He looked suddenly weary, and nodded to Standing Crane that she take over at this point. She cleared her throat.
“Lissan’s threat was very specific: If we violated the space that they had designated with the buoys, they would activate the virus. What we can therefore do is bring at least a few ships right up to that point and have them wait there for further instructions. Every other ship is to be recalled to the nearest starbase or planet, just in case this thing does go off. At the present time, the closest vessel capable of defending the Huanni is the Excelsior. I’ve notified Captain Sulu about the situation and he’s en route at this very moment.”
“Good,” the president approved. “In the meantime, we wait ... and hope the scientists will learn something useful.”
From the expressions on the faces of those seated around the table, this was an unsatisfactory resolution. She shared their sentiments, but at the moment, there was nothing else to do.
She envied Spock and Sulu at the moment. At least they were getting to do something.
Chapter Nineteen
MCCOY WAS FRUSTRATED at being unable to do anything except sit back and twiddle his thumbs. Why in God’s name had Kirk’s nephews (“Alexander” and “Julius” indeed, factor in “Tiberius” and it was clear that the whole Kirk clan had an unhealthy obsession with ancient empires) gone gallivanting halfway across the galaxy for this Sanctuary? Was it that hard to find a nice little planet closer to home?
They had only been able to acquire a handful of rations, and those were now gone. Spock had said coolly that they would be able to survive on what the Klingon crew ate; the digestive systems of human and Klingon were sufficiently similar. Those were his exact words—“sufficiently similar.” However, the writhing mass of worms on the plate in front of him was not “sufficiently similar” to spaghetti or indeed anything McCoy had encountered and recognized as an edible foodstuff for him to want to pop it into his mouth.
[221] “I’d sell my soul for a nice, thick steak along about now,” he muttered.
“Heck, I’d swap mine for a ham sandwich,” Uhura said. She poked and prodded at the squiggly mess, an expression of distaste on her lovely face. Finally she put her fork down and delicately pushed the plate away. “You know, a water fast is great for slimming down,” she said, “and I’ve got a performance in a week or two. Provided we get home by then.”
McCoy was in high dudgeon now, though, and simply pushing the plate away was not a “sufficiently similar” option to complaining loudly.
“And why is everything always red or black with these characters?” He gestured theatrically. “Red lighting, black walls, blood wine, black armor. Damn boring color scheme if you ask me.”
“I do not recall anyone aboard this ship asking your opinion on their decorating choices,” Spock interjected mildly as he joined them in the mess hall.
“So what are you going to have?” McCoy asked, scooting on the bench to make room for the Vulcan captain. “Some red and black, spiky, dangerous-looking Klingon version of rutabagas?”
“I am joining Commander Uhura in her fast,” Spock said. “The Klingons do not eat vegetables.”
“Well,” McCoy said, “Aren’t we going to be the lean, mean fighting machine when we reach Sanctuary.”
“Take heart, Doctor,” Spock said. “We should be there shortly.”
“You must eat!” bellowed a jovial voice. McCoy tried and failed not to roll his eyes as Karglak entered, [222] carrying a tray loaded to the gills with slimy, purple-black, moving items that the Klingons called “food.” He caught Uhura’s gaze and stifled a laugh. Poor thing. She sure hadn’t asked for this.
When Uhura had informed Karglak and Lamork that she had been called up on an emergency mission and the concert might have to be postponed, Karglak had been horrified. He had insisted that he be allowed to accompany her. Apparently, opera singers had a lot of clout, for sure enough he’d been in the transporter room ready to depart with the rest of them. The Klingons on the ship treated him like a sort of deity. When McCoy had pressed for something resembling a logical reason as to why, Captain Q’allock had replied, “Why, his honor is double. He is a warrior and a performer. Therefore, he can perform glorious deeds and sing about them.”
