STARTREK®: NEW EARTH - WAGON TRAIN TO THE STARS

by Diane Carey

  The screen flickered to life with mechanical eagerness, and Spock immediately pointed to particular wavelengths and diagnostic bars. “You see here . . . and here. Spectroscopy, chemical analysis, and isolated tracings indicate a recognizable intermix formula.”

  With McCoy peering over his other shoulder, Kirk leered at the screen as it passed hazy blue and red lights over his taut face. “Well, I’ll be damned . . .”

  McCoy stood back and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Orions!”

  Swinging to look up at him, Kirk smoldered, “Billy.”

  “Jim, he must’ve done an end run around us!”

  Thumping his fist on his desk, Kirk stretched back in his chair. “I knew I wasn’t quite done with that traitor.”

  “Apparently,” the doctor commented, “he wasn’t done with us either.”

  “Then what of Shucorion, Captain?” Spock wondered. “Is he working with the Orions?”

  McCoy looked at him. “How could he? They couldn’t have been out here—what’s their maximum warp? They would’ve had to swing damned far out to avoid our long-range sensors, wouldn’t they? I suppose they could’ve moved across our path in Gamma Night, but still, they wouldn’t have time to court allies, would they?”

  “Maximum warp can be fairly high if they opted to burn their engines out completely. They may have bet on return aboard any ships they managed to capture from the Expedition.”

  “Would they take that risk? Orions aren’t the type to come out very far. They hardly leave their own space.”

  “What’s the risk,” Kirk explained, “if your superiors are going to kill you anyway, when you come home empty-handed?”

  Kirk stood up and paced across his quarters. Upon the bunk lay his uniform jacket, cast off casually sometime earlier today. He wore only his trousers and white undershirt. The ribbed collar was somehow comforting, like a chenille muffler during a sleigh ride. If only the sleigh weren’t rushing downhill. “Go ahead, Bones, tell me what you’re thinking. I can hear the clicking.”

  The doctor held up his hands in feigned innocence. “I think the same as I thought yesterday. This whole expedition was a lofty dream, ultimately cursed. They did too much dreaming and not enough scouting, the Federation saw its expansion beginning to shrink in on them and they were willing to take a crazy chance for publicity reasons, and we’d better turn around before we end up smeared across space on somebody else’s hull.” He held up a hand when Kirk snapped him a glare. “No, no, I’m not arguing. You’ve made up your mind. You know I’m with you no matter what dragons rise in my own head.”

  “Add it up,” Kirk appealed. “Shucorion wants us to stay here or turn back. The Orions no doubt want us to turn back, giving them a second crack at our Conestogas. The Kauld, if they’re out there, would probably prefer to have us come about. To me, those are reasons to continue forward. Never give your enemy what he wants.”

  “Then you consider Shucorion an enemy?” Spock asked, evaluating every nuance of the Kirk barometer.

  “Depends. If he and his men were attacked by Orions and mistook them for Kauld during the darkness of Gamma Night, he could be completely innocent.”

  “Or he might be working with the Orions,” McCoy reminded.

  Kirk shrugged. “You said yourself, how loyal could he be to them? They just got here. All we know for certain is that at least two forces want us to stop moving forward. Might be Blood and Orion, might be Kauld and Orion.”

  “But it tells us Shucorion’s lying, doesn’t it?”

  Spock tilted his head. “It tells us he’s being manipulated.”

  “We don’t know that,” Kirk pointed out. “We won’t know until we run into the Kauld face-to-face. If their attack patterns and residue are the same as the unidentified alien residue you picked up, then Shucorion’s proven innocent and the Orions are working with the Kauld. And we’ve got a hell of a problem.”

  McCoy settled back to sit on the edge of the vanity. “I think it’s a hell of a problem either way.”

  Folding his arms, Spock casually added, “I would tend to agree.”

  “Mmm,” Kirk grunted. “I always know I’m in trouble when the two of you agree. Spock, how’s the officer distribution going?”

