by Diane Carey
“One moment.” Spock hurried inside the humming vehicle. In seconds the engines coughed, sputtered, and died. Another second later, the impulse power lines blew like popcorn. Snap.
Spock dodged back out the hatch. “Now!”
With Jimmy Kirk leading the way, they dodged across the Atlantis compound, this time a very familiar place. They felt a little less sticky now that Spock’s rain had stopped. They saw some of Swingle’s men rushing about in a panic, trying to stop the explosion that was coming, the wrecking of their power source and the end of their dirty plans.
But they never saw Swingle. McCoy guessed the leader would be back at the computer main, trying to get all his systems to cooperate again, maybe shut down the explosion somehow. Good luck. An energy reaction couldn’t be stopped just like that.
“DANGER … EXPLOSION IMMINENT … EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY … MINIMUM SAFE DISTANCE IS TWO KILOMETERS … DANGER…”
The voice of the station computer echoed over and over across the open grounds. Fire flickered against the clouds.
Did Spock and Jimmy know where the Spitfire had been dragged? Could they find their way to it?
Choking remnants of ammonia and sulfur made him wrinkle his nose as they plunged back through the areas they had bombed with the chemical stink. Some of the smell clung to his clothing and moist hair. His lungs throbbed and his heart pounded as they ran and ran. The other two were in better physical condition, but McCoy was lanky and didn’t have too much trouble keeping up.
It was a long way, though, and twice they had to duck between the buildings to escape Swingle’s men, who spotted them running—
Fffffffoooooommmmmmm!
A hard slap of hot wind struck them all in the back and drove them flat to the slate. As they twisted around, they saw the power couplings blow sky-high in blinding flashes. White-hot matter phased into the pale clouds overhead. Sprouts of uncontained energy heaved upward, and outward, rolling across the burning rooftops of Atlantis Outpost.
“Hurry!” Jimmy scrambled to his feet and grabbed McCoy. “We’ve got to get under cover!”
“No arguments here,” McCoy scratched out.
“There it is!” Jimmy pointed ahead of them.
Sure enough, sitting on a concrete slab, was the warp shuttle. Still encrusted with fire retardant, now cheesy after the rain, the compact craft was banged up and bent, but ready to fly. Jimmy had been right—the Spitfire was a tough customer, hard to beat.
By the time McCoy got to the small ship, Spock and Jimmy had the hatch open and were already inside. Heart thudding, the medic plunged in and smashed his palm against the HATCH CLOSE button.
Wheezing a bit from the wrenching of the crash, the hatch squawked shut behind him, and he felt safe for the first time in hours upon hours. Now they could leave the planet! Summon help from Starfleet, and get those criminals arrested!
“Welcome aboard, Cadets.”
The voice came from behind, from the storage area behind the passenger seats.
All three spun around, and found themselves staring down the barrel of the laser rifle—one that wasn’t locked.
In fact, the barrel glowed with ready energy.
Evil-eyed and red with rage, Joe Swingle stood there with his rifle aimed and his legs braced. There was rancorous satisfaction on his bony face.
“I figured you would come back to your little boat,” he snarled. “Sure is a good thing you Academy pups are so predictable.”
Chapter 15
Swingle glared at them in bald hatred.
McCoy began only now to understand just how completely the three of them had ruined this man’s plans. He almost said something, but then felt a calm hand on his arm.
Jimmy Kirk was pushing him back slightly, moving forward enough that if Swingle fired that rifle, Jimmy would be the only one to get hit.
So this kid wasn’t just reckless, as McCoy had let himself believe. McCoy now saw something much more in the set of Jimmy’s jaw, the unblinking eyes with which he met Swingle’s hate, and the poised readiness to take whatever came his way.
This was real courage. Jimmy was ready to die to protect the other two. That was a lot more than showing off or talking big.
“We’ve got to take off,” Jimmy judged evenly, “before those explosions engulf the whole compound. If you surrender, we’ll try to pick up as many of your men as we can rescue.”
Despite the noble offer Swingle huffed, “Those gutless, needling slugs? I wouldn’t waste my time. You just plug this tub back up, make it go, and go where I tell you. We’re going to rendezvous with our friendly neighborhood Klingons.”
