Blake frowned. “But that’s … the gravitomagnetic effect, right? Like around a rotating black hole.”
“It’s the same principle,” Uhura told her. “The relativistic effect of the moving mass tilts the axes of space and time, essentially dragging them out of alignment.” She smiled. “It’s like we twisted space just a little bit as we went past.”
Blake nodded. “And since you did it during the Naazh’s teleport …”
Scott nodded. “Their coordinates were already set, so they couldn’t compensate for it. I figured that since it’s an interdimensional jump, whatever other continuum they’re passing through wouldn’t be affected by a twist to our four dimensions.” He chuckled. “Like pulling the rug out from under them.”
The captain shook her head. “And all because our ship is old and out of calibration.”
The engineer stroked his graying mustache. “Well, you know … age does have its compensations.”
U.S.S. Enterprise
Admiral Kirk still found it odd to step onto the Enterprise bridge and see another captain occupying its center seat. The fact that it was Spock made it palatable. This was their third special mission over the past several months since their respective promotions, and Spock had easily lived up to Kirk’s expectations of his fitness for command. But Kirk was merely human—of the old persuasion, he added in his mind, and getting older—and sometimes he wondered if he would ever truly be able to see someone else in that chair, even his best friend, without some degree of envy.
It helped that he had decades of experience subsuming his emotions beneath duty and discipline. Maturity may have loosened him up from the self-consciously serious “stack of books with legs” he had been in his younger days, but he was still able to call on that restraint when he needed it.
“Status, Captain Spock?” he asked as he stepped down into the command well.
The Vulcan rose from the chair to face him. “All surviving New Human populations are now in transit,” he reported. “The Potemkin has evacuated the enclave on Aldebaran III and shall reach Medusan space ten hours ahead of us. The Asimov reports that the survivors from Deneb Kaitos IV are stable, and they are eight hours from rendezvous with us. The Palmares is inbound with the Regulus contingent, scheduled to rendezvous half an hour later. The Reliant has retrieved the New Human community from Delta IV without incident, and is en route to collect the fifteen New Humans who managed to survive the assault on Altair IV—though with the survivors from Omega Sagittarii already on board, that will leave them somewhat overcrowded. It will still be at least two days before they can rendezvous with the convoy.”
“Acknowledged.” Kirk felt a twinge of regret at that. Currently, besides himself and Spock, the Enterprise carried Doctor McCoy, Commander Sulu, and a few other familiar faces, such as the newly promoted Lieutenant Palur at the bridge science station. With Scotty and Uhura hours away on the Asimov and Doctor Chapel helping to escort the Regulan New Humans on the Palmares, that left only Chekov, Kyle, and Nizhoni from Reliant to complete the set, as it were. Kirk believed his selection of ships for the New Human task force had been based on his knowledge of the selected personnel’s abilities and experience, rather than a sentimental desire to get the old crew back together. Still, he found it agreeable that the two goals aligned, and if there had been some bias in his selection, so be it; the reason this crew had stuck together so long in the first place was because they had all proven themselves to be superlatively skilled individually and to work even better as a team.
At the helm, Sulu turned around to face Kirk and Spock. “It’s going to be pretty crowded around here before long.”
“Our facilities should be more than adequate,” Spock reminded him, “thanks to your efforts in converting the cargo bay.”
Even with a reduced crew complement clearing up space in the residential quarters, it had still been necessary to equip the Enterprise with extra dormitory facilities for the New Human refugees, as some of the incoming ships were too small to accommodate them for long. The vast cargo storage facility that occupied much of the secondary hull’s volume had been the ideal site—particularly since no one had much desire to see the Naazh’s current targets put up in the recreation deck. For the duration of the mission, the rec deck was being used for spare cargo storage to clear up more room below.
“I’ve done my best,” Sulu said. “We have enough cots and facilities in place—it’s a good thing the New Humans don’t feel much need for privacy or personal space.”
“But something still concerns you?” Spock asked.
