“Admiral,” Chekov said, “we’re losing precious time.”
“What course, please, Admiral?” Sulu said, entering a course for the Mutara sector.
Kirk glanced from Chekov, to Sulu, to Scott.
“Mister Scott—?”
“I’d be grateful, Admiral, if ye’d give the word.”
Kirk hesitated, then nodded sharply. “My word is given. Gentlemen, may the wind be at our backs. Stations, please!”
Kirk took his own place in the command seat.
“Clear all moorings….”
Sulu centered his attention on the impulse engines. They had not, of course, received the overhaul Scott had wished to give them, and they responded hesitantly, irritably, erratically, just as they had on the way in. The warp drive would be equally rocky.
The ship backed hesitantly from its slip and swung toward the entrance of Spacedock.
“Engage auto systems,” Kirk said. “One quarter impulse power.”
The Enterprise reached the berth in which Excelsior lay. Sulu gave the new ship a single glance and pushed the longing, and the temptation for regret, out of his mind.
Sulu started hearing consternation over the communications channels, as sensors and alarms and Starfleet personnel on late-night watch began to realize what was happening. The Enterprise drifted like a ghost ship past Excelsior, toward the huge closed spacedoors. He heard the beginning of a command to secure them, a command that was abruptly and rudely cut off by a screech of static. A moment later a raucous voice spilled over the channel. Sulu recognized the voice of a popular comedian.
He grinned. Everything Uhura did, she did with flair and humor. Crossing Starfleet channels with those of a system-wide entertainment network might well produce an interesting hybrid.
Quite, as Spock would have said, fascinating.
“One minute to spacedoors,” Sulu said.
McCoy fidgeted on the upper bridge level.
“You just gonna walk through them?”
“Calm yourself, Bones,” Kirk said.
“Sir,” Chekov said, “Starfleet Commander Morrow, on emergency channel. He orders you to surrender vessel.”
“No reply, Mister Chekov. Maintain your course.”
Sulu set the communications monitor to steady scan. At one channel it paused long enough for him to hear, “What the hell do you mean, yellow alert? How can you have a yellow alert in Spacedock?”
The soundtrack of an old movie cut off the reply: “Who are those guys?”
The one thing Uhura could not do was prevent people on Spacedock from seeing what was happening. Everyone at the space station knew the Enterprise was being decommissioned. By now they would have begun to notice something distinctly odd.
“Thirty seconds to spacedoors,” Sulu said.
“Sir, Excelsior is powering up with orders to pursue,” Chekov said.
Sulu switched the viewscreen to an aft scan. They all watched Excelsior come alive, preparing for the chase.
“My gods,” McCoy said. “It’s gaining on us just sitting there.”
Sulu switched back to a forward scan. The spacedoors filled the viewscreen completely.
“Steady, steady,” Kirk said. “All right, Mister Scott?”
“Sir—?” Scott answered distractedly, for his concentration was fixed on smoothing out his infiltration routine.
“The doors, Mister Scott.”
“Aye, sir, workin’ on it.”
Sulu had his hands on the controls to apply full reverse thrust when the doors finally cracked open and revealed the bright blackness of space beyond. The doors slid aside for the bow of the Enterprise. With a hands-breadth to spare, they were free.
“We have cleared spacedoors,” Sulu said.
“Full impulse power!”
Sulu laid it on. The Enterprise shuddered and plunged ahead.
Behind them, Excelsior burst out into space.
Uhura had left the channels clear enough for the Enterprise to know what was going on, but she was also insuring that no ship could be sent after them by radio or subspace communications.
All they had to do was elude Excelsior.
“Excelsior closing to four thousand meters, sir,” Chekov said.
“Mister Scott,” Kirk said, “we need everything you’ve got now.”
“Aye, sir. Warp drive standing by.”
“Kirk!” Captain Styles’ voice burst through the chatter and static. “Kirk, you do this and you’ll never sit in a captain’s chair again!”
Kirk ignored him; Sulu gritted his teeth. In the background of the channel he could hear Excelsior preparing to apply a tractor beam.
“Warp speed, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said.
“Warp speed.”
The ship collected itself and lurched into warp.
Excelsior’s communications switched to subspace.
“No way, Kirk,” Styles said. “We’ll meet you coming back! Prepare for warp speed! Stand by transwarp drive!”
Damned showoff, Sulu thought. Excelsior could catch the Enterprise with warp speed alone; with transwarp it would overshoot its quarry and, indeed, have to come back to meet it.
As the Enterprise struggled toward the Mutara sector, Sulu aimed the visual sensors aft. On the viewscreen, the tiny point of light that was Excelsior shone white behind them. Scott watched with a self-satisfied smirk. Sulu glanced at Scott, and wondered.
Excelsior’s aura blue-shifted as the new ship accelerated toward them.
The blue-shift died, and the ship’s light reddened as the Enterprise accelerated away from it. Sulu’s sensors revealed Excelsior to be intact, but without power. He felt more than a little ambivalent about what was happening.
“Excelsior is adrift in space,” he said.
When Captain Styles’ call for a tow came through from Excelsior, Uhura intercepted and damped it, feeling considerable satisfaction.
