Purgatory's Key

by Dayton Ward

  “Think about your next actions very carefully,” said Visla, eyeing the commander as her disruptor pointed at G’peq. Raising her voice, she said to the rest of the crew, “Your captain was unfit to lead you. You heard and saw his hesitation, demonstrated right here before you. Yes, it is true that you were pledged to obey him, but only so long as he showed he was worthy of your loyalty.” With her free hand, she gestured to J’Teglyr’s body. “Through his own inaction and cowardice, he showed you all that he was undeserving of that respect, and honor demands only one course of action.”

  She pointed to the viewing screen. “Out there, an enemy of the Empire now controls a weapon that places every Klingon at risk. We are warriors, bound by honor, and sworn to do everything in our power to prevent that weapon from being used against us. And yes, Kirk is a formidable adversary; that much should be obvious to each and every one of you. My vessel was unequal to the task of challenging him, but this ship?” She let the ­question linger in the air for a moment. “It just may be able to take him, but we must act now, before Kirk can use the alien citadel against us. If that thing is a vessel, then once it reaches orbit it may well prove too much for us to fight alone. Reinforcements are on the way, but they will not arrive in time. Until then, it is up to us. Will you stand with me?”

  There was hesitation in the eyes of the remaining bridge crew, which was understandable. Loyalty to any commanding officer always was hard-won, and keeping it was an even greater challenge. J’Teglyr, for all his many faults, had found a way to inspire that commitment. Could she replace him, if only for long enough to carry out this one final quest?

  It was J’Teglyr’s first officer who provided the answer.

  “We will stand with you, Commander.”

  She fixed her gaze on D’jorok. “Do you?”

  “Make no mistake. My loyalty is and remains to J’Teglyr, and my duty requires that I look after the interests of those under my command. For that reason alone, I will obey you, as will they, until the current crisis is past.” With his left hand, he reached across his body and pulled his disruptor from its holster before extending it grip first to Visla. “Once that is done, and my crew is safe from the situation you have caused, I promise nothing.”

  Accepting first the disruptor and then his d’k tahg, Visla believed him. The prudent course here would be to kill D’jorok now, but the truth was she needed him. There was no time for a proper transition of command, and the Vron’joQ’s crew outnumbered her own. She could not afford the prospect of mutiny until this business with the Enterprise was concluded. Assuming they survived, there would be time later for her to indulge D’jorok’s desire to avenge his captain’s death.

  “That is fair,” she said. “I would expect nothing else from a Klingon of your character.”

  Turning his attention to the rest of the bridge crew, D’jorok raised his voice. “You will obey Commander Visla as you would Captain J’Teglyr or myself. Anything less, and you will answer to me.”

  Visla answered the statement by lowering her disruptor. “Your loyalty to J’Teglyr and the Empire is notable, Commander. Perhaps one day, I will be worthy of such devotion.”

  His eyes still narrow with simmering anger, D’jorok replied, “It is unlikely.”

  “Then at least I can admire your honesty.” She gestured to Woveth. “My first officer will assume your duties. You will see to your crew.”

  Glancing at Woveth, D’jorok said nothing, but Visla could see that he was not pleased with the new arrangement. This was expected, given that Woveth was junior in rank, but right now she needed a first officer she could trust without doubt.

  D’jorok nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Stepping past him, Visla moved to the command chair. “Have two of your men see to your captain,” she said, gesturing to J’Teglyr’s body. She waited until she had lowered herself into the command chair and for two of the Vron’joQ bridge officers to remove J’Teglyr before issuing her next order.

  “Prepare to attack.”

  Twenty-eight

  Despite the distance separating the Enterprise from Usilde, the main viewscreen was doing a commendable job depicting the citadel as it rose up from the planet. The image had been set to provide a close-up view as the alien ­vessel—as it was without doubt a vessel—pushed through the atmosphere on its way to space. As beautiful as the construct had looked to Kirk when it sat in the massive lake on the planet’s surface, now that it was free of its earthly confines, the ship appeared nothing short of majestic.

  “That’s incredible,” he said, realizing as he did so that he was leaning far enough forward in his command chair that he was almost ready to topple out of it.

  The captain had come within a hairsbreadth of leading the landing party back to the planet and the citadel. With a Klingon ship in orbit, he decided instead that his place was here on the bridge. Spock was more than capable of leading the team to the surface, but now Kirk could not help the pang of guilt coursing through him at the thought of his people being in danger and without him there to lead them.

  Spock can handle it. Do your job.

  “What’s powering it?” he asked.

  Now manning the science station in Spock’s absence, Ensign Chekov reported, “A form of chemical-propelled rocket thrusters, sir. Based on the readings from the exhaust plumes, it looks like the main element is hydrogen, likely extracted from the lake water.” The junior officer shrugged. “It’s not the most efficient alternative for creating fuel, but for a one-time use? Why not?”

  “The thing’s been sitting in that lake for decades,” Kirk said. “It’s had plenty of time to figure out how to make fuel as part of its overall preparations for launch. What about weapons?”

