Star Trek: Discovery: Desperate Hours

by David Mack

  “Fascinating,” Spock said, studying the ghost with an admixture of curiosity and horror. “Part of his essence lives now in your mind.” He asked the Sarek katra echo, “Why have you brought us here?”

  The Sarek echo folded his hands together, then let the sleeves of his robe come together to conceal his hands. “To urge you both to let go of any envy or mistrust you might bear each other because of your respective relationships to me. You need each other right now—not just to survive your present ordeal, but to come to terms with who you are, as individuals.”

  “But I have questions,” Spock said.

  “As do I,” Burnham added.

  Sarek shook his head. “There is no time. You must finish what you set out to do, while you still can. But know that through your meld, you have both gained from the other the answers to the questions that plague you—even if they are not yet consciously evident. When your minds are ready, the proper truths will be revealed. I promise you.”

  “I understand,” Spock said

  Burnham wondered how the half-Vulcan could take any such assurance, even one from his own father’s katra echo, at face value. But when Sarek faced her, all she could do was parrot Spock’s response. “I understand, Sarek.”

  “Then it is time to go forward,” Sarek said. “Awaken.”

  * * *

  Spock and Burnham opened their eyes, each seeing the other and themselves through a shared perspective. They were one mind in two bodies, two identities fused into a single persona. They raised their right hands in unison; flexed and drummed their fingers on open air in synchronicity.

  “The meld is holding,” they said to each other. “But we must act quickly.”

  They stood and turned toward the separate corridors. Stepping forward, they parted but remained united, each aware of all the other saw and felt. Moving with the grace of the choreographed they passed their respective portals’ thresholds—and as they had expected, the portals irised closed behind them. They were cut off from each other now, with no path left to walk but forward to the oval consoles. Their breathing quickened with their steps; time was not their ally. The farther apart they moved, the more tenuous their link might become.

  Burnham-Spock arrived at the ends of the corridors. Still acting in concert, they each placed their right hand upon the oval panel set into the bulkhead beside their closed portal. With the dual contacts, the panels came alive, once again employing a haptic interface. Dots, lines, and shapes manifested, then receded, leaving behind only the memories of their contact.

  Beneath Burnham’s hand there appeared only a single amalgam of shapes, which together formed a complex symbol—perhaps a word or a concept. It did not resemble the glyphs they had encountered earlier, the ones that had been used to express numerals and mathematical concepts. Whatever this was, it was more symbolic, more abstract.

  Under Spock’s palm there appeared a variety of such forms, rising and falling in sequence, then repeating. Each form was different from the others, and lasted for only a moment, which made it difficult to identify and compare to the single form upon which Burnham now concentrated. And then Spock felt it—the match for the symbol in Burn-ham’s mind. He pressed against it, selecting it as he had selected choices on the Juggernaut’s other haptic panels.

  The oval interface went smooth and cold.

  The portals in front of Spock-Burnham spiraled open from their centers, revealing a vast spherical chamber with multiple ring-shaped levels surrounding a radiant metallic orb suspended by unseen forces. The mind-linked pair advanced together into the brightly lit space.

  A galvanic prickling of their skin made the hairs on their forearms and the napes of their necks stand up. Then they heard a familiar pulsating rhythm—and Thumper, their holographic guide, appeared once more, orbiting the central sphere like a red dwarf star trapped in the orbit of a golden giant. The outer walls of the space were packed with delicate constructions of crystal and hairlike metallic filaments, all of them blazing with creeping tendrils of white-hot plasma. Power and menace were palpable qualities inside the sphere chamber.

  Burnham and Spock were several meters apart on the equatorial ring level, the largest and widest one. Three levels stood above them at regular intervals of just over two meters, and three more lay beneath them, each separated from its neighbors by the same distance.

  Shimmering on the surface of the great sphere were slowly drifting images of the colony’s capital city, the Shenzhou, and the Enterprise.

  Spock-Burnham turned to face each other. As they shared a thought, Spock raised one eyebrow, and Burnham cracked a lopsided half smile.

  Welcome to the core.

