“That is most considerate of you, Captain. We find ourselves in complete agreement on who I am. The question remains,” and he paused for effect, “are you who you claim to be?”
“I was with Lieutenant Nored while the alien was still present,” Kirk claimed indignantly. “It’s a definite problem, all right. If we’re not careful he’ll have us shooting at each other. But given time, we’ll find him. It’s only one problem.”
Somewhere in space exists a formless, malignant entity who listens to the words of starship captains merely for the chance of playing their plans false. Said entity must have been listening to Kirk, for, as if on cue, the red-alert signal now commenced its visual and aural clamoring. A blinker just above them flashed insistently for attention.
Various crew members began to appear, running towards their battle stations. As any well-drilled crew should, they ignored their two senior officers in single-minded pursuit of current objectives—namely, getting to where they belonged as fast as was humanly or inhumanly possible.
“Now what?” Kirk’s question was more resigned than hopeful. He moved to the flashing wall communications hookup.
“Hello, bridge? This is the captain speaking. Scotty? What’s happening up there? What’s the Vendorian up to now?”
“It’s not the Vendorian, Captain,” the chief engineer replied. “I wish it were. A pair of Romulan battle cruisers, sir, and if they’re not on an intercept course we’re about to witness the biggest cosmic coincidence since that double star in M-31 went nova together.”
“All right, Scotty, keep a lid on things. We’ll be right up.”
“What was that you just said about dealing with only one problem, Captain?”
“Spock, if I didn’t know that you weren’t prone to malicious sarcasm, I’d . . . ahhh, never mind.”
By the time they’d regained the bridge and Kirk had resumed his seat in the commander’s chair and Spock his own at the library computer, the two Romulans were close enough for visual contact via the telescopic eyes of the main viewscreen.
If there were any chance they might have been Federation ships, that hope was soon laid to rest at the sight of their distinctive silhouettes. In design and basic construction they were similar to the battle cruisers of the Klingon Empire. Insignia and certain minor but unmistakable differences branded them as Romulan.
Kirk’s first thought was to get something down on record. Not only in case hostilities ensued, but also because such information would be needed for any legal actions that might arise out of this encounter. So he quickly activated the log.
He was about to begin the entry when a sudden thought struck him. No, not yet. It was too early to plan for pessimistic eventualities. He flicked off the official log, switched on the general recorder instead.
“Mr. Scott, any chance of us outrunning them?”
“Not now, sir,” worried Scott, shaking his head once. “They were right on top of us, Captain, before our sensors even picked ’em up.”
“It was as if they were waiting for us, Captain,” Sulu added.
“Ummmm.” Now he directed his voice and attention to the pick-up grid. “Due to interference by the Vendorian recently discovered on board in the guise of Carter Winston, the Enterprise has been detected by ships of the Romulan Empire while violating the Romulan Neutral Zone. By the terms of our treaty, the units of the Romulan fleet have a legal right to seize the Enterprise. To complicate matters, we have as yet been unable to apprehend the Vendorian responsible for this situation.”
Given the laws against harming intelligent neutrals Kirk naturally didn’t add his attendant thoughts—namely, that if and when they did find the troublemaking shape-changer, he’d take great pleasure in tying its seven body tentacles in knots and then opening them again… with a meat cleaver.
But right now he had a more difficult situation to focus his attention on.
“We’re being scanned, Captain,” came Uhura’s voice. “And I’m picking up a communications beam. They’re attempting to contact us.” She hesitated. “Shall I throw up an interference screen, sir?” Kirk thought quickly.
“No point in trying to stall them, Lieutenant. I’ve got a hunch this particular bunch won’t stall.” He smiled grimly. “Let’s hear what they’ve got to say. If there’s visual with it, put it on the screen. I’d like to see who I’m dealing with… and if my face does them any good, they’re welcome to it.”
Visual there was.
When his humanoid image finally cleared on the main viewscreen the relaxed attitude of the Romulan commander only confirmed the suspicions taking root in Kirk’s mind.
