by Diane Duane
Half an hour or so later, McCoy was leaning against the console in transporter room two, trying to control his impatience and failing. “What’s keepin’ those people?” he said.
“Something to do with the assassination attempt aboard Gorget,” said the transporter chief. “None of the diplomatic people are where they’d usually be. The transporter chief over on Speedwell says she sent most of the ambassador’s people over to Mascrar. The rest could have used another transporter.”
“Typical,” McCoy muttered. He reached out to the comm button, hit it. “Speedwell, this is McCoy aboard Enterprise. Can somebody please track down this package or bottle or whatever it is that the ambassador’s office is holding for me? I have other things to do today…”
“Hold on a moment, Doctor,” said a somewhat bored male voice. Then another voice, a female one, said, “Chief Perelli, shuttle bay. We’ve got a kind of long box here. It’s annotated as ‘bottle’ on the docs manifest the courier brought over this morning.”
“That’s sounds like what we’re after. Would you run it up here?”
“Sure thing. Sorry for the delay, Doctor. This is medicinal, right?”
McCoy grinned. “If you get a chance to come over here, I’ll let you see how medicinal.”
A few minutes later there was a sparkle on one of the frontmost transporter pads, and a box wrapped in silvery prismatic plastic appeared. “Thanks, Chief,” McCoy said, going over to pick it up.
“Hey, don’t I get any?”
“Come see me when you’re off duty. You’re due for your multipox inoculation anyway; you can have that at the same time.”
“Uh…thanks.”
McCoy chuckled as he made his way out of the transporter room and back to sickbay. Slender, curly-haired Lia Burke, the head nurse, met McCoy going out as he came in, and glanced at what he was holding. “Oh, you got your bottle, finally.”
“Yes. And you can’t have any.”
“Hmph.”
“While on duty,” McCoy added belatedly as the door closed behind her. He went to his desk and picked up a phaser scalpel lying there, and started to use it delicately on the end of the package. The wrapping shriveled away, revealing a prosaic box. He upended it, looking for the opening. He found the seal and ran a thumbnail along it.
The side of the box opened up. Inside there was something silky and black, with a faint touch of fragrance about it, a warmly herbal scent. McCoy looked at it with a moment’s affection, but the warmth suddenly faded as he considered what this might mean.
He pulled the long, diaphanous scarf out of the box from around the bottle for which it had been used as wrapping, and ran it quickly through his hands. There was nothing hidden in the seams this time. But it was a message nonetheless.
McCoy picked up his medical scanner from the instrument tray nearby and ran it down the length of the scarf, just to make sure. Nothing.
Then he reached into the box and pulled out the bottle. The ale in it was unusually blue, the sign of a good “vintage,” at least a couple of weeks old. More, it had that slight cloudiness of really good Romulan ale, an indication that all the fruit solids hadn’t been filtered out of it. Also, McCoy thought, as he ran the scanner over the bottle, it makes it that much harder to see anything that might be inside.
The medical scanner chirruped twice, the alert sound it made when it found embedded data content in a sample but couldn’t immediately read it.
McCoy’s eyes widened. He took himself and the bottle out of sickbay in a hurry, heading for the bridge.
Spock was still staring down his scanner. Jim was wondering if this wasn’t beginning to get a little obsessive. Still, there had been enough times before when Spock had focused on a problem until he wore himself thin, and his persistence had wound up being the only thing that saved Enterprise and everyone in her—one more aspect of her charmed life, too easily overlooked when outsiders examined the legend. Jim sat back and sighed. “Uhura—” he said.
“Another hour yet till the meeting, Captain.” She sighed too.
He had to smile. “Spock,” he said, “find anything worthwhile yet?”
Spock shook his head without looking up from the scanner. “Their long-range scans continue. Over the past twenty minutes I have seen that odd waveform again in several brief bursts, each several seconds long, from what seem to be two different sources associated with Pillion and Hheirant. But then the traces faded out entirely. I am at a loss to understand it. I begin to wonder whether I am detecting some sort of malfunction, except that—”
The turbolift doors opened. “Mr. Spock! Here! Quick!”
