"I am being generous in not including certain personnel in this classification. However, if this order is not efficiently complied with, that may change.
"All items are to be collected and transferred to the Auxiliary Landing Craft Hangar. Life Support Station: You will prepare to vent surplus atmosphere through surface vents in conjunction with the ejection of surplus material via the landing-craft hangar." He checked his wrist chronometer, reading it through the scratches which now covered its face.
"Ejection of material and atmosphere is to take place in . . . three-quarters du-aines. It will include any personnel remaining in the lock, so I strongly suggest you move rapidly. Your commander and officers salute you, warriors of Klingon!"
He switched off and turned, to see the bridge complement hard at their stations, continuing the fight. All but Kritt, who was eyeing him expectantly.
"We cannot outrun them any more, Lieutenant," Kumara explained, "nor does it appear we will be able to make contact with the relief force in time. Therefore, everything on this vessel except the crew is going to commit suicide. My own private stock of Gellian vitz included."
Kritt almost asked, "To what end," then decided that it would become evident. The predatory gleam in the commander's eyes, however, was more encouraging than any words could have been.
The time arrived. "Auxiliary Landing Craft Hangar reporting," came a voice from one of the bridge speakers. "Ejection of material accomplished."
"Surplus atmosphere discharged," came the word from Life Support Control.
"Now," Kumara said to the general intercom, "all power to everything but minimal life-support systems is to be shut down."
"But, Commander," Korreg protested as the lights on the bridge began to dim, "what about our projectors, our defenses?"
"I said everything, Lieutenant." He turned his gaze to the main screen. "I only hope they don't decide to take the easy way out. I am depending on Captain Kirk to act like a human . . ."
Spock's eyebrows twitched once as the new information appeared on his readouts. "Captain, detectors indicate that the Klingons are losing their internal power. Defensive screens fading."
"I'll say," said an exuberant Sulu. "That last burst went right through her starboard-crew section."
"Cease fire, Mr. Sulu!" Kirk ordered quickly. "I'll not fire on a helpless ship . . . not even a Klingon's."
"It could be a trick, Jim," McCoy commented cautiously.
"Yes, it could, Bones." Kirk studied the small image of the Klathas thoughtfully. "But you heard what Sulu just said . . . apparently, we can penetrate her weakened screens at will. Though I wonder if—"
"Sir!" There was an undercurrent of excitement in the helmsman's voice. "Detectors indicate the Klathas is trailing a large amount of metallic and plastic debris."
"Confirmed, Captain," Spock announced. "I have also noted a steady stream of frozen atmosphere leaking from several locations on the cruiser's exterior."
Elation reigned on the bridge, mingled with exclamations of satisfaction. Only Kirk—and Spock, naturally—betrayed no sign of pleasure.
"Well, what are we hesitating for, Jim?" McCoy finally asked. "They're in no condition to argue surrender terms."
Kirk shook his head slowly. "I don't like it, Bones. It's too sudden, too easy. One minute they're fighting with everything they have, and the next, without being struck a severe blow, they seem to be coming apart."
"We can't tell how much running damage they've suffered, Jim."
"Maybe not, Bones." He made a decision. "Lieutenant Uhura, try to raise the Klingon bridge." Uhura moved to comply. She looked back and shrugged slightly several moments later.
"Negative, Captain. Their communications are dead. I can't find evidence of any activity, not even on-board closed transmissions, not a hand communicator . . . nothing. That ship's as mute as a coffin."
Which it could very well be by now, Kirk mused. But to be certain . . . how to be certain . . .
"The Klathas is losing speed rapidly, Captain," Arex indicated. "Dropping below warp-five . . . warp-four . . . continuing to lose speed, sir."
"Stop looking so glum, Jim," McCoy said. "They're the ones experiencing all the trouble, not us."
"It certainly looks that way, Bones." He sighed. "All right. Take us in close, Mr. Sulu. Keep your phasers trained on her bridge and bring us in just outside of transporter range."
