Star Trek

by Alan Dean Foster

  “The doctor is correct, Keptin.” As chief tactical officer it was Chekov’s job to anticipate an enemy’s moves, to put himself in their position—however distasteful the mental transposition. “First of all, they’ll have their own defenses up. They’ll be looking for remnants of the fleet as well as local defenses to strike out at them. Ground-based aircraft and missiles won’t have a chance of penetrating their shields. Any ship of starship size that drops out of warp near Earth will get pulverized before it has a chance to respond. And we already know that this Narada from the future is far more powerful than any Federation vessel.” He shook his head dolefully. “The only chance we might have of inflicting any significant damage is to take them completely by surprise.” Tactical chief and helmsman exchanged a knowing glance.

  “There’s no way we can drop out of warp within effective attack range without them detecting our presence and responding,” Sulu added. “They’ll be scanning everything inside the orbit of Mars. If we emerge outside detection range it’s even worse: they’ll have plenty of time to see us coming if we try to engage on impulse power.”

  Kirk considered. “Then we have to find a way to get on that ship and steal the device from under them.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘destroy’ the device, Keptin?” Chekov asked.

  Kirk sighed. “And how do you propose destroying it, Mister Chekov? If you destroy its dual containment fields, then you end up releasing the contents.” He smiled thinly. “That’s just what we want—a bunch of Red Matter floating around the solar system. We have to capture the device in one piece. Then we can utilize it, dispose of it—whatever Starfleet decides to do.”

  “As far as getting on board the Romulan vessel, ye can forget transwarp.” Scott was emphatic. “Beaming from a fixed point on a planetary surface to a ship travelin’ in subspace is one thing. Tryin’ to beam from a ship travelin’ through subspace onto another travelin’ through subspace boggles the calculus.” He looked at Kirk. “Hittin’ a bullet with another bullet is hard enough. Imagine if both guns are in motion.”

  More hopeful than realistic, Kirk glanced toward communications. “Anything from Captain Pike? At this point I’d be happy to hear him acting as intermediary for terms of surrender—anything to indicate he’s still alive.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Uhura reported gravely. “I’ve been monitoring all channels including the original reception frequency from the Narada. There’s been nothing.”

  “Keptin Kirk?”

  Attention on the bridge shifted to the young tactical officer. “Yes, Chekov?” Kirk prompted him.

  “We can’t drop out of warp close enough to the Narada to fight her or to transport an assault team aboard without alerting her defenses. To be sure of avoiding their detectors yet achieving your aim, we have to come out of warp somewhere close enough for our transporter system to be able to lock onto the Romulan ship without activating her defensive system.”

  McCoy stared at him. “What would you suggest? Coming out of warp behind the moon? If we come out of warp and there’s a solid body between us and the Narada, then we can’t use our transporters. If we come out of warp behind the moon and move out to where we can use our transporters, then they’ll spot us. And if we emerge far enough out so that they don’t detect us, then they’ll spot us when we move in close. There’s no solution.”

  “Your pardon, Doctor, but I believe there is.”

  “Go on, Chekov,” Kirk urged him.

  The tactical officer warmed to his argument. “We need to emerge from warp somewhere close enough so that Mister Scott can get a direct transporter line on the enemy but sufficiently hidden so that they don’t become aware of us. All this talk of dangerous supernovas has got me to thinking. Unless Romulan technology has changed or advanced so much that it is beyond imagining, their detection systems should still be highly sensitive to very strong magnetic fields.”

  “What are you suggesting?” This time it was Sulu’s turn to object. “That we come out inside Jupiter’s magnetic field? We can’t maneuver in there for the same reasons detectors don’t work, and if we emerge on the side of the planet where we can get a transporter sight on the enemy, they’re likely to have other long-range detectors that will pick up the distortion caused by our appearance.”

  Chekov nodded knowingly. “Not Jupiter, Mister Sulu. Saturn.”

