Captain's Blood

by William Shatner

  Another shuttle didn’t pull up in time, and slammed into the crater wall, as if the pilot had hoped to duplicate Kirk’s maneuver, but wasn’t fast enough to activate the necessary systems.

  Two other shuttles avoided collision and loss of control, and Kirk knew they’d be back on his tail in less than a minute. He was also certain that by now the Reman warbirds had been dispatched from their orbital patrols to deal with the hijacked shuttle.

  “Not to be a backseat pilot,” McCoy said, “but wouldn’t this be a good time to think about getting out of here?”

  “One last pass, Bones.” Kirk brought the shuttle around on its final approach. “We’re going to give them a little something to keep them too busy to come after us.”

  Kirk activated the warp core.

  Purposely, he set the fuel mix to maximum imbalance, and ignored the sudden flash of a green warning light and wail of a siren.

  “What kind of alarm is that?” McCoy asked.

  “Warp-core imbalance,” Kirk said. He held his finger over the emergency separation control, watching the Romulan numbers flash by on the warp systems status display.

  “We’re going to warp this close to a planet?” McCoy asked.

  “We’re not,” Kirk said reassuringly. “But that big ore hauler is.”

  He pressed the separation control and the shuttle lurched gently as the explosive bolts holding the warp pod to the hull blew free. The pod tumbled toward a fully loaded ore hauler just rising from the crater floor.

  Kirk pulled the shuttle into a ninety-degree climb, then touched the controls that brought imagery from the rear visual sensors online.

  At first, the warp core was too small to be seen.

  Then it exploded.

  And then it ignited the fuel and engines of the ore hauler.

  The crater terminal resembled a volcano, blazing with fire.

  “My God, Jim…how many people did that kill?”

  “With luck,” Kirk said, “none. The atmosphere’s too thin for there to be much of a shock wave, and our first couple of passes should have driven most workers to shelter.”

  He found the controls for the hatch, closed it, began the pressurization cycle. Next he tried to find the gravity adjustment settings, but suddenly the shuttle shook with thunderous vibration as the viewport flared with blue fire.

  Kirk checked the tactical display. As he had expected, a Reman warbird was closing, and VIP shuttle or not, he knew the small craft’s shields couldn’t withstand an all-out attack.

  But since the small VIP transport was as fully equipped as he’d hoped, Kirk knew it wouldn’t have to withstand an attack.

  He veered to the right, activated the shuttle’s cloaking device, then instantly cut speed and veered to the left.

  A few seconds later, the massive, double-hulled warbird streaked past, launching a spread of torpedoes in the wrong direction, indicating that its crew had lost their prey.

  Kirk set the shuttle to climb to a standard orbit, then finished adjusting the gravity, setting it to eighty percent of Earth normal.

  For the first time in days, he felt he could truly breathe again, and just before he took off his helmet, he heard McCoy sigh with the same welcome relief.

  The cabin air was still cold, but life-support was working, and when Kirk took off his gloves, he could feel heat blowing from the circulators.

  “You’re a hell of a pilot,” McCoy said so wearily that Kirk went back to help him with the rest of his suit. “How’re you holding up?” McCoy asked.

  Kirk shrugged out of his own Romulan suit, let it fall to the deck. “Nothing finding my son couldn’t cure.”

  McCoy stared at him. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

  “Most of one,” Kirk admitted. “But you rest now. I’ll let you know when we get there.”

  “Get where?”

  There was a fully armed, overpowered, heavily shielded Starfleet vessel in orbit of this planet, and as far as Kirk was concerned, it was time he made use of it.

  “The Calypso,” he said.

  19

  JOLAN SEGMENT, STARDATE 57487.1

  Norinda had given the Romulans her ship, yet neither she nor they achieved what they wanted. Norinda had had to confess that she could not explain the functions of the vessel she had stolen from the Totality, and the ship’s alien technology baffled the Romulan engineers.

