by Dayton Ward
“But what of Kirk?” asked D’jorok. “I have read the reports, and while he has demonstrated an ability to fight, he does not seem one who would come seeking battle.”
J’Teglyr nodded. “I agree, but that does not mean he won’t come to the aid of those he feels are in need of rescuing. For instance, the primitives on the planet below.”
Usilde was of moderate value from a strategic standpoint, and it possessed sufficient quantities of raw minerals to justify the effort to subjugate it. The indigenous population was of little consequence to the Empire beyond serving as a labor pool, but they were just the sort of weak, useless people to whom the Federation loved pledging unending support.
“Of course he will not come simply to fight,” said J’Teglyr. “He is far too shrewd to attempt something so clumsy.” Turning toward the bridge’s main viewscreen, he regarded the image of Usilde as the planet turned beneath the Vron’joQ. “Along with his superiors, Kirk worries about the alien technology we now control. If he is coming, you can be sure that is his primary concern. The only question that remains is how far will he go in order to wrest it from our grasp?”
D’jorok said, “While we may have seized the alien device, we do not control it. At least, not yet.” He scowled. “If that petaQ B’tinzal were not so useless, the machine might well be ours by now.”
“I harbor no particular warmth for B’tinzal, but that does not mean she is wrong. Understanding an alien technology is not a simple task, even for someone supposedly possessing such skills.” Though he did not enjoy dealing with the increasingly frequent interrogatives dispatched from the Klingon High Command, J’Teglyr was no fool. He understood the complexities of the assignment given to B’tinzal. The scientist might be bothersome, but it did not mean she was wrong when reporting the challenges she faced while trying to decipher the mysterious alien artifact.
“Besides,” J’Teglyr said, his gaze lingering on the image of the blue-green world turning beneath his ship, “if B’tinzal is right, then the solution to our problem may at this very moment be delivering itself to us.”
* * *
Talk about walking into the lion’s den.
That and other cheerful thoughts marched one after the other through Kirk’s mind as he sat in his chair on the Enterprise’s bridge, watching Usilde as the planet grew larger on the main viewscreen. The increase in size was an illusion, of course, generated by the starship’s sensor array and the viewscreen’s imaging processors. Even at their present speed, they were still some distance from the planet.
“We’re secured from warp speed,” reported Sulu from where he sat at the helm station, ahead and slightly to Kirk’s left.
“Slow to half impulse and make your course for a standard orbit over Usilde,” said Kirk.
Sulu nodded without looking up from his console. “Aye, sir. Time of arrival at half impulse is just over fourteen minutes.”
Pushing himself from his chair, Kirk crossed to the red railing separating the bridge’s command well from the science station. “What about that Klingon ship, Spock?”
“Scanning,” replied the Vulcan, who stood bent over the hooded viewer affixed to his console. A soft blue light emanated from the viewer and bathed his face. “Sensors indicate it is a D6 cruiser. Maintaining a standard orbit above the planet. It has raised its deflector shields, but I am detecting no signs of active weapons.” He looked up from his controls. “Under normal circumstances I would say the Enterprise was the superior vessel, but given our present operational status, that might not be the case.”
Kirk could not resist a small grin. “No faith in your captain, Mister Spock?”
Behind him, Ensign Chekov called out from the navigator’s station, “Captain, shall we raise shields?”
It was a valid question. The Klingon ship’s commander had justifiably raised his own vessel’s shields, but Kirk found it telling that its armaments had not been brought online. An unusual move for a Klingon. However, the Libros system was in a contested area of space, with both the Empire and the Federation having equal claims to the region. That could change, in accordance with the Organian Peace Treaty, if either side demonstrated an ability to better develop any world claimed in the disputed area. Was this Klingon merely adhering to the tenets of the Organian agreement, or was there something else in play?
Only one way to find out.
“Negative on the shields for now, Mister Chekov,” said Kirk. “However, raise them at your discretion if things take a dicey turn.”
The ensign nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Looking to his right, Kirk eyed his communications officer. “Lieutenant, are you picking up any hails from the Klingon ship, or any other comm traffic?”
Uhura swiveled in her seat. “Nothing in our direction, sir.” She reached up to pull the Feinberg receiver from her left ear that allowed her to filter through the varying number of incoming and outgoing signals. “However, once we dropped out of warp I did detect what was probably ship-to-surface transmissions.”
“Well, that answers my next question,” said Kirk. “They’ve still got people on the surface. Can you confirm, Spock?”
Hovering once again over his sensors, the first officer replied, “As expected, there are Klingon life signs inside and in proximity to the citadel. There are also larger concentrations of Usildar life-forms that are inconsistent with our last visit here.” Spock pulled away from the viewer. “If the Klingons are following their normal procedures for occupying a planet with an indigenous higher-order population, then the likely conclusion is that the Usildar are being collected and gathered into internment and labor camps. This would be consistent with the increased mining activity our sensors have noted.”
“What about the Jatohr terraforming efforts?”
