Star Trek

by Alan Dean Foster

  Pike was less inclined to be convivial. “To whom am I speaking?”

  “My formal designation is Ŏ’ŗên, with an accent and syllabic stress that is difficult for the human larynx to deal with. As is not uncommon, reversing and softening the entire process yields a name you can pronounce. Address me as Nero.”

  Kirk’s sudden intake of breath was not dramatic enough to draw anyone’s attention from the gimlet-eyed figure on-screen. Unless there were multiple iterations of this “Nero,” he was looking at the same alien who had been responsible for the death of his father. If the connection had also been made by Pike, the captain chose not to make reference to that particular bit of Starfleet history.

  “By your actions you’ve declared war against the entire Federation. Withdraw without further hostilities, and I’ll agree to arrange a conference with the Romulan leadership at a neutral loca—”

  The alien’s reaction to Pike’s reasoned offer was unexpectedly violent. “I do not speak for the Empire! We stand apart.” His gaze wandered while he utilized the Enterprise’s transmission to scan the enemy’s bridge. “As does your Vulcan crew member, who would appear to bear the rank of first officer, science division. Isn’t that right—Spock?”

  Every member of the bridge complement except those responsible for tactical and defense turned to look in the direction of the ship’s science station. The unruffled individual seated there glanced at his superior officer seeking permission to respond. Pike nodded his approval.

  “Pardon me, but I don’t believe you and I are acquainted,” the Enterprise’s science officer responded coolly.

  An unexpected but welcome development, Nero mused. Truly the Fates did balance the good with the bad if only one could survive long enough.

  “No, we’re not—not yet. First I want you to see something. Tell me—Spock. At what price did the Federation turn you from your people? Where does your true loyalty lie? Do you even know yet the meaning of loyalty, or of the responsibility that goes with power?”

  The Enterprise’s science officer responded with his usual calm. “I’ll say what you wish if it will save lives.”

  The Romulan’s gaze narrowed. He had hoped to elicit a more…emotional response, even though he knew he was dealing with a Vulcan. He was disappointed, but philosophical. Along the path to the End one inevitably encountered disappointments. In the roll call of regrets, his inability to provoke the Vulcan would have to rank as a minor one. As abruptly as he had singled out the science officer, he altered both his attention and his tone.

  “Captain, if you are not already aware of the fact, your transporter capability is disabled along with your communications. You can neither beam off your ship nor communicate with anyone else. You will man a shuttle and board our ship for negotiations.” The smile returned. “By yourself.”

  Pike thought hard and fast. How much time would this Nero allocate for talk when his vessel was so clearly the superior one? How long could the Enterprise’s captain stall the enemy? Pike sat in the command chair, pretending to be pondering the demand, until he could see that his opposite number was starting to tense.

  “As a sentient being who values honor,” he finally said, “give me your word you won’t harm my ship if I come aboard yours.”

  Kirk was not the only one on the bridge who gaped at their captain, but he was the only one who spoke up. “Sir, with all due respect—what’re you doing?”

  Pike looked back sharply in the cadet’s direction. Concealed from the alien’s view, the captain’s expression was more than adequate to silence even James T. Kirk.

  Indifferent to the nonverbal exchange among the humans, Nero replied genially.

  “As sentient beings of honor, we have agreement. You will be allowed sufficient time to depart and arrive. Any delay perceived as excessive on your part will result in the immediate destruction of your vessel.” The predatory smile reappeared. “I would recommend, Captain, that you do not loiter over inconsequentialities.”

  “I’ll be there as fast as a shuttle can be readied,” Pike told him. But the connection was terminated before his reply could be transmitted.

  Kirk took a step toward the command chair. “Sir, he’ll kill you when he’s finished with you—you know that. He’s already caused the death of hundreds. He won’t show you any special dispensation just because you’re a senior officer.”

  From the other side of the bridge Spock added his own equally fervent if less expressive opinion.

  “It would be highly illogical to trust the word of—”

  “I understand that.” Pike rose from his seat. “I need an officer who has been trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat—with all humanoid species.”