It was an answer, McCoy supposed, but it didn’t clear up a damn thing for him. Uhura had been doing her best to duck him, but the fellow clung to her like a burr. Karglak hadn’t declared his feelings openly, but it was obvious to anyone that he had a bit of a crush on the lovely human woman who, like Karglak, could hold her own in a battle and sing about it afterward.
“Captain Q’allock to Captain Spock.”
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“Chancellor Azetbur would speak with you.” McCoy thought Uhura looked relieved.
“Patch it through to the mess hall,” Spock said, turning to the wall where the large screen was located. [223] It came to life, and Azetbur’s face, tense and angry-looking, filled the screen.
“Captain Spock,” she said. “Your errand has taken on a new urgency. Stand by to receive a transmission. This is what we recently heard from Kal-Tor Lissan.”
All thoughts of food—even of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and deep-fried chicken—fled McCoy’s mind as he and Uhura rose to stand beside Spock. Not to be left out, Karglak left his tray of quivering foodstuffs and hastened to Uhura’s side. They all listened to the conversation in utter silence, absorbing the sobering message. When it was over, Azetbur’s face reappeared.
“I see your point,” Spock said.
“The Kol’Targh has been in space for several months,” Azetbur said, “so the chances that it has been infected with this virus are practically nonexistent. You can probably assume that you are safe.”
“Now there’s a comfort,” McCoy said. Spock said nothing.
“The captain of the K’Rator assures me that James Kirk has not yet been captured,” she continued. “We have been able to monitor his unique signal throughout this entire ordeal. We should yet be able to fulfill the DIS jaj je.”
McCoy brightened, and gently squeezed Uhura’s shoulder. Karglak grunted, but it sounded like a happy grunt. “It is good to satisfy honor,” he growled.
“It seems your suspicions that Captain Kirk and the colonists were in danger were completely validated, Chancellor,” said Spock. “But the nature of our mission [224] has now changed, I would think. The reason we are all here is to ensure Captain Kirk’s safety, but now it appears the stakes are higher. May I ask how you wish us to proceed?”
Azetbur’s eyes flashed, and McCoy almost took a step backward. Damn, Klingons could be intimidating, even the best of them.
“Planting a virus to cripple a foe’s fleet is a coward’s way of fighting,” she said, contempt dripping from every syllable. “Some of the Federation members are happy, pleased that Lissan was thoughtful enough to warn us. He may indeed not activate the virus if we don’t violate his space and give up Huan without a fight. He may keep to his word. Or, he may do it anyway, now or at any time. The Federation is proceeding with caution and much wringing of hands.”
“You have not answered my question,” Spock said. “Perhaps I should ask another. How would a Klingon proceed?”
A predatory smile curved her lips, revealing pointed teeth. “We would find the laboratories that created and controlled such a virus, blast any guard ships out of the stars, free our people, and bombard the base until nothing but the barest specks remain.”
“It is therefore unfortunate that the incident is not your problem,” Spock said.
“If the virus is as widespread as Lissan claims, then it is everybody’s problem,” Azetbur retorted. “Do what you will.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “There is an old Earth saying: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” He looked [225] around. After so many years together, McCoy could read the Vulcan’s mind. Spock was looking at the Klingon ship, sponsored by the Klingon government, operated by a Klingon captain.
And he was doubtless thinking, when on a Klingon ship. ...
The battle cruiser approached the badly misnamed Sanctuary under full cloak. Spock settled into the command chair, which was quickly vacated by Captain Q’allock.
“Report,” Spock asked. McCoy and Uhura had accompanied him to the bridge. And, of course, where Uhura went, there went Karglak also. Spock wished he had been able to dissuade the singer from accompanying them, for many reasons. The mission was likely to be dangerous, and if the best-loved opera star of his generation were slain, it would seriously affect the peace negotiations.
Or would it? Perhaps it might buy them yet more honor. With Klingons, such things were hard to predict.
McCoy came to stand by his chair, as he had so often done with Kirk, and Uhura moved almost without thinking to the equivalent position of her old post, Karglak following as unobtrusively as it was possible for an enormous Klingon to do. Spock was glad his former Enterprise colleagues had accompanied him, for reasons other than their excellence at their duties.
