by Diane Carey
THE BRIDGE was in efficient chaos as Keller followed Lake back to the command deck. They had to use the ladder companionways because the lift tube was still out of order. Only the deepest of personal restraint kept Keller from plowing upward in front of his captain, maybe tripping him on the way in, hoping he’d hit his head.
Around them, everything was in a knot. Even the two security men Lake had ordered to man the bridge were sweat-glazed and pasty-faced, worried about what might happen. Apparently rumors were wicking to the lower decks already.
“Speed is one half sublight, sir,” McAddis reported, taking refuge in convention, “heading nine-four mark three. Incoming vessel’s at six-nine-nine mark one and closing. They dropped to sublight as soon as they made contact.”
“Phaser banks on full,” Lake ordered immediately. “Open fire as soon as we bear. Hit the bastards where it counts. Hurley, prepare for attack maneuvers. Keep your bow shields to ’em. I’m not letting ’em get the best of me again.”
Keenly feeling the absence of Derek Hahn’s steadying influence, Keller knotted his hands at his sides and stepped into the big shoes. “Warning shots only, I assume, sir.”
“No, we’re shooting to kill.”
A terrible claw closed itself around the throat of the entire bridge crew as if they shared a single body. The captain couldn’t possibly have assessed the situation before giving that order, hadn’t even had time to look at the forward screen, note the small dot of a ship on approach vector that would in moments be forced to bear off.
Instantly the ship’s phasers whined, breaking the peaceful fabric of open space. A clean miss.
Keller glanced at Hurley. A miss, on purpose? That would be an egregious breach. Still, could he blame Hurley for it?
Up on the sci-deck, Tim McAddis’s face was a thumbprint of ghostly white framed by the colorful upper graphic monitors, his blue eyes fixed on Keller.
The dot on the main screen began to take some hint of shape, and a deeper purple color. Keller couldn’t make out more than maybe a wing formation and a yellow propulsion stream. “Have we got ID?”
Typical of a professional comm officer, Tracy Chan banished the tension from her voice. “They’re broadcasting a signal. I’m trying to bring it in.”
“Hurry,” Keller encouraged.
“They’re on a standard approach vector, sir,” Makarios reported. “No suspicious maneuvers of any kind.”
There was anguish in the helmsman’s voice, panic in his eyes as he scoped out Keller for some kind of help, answers. This couldn’t be happening. Taking potshots at shadows during Gamma Night was nothing like this. They were targeting for clean full-power shots at an enemy that couldn’t possibly match their might or speed.
Lake hunched his shoulders and gripped the arm of his command chair. “Come around to z-minus two-seven and fire as you bear.”
Time to face the music. Turn and look him right in the eye. Wait till he looks back. Now—talk!
“Captain, are you ordering us to open fire on a vessel that hasn’t been declared an enemy presence?”
As if he had a psychic tie to the whole sector, Lake calmly proclaimed, “There’s nothing out here but enemy presences, Nick.”
“It could be an innocent passage, sir. Those people could be just moving through.”
“In all these weeks, how many ‘innocent passages’ have we stumbled upon?”
“Captain!” Tracy Chan came to life with a flinch. “They’re broadcasting Federation frequency, encoded to Starfleet encryption! Authorization code reads as James T. Kirk, Commander Enterprise.”
What a relief! Keller turned to find that Chan might have been addressing Lake, but she was looking at him. “Confirm that, Tracy,” he requested, because he wanted Lake to hear it twice.
The captain, though, peered at the forward screen with eyes like slits. “Does that look like the Enterprise to you? What do you take me for?”
“Sir,” Keller pointed out quickly, “they could’ve been given the authorization code by Captain Kirk, to carry a message to us. That’s standard proced—”
“Or they could’ve hijacked the code and they’re using it to lull us into a passive state. Look at it. Nobody’s ever seen that design before. They’re trying to trick us into dropping our shields. I’m not falling for it. Helm, come to zero-zero-four. Increase speed to point seven-zero sublight. Come in under them, then increase speed to point seven-five and come to nine-five true.”
