by Barbara Paul
"Your duty, but not your conviction."
"My duty and my conviction."
"I don't believe you."
If it was possible for a Sacker to look shaken, Babe did. She sat down at the strategy table opposite Kirk. "You have said much to disturb me, Captain. I need to think."
"Take your time. And while you're thinking, call off your attack on the Enterprise—it wouldn't succeed anyway."
She was silent a few moments, and then burst out, "No! I cannot listen to you! You are more experienced than I, and you use your experience to twist me and make me uncertain. I refuse to listen to you, Captain James T. Kirk! We will attack the Enterprise!"
Kirk's heart sank. He'd almost had her! "Babe—"
"No! Say no more! We will attack."
"Then postpone the attack a while. There's one basic battle maneuver you must know if you're to have any kind of chance at all, and we haven't even started on it. Babe, I'm not quite so eager to die as you are. At least wait until I've had time to teach the others this one maneuver. You can't protect the baryon reverter without it."
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"Damn right I am. You have to know how to perform the invitational."
"Invitational? That is the name of the maneuver?"
"Yes." Kirk had just made it up. "It's a way of luring your opponent into an unfavorable position."
She thought about it. "Very well. You have slightly less than twenty hours."
"That's not enough time!"
"It will have to be. If we do not leave for the Beta Castelli system in twenty hours, we will not be able to get in close enough to use the baryon reverter. The reverter's range is not infinite."
"I see." Kirk mulled that over. "Where did you get that figure of twenty hours? How do you know how long we have left?"
"I asked Orangejuiceandwodka to plot a course to the Beta Castelli system and estimate a time of arrival."
Kirk nodded. "Well, Chekov says he'd trust her navigating."
"We are wasting time. Come. Let us learn the invitational maneuver."
Kirk rather apologetically put his helmet back on. "Sorry, Babe, but I don't think I'm ready for more than one of you at a time yet."
"It does not matter. We will return to the bridge now."
"Yes, now."
And now he knew what he was going to have to do.
Chapter Ten
STARFLEET COMMAND had decided to fight back.
More specifically, Starfleet had decided the Enterprise would fight back. Help was promised, but not in time to do any good; the nearest starship was six days distant and the Sacker deadline now only seventeen hours away. The Enterprise would have to go it alone.
Mr. Spock received his orders from Admiral Quinlan, whose visage filled the main viewscreen on the bridge. Spock surmised that Starfleet probably had terms of surrender drawn up and ready to offer the Sackers should the Enterprise fail. But there'd be no overt talk of surrender as long as there was any chance at all of wresting the baryon reverter away from the race of strange beings who had stolen it from those who'd designed it for peaceful purposes. The admiral knew he was ordering a suicide mission, but—as Spock would have been the first to acknowledge—it was the only course of action immediately perceptible to him and the other decision-makers at Starfleet Command. It was up to Spock to convince Admiral Quinlan that there just might be a viable alternative.
"Admiral, you are aware that the Sacker ship has three times the firepower of the Enterprise, as well as superior shielding," Spock said levelly. "And even if we were to discover a weak spot in their defenses, we still have no way of ascertaining the location of the baryon reverter. We could very well end up destroying the one thing that could save us."
"Not if you beam an armed force aboard the Sacker ship," Quinlan said. "I know their shields are up, but it seems to me your best bet is to probe for a weak spot, Mr. Spock."
Spock waited, but the admiral had no more to offer. "Even if we could beam over our entire security force at once," the Vulcan said, "our chances for success remain minimal. Our people would still be greatly outnumbered. And may I remind the admiral that the Sackers' best weapon is their own bodies? All the Sackers have to do to put us out of commission is to touch us."
The admiral sighed tiredly. "I'm aware of all that, Mr. Spock. It still seems the only feasible solution."
"There is one other possible course of action, sir. Captain Kirk and three of his officers are still aboard the Sacker ship—"
"I understand how you feel," Admiral Quinlan cut in. "But four lives against the total destruction the Sackers threaten? You know there's no real choice, Mr. Spock."