  24

  * * *

  Pike registered the flash of incoming fire a fraction of a second before it rocked the Enterprise. He gripped the armrests of his command chair until the ship’s inertial dampers dissipated the turbulence. “The Juggernaut’s packing a hell of a punch,” he said to his bridge crew.

  “Brace for another volley,” Una said. She grabbed the edges of her console and hung on as another barrage raced up out of the planet’s atmosphere to pummel the Enterprise’s shields. “Multiple hits on our ventral shields. All of them holding.”

  On the main viewscreen, a trio of reddish bolts slammed into the Shenzhou, momentarily illuminating its cocoon of energy shielding—and revealing the dimples forced into that bubble by the Juggernaut’s attack. The flares of impact faded, and the Shenzhou seemed none the worse for the encounter. Meanwhile, in the lower corner of the viewscreen, the final few minutes of the countdown ticked away, diminishing Pike’s sense of hope with every passing second.

  Ohara looked over his shoulder at Pike. “Sir? Those last few salvos from the Juggernaut were all over the place, in terms of frequency and power level. I think it’s testing our shields, looking for the best way to punch a hole in them.”

  “That’s only fair, since we’re looking to do the same thing.”

  Una declared, “Incoming!”

  Pike opened an intraship channel. “All decks, brace for impact!”

  A vermilion blast filled the viewscreen. The ship heaved and rolled to starboard, almost throwing Pike from his chair as it sent the rest of his crew sprawling while the overhead lights flickered like strobes. When the Enterprise settled at last, smoke curled from the circuit relays beneath a bank of consoles on the port side.

  “Mister Singh,” Pike said, “check that panel, on the double.”

  “Aye, sir,” the engineering officer said, then scrambled back to his station to pull the ventilation grate off the base of his console to inspect the damage within.

  At the forward console, Tyler and Ohara hurried back to their posts. Ohara checked his readouts. “Captain, that last hit was almost perfectly tuned to punch through our shields. The next one might go straight through the saucer.”

  “Then we’d best not get hit,” Pike said. “Tyler, initiate evasive maneuvers. Ohara, adjust our firing solutions—we’ll have to target the Juggernaut while we stay on the move.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Ohara said. “But if I might offer a suggestion?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We should fire now, before the Juggernaut goes mobile. If we’re at evasive when it starts to maneuver, that’s going to make it a lot harder to hit.”

  “You didn’t train for this job because it was supposed to be easy,” Pike said. “That said, your idea has merit.”

  Una looked up from the sensor display, her manner aggrieved. “Captain, permit me to remind you that Mister Spock—”

  “—and Lieutenant Burnham are still inside the Juggernaut,” Pike said. “I’m well aware of the situation, Number One.” He nodded at the countdown as it flipped from 03:00 to 02:59. “Just as I’m aware we’re running out of time, and out of options.”

  Chief Garison silenced an alert on the communications panel, then listened to a message piped through his ear-mounted transceiver. “Captain, a message from Commander B
arry.”

  “Put her on speakers, Chief.”

  Garison patched in the intraship channel, and the voice of chief engineer Caitlin Barry issued from the overhead speakers. “Good news, Captain! The Shenzhou’s chief engineer and I made a breakthrough regarding the Juggernaut’s power signature and hull composition.”

  “What kind of breakthrough?”

  “The kind that would take an hour to explain, but only ten minutes to exploit by recalibrating the phasers. If we’re right, we should be able to punch some holes in that thing without having to use torpedoes.”

  “Which means we don’t have to destroy the planet in order to save it,” Pike said, appreciating the importance of the news. “Good work. Now get ready for the bad news. We don’t have ten minutes. We might not even have five. So work quickly.”

  “One small catch,” Barry said. “We need to take the phasers offline to recalibrate them. Which means you can’t fight back until the fixes are done.”

  “In that case,” Pike said, “work very quickly. Bridge out.”

  On the viewscreen, another streak of fire from the Juggernaut hammered the Shenzhou. When the glare abated, the old workhorse of a starship was still intact, but Pike had no doubt its crew had been shaken to their core. Then the Shenzhou broke from its orbital pattern and emulated the Enterprise’s evasive maneuvers.

