by L. A. Graf
Purviance crashed atop Chekov with the force of ten men, and the lieutenant felt bone snap along the outer wall of his ribs. An instant later, pain slashed liquid-bright through his lung, and he lost the last of his breath in a anguished cry when Purviance planted a knee in the small of his back and arched him painfully upright.
I’m dead. Chekov was surprised at how calmly that certainty came to him. Purviance would simply break his spine, take the trans-shield anode, and do whatever he damn well pleased to the Enterprise. Whatever this anode thing was, it was important enough for six people to have died for. Chekov decided he might as well save what he could of this mission before he became number seven.
The anode shattered into a million multicolored pieces when he smashed it against the deck. Purviance froze, and Chekov squeezed his eyes shut tight, waiting for the killing blow. Instead, the Orion abruptly released him, and he fell flat, gasping, and still pinned.
“You fool!” Purviance wailed. “That anode was irreplaceable!”
Chekov hugged his arms to his sides, struggling to breathe without letting pain knock him senseless. “Then you’re trapped here,” he wheezed, “just like me. Your people can’t beam you out, and Captain Kirk will never let you leave this ship alive.”
The weight on Chekov’s back lifted, and he heard heavy footsteps retreat to a few meters behind him, slow and uncertain. “I don’t think your Captain Kirk will have the luxury of making that decision.”
Almost immediately, phaser fire cut across Purviance’s voice, sharp and feral in the shuttle’s close confines. Chekov remembered Haslev saying that he’d heard a phaser just before the Hawking’s containment housing exploded, and he knew with sudden terror what Purviance planned to do.
“You can’t!” he cried, struggling to his knees. “Purviance, you’ll destroy the entire ship, yourself with it!” It seemed as though the deck lurched unevenly when he stood, arms wrapped around his chest, and staggered toward the rear of the shuttle. “This won’t accomplish anything!”
Purviance loomed in the doorway to the shuttle’s engine compartment, planting his arms on either jamb to block himself in place. “It accomplishes what I was sent for,” he snarled. “At least some small part of it. I keep you from getting the anode, and I keep you from telling anyone the hellish thing ever existed.”
He leered down at Chekov as though amused at the smaller man’s tenacity at trying to stop him. “The only real difference between you and me, Lieutenant, is that I never planned to live to the end of my mission. It would have been nice, but I never thought it necessary.” He leaned down close to confide, “You people certainly gave me a run for my money.”
Purviance was still smiling when the shuttle’s containment housing blew. The explosion sounded infinitely louder without two compartments’ distance to dampen the sound; Chekov recoiled from the blast without thinking even as a shock wave of pressure, shrapnel, and liquid nitrogen slammed Purviance from behind and threw both Orion and human halfway down the shuttle’s main aisle.
A searing rush of phaser fire skimmed past the Shras. Sulu angled the little ship into a random spiral to evade it, trying to throw off the Mecufi’s tracking systems without altering Shras’s course toward the crippled shuttle.
“Helmsman.” Captain Kanin’s voice held an uneasy note. “What exactly is this maneuver called Russian roulette?”
Sulu shrugged, not taking his eyes from the viewscreen. “The original version is a game played with an old-style explosive projectile weapon. You put a single projectile in the six-projectile chamber. Then the players take turns aiming the gun at their heads and firing.” He punched another swerve into the helm as the Mecufi’s phaser shots swung closer. “Since the gun holds only one projectile, the lucky players don’t get shot.”
The foreboding in Pov Kanin’s voice deepened. “And how were you planning on doing this with spaceships?”
“By making the Orions chase us around that damaged shuttle out there until it explodes.” A tiny mote of darkness appeared in the corner of the screen, parallaxing across more distant stars. Sulu blew out a tense breath of relief. Part of him had been terrified that the Hawking’s unstable core might have already blown, unnoticed in the light and fury of battle.
Muav Haslev groaned, sinking into the empty communications station with melodramatic despair. “You mean we’re going to get our antennae roasted after all?”
