by Dayton Ward
“Yes,” said Spock, before he pointed to another status gauge. “An artificial gravity and inertial damping system has also been activated.” That was fortunate. Without those features, he and the rest of the landing party would already be pressed to the deck, powerless against the increasing thrust as the citadel continued to push upward.
Retrieving his communicator from the small of his back, he flipped open the unit’s antenna cover. “Spock to Commander Giotto.”
“Giotto here!” came the harried voice of the Enterprise’s security chief. “Mister Spock, you need to see this, we’re lifting out of the water!”
“Bring your people inside immediately, Commander,” ordered Spock. “Leave any equipment. It is imperative that you not delay.”
“We’re on our way! Giotto out!”
Still standing beside him, Amanda asked, “Spock, what’s happening?”
“Based on our increasing speed and trajectory,” replied the first officer, “the force being generated by these thrusters is sufficient to push the entire structure into low orbit.”
McCoy stepped closer. “Are you saying this thing’s heading into space?”
“It would appear so, Doctor.”
“Heaven help us.” McCoy braced himself against the nearby console. “Jim and the Klingons are going to love this.”
Twenty-six
Light greeted Sarek as his clarity slowly returned. He lowered his mental defenses and reached out into the gray void. He felt the presence of other beings surrounding him, most of which seemed as inert as cocoons on a branch, their minds unwilling or unable to accept the intellectual expansion this place offered. Among them, Sarek sensed those few who had embraced this realm and traveled it as conscious entities. He perceived their minds as streaks of light and energy, intertwining themselves in pairs and groups and communes to weave a plane of awareness unlike any he had ever imagined. It called to him, its lure as palpable as if it were reaching out to grasp his arm and pull him toward it.
You must not succumb to it.
There also was something else here; something that had not been present before now. Not a living thing, but it still harbored an energy and intensity that commanded attention. Like the collected consciousness that yearned for him to join it, this new presence also seemed determined to direct him, but to where?
There also were other familiar minds present here. Pushing outward, Sarek coursed through the void, focusing on what he felt was the closest such presence. He was pleased that the first awareness he found belonged to Gorkon. Though the Klingon’s body remained as still and expressionless as before, his body having succumbed to the injuries he perceived himself to have suffered within this realm, his mind was active. Sarek probed deeper, and the surrounding gray faded to black, and the silence gave way to . . . music?
“Pektu-Keltz,” said Sarek, into the darkness and over the sounds of guttural screeching and near cacophonic brass and percussion.
Gorkon’s voice boomed in his mind. “Who dares?”
“Sarek, Councillor. As I said, this is Pektu-Keltz, if I am not mistaken.”
“The greatest Klingon performer of any time,” Gorkon replied. “Unmatched in vocal strength and endurance. He once sang the complete Shevok’tah gish cycle for Chancellor M’Rek without interruption for food or rest. That’s sixteen repetitions, Ambassador! He sang from dusk until the break of dawn without missing a note. It was glorious!”
“A notable occasion to be sure, Councillor,” Sarek replied. “A fine choice to accompany your thoughts.”
Gorkon snorted. “My thoughts are all I have left to me. Is this death, Sarek?”
“No, this is not death. This is a place of your own making, Gorkon, but there is a way to leave and perhaps return to where we belong. Open your mind to me.”
“You speak in riddles, Vulcan.”
“I can help you. Open your thoughts, Gorkon.”
There was a momentary hesitation before Sarek sensed the music fading and a dim glow beginning to penetrate the darkness. Shadows flickered as though cast by candlelight, and a warm presence grew more prominent. Then came the flood of emotion. Sarek braced against the wave of tempered rage, loneliness, and hesitation tinged with . . . concern? No, there was something else.
“Trust me, Gorkon. Release your fear.”
“I have no concerns!” Gorkon’s voice rang in Sarek’s mind. “A warrior fears nothing and regrets only the time squandered between battles!”
