So easily? Spock wondered. Do they not have efficient shielding? And why are they depending on standard-strength weaponry? Why are they not using the powerful weapon that destroyed the colony?
But the Alliance banked sharply away before he could gain any further information. The white Klingon ship, the Dragon’s Wrath, had almost cut too close to them for safety.
The Klingon captains, almost as one, shouted out, “Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam!” It is a good day to die.
They sounded almost gleeful about it, Spock thought.
“Helm! Evasive action!” Saavik ordered. “Weapons armed—but do not fire! Repeat, do not fire!”
Now there was the terrible problem of a direct confrontation of Charvanek and her small Romulan fleet with the larger Watraii fleet. That would be a fatal encounter for the outnumbered Romulans.
Unfortunately, Spock thought with what would have been irony in a human, right now there was nothing he could do about it. He had all he could do to simply stay in his chair, the security strapping helping to keep him there, as Saavik sent her ship on a sharply darting, twisting evasive course that could not have been possible with an earlier design.
“Helm, keep us out of collisions! Weapons, fire only when you must to clear our path. You are not to make any direct attacks on anyone. Repeat: You are not to make any direct attacks!”
Even at that moment, the two Klingon ships got in two direct hits on a Watraii ship, both damaging enough to start a series of explosions that ended with the Watraii ship disappearing into a white-hot cloud. The Klingons let out earsplitting howls of triumph.
That was finally more than Ruanek could endure. All but abandoning every attempt at Vulcan calm, he cried, “How can we bear this dishonor?”
“There is no dishonor,” Spock said.
“The Klingons fight, and we do not!”
“They are Klingons. It is their nature.”
“But that first treacherous attack—”
“We do not know who began it.”
“But we must fight them!”
“No. Think, Ruanek. Be logical.”
“Akkh!” It was a purely Romulan sound of frustration. It was no simpler for Ruanek to be of two worlds than it had been for Spock.
But this is no time for him to revert to his warrior self.
Saavik either didn’t hear the outburst or was simply too busy to pay it any attention. Chekov had his attention glued to the viewscreen, his eyes alive, his whole stance all at once not that of the deskbound admiral, but of the eager ensign of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
Meanwhile, Charvanek, even more furious than Ruanek, shouted out, “The Federation has betrayed us! Divert all power to weapons!”
Charvanek, no, do not do this.
Such an action would leave the Romulan ships with no power for a safe return to the homeworlds. The Romulans meant to take out the Watraii even if it cost them their lives.
It is a gallant if emotional move, the few sacrificing themselves for the many, Spock thought. But there is no guarantee of their success. And suicide is never logical.
But then Spock, ignoring everything but the cold, sharp call of logic, sat bolt upright, studying the viewscreen.
“Hold position.”
Saavik, trusting her husband’s logic, asked him no questions but simply echoed, “Helm! Hold position.” Only then, when they were dead in space, did she ask, “Spock…?”
“I point out that the leaders of both sides, Romulan and Watraii, are within range.”
“So they are!” She shot Spock a quick, grateful glance of understanding, and swiftly ordered, “Fire at both ships—and be sure to just miss!”
Twin blasts shot out into space, cutting so narrowly across the two ships that the Romulan received a line of scorch marks across its bow.
That instantly stopped those two ships dead in space.
It stopped every other ship as well. Every captain instantly realized the danger posed to the two leaders. Every captain instantly ordered his or her ship’s shields up to full power if they hadn’t been at full before, the orders snapping up and down the line. Every ship was fairly quivering with each crew’s frustrated will to fight—but no captain on either side dared to give any other orders. No captain wanted to be the one who had caused the destruction of—depending on which side he or she was on—the Watraii or the Romulan leaders.
Saavik was taking advantage of the moment’s silence to check damage and casualty reports throughout the fleet. A Zedali had taken three direct hits, but their captain proudly declared them to be still battleworthy. One Federation cruiser had lost two crew-men. Then Spock heard, “This is the U.S.S. Verne. We regret to announce that Captain Jack Butterworth is dead. He died at his station, struck by debris.”
Spock heard Saavik draw in her breath ever so softly at that.
“He died with honor,” Ruanek said gently.
Will his grandchildren be comforted with that? Spock wondered.
It was the Romulans—or at least Charvanek—who were the soonest to face up to the uncomfortable facts.
“There might be honor in sacrificing my life for the Empire,” Charvanek said dryly over the still open com, “but if any Watraii survive such a battle, I am better off staying alive to fight them.”
Excellent! Spock thought.
Unfastening his harness and leaving his seat, Spock took over a console, his fingers flying over the keys with practiced skill. Stop, pause, rescan, enlarge image…replay…focus…replay at half speed…
Spock raised an eyebrow. Yes, he had seen that: What had happened hadn’t been a chance strike. The Watraii had, indeed, deliberately blown up their own damaged ship, the one that had lost a nacelle. Even after the fact, he was still able to capture a split-second scan that showed some most intriguing details….
“Fascinating.”
“Spock?” Saavik asked.
“The Watraii apparently have a rather terrifying capacity not just to combine firepower, but to boost it exponentially.”
