Captain's Peril

by William Shatner

  “Put it this way,” Picard said as he continued their side-by-side resolute march across the hard, compacted soil, his boots, like Kirk’s, powdered white with the dust of the desert, “I don’t want to die not knowing.”

  “That almost sounds philosophical,” Kirk teased.

  Picard was still not to be deflected. “Just practical. And there really is something on the horizon.”

  Dutifully, Kirk focused again on the dark spot ahead of them. The object, whatever it was, was definitely a different color from the almost painfully white clay that stretched all around them. Yet, with the late-morning sun behind him and Picard, throwing their shadows ahead by only a meter, it was clear they were not seeing the object’s shadow. Perhaps when they got closer.

  “What about you?” Picard asked. “Are you really interested in reliving the past?”

  “Not reliving it,” Kirk said. “But we were talking about risk. And, to borrow a word from a friend, it’s fascinating to think back on how my definition of it has changed, become more conservative.”

  “Becoming more cautious with age is something that happens to everyone,” Picard said.

  “No,” Kirk said firmly. “That’s something that happens to everyone else.”

  Ignoring provocation, Picard continued to pepper Kirk with his questions as they trudged toward their chosen destination. “So when did you get to the Rift, and what did you find there?”

  More and more like Spock every day, Kirk thought, but saw no harm in indulging Picard a little longer. There was little else in the barren Bajoran landscape to compete for his attention. “Three days, more or less,” he said. Kirk closed his eyes briefly, in an attempt to recapture the familiar collection of scents and smells that had always defined the Enterprise for him. Something vaguely medicinal from the cleansing solution sprayed on the walls and traction carpets. Plus the scent that came from the air vents, conveying as it always did that the air had passed through kilometers of metal ducts. Then, the ozonelike scent that pervaded the transporter rooms and the nearby corridors. And the crew mess, never a day that it didn’t smell of lingering spices. And burnt coffee.

  But most of all, Kirk tried to conjure up the atmosphere of his ship. Her…coolness. Rarely hot. Seldom cold, but always cool. Like the first hint of autumn on a late-summer night in Iowa. Bracing, inviting. Relief from the heat. Just what he could use now. The desert heat was relentless.

  “Jim?” Picard prompted. His alert eyes watching, worried.

  Kirk opened his eyes, drew in a deep breath of superheated air, and smiled. Bajor’s desert hadn’t beaten him yet.

  “We didn’t find the alien ship right away,” he said as if there had been no pause in his answer to Picard’s last question about the past, about the Mandylion Rift. “But we did find the other ships.”

  “The Andorian corsair and the Klingon battle cruiser?”

  “Along with a few others. Tellarite, Tholian, and an Orion privateer.”

  “My word,” Picard said. “All searching for the same alien vessel?”

  “As things turned out, the alien vessel was looking for us.”

  Picard jumped to the logical conclusion. Just as Spock would. “A trap?”

  “Yes, and no. The gamma burst was bait for any warp-capable group in the vicinity.”

  “I can well understand,” Picard said, not requiring further explanation.

  Kirk nodded. It hadn’t been until Cochrane made his historic first flight in the Phoenix that Earth-based astronomers had finally realized they had been observing the superluminal wakes of alien starships for more than a century, without knowing what it was they saw: The movement of a warp field through space. Such fields overtook photons traveling in the same direction and accelerated those photons to warp speeds themselves. But when the photons left the warp field and dropped back to normal space where nothing could travel faster than light, they converted the energy of their no-longer possible warp velocity into radiation—usually at the gamma-ray level, and always in a concentrated burst on the warp field’s direct heading.

  Kirk himself had been fascinated to learn that for generations before Cochrane’s flight, radio astronomers on Earth had picked up these transitory bursts of gamma radiation coming equally from all directions in the sky. Occasionally, it was true, the Earth-based astronomers had been able to correlate a specific burst with an astronomical source, such as an extra-galactic supernova or a black hole. But while those natural phenomena also produced short-lived gamma bursts, they barely accounted for more than half of all recorded incidents. The other forty to fifty percent, whose sources could have been located anywhere from someplace inside the solar system to distant galaxies, had remained a mystery. Until Cochrane.