  “A bit clumsily at first, sir, but as the governor promised, all ships are complying. All first, second, and third officers from Enterprise and Beowulf, with the exception of myself, have been reassigned to Conestogas. All private vessels are stationed with lieutenants or ensigns. Unfortunately, that bleeds the Starfleet ships of most of our officer complement. Twelve Expedition ships are still without a Starfleet advisor on board. We could tap the Beowulf, if you prefer.”

  “No, leave the CST alone. All their people are trained to work together in emergency repairs and we may need them for exactly that. Send our yeomen and midshipmen instead. Get an Academy-trained advisor on every ship, if you have to send the cooks.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  McCoy rubbed his elbow, bruised from a fall on board Brother’s Keeper. “I still think you should put Starfleet officers on the privateer ships, Jim.”

  Kirk’s brow tightened. “Something about that rings wrong for me. I have to trust Kilvennan to keep them in line.”

  “Captain . . .” Spock paused, then plunged in. “I request reassignment to one of the other vessels. The other first officers are reassigned. My effectiveness is limited here.”

  Enjoying a moment of personal admiration, Kirk smiled briefly at him. “Don’t be insulted, Spock. Flexibility could be critical. We have to maintain every option. If you leave, and Scott and Chekov aren’t here, and Sulu’s—”

  “Bridge to Captain Kirk!”

  Even before he hit the comm, he knew that tone in Uhura’s voice. “Kirk here. You’ve spotted something?”

  “Yes, sir—”

  “Sulu here, sir. Unknown number of vessels on an attack vector, coming in at high speed, proximity distance! They came out of sensor darkness, we never even saw them coming!”

  “This is it. Spock, get to the bridge. McCoy, beam to the mercy ship immediately, take your post. Uhura, sound general quarters, fleet-wide red alert, and call Mr. Shucorion to the bridge. Mr. Sulu, break formation! Sphere the ships!”

  By the time Kirk and Spock charged side by side onto the bridge, the Expedition was already taking fire.

  Taking it, and repelling it. Spock broke immediately for his post at the science station.

  On the main screen, supported by a dozen auxiliary monitors all over the bridge, a vista of attacking vessels shot past, firing some kind of globular salvo that looked like streams of phosphorescent gel, but erupted violently on the shields of the Expedition ships. The gels came out in red streams, then erupted in milky white blast circles like pond ripples, then skittered across the shields in unpredictable directions, as if seeking the weakest energy output rather than running with the flow of the blast. Not bad.

  “Keep calm, everyone.” Kirk slid into his command chair, still assessing what he saw on the screens. Something about sitting down at first would help settle everyone’s stomachs. He looked to his left, at the tactical displays. There, a clear graphic showed the movements of all the Expedition ships.

  Sulu, at tactical instead of his usual post at the helm, busily analyzed the position of each vessel, tugging, pushing, pulling, shifting, until a formation began to take shape out of the gaggle of Expedition ships. At his side rather than at her communications post, Uhura was using her fabulous knowledge of signal-sending shortcuts to funnel the coordinates and fine-tunings to specific ships in the complex formation. All around the Expedition, seventy-plus helmsmen were sweating themselves into little puddles right now, just the fingers and eyes left floating.

  With amazing quickness, though, the string of ships drew together in the middle and turned into a swarming mass, then began to shift and morph, further organized from “them” into an “it.” Under the attack from incoming vessels, the convoy gathered into the shape
of a hollow ball with a second ball inside, like a marching band morphing from long ranks into a predetermined and recognizable formation. In minutes the fleet became a double-hulled sphere five kilometers in diameter.

  “Sterns to the core, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk reminded.

  “Aye, sir.” Sulu was polite enough to answer the unnecessary order. He was already doing that. Each ship, as it found its place in the inner or outer sphere, turned as quickly as its own maneuverability allowed, to point its prow outward and its stern inward. The smallest profile now faced enemy fire, as well as the strongest phaser ports.

  Kirk watched with surging joy at the sight of the defensive sphere as it took shape. The giant geodesic came into shape with satisfying grace, and bristled with defensive power. In the center, Montgomery Scott was stationed with Captain Graymark on the roundhouse ship Colunga, holding position beside the Tugantine Norfolk Rebel and the combat support tender Beowulf, all prepared for battle repair duty.

