Star Trek - TOS - Battlestations

by Diane Carey

  threat in firepower and ruthlessness, they're predict-

  able. If we just watch them, we should be able to tell

  what they'll do next." I stopped to lick my lips, which

  had dried up when I realized that Mr. Spock had

  stopped his scanning and was also listening to me, and

  Perten had turned my way too. Another deep breath.

  "Even though the Romulans have lesser weapons,

  they understand the concept of subtle attack. Things

  like sneaking and bluffing. They're cunning. It makes

  them dangerous. I'd watch out for them. I'd even

  disable them if I got the chance." "Spock?"

  I tensed, waiting.

  "I concur," Spock said.

  "So do I," was the captain's response.

  Before I had a chance to exhale, Kirk demanded,

  "Disable them how?"

  It's not as if he didn't have ideas of his own. He was

  testing me and using my reactions to test himself.

  Evidently he was as curious about what made me tick

  as I was about finding out what drove him. But

  couldn't it wait for a better time? Sir?

  Trying to push ideas through the whiskerbugs infest-

  ing my brain, I shrugged and said, "Maybe... use

  their distraction with each other... launch someone

  in a shuttlecraft or one of the attack sleds and make for

  open space to get a distress call out to Star Fleet..."

  "They'd be caught in traction by one of those ships

  and tak en prisoner."

  "Yes... of course... sorry." And on top of being a

  bad suggestion, it wasn't even the answer to what he'd

  asked.

  Luckily, James Kirk wasn't James Kirk for nothing.

  He took his good question and my bad answer and

  combined them into a wild card. "Shuttlecraft," he

  239

  murmured, watching the interplay of ships before us.

  "Spock..."

  They exchanged a long look--not a word, just a

  look.

  Spock nodded. "Excellent," he uttered. Had I

  missed something?

  Stepping down to the navigations console beside

  me, he tapped through to the automation of the hangar

  deck and computer-moved one of the shuttles into

  launch position. As he worked, the only sounds were

  the whirr-beeps of electrical cooperation and the muf-

  fled, strained voice of Mr. Scott as he fed orders

  through to the few engineers back on duty below

  decks.

  "Shuttlecraft Columbus ready for launch, sir,"

  Spock said then. "Automation system locked in."

  The captam nodded his acknowledgment.

  Why was he taking me up on a stupid suggestion?

  And an empty shuttlecraft at that . . . of course! A

  decoy. Make the enemy waste their time following an

  apparent escape. Like I said, he wasn't James Kirk for

  nothing.

  "Go ahead, Mr. Spock," he said, calmly watching

  the enemy ships wheel and fire on each other like

  dancers in some erotic alien ritual. As if to give my

  analysis life, the small Romulan ships were using

  supreme strategy, working together against more po-

  tent enemy vessels, coordinating their attacks then

  retreating to the rim of the solar system to regroup and

  attack again, from different angles. The Klingons were

  unable to tell where the Romulans would dive in upon

  them next. The only surplus danger was that unidenti-

  fied ship. The Klingons had their hands full trying to

  maintain their pull on Enterprise and the unnamed ship

  knew how to use that. Its forked hull lanced past us

  several times, that green plasma ray cutting deeply

  into the Klingon shields, only then to swing around

  and potshot the Romulans into falling out of forma-

  240

  tion. All the while we continued slowly moving toward

  the outside of the solar system, where, once clear, the

  Klingons might be able to take us into warp speed.

  Another clutch of guilt caught me by the heart. Tan-

  gled motivations looked for excuses in my head. Si-

  lent, I watched the battle tighten before me.

  A small white speck appeared at the corner of the

  screen. It drew my attention. The shuttlecraft--veer-

  ing away for open space. As Kirk had anticipated, the

  unnamed ship and two Romulan wings turned on their

  tips and angled after it in a strange race. Because they

  were closer in the first place, the Romulans overtook

  the shuttlecraft first. Pulling it against its own thrust,

  they drew it up alongside and tucked it under one

  wing, then warned off the unnamed ship with a volley

  of particle-beam fire.

  The unidentified vessel peeled away, barely dodging

  the milky white gauze of particle beam, leaving the

  Romulans to their catch. They drew the shuttlecraft in

  tight to their hull. Not large enough to bring the

  shuttlecraft on board, they made good their possession

  with magnetic couplings on their ship's underbelly.

  When the shuttle was firmly attached, Captain Kirk

  said, "Now, Mr. Spock."

  Sarda and I both looked at Spock at the same

  moment, after a questioning glance proved that neither

  of us knew what was happening. As Spock's long

  finger leaned on a toggle. It flipped.

  The entire left side of the viewscreen lit up. Blue-

  white particles spun through space, then redoubled as

  a matter/antimatter explosion bubbled inside the first.

  The Romulan ship was memory, nothing more than

  scattering bits of fibercoil melting and dissolving in a

  pyrotechnic bloom.