Take over Hikaru’s ship, will you? she thought. You can just sit there and stew for a while.
“Commander, let me out of here!”
She ignored Heisenberg’s shouts and his pounding on the door, until she was afraid he was making so much noise that someone else would come along and hear him.
“Heisenberg!” she shouted. “Shut up!”
“Let me out! What the hell is going on?”
“If you don’t be quiet I’ll use this phaser on you!” She continued working. Some of the safeguards had come into play against her. Each new disruption was increasingly difficult to accomplish. Tracers had already been sent out. She had only a few minutes left before she must flee, if she were to complete one final self-appointed task before the authorities caught up with her. She did not doubt that by this time tomorrow she would be in jail.
“Commander,” Heisenberg said, not shouting this time. “What’s going on? Maybe I can help.”
She stopped replying; she had enough already to occupy her attention.
“Commander Uhura, please, if you’d just told me—”
He sounded sincere, but she did not know him well enough to know how good an act he could put on. Besides, she needed no help. If he was looking for excitement, he would surely find it if she let him out of the closet—he would find it for a few minutes, and perhaps spend the rest of his life regretting it, or trying to make up for it. The best thing she could do for him was leave him where he was. That way, it would be clear to Starfleet that he had nothing to do with helping James Kirk steal the Enterprise. Heisenberg might find himself embarrassed to be locked up by an officer whose career was winding down…but it would be less embarrassing than a court-martial.
She had done what she could here. She set the transporter controls on automatic. Starfleet would be able to trace her by the coordinates on the console, but by then she hoped it would not matter.
“Heisenberg!” she said.
“What?” he said irritably.
“Somebody will be along to let you out in a few minutes. I’m sorry I had to lock you up, Lieu
tenant. It was for your own good.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Uhura stepped up on the transporter and dematerialized.
Mister Scott paused behind Sulu, at the helm. On the viewscreen, Excelsior dwindled and vanished behind them.
“I dinna damage thy ship permanently, lad,” Scott said softly.
Sulu glanced up. What to do to Excelsior had been left up to Scott, and it was a relief for Sulu to know the change was temporary. He nodded, grateful for the reassurance.
“Mister Scott,” Kirk said, “you’re as good as your word.”
“Aye, sir. The more they overthink the plumbin’, the easier it is to stop up the drain.”
There are always a few flaws in a new application of technology, Sulu thought.
“Here, Doctor,” Scott said to McCoy. He took his hand out of his pocket and handed McCoy a dull gray wafer. “A souvenir, as one surgeon to another.”
McCoy accepted it. His hand shook slightly. He clearly had no idea what it was.
“I took it out o’Excelsior’s main transwarp computer,” Scott said. “I knew Styles surely wouldna be able to resist trying it out.”
“Nice of you to tell me in advance,” McCoy said.
Kirk hooked his arm over the back of his command chair. “That’s what you get for missing staff meetings, Doctor,” he said. He surveyed the bridge, taking in everyone. “Gentlemen, your work today was outstanding. I intend to recommend you all for promotion.” His voice turned wry as he added, “In whatever fleet we end up serving.”
Sulu caught Chekov’s glance.
“In fleet of ore-carriers of Antares Prison Mine,” Chekov said, only loud enough for Sulu to hear.
Kirk stood and laid his hand on Sulu’s shoulder.
“Best speed to Genesis, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said.
Uhura had never visited the Vulcan embassy. The stately building stood in a genteel neighborhood in the city, on a hilltop overlooking the sea. The ocean was black and silver in the dark; the moon was one night past full. Uhura materialized on the sidewalk in front of the ambassador’s residence, for it was protected against penetration by unauthorized transporter beams. She walked into the pool of light around the gate and pressed the buzzer.
“Yes?” The video screen tucked discreetly into a recess in the stone pillar remained featureless. The tiny camera next to it, pointing directly at her, was surely in use.
“I would like to speak with Ambassador Sarek,” she said.
“The ambassador cannot see visitors this evening. You may make an appointment and return during reception hours.”
“But it’s urgent,” Uhura said.
“What is your request?”
“It’s private,” she said, remembering how reticent Spock had always been about his background and his family.
“Sarek is occupied,” the faceless voice said. “I cannot disturb him unless I know your name and your business.”
“I am Commander Uhura, from the starship Enterprise,” she said. “You may tell Ambassador Sarek that my business…concerns Genesis.”
“Wait,” said the emotionless voice.
She waited.
She could feel the minutes ticking away, minutes during which her trail would be traced. She knew the process well enough to be able to estimate just how quickly the trace could be done, and when that amount of time had passed she began to listen for the shining satin sound of a transporter beam. Fog rolled in from the sea. She shivered.
She touched the signal button again.
“We respectfully request that you wait.” The voice had so little inflection that she wondered if it came from a machine, and a machine poorly programmed for Standard at that.
“I’ll be forced to go, soon,” she said. “If I can’t see Sarek I must leave him a message—but I’d prefer to speak to him in private. It will only take a moment!”
“Please contain your emotions.”