  As shots rang in from the attacking ships blaring around the sphered Expedition, young crewmen on the bridge glanced uneasily at Kirk. Other than Spock, Sulu, and Uhura, the bridge was staffed now with ensigns and midshipmen, all that was left after bleeding the complement dry of command-trained lieutenants and several ensigns. The arrangement was clumsy and desperate, but it meant that every ship out there had at least one Starfleet-trained officer on its bridge.

  Kirk noticed the attention, but ignored them. They were expecting him to bark orders, shout, snap, demand. The time hadn’t come for that yet.

  “Sphere formation completing, sir,” Spock reported, bent over his readouts. “Outer shell vessels taking fire at random stations.”

  “Inform them to open fire as their phasers bear. Inner ships should stand by.” As Uhura repeated his orders to the spheres, Kirk kept his eyes on the forward screen. “Attacking vessels, Mr. Spock?”

  “Vessels are of unknown design, tribernium-carbide hulls with additional trace elements . . . approximately two hundred vessels of fighter proportions, at least twelve of battleship mass, and two flying fortresses. No sign of the Orions yet.”

  “Helm,” Kirk said to the ensign now driving the starship, “bring the ship to position Alpha. Keep aware of the positions of the core factory.”

  “Aye, sir,” the woman said. She seemed young—but all the women on the ships seemed young to him these days.

  “What’s your name, Ensign?” he asked.

  Surprised that the captain would bother with personal details at a time like this, the girl glanced around, her blond hair bouncing at her ears. “Austin, sir, Gina Austin.”

  “Any relation to—”

  “Yes, sir, I’m Captain Austin’s daughter, from Beowulf.”

  “Welcome aboard. Keep your eyes forward. Don’t take your eyes off the helm.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  That could be a problem. The CST’s captain’s daughter at the helm of the Enterprise. Would she be watching her father’s ship more than her own? Did she have the experience to ignore watching her dad die if it came to that and still do her job? Kirk didn’t want this to be the time for any more experiments, but there was nothing to be done. He had no legitimate reason to dismiss her. She hadn’t not done her job yet.

  He was glad to be distracted when the turbolift hissed and emitted Shucorion. The alien leader, in a restrained manner that had become quickly typical, stepped down to the lower deck but said nothing. Kirk watched him carefully, noting his reaction as he looked at the screens, the swarm of attacking ships firing randomly at the outer sphere shell.

  “Mr. Shucorion, are these your Kauld friends?”

  Shucorion actually flinched, then brushed Kirk with a glance. “Yes, they are Kauld.”

  “What are those two large vessels?”

  “Battlebarges. Quite formidable in their ability to destroy. You would not be thought weak for retreating in face of two Kauld barges.”

  “Thank you, I’ll file that away. Sulu, roll the outer shell. Keep at least one privateer to bear on the battle-barges at all times if you can.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Uhura, warn Captain Kilvennan about the barge firepower. Make sure all ships hold position no matter how much fire they’re taking. They must hold their positions. No one break formation, no matter what. Is that clear?”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Enterprise to Hunter’s Moon—”

  “What is this sphere of ships?” Shucorion asked. He placed his hand upon the rail and turned to the port-side monitors which showed the graphics of the sphered ships.

  “It’s an old defensive tactic,” Kirk said. “Circling the wagons, only in three dimensions instead of two.”

  Shucorion turned to him. “Why would you do such a thing? It leaves you no chance to run.”

  The starship vibrated around them from the wash of enemy weapons pummeling through two spheres of vessels.

  “Does your ship shoot?” Shucorion asked.

  “That’s not in the plan yet.”

  Charged with the electricity that makes a captain tick at the right pace, Kirk pushed out of his chair and stalked around the command center, back, forth, back, forth. Around the starship, the geodesic of ships shimmered and struggled to hold position under a conflagration of enemy fire. Each ship was part of a five-ship star joined to other stars, each defending a wedge of space and protecting the flanks of four other vessels. The two hundred Kauld fighters obviously knew what they were doing, buzzing around the sphere, shooting at each stationed vessel as they passed by.