  The helmsman shook his head doubtfully. “Magnetic field is still eight thousand times stronger than Earth’s and would play havoc with our instrumentation. And there’s still the transporter line problem.”

  “I was not thinking of Saturn itself.” Chekov let his gaze shift among his fellow crew members. “What about Titan?”

  “Titan?” Kirk considered briefly, looked toward his helmsman. “Mister Sulu?”

  “Already on it, Captain. It might—it just might work. If we come out of warp on the outsystem side of Titan, our presence will not be noticed by the Narada. We can then maneuver to get a transporter line on the Romulan ship. We should still be sufficiently masked from detection by Saturn’s magnetosphere and by its mixing with Titan’s much weaker one. Additionally, the Titanian atmosphere will mask any visual that might alert the Romulans, and the ionization that is continually taking place in its upper atmosphere will further serve to conceal the Enterprise’s signature. And unlike emerging behind our own moon, if we are detected we’ll be far enough outsystem to get back into warp before they can attack.” He looked at Chekov admiringly. “I think, Mister Chekov, you picked the one place in the solar system where we can hide and still give Mister Scott a chance to beam an attack team onto the Narada.”

  McCoy wasn’t quite ready to accede to the strategy. “Now wait a goddamn minute! How old’s this kid?”

  “I am seventeen.” Chekov sat up straighter in his seat. “How old are you, Doctor?”

  “Old enough to shave,” McCoy shot back. “And when I shave, I’m only holding whiskers in my hand—not the fate of worlds.”

  The dispute might have escalated further save for an interruption by a new voice.

  “Doctor—Mister Chekov is correct.”

  Everyone on the bridge turned simultaneously toward the lift. Striding toward them was a familiar figure, but it was not the same as the one who had left. This Spock was renewed in purpose and clear of eye and voice. What had happened to bring about the transformation none of them could imagine. They only knew they were glad to see him back on the bridge.

  Kirk tensed, but the Vulcan’s manner was calm, composed—almost serene. And professional. When he spoke, there was a determination in his voice that had not been there before.

  McCoy was not in the least intimidated. “How do you know he’s correct?”

  “I have not just been sitting in my quarters bemoaning recent events, Doctor. That would have constituted an illogical waste of precious and rapidly disappearing time. In the course of my research I reviewed similar information and have come to similar conclusions.” He eyed the much younger officer. “Though it remained for Mister Chekov to formulate the exact stratagem.”

  Chekov did not quite blush. “Tactics are what I was trained for.”

  Spock turned to face Kirk. There was not a trace of animosity in his tone or posture. “If Mister Sulu can maneuver us into position according to the dictates expressed by Mister Chekov, and relying on Mister Scott’s expertise in calculating transporter delimitations, I believe I can be beamed aboard Nero’s ship.”

  Kirk’s tone was uncommonly serious. “I won’t order you to do that, Mister Spock.”

  The science officer regarded his former adversary as if nothing untoward had ever passed between them. “Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Unless, as Mister Chekov suggests, the technology on board the Narada has changed beyond recognition, I am probably sufficiently familiar with Romulan scientific and engineering standards to access their ship’s functions and thereby locate the device.” He paused ever so briefly. “And—my mother was human. Which makes Earth th
e only home I have left. So I have as much reason and rationale as anyone to want to risk my life in hope of preserving it.”

  Everyone’s eyes remained on him, but his lingered only on Uhura’s. No one really noticed—except McCoy. As chief medical officer he was attuned to subtle aspects of crew performance that escaped his colleagues.

  “Then I’m coming with you,” Kirk declared with conviction.

  Spock considered what was, after all, not a request but an inevitable declaration of intent. “I would cite regulation stating that a captain and science officer should not be off their ship at the same time, especially in potentially hazardous situations, but I know you will simply ignore it—as I suspect you are frequently likely to do in the future, should we come out of this alive.”

  Kirk repressed a smile. “See? We’re getting to know each other.”

  Spock straightened slightly. “It would be foolish to say that continuing contact does not beget familiarity—however intemperate that contact has been on occasion.”