  I came halfway out of my chair. "Wow!"

  Sarda's cool gaze washed over me, and I got the

  feeling that only my yip of delight kept him from an

  embarrassing smile. He probably saw how ridiculous I

  looked and decided to interiorize that grin pulling at

  his upper lip.

  Spock bent over his readout screen at the library

  computer. "One Romulan ship obliterated... another

  slightly disabled from impact fallout."

  "Good, Spock, good," the captain murmured.

  Victory earned us a slap on the wrist. The third

  Romulan ship flashed by us at attack angle and lay

  open the skin of Enterprise's forward half-shields with

  a shot full of revenge. The bolt crumpled our shields

  and burst through with just enough remaining energy

  to send us staggering. I was thrown out of my chair

  altogether, and Sarda careened backward, barely

  missing Mr. Scott, who was clinging to his board with

  whatever strength he had. When the bolt faded and the

  ship stopped shuddering, Sarda was picking me up and

  Perren was picking himself up. Kirk and Spock, darn

  them, were already up.

  Kirk was holding tight to the bridge rail, his eyes

  ablaze with satisfaction. I felt it too---that rare sense of

  triumph that came from outthinking an enemy when

  the enemy already had an upper hand. It was worth

  that spanking they'd given us. Suddenly I understood

  the captain's advantage. He knew what I had forgot-

  ten. None of these ships dared destroy
Enterprise. We

  had what they wanted.

  "I think they're annoyed, Mr. Spock," the captain

  crowed.

  "Yes," Spock agreed. "They do seem... vexed,

  Captain." With that, he returned to his readout screen.

  That comforting thought left only the possibility of

  being dragged into Klingon space, or being acciden-

  tally blown to bits by wild shots, or being boarded by

  the enemy, or--

  Spock straightened abruptly and glared at the

  viewscreen. "More ships, Captain! Veering in from

  various directions in open space," he said, his tone

  edged with surprise.

  242

  Kirk raised his voice. "Scotty, where's that shield

  power?"

  Mr. Scott turned slightly, even that an effort since

  he was standing up--leaning, really--and running a

  protosensor rod over the board. "Nearly there, sir...

  up to 83 percent." His eyes narrowed in discomfort,

  and he was breathing heavily. "Working on impulse

  thrust--" He slipped and collapsed forward over his

  console. By the time Captain Kirk reached him, he

  was wiping his face with a blanched hand and pushing

  himself up.

  The captain took him by the arms and steered him

  back into his chair. "Scotty? Can you make it?"

  Scott fought for his part in the play, forcing his eyes

  to meet Kirk's without a flinch, in spite of the pain

  showing in his face. "Aye, sir... those spine-headed

  pirates'11 not have this ship if I can help it." The

  promise drained him, but he pulled on an inner sturdi-

  ness and straightened under the captain's grasp.

  Even in the midst of trouble, Kirk found a personal

  moment to pat Scott's arm. "Good, Scotty. We need

  you."

  "Captain, forward deflector power is impaired,"

  Spock reported. "Unlikely to regain."

  "Identify those ships," Captain Kirk ordered.

  "Attempting to do so."

  I leaned toward Sarda, who still had a grip on my

  arm, and said, "We're trying to get photon capacity."

  "All right," he said simply, and moved to the weap-

  ons control console on the upper deck. Mirroring that,

  I dashed back to the helm and drifted into my chair. At

  least it looked like we were helping.

  "Come on, Spock," the captain urged. "I want to

  know who I'm up against."

  Spock nodded, very slightly, then gave voice to

  what he was seeing on his monitor. "Tholians, sir. At

  least four. Sensors are unsure. And at least three more

  v. essels... checking design catalog to identify." He

  243

  moved across his computer, arms sweeping the board

  as he tapped into the fabulous memory system. Even

  in that short time, the cuneiform shape of the Tholian

  ships had become clear on our screen. Behind them,

  other vessels appeared, all different--claviform, tur-

  nip-shaped, biform, full-orbed, all different colors.

  When Spock returned to the monitor and the blue light

  once again washed his features, the answers were

  there. His brows went up. "Captain, they are

  Klingons. However, not Empire-sanctioned vessels.

  One is of a configuration currently being used by the

  Rumaiym, a racial tier of the Empire."

  Captain Kirk moved to the deck below Spock, draw-

  ing the two of them together into that intangible bubble

  they shared when I looked closely. "Analysis,

  Spock," Kirk softly invited.

  Spock tilted his head, observing the action in space,

  then turned his gaze downward to his captain, as if

  they were alone. "It's not surprising that sections of

  the Empire might attempt to gain a bargaining weight

  within the power structure. In fact, if current intelli-

  gence is accurate, we are seeing agents of at least four

  Klingon strains Klinzhai, Rumaiym, Wijngan, and ff I

  am correct about that triformed vessel, the race calling

  themselves Daqawlu--the Remembered."