  “They’re confused,” Kirk murmured to himself, barely audible over the whine of shots and strikes. “They didn’t expect the sphere tactic. . . .”

  He watched almost as if spectating as damage communicated itself through the surprised and scattering Kauld fleet. Stiffening suddenly, he got a sharp idea, as if he’d been stuck with a needle.

  “Signal the Expedition to hold their fire,” he ordered.

  Uhura turned. “Say again, sir? Cease fire?”

  “Not cease, but hold fire all around.”

  “Aye, sir.” Befuddled, she passed on the odd order.

  Even Spock cast him a questioning glance. Wisely he made no protests.

  The outer sphere, flashing with weapons fire, crackled a few times before going quiet, now freely taking unchallenged shots from the Kauld ships as they raced past. Kirk imagined several dozen bridge officers calling him something other than pal right now. Even Shucorion was eyeing him with alarming suspicion, complicated by the simple fact that Kirk still didn’t know what Shucorion really wanted to happen.

  “Uhura, coordinate all weaponry officers to fire on my mark.”

  She looked up again. “All weapons officers, stand by for coordinated firing sequence!”

  “Both spheres, Uhura,” Kirk added. “Mr. Sulu, be ready.”

  “We’re ready now, sir!”

  Sweating now around the collar of his white undershirt and under the padded shoulders of his jacket, Kirk let his stomach muscles tighten to their worst, egging him on as he watched the sphere take waves of salvos from the Kauld onslaught without shooting back. It was blistering, painful to see.

  Kirk held his breath, ticking off seconds until the Kauld ships changed their tactics. Moved in . . . a little closer . . . took advantage of the cease-fire—

  “Mark!”

  Uhura relayed, “Mark!”

  Both spheres, inner and outer, fired at once. The ball of ships bristled with destructive energy. At Kirk’s single word, the sphere turned into a spiny urchin spitting venom in every direction. The inner sphere of ships, perfectly positioned, fired between the outer ships, creating a double strike.

  Nearly perfect, the strike rang a single percussive blast into the enemy waves. Almost every Kauld ship within range suffered a direct or grazing hit. Wave upon wave of Kauld fighters floundered and fell away, some spewing leakage, others trailing shimmers of flotsam.

  “Beautiful!” Sulu cried out. “They were comp
letely surprised by the maneuver, sir!”

  Spock, beaming at Kirk in that personal undergirding way he had, turned. “Obviously they’ve never encountered such an assault before.”

  “Sir!” Austin called. “They’re slinking back into the woods!”

  Spock shot back to his readouts. “Sensor darkness is giving them cover.”

  “Will they come back?” Austin asked.

  “I think we can assume that was a first wave,” Kirk said. “Damage report?”

  “Coming in now,” Spock responded. “Starfleet advisors report heavy damage on twenty percent of the outer perimeter, minor damage on other vessels . . . shields down on at least seven ships. The combat support tender is moving in to effect repairs on critical vessels. Norfolk Rebel is maneuvering two vessels to the Colunga, and the Conestoga tender is supplying two ships with replacement mules.”

  “Mr. Sulu, shore up positions. Replace critically damaged vessels with fresh vessels from the inner sphere. All ships prepare for the next wave. We’ll only have seconds here.”

  “Aye, sir. All ships, this is Enterprise . . .”

  Completely stunned by what he had just seen, Shucorion gripped the rail that circled this ship’s command area and physically trembled. They were taking a stand!

  He had assumed they would turn back once the facts of conflict were known to them. No one with sense would settle in a war zone, any more than build on a floodplain, yet these people stood fast despite everything he had told them. He had come here today regretting the sixty thousand deaths that might be the price of Blood future, but against the Blood billion? Some prices were high.

  Those assumptions had come too soon. He had expected them to do what he would have done. He had done what he promised himself he would not do—he had underestimated them.

  “I can’t read the Kauld ships anymore,” Sulu warned. “They’re hidden in the sensor blind.”

  “Position the ships,” Kirk said. “Let me worry about the sensor blind.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sulu responded jubilantly. He was actually smiling, proud of what they had just done.