  Stepping back, McCoy whispered to the newcomer Scott. “Which is a Vulcan way of saying that they might, just might, come out of this as friends—if they don’t kill each other first.”

  The blue and white matrix of sea and sky that was Earth’s most striking feature when seen from space had worked its magic on thousands of visitors ever since first contact had been made with other sentient species. His abhorrent ambition notwithstanding, the effect it had was no less profound on the planet’s current observer.

  What a pity, he thought as he gazed upon the shimmering panorama spread out below, that it is about to be wiped from the catalog of worlds forever.

  Staring at the viewscreen, Nero joined members of his crew in admiring the view. So much water, he thought. Water in abundance, whereas it was often scarce on other worlds. Vulcan, for example. But now neither water nor anything else was a problem for Vulcan, nor for the feeble remnants of that calculating, perfidious race.

  Whose allies, he reminded himself, were about to follow their excessively logical co-conspirators into oblivion.

  “It is beautiful, no?” he murmured aloud as he continued to contemplate the glowing image on the monitor.

  “Yes, Captain.” Having seen to the Narada’s safe arrival at its latest destination the helmsman had momentarily moved from his station to stand near his leader. “It is. I wonder why they decided to call it Earth instead of Water?”

  There was an awkward pause during which the helmsman found himself, for the first time in a long while, unable to perceive the commander’s intentions. A good moment, perhaps, to advance a concern that had been festering for some time now in the minds of all on board.

  “Sir, the men and I have discussed this. What we are about to do.” He hesitated. “We have to turn the ship around. We can save our home. Stop this.”

  The intimations of wistfulness that had crept into the commander of the Narada’s face as he stared down at the planet he was about to eradicate vanished like the ephemera of a poem unwritten. His features hardened as he turned to face his first officer.

  “We can go back,” Ayel continued. “That’s what we want. We have taken our vengeance on Vulcan. We want to go home now.”

  Fingering his ceremonial staff, Nero considered the request. “There is no need to threaten me, Ayel. I understand. I understand—but you are wrong.”

  From the wrong end of the staff, four blades snicked outward. Ayel’s eyes grew wide—as he fell backward to the deck. As murmurs began to rise from the rest of those present, Nero rose to confront them. To challenge them. His voice rang out across the bridge.

  “We will return to Romulus when the Federation lies in ruins. When those who watched our people burn at last understand our pain. Our loss. When Romulus no longer needs to kowtow or defer or submit to dictates from uncaring Vulcans and humans and others. It will be the turn of Romulus to command and to dominate. We will not return to our homeworld as the last progeny of an annihilated planet. Any time paradoxes will be resolved. Were such concepts to prove fatal to this time stream, they would already have done so. Think of it! Instead of mourning a lost world and a lost system, you will be able to greet your own younger selves, your own parents, your own friends as you knew them when you were young. They will stand before you awed and amazed, and hail the Narada and all those who crew her.” He paused for emphasis.

  “Because we will return not as the simple exploration miners who once left, but as conquerors.”

  Whirling back to face the monitor once more, he eyed the dazzling vista like the predator he had become.

  “Science, you have pinpointed the location of Starfleet Command?”

  “The coordinates are a matter of record, Captain.”

  Nero nodded with satisfaction. “Deploy the drill.”

  On the bridge of the Enterprise there was no sign of its current captain or science officer. Instead, helmsman Sulu sat in the command chair while Chekov manned the helm.

  “Emerging from warp in three—two—one.”

  On the forward monitor subspace streaking gave way to a thick, roiling atmosphere fetid with suspended hydrocarbons. The Enterprise rocked for a moment, then steadied. Penetrating instrumentation revealed a vast lake of dark methane below, the liquefied gas lapping against a stony shore. Other instruments showed an enormous banded shape lying far above them and beyond the atmosphere. The ringed planet Saturn, looming like a mad spherical racetrack in the center of its accompanying moons.