“Maybe.” Sulu punched a new and more complicated set of instructions into the helm. The Shras launched herself into an obscure and jittering orbit around the abandoned shuttle, maintaining a more or less constant distance from it without ever quite keeping to a predictable course. Sulu heard Uhura gasp, and glanced over at her screen to see the red trace that was the Orion cruiser cutting across their arc to catch them. The larger ship didn’t seem to notice it had come within a hundred kilometers of the Hawking. “And maybe not. If I can keep the Orions taking shortcuts like that, they’ll always be closer to the shuttle than we are.”
“But meanwhile, they’re catching up to us!” Kanin protested. “And even if the shuttle explodes, what guarantee do we have the blast won’t catch us, too?
“None,” Sulu admitted honestly. He winced when a photon torpedo exploded close enough to rattle the hull through the shields. “That’s why I called it Russian roulette.”
Haslev opened his mouth to say something, then yelped instead when an insistent whistle erupted from his panel. “Someone’s calling us!”
“Inset it on the main screen,” Uhura advised. She cast an exasperated glance at Haslev when no boxed image appeared against the swirling stars. “It’s the small yellow button, next to the frequency control.”
A scowling green-skinned face rippled into view across the starfield, and Sulu recognized the double-plaited black beard and scowling bronze eyes of Police Commander Shandaken. The boxed signal pared off the Orion’s nonessential surroundings, but the trickle of sweat steaming down his bare chin, and the fierce roar of Orion voices in the background, told Sulu this chase had pushed the police cruiser to its limit.
“Surrender, Andorians!” Shandaken snarled. “We’re faster than you, and we have weapons. It’s only a matter of time until we catch you.”
“Or until you blow up,” Sulu said softly. Uhura threw a warning look at him, and he realized Captain Kanin had activated the communications monitor on the ceiling to reply.
“You are violating Federation laws, Orion.” The Andorian captain’s voice was polite, but his antennae quivered with outrage. “You have no legal right to attack this vessel.”
“We do if you are helping Orion criminals to escape.” A straggle of uneven teeth appeared through Shandaken’s dark beard, the expression Orions considered a smile. “Of course, if you were to beam the traitor-weasel Haslev over to us, we might be willing to make a compromise.”
“What kind of compromise?” Kanin asked.
Shandaken’s smile widened. “We could blow off only your front hull instead of your entire warp drive.”
Pov Kanin stiffened, face flushing indigo with anger. Sulu’s respect for the Andorian rose a notch. “I must consult on this decision,” he said tightly. “My ship is presently under Starfleet command.”
“Don’t vacillate for long.” Shandaken lifted one beefy fist to show them the chronometer he wore on his thumb. “You have one standard minute to think it over.”
The Enterprise’s viewscreen glowed blinding blue in response to the torpedo strike the Mecufi had landed on Umyfymu’s hull. Plasma-shrapnel corkscrewed in all directions, and the Orion destroyer heeled over onto one side, her lower shields blowing out with a silent shower.
Kirk clenched one fist in restrained victory. “Good, Sulu!” He swung to face Mullen. “All phasers, full power—target that unshielded area!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Fire!”
Phaser strikes glowed darkly along the destroyer’s belly, and the ship rocked as if in a tempest. When the first crystall
ine sprays of frozen gas jetted from her seams, Kirk waved at Mullen to hold off. He was interested in stopping the Orions, not killing them. “Spock—sensors?”
“Scans indicate extensive damage to the Umyfymu’s hull, Captain. They appear to have lost both phaser and photon torpedo control, as well as their warp drive.”
Kirk nodded, watching the listing ship for any movement. “Is there anyone left on the bridge?”
“Hailing them now, sir,” Goldstein reported. “Contact coming through on main screen.”
This time, Kirk let Goldstein fill the viewscreen with the Orion’s image. He wondered as soon as the visual came on if this had been a mistake. Half the Umyfymu’s bridge lighting appeared to be inoperative, but enough remained to clearly display a stack of burned Orion bodies among the ruined control boards. The Orion commander, his knotted black hair thick with blood, scowled at Kirk with slitted eyes.
“Well, Commander,” Kirk said, suppressing his sympathy. “I believe it’s my turn to ask for your surrender.”