“This bravado serves no one. Trust me. Share my thoughts. Together, we can find the way home.”
“Home. Yes,” Gorkon said. “What must we do?”
“We must bind our thoughts together. Then we will bind with the others and return as one.” Sarek realized now the new presence he had felt coursing through the void. Somewhere, beyond the limits of the realm in which he and the others found themselves, something was looking for them, but he perceived no threat. “I believe there is a way out of this place.”
He conjured an image of the probe, offering it to Gorkon. As before, he sensed that it remained inert, suspended as they were within this realm. “This tool needs our total concentration if it is to work. If we can activate it, it may be able to help us return home, where we belong.”
“I sense your determination, Vulcan!” Gorkon laughed. “You stir us to action! Within your chest beats the heart of a Klingon! Lead on, Sarek. I grow weary of this place, and I stand ready to help.”
Sarek replied, “Focus your thoughts on me as I guide us. You will experience it as I perceive it.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find our next ally. Be ready to follow me.”
Clinging to the image of Gorkon that was now fully coalesced among his own thoughts, Sarek pushed himself back into the gray void. A burst of tension pulsed from the Klingon’s presence.
“We are moving!”
A moment later Gorkon’s anxiety faded, and Sarek pushed farther into the void. Other streams of thought loomed closer, but he ignored them, as they possessed no familiarity. Farther ahead, he perceived something more recognizable.
“I feel it too,” said Gorkon.
Sarek replied, “We must move quickly if we are to gather the others.” He was pleased with how rapidly the councillor appeared to be adapting to this new reality, however fleeting it might be. It was obvious the Klingon possessed a keen, fervent intellect that demanded perhaps far more challenge than even his exalted position within the Empire might offer. Though Sarek had known many Klingons of similar stature, Gorkon was the first who seemed not only a worthy adversary but also a formidable ally.
“I feel the same way about you, Vulcan. You embody all that is good and noble about your people.”
“I appreciate that, but now is not the time. We have arrived.”
A new presence was forming within his perception: Timothy Shimizu. As was the case when he found Gorkon, Sarek saw that the gangly Starfleet ensign appeared motionless, his features devoid of expression as though he were locked in stasis. Like Gorkon, Shimizu’s visage belied his true state of being, and Sarek could sense the man’s mind alive with activity.
“Ensign Shimizu.”
Reaching into the young human’s thoughts, Sarek felt himself awash in a stifling fog of despair. Dread and hopelessness welled up around him, and Sarek called forth a barrier to deflect the unwanted emotions. It was a tenuous defense, compelling him to reach back to ensure his bond with Gorkon remained intact.
“Ensign Shimizu, I am Sarek.” He pushed deeper, immersing himself within the other man’s consciousness.
“I’m dead,” said a new voice. “I’m dead in this place, and I can’t even make it back out to go to Hell.”
Sarek replied, “This is not death. You are alive, and I am here to help you, but first you must assist me. Follow my voice.”
“I
. . . feel you, Sarek,” replied Shimizu.
“Open your mind. Share my thoughts.”
A new wave of calm rushed forth from Shimizu, pushing through the thick veil of vapor. Black brightened to rich blue as Sarek began to reclaim the man from the depths of his innermost mind.
“I don’t understand,” said Shimizu.
While Gorkon had seemed more at ease with his mental imprisonment prior to Sarek’s finding him, Shimizu presented a much more vulnerable mind. Convincing him required greater care, and Sarek pressed forward with thoughts intended to ease the ensign’s uncertainty. Feeling the other man beginning to relax, he refocused his own perceptions back to Gorkon. He visualized the filaments of energy that were their thoughts in this realm and wove the strands together. The three ribbons danced over and around one another, tightening and bonding.
“Gorkon,” he said. “Do you sense us?”
“Yes,” replied the Klingon. “Human! Are you ready to join us so that we might leave this forsaken place?”
“A Klingon!”