“It has only been eight weeks since our previous scans, and I am detecting no appreciable difference from those readings.” Spock added, “Of course, terraforming is a rather lengthy process.”
Resisting the urge to comment on the first officer’s stating of the obvious in the finest Vulcan tradition, Kirk instead regarded his friend with a knowing look that communicated the same sentiment and earned a raised eyebrow for his efforts. “Now for the big question: What’s the status of the citadel?”
“Sensors are registering energy levels consistent with the scans we conducted during our previous visit. I have found no indications that the transfer-field generator is active or has been since Captain Una last employed the device.”
Kirk nodded. “The Klingons haven’t figured out a substitute for the Transfer Key. Not yet, anyway.”
“Obtaining even a rudimentary understanding of the technology involved in the device’s construction would be a most time-consuming process, particularly without the actual Key available for study. It would be most unfortunate if it fell into Klingon hands, Captain.”
Stepping up to stand next to his first officer, Kirk asked, “Is that your way of saying we should’ve left it somewhere safe, Spock?”
“I would argue that few such places exist.” Placing his hands behind his back, Spock continued, “It is logical to presume that the Klingons waiting for us at Usilde have been apprised of our having regained control of the Key from the Romulans. Given their apparent failure to activate the transfer generator, they will doubtless see us as a target of opportunity.”
There had been plenty of time during the journey from Centaurus for Kirk to contemplate all of this. Even with the Organian treaty in effect, he could not count on the commander of a Klingon vessel to abide by the agreement’s forced stipulations, but there were other factors at play.
“If the Klingons here know what happened at Centaurus,” the captain said, “we may be able to convince them that helping us retrieve Councillor Gorkon from the other universe is the right thing to do.” He gestured toward the viewscreen. “It’s a nice idea, anyway.” Glancing to
the communications station, he ordered, “Lieutenant Uhura, open a hailing frequency. Let’s see if they’re willing to talk this over.”
A moment later, Uhura turned in her seat. “Hailing frequency open, sir.”
Moving to stand in front of the helm and navigation stations, Kirk drew a breath and straightened his posture before calling out, “Klingon vessel, this is Captain James T. Kirk, commanding the Federation Starship Enterprise. Be advised that we are here on a rescue mission. We’ve noted and appreciate you keeping your ship’s weapons inactive, and your sensors should have told you by now that my defenses are also down. We have no quarrel with you, and in fact would welcome your assistance with this rescue. Please respond.” Once he was finished, Kirk looked to where Spock stood at the bridge railing. The Vulcan offered a small, approving nod.
Behind Kirk, Uhura said, “Captain, we’re receiving a response. Onscreen.” Without waiting for the order, the lieutenant accepted the incoming message and a moment later the image of Usilde vanished from the viewscreen.
Replacing it was the glowering visage of a Klingon officer, sitting in a high-backed chair. The image focused on him, with the rest of the bridge of the Klingon ship blurred as though to thwart any attempts at gleaning information from consoles or displays. The Klingon’s black hair was cropped close to his scalp and high enough to reveal a large, smooth forehead. Thick, sweeping brows hovered over a pair of cold, dark eyes. A thin, trimmed beard accented the lower half of his face. He wore what Kirk recognized as the standard uniform for a Klingon officer in command of a warship, including a gold baldric worn from his left shoulder.
“I am Captain J’Teglyr, commanding the imperial warship Vron’joQ. This planet and the surrounding star system have been claimed by the Klingon Empire, Captain Kirk. Your presence here could be interpreted as a hostile act.”
Stepping away from the helm console, Kirk replied, “We both know that this system and planet are open territory under the terms of the Organian Peace Treaty. Determining ownership is a job better left to diplomats. As I said, I’m here for more immediate concerns, which benefit both our peoples.”
J’Teglyr smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. “Surrender the alien device you hold in your possession, and I’m willing to forgive your intrusion.”
So much for holding that card close to the vest.
Kirk replied, “That’s also not a decision for me to make, Captain. We need the device as part of our rescue mission. It’s a bit complicated, but—”
“I am aware of the device’s function, Kirk.” The Klingon’s irritation was starting to show, fading the facade of composure with which he had begun the conversation. “Just as we know what the fortress down on the planet is supposed to do, and that it will not work without the component you hold. What I don’t understand is why I should care about a handful of humans who may be trapped on the other side of whatever door that thing is supposed to open.”
“Because it’s not just my people who are trapped in that other universe, Captain.” Kirk took another step toward the viewscreen. “At least two Klingons have been sent there against their will as well, including Councillor Gorkon.”
This was enough to make J’Teglyr’s eyes widen in surprise. “Gorkon?”
“I guess your High Command didn’t tell you about that.” Kirk held out his hands. “You can confirm this with them, if you’d like. I’ll even promise to take no action until you’ve had a chance to do just that. We have a chance to do good here, Captain. I don’t want a fight.” He sighed, then offered a small, wry smile. “At least not today.”