“You appear to have a propensity for trespassing in the neutral zone, Captain Kirk. I’ve been told it has happened once or twice before.”
My, but wasn’t he a smug one, Kirk thought. What Kirk said was different, however, smoothly conciliatory. That was the best attitude Kirk could fake; he couldn’t quite bring himself to be deferential toward this oily character.
“It was not deliberate, I assure you.”
The Romulan commander’s reply was dry. “It never is. But the terms of the treaty are clear. They make no provisions for good intentions. I’d like to indulge in the sentiment your people are so fond of and ignore the treaty this time, but, of course, any attempt to contravene the articles, even for friendship’s sake, could mean war.”
“Surrender your ship, Captain. You will be well treated. We will release you and your crew at the nearest Federation outpost bordering the neutral zone.”
Kirk thought furiously, considering. “I have your personal word of honor on that, Commander?…”
“Larus—Commander Larus. I swear by my family and my command, Captain. You and your personnel need have no worries.” He tried hard not to gloat. “I have no personal quarrel with you. I must take your ship only to comply with the terms of the treaty between our two governments. I take no personal pleasure in this distasteful deed whatsoever.”
I’ll just bet you don’t, you grinning so and so, Kirk silently cursed. His return smile, however, was equally pleasant.
“I’d like a few minutes to inform my crew. There will be certain preparations required.”
“Of course, Captain Kirk. I understand perfectly. The shock, and all. Take all the time you need—up to five minutes your ship-time, no more.” Abruptly, the screen blanked.
“Transmission ended, Captain,” Uhura informed him. “But they’re still scanning us.”
“Fine. Let ’em scan us till their scanning computers get an electronic migraine.” Kirk turned and activated a switch on the right armrest. Spock left his station and moved to stand next to the captain.
“Kirk to security. What’s the status on the search for the Vendorian?”
“Nored here, sir.” The voice of the lieutenant was calm and professional now, no sign of emotional upset. Good. “No progress yet. We have all decks under constant patrol. No one has seen it, but—”
“How do you know, Lieutenant?” snapped a frustrated Kirk. “Anyone might have walked right past the Vendorian a dozen times without seeing it.”
“I don’t think so, Captain.” Nored’s response was firm, confident. “Our patrols have their phasers set on low-power stun. I’ve given orders that they’re to randomly beam everything they pass—walls, ceilings, fixtures—without design or selectivity. We’ll end up with a lot of scorched paint, but I think the Vendorian will think twice before he considers staying in one disguise very long.”
“And the patrols are traveling in tight groups, guarding one another. So I don’t think there’s much chance of him turning into one of our own people. At least the alien will be too busy changing shapes to cause any more trouble.”
Kirk found himself in agreement with Nored’s precautions. It ought to flush the alien out in the open. “Carry on, Lieutenant.” He broke the connection and nodded toward the viewscreen where the Romulan ships were displayed again.
“As Scotty points out, Mr. Spock,
this meeting is hardly a coincidence. The Romulans were expecting us from the first. The wreck of Winston’s ship—I wonder what did happen to him—was used to slip a saboteur and spy on board. And what better spy than a shape-changing Vendorian who can become at will any of the spied-upon?
“When I went to my cabin he put me out long enough to take my shape. Then he came to the bridge and ordered the course change. By the time I recovered, well,” he shrugged, “it was too late to swing free of the zone. A neat trap.”
“It would seem so, Captain. Yet one thing continues to puzzle me.”
“Spock?”
“How is it that the Romulans are able to persuade a Vendorian to work for them? I cannot think of a logical reason why one of the shape-changers should. I cannot imagine what inducement the Romulans could offer.”
“We’ll consider the question of motivation later, Mr. Spock. Right now we’ve got a starship to save.” He looked to the helm. “Open a hailing frequency, Lt. M’ress. Uhura, you keep listening for more of the same from our friends out there. And keep monitoring their scans.”