“Zero-zero-four, sir.” Hurley was panting.
Beside him, Makarios shivered and worked his board. “Coming about, sir.”
The ship clawed her way around. Paranoid or not, Lake was good at this. Within two short maneuvers, he had boxed the blue ship between Peleliu’s tough phasers and the scorching presence of the nearest star. The little ship, without engines as powerful as the cruiser’s, was forced to veer hard over, right back into the trap, in order to avoid the gas giant’s hungry gravity.
“Captain,” Chan insisted, “they’re sending a properly encoded recognition signal with James Kirk’s personal encryption! I believe this constitutes confirmation!”
“Sure. I would too, if I were them.”
Torn up by the desperation in Tracy’s face, Keller bent forward and grasped the bridge rail, “Let’s find out what they want, sir. Let me hail—”
“We know what they want. Fire!”
His legs thready, Keller moved up the deck ramp until he was standing right over his captain. He leaned into Lake’s face, almost blocking his view of the screen.
“Captain, this is a whole new territory out here. You saw that briefing. We have enemies and we have friends, in ships we might not have catalogued yet. Please break off while we ascertain the condition over there.”
Offering him a passive and parental gaze, Lake waved the idea away. “You’re a fine man, Nick, you’ll be a fine shipmaster someday, but for today we’ve got nothing but my instincts to call on. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Don’t be so quick to believe what you think you’re seeing. That’s how people get killed.”
“Sir,” McAddis protested from overhead, “they’re not returning our shots! They haven’t fired on us once yet!”
“Because I didn’t give them the chance to. Helm, fire!” As the phasers barked, Lake glanced around for a moment of rationality and noticed the crew’s distress. Unfortunately, it had little effect on him. “This is the oldest trick in the book. These are the same people who attacked us earlier. This is just round two.”
McAddis came to the sci-deck rail. “Sir, respectfully submit you don’t know that! Those people fled. This ship came in on a completely diff—”
“Stand down, McAddis,” Lake snarled. “I don’t trust you anymore. Fire! Nick, get to the sci-deck and keep your eye on McAddis.”
Right this way, folks, for a little tap-dance in hell.
Keller glared at Lake with acrimony the captain would’ve seen even through his mental fog if he’d been looking, then simply turned and skimmed up the ladder to McAddis’s side. Was Lake really getting him out of the way?
Just climbing the steps caused the muscles of his back to seize and ache. He waited to field more of the captain’s wrath off McAddis.
Lake, though, was involved with his pursuit, staring without a blink at the ship on the screen as he relentlessly dogged it.
“Direct hit on the other ship,” Makarios said miserably. “Their shields are faltering.”
“He fights like a badger,” Keller grumbled, “you gotta give him that.”
“Listens like one too,” McAddis uttered with contempt.
Simple reason wasn’t working. The faces of the crew around him, of McAddis and Hurley, Makarios and Lewiston were palettes of desperation. One by one they looked at Keller. Try something else!
Thinking quickly through the crash of his own brain cells arguing with each other, he shook his hands to get the blood back in them, then tried to appear much calmer than his roiling innards sugge
sted. “Captain, I’ve got a new report up here.”
Lake blinked up at him. “Let’s have it.”
“Sir, we now have reason to believe they might have Federation hostages on board. I strongly recommend cease-fire until we can confirm status. They may be attempting to negotiate.”
His chest was tight with the weight of his deception. What if Lake asked for details of that report? How could they possibly have such information? Lake might be paranoid, but he’d never been stupid. He knew this bridge and all its signals and every button, bleep, glint, and graphic as if he’d designed them himself. He’d worked every station on a dozen ships’ bridges in his long career. They wouldn’t be able to fool him for long.
But for a moment—just a moment—
The Peleliu closed in on the blue ship, which now spewed a trail of serious damage. It simply couldn’t stand up to the might of a Starfleet cruiser that wasn’t pulling punches. That alone proved the other ship wasn’t here to attack them. Nobody in his right mind would think a patrol vessel like that could take on a flying gut punch like Peleliu.