“Never.” The Orion spat a bloody string between his feet. “Orion military officers would rather die than surrender to inferior mammals.”
The sentiment almost pulled a smile from Kirk. “Speaking as an inferior mammal, Commander, may I point out that we currently have you at our mercy? Your hull won’t withstand another phaser attack—”
“And your shields won’t withstand the explosion of our warp core,” the Orion returned with a snarl. “Since you can’t run faster than we can follow, we have you at our mercy should we choose to self-destruct.”
Kirk turned his back to the screen and motioned Goldstein to cut their audio link. “Spock,” he said, glancing at the science officer, “will the blast from their warp core really take us out?”
The Vulcan glanced briefly at the screen, then came to stand at Kirk’s level with his back to the Orion’s image. “Quite possibly, Captain. At this distance, I estimate only a 34 percent chance of antimatter impact from the explosion. However, there is an 86 percent probability of damage from secondary radiation effects.”
Kirk leaned on his fist with a sigh. “Not good enough odds to gamble with.”
“I believe we have what Dr. McCoy would describe as a Mexican standoff.”
“Yes—” Turning back to the viewscreen, Kirk nodded for Goldstein to return their audio. “Commander,” he called to the Orion. “Are you willing to agree to a cease-fire instead of a surrender?”
The Orion worked his mouth sullenly, thinking. “Would the cease-fire terms include handing over to us the traitor-weasel Muav Haslev?”
As far as Kirk was concerned, anyone who wanted Haslev was welcome to him. He wasn’t sure he was free to make that promise, however. “What happens with Haslev will depend on the Andorians.” He glanced back at Goldstein. “Get the Shras on-line. I want to—”
“Sir,” Goldstein cut in, “the Shras won’t respond to our signal. I’m picking up contact between them and the Mecufi, sir, and—” He looked up in surprise, eyes wide. “—and the Mecufi’s just announced its intention to destroy them!”
Chapter Nineteen
MUAV HASLEV SWUNG AROUND as Shandaken’s image faded from the Andorian viewscreen, leaving the sleek silver menace of the Mecufi in its place. “You can’t send me over to them!”
“Not with all our shields up,” Sulu agreed, settling the Shras into a less jarring orbit while the Orions’ phaser fire ceased momentarily. “At least, not real successfully.” He shot a speculative look at the physicist. “You know, I don’t think the Orions quite understand how your trans-shield anode works, Haslev.”
The Andorian squirmed a little in his seat. “It’s so hard to explain complicated technologies to nonscientists—”
Uhura lifted one eyebrow. “Especially, when you have to tell them their expensive new transporter device will send a radiation pulse through their ship every time they use it?”
“That’s only a temporary problem—” Haslev jumped at the sound of the Orion’s hailing whistle, then put an unsteady hand out to transfer it to the main screen.
“Time’s up,” Shandaken said without ceremony. “Are you going to beam the weasel over, or do you prefer him to be annihilated along with—”
The inset viewscreen image shivered into static as a stronger signal cut into the channel, cutting off the Orion’s growling voice. When the image resolved again, it showed the familiar determined face of Captain James T. Kirk.
“Mecufi.” The confident ring in Kirk’s voice sent a surge of relief through Sulu. He knew it meant his captain had taken control of the situation. “This is the USS Enterprise. The Orion destroyer Umyfymu has just agreed to a cease-fire with us. I advise you do the same.”
“Impossible!” Shandaken’s image was gone, but his voice sounded shaken. “Orion military officers do not negotiate with criminals and traitors! You’re lying, f’deraxt’la!”
“Am I?” Their abbreviated view of the bridge swung dizzily when Kirk turned toward the communications station. “Mr. Goldstein, patch in the Orion commander.”
Once again, the viewscreen image rippled, this time replaced by the smoke-blurred image of an Orion in military bronze and black. The captain’s medallion that dangled from the Orion’s ear dripped bright orange blood onto one burly shoulder.
