by Barbara Paul
The other three murmured agreement, and they all fell into a kind of reverie. Only a few weeks earlier they would have scoffed at the idea that they'd all four be worrying about the fate of the Sackers. But now … now too many things had happened to make that earlier simplistic view of the Sacker race possible any longer. Now, it was hard to hate them.
After a few moments Kirk shook himself and said, "Remember, Scotty—none of the Sackers must see you when you lower the E-and-E shields."
"They won't see me, Captain."
"Good. You manage that, and the rest will be up to Mr. Spock."
Chekov shook his head. "Vhat if Mr. Spock does not ketch on?"
"Watch your mouth!" Uhura slapped at him, only half playfully. "Mr. Spock always catches on!"
That's what Kirk was counting on. Of all the people he had ever met in his event-filled life, Mr. Spock was the only one he could unquestioningly rely on to understand a situation and know what to do about it. If Spock couldn't figure out what Kirk's signal meant … well, then they were lost, no two ways about that. There was no contingency plan.
The door suddenly opened. "Finished?" Pinky asked brightly.
Kirk noticed that only Chekov bothered to don his helmet for the few seconds it took Pinky to take hold of the antigrav unit bearing their food trays and depart with it. They do say you can get used to anything, he thought, finding a strange comfort in the old truism.
The intercom spoke Captain Kirk's name. It was Rose, summoning them to the bridge. Their rest period was not over yet; something must have happened.
When they got there, they saw that all the Sackers on the bridge had abandoned their cloaks. It was not a pretty sight. Even Captain Kirk hesitated a fraction of a second before stepping off the turbolift. Matters were not helped any by the bridge temperature, which seemed higher than ever.
Babe said to Rose, "Play back the message."
Mr. Spock's image filled the screen. "Attention—Sacker ship. This is First Officer Spock of the starship Enterprise. I call upon you to surrender your ship and your prisoners within the next seven hours. If you surrender within seven hours, Starfleet Command will show leniency. If you do not surrender within that time, we will be forced to attack. I repeat—you have only seven hours." Rose froze his image on the screen.
"Will it be enough, Captain?" Scotty asked under his breath.
"It should be." But still he wondered why the seven-hour time limit.
So did Babe. She said, "Why seven hours, Captain Kirk? Does the number seven carry some special meaning among your kind?"
"No, it's just the length of a full work shift," Kirk improvised. "On our ship, at least. We tend to think in terms of work shifts."
Orangejuiceandwodka edged closer to Chekov, her eyes not leaving the viewscreen. "Is that a Vulcan or a Romulan?" she whispered.
"A Wulcan," he whispered back.
"What are you going to do, Babe?" Kirk asked.
In response she told Rose to contact the Enterprise. "This is Commander Babe speaking." She didn't identify her ship because she couldn't; their human captain hadn't named it yet. "We thank you for your offer to accept our surrender, and we make the same offer to you in return. Surrender to us or leave this sector, and we will not destroy the Enterprise. What is your answer?"
The frozen image of Spock disappeared from the screen to be replaced by a live one. "Greetings to Commander Babe," Spock said with no indication that he found her name even a little bit strange. "We decline your offer and repeat ours. Please take the entire seven hours to reconsider your decision."
All right, Spock, I got it, I got it! Kirk said aloud, "That's a good suggestion, Babe. Take the time to think it over."
"Captain?" Spock said. "Is that you?"
"End transmission," Babe told Rose quickly. "Captain Kirk, I will not have you speaking with your first officer."
Kirk made a show of protesting. "I wasn't even in the picture."
"Nevertheless, he recognized your voice. It will not matter in the long run, however. Now that we have mastered the invitational maneuver, we will attack."
"I don't think 'mastered' is the right word," Kirk said slowly. "Babe, are you certain you want to do this?"
"I will tolerate no more argument, Captain Kirk. I command you to fire upon the Enterprise."
"It's a mistake, Babe." But he took the command chair with a reluctance that wasn't all show, thinking nothing could ever have made him believe that one day he'd be directing an attack against his own ship. Attack the Enterprise? Unthinkable. Earth, Starfleet Command, God himself, maybe—but not the Enterprise. "Attack mode three," he ordered with a sigh.
