Then one of them broke from the pack and charged toward her from the side. His mouth was open, he was saying something, and it sounded almost like her name, but it couldn’t be that, how could a Romulan know that? She raised her phaser and saw fear enter his eyes and she squeezed the trigger and fired, and her beam caught him full in the chest. He threw his arms out to his sides, hands going loose, and his weapon (and was that a phaser, not a disruptor?—maybe he had picked it up from the body of a slain crew member) flew away. She fired once more, though he was already falling.
• • •
Kirk watched in horror as Tikolo fired at O’Meara, then fired again. He had been close enough that she must have seen him, couldn’t have failed to recognize that familiar face.
Unless, Kirk realized, she in fact could not recognize him because Tikolo herself was only partly there. The mental stress of these past hours must have been terrible; he didn’t know where she had been or what she had gone through, but it hadn’t been a stroll through the bowels of the ship.
She might have thought they were all Romulans, might fire at him or Spock or Chandler next. He adjusted his phaser, setting it to stun—not sure if it would work—and darted to where O’Meara had begun his cautious trek to Tikolo. Except O’Meara had had Kirk to provide him cover fire. Still, the battle was fierce; no one was paying attention to him, on either side.
He started toward Tikolo and Bunker, employing the same shelter O’Meara had used. He tried to move faster than O’Meara had, knowing that all it would take was for one Romulan to spot him. He would be an easy target, especially when he had to cross that open ground.
The captain kept hoping he’d have a shot at Tikolo, but she was using cover well, coming out only long enough to snap off a blast at whatever Romulan she had in her sights. From this angle, he could see only bits of her arm, sometimes a shoulder or a brief glimpse of that lustrous black hair.
He would have to do what O’Meara had done—dash across the open space—and take his shot when he got there. That meant he would have to be faster than she was. She was younger, scared, battling for her life, and possibly completely delusional.
Kirk didn’t like his chances.
He broke into the open.
The captain had barely taken a step when a Romulan he hadn’t noticed before rose from cover, homing in on him with a disruptor, leading him just a little. If he turned to fire, it would put him off balance, slow his dash toward Tikolo. And his phaser was only set on stun. He had to keep his momentum, hurtle forward, hope the warrior missed.
Kirk was turning his head away, watching Bunker and Tikolo, knowing that once he had a clear shot he had to take it fast, when he saw the Romulan lifted bodily off the deck—by what, Kirk couldn’t tell—and hurled into his comrades.
Aleshia! he thought. And then he was face-to-face with Tikolo. Her phaser was coming up to fire.
Kirk shot first.
The beam hit her and she froze, then fell backward. Her weapon slipped from numbed fingers. Bunker spun toward Kirk, then lowered his phaser, a smile spreading across his face.
“I knew you’d come, Captain,” he said. “The whole time I was out there, lost, I knew you’d be looking for me.”
“We were,” Kirk said. “Tikolo was. Why did you run off?”
“I thought I saw my sister,” Bunker said. “She was scared and running for her life. Only she’s been dead for eleven years now. So I flipped out, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“It’s that kind of place,” Kirk said.
“But all we gotta do now is make it out alive, right? Through all of them.”
Kirk looked. “All of who?” he asked.
The Romulans were gone. They had come from Tikolo’s mind, and now that it was shut down—for the moment, at least—so were they.
But Kirk had to get them off this ship before she came to. Or deal with whatever her troubled psyche might materialize next.
He thought the former option was preferable to the latter. “Let’s go, people,” he said. “Let’s get the bodies of those who didn’t make it, and get out of here.”
He had barely spoken when the ship shook. No quick lurch this time; the entire vessel seemed to vibrate for thirty seconds or more. When it ended, nothing had visibly changed.
“That felt like—” McCoy began.
“Captain,” Spock interrupted. “I believe we’re being fired upon.”
Twenty-eight
“Mister Scott!” Chekov said. Scotty had just stepped onto the bridge.
