Purgatory's Key

by Dayton Ward

  You still have the others to watch over. Your duty is not done here.

  The thought made her glance to one of the primitive shelters, under which her other former crewmates, Shimizu and Martinez, were sleeping. Under an adjacent lean-to was Ensign Terra Le May, another member of her original landing complement, and Ensign Cheryl Stevens, a navigator who had been transported here directly from the Enterprise bridge. This place seemed to have had an odd, almost debilitating effect on them, which Una could not explain. Was it due to the circumstances of their transfer? Had they encountered something else here that had carried some unidentified side effect? If her friends had been compromised in some manner, was it treatable? What would happen when Una was successful in getting them back to their own universe? There was no way to know.

  “Come!”

  Gorkon’s voice erupted from the darkness, interrupting her thoughts, and she looked away from the fire to where he stood among a small group of Usildar. “We must seek food and drink, so that we may feast and sing songs of our victory in battle.”

  Joanna shook her head. “Is he even hungry? I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but I haven’t even thought about eating.”

  “I don’t think it really matters,” replied Una. “Klingons fight, then they eat and drink. Then they sleep it off, and then they find someone else to fight. Logic or reason seldom enters into the equation.”

  That made Joanna smile. “Where did you find him?”

  “He found me. Apparently, he was transported from Centaurus just as you and Sarek were, and arrived at the same location out on the salt flats. He wandered toward the mountains like we all did, and somehow our paths crossed.” She shook her head. “It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever that we’d all find each other so easily. I convinced him to help me find my people, after which we’d all head back to the landing point and await rescue. I didn’t anticipate Gorkon taking such a liking to the Usildar we came across. They were preparing to launch an attack on that group of Jatohr. He just took charge and led the assault. That’s when you found us.”

  “I didn’t expect to do any fighting here,” said Joanna.

  “Neither did I, but it may come to that.” Una studied the young nurse. “The Jatohr are nothing if not persistent, and we’ve seen indications that they may be massing forces on the salt plains. Given that their original intent was to transport to our universe in order to escape this one, it may be part of their larger plan. Time moves . . . differently here, so there’s no way to know how long they’ve been preparing for this moment.”

  “Sarek has said something similar, more than once,” said Joanna.

  “Yes. Vulcans have a wonderful ability to grasp the passage of time. Years ago, I might’ve found it annoying, but here and now? I’m glad to hear it.” Una had been hoping to discuss with the ambassador her issues attempting to keep track of time in this place.

  Pointing to a cluster of trees at the edge of the encampment, Joanna said, “He’s been doing that a lot since we got here.”

  In truth, Una did not require Joanna’s help to know Sarek’s location or even what he was doing. She could see him in her mind as clearly as if he was seated here next to her at the fire, and she had been sensing his presence since his arrival along with Joanna. Indeed, Una could tell that he was aware of her, and her thoughts regarding him, though she did not understand how that was possible. She was no telepath, and even if this connection was a consequence of their surroundings, why didn’t she sense Joanna in similar fashion?

  “Excuse me,” said Una. Pushing herself to her feet, she crossed the camp, already able to discern Sarek’s silhouette where he sat near the base of a large tree. The Vulcan knelt on the ground, his hands held clasped to his chest. His eyes were closed, but they opened at her approach.

  “Captain.”

  “I apologize for disturbing you, sir.” Una stepped closer, and at his unspoken gesture lowered herself to the ground next to him. From her vantage point, she was able to see the fire and Joanna McCoy, still bathed in its glow. Turning her attention back to Sarek, she said, “You know why I’m here.”

  The ambassador nodded. “You are able to sense my presence. You have heard me attempting to reach out to my wife. Most interesting. It confirms a theory I have been formulating. In this place, I am somehow able to amplify my thoughts, though I do not understand how this is possible, or why you alone are able to sense them.”

  “I’m not a telepath,” replied Una, “but I am trained and experienced in a variety of mental disciplines.” She smiled. “Growing up in the Illyrian colonies had its challenges and perks.”

  “The Illyrian colonies. Of course. That explains it. Perhaps the skills you mastered at an early age have provided you with an unexpected benefit here. That is quite intriguing. We may even conclude that despite the facility for psychic connection presented in this place, such activity remains out of reach for the unprepared mind. This might explain why, at least to this point, my attempts at outreach have not been perceived by our human or Usildar companions, or even the Jatohr.”

  Una replied, “Likewise, yours is the only other presence I’ve felt since my arrival.”

  “What else have you sensed?” When Una did not reply, Sarek added, “Forgive me, Captain. I realize the question may sound abrupt. I am curious as to any other insights or conclusions you may have drawn about our present circumstances since your arrival here.”

  Shifting to a more comfortable sitting position, Una said, “If you’re asking where I think we are, I’m not sure.” She gestured to indicate the surrounding forest. “I have reason to believe that none of this is what it appears to be.”

  “Explain.”

  “I don’t believe this place exists, at least physically. Instead, I think we’re all participating in some kind of . . . collective hallucination or simulation.” When she said it aloud, Una realized it sounded more than a bit farfetched.