  In the bottom of the viewscreen, the countdown ticked away: 02:15 . . . 02:14 . . .

  A red signal flashed on Ohara’s console. The navigator announced, “Phasers offline for recalibration. Torpedoes standing by.”

  Pike took a deep breath and hoped he hadn’t just condemned his crew to death in the name of hope. “Just over two minutes to Armageddon,” he muttered, “and we’ve got front-row seats. . . . Lucky us.”

  * * *

  The Voice of the Juggernaut came from every direction and it boomed like thunder, rattling the teeth in Burnham’s jaw with every word: “WELCOME. LONG HAVE YOU BEEN EXPECTED. MANY AGES HAVE PASSED WHILE WE WAITED FOR YOU TO PASS THE TRIBULATION.”

  Pained by the Voice’s volume, Burnham and Spock both pressed their hands over their ears. Spock replied in a normal speaking voice, “Who or what are you?”

  “I . . . AM THE JUDGE.”

  Burnham did not like the sound of that. “On whose authority do you judge us?”

  “I WAS SENT TO EVALUATE THIS WORLD AND ITS PEOPLES ON BEHALF OF THE TURANIAN DYNASTY. YOU HAVE PROVED YOUR WORTHINESS TO SERVE AS SUBJECTS AND SOLDIERS. ARE YOU PREPARED TO PLEDGE YOUR LOYALTY ON BEHALF OF THIS WORLD?”

  Just as Burnham was about to make a declaration of a far more vulgar variety, she heard Spock’s thoughts interrupt her own, a lingering effect of their fading mind-meld. «Do not reply in haste,» he cautioned her. «I once read a paper about the Turanian Dynasty that was published by the Daystrom Institute. Their empire has been extinct for millions of years.»

  His memory jogged hers. Yes, I read a similar report produced by the Raxan Foundation. She regarded the ominous scintillating sphere that hovered before them. We’re being asked to pledge our loyalty to something that no longer exists. How do we handle this?

  «I am uncertain. Attempting to explain the circumstances might trigger any of a number of programmed responses that could prove more dire than the one we now confront.»

  “I AWAIT YOUR ANSWER,” the Voice said. “DO YOU PLEDGE YOUR LOYALTY, AND THAT OF THIS WORLD, TO THE EVERLASTING GLORY OF THE TURANIAN DYNASTY?”

  Not so everlasting, as it turns out. But its choice of words strikes me as a bad sign.

  «I concur. However, it seems impatient for a reply.»

  We need more information, Burnham decided. “What would be the consequences of accepting your request? The terms of our subjection, as it were?”

  “IT IS NOT YOUR PLACE TO ASK QUESTIONS. PLEDGE YOUR LOYALTY, OR DO NOT. CHOOSE.”

  Spock asked, “What happens if we decline to make such a pledge?”

  “YOUR TIME TO DECIDE IS ALMOST EXPIRED. CHOOSE.”

  “What happens if we make no choice at all?”

  The Voice thundered even louder, “CHOOSE.”

  Burnham shot a look of dismay at Spock. Not wired for negotiation, is it?

  «The range of its interactivity does appear to be sharply limited, and in a most authoritarian fashion. It seems we must make our decision based on incomplete information.»

  The Voice remained singular in its focus: “CHOOSE.”

  A weary sigh left Burnham feeling empty and exhausted.

  And to think . . . this day started out so well.

  25

  * * *

  One blow after another punished the Shenzhou, and it was all Saru could do to remain upright on the bridge. He gripped the sides of his console, but his height and higher center of balance made him more susceptible than his shipmates to fluctuations in the ship’s artificial gravity and inertial damping. “The intervals between salvos are decreasing,” he called out to Georgiou.

  The captain looked frazzled—a rare state for her. Locks of her black hair had come loose and now framed her face, which glistened with sweat. “Continue evasive maneuvers,” she said. “Increase to half impulse. Divert power from non-essential systems to the shields, and keep our base frequencies on a random cycle. If we’re too slow to change, the Juggernaut will punch us full of holes.”

  Around the bridge, senses were sharp, and reactions came fast.

  Gant was the first to report. “Engineering teams still recalibrating the phasers.”

