by Diane Carey
McCoy stood unmoving, absorbing what the Vulcan had said, the elusive truth of what Starfleet, the ship, the captain meant to Spock. More than a career, more than a refuge, and certainly more than McCoy had ever guessed.
“Spock ... I never knew.”
“Doctor,” Spock said, “you never asked.”
Chapter Nineteen
“CAPTAIN, LONG-RANGE SENSORS have been restored.”
April took Florida’s news solemnly as he led the way from the turbo-lift back onto the bridge. Red-alert lights flashed in silent warning now that the klaxons had been turned off, giving the bridge an aura of danger, even of mystery. “Marvelous. Begin tracking our home stars and set a course out of these people’s space.”
“Plotting, sir,” Florida answered. “But if we don’t have warp drive—”
“It’s coming,” April told him. On the viewscreen, he studied the distant but clear image of five ships identical to the one that had been attacking them. “Where are they? How far away?”
“On long-range, still one-point-six AUs away.”
“Does that do anything for us?” George asked from the upper walkway, where t’Cael and Drake bracketed him on either side, both remaining suspiciously quiet.
Florida twisted around briefly. “Yes, sir, it buys us time. If all we had was short-range sensors like before, we’d probably be dead before we really had a chance to see them. Traveling at their present rate of sublight, they’re still”—he paused to check his readout—“seventeen minutes away.”
“That’s not much,” George said.
[245] April moved to the center of the command deck. “It’s something we didn’t have a minute ago. Mrs. Hart, how are the shields coming?”
The woman at the engineering console reported, “We’ve got all the shield power we can draw from the impulse engines. If we get warp power back, we’ll get another thirty percent.”
“Can you concentrate the deflector power that we do have?”
“If I have a few seconds’ warning.”
“I’ll try to provide it,” April said. He grasped at his command chair as though drawing strength from the nearness of a friend. His features hardened, and he forced himself to say, “Bring all weapons capabilities to bear. Come to battle-ready sequence on all systems.” He punched the intercom on the command chair’s arm and said, “Dr. Brownell, how’s that reprogramming coming?”
“You just left, you know.”
“I know, but you need to tell me a projected repair time.”
“When we’re done, that’s your projected time. I’ve got Saffire working on it. Woody’s on his way to help him. None of these other mallet heads can do it, and I’d like to get moving too, you know.”
“Yes, all right, but I need to have some estimate.”
“Forty minutes. Minimum.”
“Thank you, doctor. April out. Mr. Florida, get us out of here, best speed.”
The words were disturbing simply because everyone knew perfectly well that a ship this size on impulse power was like a whale in a pond. It couldn’t possibly outrun small ships whose main systems were all geared to quick maneuvers and optimum usage of impulse energy.
Carlos Florida set his jaw and touched his navigational dial.
Then a voice from the upper deck, ominous and confident with knowledge, cut across the bridge. It was a sound of firm command, far different from the soft English warble of Robert April.
“Captain ... you must not run.”
April turned, and met t’Cael as the Romulan stepped down to the lower deck.
T’Cael seemed hesitant, as though he couldn’t decide whether or not to finish what he’d started to say.
April faced him squarely, still leaning on his command chair. “Is there another course?”
“You must meet them in battle. You must aggress.”
“I’d like to limit the fighting if I can,” April told him. “If we can buy time somehow until the warp drive is mended—”
[246] T’Cael’s eyes widened, and he raised his hands for emphasis. “Captain, I swear to you on my honor that I see only three possibilities now. Either the Swarm captures you, the Swarm destroys you, or you destroy the Swarm. This is not the time for gentility.”
The exchange amazed everyone who heard it. If the other members of the bridge crew hadn’t figured out already that this was no Vulcan, they knew it now. Florida, Sanawey, Hart, Graff—they kept their mouths shut and controlled their glances. George was proud to claim them as his colleagues. “You must act now,” t’Cael said.
April prodded, “Before what?”
T’Cael paused, realizing the depth of intuition in the man before him. He wavered, about to speak, yet unable to.
“Before what?” April asked again, more softly.
After a long moment of soul-searching, t’Cael spoke. “Before the mothership arrives.”
On the upper deck, George groaned. “Mothership ...”
T’Cael glanced up at him with those large flashing eyes. “The mothership is made up of several Swarms. You will be radically outnumbered and outpowered.” He looked at April again and stepped even closer. “It is to the advantage of the Swarm commanders to deal with you before then. They won’t want to share the glory. Their goal is to capture this vessel, not destroy it. If possible, they’ll avoid heavily damaging the ship.”
“That gives us an advantage,” April surmised.
He started to turn away, but T’Cael grasped his arm and drew him back around.
“Captain April, I would not mislead you. The Swarm commanders prefer to capture this ship, but if deprived they will blow it from the skies.”
Without changing expression, April accepted t’Cael’s words as truth. He was beginning to accept the ruthlessness of the enemies he faced.
“All right ... what do you recommend?”
