Star Trek Prometheus -Fire with Fire

by Christian Humberg

  A crooked smile played around Adams’s lips. Of course he had. He was Spock, and Spock didn’t do things by halves.

  “I should have known,” replied the captain. “Please, take tactical control.”

  “Very well, Captain.”

  The Vulcan went to the spot that Adams’s first officer usually occupied. Ensign Gleeson—a ginger-haired, pale Irish woman—got up and changed over to the environmental controls.

  “Ambassador Spock, mark all escaping ships,” Adams ordered. “Mr. ak Namur, calculate interception course. We eliminate the shuttles one by one and beam their crews aboard when we’re close enough.”

  “Sir,” Vogel said, “we won’t have enough time to do that. The shuttles are escaping at top speed toward the sun. I’m picking up a large ship there. It’s leaving its position, and it’s coming closer.”

  Adams rose from his chair. “You had better believe that we will do this, Mr. Vogel. Full impulse speed ahead. Computer: initiate separating sequence. We’re going into multivector assault mode.”

  * * *

  “By the Ancient Reds!”

  The woman sitting to the left of the pilot in the narrow cockpit section of their escape ship half jumped from her seat.

  “What’s the matter?” growled her seatmate.

  “The ship! It’s separating! Look, Ramou, here on the screen. It’s separating into three ships. They’re hunting our friends.”

  The man—he was the leader of the small group—uttered a word that Jenna Kirk didn’t understand. It was probably a curse.

  “These devils always have another technological trick up their sleeves.” He half turned in his seat. “Kumaah, we need more speed!”

  “I’m doing the best I can,” another male voice shouted from the engine room that was located in ship’s aft section.

  Kirk risked a few furtive glances. They sat in the passenger section in the center of the small transport, squashed between metal crates, mobile computer terminals, and two barrels with conspicuous green danger symbols of Romulan design on their outside. In front of them crouched a fourth fanatic, holding his projectile weapon in his hand. He wasn’t devoting all of his attention to the prisoners, as his eyes kept wandering to the cockpit.

  Kirk breathed deeply. The gunshot wound on her arm felt as if someone had pierced it with a red-hot poker. One of the kidnappers had ripped a strip of cloth from her uniform, using it as a makeshift pressure bandage for the injury. That wasn’t really a professional treatment for her wound, but under the hectic circumstances it was the best her kidnappers could manage. At least she wouldn’t bleed to death.

  They also hadn’t had enough time to bind their prisoners properly. The Renao had tied all of their hands behind their backs, but they had not secured their legs, nor had they put sacks over their heads again. But that didn’t make much difference. Zh’Thiin was pale and trembled from the leg wound and the beating to the face she had taken from Ramou. Kirk’s right arm was still more or less useless as well. Mokbar was the only one who might be able to put up a noteworthy resistance.

  But one man alone—against four armed people? Kirk sighed inwardly. No way.

  Zh’Thiin closed her eyes. Kirk shifted closer.

  “Commander,” she whispered, concerned. “Lenissa, stay with us.”

  “Don’t worry,” zh’Thiin replied quietly. “An Andorian doesn’t die that easily.” She opened her eyes again, and suddenly, Kirk saw a determination in there, that she wouldn’t have expected given the swollen antenna, the battered face and the blood-stained leg.

  The small shuttle shuddered as Kumaah in the engine room strained the drive to the limit. For a fleeting moment, Kirk was afraid that they might die because their escape ship simply broke apart.

  “You’re killing us, Ramou!” her guard who seemed to be driven by similar concerns, shouted in the general direction of the cockpit.

  “The outworlders will kill us if they catch us,” the pilot replied dryly.

  Kirk looked back to zh’Thiin and saw her looking furtively at Mokbar who sat doubled over half a meter away on a passenger bench. The Andorian woman turned back to Kirk. “Tell him in Klingon that he should pretend to be completely exhausted. Make him fall over so that his head ends up beside me. And then he can gnaw through my ties with his teeth. I will give him a sign when the guard isn’t watching, and when he’s alert. Got it?”

  “You’re crazy,” Kirk whispered. “Haven’t you had enough for one day?” But there was a hint of admiration in her voice.

  “It’ll be enough when we’re free or when I’m dead,” the security chief replied grimly.

