jeweled band she wore there. “I may have an alternative.” The envoy turned the ornament over in her hands and revealed its inner surface. A matrix of tiny circuits and components glittered there. “This might be of use.”

  Kirk took it from her. “What am I looking at here, Veygaan? A recording device?”

  “Much more than that, James,” she said with a wan smile. “The band contains a visual processing system, sensing gear, a holographic projec
tor. It provides me with valuable real-time information when I am in conversation with others.”

  He held it up in front of his face and blinked in surprise as a hitherto unnoticed beam projected a panel of virtual data directly into his right eye. Kirk aimed it at Kaleo and saw the device respond to the Syhaari’s silhouette. “Are concealed lie detectors standard issue for FDC diplomats?”

  “That is a simplistic description,” said Xuur. “The band is an . . . enhancement I use in parallel with my own skills.”

  “And you record everything around you, every private word said, without the knowledge of others?” Kirk handed the device back to her, frowning. “I don’t know how many regulations or statutes that violates. I’m guessing it’s a lot.”

  Xuur’s ever-demure mask slipped. “We can go back and forth over any recriminations later,” she sniffed. “The fact is, the band has other functions that Lieutenant Uhura might be able to turn to a more offensive use.” The envoy nodded toward the hatch.

  “Let me see that thing,” said the communications officer.

  * * *

  Scott met Spock’s gaze across the Enterprise’s bridge. “Orders, sir? With no power to our phasers or photon torpedoes, we can’t—”

  “We have already seen there is no purpose to firing randomly at the leviathan,” the Vulcan broke in. “And I will exhaust every possible nonviolent approach to this situation before I order aggressive action.” He nodded toward the engineering console. “What is the status of our tractor beam emitters, engineer?”

  “Fully operable, sir,” Scott answered without hesitation.

  “Your ancestors, the people of Scotland. Many of them were fishermen.”

  The statement came out of nowhere, and Scott was wrong-footed by it. “Um. Aye, sir, that they were.”

  “Let us hope their skills transferred to you. Man the emitters, Mister Scott, and prepare to cast a wide net.”

  “Oh. I see . . .” The engineer suddenly understood the first officer’s plan, and a grin split his face. He raced back to his console and ran through the tractor beam power-up sequence in a fraction of the time it would normally have required.

  Out beyond the main viewer, a bow wave of lighting shards rose from the surface of the leviathan, lashing at the sterns of the Syhaari ships. “Return fire incoming,” said Sulu. “Fourth power energy field, the same frequency and radiant signature as what hit us before.”

  “Put us between the line of fire and the Syhaari ships,” ordered Spock. “Lieutenant Leslie, extend our deflectors as far as you are able and screen those craft.”

  Sulu nodded to himself as he saw where the first officer was taking them. “I can angle the ship to put the maximum aspect in front of the smaller vessels. But we won’t be able to stand up to a sustained bombardment, sir.”

  “Acknowledged, Mister Sulu. Fortunately, the data our sensors gathered from the leviathan’s earlier attack on the Enterprise has enabled me to remodulate our shields to provide a greater degree of resistance.”

  Scott frowned. “How much greater?”

  “Thirteen percent,” said the Vulcan.

  “That’ll have to do,” he replied.

  “Viewer angle on the other ships,” Spock ordered, and the screen flicked to an image of the fleeing Syhaari gunboats. “Lieutenant M’Ress, send a message to those vessels and warn them to brace for collision.” Without waiting for the communications officer to respond, he looked back toward Scott. “Are we ready?”

  The engineer drew a deep breath. “There’s a lot of moving targets. I’m having to split the beam loci multiple times . . . but yes, sir, we’re ready.”

  “Helm, compute escape course and stand by to execute.” Spock leaned back in the captain’s chair, as composed as if he were giving an order to set out on a cruise around the moons and back. “At your discretion, Mister Scott.”

  “Incoming fire!” cried Leslie, a split second before the upper reaches of the Enterprise’s shield barrier was slammed by the leviathan’s lightning surge. The starship rang like a struck bell, and for a moment Scott felt the deck beneath his feet flex alarmingly as the structural integrity field lagged in compensating for the impact. A flood of crimson warning lights burst into being across his console as the ship made its pain known to him. Seconds passed, seeming to extend indefinitely, as the Starfleet vessel took the brunt of the barrage that was meant to destroy the second wave of Syhaari ships.

  He heard the clatter and thud of debris banging off the hull of the starship as they moved through the area where the first wave had met its end. What was left of those ships and crews was now nothing but ashen remains strewn across the void.