Sweating in empathy for the crew of the other ship, Keller turned to McAddis’s science monitors and scanned the horrible report from the infrared and ultraviolets.
“Nick, Nick—look.” McAddis pointed at the optical between them. “Are you seeing this? This is a transporter signal. A transporter. And it’s on a Federation-compatible standard. They’re trying to beam somebody over here, but they can’t get through our shields.”
“Tim, are you sure about this?”
The frightened science officer pointed at the screen’s view of the small purple ship twisting out a desperate pattern, failing utterly to shake the pit bull from its tail. “I’m telling you, that ship’s been fitted with a Fleet-standard transporter. We could be killing Federation emissaries!”
“Sounds like a desperation move,” Keller mourned. He could see himself doing such a thing if he had to, try a crazy last-ditch beam-over in an attempt to communicate.
Tortured, McAddis met Keller’s eyes. “If those people aren’t dead already, they’re going to be soon. You better pull out that old coin and get him to pay attention, because we’re about nine seconds from open murder.”
Chapter Eight
NICK KELLER sank his meathooks into Tim McAddis’s arm, and at the same moment seized a course of action he never imagined himself prosecuting.
“Put the shields down, Tim. Use the override.”
Bent over his controls, McAddis choked on his own whisper. “You—we can’t do that!”
“I can’t let him do that.”
“Are you thinking straight?”
“Beats me. What’s a stroke feel like?”
“What if they’re trying to bomb in a beam? Beam in a bomb?”
“Take the chance.”
McAddis’s face twisted. “Dropping shields in the middle of a battle—”
“Authorization code Keller Four-Zero-Five Delta India Tango. Do it, quick.”
“What’s if he’s right?”
“Don’t make me flip the coin.”
“Oh, mother . . .” Clamping his lips, McAddis hunched his shoulders over his controls for a jump into gross insubordination. The ship’s phaser banks sang and sang. Assisting some, Keller knew that if he touched the boards too much, his actions would attract Lake’s attention and the captain’s wrath would come down not upon him, but upon McAddis.
At the helm, Makarios dutifully blurted, “Captain, our shields are falling!”
“Why?” Enraged, Lake swung in every direction. “Who’s doing that! Who’s dropping the shields! Hurley, if it’s you I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”
“No!” Keller croaked, spinning so hard he almost went all the way around. “It’s a malfunction—up here. We’re working on it.”
He held his breath, hoping Lake accepted that ridiculous claim.
Before Lake had a chance to digest what he’d heard, Chan called, “Transporter beam incoming, direct to the bridge!”
“Security, stand ready!” Lake bellowed. “Sidearms on kill!”
The two security guards now stationed at the turbolift drew their phasers just as the recognizable whine of a transporter rose to its unmistakable pitch on the forward area of the bridge, near the main screen. A column of sparkling lights appeared and began to take form.
Lake seized the back of his command chair. “Get ready!”
Keller pushed off from McAddis and thudded down the curved steps to the main deck. He had to be down here. He was the—the first officer.
Was Lake going to order the guards to fire on whoever appeared? Keller looked at the guards, going for eye contact. Ensign Thornton shifted back and forth on his feet through the few seconds of beaming process, his phaser raised, his expression horrified. Open fire? Beside him the rookie Security Crewman Baker looked ready to throw up. Being a security guard was one thing, using phaser stun as general practice, but being told to gear up to kill somebody had them both by the gut strings.
Without turning his body or raising his arms, Keller moved one hand in a manner to get the guards’ attention, easy enough since they were searching desperately for the right thing to do. Thornton saw him and drew his brows in question, then took a stiff breath as Keller gave him a very subtle back-down signal. Hold back. Give me a few seconds.
All this, in only the moments it took for the transporter beam to do its work and a living form to appear on the forward bridge.