“Shandaken, dgr’xt en,” he snarled. “K’laxm f’dactla en str’ln axltr’dn. Pr’dyn dgreilt jarras’tla en axm b’rerr—”
Sulu glanced over at Uhura, seeing her eyebrows tighten with concentration while she listened to the growl of Orion speech. “He’s telling them to give up,” she translated. “He says he wants them to go back to Orion, where they can all be charged with high treason—”
Sulu cursed and slammed a sudden change of course into the helm. The Shras leapt into a jagged roll, kicking most of the Andorians out of their seats.
“What are you doing?” Haslev squealed, staring up from the deck in dismay. “The Orions were going to surrender!”
“No, they weren’t.” Phaser fire seared past them in a sheeting wave, as painfully brilliant as a nova. Sulu twisted the Shras into a banking roll, trying to find a safe path through the destruction. “He wasn’t telling them to surrender—he was telling them to commit suicide!”
“Orions would rather die than be humiliated for firing on their own ship. And, being Orions, they’ll try to take us with them when they go.” Uhura’s voice was almost drowned out by the sudden scream of damage alarms. She looked up from her screen as the Shras rocked with a second glancing blow. “Orions closing fast. They’ve increased their speed to warp five.”
Sulu grunted and sheered away from an explosion of torpedo fire, skimming the Shras so close to the crippled Hawking that he could see the ominous glow of decaying fields inside. “They can’t maintain that speed for long,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’ll burn out their core.”
Kirk’s voice cut through the wailing alarms, although no image disrupted their screen. The Enterprise captain knew better than to transmit visuals during a battle. “Sulu, head for the Enterprise! We can cover—”
An erupting shriek of subspace radiation broke the contact and burned out the helm display in a shower of red-gold sparks. Sulu jerked his head up to stare at the main screen, cold fear exploding through his blood. He had just enough time to recognize the almost-invisible shimmer of uncontained antimatter exploding toward them from the Hawking before the shock wave slammed into their ship.
Chekov jerked erratically toward consciousness, catapulted out of darkness on bright-edged thrusts of pain. He tried to catch his breath, realized he was coughing, and spat his mouth clear of blood before struggling up on one elbow. Not good, he thought as muscles along his back and side clenched in anguished protest, not good at all. Sheeted with pain, the left side of his chest felt heavy and hot with congestion; Lindsey Purviance sprawled across his lower half, grotesquely pinioned with frost-burned shrapnel from the rear of his skull to his knees. Behind Purvian
ce, liquid nitrogen skated silver rivers across the shuttle’s floor and leapt into vapor shimmers wherever they brushed the Orion’s still-warm corpse. The dancing sheet of light spilling upward from the remnants of the containment housing accompanied a whine furiously similar to the Hawking’s dying song. The explosion of the engine housing wasn’t powerful enough to have damaged the Enterprise herself, but from the front of the shuttle, the computer droned, “Core breach imminent. Estimated time to breach: seven minutes fifty-four seconds.”
Chekov pushed weakly at the body on top of him, afraid he could never dislodge it with a cluster of broken ribs and only one useful hand. But he had to get out of this shuttle and tell someone what had happened.
Authoritative pounding rumbled through the shuttle’s small interior, and Chekov stiffened with a startled gasp. “Open up!” a muffled voice called from outside the forward hatch. “Starship security—let us in!”
Urgency gave Chekov the strength to heave Purviance aside with one hand and one leg, and he rolled to end up on all fours, coughing again, while the security guard outside shouted another round of warnings. For a horrifying moment, Chekov was afraid his haste would kill him. Then the fit subsided, and he found he could sustain himself on shallow, blood-tainted breaths long enough to stumble upright and make for the outer hatch.
He reached the door just as the guard forced it open with a portable override. “All right, I—Lieutenant Chekov!” Lemieux stepped back in surprise, bumping into the engineer behind her. “Sir, I didn’t know you were here. We heard the explosion and came to find out what happened to—”
“Get everyone out of here.” Chekov pushed Lemieux away from the door and climbed out into the bay. The closest undamaged shuttle still looked an impossible distance away; he could almost feel the core explosion building behind him. “That’s an order!” he shouted, heading for the other shuttle. “Evacuate the bay!”