Elusive Salvation (Star Trek: The Original Series)

by Dayton Ward

  Keying the communications node affixed near the auditory canal on the side of his head, he said, “Bnara, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Rijal,” replied his fellow hunter, her voice clear and distinct as it filtered through the node’s receiver. “They are coming.”

  Rijal increased his pace, feeling his blood surging within him as he ran. Behind him, he heard the sounds of Noceri’s breathing as the apprentice maintained stride. They already had traversed the alley to its midpoint and were gaining on their quarry.

  This had always been the part of the hunt he had most enjoyed: the moment of anticipation as he closed in for the final confrontation, feeding off the energy of his prey as they began to realize there was no escape, and no alternative but to turn and fight. It was in such moments that a hunter’s true skill and spirit were tested to their fullest. Though the Iramahl had not made the most formidable opponents, they had taxed him far longer than many he had been sent to hunt. What they lacked in strength they had more than compensated for with ingenuity and guile, and that earned them some measure of respect from him. While he was duty-bound to return them home in accordance with his directives, Rijal hoped they might decide to pose one final challenge once it became obvious there remained nothing to be lost.

  Dim illumination was visible ahead, at the alley’s end, and Rijal saw three figures silhouetted against that light for just a moment before they dodged to one side as though remembering to use the darkness as a shield. He almost attempted another shot, but opted not to give away his position just yet.

  Patience, he reminded himself. Always patience. Let the prey commit the error.

  A beam of blue energy lanced outward from the darkness. Rijal recognized it as coming from whatever weapon one of the humans was carrying. A shout of alarm accompanied it, and then all three figures, one of which could only be the female Iramahl fugitive, sprinted across the lit area at the alley’s mouth and out of sight. Then he heard a more familiar report from another weapon, Bnara’s. Rijal knew she was waiting for the Iramahl, but was perhaps unprepared for their actions upon emerging from the alley.

  More weapons fire erupted beyond the alley as Rijal emerged from the darkness in time to see the two humans using their mysterious weapons against an elevated target along one of the buildings. Rijal saw that Bnara had perched herself on a metal balcony suspended before an open window and now was firing toward the ground. The humans and the female Iramahl had taken up position behind a large, multiwheeled ground vehicle that appeared long abandoned. Bnara’s tactic had worked, and now their quarry was trapped between them, as evidenced when first the female Iramahl and then the human male fell to her weapon.

  Beams of light swept across the ground, and Rijal looked up to see their scout craft moving into view, slowing to a hover over the area above the skirmish. It was small enough that it could land here between the buildings, offering Rijal and the other hunters all they needed to take the fugitives into custody.

  “Noceri!” he shouted, turning to see that his apprentice was still guiding the ship. “Proceed with the landing!”

  An energy burst flashed to his right and Rijal turned in that direction in time to see another of the Iramahl firing his weapon. The salvo sailed past Rijal, but he heard a grunt of shock as the bolt struck Noceri. His apprentice stumbled and fell against the side of the building, stunned from the attack, but Rijal’s attention was focused on the new threat. He fired back, striking the Iramahl in the leg and spinning him around. The fugitive fell to the ground, his weapon dropping from his hand and bouncing out of reach. Though injured, the Iramahl was trying to regain his feet, and Rijal closed the distance. With his free hand, he grabbed his quarry’s arm.

  “This is over,” he said, forcing the words between gritted teeth.

  Instead of replying, the Iramahl lashed out, striking Rijal’s other arm and knocking away the weapon. Rijal reacted without hesitation, slashing across the Iramahl’s face with the edge of his hand. The fugitive weathered the attack and tried to fight back, only one of his punches connecting as Rijal’s superior skill kept him at bay. Rijal felt the Iramahl grab a handful of his hair and pull his head closer, and then searing pain shot through his face as his opponent’s teeth sank into his skin.

  Roaring with pain and fury, Rijal responded with a lifetime of training and instinct. His hands gripped both sides of the Iramahl’s head and twisted with such force that the snapping of bone echoed off the nearby buildings.