Sulu grimaced. “I just hope the shields and dampers around the cargo bay are effective. The Naazh seem to be adapting to our defenses almost as fast as we develop new ones.”
“The Medusans will be joining us soon enough,” Kirk reassured him. “From what Doctor Jones tells me, they have countermeasures of their own that they believe will be effective.”
“I hope so, Admiral. I know Medusans are capable of some amazing things, like how Kollos got us back from that … continuum we were stuck in. But the Naazh … they’re just so relentless. So savage. They just keep coming. And we still don’t know why.”
“Regrettably,” Spock replied, “history is replete with groups motivated by violent hatred toward others for arbitrary or incomprehensible reasons. For some, the mere fact of difference, or the mere existence of competitors for their accustomed power and privilege, has been perceived as an existential threat requiring violent response.”
“That’s what worries me,” Sulu said. “That there may be no hope of compromise. No way to change their minds and end this fight.”
“Indeed. Altering the viewpoints of those invested in extreme beliefs is exceedingly difficult. But it is sometimes possible. If and when we manage to capture and interrogate a Naazh, we may find some key to halting the violence.”
“Do you really think that’s possible, sir?”
Spock folded his hands over his waist. “The savagery of the Naazh, while formidable, is no worse than that of the Vulcan people nineteen centuries ago. Yet Surak succeeded in bringing peace.”
Sulu stared. “Only after he gave his life for it.”
“Yes,” Spock replied gravely. “That is sometimes the price that must be paid.”
* * *
Leonard McCoy found Miranda Jones in the Enterprise’s spacious cargo storage complex, where she had been spending most of her time since she had come aboard. The lowermost cargo floor on S deck was about the size of two adjacent basketball courts, much of it taken up by cots, tables, food synthesizer stations, and portable refreshers. Many of the side bays had been emptied of their usual cargo containers in order to convert them into additional, slightly more private (though compact) dwelling spaces. Overhead, Enterprise security personnel armed incongruously with energy batons and bolas stood guard on both of the upper catwalk levels along the side walls of the three-story space. To aft, the huge segmented doors that divided the cargo bay from the shuttlecraft landing bay were open, which was usually only the case when the ship was loading or unloading cargo; now it was because the lowered shuttle elevator platforms at the forward end of the hangar level were being converted into extra dormitory space for the refugees still incoming from the Asimov and the Palmares. Gazing up toward the rear of the landing bay some distance away, McCoy felt relieved that at least the clamshell doors were shut, so that there was more than just an invisible force field separating all these people from the vacuum of space.
The open portion of the cargo bay floor was currently being used by about a dozen and a half of the New Humans for some kind of telekinetic defense drills. McCoy watched in amazement as the telekinetics sparred without touching, thrusting out hands to knock each other back with invisible bursts of force, to attempt to levitate each other, to hurl or deflect objects, and so forth. McCoy repressed a shudder; he and his crewmates had been the victims of telekinetic attacks on so many occasions—Gary Mitchell, Charlie Evans, the Plat
onians, and so on—that it was hard to get used to the idea of those powers being used on the side of the good guys. Pure hocus-pocus if you ask me, he thought—and he hoped that nobody was listening.
The bigger surprise was that Doctor Jones was one of the telekinetic combatants. She’d always been just about the strongest human telepath ever recorded, but this was a new addition to her repertoire. As McCoy watched her push herself, he feared that it was taking its toll.
After a few more moments, she told the others to take five, strode over to the sidelines, and began to wipe her sweat with a towel. McCoy made his way over to her, and she called out before he could. “Doctor McCoy! Are you enjoying the show?”
He waited to speak until he was alongside her. “It’s impressive, I have to admit.”
“Glad to see it on your own side for a change?” she challenged.
He stared. “You weren’t listening in on my thoughts just now, were you?”
She touched his arm reassuringly. “Never, Doctor, I promise. But there are other ways to read people. And it’s a sentiment we’ve heard before.”
He looked her over. “I see you’re wearing your sensor web again.” The diaphanous garment over her workout clothes had been re-tailored from a flowing gown into a more figure-hugging form, no doubt for freedom of movement.