  Kirk nodded. Lenissa was courageous, without a doubt. If I hadn’t lost my heart already, I might even fall in love with her, shot through her mind.

  The plan seemed desperate but at the same time it had a lot of potential. The Renao had taken the hidden knife away from zh’Thiin, after they had investigated how the “outworlders” had managed to free themselves from their bonds the first time. However, no one had taken Mokbar’s sharpened teeth into consideration—including Kirk.

  She turned toward the engineer. Her Klingon wasn’t perfect but it was sufficient to explain zh’Thiin’s intentions to Mokbar.

  The woman in the cockpit started wailing. “They have captured ak Manas’ ship—and Joruun’s. We won’t make it. We will all die!”

  “Shut up!” Ramou snapped at her. “We have almost reached the Medibha.”

  Grunting, Mokbar rolled his eyes and fell over. Their guard had been paying attention to the cabin and jumped. When he saw what happened, he smiled a sinister smile, lowering his weapon again. He said something in Renao that Kirk didn’t understand.

  “Even the strongest will fall,” he added in broken Federation Standard, taunting the prisoners.

  Don’t count your chickens too early, you bastard, she thought. This day isn’t over just yet.

  * * *

  “bortaS blr jablu’DI’reH QaQqu’ nay’!” Second Officer Chumarr’s grin might have been able to scare even the demons of Gre’thor—the mythical realm to which the dishonorable Klingon dead were condemned—when he looked up from his tactical console. Commander L’emka nodded. Revenge was—according to an old Klingon saying—a dish best served cold, indeed. And it’s very cold in space…

  On the bridge’s main screen the remains of the second of three attack fighters spread out. They had dared to confront the Klingon battle cruiser to help their criminal friends escape.

  L’emka deeply despised these fanatics and their cowardly attacks during the past few days, but she had to respect the three pilots for their courage. No one sitting in a small one-man fighter attacked a mighty ship such as the Bortas if they weren’t driven by death-defying courage… or by mind-consuming madness.

  “The last fighter is coming round,” Chumarr warned. “Incoming on starboard.”

  “Maneuver the Bortas to face him with our upper defense turrets,” L’emka ordered the pilot, a man named Toras.

  “Commander!” Bekk Raspin at the sensor console spun around. The black eyes in the Rantal’s white face were widened. “I’m picking up trilithium and tekasite aboard their ship. They’re carrying a bomb.”

  “Fire!” L’emka angrily ordered Chumarr. “Fire with all that we’ve got.”

  “Firing disruptors and torpedoes. Close dispersal pattern.”

  Blinding green streaks cut through the black space and a salvo of four photon torpedoes launched from the bow, heading in a wide curve toward the attack fighter. The pilot was firing relentlessly, and his intention seemed obvious. He intended to plunge into the Bortas in a desperate act of self-sacrifice to drag her down with him.

  “We won’t hit him!” shouted Chumarr.

  “Keep firing,” L’emka replied. She leaned forward in her command chair. Another Klingon quote came to her mind: taH pagh taHbe’—to be or not to be…

  The torpedoes found their target, ripping the small attack fighter to pieces, no more tha
n one kellicam away from the Bortas. An explosion exceeding the normal parameters by far propelled the small Renao ship forward. Inertia drove the flaming, dying projectile into the left starboard deflector shield.

  “Hold on!” L’emka shouted when the cruiser shuddered despite its enormous mass. Lighting flickered, and one of the consoles overloaded. It burst into small pieces, sending sparks flying everywhere.

  “Starboard deflector down,” Chumarr shouted over the chaos.

  Another explosion shook the Klingon battle cruiser, and the power on the bridge failed.

  * * *

  “Captain, the Bortas has been severely hit,” Spock said at the tactical station.

  “What happened?” Adams inquired.

  “It appears that one of the Renao fighters almost rammed them. Based on the particle and radiation residue, that vessel must have carried a bomb aboard. Just before impact the Bortas succeeded in intercepting them, but the cruiser has been badly damaged as well.”

  The captain looked straight ahead. “On screen.”

  The image of the small transport following the Prometheus’s command section vanished and was replaced by the Klingon ship that floated in high orbit above Onferin. The Bortas was listing heavily, and she was losing atmospheric pressure on her starboard side. A cloud of debris floated around her. Minor secondary explosions shook the ship’s aft section.