Jim turned around, surprised to hear McCoy so out of breath. Spock had looked up from his scanning with a rather severe expression, for McCoy was standing there next to him, holding a bottle of something blue. “Doctor,” Spock said, “this is hardly the time or the place—”
“Spock,” McCoy growled, “I’ve always thought you needed a humoroplasty, but by God as soon as I have two seconds to rub together, I’m going to change your surgery status from elective to required.” He shoved the bottle at Spock. “Now in the name of everything that’s holy, scan this thing and find out what it says!”
Nonplussed, Spock took the bottle and looked it over, then sat it on his science console and touched several controls. He put up one eyebrow. “There is a picochip attached under the stopper,” Spock said, and hurriedly touched several more controls in sequence. “Reading now…”
The screen nearest his station filled with gibberish, which then started to resolve itself.
He stared at it, then turned toward the center seat. “It is from Lieutenant Commander Haleakala-LoBrutto,” Spock said. “She reports that the Romulans intend to attack and destroy Bloodwing immediately on her return to the system—”
“Warp ingress, Captain,” Sulu said urgently. “Two vessels going subluminal, ten light-seconds out.”
“Uhura, copy that message to Speedwell and the other ships right away!” Jim said. “Mr. Sulu, take us out toward the ingress point, full impulse. Put it on screen. Mr. Chekov, ready phasers and photon torpedoes.”
“Enterprise,” Danilov’s voice said over the comm link, “where do you think you’re going? Hold your position—”
“Read your mail, Dan!” Jim said. “Mr. Chekov—”
“Phasers ready, Captain. Photon torpedoes loading.”
“Mr. Sulu, what are the Romulans doing?”
“Nothing, Captain. Holding position. No evidence of weapons activity.”
“There is more to the lieutenant commander’s message, Captain,” Spock said. “She warns of an imminent clandestine attack of a major and devastating nature on Federation space.”
“Mr. Chekov, raise shields.” But Jim’s attention was distracted by an alarm indicator that suddenly began to flash at Sulu’s position at the helm console. Sulu, busy with taking Enterprise away from Mascrar and the rest of the Federation task force without immediately exposing her to the Romulans on the other side of the habitat, glanced at it and said, “Intruder alert, Captain!”
The intercom whistled. “Bridge,” Scotty’s voice said, “we’ve got someone beaming aboard from one of the other ships. The transport signature’s Romulan!”
“Shields!”
“Up now, Captain.”
Too late, Jim thought. “Scotty, where’s the intruder beaming to?”
“Transporter room two.”
“Seal that deck off. Get a security detail down there on the double.” He gripped the arms of the center seat, resisting the urge to jump up and see what the hell was going on. “Mr. Sulu, are we secure now?”
“Yes, Captain. Heading for the ingress point. Two ships coming in, decelerating from warp, down to about point two c now.”
On screen, with magnification, you could just see them, two sparks coasting inward in RV Trianguli’s hot blue light. “Uhura,” Jim said, “send to both ships. Ortisei, Bloodwing, break away, you are about to come under att
ack!”
“Enterprise,” came another voice. It was the city manager from Mascrar, sounding rather alarmed. “You are not scheduled to leave formation at this time, and your movements and signals may be misconstrued—”
“Captain, I am picking up impulse engine activity out there,” Chekov said, working over his console. “But all ships in the system are in position and accounted for, none of them can be producing it!”
“The new waveform I detected earlier is associated with the impulse engine readings,” Spock said suddenly. “I believe your conjecture was correct, Captain. The source of the readings is accelerating toward Ortisei and Bloodwing. But there is still a peculiarity.” Spock stared down his scanner, manipulating it. “I cannot tell whether it is one impulse engine or two. It is ghosting, phasing in and out.”
“Mr. Chekov, lock weapons on that impulse engine reading and prepare to fire. Try to refine the scan, though! Mr. Sulu—”
“Enterprise, I warn you, if you open fire, we will act to enforce the neutrality of the space around us!”
“Mascrar, scan ahead of us, it’s not our fire you need to be worrying about! What about that impulse engine, attached to a ship that we can’t see? Sulu, position!”