The Enterprise promptly cut her own speed to match that of the rapidly slowing Klathas. The eyes studying this gradual shift were equally intent on both sides, but the glint of eagerness lay in those on board the Klingon cruiser.
"That's right, Captain Kirk," Kumara was murmuring softly, watching as the dim screen showed the Enterprise edging cautiously nearer, "come close . . . a bit more, that's right. No need to hurry. We'll have our reunion yet . . . minus the vitz, I fear."
Spock abruptly did something that he did only on rare occasions: He raised his voice. "Captain, preliminary analysis of the debris from the Klingon ship."
"Go ahead, Mr. Spock."
The first officer paused to recheck his information. It was nonspecific, general, but, for all that, of dangerous significance. "Sensors indicate that the detritus consists of personal possessions, supplies, spare fabricating material, and assorted other non-vital equipment."
"So?" an uncomprehending McCoy blurted.
"Not only is there nothing of vital concern to ship operations present, Doctor, but the drifting material appears to be wholly intact and undamaged."
Fact and reason formed critical mass in Kirk's whirling mind. "Mr. Sulu, initiate full evasive maneuvers, and fire at—"
Sulu's hand never reached the helm controls. Something loud and unyielding threw him sideways, slamming him into Arex's station. The Edoan navigator, thanks to triple limbs, managed to remain in his seat. Few of his companions succeeded in doing likewise.
Further explosions rocked the bridge, sending unsecured reports flying and tumbling the crew about like quicksilver on glass.
Quite without warning, the awesome barrage ceased.
Slowly, positions were regained. Reports began to come in from various stations around the bridge. They were not encouraging. The bridge illumination had dimmed considerably.
Other concerns were uppermost in Kirk's mind, however. "Mr. Sulu, Mr. Spock, report on disposition of enemy vessel."
Sulu had to compensate for several no longer usable instruments. Eventually he reported, "They have continued to drop speed, Captain. Apparently they are moving to operate on impulse power alone. Indications are that near-normal internal power has returned."
"Odd. Comments, Mr. Spock?"
"Sensors indicate that they have failed to reestablish other than minimal defensive screens, Captain. No sign of projector activity. This would seem to indicate that they have sustained major engine damage and have been compelled to shut down their drive to effect repairs. Our own speed is, however, dropping even more rapidly than theirs."
"At least they're not leaving us," Kirk muttered. "That's something, anyway. I concur with your assessment of the damage they must have suffered, Spock. Otherwise we wouldn't be here talking about it now. Kumara must have exhausted his power reserves with that last attack."
"Excuse me, sir," Uhura broke in. "Damage reports are beginning to come in from all levels. Decks Four through Seven indicate extensive though minor instrumentation damage. Firecontrol reports heavy damage to all phaser banks and photon-torpedo banks. Rear phasers are marginally operative, but the firecontrol computer has sustained major damage. Dr. McCoy reports . . ."
Kirk looked around at that. He hadn't even seen Bones leave the bridge.
". . . numerous minor injuries, mostly abrasive and concussive in nature. Several serious cases. He reports that he's preparing to supervise surgery."
"What about your own station, Lieutenant?"
Uhura checked her telltales and finally declared, "All deep-space Starfleet frequencies are inoperative due to br
oadcast-antenna damage combined with power loss. Local and on-board communications systems functional . . . if we don't get hit like that again."
"I don't expect we will, Lieutenant," he told her tightly, blinking as full illumination was restored to the bridge. He turned to study the battered shape of the Klathas. It seemed as though he could detect laughter drifting across the intervening space, floating right through the screen. That was impossible, of course. He told himself that as he waited for the most important report of all, the one which would determine their subsequent actions and options . . . if indeed they had any of the latter remaining.
The laughter refused to go away.
Even the beep of the chair intercom was a relief, though he knew he couldn't expect any good news. He was right.
"That you, Scotty?"