They all assumed their posts. Chekov hunched down in the navigator's seat looking helpless, as instructed. Only Ivan and Orangejuiceandwodka stood near him, as Rasputin's term of banishment had not yet ended. Uhura too was down to two trainees; she'd grown tired of Iris's dogging it and told him he'd flunked the course. Brownie had reassigned the would-be commander to Shuttle Maintenance.
The ship unfolded itself. "All right, Blue, look sharp," Kirk said. "You're going to have to be faster than Sulu, remember. Half-turn."
They moved in on the Enterprise at an oblique angle. All of them, Sackers and humans alike, were holding their breaths. This was the young Sackers' first taste of combat; every one of them was not only anxious about the outcome, but concerned about how well he or she would perform under fire. The moment was tense; it was their final exam, with ultra-stiff penalties awaiting failure—penalties that included capture, injury, and even death.
"Ready photon torpedoes," Kirk ordered.
"Torpedoes ready," said one of the Sackers at the station next to Scotty's.
"Lock on."
"Locked on, sir."
Kirk paused a moment to let the tension build even more. "Fire." The ship released eight torpedoes.
The Enterprise danced gracefully out of the way.
"There! You see that!" Kirk said forcefully. "Blue, did you see how fast Sulu moved the ship? That's what you're going to have to do. About full."
Blue brought the ship about, muttering about the helm's sluggishness. They made another run, with the same results. The Enterprise ducked easily.
"You are deliberately mistiming the torpedo fire," Babe accused Kirk.
He slid out of the command chair. "If you think that, you do it."
She did. This time the torpedoes went so far wide that the Enterprise didn't have to use evasive maneuvers at all. Chekov stifled a snicker. Babe kept trying, though. Finally she got close enough that her target did have to move—but that was small consolation to a commander bent on blasting her enemy out of the sky.
"You're just not going to hit 'em, Babe," Kirk said tonelessly. "They're too fast for you."
"We'll try phaser fire," she said angrily. "Increase to mark three."
"Now, Babe, you know they're not going to let you get close enough to use your phasers," Kirk lectured her.
"Helm—ahead, now."
"It won't do you any good, Babe. They'll just back away out of range."
"Increase to four."
"Don't you see, they'll just match whatever velocity you—"
"Ready phaser banks one and two."
"You can use all your phasers and it still won't make any—"
"Captain Kirk—shut up."
"Yes, ma'am." Kirk meekly quick-stepped over to stand by Scotty.
As the Sackers approached phaser range, the Enterprise simply backed away. Babe increased the speed; so did the Enterprise. Babe tried swooping down and coming up from below; the Enterprise swooped away in the opposite direction. Babe pursued; the Enterprise retreated.
"Misterma'am," Kirk called out, "are you checking distances?"
"Yes, sir. They're staying within torpedo range but just outside phaser range."
"So they can shoot us any time they feel like it," Kirk mused out loud, "but we can't hit them with our torpedoes for love or money. Interesting situation."
<
br /> "Transporter?" Babe asked.
"Also out of range," Misterma'am replied.
Kirk let the futile chase go on for another fifteen minutes. Then he strolled casually back to Babe. "All right, evaluate the situation," he said in the tone of instructor-to-pupil. "We can't hit them with our photon torpedoes, and they won't let us get close enough to use phaser fire. So what do you do?"
"Lure them closer," she answered promptly. "This is the time for the invitational maneuver?"
"This is the time."
"You had better do this." She gave him back the command chair.
Kirk directed the ship to assume a position not found in any combat manual of any space fleet anywhere. "We look helpless to them," he told Toots. "Now we wait to see if they take the bait."
Then he folded his arms over his chest, his signal to Chekov to begin.
"There it is again!" Sulu exclaimed. "That same odd maneuver! What are they up to, Mr. Spock?"
"What is he up to, you mean," Dr. McCoy muttered. "That's Jim's doing, you can bet on it."