  Sulu’s hand shot up immediately. “I have the necessary qualifications, sir!”

  Pike nodded. “Then you come with me. Mister Spock, also. Kirk, you too—you’re not supposed to be here anyway.” As he headed for the main lift he looked toward the bridge’s youngest crew member. “Chekov, contact engineering and have Chief Engineer Olson meet us at the shuttlebay.”

  “Aye, Keptin.” The ensign moved to convey the captain’s request as the lift doors parted and the four men entered.

  They had to change lifts twice more to avoid internal damage and ongoing repairs and make it all the way back to the shuttlebay. Once out in the access corridor Kirk stepped up alongside the captain.

  “I have to reiterate: what’re you doing—sir? Pardon me for saying so, but based on what we know of this individual and his actions so far I’d say we gain nothing by diplomacy. If he wanted to arrange a cease-fire he would have done so with the commanders of…the other ships. He just wants to extract any information he can from you. Sure, he can pressure you by threatening to continue the battle, but maybe his vessel has been damaged, too, if not visibly, and he needs time for his crew to make repairs. Meanwhile, he’ll have you as a hostage while we have nothing. And if you think his word as a ‘sentient being of honor’ means anything, I suggest you tell it to the captains of the…”

  Halting so abruptly that Kirk nearly ran into him, Pike got right in the younger man’s face. Speaking through clenched teeth and fighting to restrain himself, the captain proceeded to explain his reasoning.

  “If you can look past your initial animal response, Cadet, and for a moment think about conditions outside your immediate surroundings, you’ll recognize that without transporter capability not only can we not leave this ship, we cannot assist Vulcan or anyone on its surface. Additionally, with communications blocked we cannot notify Starfleet of what’s happening here, either to request reinforcements, seek information, or simply warn the rest of the Federation.” Turning away smartly, he resumed his stride toward the shuttlebay.

  “So I’m creating an opportunity to get an away team on that drill and disable it. I hope you’re right about this Nero wanting to extract information from me. I pray that he tries. While he’s preoccupied with me, it is to be hoped he’ll keep his word at least that long and will leave the Enterprise alone. Every moment of time I can buy while I’m engaging his attention on his ship is another minute that can be utilized to restore our defensive capabilities and rebuild our fighting potential. Not to mention tending to the wounded and reassigning personnel.”

  Kirk heard everything the captain said, but a part of him had been brought to a halt by what Pike had mentioned earlier.

  “Excuse me, sir—I’m not sure I heard you right. Did you say onto the drill? Meaning what?”

  Pike turned down the last corridor leading to the shuttlebay. “Meaning you, Mister Sulu—who has advanced combat training—and Chief Engineer Olson will do a space-jump from the shuttle onto the drill, get inside, disable it, and as soon as communications and transporter capability is restored, beam back to the Enterprise. I’ll get you as close as I can but I can’t descend too far toward atmosphere without running the risk of that kind of detour making someone on the Romulan vessel suspicious. And obviously you can’t use personal
transport pods or any other kind of powered drop gear because they’ll be watching my shuttle and would likely pick up the engine signatures. But a trio of driveless free-falling humans ought to go undetected.”

  Kirk carefully considered the scenario his captain had laid out. “Ohh-kaaayy…”

  He and Sulu exchanged a meaningful look. It was the first time they had done so. Though they had not been formally introduced to each other previously, preparing to embark on a joint suicide mission has a way of forging bonds between the participants on the spot.

  Pike turned his attention to his science officer. “Mister Spock, I’m leaving you in command of the ship. Once transporter capability and communications have been restored, reach out to Starfleet and tell them what the hell’s happening here.”

  One eyebrow arched as Spock regarded his superior. “What is happening here, Captain? Beyond the obvious fact that serious hostilities have occurred between Federation forces and a most peculiar representative of Romulus.”

  “Something you’ve only precious few minutes to figure out, Commander. If all else fails, fall back and rendezvous with the rest of the fleet in the Laurentian system.” He turned to his left. “Kirk, I’m promoting you to first officer.”