  “Glorick!”

  Ignoring the cry of distraught grief behind him, Rijal released the Iramahl’s head and allowed the limp body to fall to the ground, where it collapsed in an unmoving, lifeless heap.

  Only then did Rijal see the human standing before him, carrying a large weapon in both hands and aiming it at his chest.

  • • •

  Not quite sure he could believe his eyes, Daniel Wheeler stood in mute horror as one alien broke the other alien’s neck.

  Following the sounds of the fighting had been easy. With the helicopter damaged and both its gunner and Lieutenant Moreno injured during its emergency landing, Wheeler had left the pilot, Captain Edwards, to tend to the wounded while he set off in pursuit of the aliens. Not for the first time, he had cursed himself for not thinking to bring a larger team with him. What had begun as an uneventful survey of the Navy Yard in an attempt to track the alien ship’s transmission had unraveled within the space of moments, first with the boat chase and then the aliens damaging the helicopter with their strange weapon. Now those aliens were here, fighting other aliens as well as what at least appeared to be a pair of humans, and Wheeler had just witnessed one murdering the other, and all of it illuminated by the spotlights shining down from a hovering alien spaceship.

  No one’s ever going to believe this.

  A flash of energy ripped into the concrete near his feet and Wheeler flinched, ducking to his right. The shot had come from somewhere above the ground, and then he saw the figure standing on the fire escape of a building forty yards away. From this distance and beyond the light cast off by the alien ship, the shooter was more shadow than substance, but Wheeler could see it crouching against the balcony’s railing, angling for another shot.

  Dropping to one knee, Wheeler pulled the Heckler & Koch MP5 to his shoulder, sighting and pulling the trigger in one fluid, practiced motion. The submachine gun unleashed a torrent of nine-millimeter rounds that raked the balcony, at least five of those first ten shots finding their target. The body slumped forward and over the railing, falling to the ground.

  “No!”

  The alien Wheeler had seen killing the other with its bare hands roared in unchecked rage before charging him. At the same time, a third one who had been leaning against the wall staggered away from the building, holding in its hand what could only be a weapon. Wheeler pushed himself to his feet, backpedaling at the same time he heard the whines of other energy weapons piercing and illuminating the darkness.

  Reacting to the immediate threat, Wheeler adjusted his aim and fired the H&K at the rushing alien from a distance of less than ten feet. The weapon barked and the alien’s body absorbed the salvo, its momentum continuing to carry it forward. Wheeler was able to sidestep his attacker, just avoiding being bulldozed to the concrete. Seeing movement in his peripheral vision, he twisted in that direction in time to see the third alien aiming its weapon at him. Though he tried to swing the H&K in that direction, Wheeler knew he would never make it.

  Damn.

  Then energy howled one more time, and the alien’s body went rigid as something struck it in the back. Its body twitched in response to the attack before it seemed to lose all control and dropped face-first to the ground.

  • • •

  “I didn’t want to do that,” said Roberta Lincoln, her voice taut.

  His left arm was on fire, but Kirk did his best to ignore the pain as he divided his attention be
tween the Ptaen ship that had settled to a landing less than thirty meters away, the dead Ptaen lying on the ground between him and the ship, and Lincoln. Pushing himself to one knee, he reached for her arm. Tears were welling up in her eyes as she tried to cope with what she had been forced to do.

  “I know,” he said, gently squeezing her arm. “But you did what was necessary.”

  Lincoln shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. We don’t kill. We’re not supposed to kill. Seven, he’s been adamant about that from the beginning. That’s not our job. We’re supposed to be helping people here.”

  “You were left with no choice,” said the female Iramahl. Like Kirk, she was injured and he noted the pain in her face. A burn darkened her left side, though Kirk saw no blood. “You saved our lives. There is no shame in that act.”

  Pushing himself to his feet, Kirk was about to add something in the hopes of comforting Lincoln when a new sound began to echo around them. He turned toward the Ptaen ship and watched as a blue mist formed around it, growing larger and more solid for several seconds before the odd cloud and the ship disappeared.