“If we come under attack, I want every advantage,” she replied. “I can perceive much through the others’ eyes, and through my own psionic insight, but the sensors fill some gaps here and there.”
He furrowed his brows. “I’m concerned you may be overlooking one sizable gap, Miranda.”
“And what’s that?”
“Yourself. You’re fighting so relentlessly for everyone else that I’m concerned you’re ignoring your own health.”
“I’m fine, Doctor.”
“Are you sure? As a gentleman, I’d never impugn a lady’s appearance, but as a doctor, I have to express my concern about the level of fatigue you’re showing. You seem drained, overtired. And … not to be indelicate, but a touch of premature gray here and there, while certainly dignified, can be a sign of excessive stress hormones.”
She glared at him. “You haven’t changed. Still overly concerned with beauty and youth.”
“My dear lady, a true beauty like yours improves with age, like a fine wine. I’m simply concerned for your health.”
“Flattery aside, my people need me, Doctor. The Naazh could attack at any time.”
“All the more reason to make sure you don’t collapse from exhaustion at a key moment.” As she turned to toss the towel into a recycler, he moved in front of her. “Just come to sickbay for a quick check. It won’t take fifteen minutes.”
“In my experience,” she said with a sour expression, “when a doctor says it’ll take fifteen minutes, I’ll spend at least an hour waiting for it first. Since you went to the trouble of making a house call, can’t you check me out here?”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as Jim. No wonder you two finally got together.”
“Call it an occupational hazard of leadership.”
He grumbled at that, then said, “I can do a basic scan, but I’d prefer to get you on the diagnostic table. There’s still so much we don’t understand about the amplification of your mental powers. I want to make sure they aren’t having a harmful effect on your brain and nervous system.”
“I really don’t have time for that, Doctor. These people depend on me—emotionally on top of everything else. We’ve grown very close. We don’t like to be separated more than we have to.”
“You can bring some with you if you like. The more samples we can study to build our baseline, the better.”
Jones gave a heavy sigh. “If I say I’ll think about it, will you just give me a quick scan for now, maybe a vitamin shot if you think it’ll help?”
He thought it over. He wasn’t crazy about the compromise, but at least it was some progress. “All right. For now. As long as you really think about it instead of just brushing me off.”
“You have my word, Doctor McCoy.”
He accepted it at that and proceeded with the tricorder scan. He did indeed give her a vitamin shot and prescribed fluids, a meal, and sleep, which seemed medically adequate for the moment. It was the kind of compromise he was all too used to making with Kirk and Spock, and indeed with most commanding officers he’d served with in his career.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jones’s resistance to an examination had something more behind it. He just wished he could begin to imagine what it was.
Fourteen
By the time the U.S.S. Palmares arrived, the Enterprise had been joined by the Asimov and the Medusan diplomatic transport Chrysaor. The latter was actually one of several antiquated Federation vessels that had been traded to the Medusans to facilitate their interactions with more corporeal species, a squat gray toad of a ship with a spherical forward hull for its humanoid crew and an oddly shaped aft section modified for its Medusan occupants, like a metal eggplant skewered by ten long rods. The Medusans had come to provide support and defense to the convoy as the New Humans were delivered to their space, but the Chrysaor kept its distance for now, to avoid spooking any New Humans (or Starfleet personnel) who were still intimidated by the risks of contact with Medusans.
But while the Asimov had come bearing only eleven survivors of the Naazh’s attack, enough to beam aboard the Enterprise quite easily, the Palmares had a considerably larger contingent of New Humans from the populous Regulus system. The Soyuz-class starship was large enough to hold most of them, particularly since it was traveling with a skeleton crew of sixty; but to facilitate the interaction of the two groups of refugees, the Palmares had drawn in alongside the Enterprise’s secondary hull and extended a docking tunnel from its portside gangway hatch to the starboard docking port that opened onto the larger starship’s main cargo bay. Admiral Kirk was there with Captain Spock to greet the contingent that came across from the Palmares.