The feline navigation officer moved to obey, her tail flicking in nervous response. “I have contact, Captain,” she purred. “Hailing frrequency was harrdly necessarry. They’ve been waiting forr us to rrespond, it seems.”
Once again the view of the paired Romulan cruisers was replaced by a portrait of their commander. He was making a strong attempt, Kirk noted, to suppress his normal arrogance.
“Your time is up, Captain. I assume you are now prepared to turn your ship over to me.”
“Wrong assumption, Commander.”
“Captain,” protested the Romulan indignantly, “you are outnumbered, outgunned, and legally in the wrong. I admire your courage, but permit me to say that you err in your tactical evaluation of the present situation.”
“I have no choice, Commander,” Kirk shot back. “If I were an innocent violator of neutral space that would lead to some discussion, yes. But the treaty also states that deception of any kind—false beacons, signals, anything—used to lure a vessel into the neutral zone are a provocation by the luring side and not by the intruder. It is you who are in violation of the treaty, not I.”
“Lured, Captain?” protested the Romulan with admirable outrage. “How could we possibly lure a starfleet vessel so deeply into the neutral zone?”
“Through the use of a spy masquerading as a dead human named Carter Winston.”
The Romulan commander paused before giving a sad shake of the head. “A shape-changing spy? Come now, Captain,” he pleaded. “Your courage, it seems, is exceeded only by your imagination. Both are misdirected.”
“You used a Vendorian,” Kirk continued easily, “which, I might add, is also in violation of a number of treaties, not to mention a violation of the galactic quarantine of Vendoria itself.”
Either the Romulan Commander decided to abandon his bluff, or else all this forced camaraderie was getting on his nerves. His natural brusqueness abruptly came to the fore.
“Your five minutes are long since up, Captain. Either surrender your ship or prepare to fight.”
“I will not surrender my ship,” Kirk replied, spacing the words deliberately.
So they were going to fight, mused Chief Engineer Scott.
He had left the bridge after the red-alert signal and gone to his battle station back in engineering. Well, they’d had trouble with the Romulans before and had come out okay. Even though they were outnumbered this time, he wasn’t especially worried. Why, they’d give—
He paused at the top of the spiral ladder. Just in front of him, away from the ladder exit, a crewman was working in front of an open panel. The panel shouldn’t have been open. And no one, but no one, should have been working at those relays without Scott’s personal permission.
“Hey! What d’you think you’re doin’?” The crewman turned quickly.
“Why, nothing, Chief.” He walked over to the ladder exit and helped Scott up the last step. “Only this.”
He touched Scott’s shoulder with a hand. Moving rapidly, he managed to catch the slumping form of the chief engineer before it could slide back down the ladder. Pulling him gently out of the spiral he laid the limp body out on the deck. The crewman rose, again studying the open panel.
Someone else might come and he was in a hurry. Might as well revert to self. The extra limbs would make the job go faster. He crossed his arms, and blurred.
Using only a pair of tentacles for support, the Vendorian used the other five to tear at the thick cables running behind the open panel…
The first red light appeared on Sulu’s console.
“Captain,” he shouted as he worked frantically at the controls beneath the warning flash, “our deflector shields are coming down!”
Kirk cursed silently, pressed a switch on the chair. “Kirk to engineering. Bridge to engineering! Scotty, what’s happening back there? Our shields are fading!”
In the main engineering room a tall subengineer rushed to the chattering intercom and acknowledged the call breathlessly.
“H… here, sir.”
“Not very well you don’t. Who is this?” Kirk demanded. “Who’s talking?”
“Second Engineer Gabler, sir… Captain.” Kirk glanced back at Spock. This was no time for disciplinary action. “Get those shields up again, Gabler—now!”
“I can’t, sir!” yelled the other helplessly.
“Well then, rouse Mr. Scott from his nap and have him do it!” Now the response from the other end was one of complete confusion.
“I was just going to ask to speak to him, sir. Isn’t he up forward with you?”
