Elusive Salvation (Star Trek: The Original Series)

by Dayton Ward

  “And Vulcans aren’t affected by whatever it is that they do,” Kirk said, nodding. “Of course.”

  “I do not know who you are,” said one of the Iramahl, a female, “or how you are able to do what you have done here, but you are in grave danger. It is imperative that you grant us access to our ship.”

  Holding up his hands and aiming his phaser away from the Iramahl, Kirk said, “It’s not our intention to harm you in any way, and of course the ship is yours. I’d be happy to explain all of this to you, but right now we’ve got bigger problems. Spock?”

  “Whatever is disrupting my tricorder is still in operation,” replied the Vulcan. “I am still unable to scan for the Ptaen life-forms.”

  The female Iramahl’s expression darkened. “Ptaen? They are here?”

  “We were able to monitor their movements,” replied Mestral, “until you activated your disruption device prior to entering the building.”

  One of the female’s companions said, “We did no such thing.”

  Why did I know you were going to say that?

  The thought came an instant before Kirk heard the sound of what had to be an energy weapon’s discharge from somewhere behind the ship, followed by something heavy falling to the concrete floor. Spock and Mestral backpedaled away from the ship, and the three Iramahl followed them as Kirk and Lincoln turned toward the source of the disruption. A cloud of smoke and dust was shining through, and Kirk could see a beam of light coming from what now had to be an open doorway. Lying on the floor inside the room was one of the metal security doors at the room’s far end, warped and twisted as it was ripped from its frame by extreme force.

  The device had renewed its shrill alarm, demanding attention, and Kirk tried to ignore the alert that was an assault on his still tender eardrums. Then he heard the sound of new footsteps running across the workshop floor and realized they seemed to be moving toward the computer. Spock and Mestral were continuing to hustle the three Iramahl out of the way as the footfalls grew louder and more insistent.

  “Watch out,” he said in a low voice, using his free hand to maneuver Lincoln out of possible lines of fire and lifting his phaser as he saw a shadow on the floor near the Iramahl ship’s bow. He was taking aim when he felt Lincoln grab his arm.

  “Down!” she snapped, and Kirk had a heartbeat to realize she was pulling him to one side and firing her servo at a target he had not seen. A sharp, piercing whine erupted from the slim silver pen, and though there was no beam, Kirk still saw the tool’s effects as the dark figure staggered in the face of the weapon’s assault, but did not fall.

  “Uh-oh,” said Lincoln, just as the figure seemed to shake off the servo’s effects before ducking back around the side of the craft.

  “Spock, get them out of here!” Kirk barked, pushing himself to a kneeling position and firing his phaser in the direction of the ship’s nose. The weapon’s blue-white beam struck the front of the craft, and he was certain he heard a cry of surprise from somewhere beyond the ship. He did not expect to hit anyone or anything, but his shot did seem to have the effect of making the new intruders think twice about revealing themselves. That would provide only a moment’s respite, Kirk knew.

  “Come on,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “We’ve got to move.” Aside from the Iramahl craft, the middle area of the workshop provided nothing to use for cover. Only storage lockers and the doors leading to the other parts of the building were of any use, but getting to any of them or even the transporter vault in the office without exposing themselves to enemy fire would be all but impossible, and the alternative was to stand and fight.

  A dark-clothed figure vaulted over the Iramahl ship, landing with exquisite grace less than ten meters in front of Kirk and Lincoln, and the admiral got his first good look at a living, breathing Ptaen. Its formfitting black garments covered it from the neck down, leaving exposed the indigo hue of its head and hands. Long black hair seemed to be fastened at the neck, and the Ptaen’s pronounced brow and forehead seemed even larger thanks to its elongated skull. A vertical crease ran from the bridge of the alien’s narrow nose up and over the top of its head.

  The Ptaen hunter recovered from its jump as Kirk was raising his phaser, but Lincoln was faster, her servo aimed and firing. The intruder dodged to its left with startling speed. Kirk tried to adjust his aim but the Ptaen was raising something and aiming it at him.

  Then, for the second time in as many minutes, Kirk’s vision exploded in a flash of blinding white.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Mister Spock, we must go back.”

  Drevina and her companions stood in a passageway beyond a portal leading to the building’s larger workspace. Through the still open doorway, she could see part of their spacecraft. Between her and the door were the two beings with the odd pointed ears who had been able to defeat her masking gift.

  How had they managed that?

  Every higher order life-form they had encountered since arriving on this planet had been susceptible to her manipulations, aside from one other individual. Like that extraordinary being, were these two males from another world? If so, what species did they represent?

  It was the younger being who had implored his older comrade about returning to the warehouse, likely in a bid to render aid to the two other people—human, as far as Drevina could determine—who remained inside.

  Standing at the door, the older alien held it open with one hand. “Mestral, take our guests to the secure holding area beyond the utility room. It has an emergency anti-intrusion system. You and they will be safe until we can take control of this situation.”