"My point, sir, is that Captain Kirk is in a unique position. We had interior visuals for a time, and we were able to witness the activity on the Sacker bridge. It was abundantly clear that the captain was waging a campaign to demoralize the Sacker crew, and what we observed indicated he was achieving notable success. During this period Captain Kirk managed to signal us not to attack just yet. He will give the word when the time is right."
"Do you still have visuals?"
"No, sir."
"Then Kirk could be dead by now as far as you know."
Spock came as close to sweating as it was possible for a Vulcan to come. "I do not think so, Admiral. Remember these are very young Sackers we are dealing with. They are in dire need of Captain Kirk's expertise—and equally in need, I suspect, of the presence of a strong authority figure among them. They will not kill him as long as he is of use to them."
"So you're saying we should wait to see what plan Kirk is hatching?"
"Yes, sir, that would seem to be the best procedure."
"How can he signal you if you don't have visuals?"
Spock paused. "The captain will find a way, sir." There was no doubt in his mind about that whatsoever.
Admiral Quinlan was frowning in concentration. "I'll get back to you," he said abruptly, and his image faded from the viewscreen.
The tension on the bridge was thick enough to slice. The young man seated at the communications station asked nervously, "What do we do now, Mr. Spock?"
"Now we wait, Mr. Wittering. And I shall do my waiting in my quarters. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."
The bridge crew was disappointed. The fact that Spock would take Admiral Quinlan's reply in his quarters meant it would be a private communication. They wanted to hear.
Spock hurried down to his quarters, wondering at the extraordinary feeling of alarm growing in him. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to make the coolly detached assessment of the developing situation that he should be making. He had to work at it; he had to force an objectivity that should be coming naturally, automatically. Spock did not understand what was happening to him. This new uneasiness—would it cloud his judgment, color his responses? Had it already done so? The Vulcan was not at all certain he had been adequately persuasive in his communication with Admiral Quinlan.
What happened next depended solely on the reputation Captain James T. Kirk had built up in Starfleet. Time and again the captain had turned certain disaster into triumph, or at least into an acceptable compromise. The man had a talent for survival. His resiliency and inventiveness had made the Enterprise the most talked-about ship in the fleet. Surely Starfleet Command would base its decision on those considerations. Surely? Spock wasn't at all certain the admirals would make the logical—and obvious—choice.
Alone in his quarters, Spock seated himself and started calling up those Vulcan techniques of deep concentration that had stood him in such good stead all his life. He shut out everything—the onrushing new universe, the Sackers, the Enterprise, his quarters—as he methodically turned his focus inward. Gradually he slowed down his heartbeat, and then his rate of respiration. After a time he had his feelings of alarm under control. If ever he needed the computerlike mind Dr. McCoy was always accusing him of having, now was the time.
Speak of. The door signal sounded,
and the familiar voice said, "McCoy."
"Come."
The doctor stood in the doorway. "I won't intrude if you don't want me to, Spock. I can guess what you must be going through."
"Please come in, Doctor. I would be glad of your company."
McCoy took a chair near Spock's, and for a moment the two sat in silence, wrapped in their own thoughts. Then McCoy said, "He'll come through, Spock. He always does."
Spock nodded. "It is not Jim I have no faith in, but in the Sackers' willingness to go on with their training after having issued their ultimatum. They must have reached some level of confidence in their own abilities before taking a step as irrevocable as that one. Jim's time with them may be near the end."
McCoy bit his lower lip. "You didn't mention that to the admiral."
"No."
They fell silent again. Spock reached out and turned on the viewscreen. They watched the Sacker ship still practicing maneuvers, the same ones over and over again. The ship released three practice targets and hit all three of them.
"They're getting better," McCoy remarked. "Did Jim have to be such a good teacher? I wish we could do something instead of just sitting here. It's too bad the sonic hypnosis-inducer didn't work. That was a good idea, Spock."
Suddenly Spock rose from his chair. "How very odd."
