“These are my people,” Baladon said loudly, eyes shifting left and right to see if anyone else in the armory/infirmary was listening. Then he said more quietly, “What’s the idea, Spock? Helping me off the battlefield isn’t enough—you think you can get on my good side with a bribe?”
“My intentions in both cases were altruistic.”
Baladon regarded him with suspicion for a moment. “Maybe they were. I’ve heard about Vulcans. But it doesn’t matter. There’s no sense plying me, Spock. You’re no longer under my command.”
“What?” Connolly blurted, stunned. “What did you do, trade him for another gun?”
Spock’s brow furrowed. “I understood that the Aloga-Five squads were being merged with the others, but—”
“They are,” Baladon said. “This is about splitting the two of you up. The opmaster aboard Aloga-Five died along with the cabin crew when she went down, but her telemetry all streamed back to the carrier—including all the armor feeds. They saw your little stunt.”
“I had a stunt?”
“What do you call standing up and waving to the Rengru like you’re inviting them to dinner?”
Connolly’s head sank a little into his armor. “Yeah, he did that.”
“Might as well make it official,” Baladon said. He toggled his mic and spoke a stream of call signs—and the light on Connolly’s armor went from green to blue. “We’re on Aloga-Four, now, Blue-Two.”
Connolly shook his head. “From Five to Four. I guess we’re moving up.”
Spock’s light had turned yellow. “You’re Gold-Five on Aloga-One,” Baladon said. “You’re to report there now.”
“That is the vessel Kormagan deploys with,” Spock observed.
“Bright one. Yes, she wants to keep an eye on you.” Baladon snorted. “I can’t imagine why.” He nudged Connolly. “Come on, let’s try to find what garbage chute Malce has tried to crawl into.”
Connolly looked back wanly at Spock, who needed no telepathic powers to read his thoughts. Every option he had considered for escape was likely to require cooperation. Now each of them would be acting alone—
—and worse news yet arrived over their comm systems.
“All commandos, report to your troop carriers,” Kormagan said. “We’re going back to Shivane. And this time, we’re going to win!”
25
* * *
Warship Deathstrike
Pergamum Nebula
In the days following the discovery of the Lurian probe, Pike had slow-walked the return approach to the Acheron Formation to give Dietrich and Colt time to continue scanning. It had been a worthwhile decision, for they had discovered another probe, one identical to the Essfive bomb-delivering drone Dietrich had seen over Susquatane. That was the one upside to the Pergamum: the nebula made it difficult to find things, all right, but it was so hostile that it also had a way of trapping failing vessels like flies in amber.
The Essfive probe was too large to beam aboard, and scans had shown that it carried an explosive device: an end-of-mission self-destruct mechanism. White-knuckle moments had followed as an Enterprise EVA team discovered the truth: radiation had caused the probe to fail, and its detonator along with it. Removing the explosive, they had beamed the probe’s central command module to the cargo bay.
An up-close look made it doubly obvious to Pike that it had not been built by the same hands as the Lurian probe. However, the two drones proved to have engaged in similar activities. The Lurian device had stalked Enterprise. The Essfive probe had imaged a completely different ship, evidently, a Lurian one. Better, its data core still had a record of where, generally, it could be found. The “Pergamum paparazzi,” as Number One had called them, had been the bloodhounds leading them to their quarry: a derelict starship, half the size of Enterprise, adrift in one of the denser structures of the Acheron Formation.
Pike was more excited during the approach than he’d been in a year. Closing in on the vessel, however, the questions all started anew. Beginning with one voiced by him on the Enterprise bridge:
“What the hell kind of name is Deathstruck?”
The ship itself was old, except for half a dozen fresher-looking airlocks on the hull, all of which were placed strangely and at odd angles. It had all the appearances of a plague ship, and the word haphazardly painted on its hull sounded more like a warning than a name. With no life signs reported, he’d expected to find disease—or a massacre.
An hour having passed with no toxins discovered, Pike felt free to transport over and join the investigative team. After two minutes aboard, however, he still wasn’t sure what his team had found—except for an awful stench. Some of it came from garbage; clearly, a whole lot of people had been living on top of one another in the vessel.
And none of them were still aboard the ship.
He saw his security chief make her way around a corner, phaser drawn. “It’s only me,” Pike said.
“I don’t know why I even have this out,” Nhan said, reattaching her weapon to her belt. “Nothing here any larger than the flies—or whatever they are.”
“I’ve noticed.” Pike flicked one of the bugs away. “What do we have here?”
“Parent vessel of the Lurian probe, for sure—we’ve found more like it aboard. The ship appears to be called Deathstrike.”
“What, was that a typo outside?”
“No idea. It’s a classic privateer model, matching the sort operating out of the Ionite Nebula.”
“I wondered if they would make their way over here.” The Federation had long been aware of the problem of Lurian piracy—some of it state sponsored—but had treated it as a minor nuisance. The Orions were much better at it, and a lot nearer to the member planets. He followed her down a hallway. “No transporter rooms?”
“Too old a ship.”
“How did they conduct . . . business?”
“You saw the rows of doors down the starboard hall?”