  Another round of energy discharges, what Drevina recognized as coming from a Ptaen weapon, echoed from the larger room beyond the door, seizing the attention of both aliens. When they moved away from the door and toward the commotion, she used the distraction to her advantage. Lunging forward, she struck at what appeared to be the older alien, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling to the floor. Drevina darted past him, forcing closed the heavy metal door leading to the building’s larger workspace. She felt it latch into place and then heard the sounds of locks engaging. A control pad set into the wall next to the door changed colors, and Drevina guessed this was an indication that the hatch was now locked.

  Turning back to her companions, she saw that Glorick and Canderon had combined to attack the alien’s younger companion, who was employing some form of defensive unarmed combat tactics. Her friends expressed no concern over this, with Canderon leading the way. He stepped closer, lashing out with a speed the alien did not seem to anticipate. This was coupled with Canderon’s strength that also seemed to be unexpected, though the alien was able to parry the attack. What he could not do was deal with Canderon as well as Glorick, who chose that precise moment to launch a vicious strike to the side of the alien’s head. That was enough to drive the alien off his feet and send him toppling to the floor, where he lay unmoving.

  “Did you kill him?” asked Drevina as she retrieved from the unconscious older alien his weapon as well as her own. The other sidearm was of a sort she had never before seen, but its functions seemed simple.

  Glorick replied, “He is incapacitated, but not severely injured.” He gestured toward the locked door. “There is no time. We must leave.”

  “But the ship,” Drevina said. The scans she had taken of their former vessel prior to entering the building had shown her that the destruct protocol remained in a passive state, but interference by the Ptaen hunters or these strangers would be enough to push the protocol to its active—and quite final—mode.

  “If we stay here, the Ptaen will take us,” said Canderon. “We can regroup and try again once we regain control of the situation, but for now we must go.”

  “What of the humans in there?” she asked, then indicated the fallen aliens with her weapon. “And did you not hear these two talking? They did
not speak like enemies, but as hopeful allies.”

  “We can discuss this later,” snapped Glorick, grabbing her by her arm. “And elsewhere.”

  Exiting the building was easy, thanks to Drevina employing her weapon at its maximum strength against the reinforced door that appeared to have been the building’s main entrance. Despite whatever materials were used in its construction as well as its magnetic locking mechanism, Drevina’s sidearm tore it from its mounting, and it fell back and onto the sidewalk. Without concern for being seen by any humans who might be walking past the building—a negligible risk now that darkness had fallen—she led the way into the open air, and the trio sprinted toward the nearby water. She could hear activity in the distance, but she saw no signs of ground vehicles in the immediate vicinity. The lights of Manhattan were visible across the East River, and there was the faint, rhythmic drone of an aircraft somewhere in the skies above them. Drevina glanced over her shoulder to see Glorick and Canderon both checking behind them for signs of pursuit, but saw nothing.

  You knew this would happen.

  Predicting the Ptaen’s attempted ambush had been a simple affair. The hunters had doubtless been monitoring their quarry’s ship since their arrival, the same way Glorick had been doing for decades. Once the wreck was moved from the Arctic crash site, the Ptaen surmised she and her friends would attempt to investigate, and of course they had. What choice did they have? With the destruct procedure activated, the craft was a danger to innocent people here in New York.

  We have to go back.

  What they had to do was evade the Ptaen, draw them away from here in some manner, and keep them occupied long enough to backtrack and disable the ship’s destruct mechanism, hopefully before the humans or their odd companions did something to push the protocol to its final mode.

  Running around the building’s corner, Drevina darted across a section of cracked concrete that was riddled with grass and weeds. A similarly dilapidated walking path ran parallel to the waterway and crossing it brought them to the revetment composed of thousands of massive wooden piles and other shapes. Then she saw the boat. It was a sleek affair, long and thin in a way that reminded her of the beauty to be found in Iramahl space vessels. Only a canvas top over the boat’s console area disrupted its graceful lines. With the paltry illumination provided by a few streetlamps and lights from the building behind them, the boat’s black paint helped it blend into the near darkness. They had taken it from a private marina some distance from here with the intention of returning it before its owner knew it was missing. To say that plan was now in jeopardy was something of an understatement.

  “Glorick,” she called over her shoulder. “Activate the watercraft.” As he made his way across the seawall, she turned back to Canderon. “You will remain here.”

  Her friend eyed her with confusion. “I do not understand.”

  “Glorick and I will lead them away. You hide, and wait for them to give chase, then go back and deactivate the protocol.”

  Shaking his head, Canderon replied, “But you may need my help.”

  “There are far too many other people who need your help now.”

  Though he displayed understandable discomfort at the thought of separating from his friends, Canderon’s expression showed that he appreciated the situation. “You are correct, of course. Good luck.”

  Drevina made her way to the boat, where Glorick was activating its engine. She looked back toward the building to see that Canderon had already blended into the darkness and disappeared from sight around the structure’s far side. As for the building itself, who were its unusual occupants? Were they not of this world? Had they somehow learned to avail themselves of technology from other extraterrestrials? Perhaps they were benefiting from the assistance of such beings, but to what end? Drevina hoped those and so many other questions received answers.

