The other captain nodded proudly. “The Goeg Domain Starvessel Class III/814. Finest ship in the fleet.”
Kirk grinned. “That’s a coincidence. My ship is the finest ship in our fleet as well.”
“Well,” Laspas said, giving Kirk a simpatico smile in return. “Imagine that.”
* * *
Even without the flood of reports being routed to the bridge, Sulu knew the Enterprise was damaged, and badly. He could sense the way the impulse engines were struggling to push them away from danger, sending unattuned vibrations up along the deck plates, through the seat of the command chair, and all the way up his spine. When Captain Kirk gets back, he’s going to have my hide.
“Engineering to bridge,” Scott’s voice cut through his private moment of gallows humor. “How much longer are ye planning to let this poor girl get knocked around like this? I’m trying my best to keep everything running down here, but you’re not making it easy.”
“It’s not me, Scotty, I swear,” Sulu answered him. “How bad is it?”
“It’s not good,” he answered. “Warp engines are off line, and impulse power is under seventy percent. I’ve got damage control teams all over the ship—”
“Sir!” Chekov shouted. “There’s another ship incoming from the planet surface!”
Sulu felt his stomach tighten into a knot. “An actual ship, or another of these asteroids?” he asked.
“A ship,” Chekov confirmed, “with real weapons systems, running hot.”
Sulu realized there was no more putting off his next order. “Helm, break orbit.”
Stevenson pivoted in her chair, looking back at him in alarm. “But, the captain—”
“We can’t do the landing party any good without a working ship,” Sulu said, cutting her off sharply. “Set a course toward the third planet, full impulse.” Stevenson turned reluctantly back to her console and executed his command. The ship was still handling sluggishly, and once the other ship was close enough to be seen on the viewscreen, it became clear that they weren’t going to be able to outrun them.
“Ready all phaser banks and photon torpedo launchers,” he ordered.
As the rest of the bridge braced for possible battle, Lieutenant Rogers pulled his face away from the science station’s hooded viewer and reported, “Sir, I think . . . it looks like the asteroids . . . are retreating.”
There’s a sentence you’ll never hear uttered anywhere other than the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, Sulu told himself. “Retreating?” He turned to look the science officer’s way.
“They’re showing us their tails, sir, see?” he answered, pointing to the overhead display above his station. Sulu looked up, and just as the lieutenant said, the engines that they’d only caught quick glimpses of before were now shining clear and bright.
“The alien vessel is going after them,” Chekov reported. Sure enough, when Sulu turned to the main viewscreen again, he saw the vessel veer off. Whipping his head to the right again, he watched the other vessel launch pulses of energy at the asteroid-mounted engines, which then exploded in huge blossoms of light that quickly disappeared into the black invisibility of their nystromite masses.
Sulu suppressed the urge to cheer, but he knew he couldn’t assume that the enemy of their enemy was truly their friend. His caution proved justified as the alien ship swung around in a wide arc and came back toward the Enterprise. “Stand ready, weapons,” Sulu told Chekov in a low voice.
Then Uhura announced, “We are being hailed, Mister Sulu.”
Sulu let the breath he had been holding out in a long hissing exhale, then answered, “Put them through.”
On the screen, the image of the planet was replaced by that of a leonine alien on the bridge of the other ship. “NCC-1701. My name is Satrav, Second Commander of the Goeg Domain Defense Corps Starvessel Class III/814. You are saved now.”
“Thank you,” Sulu said, though there was something in the way he said this that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Your help is appreciated.”
“I should imagine it is,” Satrav said, curling his lips up in a smile, flashing a mouthful of sharp-looking teeth. “Welcome to the Goeg Domain.”
Three
“Of all the times for Jim to decide not to drag me along on one of these damned landing parties . . .” McCoy muttered under his breath as he, Nurse Christine Chapel, and orderly Morgan Gannon hustled down the ship’s corridors from sickbay to the main transporter room.
“I could swear I heard you tell the captain you didn’t want to beam down to the planet with the team,” Chapel said.
