Purgatory's Key

by Dayton Ward

  “You are correct,” he said, after examining the indicators. “The rate has increased by approximately sixteen percent and is continuing to rise. A logical deduction is that the process has been accelerated due to the arrival of the Jatohr on the planet.”

  Kirk said, “We have to stop it, Spock.”

  “Acknowledged.” With his tricorder, he studied the alien console yet again. “The rate of increase has risen a total of twenty-three percent and is holding at that level.”

  “What’s that do for your estimates?” asked McCoy.

  Spock considered the calculations. “The chemical will have been completely deployed within three hours, but effects to the planet’s atmosphere likely will be damaging to non-Jatohr life-forms as well as indigenous wildlife and vegetation well before that. Captain Kirk, I do not see a means for us to disable the system that cannot be overridden by automated processes, but there may be another option.”

  Returning to the console with the Transfer Key, Spock again consulted his tricorder, checking his readings against the information Captain Una had recorded during her initial examination of the citadel. It took him only a moment to confirm his theory.

  “Captain, we may be able to redirect energy drawn by the transfer-field generator back to its central power relays, bypassing its internal safety mechanisms and oversight systems in an uncontrolled manner.”

  Kirk said, “You’re talking about an overload.”

  “A forced chamber explosion, yes.” Spock glanced again at his tricorder. “If we are to successfully avert permanent environmental damage to the planet, the process must be initiated within fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s not a lot of time. Scotty still doesn’t have the transporters ready, and I’ve got a Klingon ship coming at me.” There was a short silence before Kirk added, “Unless we find a way to disable that dampening field, we may not be able to get you out of there in time.”

  Spock turned his attention to the console, beginning the process of entering instructions to the citadel’s power systems. “The dampening field appears to be overseen by a protected system, as are its power generators. We are unable to reach them in the time available, as they have been blocked by the ongoing reconfiguration of various interior spaces.”

  “Chekov’s identified a section near the citadel’s outer hull that Scotty thinks he can punch through,” said Kirk, before relaying a set of coordinates.

  Uhura input the information to her tricorder. “I’ve got it, Mister Spock. If I’m reading this correctly, it’ll take us a few minutes to get there.”

  “And there are no guarantees of a successful retrieval,” said Spock.

  “It’s all we’ve got,” replied Kirk. “Start the overload procedure.”

  Amanda stepped forward. “Spock, wait. What about your father?”

  “Joanna,” added McCoy, “and everyone else still over there. Spock, we can’t . . .”

  “There is no choice, Doctor.” He paused, his gaze locking with his mother’s. “The needs of the many must take precedence.” With a final set of instructions entered, a new indicator flared to life on the console. To Spock, it appeared as a collection of densely packed, multihued dots on a black background. The graphic began pulsing, and with each iteration a few of the dots faded. Spock checked the indicator against his tricorder readings.

  “We now have twelve minutes before the overload occurs.”

  “Start making your way to the extraction point,” said Kirk.

  Spock replied, “We are not quite finished here, Captain.” He turned to Amanda, whose expression was one of anguish, and extended his hand.

  “Come, Mother. There is still time. We will try to contact Sarek.”

  Thirty-one

  Kirk stared at the main viewscreen, watching as the Vron’joQ moved across the image of the planet Usilde, growing larger with each passing moment.

  “They’re arming weapons, sir,” said Chekov from where he still stood hunched over the science station’s sensor viewer. “And they’ve raised their shields.”

  Damn it!

  There was no time for this nonsense, not with Spock and the rest of the landing party still aboard the citadel and a very ominous clock now ticking.

  “How can they not see what’s going on? Captain J’Teglyr has to at least think his own people might be at risk down there.” Dropping the heel of his hand onto his armrest, Kirk activated the chair’s comm system. “Kirk to engineering. Scotty, where are my transporters?”