“Aye?”
“The Ton’bey just fired at that large wessel. The one in the middle of the dimensional fold.”
“The one we think the away team is on?” Scott asked.
“The same.”
“Did they hit it?”
“I cannot be sure,” Chekov said. “It appeared that the fold might have deflected it to some extent, but I believe they did.”
“I believe this calls for a swift and certain response,” the engineeer said. He stormed back toward the captain’s chair.
“Is that an order?” Chekov asked. Hope was written across his face.
Scotty scowled, considering the options. He wanted to give the order. But he couldn’t simply give in to his immediate urge; he had to try to do what was best for the Federation.
“Uhura, hail the Ton’bey. Order them to stand down. Tell ’em that under no circumstances are they to discharge their weapons again. If they do, they’ll suffer the most severe consequences.”
“Aye, sir,” Uhura said. She spun around to her station and started hailing the Ixtoldan ship.
“What’s next?” Chekov asked.
“Next I’m gonna have a serious talk with that Chan’ya creature. And if I don’t like what she has to say . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, you might still have a chance to launch her from a torpedo tube.”
“I am,” Chekov said, “eternally optimistic.”
• • •
“Who would shoot at us?” Kirk asked.
“Maybe the Romulan ship, sir?” Chandler suggested.
“There are no Romulan ships. The Romulans we fought were manifested by Tikolo’s subconscious mind.” The captain waved his hand around the now Romulan-free space. “As you can see, when she lost consciousness, they vanished.”
“If I may, Captain,” Spock said. “The most logical suspect is the Ixtoldan battle cruiser, the Ton’bey.”
“Explain.”
“Although no Ixtoldan histories I encountered in my prior research mentioned this vessel, we know it originated on Ixtolde, and we know its background. The usurpers of Ixtolde rewrote the histories of that planet to suit their own ends. But these events happened in the relatively recent past, and there have been, no doubt, stories handed down through the generations. I believe that as we approached the dimensional fold, the Ixtoldans, both on the Enterprise and the Ton’bey, recognized this ship. They did not want us anywhere near it.”
“Which is why Minister Chan’ya was so adamant that we continue on to Ixtolde, instead of stopping to investigate,” Kirk provided.
“Indeed. She tried everything within her power to encourage us to bypass the fold. When you announced that you would board the McRaven, to learn what had happened to her crew, she tried to set time limits on the away mission. By this point, we have been here long enough that the minister suspects her worst fears have been realized. She believes that we have learned the truth about this ship, and therefore about the takeover of Ixtolde. She knows that such a revelation would eliminate any chance of Ixtolde being admitted into the Federation. Ixtolde is the last planet in their system that has even a fighting chance of survival, but true survival depends upon the trade advantages that Federation membership brings. Therefore, she is determined to destroy the evidence—and us with it.”
“But, surely she knows that firing on this ship, with the Enterprise right there, would bring about the same result. There’s no way the Enterprise wou
ldn’t report the Ton’bey’s actions.”
“Presumably she does, Captain. Which simply means that once the Ton’bey has destroyed this ship, its captain will have little choice but to also destroy the Enterprise. For that matter, we have been here for several hours, at least. We cannot know if the Ton’bey has been joined by other Ixtoldan warships, or if the Enterprise has already been bested.”
Spock’s words sent an uncomfortable tingle down Kirk’s spine. He was right, of course. They’d had no communication with the Enterprise since before they had set foot on the Ixtoldan vessel. Although he believed in his crew, the fact remained that they were relatively close to Ixtoldan space. If reinforcements from Ixtolde had arrived, the Enterprise might have been surrounded and outgunned.