"Aye, Captain." The chief engineer was standing at an auxiliary intercom station, watching busy specialists wrestling with battered components. His own previously sterile suit was laden with grime and colored liquid from fluid-state switches that now conducted only his disgust.
"D'ye want it all at once, or in installments?"
"Let's have the worst of it, Scotty." Kirk readied himself.
"That last projector hit was the worst, sir. Played hell with and damaged—never mind the details. I'll have a list of damaged components and material—and personnel—transferred forward soon as I get the chance.
"Simply put, we've got no warp-drive capability. Impulse power, yes, but we canna go nowhere verra fast for sometime. That's a minimum estimate. I hope you haven't got any pressin' engagements, Captain."
In spite of the grim report, Kirk managed a smile. "I'll send my regrets where necessary, Scotty. Do the best you can. If it's any consolation, the Klingons are apparently as badly damaged as we are. They're not going anywhere either. How's ship power?"
"Adequate for anythin' you want to try, Captain," the chief engineer declared reassuringly. "I heard about what happened up in Firecontrol. Too bad. The rear phasers'd work, if we had anythin' to work 'em with. Cut up the Klingons like veal on a butcher's block."
"We're not going to cut even that with those phasers for a good while, Scotty," Kirk reminded him. "Right now I'll settle for some mobility."
"Give it to you as soon as we can, Captain."
"I know you will, Scotty. Bridge out." Kirk searched his thoughts for a course of action, aware of the concerned glances the bridge personnel surreptitiously threw him . . . and found nothing.
"Summary and suggestions, Mr. Spock?"
The first officer replied smoothly, as though the consequences of near annihilation were an everyday event. "Engines dead, phasers inoperable, life-support systems sufficient. We can't run, we can't fight, but we are going to continue to exist . . . unless repairs to the Klathas outstrip our own. Until then . . ."
"Stalemate," Kirk decided, staring at the viewscreen.
On board the Klathas, Engineer Scott's counterparts were working furiously to remove twisted bits of metal, to cut away burned out components and circuitry so that the arduous task of replacing them could begin.
Kumara was there himself, surveying the damage. He moved easily among the destruction, accompanied by Engineer Korreg and Lieutenant Kritt, offering a word of encouragment here, a blistering insult there—whatever seemed appropriate to accelerate the work.
He thought of Kirk, and worried as he fumed. "It's not going fast enough, Korreg."
"I abase myself, Exalted Commander. My head is yours . . . but my technicians are working as fast as they are able. There is much structural damage. It must be removed, cut away, before actual repair can begin."
"I'll cut off some extremities if replacement of damaged instrumentation doesn't commence within a hundred aines, Engineer. Tell them that. Perhaps it will stimulate their muscles, if not their minds."
"I will tell them, Commander," and Korreg hastily departed from the vicinity of the commander.
Kumara turned suddenly on the attentive Lieutenant Kritt. Kritt cringed—needlessly, as it developed. The commander had started at a sudden thought, not from any desire to heap abuse on his subordinate.
"Have the human Delminnen brought from the restraining chamber to the bridge. I'll meet you there."
"At once, Commander." The lieutenant turned to go, then hesitated. "It may take a few moments to . . . ah . . . restore the human to presentability."
"So long as he's coherent and will remain so. And for the Sequa's sake, tell those in charge of him that this is no ordinary human. He is a valuable property and is to be treated as such . . . or I will match their living conditions and treatment on board with his."
"Yes, Commander." Kritt hurried down the corridor while Kumara made his thoughtful way back to the bridge.
As it turned out, Van Delminnen appeared well able to manipulate both body and mind, though the former was not undamaged. But Kumara's warning had been delivered. The two husky guards who half carried, half dragged the slight human onto the bridge handled him with appropriate care.
Delminnen shook himself free of his captors, who gladly let him go—the feel of the soft human being difficult to stomach. He glanced around the bridge, his head moving rapidly, quickly, like a bird hunting for an especially ripe bug in the bark of a tree. His gaze settled contemptuously on Kumara, who gazed back with interest.