A powerful slam rocked the shuttle, knocking McCoy to one knee, but Swingle managed to stay on his feet. Jimmy flinched as if hoping for a chance to jump the dangerous man, but there wasn’t time. As if reading his mind, Spock grasped the cadet’s upper arm and made sure he didn’t try it.
“Enable the craft, Cadet,” the Vulcan ordered. “Emergency launch. Doctor, you take the copilot’s seat. I will remain here.”
Clear enough. Spock didn’t want McCoy left back here with Swingle while the two of them launched the ship.
McCoy wanted to argue, but didn’t. If there was a scuffle, Spock would have a much better chance of winning. He did as he was told, and went into the pilot’s cockpit.
“No,” Swingle said. “Not him. I want Mr. Hotshot to stay right back here with me. You with the ears, you pilot the ship. Any crazy chances, and baby boy gets his hair cut the hard way.”
McCoy craned to see Spock come into the cockpit and take the pilot’s seat. In the passenger area, Jimmy Kirk stood with one hand on the back of a lounge, staring at Swingle.
The craft began to rumble as the engines fired up. A lifting sensation told McCoy they were taking to the atmosphere.
A tap, and Spock called to life the big main screen.
There it was—Atlantis Outpost, blowing itself to bits. Wave after wave of blustering energy washed over the Spitfire as Spock piloted the ship upward, off to the left, and away.
There was a terrible silence from the main compartment. Jimmy wasn’t speaking to Swingle, and Swingle wasn’t interested in anything a cadet had to say. The criminal just wanted to get back to the Klingons he was working for.
When they got into space, what would he do to the three of them? Certainly not keep them alive. They were of no value to him. Would they be turned over to the Klingons? Or would he just kill them all, and take over flying the shuttle himself?
Maybe he couldn’t fly it. Was that possible? Maybe he didn’t know how.
“Sir,” Jimmy spoke then, and he was looking into the cockpit.
“Yes?” Spock answered.
“Don’t forget to set the inclinometer to the port side.”
McCoy watched Jimmy, and Swingle. Swingle held the rifle and peered suspiciously at them, but didn’t demand that Jimmy shut up.
Then he really didn’t know how to fly this kind of craft!
Was Jimmy making that bet?
“An excellent recommendation, Cadet,” Spock said, then glanced at McCoy. “Set the inclinometer, please, Ensign McCoy.”
McCoy stared at him. He had no idea what an inclinometer was.
“Grasp that handle on your right,” Spock instructed. “Hold it tightly.”
There was a very slight emphasis on the word tightly.
McCoy grasped the handle—it was just a hand grip, not anything mechanical. “Ready,” he said uncertainly.
Spock lowered his chin and fixed his eyes on his controls. “Adjusting inclination … now!”
The ship whined wildly and rocked up onto its left side, screaming like a vulture.
McCoy almost tumbled out of the seat onto Spock, except that he was holding on—tightly. If he hadn’t been hanging on, he would’ve crashed headlong into Spock, and knocked Spock away from the controls.
In the main compartment, Joe Swingle howled in shock and landed on his head with one shoulder against the port side
clinker plating.
Jimmy Kirk was ready. As McCoy craned to watch, the cadet now plunged straight downward to the other side of the compartment, and landed with his feet on Swingle’s chest. He kicked away the laser rifle, looped his toe into the thumb grip, and flipped the rifle up into his own hands.
“Right the ship, sir!” he called.
“Acknowledged.” Spock leaned into the controls. The shuttle cranked hard to starboard, wobbled like a boat, and came upright. Once again the deck was the floor instead of a wall. Dazed and confused, Swingle tried to sit up. His face was bleeding.
“McCoy!” Jimmy called.
“Coming!” McCoy unclawed his cramped hand from the thing he’d been holding and stumbled into the salon. “Yes?”
“Tie him up.”
Digging into the first-aid kit, McCoy got two rubber tourniquets and used them to tie Swingle’s hands behind his back.
Jimmy finally put aside the laser rifle and helped McCoy place the man between two of the lounges. Then they carefully tied him to the supports, so he couldn’t even stand up.
