by Dayton Ward
He collapsed to his knees on the transporter platform, struggling to raise his arms enough to remove his helmet and fighting for whatever traces of oxygen lingered within the suit. His limbs betrayed him, but by then Chapel and McCoy were hovering over him. The nurse was deactivating the helmet’s seal and Kirk felt it lifting away from the collar around his neck at the same time McCoy pressed something against his right arm. The powerful hypospray, likely containing tri-ox compound or some other medication to aid his oxygen-starved body, hissed as Kirk gulped air, feeling the drug already beginning to take effect. Slumping forward, he rested his hand on his knee and held himself from falling face-first from the platform. His head seemed to weigh a hundred kilos, but he still was able to raise it enough to make eye contact with McCoy, who reached out to grip his right arm and steady him.
“Bones,” Kirk said, his voice hoarse. He tried to say something else, but words failed him as he fought to regain his strength.
His expression one of undisguised relief, McCoy squeezed his arm and offered a small reassuring smile. “Welcome home, Jim.”
Whatever reply Kirk might have made was lost as he sat on the transporter platform, letting McCoy’s medicines do their work. Too weak to reply, he responded with a simple tired nod.
Good to be home.
• • •
Alone in his quarters, Kirk regarded the desktop computer terminal’s viewscreen and the transcription of his latest log entry displayed upon it. Having paused the computer’s recording of his dictation, he now reviewed the cold, stark translation of his rambling, almost aimless thoughts. He already had entered his update for the official captain’s log and had done so while minding all of the usual protocols and practices. For his personal log, he felt the need to expound on his remarks in a manner not suited to the official record, documenting his experiences and feelings while trapped in that boundless void that had taken the Defiant.
Finding the appropriate words was difficult.
Despite having “a whole universe to himself,” as he earlier had described it to Spock and McCoy, Kirk realized that concentrating on surviving long enough to be rescued by the Enterprise had precluded any sort of true contemplation about his situation. The only thing he recalled with any clarity was his sense of total isolation. There of course was no way to know if his assertion was true; it had been nothing more than a gut feeling reinforced by the unremitting nothingness in which he had found himself. His ability to recount what had happened to him out there in a way that made sense and might resonate with whoever chose to review these logs in years to come was proving inadequate.
That’s why you’re a starship captain and not a storyteller or a poet. Smiling, Kirk imagined he could hear McCoy giving voice to the errant thought.
“Computer,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair and reaching up to rub his temples, “cancel current recording.”
The stilted, feminine voice of the Enterprise’s main computer asked, “Shall I hold the data in memory for later update?”
After considering the query for a moment, Kirk shook his head. “Negative. Erase it completely.”
“Acknowledged.” The text on the terminal’s viewscreen disappeared.
Deciding he had spent enough time in solitude and that he should return his focus to other matters at hand, Kirk rose from his chair just as his door chime sounded. He frowned, wondering if he had forgotten a meeting or other appointment. “Come.”
The door slid aside to reveal McCoy, dressed in standard uniform trousers but with the short-sleeved blue medical smock he preferred to wear while toiling within the environs of sickbay. He was carrying a tray shrouded with a cloth napkin, and Kirk eyed it with suspicion. “Now, what might you be?”
“Room service,” the doctor replied as he stepped through the doorway—without actual, proper invitation, as was his habit. “After what you’ve been through, it seemed that a little extra medical attention was in order.”
Chuckling as McCoy set the tray on the desk before helping himself to the unoccupied chair positioned before it, Kirk asked, “It’s not any of that theragen antidote you cooked up to deal with the interphasic effects, is it?” He had read reports from both Spock and McCoy detailing how the doctor had studied the effects of the interspatial rift on some crew members’ neurological systems, notably Lieutenant Uhura, Ensign Chekov, and members of both the medical and engineering staffs. McCoy had deduced that in order to mitigate or ward off the affliction, desensitizing certain key nerve inputs to the humanoid brain was required. A search of the Enterprise’s library computer banks had provided him with the best option for producing the desired effect: theragen, a nerve gas employed by the Klingons. Though lethal when used in its natural form, the toxin could be diluted and mixed with other compounds to produce a powerful neurological relaxant, which he prescribed to the entire crew.
McCoy shook his head. “I’m saving that for the next time we get assigned to cart some huffy ambassador somewhere.” He pulled the napkin off the tray to reveal two tall glasses filled almost to their brims with ice as well as a translucent yellow-green liquid. Each glass was topped off by a sprig of lush green leaves.
“Are those what I think they are?” Kirk asked, his nose already catching the first faint hint of spearmint.
“Damned right,” the doctor replied with unabashed pride. “The official McCoy mint julep family recipe, given to me by my father, who got it from his father, and on back for more generations than I’ve got fingers. I’ve been saving the leaves in stasis for months, waiting for just the right occasion, and I figure your captain not dying ranks right up there.” He handed one of the cocktails to Kirk before retrieving the other drink for himself. “If you don’t want to eat the glass when you’re finished, then you don’t know anything about drinking.”