  “Mr. Winter, hail the Bortas.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  The image changed again, and a dimly lit bridge with emergency lights appeared.

  Commander L’emka straightened herself in her command chair. She was visibly shaken, but apparently unharmed.

  “Bortas, this is the Prometheus. Do you require assistance, Commander?”

  “Unnecessary, Captain. The Bortas is a sturdy ship. She won’t be beaten that easily. My engineers are already effecting repairs.” She nodded at Adams with a determined expression. “We’ve completed our task, Captain. The fighters have been eliminated. Now all you need to do is capture the fleeing ships so we can get our people back and determine at last who’s behind all this.”

  “Good luck, Commander. Adams out.” When the link had been terminated he clenched his right fist and hit his chair’s armrest with grim determination.

  “All right. Let’s finish this.”

  37

  NOVEMBER 15, 2385

  Renao transport, approaching Aoul

  Zh’Thiin attacked suddenly and unexpectedly, taking her guard by surprise. With her unharmed leg she vaulted from her bench toward the guard, who had just turned his back on her. The man shouted, but she quickly yanked his head back, hitting against his throat to silence him. Gurgling, he fell to his knees. The female Renao whirled around in the cockpit, while the Andorian woman ducked and pulled a knife from her opponent’s belt.

  “Mokbar!” she shouted.

  He turned around stretching his tied hands toward her. With a swift movement zh’Thiin cut his ties, before facing Kirk.

  “The captives!” the Renao woman shouted. “They’re getting loose!”

  “No time,” Ramou said at the helm. “Neutralize them.”

  Her hand reached behind the back of her seat, pulling out a beam weapon.

  Zh’Thiin threw the knife at her. Instinctively, the woman darted back, taking cover. The blade thudded into the plastic casing of her back-rest with a muffled sound.

  When the Renao lifted her head again, Mokbar lunged toward her with a scream.

  Kumaah appeared in the passageway to the engine sector. He held a silver tool in his hand that he was using as a club.

  “Watch out!” Kirk cried.

  Zh’Thiin threw herself to one side when the Renao swung at her, panting, with wide eyes. The bench broke with a sharp crack when he struck it with the heavy tool.

  Kirk slid to the floor. Her hand fumbled for her guard’s gun, which he had dropped. Her heart hammered as if it wanted to break free from her chest. For a brief moment she didn’t even feel the injury to her arm. They needed to take control of the shuttle here and now, or it was all over.

  She heard a woman scream from the cockpit, followed by a Klingon’s battle cry. The engineer hoped fervently that the Klingon wouldn’t damage the ship in his rage.

  As if her thought had been a cue, the shuttle suddenly rolled sideways. Kirk had almost reached the Renao’s weapon but now it slid out of reach again. Zh’Thiin and her opponent both cried out in surprise when they lost their balance. After a moment, the inertial dampers took over, neutralizing the centrifugal forces that affected the cabin.

  There was a thud and a rumble. Kirk turned her head and saw the Renao called Kumaah slumping in between the crates. He had probably slammed into them during the transport’s sudden movement. Zh’Thiin leaned heavily on one of the barrels, holding her leg and panting. Her antennae were swaying as if she was about to faint.

  “Just a second,” she murmured, dropping the tool that she had apparently taken off her opponent to use herself. “I’ll be right…”

  A deafening howl interrupted her. Both women looked up, alarmed.

  “No!” Mokbar roared, hitting the small ship’s console with both his fists. “This cannot be!”

  “What’s wrong?” Kirk asked. She noticed the woman and her tormentor Ramou. Both were dangling in their seats. The woman’s forehead sported a gaping wound while Ramou’s head hung at an unnatural angle. There was no life in his open eyes. Mokbar had been on a terrible rampage.

  “He activated the self-destruct,” the Klingon said. “With the last dying breath of his pitiful existence he activated the self-destruct!”

  Kirk pushed past the freight. “Get out of the way and let me deal with that.”

  Mokbar grabbed the two Renao, tossing them unceremoniously out of their seats and onto the deck. Then he made his way into the passenger area, leaving the cockpit to the engineer. Zh’Thiin limped to her side.