“The lifepod stations?”
“You and I would use them that way. The Lurians have weaponized them, adding magnetic clamps, laser torches, and everything one would need to crack open another starship once its shields were down. If it had shields at all. I suspect this bunch sticks to the smaller fish—unless something falls into their laps.”
“Like a Federation starship rushing hell for leather to escape the nebula? With its aft shields down?”
“I can show you something on that score. This way.” Nhan led him briskly toward the bridge. “Unless you have a breathing filter like mine hidden somewhere, you may want to cover your mouth.”
Pike had already started to do that on his own. By the time he reached the wide area, the stink was making his eyes water. He soon saw the source: the blackened corpse of a Lurian, on the floor amid several burnt-through stumps where pedestals for consoles had been. “This guy was stabbed and bled out,” Nhan said.
One of her officers, wisely masked, was working the forensics. The woman shifted the body to reveal the murder weapon, still in place. “Whoever it was left the knife.”
“Meaning they didn’t need knives,” Pike said, “or left it here as an example.”
“And there’s another clue,” Nhan said, gesturing to starboard.
Pike looked over—and his eyes bulged. Still on screen—the only thing active, besides life-support—was the image of Enterprise, sent by one of the probes now sitting in his cargo hold.
“I guess that closes the loop.” Pike shook his head in sadness. “Sorry Spock didn’t get to share in the detective work.”
“Yeah.”
Nhan hadn’t been aboard long enough to know Spock well, but Pike knew they had been collegial. “Is this the ship that fired the mystery torpedo last year?” he asked.
“I don’t know how we’d begin to confirm that, with the weapons control systems all pulled. Maybe our superstar engineer knows some trick I can’t imagine.”
I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Pike dismissed the thought and wa
lked over to the impromptu airlock, seated to the right of the forward port. The circular opening was off-center, entering the vessel a meter or more above the deck plane—and a large piece of Deathstrike’s burnt-through hull was sitting on the deck. “This was punched in from outside!”
“Yep,” Nhan said. “Somebody wanted in, and didn’t bother to knock. There’s six of these holes, leading to all decks of the ship.”
Pike looked around at the debris and weapon score marks. “Definitely a fight here. How many more bodies besides our pungent friend?”
“None.”
“None?”
Pike was still trying to choose which question to ask as a follow-up when he heard a chipper voice from down another corridor. Galadjian, back in uniform, entered smiling. “Doctor.”
“Good morning, Captain.” The older man looked up and around. “I have to say this is something, being on a real pirate ship. Do they all smell like—” Then he saw the corpse—and took three steps back. “Oh, dear. I didn’t know.”
Pike tried to get his attention. “What have you found in engineering, Doctor?” He paused. “Is there an engineering section?”
“Oh, yes.” Galadjian recomposed himself. “Not to reclaim my nickname, but I have good news. First off, this ship is definitely the source of the photon torpedo we suspected was fired at us last year.”
Pike looked at Nhan, who stared at Galadjian, skeptical. “Everything up here is gutted,” she said. “How can you tell that?”
“I would love to say it was by a snap analysis, based on my mastery of systems employed universally in spacecraft.”
Pike’s eyes narrowed. “But instead?”
“Someone on the weapons deck handwrote a note on the wall outside the loading chamber listing the date and target,” Galadjian said, consulting his notes. “Oh, yes, and the words, ‘Need more torpedoes.’ ”
Nhan blinked. “Wow. I have got to meet these guys.”
Pike rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose the Lurians wrote down what happened to everyone aboard while they were at it?”
“My regrets, Captain, but no. The chalk was abandoned on the floor.” He stepped gingerly around the bridge, trying to reach Pike and Nhan without getting too near the corpse. “But there are better sources for that information.” He looked to the Enterprise image on the starboard display. “That image is coming from there, correct?” He pointed to one of the few consoles still standing.
Nhan nodded. “I think so.”
Galadjian approached the terminal. “This equates with what the team has seen below. Consoles and data cores torn cleanly out, by people who wanted to preserve anything on them. They seem to have been interested mostly in offensive systems, as well as anything having to do with warp drive and propulsion.”
“Why didn’t they take the ship with them?” Pike asked. “Who were they?”
“I want you to see for yourself—” Galadjian said, trying to work the controls. Pike and Nhan waited and watched—
—and waited some more, as frustration began to replace the chief engineer’s confidence. “Unfamiliar systems. I am sorry.”
“Do you need a hand, Doctor?” Jallow called out from the passageway Galadjian had entered from.
“Ah, very good. If you would, please.”
So close, Pike thought.
Galadjian’s second-in-command stepped to the terminal—and moments later, the image of Enterprise disappeared. “The only surveillance imagers in the whole ship are in main engineering,” Jallow said. “I guess whoever was in command didn’t trust the crew.”
Galadjian, a bit abashed from his momentary failure, seemed to bristle a little from that. Pike hurried past the moment. “Jallow, is this from the boarding?”
“Yes, Captain.” Where the visual of Enterprise had been, a silent tableau depicted the searing installation of a new airlock, followed by the entry of armored figures, even taller and bulkier than the panicked Lurian engineers trying to stop them.
