STAR TREK: TOS - Final Frontier

by Diane Carey

  April shifted uncomfortably. “That’s ... a very interesting offer, Supreme Commander. It seems reasonable. Please give me five minutes to discuss it with my officers.”

  “At your wish, Captain. I shall stand by.”

  Signaling to Sanawey to put the audio on hold, April scanned the faces of his command crew, then turned inevitably to George. “Well?”

  “Well what?” George responded.

  “What do you think?”

  “Do I have to say it?”

  “I’d rather you did.”

  “They’re being too friendly. Even if they do want peace, why would they want it so badly?”

  “It’s a bluff, you think?”

  George shrugged. “Of some kind. But what kind?”

  His face pasty, April flexed his shoulders painfully; the movement brought Sarah down from the upper walkway. She gripped his wrist, partially to take his pulse and partially to get his attention. “I can’t believe you’re actually considering this,” she said. “You’re not that stupid, Robert.”

  He smiled weakly. “Not stupid,” he said. “Just a bit visionary. Sarah, what if they’re in earnest?” April suggested. “This could be a chance to mend the rift between our cultures in the process of saving our necks. It’s much bigger than just me. It makes me expendable.”

  “That’s not true, Captain,” George muttered.

  “Yes, it is,” the captain said. “The engineers need time to repair the drive and the deflectors. I can provide that.”

  “Why does it have to be you?” Sarah demanded.

  [163] “How could I assign this to anyone else?” he asked. “I can’t pass along either the responsibility or the danger. I’m the least valuable person on this ship right now.”

  George squinted at him. “You figure that, do you?”

  “It’s true, George. If they take me, you’ll still be here. And you’re a much better soldier than I am. If they are indeed bluffing, you’re the one who’ll be needed here. These are my ideals, no one else’s. I’ve got to stand behind them.”

  George couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He wondered if he could be so brave over something as nebulous as an ideal.

  Perhaps that was one other thing he had failed to pass along to his sons while he had the chance.

  April took advantage of the silence from his first officer. “And,” he added, “I have an obligation to our hosts out there.”

  “How do you mean, obligation?” Sarah asked.

  “We did invade their space, after all. We’re the apparent threat. It’s my diplomatic obligation to defuse that before it becomes an interstellar incident too big for anyone to handle.”

  “They only want a hostage,” Sarah said, downcast. “Even I can see that.”

  “Now, Sarah, don’t be doing George’s job for him, eh?” A shudder of weakness made him breathless and he gripped the arms of his chair, fighting for control.

  “She’s got a point,” George said. “Why don’t you suggest a meeting on board the empress instead. See how he reacts.”

  April squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, that’s a smart idea.”

  George moved closer to quietly ask, “Are you up to this?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” the captain answered, forcing his spine to straighten no matter how much the effort dizzied him. Realizing how bad it looked for him to appear out of sorts, he nudged Sarah away and forced himself to his feet. “Now listen to me, George,” he said, gripping George’s arm. “If I’m taken hostage, I want you to consider me lost. Do you understand? Under no circumstances attempt a rescue. It’ll just risk more lives. I couldn’t very well go on living anyway, knowing that lives had been lost because I’m taking a foolish chance. Now, promise me. I want your promise.”

  George could disobey an order easily enough. Orders were subject to interpretation. Promises were something else. Especially promises to a man like Robert April, who had just proven beyond a doubt that [164] he fully understood the high danger in this maneuver. April’s idealism might be driving him, but he hadn’t forfeited common sense.

  Churning inside, George managed a short nod.

  Evidently it was enough to satisfy April. The captain patted George’s arm in a reassuring way and glanced back at astrotelemetry. The motion made him wobble, but he forced himself to speak. “Claw, go ahead and patch me back in to our friends out there. We’ll ask George’s question and see if ... if they ... oh God—”

  The color drained from his face and his eyes lost their focus. He brought his hand to his head as the bridge reeled. His knees buckled.

  “Robert!” George snatched him in midfall. “Robert, damn—” As the captain slumped against him, George managed to keep an awkward hold on April for the two seconds it took Florida to spin out of his chair and help him. Drake stepped down also, and the three of them lowered the captain to the deck.

  “I knew it,” Sarah said through gritted teeth, and knelt between the men. “I told him ...”

  “He’s hurt bad, isn’t he?” George asked, his heart punished. “He really is.”

  “It’s my problem,” Sarah told him, and not entirely without empathy this time. “You’ve got yours. Somebody help me get him below.”

  George looked around, saw Graff and Saffire standing near the library computer, and decided that for the moment they were the two he needed least. “You and you. Give the doctor a hand. Then come right back.”

  The two men stepped down, neither able to choke out an acknowledgment, and took the captain away from George.

  “Be careful,” George couldn’t help saying. He watched in anguish as Robert was carried from the bridge. Just before the lift closed, Sarah Poole cast him an enigmatic look.

  He found himself staring at the closed lift door.

  “Six minutes, Mr. Kirk,” Sanawey reminded quietly. “They’re waiting.”

  George continued to stare at the turbo-lift.

  The bridge crew watched him, uneasy.