The doctor shot her a mock-angry look and said, “Nurse, don’t ruin a perfectly good rant by bringing up facts.” Had he known at the time that someone in the landing party would end up seriously injured . . . well, then, he would have argued that much harder with Jim to call his excursion off. McCoy wished now he had sucked it up and beamed down with them to ensure the landing party was properly cared for. Now, they had to rely on some alien doctor who had never seen a human being before. McCoy had been in that position himself, having to treat a patient of a species he had no actual knowledge of, too many times before. Although he always managed to maintain a confident front, inside McCoy felt like a first-year medical student who’d napped through his classes. It was a nightmarish situation to be caught in, and he could only hope this Goeg doctor had the smarts and skills to help a human patient.
They reached the transporter room, and McCoy nodded to the young woman manning the station. She nodded back in response while at the same time pulling down the trio of control sliders, activating the device. Two pillars of energized particles appeared on the platform, forming a semicircle around a third form lying stretched out flat at its center. As the figures solidified, McCoy looked from the injured security officer to the alien doctor and noticed the look of disorientation on his feline face. Once the transporter cycle was complete, he nearly swooned, before Spock stepped up from his spot on the transporter pad to steady him. “Doctor Deeshal, I presume?” McCoy said.
The alien jerked himself upright again and blinked a couple of times at McCoy before answering, “Yes. Sorry. This transporter of yours . . .” He shook his head and forced himself to focus. “You’re Doctor McCoy, then?”
“That’s me.” Under other circumstances, McCoy might have commiserated with the new arrival about the experience of being transported. But he brushed right by Deeshal as he stepped up onto the transporter stage, tricorder open and active, and knelt down to examine D’Abruzzo.
“He’s lost much of his blood,” Doctor Deeshal reported unnecessarily. “Your people were able to stanch the hemorrhaging, and I provided an injection of an oxygenation enhancer, in hopes of preventing any serious deterioration of the brain or other major organs.”
McCoy noted a high concentration of tri-ox compound—or at least a close variant—in D’Abruzzo’s system. McCoy was heartened to learn that the gap between Goeg and human medicine wasn’t all that wide after all. “That may well have saved him,” he said. D’Abruzzo was in rough shape, but he was still treatable. That certainly wouldn’t have been the case, though, had Deeshal not ensured the little blood he had left was carrying a greater supply of oxygen to his brain, and keeping it viable.
McCoy then gingerly peeled away the emergency bandage from D’Abruzzo’s arm and examined the wound. There was little more he could actually tell from a simple visual examination that he hadn’t already determined from the tricorder scan. But it was too easy to let the cold computerized readout of his devices act as a divider between him and his patients. That direct physical connection, McCoy believed, was vital. He looked at the burnt skin and muscle, and did not like what he saw. “Dammit. Okay, let’s get him to surgery.” Gannon unfolded the antigrav litter he had been carrying, and together with Chapel they lifted D’Abruzzo up from the platform. “I only hope we can save his arm.”
“Is there a question whether you can?” Deeshal asked, as the medic
s headed to the transporter room doors.
“Well, of course there is,” McCoy snapped at him. “You don’t just blast a hole in a person’s body and expect it’s gonna heal on its own!” He knew Deeshal didn’t deserve that level of vitriol from him, particularly given the fact that he’d probably saved D’Abruzzo’s life. But by the same token, it was his people who had injured him in the first place.
Deeshal stepped down from the transporter dais, and would have chased after McCoy if Spock hadn’t reached out to restrain him. “But you are able to regenerate the tissue that’s been destroyed, aren’t you?” the Goeg doctor shouted after McCoy.
McCoy stopped, stepping back just before the doors slid shut behind him. “Can you regenerate lost muscle tissue?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked at him.
“I’ve treated many similar injuries before,” Deeshal said.
McCoy considered him for an extra moment, then said, “Well, then, come on, Doctor. Don’t just stand there and leave our patient waiting!”
Deeshal hesitated only a moment before snapping to and following after McCoy to sickbay.