“Good,” Jimmy heaved. With a palm he pressed back his sandy hair. He pointed at Swingle’s bitter face. “Sit there and shut up, mister. You’re in Starfleet custody and don’t forget it.”
“Little blister,” Swingle fumed. But there was nothing he could do.
“That’s me.” Jimmy straightened and took a deep breath. He looked at McCoy. “Good job.”
And he held out his hand.
McCoy took the hand. “Congratulations,” he offered. “You actually did it!”
Jimmy couldn’t muster a grin. “I did it, but only after being caught off guard. I almost blew it, because I let him guess what I was thinking. I’m not ready to pat myself on the back. I’ve got to learn how to avoid letting the bad guys know what’s on my mind.”
“Well, don’t worry,” McCoy submitted. “I have a feeling you’ll figure it out eventually.”
With a kind of pout, Jimmy stepped over Swingle’s legs and went to the cockpit.
“Good job, sir,” he told Spock. “I had a feeling he didn’t know how to pilot this ship and wouldn’t know that we don’t have an inclinometer.”
“What’s an inclinometer?” McCoy asked.
“It’s a device used on seafaring ships. It swings back and forth and tells you how many degrees the ship is heeling over. We have artificial horizons and plane equalizers instead. I’m just glad Ensign Spock knew what I was talking about.”
“I didn’t,” Spock admitted. “I simply surmised that you did know, and made a conclusion based on the root word ‘incline.’”
“Well, whatever you did,” McCoy croaked, “it worked. I’m just glad you two could understand each other.”
“We did,” Jimmy agreed.
Suddenly an alarm started ringing.
“What’s that?” McCoy asked, and crouched between the two seats.
“Proximity alert,” Jimmy told him. “There’s another ship approaching.”
“Magnification point seven-five,” Spock said.
“Point seven-five, aye,” Jimmy responded, and touched the controls.
The forward screen wobbled, hummed, and gave them a new view.
Before them moved a large creamy green ship with a long neck and two downward-hanging wings. Markings on the hull were strange, alien.
Jimmy leaned forward. “A Klingon ship!”
Chapter 16
“We can’t possibly outrun them!”
Jimmy Kirk roiled with new anger at the sight of the hostile ship. One of Starfleet’s oldest enemies had breached Federation space.
Perhaps it was just one crazy renegade Klingon commander doing business with Swingle, and not the whole Klingon Empire behind this, but that was enough. Three young men from the Academy in one old shuttle couldn’t stand up against a full-sized enemy cruiser.
“What can we do?” McCoy choked. “They’ll cut us to pieces!”
“Let’s double back to the planet!” Jimmy barked. He looked desperately at Spock. “We can hide under the atmosphere! Maybe land somewhere and wait for Starfleet! We can’t let them take us. Not after all this!”
“They have long-range weapons,” Spock contested. “We may not be able to outrun them back to the planet.”
“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
McCoy and Spock looked at the cadet, and this time his enthusiasm caught them both.
“Yes,” Spock confirmed. “It is. Coming about.”
“Hold on,” Jimmy said to McCoy.
“Oh, I am,” the medic responded, and grasped the supports of Jimmy’s seat.
The Spitfire whined as it was forced about in a tight arch, back toward the planet. The main screen showed the planet again, rolling before them.
“Increasing speed,” Spock uttered.
Jimmy watched the secondary monitor, which still showed a picture of the approaching Klingons. “Hope it’ll be enough … sir! I’m picking up another contact! It’s another ship!”
“Not another Klingon!” McCoy gasped.
Tampering with his controls, Jimmy frowned at the sensor readouts.
“Gross tonnage … hull size … configuration … exhaust signature … sir! Sir! It’s a starship! Set a new course!”
“Veering toward it!” Spock responded over the whine as he once again peeled the ship off in another direction. Even he was breathing fast. “Intercept course.”
“They’re hailing us!”
“On audio.”
“Audio, aye.”
“This is the U.S.S. Enterprise, Captain Christopher Pike commanding. Come in, Zodiac Spitfire.”