  Without moving, George whispered, “My God, Drake. How am I going to get us out of this?”

  Just as quietly, Drake offered, “You have to be the captain now, Geordie.”

  [165] “I can’t take his place. I’m a ham-handed diplomat at best. If there’s going to be a war, you can bet I’ll stumble us into it.”

  Drake shrugged one shoulder and actually nodded, even though it wasn’t a very complimentary kind of nod. “Time to grow up, Peter Pan. You have to be part Geordie Kirk and part Robbie April. Go ahead, fellow. Make the captain proud of you, eh?”

  George felt the fear around him, fear from the others on the bridge. These were engineers and scientists, not soldiers. They never thought they’d be in a situation like this. They built ships. They didn’t go out and face the enemy.

  So he was alone. Lost without a map, without stars.

  He gripped the back of the command chair and gathered his wits, trying to remember everything that had been said and decided before April collapsed. He hadn’t thought he’d have to remember it all ...

  “Mr. Kirk?” Sanawey prodded.

  George looked up, almost as though he didn’t understand.

  Sanawey didn’t say what everyone expected, but instead reported, “Sir, I’ve got full short-range sensors back on line if you need them.”

  George swallowed hard and turned to face the viewscreen again. “At least something’s working,” he murmured. “Scan that ship, Mr. Florida.”

  Florida hesitated. “But Captain April’s orders ...”

  “I know. I’ll handle it. Go ahead.”

  Florida slid into his seat, accepting the inevitable. He played with the instruments, watched the readout screen on his console, then raised his brows. “You were right, Mr. Kirk. Their weapons are hot, sir.” He seemed a little surprised, but only a little. He turned to George. “If our lasers had gone down, they might’ve cut us to pieces.”

  George couldn’t quite muster a pat on the back for himself. He sta
bbed the intraship com with his forefinger. “Engineering, this is Kirk. What’s the status down there?”

  “Brownell here.”

  An unexpected rush of relief came with hearing the surly voice. George leaned over the com unit. “Glad to hear you’re back on duty, doctor. How long before we get full shields?”

  “Won’t be any minute, if that’s what you want. We’re still a half hour off having twenty-five percent shields.”

  “What about particle cannons?”

  “Lasers aren’t good enough for you?”

  [166] “I may need something more powerful before this is over.”

  “Something slipped your mind there, Kirk?”

  George paused. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t asked about the warp drive.”

  “I need weapons.”

  Brownell’s voice changed slightly, as though he had moved closer to the intercom. “We’re not out here to win a war, Kirk. We came out to rescue the families. How ’bout we get the hell out of here and do what we started out to do? You can take out your frustrations with a stiff game of tennis or something—later.”

  George realized he’d completely forgotten the one thing he should never have forgotten. Rosenberg. Families. Survival, and what hinged upon it.

  “Do you have any ideas yet about what caused all this?” he asked.

  “If we knew what caused it, I could retire.”

  “You’ve got to find out. We’ve got to be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Hell, it shouldn’t have happened the first time. We’re just concentrating on fixing it, is all.”

  “It’s not enough, Dr. Brownell,” George insisted. “I want to know the cause.”

  “Come on over. We’d be glad to see you track it down.”

  Frustration pinched at George. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “All right. Keep me posted.” Feeling inadequate, he took a moment to hate himself before straightening up. “We’re in trouble.” He sighed.

  “Pardon?” Drake said.

  “He didn’t insult me once.”

  Drake pursed his lips and offered, “I could insult you, ’f you like.”

  George shook himself out of his torpor, and even managed a grin. “Thanks,” he said drably. He inhaled deeply and stared out at the birdship a few kilometers off their bow. “I’ve got to buy repair time for us. I’ll have to offer to meet with them. Sanawey ...”

  “Sir?”

  “Go ahead and ... patch me through.”

  “Tied in. All yours, sir.”

  “This is ... this is the first officer. Are you still there?”

  “I am here,” the Romulan leader said. “I was speaking with your captain.”

  “I know,” George responded. “The captain was injured during our [167] navigational accident and he’s not able to meet with you. He’s asked me to represent him and the Federation, if that’s satisfactory to you.”

  There was a disturbing pause from the Romulan ship, during which Drake and George nervously shared a glance. It didn’t augur well from a tactical point of view. After several sweaty moments, the Romulan spoke again.

  “I accept your proxy, First Officer. Are you willing to accept the risk of coming aboard our ship?”

  Strange. George furrowed his brow at the wording. Accept the risk? It was almost as though the Romulan was deliberately discouraging him. He tapped his knuckles against his mouth, thinking, then he decided to try a new tack.

  “You understand the problem we have,” he said openly. “A surprise attack by your people on ours many years ago makes trusting each other difficult. What assurance do we have that your intentions have changed since the last encounter between our races?”

  “I understand your reluctance. Our intentions should be obvious by the fact that we have stayed in our own space all these years.”

  George nodded, then realized how silly it was, since the Romulan couldn’t see him. “Neutral ground would make more sense for both of us.”

  Another pause. Then—

  “Agreed.”

