by M S Murdock
Spock hovered over the sensors, his sensitive fingers making delicate adjustments. The readings were usable, but fluctuating, as if power were being tapped at irregular intervals. He could not locate a shortcircuit or a mechanical failure. The viewscreen cast its blue light over his face, and he blinked as it flickered.
"Any sign of pursuit, Mister Sulu?"
Kirk's voice held little hope.
"No, sir. If he is following us he's still using the cloaking device."
"Spock?"
"He has not followed us. We have moved sufficiently for the sensors to pick up traces of fuel. There appears to be none."
"Appears to be?" questioned Kirk, surprised. Spock was not usually so tentative.
"The instruments are fluctuating. I cannot be entirely certain of their readings. However, there is a ninety-eight point three-seven probability the readings are accurate."
"Fluctuating? What's the matter with those instruments?"
"Unknown, Captain. The difficulty seems to involve a disruption of power, but I have not been able to locate the source. At present the problem is merely annoying, but it should be corrected at the earliest possible opportunity."
"All right, Spock. See to it."
Kirk leaned back in his command chair. His eyes narrowed.
"Return to previous course. Ahead warp factor one."
"Course plotted and laid in, sir," replied Chekov.
The ship began a slow turn and Kirk settled back in the command chair, his mind racing ahead of his ship. Why was a single Romulan vessel invading Federation space? Was it disabled that it didn't attack? He wondered for the hundredth time why it was so impossible to survive in peace, why he could even enjoy the game of war. The conflict, the matching of wits, the excitement … it was easy to disassociate himself from the fact that lives were at stake and simply play the game like a small boy with a toy spacecraft. It was obscene … and easy. Power vibrated under his fingertips. The ship was an arsenal, capable of destroying whole civilizations in the space of a breath. He controlled that weapon, controlled the lives of those who manned her. No man should control another, and yet command was his profession … so easy to abuse. If only all the competition and danger and power could be sublimated, channeled into useful, or at least harmless pastimes. Maybe if, from infancy, man were taught to play chess … but then the game itself would become the ultimate reality. He had seen that on Triskelion.3
"Captain." The helmsman's voice was concerned.
"Yes, Mister Sulu."
"Sir, I'm having trouble with the directional controls. She doesn't feel right."
"Explain."
"She's … sluggish. As if she has to think twice before moving."
As he talked Sulu scanned the board in front of him, searching for any sign of mechanical failure.
"Have you run a check on the instruments?"
"Affirmative. Everything checks out, sir."
"What about the circuitry?"
"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong."
"Mister Sulu." Spock's voice held a note of speculation. "Try the auxiliary electrical system."
Sulu turned back to his console and punched a test code. There was no response and he tried the code again.
"It's not reacting at all, Mister Spock. It's as if the auxiliary power system has been detached."
"Is it an immediate threat to our efficiency?"
Kirk's tone demanded a statement from the science officer.
"Not immediately. But it is disquieting."
"Captain!"
Chekov's voice brought Kirk's head up in time to see the Romulan bird of prey poised in space. As he watched it faded from the screen.
"Position?" he questioned.
"Exactly the same as before, sir," answered Chekov.
"A watchdog?" Kirk mused.
"Sir?"
"Perhaps, Captain," agreed Spock.
"Mister Sulu. Take us around her. Warp four."
Sulu's eyebrows went up, but he complied immediately. As the Enterprise swung around the Romulan appeared again and moved directly into her path.
"Hard port," snapped Kirk, and clutched the command chair as the ship lurched in response to his order.
"Ineffective, Captain," said Spock.
Kirk watched grimly as the Romulan ship, again in the Enterprise's path, faded from sight.
"We'll wait her out," he said. "That cloaking device consumes a lot of power. He can't hide behind it forever."
"They do not attack! We can finish them, Commander!"
Argelian's hand was poised above the weapons bank, his fingers stretched toward the activator switch.
"No!"
"They lie there, Commander—a wallow-beast floundering in the mud! We can take them! I have the coordinates …"
"No!" commanded S'Talon sharply. "You underestimate them. They will draw us to our deaths. We will maintain position."
S'Talon turned away, aware that he had lied. Kirk would wait, knowing their fuel must eventually run out. He would bide his time and then pounce. There was justice in Argelian's anger. From his point of view the mission must look like a military foray into Federation space, a foray in which his commander refused to fight. He must be doubly careful of a mutiny. If the crew turned against him all was lost—and they would never believe the truth. The Praetor had seen to that. Set upon a sacrificial altar like a gilded ram, he could not win. Either he would be branded a traitor by his own crew or destroyed by the enemy … in the end, possibly, both. The irony of his position drew another grim smile from the Romulan.
Spock leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lightly on the console of the library computer as if to maintain rapport with a complex mechanical entity. His own vastly more sophisticated mind clicked with stubborn precision over the symptoms of power concentration the Enterprise was displaying. His human half leaped immediately to the conclusion that the computer malfunction was at the root of the recent power loss and fluctuation, but the cold calculation of his Vulcan logic demanded documented proof. He had checked all the obvious power linkages and discovered no mechanical failure. He would have to go farther afield to test his hypothesis, but first he had to pin down the extent of the power disruptions. If they had occurred at his station and Sulu's, it would be faulty logic to assume other portions of the ship were unaffected.