The quartet watched the drama, spellbound. Combat, yes—ineffectual on the Lurians’ side. But on the attackers’ side, something else.
“Do you notice something about the invaders?” Nhan pointed at the screen. “They’re holding back. Doing their best not to kill anyone.”
“Definitely isn’t the Klingon way,” Pike said. He gestured to the corpse. “But what about our guy over there?”
“These attackers are high-tech,” Nhan said. “They don’t look like the stabby kind.”
“Speed it up,” Pike ordered. Jallow complied—and he saw the invaders forcing Lurians through the airlocks they’d made. “Prisoners.” He looked to Nhan. “Theories?”
She was obviously still working on them. “Serious operators. Surgical strike. Took everyone. Probably not rivals or ransom—could be slavers. Could be political.”
“But why swipe all this stuff? And leave the surveillance imagery?”
“They seemed not to care about being seen. Certainly they didn’t mind leaving any of the rest of the evidence.”
Pike stared at the moving images—and reached for his communicator. But before he flipped it open, he received a hail. “Enterprise to Captain Pike.”
“Yes, Number One?”
“We’ve analyzed the airlocks. They match the features on the warships at Susquatane.”
“How close?”
“Identical. Essfive boarded this ship.”
Excited, Pike looked to the others. “If Essfive went to such effort to keep the Lurians alive, then maybe our people—”
“Yes,” Nhan said, reading his thoughts. “And they might be in the same place.”
Galadjian nodded. “A testable hypothesis, is it not?”
Pike brought the communicator before his face—and smiled for the first time in weeks. “Enterprise, cancel plans to leave the nebula. I think our people are alive!”
26
* * *
Troop Module Aloga-One
Approaching the Darvus Straits
Spock meditated.
Or he tried, at least. His father had told him that a Vulcan could meditate anywhere. Near mummified in his battlesuit, Spock had trouble believing that. The ingenious suits’ internal mechanisms worked in many ways to comfort their occupants and keep muscles from cramping during inactivity. But the Boundless armorers had only designed a few postures for resting positions: all seated, never reclining—or kneeling.
Spock had no personal quarters, either. His battlesuit was his billet, never removed while on alert. And they were always on alert these days. In the weeks since his transfer, he had participated in three more battles, including two assaults on Shivane.
The first return had been even more catastrophic than Spock’s initial visit, with the landing repulsed almost immediately and a troop transport from another carrier destroyed. The next assault had been different, with Kormagan acting in concert with another Boundless wave. Numbers had made a difference, allowing her forces to infiltrate the Rengru outpost and disable the shields. Spock and his fellow troops had been quickly extracted in advance of a rain of photon torpedoes from the sky: no meager nuclear weapons here. Spock doubted anyone would ever know either party had visited Shivane.
The third action had taken place in space, with Spock and his squad utilizing their jetpacks on EVA to seize a Rengru spacedock. After Kormagan’s carriers cleared the space fighters—there was no better term for the small, disruptor-armed shells with engines that the Rengru zipped around in—the station’s occupants had been “cleansed” via acid grenades delivered by Boundless infiltrators. Dilithium crystals and other resources had been harvested before torpedoes destroyed the station.
On none of the occasions had Spock been forced to kill a Rengru, as his fellow warriors had often done. He worried that it was only a matter of time before he would be made to follow suit. The creatures weren’t giving him much choice. The Rengru fought opposing ships and hovercraft with whatever weapons they had, but when encountering personnel, t
heir tactics changed. As Spock had first seen on Shivane, the Rengru sought to envelop Boundless warriors, piercing their headgear with a peculiar appendage that functioned like the biological equivalent of a powered auger.
They were certainly intelligent, architects of a society that had somehow reached the stars. But all else about them remained a mystery. They had never responded to any of his attempts to communicate.
The experiences had been troubling for one taught to value peace. He had participated in battles while aboard Enterprise; the starship was heavily armed, perhaps too much so for its own good. But Starfleet’s mission was to avert conflict, not seek it. The Boundless seemed to exist entirely to fight—and their veterans thought nothing of it, considering their reasons perfectly logical. Had he not seen what the Rengru did to those they fought?
And while Spock had only participated in offensives while under Kormagan, he had been assured that the Rengru attacked the Boundless just as often. The troop module he was in was on its way to protect Boundless positions in the nebular region known as the Darvus Straits. The point of view of the Boundless might not be correct, but it did rest on some evidence.
For one who lived a life devoted to peace, Spock was more than familiar with conflict. The logic extremists, whose bombing of the Vulcan Learning Center nearly killed Michael Burnham, continued to use violence. How different were they from the Boundless, who did not feel remorse about the steps they took? Wasn’t “feeling” the thing he had been told to avoid for so long?
No, he thought—trying to focus again on the candle-flame image he had asked his headgear’s interface to project before his eyes. Living beings could create a fire to burn for a purpose, some reasons worthwhile, others not. So, too, did they create conflict. It was still moral to question, to challenge, the use of force. And if he could not refuse to serve the Boundless, he could still try to moderate their violence, even as he considered means of escape.
The Enterprise War Page 13