  A moment later, there was a beeping from inside his jacket, and despite the pain in his arm, he smiled and retrieved his communicator.

  “Kirk here.”

  “Spock here, Admiral. You’ll be pleased to know that the Iramahl ship is no longer a concern, and that we’ve taken possession of the Ptaen scout craft and moved it to our location. Mestral is assisting our Iramahl friend with deactivating it.”

  “Iramahl friend? When did that happen?”

  “Canderon,” said the female Iramahl. “I sent him to help deactivate our ship’s destruct protocol. I am pleased to hear he was successful.”

  Kirk grunted. “That makes two of us.” To the communicator he said, “Well done, Spock.”

  “We are becoming most adept at utilizing the technology at Mister Seven and Miss Lincoln’s disposal, Admiral. It’s unfortunate that we cannot remain here longer, so that I might better understand it.”

  Hearing this, Lincoln’s expression softened. She did not smile, but there was a definite easing of the turmoil she was experiencing. “You’re a natural, Mister Spock.”

  With luck, Kirk hoped, they would only need to avail themselves of that technology one more time. Then he winced as new pain shot through his arm.

  Okay. Two more times.

  “We’ve got injuries here, Spock. Myself and . . . ?” He looked to the female Iramahl.

  “Drevina,” she said.

  “Acknowledged,” replied the Vulcan. “Assuming your injuries are not life threatening, we should be able to treat them here.”

  “Maybe then somebody can tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Looking up, Kirk saw the human military officer, dressed in a camouflage uniform and staring at them with intense interest. He carried a rifle, though Kirk noted that its muzzle was pointed at the ground as it hung from a sling on his shoulder. A tag above the man’s shirt pocket read WHEELER.

  “We can explain everything, Major,” said Lincoln, and Kirk heard a quiet tone as she raised her hand and aimed her servo at Wheeler. Before the man could respond, she triggered the device and his body stiffened before all emotion drained from his face.

  Lincoln shook her head, releasing an exasperated sigh as she regarded the stunned major. “Because the day just wasn’t complicated enough already.”

  Kirk could not help a small chuckle. “I suppose it’s not the nicest way to thank him for saving our lives.”

  “I’ll apologize to him later.” Rising to her feet, she extended her hand to Kirk. “Come on. Let’s get that arm looked at.”

  His attention now on Drevina, Kirk said, “Right. We’re not quite finished with all of this, are we?”

  The female Iramahl regarded him with curiosity. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

  Kirk smiled. “Don’t worry. Everything will make sense soon.” Then he shrugged, an action that made his arm ache. “At least, it’ll make a sort of sense.”

  Thirty-One

  San Francisco, Earth

  Earth Year 2283

  Even though Heihachiro Nogura appeared calm and collected, Kirk could see the annoyance lurking beneath the admiral’s veneer of civility.

  Yeah, there’s definitely a yardarm in my future.

  “Admiral,” said Jepolin as she stood before Nogura, “on behalf of all Iramahl, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance. The brave, selfless actions of your officers have given my people new hope. We are in your eternal debt.”

  Nogura gestured past the envoy to where Kirk stood alongside Spock and McCoy, as well as Drevina and Canderon. “The credit belongs to Admiral Kirk, Captain Spock, and Doctor McCoy. They are three of our finest officers.”

  Oh, he’s going to keelhaul me for sure.

  The thought made him aware of the low throb that was the lingering effect of the injury he had sustained from the Ptaen weapon. Spock had tended to their wounds once everyone had regrouped at the Aegis building, after which preparations were made to return to the twenty-third century.

  Maybe we should’ve stayed back there.

  Straightening his posture as Jepolin turned to him, Kirk offered a formal nod. “The honor to serve was ours, madam, but we didn’t act alone. If not for our friends, none of this would have been possible.” He held out a hand and indicated the other two guests in Nogura’s office, Gary Seven and Roberta Lincoln, who had used the technology at their disposal to return Kirk and Spock along with the Iramahl refugees to the twenty-third century. Standing near the windows overlooking San Francisco Bay, Seven was dressed in a black business suit of the sort he had worn the first time Kirk met him, whereas Miss Lincoln sported a fashionable blue skirt and jacket over a white silk blouse.