  “But I did teach them something,” Norinda told Picard as they walked among the flowers. “The supremacy of the most important power in the universe: love.”

  “And that was the start of the Jolan Movement?” Picard asked.

  “There were other peace movements on Romulus at the time. I brought them together, the best of each.”

  I’ll bet you did, Picard thought. By visually re-creating herself moment by moment, Norinda could become a perfect mirror for the desires of her audience. Yet there was no truth in her appearance, whatever shape she took.

  Even now, discussing a philosophy of love with a shapeshifting being who only looked like a Reman threatened Picard’s own concept of reality. Only the bloody cloth he kept pressed to his torn ear kept him focused on what he really needed to get from Norinda. It had taken La Forge to realize there was one force stronger than love—pain.

  For years, the engineer had been plagued by constant headaches brought on by his first artificial sight system: the Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ Replacement. When his VISOR had been replaced by ocular implants, La Forge’s headaches had all but disappeared. But through the inevitable experimentation with his new vision system’s settings, the engineer discovered certain optical frequencies able to reproduce those early headaches with stomach-churning precision. That was how he had managed to block whatever signal Norinda was transmitting into his nervous system, by burying it beneath an even stronger one.

  Picard’s means had been far less elegant, and bloodier, but the end result was the same as for his engineer. Norinda had ceased her attempts to control the two of them as she did everyone else, and had opted for a more novel approach: open discussion.

  “And so, when you grew too powerful,” Picard said, “you were banished to Remus with your followers?” He looked across the chamber to see La Forge keeping a watchful eye on him. The three Romulans who had been so distraught at the way the two humans had treated their spiritual leader had left immediately after Norinda’s transformation into a Reman.

  “I am not powerful,” Norinda said lightly, though as a Reman, the words came out with a deep rumbling under-tone, like a felinoid purring. “It is my message which the war-makers fear, because it is true, and in their hearts they know it.”

  Picard stopped walking, looked up at Norinda with no fear of losing his ability to concentrate. From what she had just said, he finally had his opening, knew the argument that would convince her.

  “Norinda, we must work together, because your goals, the goals of the Jolan Movement, they’re my goals, too.”

  From her lofty Reman height, Norinda gazed down at him, her Reman eyes a mystery to him, still protected by her visor from the bright light of this greenhouse chamber. “You believe in the supremacy of love?” she asked.

  “I believe in stopping war.”

  “But through the supremacy of love?”

  Picard had to get her off her one-track approach, open her eyes to other strategies. “Through whatever means possible,” he said.

  Norinda smiled at him, Reman fangs glistening. “That is what I intend to do.”

  “I’m sorry,” Picard said, puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The reason you’re here, Picard. It’s because of the civil war.”

  The pain in Picard’s ear suddenly vanished in his surprise. “You know about it?”

  “I have been trying to stop it.”

  Picard was stunned. There was no need to convince Norinda that a war was coming. She was ahead of him.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “The followers
of Jolan are everywhere in the empire. We know the Tal Shiar’s plans firsthand.”

  Picard’s pulse quickened with new hope. If the Jolan Movement had agents in contact with the Tal Shiar, and if Norinda would allow him to use those agents, then it could still be possible to make contact with the Tal Shiar and relay the Federation’s offer of support in return for peace.

  “Norinda, I can’t tell you what this means to me, what this means for the possibility of peace.” A dozen questions came to Picard then, but the most important had to do with time. “You say you know the Tal Shiar’s plans. Do you know if they are following a timetable? Is there a specific date? A specific action that they’ve chosen to signal the beginning of the war?”

  “The Hour of Opposition,” Norinda said.

  Picard shook his head.

  “Once each Romulan year,” Norinda explained, “Remus catches up with the homeworld in her orbit, and the two planets reach their closest approach. This year, in less than three days, they will be no more than a million kilometers apart. Traditionally, it is a time of celebration on both worlds, though more so on Romulus. There, schools and businesses close. Families travel to be together and share meals. Game birds are consumed to instill the spirit of the Imperial raptor which has brought the worlds together again, as they were in the beginning.”