Kritt moved angrily from his station to stand next to Delminnen. "Bow in the presence of the commander, weak one!"
Delminnen's head went back slightly, prompting Kritt to raise a furious fist.
But Kumara waved the lieutenant olf. "No, no, no, Kritt! How many times must I tell you to utilize your head for something other than shoulder ballast? Leave the poor creature alone. In your justifiable anger you might accidentally mortally damage it. Then how would we obtain the information we seek? One cannot coerce a corpse. Return to your position and continue to monitor the Enterprise. That is where my concern lies—not with this single human."
"As you command, Exalted One," Kritt muttered disappointedly. "But the disrespect—" Throwing the imperturbable Delminnen a vicious smile, he turned and stalked back to his station.
Kumara waited until the lieutenant was seated. Then he clasped his hands together around one knee, leaned back slightly, and struggled to execute an earnest grin—which for a Klingon was no mean feat.
"Now then, Van Delminnen . . . It has come to the attention of the Empire that you have developed a device based on new scientific principles which seems capable of reducing normal worlds to collections of drifting debris. I hardly need impress upon you that we would regard the possession of such a device by a government unfriendly to ours as threatening in the extreme."
"Whereas," Delminnen countered sarcastically, "if it were given into your protection, everyone could rest assured that it would be used for the benefit of all."
"Naturally."
"You're a liar—and worse, an unimaginative one."
There was a violent bang as of flesh on metal and some loud murmurings behind Kumara at that unpardonable insult. The commander turned and barked sharply, "Officers of the Klathas, attend to your duties!" Then he turned back to Delminnen and continued to smile amiably.
"Very well, since you doubt our motives . . ."
"I don't doubt them one bit," Delminnen sneered.
". . . let me rephrase the situation. You must concede that the Federation would utilize your device for similar purposes should they gain control of it. They will offer you little in return. On the other hand, you are my prisoner. Rather than be disagreeable, if you turn over the plans for your device to us, I will swear on my ancestors that you and your sister will be safely—"
That promise brought a sign of concern from the human, whose steel exterior showed the first indications of cracking slightly.
"Char . . . she's on board too?"
"Why, certainly," Kumara admitted, with commendable swiftness. "You don't think we'd separate the two of you, did you?"
D
elminnen looked understandably suspicious. "She wasn't with us when we materialized in your transporter."
"Naturally not," Kumara agreed, his mind working as fast as only Kirk knew it could. "The Enterprise tried to snatch both of you from us. To compensate, we had to use two transporters. Your sister boarded the Klathas in the other one."
"Then why haven't I seen her?"
"She experienced some minor injuries when materializing in an awkward position. At the moment she is resting quietly and comfortably in our infirmary chambers. My chief medical officer informs me that she can have visitors in another day.
"Of course, I don't want to keep you apart any longer than that, Van Delminnen. But if you insist on being obstinate, you'll discover that I am a master of obstinacy.
"Should you decide, logically, to cooperate, you will be provided with a luxurious and private abode in an environment of your own choosing. You will have the facilities of a fully equipped laboratory, all the materials you require, and a free hand to spend the rest of your lives carrying out any kind of research you desire. Your privacy will be guarded and assured, and within the limits of the Empire you can come and go as you wish. Anything else you desire you have only to request." His voice rose in an excellent imitation of hearty good fellowship.
"Come, come, man . . . would your own government offer you as much? Or would they put you off with a modest stipend and a warning to take care with what you study? What say you?"
Delminnen locked eyes with the commander. His reply was jerky, nervous, as was all of his speech, but there was a firmness to it nonetheless.
"I say it's mighty peculiar for you to be so accommodating and generous to the helpless prisoner from a race you despise. And if you were as confident of eventually obtaining the information you want, by one means or another, you wouldn't be so anxious to secure my agreement. I know the Enterprise has been following your ship." He crossed his arms with an air of finality. "I think I'll wait a bit before agreeing to anything. There are developments yet to be seen."
Star Trek - Log 7 Page 11