“We are still several parsecs away,” the navigator informed him. “The K’Rator has informed us that the Falorians have constructed a spacedock.”
[226] “What ships are currently docked there?”
“Seven—no, eight small attack ships. They are built for speed, not for lengthy battles.”
“Weapons?”
“Phasers only.”
Spock nodded. Although he did not know the specific ship, he knew its type. It was designed for surprise attacks rather than sustained battle. Eight of these small vessels posed little threat to a Klingon battle cruiser and bird-of-prey.
“Any sign of any larger vessels on the long range scanners?”
“Negative, sir.”
“From what Azetbur told us, I’d guess that all their battleships are either at Huan or en route,” Uhura said.
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Karglak, gazing fondly at her.
“A logical conclusion, Commander,” Spock said. “Obviously, we were not expected here at Sanctuary. They do not think this is where the conflict is. They are mistaken.”
He felt McCoy’s surprised gaze on him, but did not turn to look the doctor in the eye. If McCoy chose to infuse the statement with emotion, that was his interpretation. Spock was merely stating a fact.
As far as he was concerned, this was where the real fight would be.
“It won’t be as easy as it was the last time,” Scott said. “They’ll be watching for us for sure.”
“Especially if they’ve gotten all the other colonists and we’re the only ones missing,” Julius said.
[227] Kirk laughed a little. “Easy, Mr. Scott? I didn’t think it was easy the last time.” He sobered. They were within a few hundred kilometers of the base.
“All right then,” Scott said, more to himself than the others. “They still could take a few lessons on how to watch for intruders. There are no ships or guards at the base.”
Julius made a small, happy sound in the back of his throat. “They’re probably scattered, chasing the rest of us.”
“Long-range scanners would seem to indicate that,” said Scott.
“There were never very many Falorians here to begin with,” Julius said. “Even considering Lissan was lying to me about a lot.”
“Most of them are probably in their warships attacking Huan right now,” Skalli said morosely.
Kirk said nothing, but he assumed that Skalli was correct. Most of the Falorians here on Sanctuary would be the researchers who had created the virus. There would be a few guards, but considering that Kirk and company by all rights ought to have been met with everything Lissan had, their tactic of having the colonists scatter was proving to be a boon. He was deeply sorry Lissan had found Alex, but oddly reassured by the targeted beating. Kirk had witnessed, and even experienced, real torture; compared to what brutalities could be inflicted upon the fragile human body, Alex had gotten little more than a slap on the wrist.
“It would seem that Lady Luck is with us,” he said. “Let’s do our best not to offend her.”
[228] But Lady Luck was a fickle date, and Kirk wondered how much longer she’d hang around them before seeking entertainment elsewhere. The small group of five grew silent as they approached the base.
“Still no sign that we’ve been noticed,” Scott said, his eyes on the screen. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tap into the conversation in time for us to contact the president while we had him, but there’s an up side. We’d have given ourselves away and they’d be on us like a duck on a June bug.”
“That’s hardly a Scottish saying,” Kirk said.
“No, I got it from Dr. McCoy.”
Kirk felt an unexpected, quick pang. He’d been so engrossed with first his nephews, then the colony, then the disaster that was threatening to descend that he hadn’t realized how much he missed his old friends.
Bones. Spock. Uhura. Sulu. He permitted himself a brief moment of nostalgia, and wondered what they were doing now. Spock, Uhura, and McCoy, he knew, were involved with the Klingons. He had heard something about a medical forum, and hadn’t Spock hinted at a musical program? And Sulu, lucky Hikaru Sulu. Captain of his own ship, off having adventures like he, Kirk, used to have.
And just what is this, Jim? he thought. Breaking and entering a secret enemy facility in an effort to save a few billion lives is hardly a walk in the park.