A new wave of fear surged over Sarek, laced with shock and contempt, and he felt Shimizu attempting to withdraw.
“You want me to help a Klingon? They’re our enemies!”
“Not here,” replied Sarek, feeling Shimizu pulling away from the connection they had forged with Gorkon. “Here we must work together, if we are to leave this place. You must trust me, Ensign.”
“But, he’s—”
Sarek said, “He is lost, as are we all. Like you, he simply wants to return home.”
Just as he perceived Shimizu extricating himself from their bond, Sarek sensed another surge of emotion: empathy. It was Gorkon offering his own memories. There were images of a child, working with adults Sarek understood to be the Klingon’s parents, assisting with a harvest at the family farm on Qo’noS. He saw impressions of artisans talking with shoppers in the Old Quarter of the First City. Other recollections coursed through the link at a rapid pace. Sarek beheld classrooms, museums, celebrations, laughter, affection.
“This is my life, Ensign Shimizu,” said Gorkon. “This is my home. I wish to return there, and I cannot do so without your help.”
“I . . . want to go home, too,” replied Shimizu.
Feeling the strength of their bond increasing as each of them committed their focus to the link, Sarek said, “We must work together, Ensign. Otherwise we all fail.”
Shimizu pushed closer, the energy of bond surging. “I understand.”
“Another warrior joins the fight,” said Gorkon. “What of this probe of yours, Sarek?”
“It is not yet time,” said Sarek. “First, we must find the others and make sure that they are ready to depart just as we are.” He was already feeling the first hints of strain from maintaining this braided connection of psyches. How much greater would the demand be as they gathered Captain Una, Joanna McCoy, and the others?
And once they had collected everyone, what then?
Spock.
Yes, of course. His son, who already had found a way to reach out to him from across the boundary separating two universes. Sarek had no doubts that his son, somewhere on the other side of that barrier, was doing all that could be done to help him and everyone else trapped here.
Spock will guide us. He will know what to do.
Twenty-seven
An alert tone from the tactical station made J’Teglyr turn in his chair to see G’peq bending over the console. The lieutenant’s expression was one of confusion as he studied the sensor readings.
“What is it?” asked J’Teglyr.
“Energy readings are spiking, Captain. They are far more powerful than anything we have seen.”
J’Teglyr pushed himself from his chair, and a visibly anxious G’peq stepped aside at his captain’s approach, allowing J’Teglyr to take control of the console. It did not take long for him to interpret the sensor readings and see for himself what his tactical officer had reported.
“The energy signature is massive.”
G’peq nodded. “There is more, my lord.” He indicated one of the controls next to the central sensor monitor. “Our scans are detecting indications of thruster activity.”
“From the citadel?” asked Visla, who along with her first officer, Woveth, was standing at the rear of the bridge. “How is that possible?”
“It is as we have been saying all along,” replied G’peq. “The structure continues to block our sensors to a significant degree. There remain areas of its interior that are still unknown to us, and without B’tinzal and her scientists to reconnoiter, we are blind.”
The implications of this new development were staggering. “Are you telling me that thing truly is a vessel of some kind?”
“That seems to be the case, my lord.”
“Does it have weapons?” asked Visla.
Returning to his sensors, G’peq replied, “None that our sensors can detect.”
“But your sensors did not detect the thrusters before now.” Visla grunted in irritation. “That entire construct could be one massive weapon for all we know.”
J’Teglyr could not disagree. Was the citadel in reality some form of dreadnought or other battleship? If such a vessel was able to reach space, it would prove a formidable opponent.
“Captain,” said D’jorok, “there is also another possible cause for concern. If Kirk and his crew have somehow taken total control of the citadel, they may use it against us. After all, they know we still want it for ourselves.”
“A valid point.” If that indeed was the explanation, then this situation had just taken a turn for the worse. J’Teglyr turned to G’peq. “What about the Enterprise? Have you detected anything that indicates the Earthers might be responsible for this?”
