Star Trek Prometheus -Fire with Fire

by Christian Humberg

  “Mr. ak Namur, ETA until interception?”

  “Fifty seconds, sir. It will be close.”

  “Phasers and tractor beam on standby. If we can’t catch the small vessel, we will stop the mothership.”

  “Locking on target,” Spock said.

  “Commander Carson and Lieutenant th’Talias report successful interception,” Paul Winter said. “The hull sections are catching up to us.”

  “Very good,” Adams replied, nodding.

  “Thirty seconds,” ak Namur said.

  Anxious, Adams went down the three steps into the control pit and took position behind his pilot, as if he could grab the escaping ship with both hands if he was two meters closer to the main screen. Mesmerized, he watched how their prey approached its target.

  “They’re slowing down,” Vogel said. Suddenly, the ensign looked up in confusion. Adams also noticed what was happening. The small ship flew above the larger ship and simply continued its course.

  “They didn’t dock,” Vogel exclaimed, surprised.

  “I read no life forms aboard,” Spock said from the back of the bridge.

  Confused, Adams turned around to face him. It took another two seconds before he understood. “They beamed aboard the bigger ship?”

  Spock’s fingers danced across the console. “Incorrect. According to our sensors, the transport was initiated by the larger ship.”

  “The Renao shouldn’t have any transporter technology at their disposal!”

  “Indeed. Presumably another purchase from the black market.”

  “Five seconds.” Ak Namur fidgeted in his seat. “Four. Three.”

  “Lock phasers on their stern. Tractor beam on standby.”

  “We’re in firing range.”

  Adams stabbed in the general direction of the main screen with his index finger. “Fire!”

  Suddenly, a blinding white flash filled space. The outside sensors reacted instantly, decreasing the brightness, but it was too late. Red dots danced before Adams’s eyes when the light vanished a second later. Squinting in confusion, the captain stared at the main screen. Space in front of them was empty.

  “What was that?” he asked, facing Spock. “Did we destroy them?”

  “Negative, Captain. I detect no debris.”

  “What did we just witness then?”

  “Captain.” Vogel’s voice sounded just as perplexed as Adams felt. “The computer just registered a fading space-time distortion.”

  “Fascinating,” Spock commented. The Vulcan turned away from tactical controls, raising an eyebrow. “It would seem that we have just witnessed an unknown variety of faster-than-light travel.”

  “What do you mean? Did the ship jump into warp?”

  “No, Captain. Apparently, the Renao are capable of folding spacetime in order to facilitate a jump across an unknown span.”

  “Long-distance sensors are not able to detect the ship.”

  Adams turned to look at the empty space again in disbelief. The giant sun Aoul hung in space less than one hundred million kilometers away, providing a slightly curved horizon on the bottom of the screen.

  “So they can jump several light-years?”

  “Not necessarily, sir,” Vogel answered tentatively. “Our sensors are severely incapacitated by the radiation in the cluster. We’re barely able to see as far as one light-year.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that they escaped.”

  “No, sir.”

  Turning his back toward the main screen, Adams walked back up to his command chair. Deep in thought, he stood beside it.

  Questions upon questions went through his mind. Why hadn’t anyone known about this extraordinary drive? The report from Starfleet Intelligence didn’t contain any hints about that. Had the Renao developed that technology themselves—and if so, when and how? Or was there yet another unknown entity in this game; someone who’d supplied the extremists with extraordinary high technology?

  Well, we’ve got one answer at least, Adams realized. We know how the fanatics of the Purifying Flame managed to approach their attack targets without any warp-detection sensors triggering an alert.

  They really needed to chase up the origin of this technology and find out how it worked. They couldn’t rule out the fact that the Renao were able to jump halfway across Federation space. In that case, they might appear without warning right above central worlds such as Andor, Vulcan, or Earth. He preferred not to contemplate the destruction they might cause.

  “Captain,” Spock said, coming over to join him. “I believe the danger we are currently facing is far greater than we have imagined.”