Kirk smiled as he shook the hand of the tall, mature Arkenite who boarded first. “Captain nd’Omeshef,” he said warmly. “It’s been a long time since Starbase 24.”
Jaulas nd’Omeshef’s pupil-less green eyes crinkled beneath his large, hairless cranial lobes and the inverted black U of the Anlac’ven headband that adorned it. “Not that long, Admiral—but you have risen quite far in that time.”
“We’ve both traded up from the scout ships we started with,” Kirk said. “Gained in experience and responsibility.”
“Yet here we are on a joint task force once more. With you in command, I have faith that this one will be more successful than our last.”
Kirk winced at the reminder of the mission that had nearly cost him his first command less than a year after his promotion to captain. He’d forgotten what a killjoy nd’Omeshef could be.
He changed the subject by introducing Captain Spock and Miranda Jones, and exchanging further greetings with Christine Chapel, who had boarded along with nd’Omeshef, as well as Arsène Xiang, the gray-haired leader of the Regulan New Human community—and another familiar face he had not expected. “Chief Onami,” he said, greeting his former xenopsychologist with a warm handshake. “This is a surprise. Are you with the Palmares now?”
The dainty but tough petty officer shook her head. “No, sir. I’m on leave, studying the New Humans. I happened to be on Regulus just before they moved out, and …” She shrugged. “Well, I decided I wasn’t finished learning about them.”
Jones looked impressed. “Even given the danger involved in associating with us?”
Onami shrugged. “If I had a healthy sense of self-preservation, would I have joined Starfleet?” Jones laughed.
“Her company has been most charming and welcome,” Xiang said, making Kirk wonder if this was the same Reiko Onami he’d known, essentially a junior McCoy with a fraction of the tact. “From what I hear, you led her well for five years, and you kept her safe. For that, Admiral—and for your efforts
above and beyond in organizing this task force on our behalf—you have my deepest thanks.”
Once the greetings were out of the way, Jones took Xiang and Onami down in the turbolift to meet the other New Humans two decks below, and to show them the arrangements that had been made for the other incoming refugees. “Doctor Chapel,” Kirk said, “I wonder if you’d be free to join Captain Spock, myself, and the senior staff for dinner tonight. Scotty and Uhura will be coming aboard from the Asimov.”
Chapel beamed. “Almost the whole gang. The admiralty has its privileges, I see.”
“I simply made sure to call on the best.”
The dark-haired doctor looked around, frowning. “Leonard’s still well, I trust?”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “The doctor is aboard and fulfilling his usual shipboard function.” A brief pause. “Whatever that may be.”
“Well, in that case,” Chapel said irascibly, “I’m going to track him down and give him a piece of my mind for not being here to greet me.” She headed off with an eager grin that belied her words.
“If I may drag you back to business,” nd’Omeshef said to Kirk and Spock, “the science staff at Regulus Sector Headquarters provided us with some experimental anti-Naazh ordnance that they think will aid us in the next attack. May I bring it aboard, Captain Spock?”
Kirk deferred to Spock for this; while the admiral commanded the mission, the ship itself and who or what was allowed aboard it was always the captain’s responsibility. “Certainly,” Spock replied. “I am interested to learn what avenues they have pursued.”
The Palmares captain gestured toward the security personnel who had been waiting at the far end of the docking tunnel, and they crossed over with several carrying cases. Nd’Omeshef opened the first and took out one of the weapons within, handing it to Kirk. It resembled an old-fashioned riot control gun with a short, wide cylindrical barrel. The mature Arkenite also showed Kirk one of the puck-like cartridges that fed into the barrel. “The Reliant’s team had some success with bolas to restrain one of the Naazh, but were unable to prevent it from teleporting away. The Regulus science team’s thinking was that the Naazh’s control crystals appeared to be neurometrically or telepathically controlled, since they only needed to hold their hands over the crystals without any manual or verbal command entry.”
The Higher Frontier Page 20