“Four light-seconds out at bearing one one five mark six, Captain. Closing on Ortisei and Bloodwing.”
“Oh, my God,” McCoy said softly. “This is it.”
“Security to Captain Kirk,” a voice said. “Lieutenant Harmon here.”
“Report!” Jim said.
“Three Romulans have beamed aboard, Captain,” said Harmon. “All male. All three are wounded, two severely. Those two are unconscious. The conscious one is asking specifically for Dr. McCoy.”
“Get them straight down to sickbay,” McCoy said. “I’ll meet you there. Uhura, page Dr. M’Benga and have him report there immediately. Sickbay, Burke!”
“Burke here, Doctor.”
“Incoming wounded. Romulan. Break out the Vulcaniform trauma packs. You’re going to have a security team in there in about three minutes, and I’ll be there in about five. Triage the wounded, stabilize them, and activate scrub fields as necessary.” And he was gone.
Jim turned his attention back to the screen. There was nothing to be seen out in the starry darkness but Bloodwing and Ortisei, coasting in. “The other Federation vessels are going to alert status,” Chekov said. “Shields going up. Romulan vessels are doing the same. Their weapons systems are heating up—”
And when the host on both parties saw that sword drawn… But if the sword was not drawn, lives were going to be lost. He knew it. “Ortisei!” Jim said. “Afterburner, can you see the impulse reading approaching you? Fire at it, it’s going to attack!”
“Bloodwing is breaking away,” Sulu said. “The vessel running on impulse is changing course to intercept.”
“Both Ortisei and Bloodwing have raised shields,” Chekov said. “Weapons systems aboard Bloodwing coming on line—”
“Enterprise, I have orders not to fire unless fired upon,” Gutierrez’s voice came back. “You have the same orders, Jim. I can see a faint impulse track, all right, but there’s no sign of any cloaking device in use—”
“I am a fool,” Spock said.
The statement was so bald and so flat that even in these circumstances, Jim had to glance over at Spock in astonishment. “What?”
“I have misread data which has been in front of me for many hours,” Spock said, his voice tight. “The name Pillion, Captain! It is not just a name. It could be taken for such, for the Romulans often name ships after the accoutrements of an armed warrior: Gorget, Helm, and so on. A pillion is a saddle. But it is also an extra pad fastened behind a regular saddle so that another rider can use the same conveyance. To ride pillion is to ride two on a mount.”
Jim’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” he said, turning back to the screen.
“The impulse signature is changing,” Sulu said. “Two signatures, Captain, not one. One heading toward Ortisei now!”
“Pillion has been carrying at least one second vessel, which remained cloaked even though the primary one was uncloaked and visible,” Spock said. “They must have achieved a major breakthrough in the design of the cloaking device to be able to produce such an effect, especially one that would withstand visual and scan inspection at such close range. That is the vessel responsible for the attack we have just seen.”
Jim swallowed. This information alone qualified as one of the triggers that would activate his sealed orders, but he had little time to spare for that issue now. Ortisei and Bloodwing were getting closer. “The impulse sources continue to accelerate,” Chekov said. “One is now within conventional phaser range of Ortisei. Captain, shall I fire?”
He stared at the screen. It had never occurred to him that the sword to be drawn would be in his hand. He opened his mouth to tell Chekov to fire.
In the space between Ortisei and Bloodwing, the stars suddenly began to shimmer.
And Bloodwing, as she curved away, fired her phasers, nearly pointblank, right at Ortisei.
Between the two of them, where space had been shimmering, only one spread of torpedoes had time to come blasting out from the little half-decloaked ship before it blossomed into a tremendous explosion. Bloodwing twisted and arced away from the explosion and the remaining torpedoes, and on the other side, Ortisei, having just begun an evasive maneuver, shuddered and sideslipped as the force of the explosion hit her shields.
And everything started to happen at once. All the Romulan ships but Gorget left their positions on the far side of Mascrar and started to move with increasing speed toward Bloodwing. Bloodwing, recovering from her evasive maneuvers, threw herself straight at the Romulan vessels, firing.