“But?”
“But there is a weakness: The source of this capacity seems to be located on the lead Watraii ship.”
“Interesting,” Saavik said thoughtfully.
“Here is the schematic.” He called it up onto her screen. “We can pinpoint its exact location.”
“Now, that is a very interesting device, indeed,” Saavik agreed. “It surely can serve no other function, not with life-support nor with standard weaponry.”
“Still,” Spock said, “without sufficient data, I can but theorize.”
“Understood.”
“But what I do theorize is that this device, whatever it may prove to be, serves as a force multiplier. Not only does it strengthen the Watraii ships’ shields, at least in certain configurations, it must also be the means by which the Watraii can concentrate their lethal energy weapon into one massively powerful beam of energy.”
“Wery interesting indeed,” Chekov commented. “Vhatever this amazing device may be, if ve can steal it off the Vatraii ship, the aliens vill be left in a wery sorry position.”
“Indeed they will,” Spock agreed. “They would not be able to combine their firepower or their shields.”
“And that,” Ruanek cut in, “would leave them vulnerable to conventional weaponry.” He managed to give the impression of a fierce Romulan grin without actually grinning. “I like that idea. I like it very much.” He glanced swiftly about the bridge, clearly considering and rejecting candidates. “Spock, my friend, I think this is going to be our job.”
“It does seem logical.”
But then Spock had a flash of memory: his first meeting with Charvanek so long ago, and the theft of a secret Romulan device—and if she was listening in, which she surely was, she would certainly be remembering the incident, too, and probably, being Charvanek, with a great deal of irony.
None of us ever could have postulated what would come from that incident. In a way, it led all the way up to this situation.
<
br /> The past does have its own way of returning, it seems.
Twenty-Five
Memory
The coronet rested on Karatek’s temples, its bloodmetal almost pleasingly warm, the gems that were its storage units glowing. He cleared his throat and spoke softly.
“Personal record, the Fifth of Tasmeen.
“I am Karatek, formerly an engineer in the Vulcan Space Initiative, and now, it seems, one of the leaders of this ship. There is, of course, only one commander whose crew will continue to pilot this ship, one commander who will order the entire fleet. But T’Kehr Torin ordered me to assume leadership here, and Surak commanded me to keep records. I will attempt to perform both duties in a manner these men would have found satisfactory. I am not certain that I will succeed.
“Additional dissension has broken out on board—to be expected with the mixed population that thrust its way into the last shuttles during the attack on ShiKahr. It is logical that they cannot yet agree.
“Some say that it would be better to postpone the journey now that the station has been destroyed. Others say that the journey is the only memorial we can provide. I agree with the latter party. We will leave today. If all goes well, our exile will be permanent, although I hope that, one day, my children’s children’s children may return this record to Mount Seleya as they would my katra, long after events have become history and history the stuff of story.”
Karatek shivered as he ceased recording. Using the coronet felt little different from the trance he entered when he meditated.
“T’Kehr Karatek to the command center!” came over the speakers.
“I come,” he told them, and hastened past the men standing guard. They feared sabotage.
“Sir, a message is coming through from the surface.”
Not the “Mother World.” Not even the name of the planet. Already, the long forgetting that would help them survive Exile and build a new home had begun. Karatek studied the faces of the command crew for signs of anger and found none.
“I will take the call here,” he said.
“Karatek?” He remembered the woman’s voice despite the static that distorted it.
“Lady Mitrani?” Karatek had seen her consort, Torin, fighting at the barricades, offering his life so that others would have a chance to go into Exile. “Where is T’Kehr Torin?”
A long pause told Karatek that Torin’s gift had been accepted.
“I grieve with thee,” he said. Around him, the crew bowed their heads and nodded sympathy.
“I have taken up my husband’s administrative duties,” Mitrani told him. “The High Command has asked me to tell you: The fleet will not be recalled.”
As if they would return!
“But I have a message to give you. Surak is dead.”
Karatek had always heard that the most serious wounds didn’t hurt at first. The pain came later. Now he had proof.
“All the more reason to grieve,” said Karatek. He fought against the heaviness in his side, the ache in his eyes that wanted to turn itself into wasteful tears.
“I would ask…” Mitrani’s voice broke, then steadied.
“…That you who go into the long night of space join with those of us who remain in one act at least: Whatever you remember, whatever you discard or forget, you must keep the Fifth of Tasmeen for reflection and remembrance, as we shall.”
Karatek inclined his head, then realized Mitrani could not see him. “I will do my best,” he said.
“You must do more than your best,” Mitrani’s voice became crisp once again. “You must succeed. You carry the hopes of a world and a people with you.”
“The signal is breaking up, sir,” a woman told Karatek. Her hands danced on her board, but the static increased.
“Mitrani!” he called. “What did you say?”
“Live, Karatek,” Mitrani raised her voice as if shouting would carry her words out into space. “Live long. And prosper.”
Twenty-Six
Now
U.S.S. ALLIANCE
Chekov remained on the Alliance’s bridge with Saavik. Spock and Ruanek, however, hurried to the transporter room, where the transporter technicians stood waiting for them.