Jimmy looked at Spock, and so did McCoy.
But Spock didn’t answer the hail. He looked at the main screen, now showing a brilliant white swan-shaped form coming out of the darkness toward them.
“Well, Spock?” McCoy prodded. “Aren’t you going to answer him?”
Spock hesitated another few seconds.
“No,” he said. “I shall not be the one answering.” He looked at Jimmy then, with a particular warmth in his reserved face. “The commander of this vessel will answer for it.”
Choked up, Jimmy Kirk could barely manage to stare at him without crumbling. But he managed to keep control of himself and didn’t get mushy.
He took a deep breath, a little grin pulling at his mouth, and nodded a silent thank-you.
When he could unknot his throat, he punched the comm button.
“This is Cadet James T. Kirk, pilot of the Zodiac Spitfire. We were yanked off course by mercenaries. We escaped and took the leader into custody. We’re being pursued by a Klingon vessel. Do you read?”
“Yes, Cadet Kirk, we read you. We’ve warned off the Klingons and they’re moving out of Federation space. They’ve no stomach for taking on this ship!”
That smile finally popped out on Jimmy’s face. “I don’t blame them, sir. She’s something to see coming.”
As they watched, the Starship Enterprise grew large on their forward screen, and larger, and larger. McCoy stared in plain shock at the size of the beautiful ship and the sparkle of sunlight on the bright white hull.
“Captain,” Jimmy went on, “these men were after Richard Daystrom. Did he make it to Colony Cambria safely?”
“Yes. Dr. Daystrom is fine. When your Zodiac disappeared, we made the connection. We picked up your may-day and have been searching for you for hours. Dr. Daystrom will be put under double guard and ferried about safely from now on. Let me offer you and your friends a peaceful tour of a very pretty ship, and dinner with me in my cabin, all right?”
“We’d love that, sir,” Jimmy accepted. “Sir, you’ll want to arrange to pick up the other mercenaries. They’re marooned on Atlantis Outpost. And they were dealing with the commander of that Klingon ship. It was a plot to ransom Dr. Daystrom.”
“Understood. We’ll hand the matter over to Federation Intelligence and let them confront the Empire about this espionage.”
/>
“Thank you, sir.”
“All right, Kirk, our bay is ready for you. Prepare to come aboard.”
“Acknowledged.” Jimmy looked at Spock.
The Vulcan touched the controls. “Beginning final approach.”
Before them the bay doors of the starship’s massive docking area slowly opened. Overhead, the cigar-shaped warp nacelles streaked outward behind the ship like great white wings.
“I had the opportunity to meet Captain Pike a few years ago,” Spock offered. “He is an exceptional man. This should be a fascinating experience.”
“This whole thing has been fascinating. They’re probably going to want to give somebody a medal for all this,” McCoy crowed as he stood up.
“I don’t want any medals,” Jimmy told him. “I’ve gotten more out of this than I ever expected. I learned to trust my instincts. Maybe improvise a little.”
“Still,” McCoy said, “we’ll be submitting a report. You’ll get full credit, just as you deserve.”
Jimmy turned toward him in the copilot’s seat. “I don’t want it. Please, sir … we acted as a crew. That’s all that matters. Starfleet personnel need to look up to somebody with officer’s bars, not down to somebody with cadet’s slashes. Someday maybe I’ll earn those bars. But for now, I just want to be part of the crew.”
With new admiration, McCoy realized he shouldn’t be so surprised. This kid was one step ahead of him all the way.
The cadet turned to Spock. “It’s been a privilege serving with you, sir. Sorry if I caused you trouble. You’ll make a good commander someday.”
He offered his hand solemnly.
Spock gazed at him briefly, then took the hand. “When that day comes, Cadet, I hope you’ll serve in my crew.”
Jimmy Kirk tightened his grip on Spock’s hand.
“Aye, sir,” he declared, “I hope so too.”
About the Author
DIANE CAREY is the author of over twenty novels, including twelve Star Trek books, two Civil War novels, and several other historical novels. She collaborates with her husband, Gregory Brodeur, who is talented in plot development and editing. The couple lives in a small historic city in the middle of Michigan with their three children.