  Sarek seemed to ponder this, but only for a moment. “A shared mental construct.”

  “Exactly. When my people and I were being held by the Jatohr, I began to realize that my perceptions were different than my human companions’. I don’t know why, but as an experiment, I applied a lucid-dreaming technique I learned years ago, and the results were surprising.”

  Placing her palms on the ground before her, Una cleared her mind, then began to focus on a single thought. From her memories, she retrieved an image of a portable lantern that once had belonged to her grandfather. She had grown fond of it as a child, and she—along with her brothers, Hudek and Leighton—had often used it to explore the wooded regions around the family home on Illyria.

  Concentrate.

  She lifted her hands from the ground, and a moment later a red lantern, identical to her grandfather’s, appeared from nothingness. It illuminated the space between her and Sarek, and by that light she was able to see the ambassador raise an eyebrow in obvious surprise.

  “Fascinating.”

  Una cleared her throat. “I’ve also used it to make obstacles go away, including helping us to escape the Jatohr.” She shrugged. “It’s a bit draining, and to be honest, I’m still a bit skeptical about the whole thing.” The light between them faded, and she was startled to see that the lantern had vanished. “Case in point. I stopped thinking about the thing, and it disappeared. I’m worried about losing my concentration at a critical moment and hurting myself or someone else.”

  “That is understandable,” replied Sarek. “Like you, I had concluded that what surrounds us exists only as a communal illusion in our minds. However, I was unaware of the potential for it to be manipulated.”

  “Of course, if it’s true, then it raises even more questions.” Una gestured to herself. “While our minds are being occupied, somewhere and somehow, our physical needs are being met.”

  Sarek nodded. “And is it merely a natural phenomenon of our envi
ronment, or are we being influenced by the Jatohr or someone else? If it is the latter, then for what purpose?”

  “All good questions.” Una blinked several times to help her eyes adjust to the sudden return of darkness. “Here’s another one: Were my shipmates really killed in that battle with the Jatohr or was that an illusion, too? If so, then where are they?”

  Placing a hand on his chest, Sarek replied, “Perhaps they are with our physical bodies. Assuming this theory is correct, of course.”

  “Right.” Una was thankful to have her suspicions confirmed by the ambassador, whose mental acuity and discipline far exceeded her own. “It’s a lot to process.” She sighed. “I don’t even how to begin explaining this to the others.”

  “For the moment, the best course might be to withhold any explanations,” said Sarek. “Such concepts are best absorbed gradually, when emotional responses can be better controlled. Also, the notion that nothing here is real may lead one of our companions to assume undue risks to themselves. We have seen what we believe to be death in this place. We are uncertain how such an ending might affect an individual’s physical form.”

  “On the other hand,” countered Una, “the more clear minds we have, the better our chances of figuring out how to get home.” She looked toward the encampment. “I’d like to think Jim Kirk is doing everything he can to rescue us, but for all I know, we’re on our own.”

  “Knowing Captain Kirk as I do,” Sarek said, “I am convinced he along with my son will do everything in their power to assist us. They are both very determined individuals.”

  Smiling, Una replied, “You’re not telling me anything new.”

  Thirteen

  Alert sirens wailed in the narrow passageway, echoing off the metal bulkheads of the I.K.S. Vron’joQ in concert with flashing indicators spaced at intervals along the corridor. Those members of his crew he encountered looked intent as they moved with speed and purpose toward their assigned stations, but they all cleared a path for him as Captain J’Teglyr strode past.

  “Attention,” said a voice through the ship’s internal communications system. “Scanners have detected a Federation battle cruiser on an intercept course. The vessel’s intentions are unknown. Stand ready at battle stations and await further commands.”

  Reaching a junction in the corridor, J’Teglyr halted his advance and slapped the activation switch of a nearby communications panel. “This is the captain. What is our status?”

  “We have energized defense fields, my lord,” replied his first officer, D’jorok. “I was preparing to bring weapons online.”

  “Negative. Do not activate our weapons until I give the order. Maintain defensive posture until further notice, and continue scans of the Federation ship.”

  Ending the connection before D’jorok could reply, J’Teglyr continued his transit to the bridge. Along the way, he took the opportunity to inspect the level of readiness exhibited by those subordinates he passed. Even the youngest of his crew, a handful on their first deep-space assignment, appeared prepared for battle. J’Teglyr nodded as he made eye contact with individual warriors, conveying his approval.

  Excellent, he thought, pleased to see that the prolonged period of relative inactivity while orbiting the useless ball of mud below them had not eroded their attention to duty.

  He reached the pair of reinforced pressure hatches at the end of the corridor, which parted at his approach and allowed him access to the bridge. The ship’s command center stood at the ready. The lighting here was subdued, and everything was awash in a dim crimson lighting that served to highlight the bridge’s array of screens and other status indicators and controls. He glanced to his right and saw his tactical officer, G’peq, hovering over his console, his face bathed in the red glow of his station’s sensor readouts.

  “My lord,” said Commander D’jorok, rising from the high-backed chair at the center of the room, “we are holding our defensive status. Weapons remain inactive.”