  They had arrived at Titan.

  “Tactical, report,” Sulu ordered crisply.

  Doing double duty, Chekov checked his instrumentation. “No sign that we are being scanned, Mister Sulu. No indication that our arrival has been detected.”

  “Excellent.” Sulu nodded, then turned to grin at his fellow crew member. “Remind me when we’re on leave to download that advanced course on in-system evasion techniques. That’s one seminar I somehow managed to miss.”

  “I will do so, Mister Sulu. Orders?”

  The helmsman returned his full attention to the forward monitor and the task at hand. “Transfer manual control to the captain’s chair.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Chekov manipulated his console, and a proxy of the helm appeared before the command station.

  “I have projected the parabolic course we must follow to ensure that we are not detected by anyone in orbit in Earth’s vicinity. According to Mister Scott’s equations, in order for transporter entanglement to be effected we must pinpoint the Narada’s position without her finding us.” Sulu knew that as well as did the tactical officer, but it was reassuring to everyone on the bridge to have their situation voiced aloud. The helmsman leaned toward his proxy console.

  “Give me one-quarter impulse power for five seconds and I’ll do the final alignment with thrusters. If they’re looking for us or anyone else, they’ll never pick up a quick thruster burst at this distance.”

  “Not in this atmosphere.” Chekov allowed himself a smile.

  “On my mark,” Sulu murmured. “All stop in three—two—one.”

  Hovering in Titan’s dense atmosphere, the Enterprise halted all forward movement. “Tactical?”

  “Still no indication of scanning, sir,” Chekov reported. Murmurs of relief rose from the rest of the bridge crew.

  “Communications silent on all channels and frequencies,” Uhura added.

  Sulu let out a long, deep breath. “I think we’ve done it, Mister Chekov. Inform engineering.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fully aware it might only be temporary, Chekov proceeded to convey the good news.

  In the main transporter room Kirk and Spock were readying themselves for departure. Utility belts, tricorders, phasers—they needed to take enough gear to try and ensure the success of their mission but not so much that it would slow them down. At least they were able to leave behind food and water. If they were on the Romulan vessel long enough to have to either eat or drink, then they likely already would hav
e failed.

  When word reached them from the bridge that the Enterprise had successfully emerged from warp and had entered Titan’s atmosphere without being detected, Kirk was unable to suppress a grin.

  “Well done, Mister Sulu, Mister Chekov,” he called toward the nearest comm pickup. “Outstanding work. One more thing. If we manage to really kick ’em where it hurts and you think you have a tactical advantage, don’t hesitate to shoot to disable, even if we’re still aboard. That’s an order. If we can’t gain possession of the device but you can cripple their ship, then you’ll be able to negotiate from a position of strength. Mister Spock’s survival and mine is not necessary to the success of this…enterprise. Understood?”

  “Understood, Captain. Good luck.”

  Having already equipped Kirk, Uhura was in the process of passing a special translator to Spock. “This goes in place on your uniform, in the chest area. Far enough from your mouth to enjoy some protection, close enough to pick up speech and transmit replies.”

  “I am aware of the instrument’s optimal location,” Spock replied quietly.

  “Yes—yes, of course you are.” She eased it into place. “We don’t have a full understanding of Romulan syntax—some of their words and names are hard to pronounce—but I’ve modified these translators to allow you to speak and to be understood conversationally.”

  “Thank you, Nyota.”

  Standing nearby, Kirk reacted sharply. Nyota? That was her first name? But how did Spock…?

  As he looked on, she proceeded to attach the tiny translator unit to the science officer’s uniform. Then he bent forward—to whisper something over the buzz of conversation in the transporter staging area, no doubt.

  There was no doubt when he kissed her—of that much a startled Kirk was completely certain.

  She put a hand on his chest, letting her fingers drift slowly past the translator unit.

  “Be careful. Come back.”

  “I always endeavor to come back,” he murmured with equal tenderness. “Especially when I have something to come back to.”