  Kirk gaped at him. “Excuse me, sir, but—what?”

  Pike’s smile was grim. “While I’m gone we need to maintain the chain of command.” He nodded toward Spock. “And you two make a swell team.”

  If Kirk was stunned, Spock was almost beyond words.

  “Captain. Please. I apologize, but the complexities of human pranks escape me. Especially those that are perpetrated at times plainly devoid of anything resembling humor.”

  Pike lost his smile. “This isn’t a prank, Mister Spock. And I’m not the captain—you are.”

  “If we knock off—” Kirk stopped himself, started again. “When we knock off the drill—sir, what happens to you? You’ll be stuck on the Romulan ship and they won’t be any too happy about what we’ve done.”

  By way of reply Pike offered a wry grin. “I guess you’ll have to come get me.” Focusing especially on Spock he moved out in advance of them to check on the shuttle preparations. “Careful with the ship while I’m gone—she’s new.”

  Exactly the kind of comment a soldier in the field would make, Kirk thought admiringly. No wonder everyone in the fleet had wanted to be assigned to the Enterprise. The opportunity to serve under a captain like Christopher Pike was as much a reason for desiring a transfer as was the newness of the ship. If he ever found himself in command in a similar situation, would he have the balls to respond like that?

  At the rate he was progressing, he told himself, a command was the last thing he was ever likely to have to worry about. Almost as likely as making an accurate space drop to a thin metal disk hanging by a thread from the enemy ship. A continent—now that he knew he could hit successfully. He regarded his fellow drop-mates. It would be hard to imagine better companions for such an undertaking than a ship’s chief engineer and her helmsman. Though he had pulled off such jumps in simulations, Kirk decided his best option was to stick as close to Sulu as possible. If anyone could angle an accurate drop, it would be a ship’s helmsman.

  Pike called back to them. “Suit up, gentlemen. I hope none of you has a particular fear of heights.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kirk responded. If any of his companions did suffer from acrophobia, a free-fall space drop would either cure the affliction or finish off the afflicted.

  This time when Spock entered the bridge he was aware that the stares directed his way were backed by a new respect. He had neither the time nor the inclination to revel in his temporary promotion. Such time-wasting vanity was the province of humans, and he had no time to spare. Taking the command chair, he activated the intercom for medical.

  “Doctor Puri, this is Acting Captain Spock. Report.”

  Shaking slightly, the hand of Leonard McCoy slapped down on a wall panel to acknowledge the call. Around him swirled a sea of blood, confusion, protruding bones, exposed organs, tendons dangling like dark strings, and a dedicated but overwhelmed coterie of medical personnel struggling to put it all back into its proper place despite missing supplies and dysfunctional equipment.

  “McCoy here. Doctor Puri’s dead. In lieu of orders I’ve been doing what I can.”

  Spock’s expression tightened ever so imperceptibly. “Then you have just inherited his responsibilities as Chief Medical Officer, Doctor McCoy. Prepare all bays for mass triage.”

  “Aye, sir—I’ve already instigated procedures on all decks to…”

  The science officer interrupted him. “I am not concerned with internal operations, Doctor, as I am confident you by now have them well in hand. We must prepare ourselves for a possible influx of refugees from Vulcan.”

  McCoy hesitated before replying. “Our facilities are stretched to the limit right now, Commander.”

  “Get the less seriously wounded back on duty as quickly as possible, Doctor. Try to make some room.”

  McCoy ground his teeth. Behind him, the unsedated were moaning and occasionally screaming. “I’ll do the best I can—sir.” Though it was the acting captain’s place to terminate the transmission, the doctor was the one who cut it off. There were lives to be saved and bodies to be made whole again and he had no time to debate the logic of what he needed to do. If “Acting Captain” Spock objected, he could file a formal complaint with Starfleet Medical Operations when they got back to Earth.

  The Vulcan had called for mass triage. McCoy was fine with that. He had every intention of prioritizing.

  With the aid of shuttlebay technicians, the three men struggled into the semiflexible dropsuits. Lightweight and fashioned of special composites nearly impervious to heat, the suits would keep them from turning into slender human-shaped cinders as they made the plunge into Vulcan’s atmosphere.