  J’Teglyr thought he sensed doubt in his subordinate, as though D’jorok might be considering questioning the wisdom of this simple order. In truth, J’Teglyr had expected the first officer to be uncertain, though he also knew the other Klingon would never take him to task here on the bridge, in the presence of the crew.

  Deciding to help his second-in-command by not prolonging a potentially awkward silence, J’Teglyr said, “Your training and drills of the crew are evident, Commander. Well done.” He gestured toward the bridge’s forward viewing screen. “What is the status of the Federation vessel?”

  “They are approaching at warp speed, my lord. If they hold to standard Starfleet protocols, they will drop to sublight upon entering the system and proceed on course at impulse power. With that in mind, I estimate the ship’s arrival within the hour, my lord.” D’jorok’s eyes narrowed, and a small smile seemed to tease the corners of his mouth. “We have identified it as the Enterprise, Captain.”

  J’Teglyr could not help the sudden rush of excitement he felt upon hearing the name. “Kirk’s ship.”

  So, the reports from the Klingon High Command were true, and the notorious Earther captain was making his way here after all. Those updates had notified J’Teglyr that the Enterprise had suffered significant damage during its battle against a Romulan warship near the planet Centaurus. How impaired was the vessel, if at all? The Vron’joQ, as a D6 battle cruiser, was in many respects an inferior vessel to the Starfleet ship currently approaching Usilde. High Command had informed him that at least one more ­Klingon vessel had been routed to the Libros system, but it was distant and would not arrive before the Enterprise.

  “This Earther has quite the reputation,” said D’jorok. “He should not be underestimated.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.” Stepping away from his first officer, J’Teglyr began a slow circuit of the bridge’s perimeter stations. In keeping with the ship’s elevated alert level, every console was overseen by a crew member, and each was focused on their individual collection of status readings. J’Teglyr studied the information being fed to each console, noting the status of every system that would be critical to success should the need arise to engage the approaching Starfleet ship. Despite whatever tactical advantage the other vessel might hold, he was confident he could give the Earther captain a memorable fight.

  Victory requires more than simply wielding the bigger weapon.

  Sensing D’jorok standing behind him, J’Teglyr turned from his inspection and regarded his first officer. “You have concerns, Commander.”

  To his credit, the first officer looked around him to ensure his words were not overheard before replying, “I am curious as to why we do not bring our weapons to the ready, my lord.”

  For the briefest of moments, J’Teglyr wondered if his first officer might finally be challenging his authority. It was an absurd notion. In addition to being an officer of exceptional skill and determination, D’jorok was loyal, perhaps to a fault. He would rather die than betray his captain. On the other hand, the commander had made no secret of his desire to one day command a ship of his own, and his commitment to that goal was evident. How high did that ambition reach? Might J’Teglyr one day have cause for worry?

  I hope not. I would truly hate having to kill him.

  D’jorok’s voiced uncertainty was reasonable, given the circumstances, and all things being equal and normal, J’Teglyr would already have given the appropriate order. However, relations between the Klingon Empire and the Federation were not equal for any number of reasons, just as they were certainly not normal.

  “Given the constraints of the treaty forced upon us by the meddling Organians,” said J’Teglyr, “we must proceed with care, so as not to provoke our self-proclaimed nursemaids.”

  He felt his ire rising at the mere mention of the enigmatic, noncorporeal beings who had inserted themselves into the Empire’s growing conflict with the Federation. It
had been less than a year since the Organian Ayelborne had appeared here on the bridge of his vessel, looking like a ghost conjured from the depths of a fevered imagination. One of J’Teglyr’s warriors had attempted to shoot the intruder only to discover that it was some form of alien projection, the source of which could not be located. The officer also learned that his own disruptor pistol, along with every control on every station throughout the ship, had begun radiating a heat so intense that the consoles could not be touched. At the time, J’Teglyr recalled the odd contradiction of the heat not permeating the air around him, even as he and his crew were rendered helpless by the sudden phenomenon. Then came the Organian’s boast about disabling both the imperial and Federation fleets in a similar fashion.

  J’Teglyr and his crew listened in useless, silent rage as the alien claimed to be standing on the Earthers’ home world as well as upon the sacred soil of Qo’noS. According to Ayelborne, the Organians had inserted themselves into the conflict between the Empire and the Federation, unilaterally deciding that there would be no war. Under the terms of the treaty they had imposed upon both powers, all disputes—including those of territory and the annexation of unclaimed worlds—would now require resolution in diplomatic fashion. That might be fine for the Earthers, and those who answered their call, but to a Klingon warrior such restrictions were suffocating.

  In the months since the levying of the peace accords, there had been a few incidents of conflict between imperial and Starfleet ships. That those encounters had apparently gone unchecked by the Organians raised suspicions that the aliens might be playing an elaborate ruse, but there were those on the High Council who worried about retribution should the terms of the treaty be abrogated. As an officer sworn to obey the wishes of the Council and those appointed over him, it vexed J’Teglyr that he was bound to observe and respect such cowardly thinking.

  If any gods remain, I hope they see fit to cast those spineless wretches into the depths of Gre’thor.