“They’ll try to identify your propulsion units and disable them. They may try to destroy the bridge if they can identify its location. You must remember how a pack fights. Their strength is in a coordinated attack. If you try to outrun them and fail, you’ll have no chance against their organized efforts. You must keep the pack disoriented. Prevent them from organizing. The only way is to attack and move, attack and move, again and again. You must not run.”
[247] April nodded. “Yes, I know what you’re saying. I once saw a stag hold off a wolf pack by simply refusing to run. It stomped its hoof at them and stared them down, and they didn’t know what to do because they instinctively attack on the run. They didn’t know how to bring down standing prey.”
T’Cael’s shoulders relaxed beneath his bright blue jacket as he saw that the captain did indeed comprehend the brutality of the situation.
With both hands gripping the command chair, April pursed his lips, contemplated the deck for a moment, then raised his eyes. “I’d like to take your advice,” he said, “but first there’s something I have to ask you.”
Anticipating what was coming, t’Cael softly agreed.
“You don’t seem to be the kind to be motivated by revenge,” April began. “Why are you so willing to help us?”
George moved forward until the walkway rail pressed against his legs, and he clenched his fists and his jaw at the same moment, forcing himself not to interfere. Convince him. We only have a few minutes. Make him believe you.
T’Cael watched the Swarm ships, tiny wedges on the viewscreen, grow a little larger. Better than anyone, he knew their determination and the savage accuracy with which they would lay siege to these people and this prize. He steadied himself with a deep breath.
“After the Federation Wars,” he began, “our leadership, the Praetorial system, was rearranged. The populations of our planets realized our loss—resources, personnel, time—but more than anything, we realized the danger of power too centralized. When one small group makes judgments for all, errors are magnified. All must pay. When the wars ended, our tribes elected to establish a council of representatives. The council ruled
for what would be nearly forty of your years. We knew prosperity. In those short years, scientific advancements were unmatched in our history. The standard of living improved. Our many cultures flourished. There was talk of approaching the Federation, to open relations with you. Yet,” he continued with a sigh, “time gave cause to forget.”
“Time?” April interrupted. “Only forty years?”
“There was more,” t’Cael said. “We were attacked by the civilization on the opposite side of us from Federation space. We suffered sudden, heavy losses. Blame was thrust upon the council. Too much peace, they cried, not enough preparedness. The council system was [248] dissolved. The Praetorship rose again, and one individual rose to maneuver it.”
“You had no constitution,” April concluded.
T’Cael paused. “I beg your pardon?”
“No constitution,” April said. “Like our Articles of Federation. They’re modeled after the Constitution of the United States. They prevent any sudden twists in the system. Things take time to resolve. Nothing can be changed on an emotional basis.”
“Wise,” t’Cael said simply. Then he clasped his hands and frowned at himself. “Forgive me. I don’t usually ramble.”
“It’s all right,” April soothed. “I take it you don’t care for the way your system came out of the trouble.”
Hesitant to agree with so blunt a statement, t’Cael tipped his head and slowly explained. “For the sake of military progress and a few men’s ambition, we have lost our values. Now my people speak of taking from others, and to that we attach our glory.”
George gritted his teeth and spoke up. “Military strength is necessary in this galaxy, whether we like it or not. Where would we be if we didn’t have the power to fight your Swarm?”
A cloaked harshness came over the Romulan’s black eyes as they struck George. “Because of your kind,” he said, his voice raised in anger, “both in your culture and in mine, all that we could do together is lost.”
George leaned down and grasped the rail, meeting t’Cael’s unsettling glare with the same level of ire. “You just said your people have become obsessed with plundering others. If they weren’t afraid of Federation military strength, what would they have done to us long before now?” He straightened up. “You damned well know.”
Without waiting for a response, he stalked away toward the communications station, shouldered Sanawey out of the way, and started poking switches.
April and t’Cael watched him go. After a moment of discomfort, they faced each other again, and April attempted to ease the tension. “Disturbing isn’t he?”
T’Cael’s brows rose in sadness. “He doesn’t seem to understand.”
“Oh, I think he does,” April said quietly. “Do many Romulans think like you?”
“No,” t’Cael replied. “Captain, whether I live or die is no longer important to me. Whether or not this ship escapes capture ... that is the factor which will dictate peace or plunder for your culture. I don’t [249] wish to see my civilization become a band of pirates, Captain. Better they lose a skirmish and let a prize slip away, than fall into a mire of their own making that will suck them down until there’s no crawling out.”
April offered a supple nod, a finger pressed against his lip in a self-silencing manner. A moment passed during which he searched the alien commander’s elegant face for signals of deception, but he didn’t really expect to find any. He nodded, and the finger fell away. “I understand your motives,” he said, “but I think there’s something you’re not telling us.”
T’Cael felt suddenly self-conscious. If the subtle glances from the curious bridge crew hadn’t been enough to make him aware of himself, the depth of Captain April’s intuition certainly did.
On the upper deck, trying not to hear what was happening in the command arena, George was hitting all the wrong buttons.
“What’s the matter with this thing?”
“You’re hitting the subspace network transducer and the decoders,” Sanawey told him patiently. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want to do?”