  Post-Cochrane, Starfleet initiated the development of warp-field manipulation techniques as a Prime-Directive issue, to scatter accelerated photons and thus prevent Federation vessels from creating gamma bursts, except under rare circumstances. Ironically—at least to Kirk—the preliminary surveys of Starfleet’s First Contact Office often identified a new, warp-capable culture by the distinctive gamma bursts created by that culture’s first warp vessels. Constant monitoring for warp-flight signatures from developing cultures was also, Kirk knew, why Starfleet had been so quick to analyze the powerful gamma burst that had led the Enterprise and five other ships to the Mandylion Rift. Kirk halted as this last thought occurred to him.

  Picard stopped as well. But only to ask another question.

  “But when you say the gamma burst was bait, Jim, does that mean the alien ship really wasn’t capable of the warp velocity Starfleet estimated?”

  Kirk blinked as a trickle of sweat momentarily blinded him. “It was fast enough. And its warp engines were just part of the prize we were offered.”

  “Prize?”

  Kirk shook his head, feeling the flush of heat within his body begin to center on the exposed back of his neck. It didn’t help that the Bajoran sun was now directly overhead. “I suppose I shouldn’t have called the gamma burst ‘bait.’ It was more of an invitation.”

  “An invitation to what?”

  Irritatingly, Picard was betraying no indications of being compromised by their desert trek. “A contest,” Kirk said as survival instincts forced his legs to continue to move forward. His boots and Picard’s still crunched steadily into the dry white soil. It was cruel to Kirk how close the sound was to that of crossing a wheatfield overlaid with crisp snow.

  “What kind of a contest?”

  Kirk’s attention jerked back to the present. “Insane is a word that comes to mind. Improbable is another one.” What was Picard after with all these questions?” A sudden unwelcome thought struck Kirk. Was Picard trying to humor him, believing, now they were on the ground, that his friend was somehow less physically capable, more vulnerable than he was? Kirk picked up his pace to put the lie to such thinking, even as he found himself struggling to concentrate on Picard’s next question.

  “Yet, I somehow sense that you took part,” Picard said.

  “Of course, I did.” Kirk stopped for a moment to wipe his brow. “I was young, Jean-Luc. The Federation was young. Starfleet was young. The whole damn universe…We were children.”

  “How did the contest end?”

  “As far as I know, it’s still going on.”

  “The contest?” Picard persisted.

  But Kirk was no longer interested in pursuing thoughts of the past. He’d taken another look at their destination: the dark object on the horizon. He pointed ahead. “That might be a mirage, after all. It’s moved.”

  Picard held his hands to shade his eyes, peered toward the horizon. “You’re right,” he said, surprised.

  Kirk half turned to squint up at the sun, setting aside all thought of its fierce rays and their effect on him, energized by the new information presented to him. “If it’s kept the same relative position in relation to the sun’s movement, then it’s a refractive illusion.”

  Picard stared into t
he distance, his attention focused somewhere between the bright sun and the dark object. “The Bajoran day is twenty-five standard hours, so the sun’s apparent motion is slower than we’re used to.” His forehead wrinkled in thought. “No, it’s moved a greater distance than an atmospheric refraction would have in the same time.”

  Kirk trusted Picard. Like Spock, again. “Then it is real.”

  Picard nodded. “And it’s in motion.”

  Kirk’s eyes met Picard’s. He knew Picard had the same thought he did.

  “Any large land predators on Bajor?” Kirk asked.

  “Several,” Picard answered, “though not in the desert regions. I think.”

  “You think.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  In the same motion, Kirk and Picard both looked back to the horizon and the mysterious object that moved along it.

  “If it is a creature,” Picard said finally, “I doubt it will be carnivorous.”

  Kirk gave him a skeptical look.

  “There’s not a lot around here for a carnivore to eat,” Picard explained.