  Picard nodded, understanding. “There are similar celebrations on my world.” Intent on her words, he no longer noticed Norinda’s Reman looks or voice. Their conversation held his interest fully.

  “It is a time of peace, Picard. At least, as close as a warlike world such as Romulus can get to peace. That is when the Tal Shiar will strike.”

  “You must believe me, Norinda. My friends and I have come here to stop that war.”

  “I do believe you. That is why I saved you from the Remans working for the Tal Shiar.”

  “The Tal Shiar are here? On Remus?”

  “They never went away. Their greatest strength is that no one believes they still exist.”

  “Then, is that who attacked my friends and me on our ship?”

  “Mercenaries of the Tal Shiar. Yes. That is what we believe.”

  Picard hesitated, troubled, doubtful about her version of events. Had Norinda’s cooperation come too easily? Was he in danger of being manipulated again?

  “But…why would the Tal Shiar want Jim Kirk’s son?” he asked.

  Norinda began to walk again, as if she had grown impatient with his persistent questioning. “The Remans believe T’Kol T’Lan is the Shinzon. I do not know if this is true. But the possibility exists that if enough Remans believe he is, then someday, the child of Kirk could be their liberator. Of course the Tal Shiar would try to destroy him, to prevent that from happening.”

  Picard walked at Norinda’s side, wishing she were in human form again so he could read her expressions, sense the truth behind her statements. He suddenly wondered if she had chosen this form precisely because of that reason—there was no way he could be certain which of her responses were truthful, which were lies.

  “But the intruders who attacked us, they didn’t try to kill Joseph.” Picard remembered that part perfectly. “They wanted to take him. They didn’t even kill the rest of us, when that would have been an easy matter.”

  “I do not know everything the Tal Shiar has planned,” Norinda said. “Whatever they wanted with T’Kol T’Lan, they failed when you saved him. There is no need to wonder further.”

  Picard stopped again. “But we didn’t save him.”

  Norinda stopped a few steps past Picard, looked back at him. “The Tal Shiar transmissions we intercepted, they claim the child was beamed off the ship by a Starfleet transporter.”

  “I saw it happen,” Picard said. “I recognized the transporter signature. So did Kirk. But there are no other Starfleet vessels in orbit of Remus.” He listed for her the other possibilities that could account for what they’d seen, and the objections Scott and La Forge had raised to all of them. “None of us knows who’s responsible for beaming Joseph out. None of us knows where he is.”

  The Reman form of Norinda darkened, broke apart at the edges, shifted out of focus, coalescing so rapidly into her smaller Romulan form with its Assessor uniform that Picard heard a gentle rush of air.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Norinda’s quick smile stirred desire in him instantly and Picard pushed the bloody cloth against his ragged ear. Before he could protest aloud, her smile had faded, as if she had reacted by instinct to male presence, forgetting their new arrangement.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she said calmly. “But I am troubled that there could be ships of unknown capabilities in orbit of Remus, without our knowledge.”

  Picard tried to understand why that would disturb her, could think of only one reason. “You’re worried the Tal Shiar have cloaked vessels already in position?”

  “Yes,” Norinda said, but something in her tone made Picard feel there was more to her concern. The only thing Picard could link it to was their discussion of Joseph. But why would the child be of any interest to her?

  Another question came to Picard. “If you know when the Tal Shiar will strike, do you also know where? And how?”

  Norinda nodded. “On the Hour of Opposition, the Tal Shiar will strike Remus, at three key targets.”

  “Which three?”

  “Worker communes.”

  To Picard, Norinda appeared to be having some difficulty choosing the right words to describe the concepts she was trying to impart.

  “Understand, Picard, that the vast majority of Remans are male. The sex of children is controlled by the Assessors in the breeding facilities.”