  “We’re still working at it, sir.” The chief engineer’s voice was taut with strain, as though he were engaged in physical effort, and Kirk pictured the other man entrenched inside one of the ship’s Jefferies tubes. “That damned dampening field is giving us fits. We’re reconfiguring the targeting scanners through the navigational deflector to increase power for the matter stream and the annular confinement beams. We’ll still have to get pretty close, though, sir. It’s going to be tricky.”

  “Tricky’s going to have to be good enough,” replied Kirk. “We’re running out of time. Just get me a way in there.”

  “Aye, Captain. Stand by.”

  No sooner was the connection severed than Chekov said, “Captain, the Klingon vessel is closing to optimum weapons range.”

  “Maintain evasive, Mister Sulu. I don’t want to give them an easy shot.”

  The helmsman glanced over his shoulder. “What about the citadel, sir?”

  Kirk shifted his gaze from the viewscreen to the astro­gator between Sulu and Lieutenant Rahda, noting the relative positions of the Enterprise, the Vron’joQ, and the citadel. The alien ship had settled into its low, stationary orbit, all but daring anyone or anything to approach it as it continued to expel chemicals into Usilde’s atmosphere. The citadel’s proximity to the planet’s mesosphere would make getting near it trickier, as the massive vessel’s orbit would limit possible approach vectors.

  “Mister Chekov,” Kirk said, “if necessary, could we destroy the citadel?”

  “Not completely, sir,” replied the ensign, “but we could definitely do some serious damage. According to our sensor readings, its hull won’t stand up to an extended attack with photon torpedoes. If we can breach it at the right points, we can definitely target power systems and whatever else might look vulnerable. That might trigger total destruction, but the more likely outcome is that whatever remains will simply fall back to the planet.”

  Kirk grimaced at the unpleasant thought. “That could be dangerous for the Usildar and even the Klingons. There’s no way to know what kind of ecological damage a crash might cause, considering its cargo.” They needed a way to disable or destroy the citadel that was not hazardous to Usilde, its indigenous population, and anyone else down on the planet.

  You may not have a choice. Not anymore.

  “Lieutenant Rahda, start plotting possible firing solutions.” Swiveling his chair, Kirk turned to Lieutenant Palmer. “Open a channel to the Vron’joQ.”

  The communications officer tapped a sequence of controls at her workstation before replying, “Frequency open, sir.”

  “J’Teglyr, this is Captain Kirk. From where I sit, Captain, you appear to be taking provocative action. Please explain the nature of your intercept course.”

  After a moment, Palmer said, “They’re definitely receiving, sir, but I’m not getting any response.”

  “Captain,” Kirk said into the open channel, “perhaps you haven’t noticed, but the Jatohr citadel has launched from the planet’s surface and assumed orbit. It’s armed, and we’ve already taken fire. You can see for yourself that it’s introducing a compound into the planet’s atmosphere that will continue the Jatohr terraforming process. The Usildar may be in danger, and you have your own people down there, and now the citadel is building to an overload of its power plant. Are you really going to do this now?”

  To his
surprise, Palmer said, “They’re transmitting, Captain. Audio and visual.”

  “Onscreen.”

  The Vron’joQ and the planet behind it disappeared from the viewscreen, replaced not by J’Teglyr but instead a female Klingon whom Kirk did not recognize, sitting in the high-backed chair at the center of the warship’s bridge. He noted from her uniform insignia that she carried a commander’s rank.

  “I am Visla, now in command of this vessel.”

  Scowling, Kirk asked, “What happened to J’Teglyr?”

  “I . . . relieved him of his duties.” Visla leaned forward in her seat, her expression hardening. “He was unwilling to do all that might be necessary to defend the Empire and its interests. Rest assured that I do not share this failing.”

  What the hell was going on over on that ship? Was J’Teglyr dead, executed for any number of real or perceived offenses? The Klingon captain had at least appeared uninterested in battling the Enterprise, but this Visla seemed driven by some other agenda.

  As he stared at her image on the viewscreen, Kirk realized who she was, and why she seemed so determined. “You commanded the Qo’Daqh, and you attacked us earlier. An unprovoked attack, I might add.”