  Adams looked at the Vulcan ambassador with a grim expression.

  “I’m afraid, Mr. Spock, you’re absolutely right there. And it’s our duty to avert it.” He stood upright and straightened his uniform. “So I guess, we had better get started.”

  EPILOGUE

  NOVEMBER 16, 2385

  U.S.S. Prometheus

  Sickbay seemed to be the most important location aboard the ship this evening. Geron Barai hardly found time to drop by the small reception area in his medical center. But whenever he did, he discovered new faces: worried crewmembers who had come to ask after the welfare of their rescued colleagues.

  Much to his surprise, he also spotted the captain. “You too, sir?”

  Richard Adams smiled briefly, thanked the visibly stressed-out officer at reception and walked over to Barai. His face had worry lines, but his expression showed determination. “What’s the situation, Doctor?”

  “You could have contacted me via combadge, sir,” Barai said, surprised. “If you want information you don’t have to come here from the bridge to…”

  Adams interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “You don’t pay sick bed visits via combadge, Doctor,” he said, and the smile returned. “Especially not with these patients.”

  Barai understood and grinned back. “You’re not wrong.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his white coat, he accompanied Adams to the treatment and recovery rooms at the back of the ward. They could hear the grumpy voice of Barai’s current most important staff member as they walked.

  “Oh no, Commander! You will not put weight onto that leg before I have finished your treatment.”

  “Damnit, Tric,” protested Lenissa zh’Thiin’s furious voice.

  “I can get up!”

  “What you can or cannot do is a decision based on medical grounds,” Barai’s assistant objected, “and as much as I feel for you, I’m the one making these decisions.”

  Barai and Adams stood in the doorway of the treatment room. Jenna Kirk lay on a biobed, laughing and holding her stomach with her left hand. Her right hand was being attended to by Ensign T’Sai. The second biobed was occupied by zh’Thiin. The young Andorian woman sat up straight—much to the chagrin of the Emergency Medical Holographic program—and had swung her long legs over the edge of the bed. Frustration showed in her eyes when she looked toward the door.

  “Geron, you tell him!”

  “You heard the lady, Tric.” Barai entered the room. He sighed loudly, winking at the security chief furtively. “You don’t get to boss Commander zh’Thiin around. Not even when you’re a doctor. Unfortunately.”

  With his hands on his hips the EMH stared at him, filled with indignation. The computer-created hologram looked like a human male in his late thirties. He had full, chestnut-brown hair, an oblong face, and dimples in his clean-shaven looking chin. He was slender, wearing a black and blue Starfleet uniform. A medical tricorder dangled from his belt. The EMH never appeared without it, so the crew had given him his nickname, Tric.

  Holodoctors with the looks and personality of Tric were a thing of the past. Far more modern models were in use these days, and they had been programmed into the Prometheus’s databanks. But the crew had gotten attached to Tric and his legendary overzealousness. So Captain Adams didn’t find it difficult to stick with the EMH Mark II program. Barai was under orders to u
pdate Tric’s skills and knowledge, but to leave his looks and his bedside manner untouched. So on the inside Tric had evolved into an EMH Mark XI, but on the outside he was still the same.

  “Doctor Barai, I really must protest!” the hologram turned to his superior officer from Betazed, looking for support. “You know as well as I do that medical instructions outweigh those of military personnel. Commander zh’Thiin will be fit for duty when we tell her—not when she decides that she is.”

  The Andorian woman had completely recovered after a brief treatment. Her antennae bent forward menacingly. Barai knew this reaction all too well: Niss was rapidly losing her patience and was about to explode any time soon.

  “How do you feel, Commander?” he asked her.

  “Excellent, Doctor,” she answered with a strained voice, rolling her eyes. “I’m fit enough to rip holoemitters from walls with my bare hands.”

  “Hey!” Tric whirled around to her, horrified. The network of holoemitters that had been installed aboard the Prometheus—a novelty in Starfleet’s latest ship designs—gave the independently thinking and acting program the freedom to move outside of sickbay when the situation demanded it. “I don’t see any reason for threats, Commander.”