"What?"
"This maneuver they are attempting now. It is not familiar to me."
They watched the ship sending out one of its legs from the end of the rectangle. The leg moved upward about forty-five degrees, and then the entire ship tilted forward—nose down, so to speak, up and down relative to the frame provided by Spock's viewscreen. Then the ship just hung there for a while, and eventually refolded itself.
McCoy looked puzzled. "What's that supposed to accomplish?"
Sulu's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Spock—the Sackers are trying something new."
"I am watching it, Mr. Sulu. Do you recognize the maneuver?"
"No, sir. It's not in any of our manuals."
"Nor in any of theirs, I should imagine."
McCoy's eyebrows shot up. "That is Jim's signal?"
"Unlikely, Doctor. It may be simply an imperfect execution of a familiar maneuver. Let us see if it repeats."
It did. Unfold, tilt, refold, straighten up.
"That is the signal!" McCoy said excitedly, jumping out of his chair. "Jim wants you to attack!"
Spock did not agree. "We must not jump to conclusions, Doctor. He must have something more in mind than a direct attack."
"No, no—that's it! That's the go-ahead! Let's get cracking, Spock! Jim's yelling for help!"
"May I remind you that Jim himself ruled out an attack on the Sacker ship—even before he was kidnapped? The ship has not lost any of its weaponry since then, nor any of its shielding. It is the same well-protected space fortress it has always been."
McCoy ground his teeth. "Blast it, Spock, must you always be so cautious?"
"When caution is called for—always. Think, McCoy. Would you have us sabotage Jim's plan by moving too soon? He would not have gone to such extremes to warn us off unless timing were all-important. If we rush in precipitately, we will undoubtedly spoil whatever he has planned."
McCoy sank back down into his chair, suddenly deflated. "I hate it when you're right."
"Indeed, I have noticed that tendency in you before."
"Jim really does have a plan, doesn't he, Spock? Tell me he has a plan."
"He has a plan, Doctor. I would wager my life on it."
"You are wagering your life on it," McCoy muttered. "Yours and everybody else's as well."
The intercom came on; Wittering said, "Admiral Quinlan for Mr. Spock."
"Pipe it through, Lieutenant."
The Sacker ship faded from the screen to be replaced by the admiral's worried face. "Spock, we've decided to give you seven hours," he said without preamble. "If at the end of that time you haven't heard from Captain Kirk, you're to attack the Sacker ship. That will leave a little less than ten hours until the Sacker deadline. That's all the time you'll have to carry out the operation, and that's cutting it close. But do not wait one minute longer than seven hours. Understood?"
"Understood, sir. Unfortunately, Captain Kirk has no way of knowing he is now under a seven-hour time limitation."
"That can't be helped. Seven hours, Spock." The screen went blank.
"Oh boy," McCoy moaned. "If there were just some way to let Jim know!"
"We can but try, Doctor." Without further ado Spock opened the door and walked out.
Surprised, McCoy hurried after him. "You've thought of something!"
"I have thought of the obvious. Since Jim does not know about the new seven-hour deadline, we shall simply have to tell him. We will send a message to the Sacker ship."
"Just like that, huh? What kind of message?"
Spock stepped into the turbolift. "Why, we will offer the Sackers an opportunity to surrender, of course."
Pinky had just brought them a meal in their quarters and left.
Kirk pushed his plate of assorted mystery meats aside and said, "This may be the last time the four of us will be alone together, so let's make sure we've got everything straight. But first—Chekov, did you get a chance to check Orangejuice's course and time estimate back to the Zirgosian system?"
"Yes, Kepten. It is dead accurate." He grinned. "Vhat did you expect? She has a good teacher, you know."
"Mm, but not a particularly humble one. All right, let's count on making our move during this next session on the bridge. Chekov, watch me for the signal. I'm sorry to put this off on you, since you haven't been out of sickbay very long—but that's why you're the logical one to get sick. Make it convincing."