  For his part, Seven looked just a few years older than when Kirk had first encountered him nearly two decades earlier. This, despite the fact that Seven as an older man had visited him years ago, after that initial meeting. The complexities and contradictions of time travel along with the frenzied collision of past, present, and future would be something Kirk never fully understood.

  You should probably stop trying to think about it so hard. You’re going to blow a warp coil.

  Seven, holding his black cat, Isis, said, “My associate, Miss Lincoln, deserves the congratulations, Envoy Jepolin. Due to a number of unusual circumstances taking place in our own time, she’s been forced to take on a great deal of additional responsibility in my absence when I’m called away for various . . . assignments.”

  Recalling what he knew about Seven and Lincoln’s activities during the 1980s and 1990s, Kirk suspected Seven was being deliberately modest, even coy with respect to their work on Earth. They would never get the credit they deserved for the trials they faced as they helped to guide humanity toward a more prosperous future.

  “Only through her initiative, resourcefulness, and perseverance was any of this possible,” continued Seven. “She also enlisted the assistance of Mister Mestral, who’s been something of a guest on our planet for some time.” Though he had been tempted to accompany the group through time to the twenty-third century, Mestral instead had elected to remain in 1985, deciding it best that he not receive too much knowledge about the future of humans on Earth.

  Seven turned to regard Lincoln. “Though some of her methods were a bit unorthodox, and I know she was forced to do something she would rather have avoided, I’ve come to understand that in our line of work, even distasteful actions are sometimes necessary.” To Lincoln, he said, “I’m proud of you, Roberta.”

  Lincoln’s face flushed. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

  Though she offered nothing else, Kirk could see she had not yet come to grips with having to kill the Ptaen hunter. It would, he knew, haunt her for a time, if not for the rest of her life.

&
nbsp; “We also would like to reiterate our thanks to Miss Lincoln,” said Drevina, “and Admiral Kirk, Captain Spock, and Doctor McCoy. I must admit that I am still struggling to understand all that has happened and how we have come to be here.” She paused, and Kirk watched her gaze fall to the carpet for a moment before she added, “When we left Yirteshna so long ago, we knew we were leaving behind loved ones we likely would never see again. Still, to know that so much time has passed is a bit unnerving.” She lifted her head and looked to Kirk. “But to know we still have purpose is gratifying. My only sadness is that Glorick, Lvonek, and Mranzal are not here to share this with us.”

  Jepolin said, “You will be welcomed as the heroes you are, Drevina. Both of you, as well as your comrades who died on Earth, will receive every honor we can provide. It is the least we can do for the saviors of our civilization.”

  Looking to McCoy, Drevina said, “Doctor, I am told you have found something that can make our cure even more effective than we originally imagined.”

  Not one for official gatherings of any sort, McCoy cleared his throat and shifted his feet, offering sidelong glances to Kirk and Spock before replying, “Yes, that’s right. Doctor Chapel and I discovered an interesting commonality between your DNA and a portion of Klingon genetic code that was affected by a virus they battled more than a century ago. It was really Doctor Chapel who made the connection. We think that once we’re able to re-create the solution from all those years ago, applying this enhancement will accelerate the restorative process.”

  Nogura said, “In fact, Doctor Chapel has volunteered to head up a Starfleet Medical team that will travel to Yirteshna to aid in the development of this new version of the regimen. I’ve already approved the orders for her temporary duty assignment, and she’s organizing her team and equipment as we speak.” His expression softened into a broad grin. “I don’t mind saying that I rather enjoyed informing the Klingon ambassador about this. Apparently, the Empire and the Ptaen have been getting quite chummy, so you can imagine this little development is rather awkward for both sides. As though the Klingons needed another reason to dislike us.”