  “Oh, Tric,” snarled zh’Thiin, and her eyes sparkled ominously. “You think that was a threat? This is just the beginning.”

  “That’s enough,” Adams interrupted the banter. The captain smirked but his tone of voice was steady. “Commander, you’re staying here for as long as the doctors deem necessary.”

  Tric nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Adams ignored him. “Commander Kirk. How are you doing?”

  “All that’s still hurting is my diaphragm, sir,” Jenna Kirk answered from her bed. She looked at her arm as T’Sai switched off the tissue regenerator. “I guess I’m almost ready for duty.”

  “She needs to rest her arm a while longer,” Barai explained quickly, trying to distract himself from Niss’s furious glances, which were directed at him now. “Other than that, the Lieutenant Commander is as good as new.”

  “And Mokbar?” the captain asked.

  Barai sighed. “I wanted to treat him but the stubborn warrior insisted on being transferred to his own ship. According to my colleagues there, he’s recovering reasonably well.”

  Adams nodded, pleased. “All right,” he said, looking around in the treatment room, rubbing his hands. “Get back on your feet, you hear me? And yes, Commander zh’Thiin, that pun was intended.”

  The Andorian woman silently rubbed her thigh. Her wounds had been tended to in the meantime. The contusions to her antenna forced zh’Thiin to stay in bed; something that she obviously didn’t agree with.

  Barai knew her silence very well. It was born from defiance.

  Slightly concerned—and with a hint of a guilty conscience, despite Tric being right—he studied her. He had been extremely worried for her recovery. The main thing is that you’re back with me. He liked her. No, it was more than just “like.” Even if she didn’t want to hear it. She defined what had been happening between them for the past weeks differently. Barai wasn’t like her. He couldn’t just switch off his gut feeling, or separate his emotions from his desires. He didn’t want to either. But if he was to tell her that, their little affair would end instantly—and maybe their friendship as well. You didn’t need to be a Betazoid to know that.

  Andorians, he thought, half amused, half insecure. Loyal as Jem’Hadar soldiers, fearless as the Borg… and if they get going, more furious than a bunch of Klingons.

  The captain wasn’t a telepath, but even he seemed to read Niss’s silence. He smirked.

  “We all want your best, Lenissa.”

  “I know, sir,” she replied, and it did sound more approachable than she actually felt right now. “And I’ll stay here for as long as the doctor orders.” With these words, she looked at Barai with one of her feared “I’ll-talk-to-you-later” looks. She had probably forced the Renao to their knees with that look. At least Barai wouldn’t be surprised if she had.

  “Fantastic.” Relieved, Tric looked from Adams to Barai. “That means my work here is done. Doctor Barai, can you take over?”

  Barai nodded. “Thank you for your help, Tric—again.”

  Tric tilted his head slightly. “Anytime, Doctor,” he said, audibly pleased. “Anytime.” Then he switched his holographic presence off, vanishing into the ship’s data storage.

  “One more thing, Doctor,” Adams said to Barai. “How are our… guests? I don’t see the Renao anywhere around here.”

  Barai’s mood darkened. Those fanatics had brought nothing but misery and pain to innocent people; they even had tortured Niss. But as a doctor it was his duty to attend to them just as carefully and meticulously as he did to his other patients. He had always adhered to this duty, and that would never change.

  “They are next door, sir. Kumaah is still unconscious, and his female partner has been questioned by zh’Thiin’s staff as far as her health permitted, but she’s as silent as a grave.”

  Adams sighed. “I was afraid you might say that.”

  Barai shook his head. “Ambassador Spock is with them now, Captain,” he continued. “He has been for quite a while.”

  That seemed to cheer Adams up a little. “Do I have your permission to look in on the Renao briefly?”

  “Of course, sir.” Barai smiled at him ruefully. “But I will give you the same warning that I have given the ambassador: please don’t expect too much from this visit.”