  On a tertiary screen, a string of green ready indicators blinked, and Scott’s jaw set as he activated the Enterprise’s tractor beam emitters in sequence. It was a tricky job at the best of times, even without aiming from one moving platform at another—no, scratch that, at many other moving targets—not to mention the added computation he was doing on the fly regarding mass and relative velocity. Get it wrong, and the attractive gravimetric power of the tractor beam could induce shear forces that would rip the target apart or, worse, set up a feedback pulse that could tear the emitter right out of the Enterprise’s hull.

  “Mister Scott?” prompted Spock.

  “Aye, let’s reel them in, then.” He pressed the key that committed them to the action, and somewhere along the starship’s keel, glittering tractor beams stabbed out across the dark and hooked the dozen smaller vessels.

  It was a testament to Scott’s skill that not one beam missed its target. The crews on the Syhaari craft, understanding what protection was being extended toward them, cut their engines and let the Enterprise’s transferred momentum gather them up. The engineer deftly shortened the gain of the multiple tractor beams and pulled the little gunships closer. He ignored the warnings threatening overloads from the emitters and pushed the systems well past their safety protocols. Even as the starship rocked beneath the leviathan’s bombardment, Scott kept his hands on his controls, manipulating the tractors to keep the other vessels safe.

  Fire blazed around the disc of Enterprise’s primary hull, for long moments bathing it in a hellish inferno—­and then they were abruptly free of it, sweeping out of the far side of the attack corridor.

  “Shields down to twenty-seven percent,” called Leslie. “Some hull damage.”

  “Sickbay reports no casualties,” added M’Ress.

  Sulu called out from his station. “We’re clear of the leviathan’s fire.”

  Scott nodded to himself and executed an emergency shutdown of the overheating tractor beam projectors before they were ruined beyond all repair. He watched as the Syhaari gunships tumbled, the vessels that moments ago had been a heartbeat away from obliteration reigniting their engines and moving off.

  Multiple, overlapping voices issued out of Lieutenant M’Ress’s console. “Hails coming in from all the craft,” she explained. “They’re thanking us for intervening.”

  Spock nodded once. “Mister Sulu, bring us about and maintain separation from the leviathan.”

  M’Ress spoke again, the feline communications officer pressing a wireless receiver to her arched ear. “Another hail, The Light of Strength.”

  “Our friend Mister Tormid?” said Scott, rubbing a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

  “No doubt,” Spock agreed, and gestured to M’Ress to open the channel. “This is the Enterprise.”

  Tormid let fly with a string of strident, angry grunts that the universal translator couldn’t parse, although Scott knew the sound of curse-words when he heard them. “What are you doing, offworlder? This is a military operation, you cannot simply interfere with it at a whim!”

  “I believe the correct response at this juncture would be to say ‘You are welcome,’ ” Spock replied coolly. “And given the effect of your initial attack on th
e intruder, I would suggest you consider revising your operational plan. Immediately.” He nodded to M’Ress, and she ended the communication.

  “Commander . . .” Ensign Haines spoke up, her manner halting and fearful. Her gaze was fixed on the display through the science station monitor hood. “Long-range sensors are picking up a large number of new targets, becoming distinct as they move out from behind the leviathan’s mass shadow.”

  “Vessels?” asked the first officer.

  Haines gave a nod. “Aye, sir. The same craft we saw before, the ones that came out to meet the Icarus. But more this time, a lot more.”

  “On screen,” he ordered.

  Scott looked up at the viewer as it reframed a section of the leviathan’s upper quadrant. Rising up out of the plasmatic haze of the living planetoid’s atmosphere were dozens of dull, vaguely ovoid shapes propelled by jets of blue fire. To the engineer’s eye, they looked liked mailed fists grasping clusters of glass daggers. “So the ones with their hands on the beast’s leash have decided to show themselves, then. Can’t tell if that bodes ill or not.”

  Sulu’s next words answered that question for him. “Energy signature building inside the leviathan, sir. Twice the power levels we saw before. It’s preparing to attack again.”

  * * *

  “Do you feel that?” said Arex. He placed a hand on the stony wall of the holding chamber. “A tremor, somewhere else in the ship, an engine coming on line. I think we’re moving under power again.”

  “Then we have no time to lose,” said Kirk. “Ready?”

  “I’ve tried to escape before,” said Rumen, taking up a place in front of the glassy screen. “Several times. I never got far.”

  “You were alone then,” Kaleo said, not unkindly. “This time, we’ll take you home.”

  “I would like that.” Rumen bowed his head and filled his lungs. “Step back, everyone.” He balled his huge hands into fists and rolled his shoulders. Then, with an ear-splitting roar, the muscular Syhaari attacked the screen panel with his bare hands, smashing into it over and over, splintering the quartzlike material with each heavy blow.