She shrugged just a bit. “Last I checked, Captain.”
Anders frowned. Why would she not check before bringing them? So few bits of equipment still worked, the ones that did were cherished to the point that people were afraid to use them when they were needed. They had one hand scanner, three computer terminals, and two medical scanners—one portable, one stationary. In the sack were the hand scanner, the smaller medical scanner, and a bag of curatives that once held traditional medicines but now had “local” remedies and bits and bobs they’d managed to synthesize from base chemicals.
“I don’t want us to go in blind,” Anders told those around him. “Who doesn’t know how to use the scanner yet?”
Michael was the only one who’d really used it before, though a few others had seen its operation. Those that never had, gathered closest.
“We’re going to scan for radiation first, to see if it’s safe for us to approach. Then we’re going to scan for life-signs.” Captain Anders pulled in a deep breath and already smelled the acrid sting of the ship’s plume. “And let’s pray to God there are some.”
“Sulu?” Kirk stifled a cough and pulled on the stunned helmsman’s arm, straightening him in the copilot seat. “Steady?”
Nodding that he was, but also choking on the smoke, Sulu held a fist over his mouth and kept his eyes tightly shut.
Kirk didn’t hear the automatic venting fans that were supposed to have come on, and only emergency lights and the sparks from exposed circuits were flashing into the acrid smoke. With power out, he wasn’t going to waste time seeing if the backup battery would open the doors. Half through sight, half by memory, Kirk’s hand found the protected plunger that blew a hatch in the bulkhead. Half the cabin’s soot-caked air was blown out with the hatchway, and a shaft of light now sliced in to reveal Kerby down under the conn. “Sulu, help him,” Kirk ordered as he moved toward McCoy.
Hacking harshly as Kirk pulled him out into the fresh air, McCoy clutched at his medkit, grasping for a hypospray. He was fumbling with one of the medicinal cartridges as Kirk turned away to help Sulu drag Kerby from the shuttle and over toward where Kirk had brought McCoy.
Hypospray ready, McCoy awkwardly reached for Kirk’s arm. “Triox,” he rasped.
Kirk shook his head and snatched the hypo away. “You first.” He kneeled down, held the hypo against McCoy’s shoulder, and pressed, probably harder than a nurse would have. It hissed softly, and Kirk twisted around, repeating the treatment on Kerby, then Sulu—who immediately sounded better and looked more relaxed. Finally, Kirk hypoed himself.
Though Kirk’s throat still felt rough and razor scraped, the nagging need to cough was gone and the cool air felt good in his lungs. He heaved large gulps as he shifted his knees from underneath himself and sat tiredly on the dry grass.
“Earth…normal…atmos—” McCoy was still gasping a bit. He’d taken in a lot of smoke.
“Close enough to it,” Kirk said, nodding tiredly, and noticed that McCoy had a medical scanner in his palm and was already inching toward Kerby. Not giving himself a moment to recuperate, McCoy had done the triage through eyes squinted closed by the bright sun and was moving to treat the injured, himself excluded. “Bones—”
The doctor was familiar with Kirk’s admonishing tone but, as usual, was going to ignore it. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” And with every passing moment he was sounding better. Kirk let it go. He did want to know how Kerby was. Sulu was close to the ensign, propping up his head. The young man’s breathing sounded shallow, his chest not moving quickly as were Kirk’s own and those of the others.
After McCoy had been kneeling by him a moment, Kirk asked how Kerby was doing.
“Carbonatious sputum, which is expected. But his O2 levels are rising.” McCoy turned the scanner on himself a moment, then on Sulu. “Better than ours, actually. He banged his head on the console. Slight concussion put him out and metered his breathing so he actually has less”—McCoy had to huff in a breath and as he did he choked on it—“lung damage.” He looked at Sulu. “Feel up to getting the larger medkit?”
Sulu nodded and rose slowly, steadying himself a moment before heading for the shuttle. When Kirk pushed himself up, he understood why Sulu hesitated—a wave of light-headedness crashed down on him and he had to grope for balance as if on a tightrope.
