Purgatory's Key
Page 29
He activated his chair’s intercom control. “Kirk to engineering. Scotty.”
“I know, Captain,” replied the harried chief engineer. “I think I’ve almost got it. I need to make one more adjustment, and then we can run another test.”
“Forget the tests,” snapped Kirk. “This is it, one way or the other. We won’t get another chance. Are you ready?”
Scott sighed over the open channel. “I can’t make any promises, Captain.”
“Ninety seconds, sir,” reported Sulu.
Kirk tapped the arm of his chair with his fist. “Then we don’t have anything to lose, do we? Sulu, take us in.”
“Aye, sir,” said the helm officer, turning once more to his controls.
Pushing himself back in his chair, Kirk watched the citadel grow to fill the viewscreen. It was going to be close, but there was no more time to wait, or waste.
It was now or never.
* * *
All but carrying Amanda between them, Spock and McCoy entered the chamber, on the heels of Lieutenant Uhura. The room was a circular affair, filled with all manner of conduits and what might have been cargo containers, stacked in odd configurations along the curved bulkheads. A circular hatch, larger than the others he had seen and appearing to be much thicker, was set into the room’s far wall.
“Looks to be an airlock, sir,” said Lieutenant Commander Giotto, who stood waiting in the room with the other five members of his security team. He tapped the tricorder slung against his left hip. “At least, that’s what this says.”
McCoy grunted. “End of the road.”
Instead of replying, Spock activated his communicator. “Spock to Enterprise.”
“Kirk here. We’re reading you at the extraction point. Stand by. We’re coming for you right now.”
“How much time do we have?” asked Uhura.
“Sixty-four seconds,” replied Spock. He deduced that extracting ten people via transporter, particularly one experiencing the apparent problems described by the captain, would consume most of that remaining time. Upon reflection, he decided this was an observation that did not need to be shared with the others.
“Closing to transporter range,” said Kirk. “Get ready.”
Two seconds later, Giotto and his security team were enveloped in the familiar gold shimmer of transporter beams. The six officers faded and dissolved, and Spock exchanged glances with his mother.
“That’s a good sign, I hope,” she said.
Several more seconds passed, during which McCoy and Uhura moved to stand next to each other. The doctor placed his arm around her shoulder.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “Jim won’t let us down. He’d die first.”
Uhura smiled. “I know.”
Recognizing the sentiment, Spock also noted the conviction with which his companions spoke. Though logic suggested that such statements were fraught with emotion rather than reason, he realized that they also were declarations from which he found comfort. The doctor was correct in at least one regard: James Kirk would without hesitation give his own life in service to the well-being of those under his command. He would never quit, would never succumb, would never surrender so long as they were in danger.
McCoy’s unwavering belief was confirmed when Kirk’s voice exploded from the communicator.
“They’re safe! Hang on, Spock. It’s your turn.”
Only then did Spock realize that Amanda was holding his hand, and he had but a fleeting moment to notice her grip tightening before he felt the welcome tingle of the transporter beam. The last thing he heard before the beam consumed him was Leonard McCoy’s voice.
“Told you.”
* * *
“Bridge, we’ve got them all!”
Kirk pushed himself from his chair, lunging toward the helm console. “Sulu, get us out of here.”
The lieutenant was already feeding the necessary commands to the helm console, and Kirk watched as the citadel dropped below the viewscreen’s lower edge as the Enterprise pushed its way toward space. Kirk counted down the precious few seconds remaining to them.
“Chekov, is the Vron’joQ at a safe distance?”
At the science station, the ensign replied, “They’re holding position four hundred thousand kilometers from the planet, sir. That should be sufficient.” He paused, then added, “If it’s not, then we’ve likely got bigger problems.”
Checking his count against the chronometer on Sulu’s station, Kirk saw that only seconds remained until detonation. “Full power to aft shields. Maintain speed until further notice. Reverse angle on viewer.”
The image on the screen changed to show the citadel, still hovering above the planet, but only for a moment before the entire vessel shuddered as though racked by massive internal explosions. Kirk watched as great fissures opened in the ship’s hull, belching fire as the entire structure began to come apart. An immense ball of energy expanded outward from the ship’s core, growing within seconds to consume the entire citadel. Debris was cast in all directions, including no small amount shunted toward the planet. Kirk winced at that, hoping the falling wreckage posed no threat to anyone on the surface. There were also the environmental concerns posed by the explosion occurring within the planet’s atmosphere, but there was nothing he could do about that now except hope that any damage could be repaired later.
As the explosion faded, leaving behind only a cloud of wreckage, Kirk allowed himself a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, feeling the strain of the past hours only now beginning to ebb.
“Well done, everyone.”
As his bridge officers continued to watch over their stations, assessing the status of the ship’s various systems and determining the scope of any damage, Kirk was left to ponder the beautiful green world. Usilde, despite all it had suffered, beckoned, but what of the Usildar, or the Jatohr for that matter? What was to become of them? Their fates, now seemingly intertwined, remained unknown.
Break’s over, Kirk chided himself. Back to work.