“The coordinates should be accurate enough,” Ruanek said as they approached the transporter dais.
“ ’Should’?” Spock retorted. “The coordinates must be accurate.”
“Why, Spock, have you no feel for a good gamble?”
“Ruanek, if that was meant to be humorous, I find it sadly misplaced humor. I, for one, do not wish to materialize within a Watraii bulkhead.”
Ruanek sighed. “Neither do I, I assure you.” He added after a half-second pause, “T’Selis would never forgive me.”
Spock wisely ignored the deliberate illogic in that statement and let the subject drop. Together, he and Ruanek stepped onto the transporter dais.
“Energize,” Spock commanded.
There was the familiar swirling of light, the familiar sensation of utter disassociation that lasted for no time and all time and—
—then there was the sudden equally familiar reality of being suddenly there in tangible reality again, with all senses returned.
Reality in this case was revealed as a narrow, dimly lit ship corridor that smelled faintly of what Spock quickly identified after decades of shipboard experience as a mixture of insulation materials and oil, the scent one found in less elegant vessels. The Watraii apparently wasted no funds on ship décor, or perhaps had no spare funds at all. Spock thoughtfully stored that possible bit of data away for future analysis.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Spock checked the schematics on his tiny padd, orienting himself. He pointed. That was the right way, down the corridor—once they could get past the looming figures of two dark-robed and masked Watraii who were just ahead of them in the corridor.
Ruanek nodded curtly. The years of practicing martial arts clearly had kept his Romulan warrior skills honed. Moving with a professional soldier’s speed, he leaped, bringing down the two Watraii with two blows, swiftly, silently, and efficiently.
A third Watraii, who had been hidden from them by the bulk of the first two, turned sharply to see what had just happened to the others. Spock heard him draw in a breath for a shout. But before the Watraii could sound an alarm, Spock gestured. Ruanek caught the Watraii, pulling him off balance and dragging him helplessly backward. Spock calmly brought the Watraii down with the quick grip that humans had once dubbed “the Vulcan nerve pinch.”
As the Watraii went limp, Ruanek lowered him soundlessly to the floor, then gave Spock an approving nod.
Unfortunately, though, the walls of the corridor were smooth. There were no convenient alcoves or vents, no places in which to hide the three unconscious Watraii. They would just have to lie where they had fallen.
Now we are gambling like Romulans, Spock thought, gambling that we can get the device and be gone before they—and we—are found.
He gestured to Ruanek: onward. Together, they moved forward in utter silence, since the schematics told Spock that the amplification device would be in the antechamber to the main power drive, just ahead.
Spock stopped short. Ah. There were complications.
Of course there would be complications, he told himself sternly. Yes, it was true that the Romulans, back in the time of Kirk’s Enterprise and Spock’s mission of espionage, had been amazingly careless about the way they’d been guarding what was then a top-secret cloaking device (for which laxity, of course, Charvanek had paid dearly). But that didn’t mean that the Watraii would be so…conveniently careless as well.
The amplification device itself seemed to be quite unremarkable, a featureless, rectangular box of some matte black material. Judging from its small size, no larger than that long-ago cloaking device, it looked, fortunately, reasonably portable. And even more fortunately, it clearly wasn’t welded into the rest of the power drive. Spock didn’t doubt that he could detach it from its connecti
ons, hopefully without damaging it or himself in the process, if only he had the time in which to do it.
Unfortunately, though, a double circle of fifteen Watraii surrounded the device.
He gestured to Ruanek: Can you…?
Ruanek gave him a raised eyebrow you must be joking look back.
There is little time for logical conclusions. In brief, all I need to do is get near enough to the device to detach it. But how am I going to…?
Then inspiration struck. Spock backed off from the chamber full of Watraii just enough to let him send a whispered message to Saavik without being overheard. “Ready the transporter-room personnel. Have them beam up and hold in the pattern buffers everyone in this chamber save Ruanek and me. Hold but do not materialize them!”
She must truly have been wondering what her husband could possibly be thinking, but Saavik merely said, “Understood.”
In only a few moments, a shimmering filled the room. In only a few moments more, the Watraii guards were…gone.
Ruanek gave Spock an Earthly thumbs-up gesture of appreciation. Spock nodded gravely and hurried to the amplification device. There was only a finite amount of time before someone came to check on the guards, and another finite amount of time that so many could be held in stasis.
With Ruanek standing watch, Spock studied the housings. No, he definitely could not simply detach them at random. As he’d suspected, a security system had been at work here, too, creating a specific pattern of color and shape that had to be followed as each housing was released. What would happen if the pattern was broken, an explosion, a lethal gas, an equally lethal shock—illogical to consider what might or might not happen, logical to assume that it would be suitably unpleasant.
Closing his mind to the fact that precious seconds were passing, Spock carefully studied the pattern, swiftly analyzing possibilities and mathematical progressions. Then, working with deliberate care, he began to delicately detach the housings…yes, he did have the correct pattern, but he was not sure what even the smallest slip, the slightest stray spark might trigger.
Vulcan's Soul Trilogy Book One Page 22