  Another hit rattled the ship and instilled Georgiou’s voice with fresh urgency. “How long until we can return fire?”

  “Best guess?” Gant said. “Six minutes.”

  Detmer snapped, “Six minutes? How long does it take to transmit new phaser specs?”

  Her outburst motivated Narwani to turn from her console and retort through her VR helmet’s speaker at maximum volume, “It’s not a damned software update! The engineers have to manually recalibrate the collimating lenses on every emitter to make them fire in a new frequency range. If you think you can do better—!”

  “Enough!” Georgiou shouted. “Mind your posts!”

  Rebuked, the Shenzhou’s bridge officers returned to the tasks in front of them. Another barrage from the Juggernaut sent everyone staggering portside and set the lights and displays to flickering. Panicked voices spilled from speakers at the communications console, with more coming in faster than Ensign Fan could mute them.

  “Successive attacks exhibit increasing power,” Saru said.

  From ops, Oliveira added, “Shields are holding—but at this rate, not for long.”

  “Saru, Oliveira: Coordinate firefighters and damage-control teams. Keep us in this fight for as long as you can. Sacrifice nonessential compartments and personnel if necessary.”

  It was a grim command, one that made Saru balk. It was not the first time Georgiou had asked him in a combat situation to be pragmatic to the point of being cold-blooded, but there had not been many such instances. It was not a stance she adopted cavalierly. He waited until he heard Oliveira acknowledge the order, and then he echoed her response of “Aye, Captain.”

  “Movement,” Narwani declared from the auxiliary tactical station. “The Juggernaut is increasing power to its thrusters and navigational systems.”

  Gant checked his console, then faced Georgiou. “Confirmed, Captain. The Juggernaut has initiated its launch sequence. It’s going mobile.”

  Saru looked at the holographic overlay on the main viewport. The countdown in the lower right corner ticked away its final seconds: 00:02 . . . 00:01 . . . 00:00.

  “Right on time,” Georgiou said. “Ops, magnify our view of the Juggernaut.”

  Oliveira keyed in the command. The image projected atop the center viewport showed the Juggernaut rising out of the ocean on Sirsa III. Aquatic vegetation and sea froth spilled from its gleaming, insectlike hull, whose black contours shimmered with a rainbow of colors as it climbed skyward and accelerate
d toward its rendezvous with the Shenzhou and the Enterprise.

  Crimson pulses streaked from the Juggernaut’s bow and then diverged—two heading toward the Shenzhou, and two others aimed at the Enterprise.

  “Brace for impact,” Georgiou said.

  The twin blasts struck with terrifying force. The bridge’s overhead lights went dark, and sparks rained down on the bridge crew. Saru swatted burning phosphors from his shoulders and the back of his neck. “Forward shields buckling, Captain.”

  “Steal power from anywhere you can,” Georgiou said, “but keep those shields up!”

  Sweating bullets at the back of the bridge, engineering officer Weeton asked, “How long until we can fight back?”

  Cool and matter-of-fact, Gant said, “Four minutes, ten seconds.”

  That didn’t seem to quiet Weeton’s anxiety. “Then let’s use torpedoes!”

  “We’re not cooking off this planet’s atmosphere,” Georgiou said, “not unless there’s no other way.” Another round of fire from the Juggernaut blew out the life-support station and filled the bridge with bitter smoke. The captain winced at the new damage, but she remained resolute. “Our job is to hold the line. Come blood, come fire, come hell itself—we draw the line here.”

  Her courage proved contagious. Around the bridge, chins were raised, shoulders were squared against the approaching storm. No one was backing down. Not today.

  At the aft engineering station, Weeton worked like a whirling dervish. “Patching reserve batteries into the shield grid,” he said as he keyed in commands.

  Georgiou smiled. “That’s the spirit. Look alive, people! This is why we’re here!”

  Saru’s chest swelled with pride and fighting spirit—and then he beheld the dark majesty of the Juggernaut, a monster of a ship many times the Shenzhou’s size, ascending to take its vengeance upon them . . . and then his natural instinct to flee and hide asserted itself.

  He drew a sharp breath, clenched his jaw, and remembered his Starfleet training.