Kirk took a hearty swig from the drink as he reclined in his chair. The blend of whiskey and the mint from muddled spearmint leaves sweetened with sugar was, in a word, exquisite, and he closed his eyes as he savored its taste. Though McCoy was a gifted surgeon, Kirk wondered not for the first time if his friend might have missed his true calling as a bartender.
“This might just be your best prescription yet,” he said. “Even better than that Finagle’s Folly you gave me last year.”
“It’ll recrystallize your dilithium, all right,” the doctor replied before taking a long sip from his own drink. After a moment, he asked, “So, no lingering aftereffects? Fatigue? Disorientation?”
Kirk shook his head. “Nothing. I feel fine, Bones.” Holding up his glass for emphasis, he added, “Better than fine, now.” Upon his return to the Enterprise, he had felt utterly exhausted, drained to the point where he was certain his body would simply shut down as a consequence of the ordeal he had endured. Fortunately, the effects of his time in the interspatial rift were fleeting, his strength returning soon after McCoy set to work treating him.
Grunting as he leaned back in his chair, McCoy lifted one leg to rest atop Kirk’s desk and gestured with his mint julep. “If only every diagnosis were as easy to treat.”
Before Kirk could respond, he was interrupted once again by his door chime. “Come in,” he called out.
This time, Spock stood before the threshold, his hands clasped behind his back. Noting McCoy’s presence, he said, “Good evening, Captain. Doctor. I apologize if this is an intrusion.”
Kirk shook his head, gesturing for his first officer to step inside. “Not at all, Mister Spock. The doctor was just conducting a . . . follow-up examination.” He decided not to smile at Spock’s arched right eyebrow as the Vulcan entered the room. “I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me you’ve got an idea about recovering the Defiant?”
Moving to stand next to McCoy, the first officer replied, “No, sir. With Mister Scott’s help, I recalibrated our sensors to better register the energy field it generated but that was not initially discernible by our equipment. All scans of the area where the interspatial rift was located show no si
gns of the phenomenon. It is as though it was never there at all. I can only conclude that our entry into the region, followed by the Tholians and our ensuing exchange of weapons fire, or the use of their energy web generators, disrupted what we already knew to be a fragile balance with respect to the rift.”
Swirling the remaining contents of his glass, McCoy said, “So there’s no way to know where the Defiant went, or even if it went anywhere?”
“Not at this time,” Spock replied. “Based on the information currently at our disposal, we are able only to classify the Defiant as lost and presumed destroyed.”
It was disheartening to write off a Constitution-class starship and its crew with such a cold, blunt statement, even with the knowledge that, without doubt, everyone aboard the Defiant had perished. In the absence of other evidence to the contrary, Kirk knew it was the only proper choice with respect to cataloging the tragic incident.
“Then that’s how my report to Admiral Nogura will read,” he said after a moment. “So, if that’s not why you’re here, then what can I do for you?”
Spock answered, “I have been examining the data retrieved from the Defiant’s memory banks. With the Tholians and our attempts to rescue you, this was the first such opportunity to present itself. Most of the relevant data was transferred to the Enterprise computer, but I realized during my research that certain files were not moved. They were not only omitted from the transfer but also erased by another program created specifically for that purpose.”
Kirk frowned at this revelation. “Deliberately deleted from the computer banks? Why? Some kind of security procedure?”
“Affirmative,” Spock replied. “I was scanning the Defiant memory banks with my tricorder at the time of the data transfer, and only when I compared the two sets of data did I realize the omission. The files in question were protected by a sophisticated encryption algorithm that required substantial effort to circumvent. I thought doing so might offer insight into what happened to the Defiant, but I fear I have violated Starfleet regulations with respect to classified materials.”
“Let me guess,” McCoy said, as though realizing where the science officer was going. “Vanguard.”
Spock nodded. “It would appear so, Doctor, though I found no direct reference to that project.” To Kirk, he said, “Admiral Nogura did dispatch the Defiant to the Traelus system, and according to the information Captain Blair appended to his official log entries, the system’s second planet was of interest to both the Tholians and the Klingon Empire. Traelus’s location along the Taurus Reach’s outer boundary places it in proximity to the Tholian border. I recall that there even was a dispute between the Federation and the Klingons with respect to the planet. The Klingons laid claim to it, and after some arguing as to which party had made the original claim, the Federation eventually relented. Conventional thinking at the time was that the Klingons wished to have a permanent presence there. They established what they claimed was a mining colony, though there were reports of military activity in and around the system.”
“Any chance they were there for any other reason?” Kirk asked, offering a grim smile as he shifted position in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“If you are referring to the Taurus Meta-Genome,” Spock said, “it is unlikely that the Klingons were even aware of its existence during the time of the original dispute. However, logic suggests that Starfleet’s presence in the system stemmed from what then was an ongoing effort to locate other instances of the meta-genome on worlds throughout the Taurus Reach. Without access to data or other materials pertaining to Operation Vanguard, I can only theorize on this point, of course.”