She wanted to kick the gatepost, that was how contained her emotions were. But she knew it would do her no good, and probably break her foot as well.
She heard a transporter beam, very near. She pressed herself against the stone gatepost, trying to conceal herself in the shadows. She could not hide from the materializing security team for long. She had considered transporting to some other location and proceeding here on foot, but they would have deduced where she was heading. They probably would have arrived before she did.
She pressed the call-button again.
“We respectfully request that you wait,” the flat voice said again.
“I’m about to be taken,” she said. “Please tell Sarek—”
The gates swung slowly open. The distance to the residence was about a hundred meters, and the hundred meters was her distance. She plunged inside just as the security team reached her. They chased her across the dark grounds of the Vulcan embassy. She outraced them to the residence, to no avail. The door remained closed. She turned.
One of the security officers strode up the stairs and took her arm.
“Please come with us, Commander. It’ll be a lot easier if you don’t make any fuss.”
“I’ll come with you if you’ll just give me ten minutes to speak with Ambassador Sarek. It’s desperately important!”
The security officer shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s impossible. It’s directly against orders.”
She led Uhura down the stairs and halfway back to the gate.
“Do your orders include invading the sovereign territory of an allied power?”
Sarek had crossed the distance between them and the wide steps of the embassy with such long and silent strides that no one had seen him approach. His commanding presence was accentuated by his long black cape, his drawn, intense features, his dark and deepset eyes. To Uhura he looked as if he had neither eaten nor slept since word of Spock’s death reached him.
The head of the security team blushed scarlet, knowing she had overstepped her authority. She put the best face on it that she could.
“That was not our intention, sir,” she said. “Several people from the last mission of the Enterprise have shown…evidence of severe mental difficulties. We’re trying to get them to treatment. If you’ll give me leave to take Commander Uhura to the hospital—”
“I will do no such thing. Commander Uhura has requested political asylum, and I have granted it. I give you leave to remove yourselves from the embassy grounds.”
The security officer stood her ground and spoke to Uhura. “Commander, is this what you want? It could mean exile. But we might all be able to get out of this pretty clean. If I give you your ten minutes—off the record—will you come with us?”
Uhura considered it, but she had burned too many bridges today.
“No,” she said. “I’m staying here.”
The security commander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Very well.” She turned to Sarek. “My government will contact you immediately with a formal request for extradition.”
“That is up to your government. Good evening.”
The security commander led the team from the grounds of the embassy, and the gate closed behind them.
“Thank you, sir,” Uhura said. She was shivering violently. “I came to tell you—”
“Come inside, Commander,” he said. “There is no need to stand in the cold and the damp…and in public…for our conversation.”
Kruge materialized on the surface of the Genesis world, near enough to the high-order life signs to track them, but far enough away that they would remain ignorant of his arrival, and he could come upon them unawares. At his side, Warrigul appeared, shivering with excitement and whining, but whining almost soundlessly. The beast had been trained to recognize potential combat and to behave in a suitable manner. If Kruge ordered Warrigul to attack, the attack would be silent.
The commander inspected the glade as his sergeant and crew member materialized behind him. The place pleased him, with its dark earth smelling of mould
, the tall-stalked plants that bore drooping, leathery leaves, the heat and actinic brightness of the brilliant new sun.
Kruge pulled out his tricorder and scanned with it. He located the metallic mass around which so much activity had lately centered. It lay deeper in the glade, perhaps fifty paces. Some minor life signs surrounded it, but the signs lacked the high order that would betray the presence of the prisoners he hoped to take. Still, they had been there, so there he would go too, and pick up their trail.
He set off between the gnarled stalks of the leather plants. Warrigul padded along at his side; the sergeant and the crew member brought up the rear.
The ground began to quiver. Kruge stopped. The quake intensified, till the leather plants all swayed and thumped together with a low and hollow sound. A frond broke away from its stalk, making a heavy liquid crunching noise, and the long thick leaf thudded to the ground like some dying thing at the dead-end of its evolution.
As the earthquake reached its peak, Kruge heard a long and high-pitched hissing shriek, like nothing he had ever heard before. He started toward the noise, striding steadily across the rocking surface. He made note, for future use, of the fact that his two subordinates did not follow him till the quake ceased and he was a good twenty paces ahead of them. Only Warrigul stayed with him.
He nearly stumbled over his pet when it stopped short, took a step backward, and growled.
The thick gray-green vegetation thinned slightly, letting a sharp white column of sunlight pierce the canopy to illuminate the Federation torpedo casing that had engendered so much interest.
All around its base, like the monsters in the story of Ngarakkani, a myth of Kruge’s people, writhed a great mass of sleek scaled creatures. The creatures saw him, or smelled him, or felt the vibration of his footsteps, and rose up in a many-headed tangle to hiss and scream.
Kruge heard the sergeant whisper a protective curse. Kruge smiled to himself, gestured to Warrigul to sit and stay, and strode toward the casket. He ignored all but the largest of the creatures, which had squirmed to the top of the torpedo tube and coiled there. It raised its head, weaved toward him and away, hissed, and squealed a challenge. It reached as high as his shoulder.
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