  “Unprovoked?” Raising her right hand, she pointed to something Kirk could not see. “You control that alien machine, which has now risen from the planet. Your people are aboard it, Captain. Are you trying to tell me you have no intentions of seizing it for your Starfleet to exploit? To use it against your enemies?”

  Kirk felt his jaw tightening, but he forced himself to keep his tone level. “Didn’t you see the thing firing at my ship? I have a team trapped over there, and I can’t get them out of there if you insist on facing off against me.” Rising from his chair, he glared at her. “Don’t get between me and my people, Commander.”

  “Bold words, Captain,” replied Visla. The Klingon offered a menacing smile. “Let us see if your actions are worthy of them.”

  She made a gesture and her image dissolved, returning the forward view of the Vron’joQ as it continued its approach.

  “They’ve accelerated to full impulse, Captain!”

  Kirk grabbed the back of Sulu’s chair. “Evasive maneuvers.” Even before the lieutenant could move to execute the order, he said, “No, wait.” He leaned closer to the helm officer. “Take us in closer to the citadel.”

  “Closer, sir?” Sulu shot him a skeptical glance.

  Nodding, Kirk replied, “Right. Why should we have all the fun getting shot at by the citadel?”

  Sulu smiled. “Aye, sir.”

  A moment later, the lieutenant was inputting the necessary commands to the helm console, and Kirk watched the Vron’joQ curve up and away beyond the viewscreen’s upper right corner as the Enterprise changed its trajectory. Within seconds, the citadel was centered on the screen, depicted from above with the starship angling toward it.

  “The citadel appears to be tracking our approach, Captain,” said Chekov, his face all but buried in the sensor viewer. “Their weapons ports are coming to bear.”

  His attention divided between his instruments and the tactical scanner that had emerged from his console, Sulu asked, “How close do you want us, sir?”

  “Close enough to scratch the paint,” replied Kirk as he returned to his seat. “Get us close enough, and maybe it’ll look for something else to shoot at.”

  It took only a moment for the Jatohr construct to announce its displeasure at the Enterprise’s return, with Chekov calling out a new warning as the first volley of plasma energy bolts spat forth from ports along the spires festooning the citadel’s upper hull. Sulu’s evasive tactics saw to it that the starship suffered only glancing blows as he closed the distance, but Kirk felt the effects of every impact against the deflector shields channeled through the vessel’s structure. At the same time, Lieutenant Rahda was continuing her quest to target and disable any weapons ports that presented themselves. Phaser fire streaked across the citadel’s hull, and Rahda was rewarded as some of the strikes found their mark.

  “We hit three ports on that pass, sir,” reported Rahda.

  Kirk nodded. “Nice shooting, Lieutenant. Keep it up.”

  “Here comes the Vron’joQ,” warned Chekov. “They’re coming right at us.” A moment later, he called out, “They’re targeting us!”

  “Sulu,” Kirk prompted.Rather than replying, the lieutenant responded by executing yet another shift in the Enterprise’s trajectory, and Kirk tried to ignore his stomach’s objections as the citadel rolled to starboard on the view­screen. Along its hull, weapons ports flashed, each one unleashing another barrage of disruptor energy. This time the aim was true, and the screen dissolved in a brilliant white light with enough intensity to overstress the imaging processor. A heartbeat later, the ship trembled and protested as the shields bore the brunt of the violent attack.

  “Sorry, Captain.” Sulu cast a guilty grimace over his shoulder as he gripped his console to hold himself in his seat. His apology was punctuated by a second series of strikes against the shields, though these impacts were not as severe.

  Chekov said, “That’s the Vron’joQ, maneuvering in behind us. We took heavy damage to the port shields from the citadel. The generators are lagging on getting them back to full strength.”

  “Take us in closer,” ordered Kirk, his attention split between the viewscreen and the astrogator as he judged the position of the Enterprise and the Klingon vessel. “Rahda, stand by on phasers.”