“The Ixtoldans—the current ones, those who have assumed the planetary identity—have made a series of bad decisions,” Spock went on. “They invaded a neighboring planet rather than attempting to work out another solution to their dilemma. They eliminated all traces of the previous population, or so they thought. Believing that to be the case, they applied for Federation membership. When we set a course for their stolen planet, we did not know it would take us so near the dimensional fold, nor did we know that the McRaven would stumble into it. But having done so, they were at a moment of crisis. They had to hope we would not venture into the fold, and when we did, they had to try to prevent us from emerging with the evidence of their deeds. From the first shelling of the original Ixtoldans, they have had to take every step possible to cover up their crimes, and each step has led only to another lie, another cover-up.”
“ ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave,’” McCoy quoted.
“We need to get off this ship,” Kirk said. “And back to the Enterprise.” The captain started toward the door of the big room. They still had crew members to recover. They’d lost too many already; he had to know if the Enterprise was safe.
They retraced the steps of the search party first, finding the bodies of Ruiz and Greene. Then they headed back to the upper decks, where they had lost others. En route, Spock stepped closer to Kirk, and spoke in low tones. “Captain,” he said. “I appreciate the urgency of leaving this ship behind, but if I may offer a suggestion?”
“By all means.”
“This vessel has been trapped here far too long, and the Ixtoldans on board, not living but also not quite dead, have been trapped here as well, due to the peculiar nature of the fold.”
“Are you proposing we try to get it out?”
“I am proposing that the ship should not be left here. Not just for the sake of the Ixtoldans here, but to prevent other ships, like the McRaven, from interacting with it. This ship is a death trap. We are fortunate that more of us have not succumbed.”
“We’re not off it yet,” Kirk pointed out.
“True,” Spock said.
“Do you have any ideas as to how we might do this?”
“I do not, but I will give the matter all consideration.”
“Until then, we have to get back to the Enterprise,” Kirk said.
The landing party had recovered all of their dead and carried them back to the juncture between the Ixtoldan ship and the McRaven. The environmental suits were still there, but some could be left behind. Kirk hoped a single shuttle could take the weight of the entire landing party, since getting out of the fold might be too complicated to do more than once.
Gathering up their environmental suits, the Enterprise landing party worked their way through the McRaven. Kirk thought about Spock’s request to free the Ixtoldan ship from the dimensional fold. They would need power, and lots of it, to break it out of the fold’s grip. The ship had been stuck for a long time, and the chaotic nature of the fold had added years, centuries. The chances of getting its engines powered up were slim.
But there was still the McRaven. It had been in the fold for only a matter of days, as measured from outside the fold. Chances were, despite whatever bouncing around through dimensions and universes the McRaven had done, its power systems were still intact. If they could be brought back on line, maybe the McRaven could pull the Ixtoldan ship free.
“Change of plans,” Kirk said at the junction that led to the hangar deck. “We’re going to the bridge.”
“Not the hangar deck, Captain?” Vandella asked.
“It’s time to take the offensive.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jim,” McCoy whispered in the captain’s ear.
“Bones, have you heard of flying by the seat of your pants?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well, that’s what we’re going to do. Seat of the pants all the way.”
McCoy looked sour. “I got a feeling I’m gonna wish my pants were armor-plated,” he said.
“Oh, you are. You definitely are.”
Twenty-nine
Remarkably, the McRaven’s impulse engines powered up.
They were a long way from out of the woods. There was no indication that the ship would be able to escape the fold’s grip on its own, much less towing the huge Ixtoldan vessel. If they could have escaped, Kirk was sure its crew would have done so, rather than be drawn deeper into the fold.
But he wasn’t counting on its being able to get free on its own. He wanted its power for other purposes.
“It’s not full power, Captain,” Bunker said. “We couldn’t reach full impulse, and the warp drive is inoperable. But you have power, sir.”
“Thank you, Mister Bunker,” Kirk said. He went to the communications station and hailed the Enterprise. After a moment, he heard Uhura’s voice, faint but unmistakable.
“Cap . . . that you? We’ve . . . about . . .”
“It’s me, Uhura,” Kirk said. “Your signal is weak, but I can read you faintly. Do you read me?”