  Kirk bit his lip in thought. Picard’s reasoning made sense. Whatever it was, the object on the horizon wasn’t moving quickly. There was a chance that he and Picard could catch up to it, and perhaps even survive this fiasco.

  “In that case,” Kirk said, “I suggest we continue toward it. Then, if we need to, we can eat it.”

  Picard frowned in distaste. “I was thinking that perhaps we could ride it.”

  Kirk nodded. He was already feeling better. Something of the coolness of his ship had touched him. “Peaceful coexistence wins the day.”

  “Provided the creature doesn’t trample us.”

  Kirk laughed.

  “So what was this neverending contest you were all lured to?” Picard prompted.

  This time Kirk didn’t mind Picard’s rather obvious attempt at distraction. He approved of thinking of something other than how hot and tired and thirsty they both were. Until conditions changed, they could spend their energy more wisely. And more interestingly.

  “Neverending is a good word for it,” Kirk said. “In the end, that was the key to it. A contest of survival. Survival of the fittest. That was the game the Rel were playing.”

  “The Rel? Were they the race who built the ship you found?”

  “They were the race who controlled it.” Kirk brushed the dust of Bajor from his eyes, and for a moment, saw the stars as they had faded on the approach of the Enterprise through the Mandylion Rift. “They were the race who set the contest and fixed the rules.”

  From the corner of his eye, Kirk caught Picard’s smile. “You? Play by the rules?”

  Deep within dark memories, Kirk shook his head, serious. “Not after meeting the Rel,” he said.

  He began to tell Picard what had happened next.

  Chapter Nine

  U.S.S.ENTERPRISE NCC-1701, STARDATE 1006.4

  KIRK WOKE A FULL MINUTE before the computer spoke to him. It was two hundred hours ship time, which by custom followed the twenty-four-hour standard day of Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco.

  While the stardate system of timekeeping was far more elegant, not to mention simpler, Kirk appreciated the practice of following a clock based on the natural motions of a planetary system hundreds of light-years distant. It was a connection to home, not just in the length of the day, for as the morning watch was beginning on the Enterprise, so, too, it began on thousands of Starfleet vessels throughout the Federation, as well as at the Academy. For a man sometimes too eager to throw off the past, Kirk understood some traditions were worth preserving. Keeping the ship’s clock set to her home port was one of them.

  Five minutes later he was out of the sonic shower and shrugging into a laundered uniform. A quick check of his reflection in the mirror, a slight tug on his shirt to bring it into Academy-precise alignment, and—but a moment later—the sound of his door chime.

  As Kirk approached the door, it opened. Spock was waiting for him, hands behind his back.

  “I take it we’re on schedule, Mr. Spock.”

  If Spock was surprised that his human captain was wide awake and fully alert in the middle of what should have been a sleep cycle, he didn’t show it.

  “We will be crossing the rift convergence at oh-two-thirty hours,” Spock confirmed.

  Kirk started along the corridor for the turbolift, Spock at his side. “Any sign of our friends?” Kirk spoke without looking at his science officer. Spock had only recently given up his attempts to convince Kirk that calling Klingons and Andorians “friends” was not logical. Kirk smiled, sure that he had heard the barest of sighs escape Spock.

  “We remain at least five light-days ahead of the Klingon vessel, captain.”

  Kirk did the math, didn’t like it. At the Enterprise’ s current velocity, that translated to a lead of less than three hours. And that lead would diminish swiftly once the Enterprise began to slow as she neared the gravity well of the white dwarf star at the center of the Mandylion Rift. “What about the Andorians?” Kirk asked.

  “Based on the latest scans of the rift cloud, the Andorian corsair reached the convergence eighteen hours, twenty-three minutes ago. We must assume they have arrived within the central void by now.”

  Kirk paused at the turbolift door, having noted the emphasis Spock had just given to the word, “they.” “Something else, Mr. Spock?”

  “In addition to the corsair’s path, sensor scans also reveal two other recent wakes through the cloud.”