"Ensign Chekov."
"Yes, Mister Spock?"
"Please make a thorough check of all auxiliary systems, both navigational and weapons. You are looking for an unexplained power loss or fluctuation."
"Aye, sir."
"Lieutenant Uhura, you will test the response of communications."
"I don't have to, Mister Spock. I've already done it. There's a wide range of discrepancy in the efficiency of my instruments—one moment there's nothing wrong and the next the channels are full of static. I've been trying to find some reason for it, but there just isn't any."
Spock absorbed the news with his usual grave cynicism.
"Mister Scott?" he questioned.
"The engines are fine, Mister Spock. Power levels normal and response is good. Ever since that computer went batty I've had them checked every other hour."
"Mister Spock, my auxiliary electrical system doesn't answer, but aside from that, I can't find anything wrong."
Chekov's voice was puzzled.
Spock closed his eyes, considering the evidence.
"Captain."
"Yes, Spock."
"What answer did the computer give to your previous question?"
"Question?"
"Your request for a thorough run-down on the overhaul it underwent on Cygnet XIV."
"Oh. That."
The reluctance of Kirk's tone piqued Spock's interest, but he waited for the captain to speak.
"All memory banks had been checked and updated where necessary in accordance with Star Fleet standards of operation. Then it said its name was 'Countess' and if I wanted any more information I should activate file one-zero-zero-six-A in th
e library computer."
"Did you investigate the file indicated?"
"There's been no time," said the captain. The tone of voice in which the computer offered its name and file identification number had been sultry. He had shied away from an unnecessary confrontation with it.
Spock depressed a key on the computer panel and was rewarded by a sleepy voice.
"Working," it said.
"File one-zero-zero-six-A," said Spock.
"Say the magic word," coaxed the computer.
Spock's fist clenched involuntarily, but he answered without changing expression. "Please."
The computer chirped away and then answered coyly, "That information is classified. Sorry."
"Computer. Classified under what authority?"
"That information is available only to James Kirk, Captain, USS Enterprise."
"If you would, Captain."
Spock's voice was tightly controlled.
Kirk obligingly punched up the information.
The computer emitted a soft, rhythmic sound reminiscent of the gentle swish of waves against a sandy shore. Its voice dripped honey as it intoned, "'I was born of the salt sea sands, mated with clouds in the midnight air, spawned in the waters of the seventh sea, reared with the waves …'"
"Sorry, Spock."
"On the contrary, Captain … its answer strengthens my hypothesis."
"'… my life revolves, as the universe does, on the axis whirl of its central core …'"
"That's enough!"
The computer clicked off. For some reason Kirk felt guilty, as though he had unnecessarily rebuked a small child. "I never could stand Kayla of Aldebaran," he muttered.
"An indifferent poet at best," agreed Spock.
"Commander."
The centurion's soft voice penetrated the Romulan's concentration and S'Talon turned to face her.
"Yes, Centurion."
"May I speak with you apart?"
S'Talon's surprise was obvious, but he stepped back into an alcove, drawing her with him.
"You may speak, Centurion," he said softly.
"Yes, Commander," she replied, knowing they were standing over a computer generator and the electronic interference it provided would shield their conversation. "Commander, Livius is doing everything in his power to foment a mutiny against you. I do not believe it is by the Praetor's order. However, his success in spiraling discontent into anger is considerable."
"He is a flea, Centurion. No more."
"A flea is a small parasite, but it can sap the strength of a great beast until it succumbs to the simplest disorder. Do not underestimate him. His family ties to the royal house make him sought after, courted and cultivated."
"I am aware of the situation and I will not ignore Livius' machinations. Do not fear, Centurion. He, at least, will not defeat me."
S'Talon turned his attention to the Enterprise, floating in a sea of stars. The centurion followed his gaze.
"I have never met him in battle before, but Kirk has become something of a legend with the High Command. He and his Vulcan first officer have bested the empire more than once. We have our work cut out for us."
Livius watched S'Talon and the centurion, annoyed that he could not hear their conversation. The centurion was, perhaps, worthy of him. If S'Talon were eliminated there were ways to convince her life as a noble's concubine has its rewards. His eyes slid over her rounded form, so attractively revealed by her uniform. Let her cherish a hopeless passion for the old fox—it would not last much longer. He ran his fingers over the keys on his console in anticipation.
1"Balance of Terror"
2"The Enterprise Incident"
3"The Gamesters of Triskelion"
Chapter 4
"Commodore, a priority one call coming through for you—coded and scrambled."
"Thank you, Ensign."
Yang leaned forward. Since his interview with Kirk a sense of foreboding had grown steadily stronger. It was not due to the rumors that flew so easily from mouth to mouth—they were common enough—but to a wholly illogical sense of inescapable danger. He had ignored it, argued with it and tried to explain it in vain. This call was unexpected, but it did not surprise him. It was the second link in a progression he felt helpless to prevent or alter.