His last comment had the intended effect, and Kirk watched the Klingon’s expression soften. “Very well, Earther. I will contact High Command and verify your claims. Do not attempt to send anyone to the surface.”
Kirk shook his head. “Actually, I have no need to do so.” He cast another glance toward Spock before adding, “Our rescue plan is a bit more . . . complicated than that.”
Fourteen
The lights flickered, and several of the alien control consoles blinked in rapid succession at the same time B’tinzal heard a low buzz that seemed to reverberate up through the floor and across the walls. Turning from the portable computer workstation she had set up in the citadel’s master control room, B’tinzal inspected the rest of the chamber and saw the same effect playing out across other consoles. Even a few that until now had been dormant had come to life, each of them displaying an indecipherable string of alien script accompanied by a litany of flashing lights and indicators.
“What is that?” she asked, moving away from Tothar’s station. The other three Klingons working with her exchanged similar glances of confusion and concern.
Standing at an adjacent console, Tothar replied, “It appears to be another security measure, Professor. Internal scanner readings are showing several interior hatches have closed, and I am unable to see anything within the sealed-off sections.”
“Do we have people in those areas?” B’tinzal asked. Eyeing her console’s status display, she noted that the affected sections were in proximity to the massive mechanism that was the heart of the alien fortress.
“Yes. Two of our people and two warriors.” His fingers playing over his controls, Tothar added, “I am only detecting two life signs from that section.”Turning from her station, B’tinzal bolted from the room. With Tothar following close behind, she plunged into the narrow, cylindrical passageway leading from the control center and deeper into the citadel. She had made this transit enough times that she had memorized the route, so it was with some surprise that B’tinzal ran through one final junction and into the corridor leading to the chamber that housed the largest components of the transfer-field generator and found herself staring at a new, large bulkhead blocking her path. Standing near the new barrier was another of her colleagues, Doctor Vurgh, and a Klingon warrior, Komaraq, B’tinzal remembered from earlier in the day. The young warrior had drawn his disruptor pistol and was studying the corridor and surrounding bulkheads, obviously on alert for new threats.
“Did you fire your weapon?” asked B’tinzal.
“No, Professor.” He glanced at the disruptor in his hand. “It was an . . . instinctive reaction.”
“Understandable, but let’s not tempt whatever is controlling this alien contraption.” B’tinzal had issued instructions to everyone working inside the fortress not to discharge weapons unless authorized or if no other option was possible in the event of an attack or other infiltration of the complex. Given the citadel’s array of autonomic processes and its reactions to the presence of intruders in its midst, B’tinzal was wary of somehow triggering a more aggressive defense protocol than what they had seen to this point.
“What happened?” she asked.
Vurgh shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He held up a portable scanner and gestured with it toward the bulkhead. “I was recording some new readings of the generator when this happened.”
It was not even the first time today that something like this had occurred. Two similar “modifications” of the citadel’s internal configuration had taken place in different sections of the fortress, but neither of those instances was within this area of the complex.
“Do you believe this was in direct response to your scans?” asked B’tinzal.
The younger scientist replied, “I am not sure, Professor, though I do not believe in coincidence.”
“What of the others?” Tothar pointed toward the bulkhead. “Are they in there?” He had brought his personal scanner with him and was in the process of adjusting its controls.
“Yes. We attempted to contact them via personal communicators, but it appears the transmission is being blocked, just like our scans.” Vurgh gestured to the barrier. “It is not as though it was conjured from nothing. Just as with the other occurrences, the pressure hatch was triggered by something. It cannot just be our mere presence he
re, as we have been moving about the interior for some time. The only thing that makes sense is that the internal systems are reacting to specific actions on our part.”
B’tinzal was not convinced. “Or, the structure is continuing to execute its own predetermined instructions and does not care at all about us.” Her observations since beginning her study of the citadel would seem to bear out her theory, but she did not discount other factors in play. “Still, it is possible that in addition to these autonomous actions, it also is reacting to us. That might even explain the increasing frequency of these incidents. Perhaps the machine is reaching some milestone in whatever plan it is following, and it senses our presence as a threat.”
“You make it sound as though the machine is alive,” said Komaraq.
B’tinzal smiled at the warrior, recalling her own thoughts on the subject. “I suppose it is, after a fashion.”
“I am detecting two life signs beyond the bulkhead,” said Tothar after a moment. “The readings are faint, but that is likely due to interference from the structure itself.”
“But you are still able to make scans,” said B’tinzal. “Impressive.”
Not taking his eyes from the scanner, Tothar replied, “I have been working on it for a while now. After all, there is still so much of the structure we have not yet seen.”
This much was true. Despite their best efforts, B’tinzal and her people had been foiled numerous times in their attempts to penetrate deeper into the fortress. In addition to sections and compartments that already were sealed and resisted even the most intense sensor scans, there were the ongoing instances of the structure’s interior reconfiguring itself. It was obvious to B’tinzal that the alien mechanism was operating for its own, unknown purpose. At least for the moment, she and her team appeared to be little more than the occasional distraction as it carried out its automated processes.