The tactical officer shook his head. “It is possible, my lord. There are communications between the ship and their people on the surface, as well as readings like those we detected earlier that indicate the field generator is interacting with the key component, which now appears to be inside the citadel.”
“What are you waiting for, J’Teglyr?” snapped Visla. “Is it not obvious that the Earthers have seized control of that device? Must we sit here and wait for Kirk to deploy it against us?”
Why was he waiting? J’Teglyr knew his orders offered some latitude in this situation, particularly if he decided that the alien fortress was out of the imperial grasp and in danger of being taken away by the Federation. If this construct was a massive weapon, and Kirk had determined how to control it, then the Empire might be at risk.
“Prepare to attack,” he ordered. Looking to D’jorok, he added, “Once we’ve dealt with the Enterprise, we will transport the key component from the citadel.”
“That may not be possible,” said G’peq. “If my sensor readings are correct, the device is housed within its own protective shield that will block a transporter beam.”
J’Teglyr suppressed an irritated growl. “Then we will go and take it. Retrieval of the component by any means necessary is the first and only priority. G’peq, you will provide its exact location.”
“Why not simply destroy the Enterprise?” asked Woveth.
Spinning on his heel, J’Teglyr pointed a finger at the disruptive lieutenant. “Question my orders again, and you will die, here and now.”
“My first officer’s question is valid,” said Visla. “Why do you insist on these half measures? The alien fortress is lost. That much is obvious to everyone here but you, Captain. It is time to take decisive action for the good of the Empire.”
J’Teglyr took a step toward her. “Was it the good of the Empire that motivated you into an ill-advised attack on the Enterprise? A child can see what drives you, Visla. You hope to reclaim your honor, and you saw defeating Kirk as a way to do that, only to discover too late that he is no typical Earther. He fights like a Klingon,
except in one regard: a Klingon would have finished you while you drifted helpless in space and granted you some small sliver of dignity by dying at the hands of a superior adversary. Surely, that would have been far more preferable than having to be rescued by me, after your moronic actions cost you the lives of twelve of your crew, including the one with whom you shared your bed.”
His last comment evoked the reaction he wanted, as Visla’s eyes narrowed and her mouth opened in momentary shock. Then the moment was over, and she regained her composure, though J’Teglyr saw that her fists were clenched as she held them at her sides.
“You,” he continued, “whose very existence dishonors every warrior who has ever pledged loyalty to Kahless and all he stands for, dare to lecture me about the good of the Empire?” His threshold for enduring this impudence had been reached. He did not care how he would be viewed by the High Command or anyone else. Any punishment they might mete out would pale in comparison to suffering this fool any longer. With a howl of unchecked fury, he reached for his disruptor.
Visla’s movements were far quicker, and within the space of a heartbeat J’Teglyr found himself staring at the muzzle of her own weapon.
* * *
J’Teglyr’s attempt to draw his disruptor was as slow as it was clumsy. Visla’s sidearm had cleared its holster and was aiming at the captain’s face before his hand rested on his weapon’s grip. During the instant in which all of this took place, she considered giving him a chance to reconsider his action, but in the end decided it was a waste of time and energy better spent elsewhere.
She fired.
Though the disruptor’s power setting was well below maximum, at this range it did not matter. The energy bolt harnessed more than sufficient force to obliterate the better portion of Captain J’Teglyr’s head. Everything above his chin vanished, and the shot continued on to strike the bulkhead just to the right of the viewscreen.
The reaction around her was immediate. Even as J’Teglyr’s body fell backward and tumbled across the arm of his captain’s chair, the six Klingons manning stations around the bridge were turning from their consoles and reaching for weapons. Beside her, Woveth had already drawn his own disruptor. He shot the officer standing at the engineering station without warning before turning and placing his weapon’s muzzle against D’jorok’s cheek. The Vron’joQ’s first officer sneered in derision, but he had the good sense to keep his hands away from his sides.