“Of course,” Kirk repeated. “However, based on incidents involving the Klingons in the Taurus Reach since then, I’d bet that they’re at least somewhat aware of the meta-genome and the potential it carries.” Given what had been revealed to the public about the Shedai, as well as what Kirk had gleaned from intelligence reports regarding Klingon activity in the region, it was safe to say that they had come into possession of at least some relevant information. However, nothing Admiral Nogura had told him, directly or through implication, suggested that the empire’s efforts to understand the mysterious race and their ancient technology were not on par with what Operation Vanguard had achieved.
McCoy said, “The Defiant was sent to the Traelus system to investigate incidents of escalating violence between the Tholians and the Klingons. Do you suppose that meta-genome thing played into that?”
Spock shook his head. “No, Doctor. I suspect that the Defiant’s mission, while peripheral to the Vanguard project, instead was motivated by more conventional concerns.”
For the first time, the first officer brought his hands from around his back and held up a square red computer data card. “We know from reviewing Captain Blair’s log that they were being chased by Tholian vessels before they encountered the distress signal that led them to the interspatial rift. However, I did find one other entry of interest.” When Kirk gestured to the computer terminal on his desk, Spock stepped past McCoy and inserted the data card into the terminal’s reader slot and tapped a sequence of keys on the unit’s interface. A moment later, the screen activated and coalesced into the image of Captain Thomas Blair. A human male in his early fifties, Blair had gray-black receding hair and a slight roundness to his face. From the image’s background, Kirk surmised that this log entry had been recorded in the privacy of the captain’s quarters. Blair’s expression was solemn as he began speaking.
“Captain’s Log: Stardate 5683.9. My engineer and science officer have spent the past twelve hours examining the alien object recovered from the decimated Klingon colony on Traelus II. They theorize that when combined with other similar devices we found deployed at equidistant positions around the colony’s perimeter, it generated an energy field enshrouding the entire settlement. Residual energy traces recorded by the landing party indicate the field was lethal to any living being within its sphere of influence. Judging by the conditions of the Klingon bodies we found, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant way to die, either.”
Frowning, Kirk leaned forward his chair as he studied Blair’s image. “Nogura never mentioned anything about the Defiant recovering alien technology.”
“No, sir,” Spock said. “A review of other log entries submitted by Captain Blair reveals that the object in question was Tholian in origin, one component of the larger mechanism to which he refers here. It seems the Tholians deployed a land-based variant of the energy field generator they utilized against us. Given that our information regarding the Tholians did not include knowledge of that weapon, it seems likely that this new version is not known to Starfleet Intelligence.”
“Well,” McCoy said, placing his glass on the desk, “that certainly explains the Tholians chasing after the Defiant, not to mention harassing us.”
Kirk rose from his chair. “Yes, it certainly does.” Upon his return to the Enterprise and after being updated by Spock on the situation, Kirk had surmised that the aggressive actions carried out by the Tholian vessels were in response to outsiders trespassing on their territory—frustrating enough, given the Tholians’ seeming penchant for arbitrarily redrawing their borders. This new information changed all that.
McCoy frowned. “You don’t think Nogura would send the Defiant out to investigate Tholian activity and not warn Blair about their potential weapons capabilities?”
For a brief moment, Kirk considered that unpleasant possibility. “I don’t think so. Nogura might not give us the whole picture, but I can’t believe he’d send them—or us, for that matter—out there blind.” The thought festered, until he finally dismissed the notion. “No, he wouldn’t. This is something new. The question is how or if it impacts what Nogura and his people are doing in this part of space.” Looking away from the desktop terminal, he regarded Spock. “I don’t suppose you found anything in Captain Blair’s logs about that?”
The first officer shook his head. “
As I said, I found no overt references to Operation Vanguard in any of the Defiant’s memory banks. Either that information was already removed from the computer, or else no such entries or references were made. Each is a valid possibility, given Captain Blair’s limited knowledge of the overall project.”
Kirk nodded in agreement. “Makes sense.” Reaching toward the computer terminal, he removed the data card and returned it to Spock. “What did you do with the data you retrieved from the Defiant?”
“As per Admiral Nogura’s orders,” the Vulcan replied as he took the card, “it is stored in an encrypted file secured under voiceprint identification. Only you or I may access it. With the apparent connection to Vanguard and our previous instructions regarding information pertaining to the project, I thought it best not to house this data in the main computer banks. Until directed otherwise, it will remain protected until we can deliver it directly to the admiral.”
“I just love the cloak-and-dagger stuff,” McCoy said, punctuating his remark with a snort. “I think I’m going to need another drink.” With no apparent shame whatsoever, he reached for Kirk’s unattended glass and drank from it.
Ignoring the doctor, Kirk gestured toward the data card in Spock’s hand. “Prepare a full report on the information and your findings for Admiral Nogura, and store it in the same fashion. It’ll be up to him to decide what should be done with it.”
Based on his experience with anything related to Operation Vanguard, Kirk already knew what Nogura would say.
FOUR
Stardate 5829.6
Starbase 12
“So,” Nogura said, reaching for the brandy bottle in order to refresh Kirk’s glass, “now you know why I asked for the Enterprise to be assigned to search for the Defiant.”