Spock said nothing, concentrating on the position the Sacker ship had assumed as a result of the maneuver. It had gone back to its rectangular mode, with the exception of one section protruding from the aft end at a forty-five degree angle. The forward part of the ship had tilted downward, leaving the protruding section more exposed than ever. The ship hung there in space, doing nothing.
"That can't be a regular attack mode," Sulu said. "Could they be in trouble?"
"That is what it appears to be, Mr. Sulu. Or, that is what they wish it to appear."
McCoy asked, "How do we tell the difference?"
"We watch to see what they do next."
They waited. "There's nothing wrong with that ship," McCoy grumbled. "It's a trap. They've been chasing us all over the galaxy, for Pete's sake—now all of a sudden they're helpless? Ha! If you believe that, there's a bridge on the planet Iotia I'd like to sell you."
"I agree with Dr. McCoy, sir," Sulu said. "It's a trick."
"It is indeed a trick," Spock replied. "But whose? Captain Kirk's or the Sacker commander's?"
Then as they watched, the protruding section folded back into the Sacker ship. The ship rotated on its axis until it once again occupied the same plane as the Enterprise. A solid-looking rectangle, it did nothing for two minutes, and then it once again assumed its peculiar position—tilted forward, one section sticking up at the rear.
Spock shot out of the command chair. "Ready photon torpedoes!"
It hit McCoy just an instant later. "By golly, they're wearing a 'Kick Me' sign!"
"That is exactly what they are doing," Spock said, "if I understand the allusion correctly. We are being invited to fire upon the exposed section. It is an invitation I think we will do well to accept."
"Photon torpedoes ready, sir."
"Lock in on the extreme end of the protruding section. We do not want to hit the main body of the ship."
"Just nip off the end of the tail," McCoy said happily.
Spock said, "Mr. Sulu, status of the Sacker shields?"
"They're still up, sir," Sulu answered regretfully.
"Then we have a little longer yet to wait." Spock sat back down in the command chair. "The minute those shields are down, Mr. Sulu—"
"Understood, sir."
They waited, but this time with a feeling of anticipation made fervent by the real hope that this long nightmare might at last be near its end. For the first time, they understood what Captain Kirk wanted them to do.
Chekov clutched his chest with his good hand and rose shakily from his seat. "Orangejuice … you had better take over."
"Mr. Chekov—what's the matter?" Kirk asked with just the right note of concern.
"I … I do not feel so veil, Kepten. I vould like to go to the head."
"Do you need help?"
"No, sir, I can make it." He started to weave his way unsteadily to the upper level of the bridge. He made it just past the weapons station, where he collapsed—taking care to fall on the shoulder that had not been burned.
"Chekov!" Uhura shrieked, and flew past the command chair in a blur. Kirk followed; Scotty had left his station to peer between the two Sackers from the weapons station who were bending over the prone navigator, afraid to touch him. "Look what you've done!" Uhura screamed at the two helpless Sackers. "First you burn him and then you make him report for duty before he's recovered!"
"Chekov—can you hear me?" Kirk asked.
"I … we did nothing," one of the Sackers protested faintly.
"A medteam is on the way," Rose announced.
Babe had joined the group around Chekov. "Will he be all right?"
"You!" Uhura exclaimed in her most scathing tone. "What do you care whether he's all right or not? What do any of you care? Look at him! Does he look all right?"
"He looks as if he has fainted," Babe replied calmly. "Surely this is not serious."
"Oh, now you're a doctor, are you?" Uhura snapped.
Kirk glanced at Scotty and saw him making a circle of his thumb and forefinger in the okay sign. Kirk felt a surge of adrenaline and said, "All right, everybody—stand back, don't crowd." Come on, Mr. Spock, he prayed silently, we don't have much longer before—
An explosion jolted the ship. On the bridge, it was felt only as a sudden vibration that threw everyone a little off balance. "What was that?" Ivan cried.
"We've been hit!" Misterma'am exclaimed in a tone of disbelief as he read his instruments. "The Enterprise has fired upon us! They actually shot at us!" He sounded ready to break into tears.
"Damage report!" Babe snapped out.
"Ah … engine room hit. Environmental hit. Warp engines are out!"