  At least, Kirk told himself as he waited for a tech to hand him his helmet, that was how it worked in Academy simulations.

  Where a suitable planetary surface was available and shuttle or transporter was not, space drop was designed to provide a final opportunity to escape a fatally crippled ship. It was strictly a last-gasp maneuver, akin to jumping off a sinking watercraft with nothing more than an antique life preserver. Everything they would need to survive the drop was integrated into the suits. A gleeful Olson took responsibility for the powerful charges that would be used to destroy the drill housing once they landed on it.

  Kirk found the engineer’s excitement incomprehensible. He himself could be jaunty on occasion, but not when embarking on an outing where there was a very good chance they were all going to die. He did not voice his concerns, however.

  He couldn’t help but wonder: if they were successful, would he be allowed to continue to serve on the Enterprise?

  Survive first, he told himself. Worry about commendations later.

  The techs worked fast. Final checkout was hasty but thorough. Coolant control—on. Intersuit communications activated—check. Chute deployment and adjustment systems—they would find out real soon. Carrying their helmets, they hurried to board the waiting shuttle.

  As they took their seats, Kirk could see that Olson was grinning as if he was going on a ski trip.

  “This is great!” the engineer declared ecstatically. “Isn’t this great?”

  “Yes—great.” Sulu did not smile as he leaned back into the padding of his launch seat. His expression was in complete denial of his words.

  “I am pumped,” Olson continued, “to kick some Romulan ass!”

  Kirk did manage a smile. It was just as well the engineer, chief or not, was unable to see what he was thinking. Turning away from the engineer, Kirk turned to his other companion.

  “So—what kind of advanced combat training do you have?”

  “Fencing,” Sulu informed him proudly.

  Kirk nodded slowly to himself. “Uh-huh, right—fencing. That’s—great.”

  Up in the cockpit and aw
ay from his passengers, Pike was running through departure procedures. He had delayed as long as he felt able. In fact, he was more than a little surprised that this Nero had not already contacted the Enterprise or fired a warning shot.

  He must want to interview me really badly, Pike thought to himself. With luck, the conversation would not be entirely one-sided. He stole a glance at a small monitor. It showed the three dropsuited men seated in the shuttle’s passenger compartment. His men. He wanted—he needed—them to succeed. But that wasn’t all.

  He also wanted them to come back.

  “Hold on. Preparing for departure.” His hands worked the instruments. It had been a long time since he had flown a shuttle. Usually one was provided for him, together with an escort and a pilot. As the small craft rose from the deck and atmosphere was exhausted from the bay, Pike was pleased at how quickly the necessary command and maneuvering instructions came back to him. Being a starship captain was all very well and good, but you never really got to “fly” a ship. The helmsman did that, and the science officer, and the ship’s computer and advanced instrumentation.

  The shuttlebay doors opened in front of him. He leaned on the appropriate instruments and the little vessel darted obediently forward. It was good to be in control of flight again.

  Even if the circumstances that had provided the opportunity were less than promising.

  Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible in the course he had chosen, Pike sent the shuttle speeding toward the enormous alien vessel in as wide an arc as he dared. Minutes ticked away without any response or comment from the Narada. If he was not challenged he would be able to strike the bottom of an arc above the optimum drop point. The men undertaking the incredibly tricky mission would have one chance and one only to hit the drop precisely. Once clear of the shuttle their commitment would be irrevocable.

  Ahead he could see multiple metallic threads twining into one. An enormous spiny cable descended from the belly of the alien craft toward the yellow-brown world below. Far below he could just make out the white-hot whirlwind of plasma being emitted by the drill platform. The captain had set out on as inconspicuous a parabolic course as possible and thus far the Romulans had not reacted negatively. Would the arc he had plotted be deep enough? He made minute adjustments to course and speed, trying to slow as much as possible without attracting undue attention. Delicately he trimmed attitude to rotate the shuttle so that its fuselage would be aligned between the Narada and the preselected drop angle.