  More than a little surprised, George now had no idea what kind of neutral ground could be arranged out here in the middle of nothing. He pressed his lips tight to keep from stammering while he thought about how to phrase the next question.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “There are two planetoids nearby, one of which is habitable for both of us. We will both have air to breathe, and we will be under each other’s guns. You understand my reference.”

  “I understand. How do you want to do this?”

  “I’ll take an atmospheric craft and go to the planetoid. You will follow me in a similar craft. I assume you lodge such vehicles.”

  “We have them. How do I know you won’t be leading me into a trap?”

  “You may lead the way if you wish. Or I shall land first, and you can scan the area before you land. Any arrangement is negotiable.”

  George went over it in his mind, then glanced around the bridge to see if he noticed doubt on anyone’s face, but his first assessment of his [168] crew had been accurate—scientists, not tacticians. They didn’t have the slightest idea how to read the Romulan’s offer. He was still on his own.

  Partly. He grasped Drake’s arm and pulled him over. “What do you think?” he whispered.

  “I think I should stick my head in sawdust and wait till it’s over,” Drake whispered back. “Guesswork, George. Instinct. And there’s a lot of stink here to be had. Go in the direction of the best smell.”

  George straightened again and spoke aloud. “All right, I’ll follow you to the planetoid. You land first. If I don’t like what I find, the deal’s off.”

  “I shall be waiting.”

  George turned to Sanawey and gave him a signal to cut off.

  “Terminated,” Sanawey confirmed.

  George snatched Drake by the arm again. “I’m going. While I’m gone, you’re going to have to be in charge.”

  “What, me?”

  “Yes, you. You’re the only other person on board with any real military training. Besides, you can do it. Look at me—remember what Robert said. The same goes for me. I’m completely expendable, understand?” He fixed Drake with a glare. “The minute I leave the ship, you forget about getting me back. Just be sure to wait until they make the first move before you cut loose on them. Then do anything you have to do to get the empress out of here.”

  “Why do I have to wait till then?”

  “Because,” George said slowly, “Robert’s right, that’s why. We’re the invaders. We don’t have any business firing the first shot.”

  Drake leaned back and grinned. “Good for you, Geordie.”

  With a final squeeze of Drake’s arm, George said, “And if I don’t come back ... you talk to George Junior and Jimmy for me.”

  Even Drake couldn’t make a joke about that. George broke away and headed for the turbo-lift. At the last minute he spun around and said, “Everybody help Drake. Do whatever it takes to get the ship out of here. I’m going to buy time for you if I can.”

  “Good luck, Mr. Kirk,” Sanawey said from the right.

  From the left, Hart gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re with you, sir.”

  “Thanks,” He got inside the turbo-lift, then abruptly stepped out again. “Anybody know how to get to the hangar bay from here?”

  [169] “You speak their language well,” Idrys said, “from what I’ve heard of it.”

  She had to lengthen her stride, to keep up with t’Cael as he led her and his two bodyguards toward the Nestling bay.

  “An interesting language,” he said. “Years ago, I was a cultural explorer. I transgressed the Neutral Zone on occasion, secretly of course, trying to learn about the Federation. In those days, there was talk of opening relations. The Senate wanted to see if the Federation had turned hostile and might pounce on us at first sight, or if there might be a chance for relations. I was one of those assigned to learn what could be learned about them.
I learned English by monitoring and analyzing Federation communications through deep space. Frequency spying, we called it.”

  “Such communications weren’t guarded?” she asked.

  “Part of their trusting nature,” t’Cael responded. “Knowledge is open to all. Our spies have had little trouble gaining a command of English. In general, humans like to share information and take the consequences as they come.”

  “Foolish,” she commented.

  He glanced at her. “On the contrary, I respect them for it. Better to share knowledge than to fear each other’s insights. How else could they have built such a ship as that, if there was no free flow of information?”

  She nodded a reluctant agreement and forced her bad leg to limp a little faster, only to find herself drawn up short when the Nestling bay door appeared. She hadn’t even been paying attention.

  The four of them stepped inside after the closest subcenturion freed the locking control for the bay entrance, and they were in a small vestibule between the corridor and the bay itself. T’Cael turned to the two guards and said, “Prepare the Nestling for launch.”

  They saluted and hurried across the flat little bay.

  Instantly t’Cael turned to Idrys and lowered his voice. “The next hours will tell everything. It’s imperative that you keep a stern hand upon the crew. Don’t forget that your orders are to be followed without question. This is the most dangerous and most perfect time. If the crew mutinies while I am negotiating, you and I will look like traitors and Ry’iak will look like a hero.”

  She clung to his striking black gaze. “At the first utterance from Ry’iak’s mouth, I shall have him confined.”

  “Have him killed,” t’Cael suggested. “It’s more impressive.”

  [170] She nodded. “You don’t believe the humans are bluffing, do you?”

  “They’re not bluffing,” he said with confidence. “They’re not as gentle a people as we might think, even in comparison to ourselves. They know perfectly well how to launch an invasion, and this is not the way.”

  “What is your plan, Primus?” she asked, following him as he looked thoughtfully toward the small open deck where the graceful little Nestling conveyorcraft was being rolled out of its slot. It was a tight area, for the Raze itself was a smallish ship, and the Nestling much smaller.