"Do not vorry, Kepten. They vill think I am dying. But I am almost completely recovered. The only reason I vear this thing …" —he indicated the sling holding his right arm— "… is thet Dr. Bonesovna vanted to try vun out." He removed his arm from the sling. "I haf complete use of the arm."
"Well, don't let the Sackers know that. Look as helpless as you can."
Scotty interrupted. "Better eat somethin', Captain. We have a long row to hoe."
Kirk nodded. "I suppose you're right." They all ate in silence for a while, but Kirk kept going over the plan in his mind. He swallowed a mouthful of meat and said, "Uhura, you'll have the farthest to go—from your station over to beyond the weapons station. And you'll have to make it before one of them gets it into his head to stop you."
"It shouldn't be a problem, Captain," she said. "It would seem only natural for me to rush to the aid of my collapsing colleague here."
Chekov grinned.
"And you've got to keep them distracted long enough for Scotty to take care of the E-and-E shields," Kirk went on. "A little distraction won't be enough. Make a scene, Uhura. Lay it on thick. Put them on the defensive."
"Understood, sir."
Everything depended on Scotty's getting the shields down without being noticed. E-and-E was Kirk's shorthand for engines and environment. The environmental control section was on the deck immediately above the engine room, and the two together made up one of the legs the Sacker ship could unfold on command. The Zirgosian designers of the ship had had in mind a means of isolating those two sections in case of a shipboard disaster, but Kirk had seen a way to use it against the Sackers.
With heavy reluctance, he turned to his chief engineer. "I'm sorry, Scotty. I wish there were some other way."
"I understand, sir. What hasta be done, hasta be done."
"Destroying the engines is a last resort, you know. I did try to talk Babe around." Kirk held thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. "I was that close to persuading her. But she's a tough kid—she bounced back and wouldn't give in. So we'll have to do it this way."
"Yessir, I can see that," Scotty said unhappily.
Kirk looked at him closely. "It's not just the engines, is it, Scotty? It's your Mr. Green you're worried about."
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"He's a good lad, Captain. I don't like the idea o' puttin' him in danger."
"Neither do I, believe it or not." Kirk played with his food a moment and then gave up on it. Something was troubling them, all of them, and he might as well bring it out into the open. He looked at Scotty, gloomily chewing on a piece of meat he probably didn't even taste. Kirk asked him, "You've actually grown fond of that Sacker, haven't you?"
Scotty sighed deeply. "Aye, I s'pose I have."
"What about you two?" Kirk asked the others. "Any qualms about blowing this bloody-minded species to bits?"
Neither answered at first. Then Uhura said softly, "I wouldn't like to see Rose get hurt."
Chekov nodded. "And I think I vould cry if anything happened to Orangejuiceandwodka," he admitted.
Kirk grunted. "Well, I'm no different. I'd hate it if that red monstrosity I have to deal with got killed. I've developed a healthy respect for Babe."
Chekov asked, deadpan, "Vhat about Blue?"
Kirk laughed. "Poor Blue. I'm going to feel guilty about him for the rest of my life." Then he sobered. "That's the difficulty, isn't it? As long as they remained a race of monsters and villains we knew what attitude to take toward them, how to react to them. But now that we've come to see them as individuals, it's not that simple anymore."
"Aye," Scotty nodded, "that's the truth."
Kirk continued, "These kids have been brainwashed from the day they left the cradle, or whatever the Sackers use for cradles. Every one of them on this ship has been indoctrinated to one way of thinking, to do one thing and one thing only—and that is to carry out their grand and glorious Plan no matter what the cost. They've been taught that all other life forms are simply obstacles to be swept away as neatly and as emotionlessly as possible. Killing is a tool to be used when needed, that's all. Babe for one isn't any too happy about that, but she doesn't really question it. I doubt if any of them do."
"There's something else," Uhura offered. "Those other Sacker ships. If this were the only ship, maybe the kids would come around eventually. But they know their entire race is depending on them, and that has to be why they're so … adamant—about going ahead with it, I mean."