  The viewscreen image shifted again in response to Sulu’s maneuvering the starship toward the citadel. Stars and the curvature of the planet all but disappeared, blocked out by the alien structure’s gleaming exterior. Kirk saw the dark openings of the weapons ports, and movement inside, as the plasma disruptors took new aim and prepared to fire.

  “Now, Rahda,” said Kirk. “Fire!”

  The navigator executed the command and twin beams of blue-white energy lanced across space, striking a pair of the weapons ports as the Enterprise passed overhead. Without waiting for orders, Sulu guided the ship along an evasive course across the citadel’s outer hull, giving Rahda additional targets of opportunity. A few of the ports survived the strike and were continuing to fire, and Kirk watched the energy bolts streak past the edges of the viewscreen.

  “The Vron’joQ has taken direct hits to its aft shields,” said Chekov, his voice rising in volume and pitch. He leaned closer to his sensor viewer, almost pressing his face against the viewfinder. “Another hit. Aft shields are buckling!”

  Kirk shifted in his seat. “Sulu, bring us around, and watch our backs. Rahda, target the Vron’joQ’s propulsion system and fire at will.”

  The citadel disappeared from the viewscreen and Kirk watched Usilde swing into view, before which was the silhouette of the D6 battle cruiser. Flares of energy were visible near the ship’s stern, a clear indication that its deflector shields had been compromised. Not waiting, Rahda fired again, and the Enterprise’s phasers sliced through the faltering shields to strike the Klingon ship’s starboard warp nacelle. The lieutenant followed with another barrage, this time scoring a direct hit on the cruiser’s aft hull.

  “Hold your fire, Lieutenant,” said Kirk. “Chekov, damage report?”

  The ensign replied, “They’re moving off, sir. Their warp drive is offline, and their impulse engines also appear damaged. They’ve still got weapons, but I’m picking up other system overloads throughout the ship.” Looking away from the sensors, he added, “Their life-support systems appear damaged, too, Captain.”

  “Critical?”

  “Not at the moment sir, but they’ll definitely need major repairs.”

  Kirk nodded. “Leave them be, but keep an eye on them. We’ve got bigger problems right now. How much time until the overload?”

  “Nine minutes, forty seconds, sir,” replied Chekov.

  Turning his
chair, Kirk looked to the communications station. “Palmer, get me Spock.”

  Thirty-two

  Having moved to a quiet corner of the control room, away from the rest of the landing party as well as the central column and its workstations, Spock directed Amanda to sit on the floor. He then settled into position, and she mimicked his movements as he adopted a meditative pose, sitting with his legs crossed and arms resting on his lap.

  “Are you certain you can do this?” asked Spock. “The discomfort you experienced last time was formidable.”

  Her lips pressed together, Amanda nodded. “I have to do this, Spock. I’m the only one who can. I’m ready.” To emphasize her reply, she reached out and took his hands in hers. “But I can’t do it without you.”

  The previous meld had proven difficult for Amanda, due mostly to the extra strain to which she had been subjected as part of attempting to make contact with Sarek across whatever barrier separated the two universes. Spock surmised that the level of difficulty was further amplified by whatever Sarek himself was experiencing in the bizarre realm.

  Leaning toward his mother, Spock reached out and placed the fingertips of his right hand against her left cheek. He pressed against the contact points to initiate the meld, and her eyes closed. Spock followed suit, forcing his mind clear of all thoughts save Amanda.

  “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

  Thanks to their earlier joining, navigating this meld was far easier, and within moments Spock sensed his mother’s presence in proximity to his own. An image of her face coalesced before him, and she smiled. It was that confident, knowing smile she exuded throughout his childhood, a comforting expression that always accompanied some words of encouragement or counsel. Living on a world among Vulcans, Amanda Grayson had always comported herself in the finest traditions of her adopted home, impressing even his father’s exacting, uncompromising standards of conduct. Even then, she still found ways to assert herself as a human and an individual, instead of remaining satisfied being known only as the wife and partner of a prominent diplomat. Though it had taken many years, Spock now understood he carried within him the best qualities of both his parents and the dual heritage that was his birthright.