“No, he is not up forward with me, Mister. You know the chief’s battle station is back there.”
“Yes, sir. But he isn’t anywhere around, sir.”
“Well, then—!” Kirk paused and counted to six, spoke more quietly. “All right, Mr. Gabler. It is vital that we have our shields back as soon as possible. Do the best you can.”
“Aye, sir.” Gabler switched off, looked around at the small cluster of engineers and technicians who’d gathered around the intercom station.
“Don’t just stand there gaping like idiots! The deflector shields have dropped. Check your telltales, trace the leads, find the trouble spot!”
Immediately the group hurried to their positions. Gabler ran to his, too, but his mind wasn’t on the technical problem at hand.
What had happened to the chief?
Meanwhile a telltale of a different kind was flashing on Sulu’s console. “Shuttle-bay doors are functioning, sir. The Vendorian must be trying to escape.”
“We still have some control over this ship,” Kirk muttered through clenched teeth. “Shut those doors, and lock all entrances to the shuttle bay.”
Sulu tried one switch, frowned.
“No response, sir.”
“Emergency override, Mr. Sulu,” came Spock’s quiet voice. “Mechanism voluntary jam to prevent air loss.” He glanced at Kirk as Sulu hurried to obey. “We will not be able to operate the shuttle doors until the stripped relays and gears are replaced, Captain.”
Kirk hardly heard him. The same idea had occurred to him seconds after Spock had given the order.
“Doors closing, sir!” reported Sulu excitedly. That was the signal for Kirk to jump from his chair.
“One problem down. Spock, take command. Talk to the Romulans. Stall them. Tell them anything. Tell them we’re going to agree, but that I’m desperately thinking of a way to save face—their commander should understand that.
“Uhura, send a security team to the shuttle deck, but don’t open the doors yet. We’ve got the Vendorian trapped, that’s enough for now. I’ll be back in engineering. I’ve got to find out what the devil’s happening back there.”
As he hurried rapidly toward the heart of the starship, Kirk pondered their chances. The shields hadn’t fallen all the way, but the Enterprise’s defenses had been badly weakened. Even with a
ll shields up and operating at full strength, the Enterprise versus two Romulan battle cruisers wasn’t exactly a mop-up operation.
Now, with their shield strength down at least fifty percent, well—
At least, he mused with savage satisfaction, they’d prevented the escape of the Vendorian spy. Spock’s query came back to him. He, too, wondered how the Romulans had managed to convince the shape-changer to do the dirty work for them. From what little he knew of Vendorian civilization, the alliance made no sense.
After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the main engineering bay. In response to his questions, a harried technician directed him up to another deck. A short climb and he emerged in the middle of another, larger group of milling crew members. One directed him forward. He found Gabler and Scott hunched over an open panel.
“What happened, Scotty?”
“Hello, sir. I’m sure I don’t know. I came up here to battle-check the backup deflector-shield relays.” His voice took on a tone of puzzled outrage. “And here was this common tech, calm as you please, taking the connections to pieces!”
“Now, the sight of me in such a situation ought to have frozen the good man solid to the deck—workin’ unauthorized with such equipment. Instead, he just smiled confident as you please and came over to help me on deck. That’s all I remember.”
“He couldn’t have been at it long, sir,” put in Gabler. “We found the chief right after I talked to you.”
“He was at it long enough,” growled Scotty. The chiefs attitude did not inspire feelings of confidence in Kirk.
“How long will it take to fix, Scotty?”
“At least two hours, Captain.”
Two hours!
“Well, get on it. That’s all.” Kirk turned and left. He knew better than to make melodramatic pronouncements. If Scott said it would take two hours, it would do no good for Kirk to say, “Do it in one!” The chief engineer’s time estimates were as reliable as his work. Two hours then, working at top speed, and he’d have his shields back.
But could they possibly stall the Romulans for two hours, when the Romulan commander had given him five minutes, and those reluctantly? They might not have two seconds left.
[Star Trek Logs 02] - Log Two Page 5