  Without waiting for her order, Glorick guided the boat away from the seawall and accelerated across the basin, heading north toward the river. The watercraft had been his idea, as it provided the best option for getting to and from the target once they had pinpointed their ship’s location. After more than a century on Earth, during which they had observed so many advances in human technology, Drevina and her friends had become proficient in operating most forms of ground- and water-based transportation, as well as smaller rotary and fixed-wing aircraft.

  “Drevina,” said Glorick, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the boat’s engine, “Do you hear that?”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant. The drone of aircraft she had heard a few moments earlier was now louder and getting closer. Glorick was pushing the boat faster, but they both knew that excessive speed in this area might attract the attention of police or other curious parties. Moving around him, Drevina peered out from beneath the boat’s shade cover and saw a dark shape moving above them.

  It was a helicopter, and then she was all but blinded as an intense beam of light flared to life from the craft and aimed at her.

  • • •

  Standing at the water’s edge, Rijal watched the boat powering away from shore and into the river. They would have countless places to lose themselves among the people of this massive metropolis. Indeed, they did not even need to remain in the city, but could instead head along the coastline, out into the ocean until they had eluded all remaining pursuit.

  “What do we do now?” asked Noceri from where he stood near the edge of the wooden wall forming a barrier for the water. “Should I recall our ship?”

  We were so close!

  How long had they been here, vainly searching for some sign of the Iramahl fugitives? How many hunter teams had been sent to this world for the same purpose? Finding the Iramahl ship’s signal and learning that the craft had been moved from its tomb in the frozen wastes had been a stroke of good fortune, the first he and his fellow hunters had enjoyed since their arrival. This might well be their best, if only, chance of apprehending the fugitives, and it was slipping away with every passing moment.

  One had to wonder about the futility of this action, but Rijal was not the one to do so. He had been given a task; he would see that task completed, no matter the cost or the time required.

  Despite the immediacy of the situation, Rijal was reluctant to use their own scout craft to give chase. It appeared from its course that the watercraft carrying the fugitives was heading toward the city. Even with the darkness, the risk of discovery was a concern. After all, he and his fellow hunters lacked the bizarre gift possessed by certain Iramahl, including the fugitive Drevina, and he wondered if she had used that ability to any effect on this planet’s indigenous inhabitants.

  Of course, for all Rijal knew, she could be using her gift right now, to stand within easy reach of him and his companions while they laughed.

  They lack the courage for such a brazen act.

  Behind him, Bnara said, “From the ship, we can still track their movements and follow covertly.”

  She was correct. Why had he not considered this himself? Was his judgment being affected by the failure to capture the fugitives when they had possessed such great advantage? Perhaps, along with the humans who had somehow become involved with the Iramahl. Who were they? How had they managed to take custody of the ship, and what of the other technology they had employed? It had taken several of Bnara’s tools to defeat the structure’s intruder control measures as well as whatever had been used to track the hunters’ movements. Much of this was very confusing and there were many questions, but Rijal found he did not care about the answers, at least not now.

  “Recall the ship.”

  • • •

  Whoever was beating on his skull, Kirk wanted that person dead.

  “Admiral? Are you all right?”

  Opening his eyes, Kirk saw Spock looking down at him, and then he realized he was looking up at the warehouse’s ceiling. Then h
e remembered his head hurt.

  “I’m starting to think I might be getting too old for this sort of thing.” With Spock’s help, he regained his feet, then held on to the Vulcan’s arm long enough to steady himself. “What happened?”

  “You and Miss Lincoln were stunned by a Ptaen energy weapon. Fortunately, the weapon’s effects are temporary, and my tricorder has detected no lasting effects.”

  Kirk grimaced. “Tell that to my head.”

  To his left, Mestral was helping Roberta Lincoln up from where she had fallen. Despite her tousled appearance, Kirk thought she seemed none the worse for wear.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Lincoln nodded. “I’ll be okay, in about a month.”

  His thoughts beginning to reorder themselves, Kirk looked to Spock. “The Iramahl—where are they?”

  “I am afraid they have fled, Admiral,” replied Mestral. “Mister Spock and I were incapacitated in the confusion.”

  “Which means the Ptaen are chasing after them,” said Lincoln.

  Holding up his tricorder, Spock said, “We can track their movements. However, there is another problem.” He paused, looking toward the Iramahl ship. On the nearby worktable, the green cube’s flashing had increased to the point that it resembled a strobe light.

  Kirk eyed the device with dread. “That doesn’t look good.”

  “Computer,” called Lincoln. “Status.”

  From the desktop computer, the voice for the Beta 5 announced, “Destruct system triggered by proximity of unauthorized personnel. Contingency protocol enabled. Countdown under way. Translation of temporal measurement units indicates destruct sequence activation in twelve minutes, forty-nine seconds.”

  “Can we stop it?” Kirk asked.

  Spock replied, “We are unable to circumvent the security encryption, Admiral. We need assistance from the Iramahl.”

  Looking to Lincoln, Kirk asked, “Can you bring them back here with your transporter?”