Kirk too headed for the shuttle. He wanted the three remaining phasers aboard, and assuming the vessel was a total loss—it seemed likely since black smoke was still gushing from the impulse drive—he’d help Sulu pull out any supplies as well.
And he also wanted another look at the damage. Several systems had broken down after they were well out of range of the Klingon vessel. Internal sensors were knocked out first, and that was not a system open to failure before several others. There was sabotage at work here, and when the immediate crisis was over, and the whys figured out, the “how” and the “who” could be a much bigger problem for Starfleet.
One question nagged at Kirk the most: Why, if you can sabotage an Enterprise shuttle, do you disable only certain systems and not simply destroy the whole vessel—or use it to damage the Enterprise herself?
Someone wanted them alive. Klingons. They had at least a little time to consider their options: Chances were that their pursuers were going to have to take some time for ship repairs as well.
Tracking the trail of Earthers was little different than tracking wild Qaj. Both were sloppy animals whose idea of stealth was to hide their head behind a large tree in ignorance of whether the body could be seen. For that D’kar was grateful because the sabotage for which he’d so handsomely paid had not been well timed. Kirk’s shuttle was supposed to lose propulsion at the flip of a switch. Instead, the enemy had time to turn his warp engine into a weapon. Had Kirk not shifted course, had he allowed D’kar to follow him to an area not within range of a star system, he could have worn down the Starfleet shuttle’s defenses and demanded the others turn Kirk over. No, it had not gone as planned. Kirk’s ability to force D’kar to change his plans to fit the Earther’s tactics was more than frustrating, and he wished he could simply kill Kirk outright. While that might be easier, it would not satisfy the debt he wished paid.
D’kar rubbed his shoulder and studied circuit schematics. He needed to rewire a ship that was not his own and with which he wasn’t very familiar, all with a shoulder dislocated when he was tossed into the bulkhead by the shockwave from Kirk’s warp core. He cursed Kirk and he cursed his tools and for good measure he cursed scanners and deck plating and the blood that spilled from the finger he had accidentally sliced open two minutes ago.
Kirk’s attack had done serious damage, but he could repair it, and he would. And he would find Kirk, and he would find him alive, or he would not go home again.
“yIntaH qIrq ‘e’ vIneH,” D’kar whispered to himself. “DaSwIj bIngDaq latlhpu’ vItap.”
A solitary figure appeared in silhouette against the ridge of the hill, shuffling down through the tall grasses toward them. Kirk instinctively tensed, and his right hand dropped toward his sidearm. “Sulu.” The captain motioned his head in the direction he was looking. “Tricorder,” he whispered.
Leaving McCoy to tend to Kerby, Sulu came up along Kirk’s side, his tricorder open.
“I see one,” Kirk said.
Sulu looked up to the ridge. “Our Klingon friend? Impossible.”
“I didn’t see another ship come in.”
“We didn’t make the most discreet of landings,” Sulu said, fussing with the dials on his tricorder. “No energy weapons. Readings are…” He paused, and Kirk glanced down at the tricorder as Sulu ran the scan again. “Human. More than one.”
When Kirk looked back up the hill, there were now seven forms heading toward them, six distinctly behind the first, who now waved on the others.
“Humans!” called the first man, who suddenly ran toward Kirk and Sulu. “From Earth?”
Kirk was now holding his phaser, but pointing it down. The lead m
an stopped four meters in front of them, somewhat out of breath. “Does anyone need care?” He looked around hastily, touching his gaze on each face. “We have some medicines—”
“Shipwreck?” Sulu murmured, probably noticing the homemade textiles, as Kirk had. The captain nodded slightly, taking note of each person, then focusing on the apparent leader. He was in his sixties or more, or perhaps just life-weathered. There was a certain dignity about him, despite his obvious glee at having met other people. He held his hand out to Kirk.