The visitor was a man, fairly tall, with dark eyes and skin the color of a mountain lake. His umber-brown hair was long, woven into a simple braid that slopped over his shoulder, drawing attention to his scorched gray tunic and burned hands. The man struggled to stay on his feet by bracing himself on the forward rail. He seemed both surprised and relieved to be here.
“Shoot the bastard!” Lake belched out. “Shoot’m!”
“Captain!” Keller jolted around in front of the screen. “He’s not armed!”
The guards didn’t open fire. They were giving Keller the seconds he needed, but they could only hold back so long.
The stranger watched Keller briefly, not sure who was in charge, then fought to straighten up. Wisely he kept his arms down and a little out to his sides, making it quite obvious that he had no weapons, or at least nothing that looked overtly threatening. Lake clumped to the upper deck on the starboard side and came all the way around the long way, passed Keller, and stood before the ravaged newcomer.
Over Lake’s shoulder, Keller watched the stranger’s bruised face.
Lake swaggered a step closer. “What do you want here? Come to surprise us? Didn’t think we’d be ready?”
The stranger caught the searing tenor of the captain’s voice, and restrained himself masterfully. “You are Captain Roger Lake of the ship Peleliu?”
“How do you know? We didn’t broadcast any kind of identifications.”
The newcomer paused. “I can read some of your language. It says ‘Peleliu’ on your hull.”
“Got us there,” Keller muttered, but only Makarios heard him.
The newcomer hesitated, unsure how to react. “I come with communication from Captain James Kirk of Enterprise.”
“Some kind of a trick,” Lake accused.
Keller’s legs tightened up. Ask him who he is first.
Dark eyes steady, alert, the stranger tried to read Lake’s demeanor, but briefly met Keller’s too, and this seemed to steady him somewhat.
“My name is Shucorion,” he began. “I am Avedon of the Plume Savage . . . the ship you just . . .”He waved a hand in no particular direction, then paused. “Are you Captain Lake?”
“Roger Lake.” Lake poked a thumb over his shoulder. “My acting first officer, Nick Keller. Why didn’t you follow standard procedure for approaching a Starfleet vessel?”
Shucorion’s lips dropped open as if he meant to protest, but he suddenly held back, his gaze striking Keller’s over the captain’s shoulder. The answe
r was clear in his expression—I did follow standard procedure.
Keller widened his own eyes just enough to get a subtle and silent message across. If Lake had done to him what he had just done to Shucorion, Keller would’ve been at Lake’s throat by now, He expected Shucorion soon to be there. “Sir,” he dared, “the signals were probably garbled in the radiation from that star. We made him veer pretty close, after all.”
“Yes,” Shucorion accepted. “My apologies, Captain . . . I’m new to this.”
What?
This man whose ship had just been smashed to trash without provocation, who thought he had been approaching an ally and expected to be treated with civility, whose crew must be over there suffering, even dying—
Had he just apologized? Anybody else would’ve been on Lake already.
Or had Shucorion read enough out of Keller’s undercurrent of communication to perceive the value of restraint here and now? Was that too much to suspect? To dare ask?
“There have been new developments at the planet Belle Terre,” Shucorion reported. “Some kind of deep-space probe or remote units are raiding the repositories of quantum olivium and confiscating the ore. Captain Kirk has issued a planetwide alert. Kauld, people who are my enemies and yours, have noticed the dilemma and are very likely to make use of this. Captain Kirk sent me and my crew to assist you in navigating the Blind. You are not accustomed to traveling through the sensor darkness. My people have discovered ways to continue movement during these hours. I’ve been sent to help you navigate, that you shall arrive many days sooner.”
His ship was wrecked. He didn’t even mention that. He had come here with a purpose and he was sticking to it.
“Movement through the Blind is only for extreme necessity,” Shucorion went on. Then, carefully, he asked, “Did you . . . have extreme necessity?”
So they’d picked up the fact that Peleliu was under way during the Gamma Night blackout. Shucorion watched Lake warily for an answer.
“We were being chased by a horde of attacking vessels,” Lake told him.
“There were two,” Shucorion said. “Kauld single-pilot patrollers. You saw them as a threat to this ship?”