Thirty-four
Her fingers slick with green blood, Captain Una tore at Sarek’s burned, tattered robes until she laid bare the ambassador’s torso. Multiple wounds from shrapnel marred his flesh, and he was in obvious pain. He looked to be slipping into shock. What the hell had happened?
Wait. His injuries from Centaurus. They were arrested, somehow, in the other universe, but now we’re back. Damn it!
“I need help here! Hurry!”
It was only when she moved to readjust the small pack slung across her back that she realized she was carrying all of the Starfleet equipment she had taken with her when she had transferred herself to the Jatohr universe. Her phaser and tricorder were all here.
And the survival kit!
Pulling the pack over her shoulders, Una dropped it to the ground and pulled out the Starfleet field medkit that was part of her survival provisions. She was attempting to fumble open the kit when she saw a shadow fall across Sarek’s body.
“Captain,” said Joanna McCoy as she rushed toward her, dropping to the ground next to the wounded Vulcan and pushing her way past Una to assess his injuries.
“He’s the same way he was before we were transported to the other universe,” McCoy said. She snatched the medkit from Una’s hands and opened it. “He’s in a bad way. This kit won’t be enough.”
Reaching to the small of her back, Una sighed in relief when her hand wrapped around the communicator she found there. She flipped it open.
“Una to . . . Captain Una to whoever’s up there. We have an emergency. Vulcan male in critical condition requiring immediate attention. Lock on to this signal and transport now!” To her great relief, a familiar voice replied.
“Captain Una, this is Jim Kirk. Transporter room is preparing to beam him up now. Stand by.”
“I’m going with him,” snappe
d Joanna, who had availed herself of Una’s tricorder and was now holding a portable scanner over Sarek.
Una nodded. “No argument.” Into the communicator, she said, “Captain Kirk, two to beam up. Then send down a medical team and security people. We’ve got a lot of disoriented people down here.”
“On it. Prepare for transport.”
Placing the communicator on Sarek’s chest, she pushed herself away from him and Joanna mere seconds before she heard the telltale whine of transporter energy flaring into existence. Joanna and Sarek were enveloped in the glowing gold sheen, and their bodies faded into nothingness, leaving Una standing alone.
“Good luck,” she said to the air.
Una allowed herself to assess her current situation. She had regained awareness to find herself standing in what she recognized as a forest on Usilde. Her first sight had been the wounded Ambassador Sarek, at which point instinct took over. Now that he was gone, transported to the Enterprise and hopefully receiving the best possible care from the starship’s chief medical officer, she had time to absorb a most important realization.
We’re back.
Turning from the spot where she had found Sarek, Una took in her surroundings. Scattered around her were her former Enterprise crewmates, as well as hundreds of Usildar. A short distance away, more Jatohr than she could easily count occupied a large clearing at the edge of the forest on the far side of the lake that she realized was no longer home to the citadel. What had happened to it? As for the Jatohr, from what she could see, they appeared confused and even more lethargic than she remembered from her previous encounters.
Moving among the group of returnees, Una first found Lieutenant Ingrid Holstine and Petty Officer James Cambias. Both of her comrades were sitting on the ground, dazed and disoriented.
“Lieutenant,” said Holstine. Then she shook her head and blinked several times. “I mean, Captain. It’s going to take me a little while to get used to that.”
Una smiled. “It’s all right.”
Reaching up to rub his temples, Cambias said, “Thank you for coming after us, Captain, and for never giving up on us.”
“You’d have done the same for me.”
Cambias exchanged looks with Holstine. “So, eighteen years. Think they’ll give us retroactive promotions?”
“I’ll see to it personally,” said Una. She placed her hand on the petty officer’s shoulder. “Just sit tight. A team from the Enterprise is on the way.”
After checking on the other members of her former crew—Le May, Griffin, Stevens, Goldberg, and Craig—Una made her way to where Ensign Tim Shimizu sat next to Commander Raul Martinez.
“Tim,” she said as she approached. “Are you all right?”
Pushing himself to his feet, Shimizu moved to her and they embraced. She heard and felt his deep sigh as he gripped her, and for a moment Una thought she might cry. She had waited years for this moment, and the feeling of success was all but overwhelming.
The victory had not come without cost.
Pulling back from her, Shimizu wiped his eyes before gesturing to Martinez. “The commander’s still out of it. I think he needs help.”
Una knelt next to Martinez. The other man’s eyes were open and staring at some fixed point in space, though she suspected he saw nothing. His lips were moving, though she heard no words.
“I don’t get it,” said Shimizu. “Aside from Captain April, he’s the strongest, toughest man I’ve ever known, but something over there was just too much for him.”
“It’s not his fault,” said Una. “None of us should’ve been over there. We weren’t suited to that universe, and we each reacted in different ways. Somehow it just was worse for Raul. We’ll get him all the help he needs.”
Shimizu nodded. “He’ll be okay. I just know it. It’s still Raul Martinez in there, right?”
“I hope so,” said Una. “This isn’t what I wanted when I came to get all of you.”