Taking it, Kirk placed his phaser back against his hip and crooked a thumb over his shoulder. “We have a doctor,” Kirk said. “Who—”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me,” the older man said. “I am in shock at seeing you all. I am Captain Anders, and these are—we are—the survivors of a vessel that crashed here, much as yours. Is anyone injured?”
Kirk smiled and let out a soft chuckle. Captain Anders wasn’t really listening; he was more gawking than anything else. His exuberance was contagious.
“Not anymore,” McCoy said as he rose, pulling Kerby slowly to his feet as well. “Just a concussion.”
“How’re you feeling, Kerby?” Kirk asked.
“Fine now, sir.” The young man rubbed his forehead and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of the way of his eyes. “Slight headache, though.”
Anders moved to Kerby and shook his hand, then Sulu’s and McCoy’s. The other six, two women and four men, followed suit.
“Do you have food?” Anders asked. “I mean, do you need food?” He shook his head, seemingly to shake mental cobwebs loose. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to Kirk. “I didn’t even allow you an introduction.”
“Captain James T. Kirk, of the Starship Enterprise.” He nodded a salute. “How long—”
Anders smiled widely as if some witty joke amused him. “Forty-two years, Captain. It has been forty-two years since any of us has seen a face not our own or born to us.” He took Kirk’s hand again and squeezed it tightly. “And now, Captain Kirk, here you are.”
Walking back to Anders’s settlement was an experience—Anders rarely asked a question but answered each of Kirk’s inquiries with a pages-long monologue. In the time it took to trek across the wilderness—if rolling hills of what looked like some native peat could be called such—Anders described the seasons and local geology. Apparently this area had just come out of their mild winter. The nights still got near freezing and the buds had not yet appeared on the sparse lowland trees; they wouldn’t for another few weeks, and for the mountain trees, from which much of their wood came, it would be another two months before life touched them again.
“All this ground is very fertile,” Anders said, “just not for most of the seeds we brought with us.” He stooped down as they walked along the path and picked a stalk of dry, tall grass. “The root of this plant is all over our camp. We cultivate it for its oil, which is usable for both cooking and lighting. Even heating in the coldest months. It has been a godsend.”
As a starship captain Kirk had many skills. One of them was to listen to someone and collect the details of the conversation while also reflecting on other matters. He was calculating the possible damage to the Klingon shuttle and the time it might take to make repairs. He added to it the time needed to make way for this planetoid, and then the time it would take to find them. What bothered Kirk was how long he’d estimated the Enterprise might take in finding them. The Klingons could very well find them first. He had to be ready for that, and he couldn’t endanger these people.
They entered the camp, and immediately people gathered round, pouring out of the rather sturdy-looking structures they’d built from the remains of their ship. There must have been about seventy or so, all smiling, most talking among themselves. Some were old—older than Anders. Many were obviously much younger, and there were some children. One little girl ran to Kirk as he stood next to Anders. Kirk leaned down and said hello. She meekly responded, then ran back to her mother. The crowd laughed and then began asking questions about Earth, about the Federation, about some other planets that others must have come from, old Earth colonies.
“Please, everyone be silent a moment,” Anders begged. “Please. Please, everyone.” Some quieted down, others did not. “Jonathan, please.” Anders leaned toward Kirk. “Jonathan is very talkative.” His voice rose again and he pointed toward the back of the gathering. “Missy, control your children.”
“And my husband,” Missy replied. Everyone laughed again, even Kirk. Like Anders, everyone’s excitement was infectious.
“If Captain Kirk would be good enough,” Anders bellowed to regain attention, “I see you all have questions. But we cannot all mob our guests.”
Questions flooded forth.
“How many people on your ship?”
“Can we see it?”
“Are others coming?”
“Do you have movies?”
Kirk and the others answered as best they could, and after a short time the little girl who’d greeted him and then returned to her mother found her courage and her way into Kirk’s arms. As Sulu, McCoy, and Kerby, each with a group of people around him, continued, Kirk smiled and handed the child back to her mother and pulled Anders aside.
“Let’s talk.”