  Kirk registered everything with a quick glance. Ramou had switched the drive to overload. When the impulse energy discharged, it would tear the ship apart with or without barrels full of dangerous substances aboard. The power level was already way above the red line. She didn’t know whether she’d be able to stop it.

  “I need to get to the engine room and switch the drive off manually.”

  “Forget it,” zh’Thiin said. “It’s too late.” She pulled a few levers. “Zh’Thiin to Prometheus. Can you hear us? Zh’Thiin to Prometheus! Please come in!”

  * * *

  Winter turned excitedly in his seat to face Adams. “Sir! I’m in contact with Commander zh’Thiin.”

  Adams whirled around. “Status?” he asked.

  Winter put his fingers on the receiver in his ear. “Commander zh’Thiin, this is the Prometheus. What’s your status?” He listened.

  “Audio,” Adams ordered.

  “… tion is terrible,” Lenissa zh’Thiin’s voice reported from the comm system. “We have assumed control but the pilot switched the drive to overload. We’re about to blow up. Get a lock on us and beam us out of here right now. I repeat: beam all of us out of here immediately!”

  Adams jumped out of his chair. “Mr. Vogel, trace the signal. Mr. ak Namur bring us into transporter range. Full impulse speed.”

  “Ship located,” Vogel replied. “Distance: six hundred thousand kilometers.”

  “ETA: ten seconds,” ak Namur added from conn.

  Adams said, “Mr. Winter, tell the transporter room to stand by.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hang on, Lenissa.” The captain clenched his right fist. “Hang on…”

  * * *

  “They’re coming to get us,” zh’Thiin shouted. “Gather everyone together.” She scrambled out of the pilot seat.

  “Wait.” Jenna Kirk frantically worked the controls in front of her, while staring at the overload display of the impulse engine. “Maybe I can buy us a little more time. If I vent the plasma feed line and…”

  “No time, Jenna!
We need to get out of here. Tell Mokbar to bring the woman and this Kumaah guy. I want to know what they know.” She whirled around, stumbled when her injured leg gave way and bumped into the frame of the passageway. She cursed under her breath in her mother tongue.

  Frustrated, Kirk realized that the security chief was right. Anything she might try now would be a waste of time. She stood up and joined the others. Quickly she relayed zh’Thiin’s orders to Mokbar. The big engineer grabbed both incapacitated Renao.

  In the back of the ship the whining of the overloading engine increased. The lighting flickered. Something in the aft section banged and crackled.

  “Come on, Captain,” whispered Kirk. “Don’t let us down.”

  The whining increased to a piercing sound.

  “Captain!” Jenna Kirk shouted desperately. “Now would be a good time!”

  A veil of shimmering sparks enveloped her.

  The Renao transport exploded.

  * * *

  Adams stared at the expanding debris field for two horrifying seconds, before he turned toward his chair, activating the intercom.

  “Bridge to transporter room. Chief, tell me that you got them.”

  “Wilorin here,” the voice of the Tiburonian transporter officer answered. “It’s good news. Commander zh’Thiin, Commander Kirk, a Klingon, and two unconscious Renao have arrived aboard safe and sound.”

  It felt as if someone had halved the gravity on board. A huge weight was taken from Adams’s shoulders. Winter and Vogel cheered, Gleeson clapped her hands, and Spock tilted his head in satisfaction. With a beaming smile, Adams straightened himself. “Very good, Chief. Excellent work. How are our guys?”

  “Kirk here, Captain,” the chief engineer said. “Thank you for the rescue at the last second. We’re battered, but we’re alive.”

  “Glad to hear it, Commander. Report to sickbay. We have everything under control here.”

  “Understood, Captain.” Jenna Kirk closed the channel.

  “At least, more or less under control,” Adams added quietly.

  He looked at the main screen where one last ship darted toward the bulky spacecraft that maintained its course toward them. The small ship seemed to have been significantly modified; its impulse engines were absurdly large for a vessel this size. Like the other small vessels, it wasn’t capable of warp speed. But they needed to come up with something if they wanted to catch up with the escapees before they reached their destination. On the other hand, the mothership will not escape us either, Adams pondered. The Renao’s technology allows them a maximum speed of warp five, if that. They are no match for the Prometheus.