“I want to talk to the search party.”
“Okay, for that you need this one ... and these.” The big man’s fingers played over the board. Almost immediately there was a bleep, and the intercom spoke up.
“Chang here.”
“Got that beast plugged up yet?”
“We’re narrowing in on it, Mr. Kirk. It’s down on J-deck now, and the automatic door panels on decks H through K aren’t tied in to the master control yet, so the thing can just run through. We’re trying to cut it off with relays, but not everything is patched in yet. There’s only so far it can go laterally.”
“Then how did it get down to J-deck?”
“It ran into a turbo-lift and must have hit the control grid. I doubt that’ll happen again. At least you don’t have to worry about having it run onto the bridge at an inopportune moment.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” George said, and couldn’t help the twinge of sympathy that returned as he thought of the animal scratching its way across the deck in a wide-eyed panic. “Make it quick.”
“Will do, sir—sir, I think ... I’m coming! Sir, we’ve got it cornered in the hydrology lab area. I’ll let you know—Chang out!”
Put on hold again. George straightened and sighed. He turned stiffly, and using his prerogative as first officer, he stepped back down [250] to the command deck and invited himself into the company of captains.
“I’ll admit this to you,” April was saying to t’Cael. “We never anticipated this. We’re not battle-ready. The ship is short on ordnance, and where we’re supposed to crew a couple of hundred we’ve only got about fifty on board. The only military men here are George and apprentice George over there.” He nodded at Drake on the upper deck. “You can see why I don’t want to fight.”
“If I interpret you correctly, Captain,” t’Cael responded, “not wanting to fight has little to do with the number of crew on board your ship. You are personally disinclined to fight.”
April grinned modestly. “Don’t hide it well, do I? We truly are on a rescue mission. That is my priority. There are other lives at stake than our own, Mr. Cael. I mean to save those lives.”
“I mean to help you.” T’Cael deliberately looked at George to seal his commitment to both men. Then he turned squarely back to the captain. “We have a weapon you won’t enjoy.”
April leaned forward slightly. “Which is?”
“A new development. The beginning of a new science. Even as we meet here, our scientists are continuing to refine it. In a few years I’m sure they’ll perfect it, but even for now the weapon is formidable at close range. We call it a plasma mortar.” He paused, not as much for dramatics as to see if he had pronounced the translation correctly. From the look on George’s face, he assumed he had indeed. “When it strikes your shields, it envelopes the ship and releases its energy all at once. It must be fired at proximity range, which you can evade if you maneuver quickly enough. You must keep the ship moving, keep them from calibrating and aiming the mortars.”
“We won’t be able to arbitrarily wobble about with six fighters nipping at us,” April pointed out. “This ship is simply too large for that.”
Showing a twinge of impatience, t’Cael hurried his response. “I know. Therefore I suggest you direct your aggression toward Raze—my flagship. The entire Swarm will be distracted if you keep Raze under siege.”
“Why do you say that?”
T’Cael hesitated, momentarily flogged with memories of a certain smug face. Though cunning and capable of killing, Ry’iak wasn’t ready to die. As a soldier, t’Cael knew death almost as a companion. [251] Ry’iak knew only greed. He would make sure that if anyone survived, he would be that one.
Swallowing a lump of rage, t’Cael went on. “I know who is in command. He will make sure the other ships protect him.”
April folded his arms and tried to imagine someone who would behave that way. �
�I see ... thank you for that. I’ll try not to waste the advice. Carlos, the ships?”
Florida checked his readouts. “Sir, they’re closing steadily. I’d give them another nine minutes to proximity range.” He turned to look at April. “Retreat?”
The bridge tensed. No one had missed the conversation at the center, nor had anyone underestimated its importance. Florida wanted to know if he should carry out the last order he was given before the questions arose. He watched the captain, and waited.
In space before them, five computer-enhanced slits grew larger, and at bridge central Captain April communed with the viewscreen.
George watched him. T’Cael watched him.
“No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Plot a course toward the enemy flagship. Prepare for combat engagement.”
George reached over the command chair and grasped the captain’s elbow in mute approval. April looked at him, his features hardened with the agony of his decision, and nodded his appreciation of the gesture. George tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing could make a man like Robert April be glad he was about to take lives.
Sanawey suddenly gasped.
The captain turned. “What is it, Claw?”
The Indian shook his head in disbelief as he stared into his readout screen. “Sir ... I’ve just pinpointed our location.”
“Yes?”
“We’re ... Christ.”
April turned to look. “Say it.”
The big man straightened. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could bring himself to say it.
“We’re practically on top of the Romulan Homeworlds!”
Inside enemy territory, yes ... but so far in? That far inside?
Staggered, everyone stared at Sanawey. Then April turned to t’Cael, and all eyes followed his.
The Romulan commander didn’t seem affected. If he was surprised [252] at all, it was surprise that these people hadn’t fully understood the import of their presence here, or the grave menace they represented. He scanned their dazed faces. Finally he widened his eyes at them and shrugged. “That’s why we were upset.”