Anders nodded and motioned toward the back of one of their community buildings. The din of people talking was much softer here, and Kirk looked again at some of the buildings of Anders’s settlement. One couldn’t call them shacks or huts—they looked too strong for that.
“You’ve done a lot in forty-two years,” Kirk said.
“Thank you, Captain.” Anders smiled graciously. There was a charm about him, Kirk thought; a certain charisma made it clear why he led his band of crash survivors. “But I think you flatter us. We’ve had some good years, and some hard years. We had some livestock that survived the crash, and managed to domesticate some native birds, and we hunt some game. Most of the crops we had for the Beta Aurigae colony were for a much drier environment. This place is too humid in the summer months for much of it. We modified a few that had the best chances, and we do have a drier greenhouse. The first winter was most hard, as you can imagine. I think even more so because any radio we had was dead and there was little chance of rescue. The dread was colder than any wind.”
“You were the captain then?” Kirk asked.
“I? No, no.” Anders chuckled, then looked a bit past Kirk, perhaps searching for what seemed distant memories. “My father was captain. Adoptive father, when my own parents passed in the crash. I was sixteen when I lost everything. Captain Mendez took me under his wing. Taught me how he did what he did. And then when he died some years later, I took up his role. His cause—his calling—became mine.”
“Beta Aurigae is quite a distance from this moon. How did…” Kirk shrugged and let his question trail off as Anders took in a breath to answer.
“An engine imbalance created a wormhole. I’m afraid I don’t know the technical details well, but we were unable to pull out from it until we found ourselves in this system. I was told it took selectively dismantling the warp engine while at warp to do it.”
“Your engineer—”
“Brilliant,” Anders said. “Died saving us.”
“How many survived?”
“Most survived the crash itself, but many died from their injuries or radiation burns we could not treat.” The older man shook his head, the lines on his face tracing an expression of deep regret. “I’ve seen a lot of death, Captain.” He seemed to snap himself out of whatever dark thought he’d had. “But I’ve also seen a fair number of births, and for that miracle I am grateful.”
Kirk instantly liked Anders and had some empathy for his difficult life. Which was why he didn’t like the fact that he might be complicating it even more. “I have a problem,” Kirk told him. “And you need to know about it.”
And he told him: about the sabotage to the shuttle, the Klingon pursuers, and the pos
sibility that while his first officer would surely find them soon, the Klingons might find them first.
“I’ve heard of the Klingons, of course,” Anders said soberly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “Rather fierce, if I remember.”
Fierce was an understatement, Kirk thought, remembering the hundreds and eventually thousands that would have died on Organia under Commander Kor’s Klingon occupation…had any humanoids actually been on Organia.
“Are my people in danger, Captain?” Anders asked.
In a tone that Kirk hoped would bolster Anders’s confidence that the situation wasn’t as dire as Kirk had made it sound, he said, “Not if I can help it.”
Anders’s brows knitted with concern. “That’s not a direct answer.”
“They could be in danger,” Kirk admitted. “But it will take the Klingons some time to find us. We’ve shut down all power on the shuttle, and unless they have the scanners of a starship, they won’t be able to find it unless they do low-altitude flyovers.”
Unconvinced, Anders’s demeanor suddenly turned very captainlike. “I won’t pretend to know the technology of your civilization, Captain, but I assume it’s better than I remember that of my youth.”
“Somewhat.”
“Were I looking for someone who landed on a seemingly uninhabited planet, I’d scan for life-form readings,” Anders said pointedly.
Kirk nodded. “So would I.”
A frown deepened the lines on Anders’s face. “And so will your Klingons.”
If Kirk had wanted to build a fort, the settlement he and Sulu had spent an hour surveying wasn’t the place to do it. It was in an open area, near a large freshwater stream, and high ground flanked it on two sides.
“We can’t defend this ground,” Sulu said as he and Kirk approached McCoy, who had been talking with Alexandria, the camp’s doctor.
“But this is where the Klingons will come,” Kirk said. “Whether we’re here or not.” Hand raised, motioning McCoy to them, the captain called for his doctor’s report. “What do you think, Bones?”
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