  Adams nodded, but there was a certain truth in his eyes that ran deeper than any worries could ever have done. “Don’t underestimate hope, Doctor,” he said quietly. “Without it, you and I wouldn’t have departed for the stars.”

  * * *

  Jassat ak Namur stood in front of the closed door to a patient’s room, chiding himself inwardly. Why was he so nervous? Where did this insecurity come from? He just wanted to visit a few fellow countrymen whose behavior was inexplicable to him.

  “Just,” he thought and snorted without humor. Good one, “just.” I really have to tell Moba that.

  He drew a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and took a step forward.

  “Hang on,” said the security officer by the door. Ensign Mathieu Curdin was one of zh’Thiin’s younger team members. He had short-cropped, ginger hair and freckles. “I might have to live with you standing next to me in the corridor, Lieutenant.” The last word sounded almost like an insult. “But that doesn’t mean that I have to let you into rooms that I am supposed to guard.”

  “I’m a Starfleet offi—”

  “You’re a red-skin,” Curdin hissed. “Do you really think that the uniform can hide that fact? You’re no different from the two who are in there.”

  Jassat took another deep breath, keeping his anger at bay. “You should watch your mouth, Ensign. Otherwise, you’ll be guarding the brig next—from the inside.” With these words, he unceremoniously pushed the Frenchman who tried to block his way to one side and opened the door.

  The windowless room behind the door was small and empty, save for three biobeds—the one on the left was not in use—medical equipment, and an old half-Vulcan.

  “Ambassador,” Jassat said, surprised. “Sir, please excuse me. I didn’t know that you were…”

  Spock stood to the right of one of the biobeds. He had been leaning over the female patient who slept there, but now he stood up, turning around to face ak Namur.

  “There’s no reason to apologize, Lieutenant,” he said. “You’re not disturbing me.” He looked at Curdin who stood glowering in the doorway with his hand resting on his phaser. “It’s alright, Ensign. Mr. ak Namur is quite welcome.”

  Curdin reluctantly removed his hand from his weapon. Finally, he withdrew to his post in the corridor.

  “Are you sure, Ambassador?” The young Renao man had the feeling that he had walked in on something that wasn’t any of his business. “Somehow you seemed to be
… well, I don’t know.” He groped for words. “Busy?”

  “I was indeed,” Spock agreed with him. There was no reproach, no disapproval in his voice. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I cannot appreciate your presence. Please, come closer, Lieutenant.”

  Jassat hesitated and walked into the room. The door closed behind him immediately. He briefly glanced at Kumaah, his unconscious childhood friend on the other biobed. He had heard that he was involved in this matter. But there was a painful difference between knowing something, and actually seeing it. Quickly, he focused on the ambassador again.

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “Do you know this man?”

  Jassat swallowed. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I thought I knew him—but that was many years ago. Now, he’s a stranger to me, just like that woman next to you.” Sighing, he shook his head.

  The ambassador interlaced his fingers. “May I ask you a question, Mr. ak Namur?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Did you have the opportunity to think about the conversation we had several days ago? About my questions regarding your role aboard the Prometheus… and your home?”

  The previous days had been strenuous—and they had passed a lot faster than Jassat had thought possible. Still, he suddenly felt as if every twist he had lived through and each decision had pushed him closer to the core of that one particular question. It was as if he hadn’t been looking for answers so much for Captain Adams but rather for himself.

  “Yes, sir, I believe I did.”

  Spock nodded. “And I assume that you have edged closer to an answer?”

  Jassat remembered their encounter in Starboard 8. He recalled the accusing looks of several crewmembers and the angry words from his old friends on Onferin. He thought about Captain Adams’s trust, and he visualized the majestic hives of Massoa, Aoul’s light reflecting off the arcology’s glass façades and that of the Terran sun reflecting off the waters of San Francisco Bay. He pondered wasted chances, parting of ways and the inherent right of all living creatures to a free will.