  The ’lift doors opened and Kirk stepped inside, for the moment holding back his irritation that Spock was only now informing him of this new development.

  “Since one of those wakes belongs to the unidentified vessel—”

  “A logical conclusion,” Spock agreed.

  “—it appears a third ship has joined the race.” Kirk twisted the ’lift’s control handle. “Bridge.” The car began to accelerate.

  “The consensus is Tholian.”

  “We’re a long way from Tholian space, Mr. Spock.”

  “We are a long way from Federation and Klingon space, as well, Captain. The target vessel’s warp capabilities are a powerful lure.”

  Kirk knew this would be the last chance he would have for a private questioning of Spock.

  “Why am I being told about the Tholians now?” Kirk let just enough of his irritation show to put Spock on notice that he had made the wrong decision.

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “The Tholian wake was detected less than two minutes before I left my cabin to join you. We are already at maximum warp.”

  The ’lift car slowed.

  Kirk fixed Spock with an inquisitorial glare, certain there was one more thing the Vulcan wasn’t saying. “And you wanted to be sure I was fully awake before you told me.”

  Spock’s frozen expression told Kirk he had guessed correctly.

  Kirk spoke pleasantly, firmly. “Maybe we should stop making assumptions about each other. Just deal with circumstances as they happen instead of second-guessing ourselves.”

  The car stopped and the doors opened.

  Spock’s expression remained unchanged. “The error in delaying to report to you was mine, Captain.”

  “As you pointed out,” Kirk said, “we were already at maximum warp.” Spock had admitted his error, minor as it was, so there was no need to prolong the discussion. “Logically, there was no harm in delaying the report by a few minutes.”

  Kirk stepped out of the ’lift, followed by Spock.

  This time, Kirk sensed rather than heard Spock’s sigh. More than likely, because of hearing that word “logic” in the mouth of a non-Vulcan, Kirk thought, making a mental note to use the word more often.

  Ahead of Kirk’s approach, Lieutenant Commander Scott slipped out of the center chair with a quick nod and, “Captain,” to acknowledge the transfer of command.

  Kirk took his place, his eyes already fixed on
the splendor revealed on the viewscreen.

  “Very impressive, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Spock?”

  “‘Impressive’ as a descriptor has emotional connotations that do not apply in the case of purely natural phenomena.”

  Kirk smiled. “How about you, Mr. Scott?”

  “Awe-inspiring,” Scott said.

  Spock moved off toward his science station. “If ship’s sensors detect any awe, Mr. Scott I will be sure to note it in my science log.”

  Kirk glanced at his chief engineer. “Was that sarcasm?”

  Both he and Scott looked over at Spock for a moment, but the science officer was already leaning over his holographic viewer, its blue glow giving his intent features an icy glow.

  For the moment, Kirk set aside his attempts to understand Vulcans in general, and Spock in particular, and turned back to the viewscreen.

  There, the nova-accelerated gas cloud that formed the Mandylion Rift was a seething ocean of lavenders and clear, tropical blues, shifting and rippling with near-infrared magentas and slow blossoms of pure yellow.

  The apparent scale and motion of the cloud was illusory, Kirk knew. The Mandylion Rift was hundreds of millions of kilometers across, and its tides and currents operated on a time scale greater than a human life, and at light levels the human eye could not easily perceive. But since the Enterprise was approaching the rift at a velocity in excess of two-hundred and fifty times the speed of light, the motions of the cloud appeared on the screen in accelerated visual time.

  “How much longer can we maintain this factor?” Kirk asked, as the sensors’ field of vision diminished, and a smaller section of the cloud was brought into view in ever-increasing and computer-enhanced detail. He didn’t at all like the idea that the Andorians might have won the race to the center of the rift cloud, might already possess the secret of the mysterious vessel’s seemingly impossible warp drive. Not to mention the possibility that the Tholians were ahead of the Enterprise, as well. At least the Klingons are behind us, Kirk thought, as he tapped a finger on the arm of the center chair.