“It’s not your fault.” Shimizu put a hand on her arm. “You kept your promise. Even after all these years, you never forgot us. You gave us back our lives, Una. That’s got to give him some strength to fight with.” He looked to Martinez. “Somehow he knows that. I can feel it.”
Tears welling up in her eyes, Una gripped his hand. “Thank you, Tim.”
“No, Una. Thank you.”
* * *
“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Our sensors show that your vessel is crippled and your life-support systems are failing. If you surrender, you have my word that you will be well-treated and turned over to your people when their ships arrive. In the meantime, we will assist you in making emergency repairs so that you don’t have to abandon your ship. Please respond.”
Hot fury burned Visla’s eyes. Staring at the static-filled image of the Starfleet captain that dominated the Vron’joQ bridge’s viewscreen, she seethed. His expression, though deeply serious, could not completely mask his arrogant sense of superiority. This was the face of an adversary who knew he had won. He might appear magnanimous, but Visla knew that in short order he would be standing in a bar, drinking and regaling his friends with stories of his victory. The very idea only fueled her anger.
Just as she was considering drawing her disruptor and shooting the screen, the Earther’s face faded, sputtered, then flared back to full brightness before disappearing altogether, and the viewscreen went dark. All around her, Visla heard the sounds of other stations shutting down. Display monitors and consoles deactivated, each one robbing the bridge of a bit more illumination. After a moment, there was only the feeble illumination provided by the battery-operated emergency lighting. Beneath her, the ship itself groaned in protest as it drifted helpless in space.
“I have no control,” reported K’darqa from the helm station. The lieutenant slammed his fists into the now useless console. “We are easy prey for our enemies.”
From where he stood at one of the bridge’s rear stations, Woveth said, “Weapons systems are offline. Shields are down.”
“They will not kill us,” said Commander D’jorok. He was standing next to the helm console and trying to assist K’darqa, but looked over his shoulder. “If they wanted to do so, we would already be dead, but that is not the way of Earthers.”
Slamming her fist against the arm of her chair, Visla activated the internal communications channel. “Engineering, damage report. Are you able to make repairs?”
There was a long pause—too long, in fact—before the voice of Morval, the Vron’joQ’s haggard engineering officer, said over the open channel, “Primary propulsion is offline, Commander, and it is beyond our ability to repair. We will require towing to a repair facility.”
“At last report,” said Woveth, “the D’ghaj was proceeding here at maximum speed and is due to arrive within the day.” He grunted. “I do not believe we will be able to wait for them without assistance from the Enterprise.”
“That is unacceptable!” Her fists clenching, Visla wanted to pound the chair’s armrests, but managed to restrain herself.
“Impulse engines are also damaged, but I may be able to restore them, given time. However, my priority is repairing life support. The artificial gravity field was simple, but the rest is in much worse condition. Our list of needed repairs is extensive, and will require much time to address.”
“Is that due to your lack of will, engineer, or your lack of ability?”
“The ship was operating at full efficiency at the time you took command of it, and after we rescued you from your own foolhardy action against the Earther starship, Commander. Did you not learn anything from that earlier attempt?”
Snarling with mounting rage, Visla pushed herself from the chair. She spun on her heel and leveled an accusatory finger at D’jorok. “Your crew is as insubordinate as it is incompetent. I want that petaQ’s head on my wall.”
“You insolent dog.” Woveth moved from the rear of the bridge, and as he stepped into her view, Visla saw her first officer drawing his disruptor.
“No!” she snapped, but it was too late.
An accomplished marksman, Woveth cleared the weapon from its holster and was bringing it up to aim at D’jorok. The Vron’joQ’s first officer was faster, brandishing a smaller disruptor from beneath his baldric and raising it in a single, fluid motion. Visla winced at the howl of energy as D’jorok fired in the bridge’s confined space, and the orange flash from his weapon’s muzzle was bright enough to make her reach up to shield her eyes. The disruptor bolt slammed into Woveth’s chest, and he shrieked in pain as his body was torn apart by the hellish energies unleashed upon him. The echo of his screams was still ringing in Visla’s ears even after her first officer vanished. Without missing a beat, D’jorok moved his arm so that the compact disruptor now pointed at Visla’s face.
“You have tainted this ship and its crew with the stain of your dishonor,” he said, sneering. Around the bridge, Visla saw other members of the Vron’joQ’s crew, undoubtedly loyal to D’jorok and their slain captain, taking those few of her own men who still survived. Glancing to where K’darqa had moved from the helm console to take her sensor officer, Bakal, under guard, D’jorok motioned with the disruptor toward the bridge’s rear hatch.
“Take them to the brig. I will deal with them later.”
Visla, standing within easy reach of D’jorok’s weapon, sneered at him. “What are your intentions, Commander?”
“First, I am taking charge of this vessel. As of this moment, you are officially relieved of the command you stole.” There was no hesitation, no doubt, in D’jorok’s voice. Visla saw that this was a Klingon driven by conviction and unwavering loyalty to the captain she had killed. She had underestimated J’Teglyr and those he commanded.