  Chekov replied, “None that I can detect, sir. According to Captain Una’s original reports from eighteen years ago, it did not possess weapons at that time.”

  “But Captain Una also didn’t know the whole thing was a ship,” said Kirk, “and it’s had eighteen years to modify itself. Want to bet it learned some things from us and the Klingons during all that time? Keep checking.”

  “I do have a sensor fix on the landing party. It’s fuzzy, but I can track their movements, and the readings are improving as the citadel gets closer. The transporter room reports they’re still unable to lock on. We lost the signal the instant that dampening field activated.”

  That was an expected yet still unpleasant development, given the difficulties encountered to this point by the starship’s sensors, and during numerous attempts at penetrating the citadel’s hull. While the alien vessel was on the surface, the landing party could simply exit from its interior spaces. Now that it was on the move and ascending toward orbit, tracking Spock and the others had become an even greater priority, and one hampered by the activation of a powerful new dampening field that was playing havoc with sensors, communications, and transporters. Spock had reported that he had attempted to track the field to its source and disable it, to no avail. Along with this new wrinkle, there was also potential danger to the Enterprise. If the citadel decided the starship and anything else in its way was an enemy, then things were about to become very complicated in rapid fashion.

  Tapping the intercom control on his armrest, Kirk said, “Engineering. Scotty, we need a solution for the sensors and the transporters. Things are about to get crazy up here, and we may have to pull back the landing party fast.”

  There was a pause before the Enterprise’s chief engineer replied, “Aye, sir. We’re working on it, but I can’t make you any promises. It took almost every trick I had to beef up communications to punch through the interference from that thing. Transporters are a bit more delicate. I’ll send any ideas I have to Mister Chekov.” The fatigue in the man’s voice rang in Kirk’s ears, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

  “Keep at it, Scotty. If anybody can figure it out, it’s you. Kir
k out.” Turning back to the science station, he said, “Mister Chekov, keep monitoring the Transfer Key and the field generator. I want to know the moment there’s the slightest change.” The captain glanced over his shoulder to Lieutenant Palmer. “Get me Spock.”

  The communications officer replied, “Aye, sir.”

  Within seconds, the Vulcan’s voice could be heard over the bridge’s intercom system. “Spock here, Captain.”

  Shifting in his seat, Kirk said, “Mister Spock, I don’t have to tell you we’re getting a little jumpy up here. What’s your status?”

  “We have not yet attempted to reestablish contact with Sarek. With the citadel now making its way to orbit, I do not know how this will affect our efforts at communication or retrieval.”

  Haunting images of Captain Una and everyone else materializing in open space outside the citadel began to fester in Kirk’s mind, but he pushed away those disturbing thoughts. “Spock, surely the technology involved here had to foresee something like this, particularly if the plan was always for the citadel to be a ship of some kind. Wouldn’t that make sense?”

  “That is my hope, Captain.”

  Another nagging thought was fighting for Kirk’s attention. “Do we know what’s behind all of this? Can you tell us anything new about the citadel’s internal configuration? Does it have a warp drive?”

  “We are unable to access those areas which house or support anything resembling a propulsion system. However, energy readings suggest the vessel does not possess interstellar travel capabilities. Then again, we did not even think it was a ship until a short while ago.”

  None of this made any sense. At least, not yet. “But why, Spock? The Jatohr were terraforming the planet; why would they need a ship, and particularly one that couldn’t get them beyond this star system?”

  There was a pause, as though Spock were considering the various possibilities. Then he said, “Without more facts, offering a hypothesis may prove counterproductive.”

  “Humor me, Spock.”

  “A craft of this size and power, in orbit or in the vicinity of the planet, could prove useful as a way station from which to launch future probes and ships to the system’s outlying planets. Also, should the citadel prove to harbor weapons, it might make it a formidable defense for any permanent settlement on the surface. If it does reveal itself to be capable of interstellar travel, then it could be rooted in something as simple as finding additional planets that can provide a home for their species.”

  “Or it could be a combination of any of those ideas.” Rising from his chair, Kirk moved around Lieutenant Rahda at the navigator’s station and closer to the view­screen and its image of Usilde. “Spock, what do you think would happen if you deactivated the Transfer Key?”

  Kirk imagined Spock’s mind turning over that question before the Vulcan replied, “At the very least, it would sever the link between the two universes and prevent Sarek and the others from returning to our side.”

  “That much I guessed. What about the citadel itself? What do you think it would do if we pulled the Key? Would it return to the planet, continue to orbit, or do something else entirely?”

  “Without more information, I am unable to make a proper hypothesis, Captain.”

  Kirk rested his forearms atop the bridge’s forward railing. “We’re still having trouble with the transporters. Scotty’s working on it, but anything you can do from your end could be a huge help.”

  “I shall continue my efforts to disable the dampening field, Captain.”

  From the science station, Chekov said, “Captain, the citadel has ascended to the upper limits of the planet’s meso­sphere, and its speed is slowing. Based on its trajectory, its orbit will be well below our own.”