  Picard had his own difficulties suppressing his reaction. Again he wondered how the Federation could contemplate entering negotiations with any government capable of propagating such evil. Even though he knew that with the lives of billions at stake, compromises sometimes were inevitable. It was an unfortunate truth, but a truth nonetheless, and one the Vulcans knew well.

  “Those males,” Norinda said, “millions of them, are confined to miners’ barracks, deep below in the rock. But there is a secondary workforce here as well—engineers, ore processors, maintenance workers, trauma specialists, cooks, protein harvesters…the support personnel who make it possible for so many miners to be fed and clothed and managed. Those Remans live in worker communes, and miners who survive twenty years in the rock—and there are very few who do—are rewarded by being permitted to take a support job and live closer to the surface in the communes. To the Reman mine worker, they are as close to paradise as their existence offers.”

  Picard had another question for Norinda.

  “If the communes house the workers who support the mining operations, why destroy them? Why wouldn’t the Tal Shiar strike the mines first, to shut down operations at once, and save the communes so operations could be restored after the war?”

  “The communes have another purpose. You know of Reman soldiers?”

  Picard frowned. He knew of them. He knew how much the Federation owed their bloodthirsty savagery in the Dominion War. Another compromise.

  “And you know of the three warbirds that patrol this world’s orbital reaches, also staffed by Reman crews.”

  Picard had been briefed on them as well.

  “But have you asked yourself how are they kept in control?” Norinda asked. “Brutalized, exploited, angry slaves, given warp-capable ships with full armament. What holds them in check?”

  “They’re strictly for local security,” Picard said, wondering what point Norinda was trying to make. “I’ve been told they’re limited to warp factor two, so they can’t possibly outrun a bird-of-prey. Their fuel supplies are kept low, so they can’t reach another system. And they have no cloaking devices, so they can’t hide.”

  Norinda nodded in confirmation. “Plus all their security codes are programmed into every ship in the Imperial Fleet, so their shields can be switched off at will.”
>
  “I understand the conditions,” Picard said. “It would be suicide to use those warbirds to attack Romulan interests.”

  “But knowing all that you do of conditions on Remus, do you believe any Reman would hesitate to lose his or her life to strike at a Romulan?”

  Picard understood then. It wasn’t just the certainty of death that kept the commanders of the Reman warbirds from acting against Romulus. It was the certainty of retaliation.

  “Each warbird is linked to a commune,” Picard said. “Is that it?”

  Norinda nodded again, her grim mood matching Picard’s. “And if that warbird acts against Romulus—if any of the crew as individuals breaks regulations, strikes an Assessor, fails to keep a perfect record—then the commune assigned to that warbird is punished, in ways I will not describe.”

  Now Picard knew what Norinda had been concerned about. Now he was, too.

  “The Tal Shiar plans to destroy the three communes linked to the warbirds,” he said. “There will then be nothing to prevent their commanders from launching full-scale suicide attacks on Romulus, when the worlds are less than three light-seconds apart.”

  A single warbird with a miniature black hole in her hull, striking a Romulan city at warp two, wouldn’t have to fire a single shot to take out tens of millions. And by attacking from so close, Romulan planetary defenses wouldn’t have a chance to respond in time.

  “And thus a civil war begins,” Norinda said.

  Picard was at once disheartened and encouraged. Disheartened, because the Tal Shiar plan was brutally simple and bound to succeed. But he was encouraged because it was a plan that had a definite starting time and a single specific action. If within the next three days he could convince the Tal Shiar not to take that action, then there was a possibility the war could be stopped before it began.

  Picard had only one more question to ask of Norinda. “You told me the Jolan Movement was attempting to stop the Tal Shiar’s plans. How?”

  “As the Hour of Opposition approaches, all the followers of the Jolan Movement, on both worlds, open and hidden alike, will join in an emanation of love, sending our thoughts through the fabric of the universe, to dissuade the Tal Shiar from having thoughts of war.”