* * *
Laspas stared at the space where his doctor had been standing a moment before, then turned to Kirk with a look that was equal parts astonishment and suspicion. “And when the energy is reconverted back to matter aboard your ship . . . it’s a perfect reconstruction of their bodies?”
“Absolutely,” Kirk told him. “Right down to the last hair on his head.”
“That must serve as quite a tactical weapon,” the Goeg said. Suspicion now appeared to overwhelm his astonishment.
“It does have its military applications,” Kirk allowed. “But Starfleet is primarily a peaceful organization.”
“A very well armed peaceful organization,” Laspas noted.
“We do not kill or injure unnecessarily,” Kirk told him, “but unfortunately, we do sometimes encounter things out there that require a stronger response.”
“Yes, we’ve often found the same thing,” Laspas said.
Kirk held his gaze steady. “You mean the Taarpi.”
“Yes, like the Taarpi, plus others in our history,” Laspas said, turning and looking back toward his squad. “But the Goeg have always found that the best way to defeat an adversary is to turn them into an ally.” The soldiers had been given the order to stand down earlier, and most had removed their helmets while taking advantage of the rest period. The Domain team, Kirk saw, was a mixed group of at least five different alien species.
“The Federation is based on the same philosophy,” Kirk told Laspas. He understood now why Laspas had been so surprised to hear about the Federation; the Goeg Domain was apparently a like organization, a collection of many races from many worlds, united in a common cause.
Laspas turned back to Kirk. “Then perhaps, despite the way this encounter began, we could together turn it into something positive.”
A wide smile slowly stretched across Kirk’s face. “Nothing would please me more,” he said, just as his communicator chirped for attention. “Excuse me,” he told Laspas as he pulled the device out and answered, “Kirk here.”
“I have a preliminary ship’s status report, sir,” Spock said without preamble.
“Yes, go ahead, Spock.”
“The ship has taken extensive damage and is currently incapable of warp speed,” he said. “Mister Scott suggests we will need to remain in orbit for at least twelve hours while he and his team assess the full extent of the repair work necessary.”
Kirk silently cursed himself for not having been aboard during the assault on his ship. “Acknowledged,” he answered Spock through his tightly clenched jaw. Intellectually, of course, the captain knew there was likely little he could have done to prevent the unconventional attack by the Taarpi, but still he found himself second-guessing every choice he’d made that had led up to it.
“Also,” Spock continued, “Nurse Chapel has informed me that Lieutenant D’Abruzzo is now in surgery, and is expected to recover.”
That news, at least, provided some small relief to his heavy conscience. “And his arm? Is McCoy able to save it?”
“Doctor Deeshal is currently assisting Doctor McCoy in that very endeavor.”
Kirk turned to Laspas at Spock’s mention of his doctor, eyebrows raised. The other ship commander was clearly pleased to hear of the cooperative effort between the two physicians. “Good news, Mister Spock. Keep me updated. Kirk out. Well,” he then said to Laspas as he folded his communicator closed, “it seems our ships’ doctors have already turned this meeting into something positive.”
“Yes, and I’m heartened to know a truly tragic result to our misunderstanding has been averted,” Laspas said, sounding genuinely relieved and grateful. “Cover your ears.”
“What?” Kirk asked, just as a massive sonic boom rattled the ground and sent every tree in the forest shaking wildly. Overhead, through the gaps in the canopy of leaves, Kirk saw Laspas’s ship returning, making its way back to their landing site. The Domain squadron began to pull their equipment together, replace their helmets, and prepare to move out.
“Our patrol of this system is scheduled to continue for another day,” Laspas told Kirk, after flashing some sort of hand signal to his men standing downslope. “I think all the Taarpi pyurbs are gone now, but in case there are more still lying in wait in orbit, your ship will have some cover while you complete your repairs. And I suspect Deeshal will want to continue assisting your doctor.”
Laspas punctuated that last comment with a soft, weary-sounding sigh and a shake of his thick mane, giving Kirk the impression that the Goeg physician was probably just as bullheaded as his human counterpart. “His help is very much appreciated,” Kirk said. He only hoped that McCoy wasn’t subjecting Deeshal to the full brunt of his personality, and undoing all of the goodwill being generated here. “As a show of our appreciation, I would like to invite you aboard my ship. In my culture, it is traditional to share a meal in order to celebrate a new friendship.”