  “Spock,” said Kirk, “did you get that?”

  “Affirmative. We are able to monitor the citadel’s progress, speed, and trajectory, though we are unable to access its navigation system.”

  Stepping away from the viewscreen, Kirk moved to the rail separating the command well from Chekov. “Ensign, can you get me anything more on the citadel’s interior?”

  The young officer had already turned back to his instruments. “I’ve been working on that, sir. Engineering gave me a few pointers for reconfiguring the sensor arrays, and I’m making those adjustments now.” Kirk let the man work without interruption, his fingers moving with speed and purpose across the rows of controls on the science station before him. Then, appearing satisfied with his efforts, the ensign nodded as though to himself before leaning once more over the station’s sensor viewer.

  “We can make out those areas housing the thrusters used for the launch,” Chekov said after a moment, “along with the fuel reservoirs feeding them. I’m also picking up indications of new power conduits we couldn’t see before, routing energy from a central core to various points along the hull.” The ensign stiffened, and he pulled his face away from the viewer. “Captain, I think it’s a type of ionized plasma generator.”

  “Ionized plasma?” Kirk frowned. “For propulsion?”

  Chekov shook his head. “I don’t think so, sir.” He tapped another of his controls and one of the larger screens on the bulkhead above his console flared to life. On the screen was a computer-generated depiction of the citadel, with numerous points along its outer hull highlighted by blinking red dots.

  “Weapons ports,” said Lieutenant Rahda from where she sat behind Kirk, and he turned in her direction.

  “I think you’re right, Lieutenant.”

  Over the open comm channel, Spock said, “It would seem that those are just one more facet of the citadel’s ongoing modifications and reconfigurations. Such a development would seem logical, if the Jatohr felt the citadel required defending once off the planet’s surface. We will attempt to collect more data, Captain.”

  “There’s something else, sir,” said Chekov. He pointed to the citadel schematic. “The reservoirs I mentioned? They appear to contain far more liquid than was used to supply fuel for the launch. If I’m reading the sensors correctly, nearly three-quarters of the stored amount has yet to be expended.”

  “Even if the ship was designed for multiple launches and landings,” said Spock, “it seems most inefficient to carry such excess weight into orbit.”

  Kirk frowned. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I agree, sir.” Chekov tapped a series of controls on his console, which had the effect of activating another group of highlighted locations on the diagram. Studying the revised image, Kirk noted that all of these new indicators were located on the citadel’s underside, but were different from the thruster ports used to lift the alien structure from the planet.

  “What are those?”

  “These ports along the lower hull are also linked to the reservoirs,” replied Chekov, “though the conduits feeding them all extend from a separate compartment inside the ship.” Once more, he pointed to the screen. “The reservoirs look to supply water and whatever else was taken in from the lake, run it through this section, then route it through the conduits to these new points.”

  Kirk studied the schematic. “They’re not thrusters. Spock?”

  “We will attempt to investigate that, as well, Captain.”

  “First things first. I want a way to get you out of there. Everything else is secondary. Understood?”

  “Affirmative. Spock out.”

  With the connection severed, Kirk turned from the railing. “Mister Sulu, raise deflector shields and take us to within normal transporter range.” Moving to his command chair, he tapped the armrest’s intercom control. “Bridge to engineering. Scotty, I’m going to need another miracle.”

  “Just one?” replied the engineer.

  “Transporters. They just became your top priority. Get me something, even if it’s just a single compartment near the outer hull. I’ll take anything that’s access
ible to the landing party.”

  Scott replied, “We’re already on it, sir. Even if I can route more power to the transporter system, we’ll probably have to get a might closer to that thing, just to be on the safe side.”

  Safe side? Kirk forced himself not to comment on that. Instead, he asked, “How close?”

  “Close enough to read hull markings and warning labels, sir. It’s likely the only way to keep the transporter beams from scattering during any sort of retrieval process. That would be . . . messy.”

  Forcing away the unwelcome images Scott’s report conjured, Kirk said, “I’ll work with whatever you give me. Just make it happen.”

  Any next comments Kirk may have had were squashed by the sound of the red alert klaxon blasting across the bridge.

  “Incoming fire!” Sulu shouted.

  On the viewscreen, plumes of green-yellow light pulsed from seven points along the citadel’s hull. Writhing spheres of undulating energy plasma surged away from the alien construct, growing larger as they closed the distance separating the ship from the Enterprise.

  Kirk slammed his fist against his armrest intercom panel. “All hands! Brace for impact!”

  That was all the time he had to warn his crew before the plasma bolts slammed into the starship’s shields. The view on the main screen wavered and blinked, slicing apart as the imaging sensors struggled to compensate as power was automatically drawn from every available system to support the shield generators. Kirk felt the deck heave beneath him and he gripped the arms of his chair to keep from being thrown from his seat. All around him, his bridge officers fought to keep their stations as the ship’s artificial gravity and inertial dampers fought back against the attack.