“Boosting sig . . . tain,” came back.
“Can you do anything here to boost our signal, Bunker? We’ve got to cut through whatever interference the fold is creating.”
“I’ll try, sir,” Bunker said. He dropped to the deck and removed one of the service bay panels at deck level, then scooted his upper torso inside.
The ship shook violently again. Kirk had felt earthquakes, and the rumble and shudder reminded him of that. “The Ixtoldan ship just took another plasma burst, Captain,” Spock reported. “We are feeling the effects because the McRaven is still joined to the Ixtoldan vessel.”
“Can you read me, Uhura? Is the Ton’bey firing into the dimensional fold?”
“Yes, Captain.” Uhura’s voice was stronger now—the efforts on their side, or Bunker’s work, or both, had helped. “Mister Scott is formulating the appropriate response. After they fired the first time, we told them that any further offensive action would be considered an act of war.”
“Tell Mister Scott to hold off,” Kirk said. “I think we need them.”
“But Captain, they’re firing on—”
“On an empty ship,” Kirk said. “Or essentially empty. At any rate, we need the Ton’bey whole for now. Someone will have to approach Minister Chan’ya.”
“Mister Scott read her the riot act,” Uhura said. “She might not be in a cooperative mood.”
“Let her know that this is her only chance. Ixtolde won’t be admitted into the Federation any time soon—probably not in her lifetime. But she has a chance to avoid sanctions being leveled against her people for genocide. And when Ixtolde is deemed ready to apply again, many, many years from now, her cooperation at this time will be remembered. She has nothing left to lose and everything to gain by cooperating.”
“We’ll make that clear, sir. What is your plan?”
The captain described what he had in mind.
When he had broken the connection, McCoy gave him a grin. “That’s downright clever, Jim,” he said. “How’d you come up with that?”
Kirk settled himself into the McRaven’s captain’s chair. The entire landing party was on the bridge, using every available seat and sprawled out on the floo
r. The fallen were already stowed in the shuttle, but Tikolo was here, still unconscious. With the unreliability of the phaser within the fold, he had hit her a with a deeper stun than expected, or else her system was just so damaged that it had affected her harder than usual. They were still within the fold, though not on the Ixtoldan ship, so the captain was not sorry she was still out. Kirk looked around, knowing that every face would be turned his way. “Uncle Frank.”
“Uncle Frank?” McCoy echoed.
“He was a farmer,” Kirk said. “He grew corn, winter wheat, sorghum, whatever there was a need for. But Idaho was also ranching country, and he had friends in the ranching community.”
“What’s the difference?” Chandler asked.
“In the most simplistic terms,” Spock said, “a farmer raises crops and a rancher raises livestock.”
“Winter comes early in Idaho,” Kirk explained. “And traditional ranchers still drive their cattle to winter pastures in the late summer. In that rugged country, cows don’t stick close to the roads, and aerial drives are impractical. To move the herds, you’ve got to be on the ground, where they are. That means on horseback.”
“You were a cowboy, sir?” Vandella asked.
“For a couple of weeks, yes,” Kirk said with a smile. “I was a cowboy.”
McCoy laughed. “Jimmy Kirk in a big hat on an even bigger horse.”
“I was a pretty good-sized kid,” Kirk said. “Skinny, but tall. I’ll grant you, it was probably a comical sight,” he admitted. “But I did what I could to help out.” He remembered horseback climbs up and down treacherous slopes, where a misplaced hoof could have spelled injury or death for the inexperienced rider. Uncle Frank had put a lot of faith in him, and he had returned that faith tenfold, trusting that his uncle would keep him safe no matter what. “Anyway, we were on that cattle drive for days and days, and hungry cowboys have got to eat.”
“A chuck wagon?” McCoy asked. The doctor had traveled to distant stars, but the idea of an old-fashioned chuck wagon seemed to fill him with wonder.
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