  With a dry nod, Kirk commented, "Oh, they'll be

  remembered, all right."

  "Obviously the Klingon Empire is not so unified as

  they would have us believe."

  "Obviously. Well, we can't keep feeding them shut-

  tlecraft. We'll have to come up with something else."

  Kirk circled the command module, giving me a clear

  view of the harsh determination that brought his brows

  together and tightened his lips. His words hummed

  with bottled ferocity. "I don't like being the pawn."

  I cast a brief glare at him, but broke it off before he

  saw it. Neither did I.

  Kirk spun suddenly, and I braced for a reprimand.

  244

  But it was Spock he caught in his net. "You told me

  about a transwarp accident while you were aboard

  Piper's ship."

  "Yes," Spock acknowledged. "Quite unsettling."

  "Unsettling enough to disable those ships?"

  Spock hadn't thought of that, judging from his ex-

  pression. As he added up the elements, Sarda, Perren,

  and I turned to watch, and wait.

  With a nod of contemplation, Spock said, "Possi-

  bly."

  Kirk inhaled deeply. "Describe it."

  "I believe improper imbalance in the matter/anti-

  matter flow through the holding chamber caused the

  trilithium to degenerate. The result is not thrust, but

  dimensional warp. Am I correct, Mr. Sarda?"

  Sarda shifted his feet and nodded. "You are, sir."

  The captain gripped the raft harder. "Can it be

  repeated?"

  "Repeated in what form?" Spock asked.

  "If the transwarp mechanisms were patched into the

  Enterprise's defense system, could those conditions

  be duplicated?"

  Spock held the hot potato for a few seconds, then

  tossed it across the bridge. "Mr. Sarda?"

  Sarda dropped his gaze as he contemplated his

  safety equipment and, knowing him, about a thousand

  other alternatives. He hated having his inventions

  used for military offense, but it was that or imprison-

  ment behind Klingon lines. His innermost struggles

  shone faintly behind his eyes. I tensed, wishing there

  was some way I could help him. For a long self-

  conscious moment, our eyes met. Perhaps he drew

  strength from me, for he straightened and faced the

  captain. "It could be done," he said. "We could not, in

  fact, prevent it from happening, considering the condi-

  tion of the Enterprise. Rather than the defense system,

  the mechanisms would have to be connected into the

  propulsion system, the warp drive itself, then expelled

  245

  through the sensory in order to do what you require

  with any control. However... I do not trust myself to

  a task so complicated. At least, not alone. The dangers

  to ourselves, with an untested system--"

  "I'll help." I was on my feet already. Kirk and

  Spock looked at me. Ridiculous! What I knew about

  transwarp would fit under a fingernail. Then, in an

  instant, I knew what I could do. I rounded on Perren.

  My words were potent as sh
arp wind. "You'll help

  tOO."

  Perren's narrow features paled, but his eyes grew

  intense.

  "You know what I'm talking about," I pressed. In

  my periphery, Kirk and Spock waited, knowing when

  silence was the key to winning.

  "Yes," Perren murmured. "Yes, I must." He ap-

  proached Captain Kirk. "You must let me. I can cut

  installation time by two-thirds. I beg you, allow it."

  Kirk glared at him, partially in threat, partially in

  disbelief, partially in that special way he had of cutting

  through the thoughts of others. Put his ship in the

  hands of a traitor? Even now, Perren's face was

  backed by a tangle of enemy ships firing on each other,

  haloed by the fluorescent sparkles of direct hits.

  I couldn't stand it. I couldn't let the doubt dangle. I

  rushed around the command module in a move I hoped

  was dramatic and arresting, until I was nearly at

  Perren's side, and faced the captain. "Sir, you've got

  to let him. He means it."

  Kirk's glare carried a definite how-do-you-know as

  it snapped to me, yet he said nothing. I knew I'd better

  be right.

  "How long?" he demanded.

  Perten tensed. "Roughly . . . seventy minutes. An

  estimate only, of course."

  A commanding hand swept from Perren to Sarda.

  "Both of you, get to it." The hand folded into a point,

  246

  and swung straight at me. "Piper, I want you down

  there too."

  I swallowed a lump of liability. "Aye, sir. I under-

  stand."

  A brief glance from me sent Sarda toward the turbo-

  lift, Perren close behind, and I brought up the rear

  guard, deliberately not picking up one of the discarded

  phasers in a vote of faith for Perten. Kirk noticed, and

  raised a brow at me as though he knew what I was

  thinking. No real surprises there, though. Gambling

  was part of the game--sometimes the wiser part. We

  both knew it.

  I reached the back of the bridge and was about to

  join the Vulcans in the turbolift when a crack of energy

  struck the port side of Enterprise, and rocked us hard.

  My shoulder, with the rest of me behind it, rammed

  into the frame of the turbolift, and I managed to catch

  myself and hang there until the ship stabilized. In the

  wide viewscreen, the unidentified ship streaked out