Laspas laughed. “We have that very same tradition, although it is always the host who invites the guests.”
“If you insist,” Kirk said with a slight bow. The captain felt the kind of anticipation and excitement that made first contacts such a rewarding part of a Starfleet officer’s duties. “I should get back to my ship for now . . .”
“And I have my duties to attend to as well,” Laspas commiserated. “But I will have preparations made. I look forward to receiving you, and learning more about your people and your Federation.”
“No more so than I do learning about you and yours,” Kirk replied.
* * *
The first thing to strike Spock as he, Kirk, and McCoy beamed aboard the Goeg ship was how cramped its interior was. The vessel itself was little larger than Starfleet’s old Daedalus class, and the main entry airlock where they had been instructed to board stood in marked contrast to the transporter room they had just left behind.
The second thing to strike him was the fact that the small space was made even smaller by the number of armed security guards pointing their weapons at them.
“Oh, hell,” Spock heard McCoy, standing beside him, hiss under his breath, “I knew this all was going too well.”
“Code zero! Zero!” Commander Laspas, followed by another, older-looking Goeg with a gray-streaked mane of hair circling his head, pushed their way forward from behind the guards. Laspas grabbed the arm of an amphibianoid guard, whose species Spock had learned was called Abesians. “These are the humans, for Erhokor’s sake!” the Goeg commander said as he forced the guard to lower his pistol.
Spock pointedly ignored the snicker from McCoy, as the rest of the guards lowered their weapons and Laspas turned his attention to his guests. “Don’t be alarmed,” he told them. “Your matter transporter triggered a defensive response. Welcome aboard, James Kirk.”
“Thank you,” Kirk answered. His tone was even, but Spock could detect the minor degree of adrenaline-st
oked stress just underneath. “May I present my first officer, Commander Spock, and my chief medical officer, Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy.”
“Leonard McCoy, yes,” Laspas said. “Deeshal spoke well of you.”
“Well, thank you,” McCoy answered. “He strikes me as a fine man and an excellent doctor as well.”
Laspas then gestured to the older Goeg with him. “And I introduce my executive officer, Satrav, and . . . Chief.”
Another alien stepped forward from behind the guards, this one of yet another race they had not encountered on the planet. Her skin was ashen gray in hue, with small black eyes, ears situated at the top of her skull, and a cleft upper lip that revealed a pair of broad incisor teeth. “And this is my head engineer, Senior Chief N’Mi.”
With the introductions disposed of, Laspas led the group out of the entry chamber and into the narrow corridors of the ship. They had to walk in single file in order to allow Domain crew members to pass in the opposite direction. Their footfalls on the metallic deckplates echoed against the bare, featureless bulkheads. Spock was again reminded of the Daedalus-class ship he had once toured at the Starfleet Museum, a relic of the Earth-Romulan War built with little concern for aesthetics or amenities, but with the single purpose of combat.
They followed their hosts down the equally narrow steps of a gangway and into a small private dining hall, dominated by a metallic table loaded with platters of a variety of unfamiliar foodstuffs. “Well, now, come!” Laspas said, smiling broadly and gesturing to the empty chairs surrounding the table. “We discovered this cache of supplies the Taarpi had left behind on the planet. What better way to celebrate our new allies than in sharing the spoils of our shared battle?”
They all were seated, with Laspas at one end of the rectangular table, Kirk opposite him, and Spock and McCoy sitting side by side at the captain’s right, across from the other Domain officers. The two Goeg immediately began grabbing at platters and loading their own plates, with Chief N’Mi showing deference to them before doing the same. Kirk and McCoy exchanged a look across the table, and then the captain shrugged and reached out for a bowl of what appeared to be orange bean pods. “When in Rome . . .” McCoy muttered as he also stretched his arm out for one of the platters.
Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity Page 5