But anyone could do this. Even Alex, if he had to. Kirk desperately yearned to be on the bridge of a starship again, to be in charge, to make the decisions that could help bring peace to the galaxy. And, yes, to give [229] the order to fire when all avenues had been exhausted in the name of that peace.
Along about this moment, Lady Luck decided she’d had enough.
“Three small ships approaching, Captain,” said Scott.
Chekov muttered something vicious-sounding under his breath.
“Hang on,” Scott grunted.
And with no more warning than that, Scott pulled the little atmosphere shuttle up at top speed. The Falorian ships followed, keeping close on the Drake’s tail. Scott frowned and the ship veered down and to port. Beside Kirk, Skalli gasped and dug her fingers into the seat.
“I’m ... not very good with rapid movement like this. ...” she said, gasping a little and turning an odd lavender color.
“This would be a particularly bad time to get sick, Skalli,” Kirk said as noncommittally as he could. She nodded, and began trying to breathe slowly and deeply.
The shuttle now lurched violently to starboard and then seemed to go straight up. Kirk was slammed against the back of his chair and saw only sky in the windows.
“Clumsy big things,” Scott sniffed. “Can’t outrun my sleek wee bairn.” He patted the console affectionately. “I like her better than the boat, I think. Maybe I’ll get one when we get back to Earth.”
“I’ll help you pick one out myself if you can get us through this,” Kirk said.
Scott didn’t reply. He was too busy doing a complete [230] loop and heading back the way they had come. Kirk looked out the window to see two smoking wrecks on the ground. Even as he watched, the doors to one opened and an obviously shaken Falorian crew emerged.
He breathed a little easier. The fewer casualties on any side in this strange battle, the better.
The ship rocked suddenly. Kirk remembered belatedly that there were three ships, not two, and apparently one had managed to stay aloft sufficiently to fire on them.
“Julius, this thing have any weapons?” Scott asked.
“No,” Julius said, sounding a little disgusted. “Alex ordered the weapons system disengaged when we arrived. Said we’d have no need for it.”
“You know, I respect Alexander’s pacifism,” Chekov said, “but I really wish that he’d forgotten about disabling the Drake.”
“That makes two of us,” Scott said grimly, again performing evasive maneuvers that made Kirk just as glad he hadn’t eaten for several hours. Beside him, Skalli whimper
ed, just a little.
Whoever was on their tail was good, Kirk had to give them that. The Falorian vessel refused to be shaken.
“Mr. Scott,” Chekov said, “would you be willing to let an old navigator have a try?”
Scott’s strength was technical, and everyone knew and respected it. Kirk had him at the helm so that he’d be in a ready position to counter any attempts by the Falorians to fix on their position, and also so they wouldn’t waste a moment trying to break into the facility.
[231] But Chekov had spent years, together with Sulu, in handling the Enterprise. Scott looked at Chekov’s still-healing hands even as the Drake shuddered again from a glancing blow.
“Your hands, lad,” Scott said softly.
“Don’t worry about that. Let me try,” Chekov said. Scott glanced back at Kirk, who nodded.
Chekov swiveled his chair to reach for the console as Scott leaned back to give him room. Kirk saw the muscles of his face twitch in pain as his injured fingers moved across the lighted buttons, but Chekov didn’t slow down. With amazing speed he programmed a sequence of movements.
“Now!” Chekov cried.
The shuttle seemed to take on a life of its own. It shot upward, then sped downward so close that Kirk could see each individual petal on a single flower. It then swung violently to the left, then right, then up, then down again. Beside Kirk, Skalli clapped one hand to her mouth. With the other, she clutched the chair as if for dear life.
Kirk heard the sound of the ship that was in pursuit plowing into the ground behind them. Smoke billowed past them as the Drake began again to gain altitude.
“Good job, lad!” Scott enthused, again taking the controls as Chekov leaned back in his seat. He permitted himself a grimace as he placed his bandaged hands gingerly in his lap.
“Well done, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk said. Chekov gave him a faint smile.
STAR TREK: The Original Series - The Last Roundup Page 18