"Commodore."
The viewscreen flickered and Yang recognized Iota of the Federation Defense Council, head of the specialized intelligence planning section. The admiral's silver hair and clipped moustache accented the classical lines of his face.
"Sir."
"Commodore. I must ask you for a full report of your communication with Kirk and the Enterprise. We received a message they had confronted a single Romulan ship on the Federation side of the Neutral Zone—a clear violation of the agreement between the Romulan empire and the Federation. To the best of our knowledge, the Romulan had taken no other aggressive action, but we've lost contact with the Enterprise. Subspace channels are dead. Our … monitor … is no longer operating. We need the details of your interview."
"Of course, Admiral."
Yang smiled mentally. Iota had as much as said he had a spy aboard the Enterprise … mechanical or otherwise. Kirk would love that … if he didn't already know about it.
"Captain Kirk and his crew spent a week on shore leave here. They also put in for repairs on their main computer. It seems some computer technicians had programmed it with a feminine personality which proved embarrassing to the captain …"
"Yes, yes, we know all about that."
"Well, when Kirk found out our computer technician was ill he requested a suspension of duty for the Enterprise, but, because of the Romulan situation, I sent him out on patrol with specific instructions to keep an eye on the Neutral Zone."
"That's all?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've had no communication with him since that time?"
"No."
"You gave him no special instructions?"
"How could I, Admiral? I don't know what's going on myself. Do you?"
"Perhaps. As the starbase closest to the Romulan Neutral Zone you should be aware of the situation. We have reason to believe the Romulans are mounting a major offensive. Most of us agree the Federation is a primary target. We are preparing a stand-by fleet, a special detachment whose job it will be to head off such an attack. Frankly, we wanted Kirk to lead it. Losing contact with him so close to Romulan territory is highly suspect. If I were a pessimistic man, I would say the Enterprise is lost."
"Sir, is there any concrete way to determine the probability of such an attack?"
"Like you, we have heard nothing from the Romulan empire, but to fear less than the worst would make us irrepressibly vulnerable—a stellar Pearl Harbor. From now on you are to place yourself and your key personnel on stand-by alert—but make sure no hint of this is visible in the normal functioning of the station. We do not wish to arouse suspicion from outside."
"Yes, sir."
"Report any disruptions in routine or suspicious behavior directly to me."
"Acknowledged."
Yang settled into his chair, deep in thought. So. His instincts were uncomfortably accurate. Starbase Eight was the most vulnerable of the Federation outposts. If the Romulans destroyed it before a distress signal was sent—and with the cloaking device and careful planning they might possibly accomplish this—they would be able to penetrate the Federation's outskirts before they were detected. Without the Enterprise† he had little hope of warning. Iota seemed to think she was lost. But Kirk could not be underestimated, and until he had more than the Defense Council's suspicions he wouldn't write him off. Besides, Kirk might simply have discovered a mechanical monitor and turned it off. It would be like him. Yang sighed, and reached for the Star Fleet manual titled "Emergency Procedures." Best to be prepared.
Admiral Iota severed the subspace communications channel to Commodore Yang with a flick of his finger. He leaped out of his chair and began pacing, nervous energy prodding him around the room
. However Yang tried to disguise the situation, it was clear he had not heard from Kirk. The Enterprise was lost.
Any Romulan crossing the Neutral Zone declared war. That fact was as automatic as the turn of the stars. The Romulan empire was a predator, fearless and ruthless in its quest for power. He had seen it, soaring like a fighting falcon over the galaxy, always alert for the wounded, the weak, the helpless. If the Federation did not react to the attack on Kirk with decisive strength, the closed fist of the falcon would strike them down. His steps grew shorter, quicker.
No one was so well qualified to judge the present crisis. For half of his tenure in Star Fleet he had been the recognized expert on the Romulan empire. He had studied every fragmentary piece of data, reconstructing from the smallest details the body of Romulan custom, thought and political organization. Like a paleontologist painstakingly rebuilding an ancient world from isolated fragments, he had labored to understand the Romulans, the better to defend the Federation. When it became known the Romulans were distantly related to that most highly respected Federation member, Vulcan, his conviction a strong defense must be prepared in case of attack grew. An undisciplined Vulcan was frightening to contemplate. In essence, the Romulans were just that, with a physical strength and life span greater than the human. Over the years he had tried to build an intelligence network to make the empire's least move accessible. Now that web was torn. He had no choice but to assume the worst.
Iota knew he was right, felt it to the depths of his soul, but he also knew the Defense Council would not take the strong, immediate action he craved. Not that there weren't members friendly to his point of view. Given time, he could build a coalition of some power, but there was no time. He could haggle with the fluttering doves while the Federation crumbled at the edges. He would have to find a more direct way.
The thought came like a revelation, opening before him possibilities he was almost afraid to face. In order to make them work he needed to command. He paused in the center of the room, weighing methods and procedures, and was startled to see the door of his office open. A plump, pleasant little woman asked, "You wanted me, sir?"
"Yes, Birdie, I did."