“Captain!” Chekov said. “The torpedoes that the cloaked vessel launched—they’re coming back!”
“Evasive,” Jim said.
“They appear to be tracking Bloodwing,” Spock said. “Difficult to determine whether they are targeting the ship’s ID, or just her engine type.”
Bloodwing streaked past Ortisei, which was drifting now, a terrible flickering running up and down her starboard nacelle. The torpedoes followed, and the Romulan vessels, seeing her coming, scattered…
…but not fast enough. One torpedo, its tracking computers possibly confused by all the other Romulan engines in the area or deranged by the explosion of the originating vessel when it first fired, slammed into Thraiset, whose shields flared into a globe of fire and then collapsed. A second torpedo coming right behind the first one hit Thraiset amidships, and the ship instantly bloomed into a white fury of fire as its antimatter catastrophically annihilated.
“Brace for impact!” Jim yelled. Even with shields up, Enterprise rocked and plunged as the shock wave from the matter-antimatter annihilation hit her. The lights wavered and the artificial gravity flickered once or twice, but not severely enough to throw people around. “Damage report!”
Spock was reading his console. “Reports coming in from decks six, eight, nine, forward,” he said. “Some injuries, no major structural damage. Shields down to sixty percent, they will take some time to recharge—”
Jim’s heart was pounding. It was a captain’s worst nightmare, everything happening at once, no way and no time to limit the damage. Ortisei was still drifting, the discharge-flicker around her nacelle gone now. “Ortisei is evacuating her crew to Mascrar,” Uhura said. “Matter-antimatter containment is holding, but they’re not taking any chances.”
That at least was some consolation. “Mr. Sulu, go after those torpedoes,” Jim said, “before this whole part of space turns into a free-fire zone! Mr. Chekov, phasers!”
“Ready, Captain,” Chekov said. But past Ortisei, Jim could see Saheh’lill and Greave curving around again past Mascrar, firing at Bloodwing as she passed…
…and Saheh’lill’s phasers hit Speedwell. Speedwell’s shields took the fire and held. She flung herself away from the Romulan vessel, forbearing to fire even
though orders would have permitted it. Saheh’lill curved back toward Mascrar, low over the city’s surface, very low, still firing, trying to reach Bloodwing while she was at close range.
A terrible lance of fire suddenly blasted out from Mascrar and struck Saheh’lill full on. The Romulan ship simply vanished in it, together with its explosion, its only remnant a long lingering streak of excited ions in the space through which the beam had struck.
Sulu threw Enterprise past Mascrar in Bloodwing’s wake, and the view on the main screen gyred and pinwheeled wildly as Sulu rolled the ship hard on her longitudinal axis, and then up and over in a variant of the ancient Immelmann. Chekov pounced on his console, and then did it again, and two of the torpedoes following Bloodwing blew up, small bright clouds of expanding fire in the night. But another one, corkscrewing in pursuit as she did, missed Bloodwing as she suddenly straightened and ran straight at Greave, firing. Hheirant, now plunging away from Mascrar and toward Enterprise, took the torpedo on her shields. They flickered, went down; she started losing acceleration, limped away.
“How many of those things left?” Jim said.
“Two, Captain. Still tracking Bloodwing. She’s coming around tight to try to deal with them.”
Close by, Sempach was closing with the damaged Hheirant. “Hheirant,” Jim heard the comms officer aboard Sempach hailing them, “do you have casualties, can we assist—”
Hheirant fired on Sempach.
The flagship took the fire on her shields. A long moment’s pause…
Pillion dived in from the other side and began to fire on Sempach as well, while Hheirant continued firing.
Sempach yawed hard forward, quickly as a coin being flipped, and her phasers lanced out repeatedly at Pillion en passant. Pillion’s shields went down under the onslaught, and after a moment she broke off attack and fled out of range. Hheirant, though, could not do the same, and as the phasers raked her, she blew.
Once again Enterprise and the other ships shuddered and wallowed in the shockwave of the detonation. It passed, and people let go of whatever they had been using to brace themselves and stared at the screen.