"Do we have any power at all?"
"Impulse only," Blue said, a distinct note of fear in his voice.
Kirk said, "That won't get us away from the Enterprise. Babe, you'll have to take evasive maneuvers while Mr. Scott and I see to the warp engines. When you—"
A second explosion rocked the ship.
"Hard to starboard, Blue!" Babe shouted.
"Keep the ship moving!" Kirk yelled as he and Scotty stepped into one of the turbolifts.
"Now, Chekov," Uhura said in a low voice. In three steps she was in front of the escape chute. She grabbed the bar above the opening and lifted herself into the chute feet first. Chekov was right behind her, performing a one-armed lift that protected his injured shoulder and arm.
They left behind them a scene of near-panic. Orangejuiceandwodka was yelling at the Sackers at the weapons station, they in turn were yelling at Misterma'am, Misterma'am was yelling at Blue, Blue was yelling at Babe, and Babe was yelling at everybody. The frightened young Sackers suddenly found themselves in a real battle in real combat with real weapons—and with no humans to help them or to tell them what to do.
Chapter Eleven
THE SACKER ENGINE ROOM was on fire.
Fire … neither Kirk nor Scott paused to ponder the irony of the Sackers' natural weapon being turned against them. The two men from the Enterprise were more concerned with the fact that the fire-control system had failed to cut in. Something else the Zirgosian designers had not had time to test before the Sackers stole the ship.
Scotty tried activating the sprayers manually; nothing happened. He removed a panel from one of the bulkheads and examined the circuitry. "I think I see what the problem is, Captain," he said, "but it'll take a few minutes to fix. Can ye do somethin' about that blaze in the reactor room?"
"I guess I'd better," Kirk answered. Not for the first time he was thankful for the helmet he was wearing; it protected him from the smoke that was everywhere and which showed no sign of dissipating on its own. He rounded up what Sackers he could find who hadn't been injured in the explosion and organized an old-fashioned bucket brigade. When not slowed down by the smoke, the Sackers turned out to be natural-born firemen; they could walk through flames that Kirk couldn't even go near.
Medical
teams arrived, pulling gurneys and applying the Sacker version of first aid. In the midst of all the confusion, a medteam discovered that one of the Sackers in the engine room had been killed. He was a six-foot gray creature who didn't look at all fearsome in death. Kirk stood over him, sick to his stomach. He was just a kid, this dead Sacker, and Kirk's plan had killed him, "I'm sorry," the captain whispered, and moved aside to let one of the medteams load the body on a gurney and take it away. No one has ever seen a dead Sacker, the Enterprise's record banks had said. Well, someone had now. Kirk tasted bile in his mouth.
"Captain Kirk!" one of the bucket brigade cried out. "Look!"
The fire had spread out into the corridor and was climbing the bulkheads to the deck above. "Scotty!" Kirk yelled.
"Any minute now," the engineer answered.
Kirk took part of his bucket brigade out into the corridor, but he could see their efforts would be futile. The fire had spread too far; the bulkheads were already starting to melt as the flames licked away at them. Just then the sprayers went on in the engine room. The Sackers still inside gave a brief cry of relief and made their way into the corridor to help fight that fire.
"Scotty!" Kirk called out. "The sprayers aren't working out here either! Where are you?"
Scotty ran through the smoke toward him. "Captain, did ye happen to see Mr. Green?"
Kirk thought back. "I didn't see any green Sackers." Without a word Scotty headed back toward the smoke. "Wait!" Kirk called. "Where are you going?"
Scotty turned his head to look back. "I've got to find him, Jim," he said simply, and waited.
Kirk swore. "Be quick about it, then." Kirk joined the bucket brigade and did his best to help keep the fire at bay until his chief engineer got back.
Scotty made his way through the smoke, calling Mr. Green's name. The fire in the reactor room was out, and the intermix chamber was safe. He finally found his Sacker, slumped on the deck near the intermix monitoring console, his back against the bulkhead. Mr. Green was holding both hands against his side.
"Mr. Green!" Scotty stared in horror as his protégé's sac liquid leaked out to form a viscous puddle on the deck.
