Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  Considering how badly she felt now, she would almost have been relieved were she to learn that she would soon share Zzerrhezz and Vrezsarr’s fate. Even if her recent deeds somehow brought her and S’syrixx together again, she could scarcely face her beloved after what she had allowed to happen to members of their own caste.

  Regardless, something within her forced her to seek whatever words might serve to soothe Gog’resssh and Zegrroz’rh’s still potentially lethal anger; it remained imperative to her to keep her future with S’syrixx at least within the realm of the possible.

  “Allowing Vrezsarr and Zzerrhezz to believe I would help them retake the S’alath seemed to be my safest course of action,” she said, though she was too overwrought emotionally at the moment to tell whether or not the wordless languages of her posture, her scales, or her aromatic secretions had betrayed her as a poor liar.

  Z’shezhira watched as Gog’resssh’s face drew even closer. She closed her eyes in almost grateful anticipation of the war-caster’s death blow, the terminal bite that would either mortally sever the largest artery in her relatively slender neck, or behead her outright.

  Instead of the lancing sensation of knifelike fangs, she felt a powerful pulse of hot, foul breath against her neck scales. Something cool and viscous oozed down the side of her head.

  Great S’Yahazah, she thought, blinking at the war-caster in disbelief. He has initiated the mating ritual! This was never done across caste boundaries. Never.

  Except, perhaps, by the irredeemably mad.

  “Remain loyal,” Gog’resssh hissed quietly, dangerously. “Remain strong. And continue monitoring your communications post until I tell you otherwise.”

  “First Myrmidon, I must object to this!” Zegrroz’rh said as he bounded from the helm to the side of his superior officer. He looked and smelled as appalled as Z’shezhira felt about the taboo mating display he had just witnessed. Z’shezhira nearly succumbed to an ironic urge to smile at the notion that she might find herself in agreement with the second myrmidon about anything.

  Moving faster than Z’shezhira could see, Gog’resssh took a long step backward, his manus lashing out in full force to catch his second-in-command squarely between the eyes. The second myrmidon went down hard, momentarily insensate.

  Gog’resssh stepped toward his cowed subordinate. “I trust you recall the four tech-casters you just escorted into the Great Empty?”

  “On your order,” Zegrroz’rh said, his words sounding slurred by the blow to the head.

  A great, dangerous growl grew deep inside Gog’resssh’s chest. “Regardless of the source of the order, the loss of so many tech-casters, along with Sk’salissk and four more of our warrior brethren, has created a serious shortage in expertise aboard this vessel. Therefore Z’shezhira will remain at her post. This shall be so both because it is necessary and because I wish it. Do I make myself clear?”

  Zegrroz’rh answered with a grunt and a sullen nod, whereupon Gog’resssh exited the command deck, doubtless to deal with some newly exigent consequence of the labor shortage that his orders and Z’shezhira’s inaction had jointly caused.

  Zegrroz’rh rose and carefully reassembled the tattered shreds of his dignity. He approached Z’shezhira, but did not draw nearly so close as Gog’resssh had, much to Z’shezhira’s relief.

  “The first myrmidon may trust you,” he said. “But I am not as optimistic as he is. Nor am I as forgiving. I shall continue watching you—very closely.”

  An alert klaxon sounded on the helm console, prompting Zegrroz’rh to lumber back to his station.

  “What is it?” Z’shezhira said after noting that the main viewscreen showed nothing but a display of Hranrar’s tenuous but aurora-pinked upper atmosphere, the region of the planet whose northern electromagnetic hot spot served as the S’alath’s hiding place. Near the horizon she could see a still-expanding debris cloud, the last remnant of the fiery explosion that had recently consumed both the Gorn ecosculpting vessel and the Federrazsh’n auxiliary ship.

  “It’s another approaching vessel,” Zegrroz’rh said.

  Z’shezhira returned to her station and began listening for comm signals. Though her instruments had yet to yield any visual contact—the S’alath’s EM-swaddled hiding place was a two-edged sword against all but the nearest of vessels—she was able to detect the vessel’s trajectory, as well as the presence of a Gorn transponder aboard it.

  “It’s another ship from the ecosculpting fleet,” Z’shezhira reported with no small amount of relief. “The vessel is not heading directly for us. It’s merely crossing the north polar region on its way to the more southerly latitudes. I don’t think they’ve seen us.”

  “Confirmed,” Zegrroz’rh said. “Once again, they seem to be preparing to confront an incoming Sst’rfleet ship.”

  “Which ship?” Z’shezhira said, her innards growing deathly cold.

  “Tie-tan,” the second myrmidon said, forcing Z’shezhira to face the unpleasant but distinct likelihood that whatever she did to ensure her eventual reunion with S’syrixx might prove to be sadly inadequate.

  HRANRAR

  Her head filled with still-green empathic impressions of the Gorn crew’s final moments, Troi stared skyward at the spreading bloom of fire and debris for what felt like an eternity.

  Then she heard the hum of the transporter directly behind her.

  She turned and saw Vale standing before the awe-inspiring Hranrarii cityscape. Apart from a slight unsteadiness, the exec seemed to have made it through the Beiderbecke’s death throes relatively unscathed.

  “I hate it when people do that,” Troi said.

  Vale blinked in confusion. “Do what?”

  “Beam off an exploding ship after the explosion.”

  “Sorry about that, Counselor.” Vale grinned. “But if you want to get technical, I beamed off before the detonation. The rematerialization part always comes a couple of seconds later.”

  Troi approached Vale and gave her a quick hug. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

  “I’ll try to be more careful, Counselor,” Vale said. “At least as long as we’re here.” The exec paused to look toward the majestic Hranrarii city before turning back to face Troi. “By the way, where exactly are we?”

  U.S.S. TITAN

  Riker reflected bitterly on the irony of having rushed to get Titan within weapons range of a target, only to find that no targets were left once the starship had arrived on the scene. Only a spreading, fiery debris cloud high above the planet remained.

  “Sensors confirm that both the Gorn ship and the shuttlecraft Beiderbecke were destroyed in the conflagration, Captain,” Tuvok reported.

  Riker swore under his breath. “Commander Vale must not have had a lot of better options.”

  Though he knew that the away team had been on its way back from the planet when they’d been forced into a ship-to-ship combat situation, Riker wasn’t ready to assume the worst—at least not yet. If Deanna were dead I would feel it, he thought, having learned long ago to trust the psychic bond he shared with his wife.

  Aloud, he said, “The Beiderbecke and the Gorn ship were both within transporter distance of the planet when the collision happened. Maybe they had time to bail out at the last moment. Mister Tuvok, scan for survivors on the surface.”

  “I have already begun such a search, Captain. The results so far are inconclusive, owing to the overlapping effects of a number of atmospheric phenomena with which we are already familiar.”

  Riker nodded. On the viewer before him, the planet Hranrar turned slowly several hundred klicks below Titan, oblivious to his hopes and fears.

  “Try raising the away team.”

  “Aye, sir.” Rager manipulated her console with the grace and alacrity of a concert pianist. A full minute passed. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she said with a frustrated shake of her head. “But there’s a lot of interference on the standard com-badge frequency. I’m not sure if—”

  Riker’s mind fe
lt a familiar touch, tentative at first, then stronger. Imzadi?

  “—way team to Titan,” sounded a garbled voice that was barely discernible against the oceanic background hash of static. “—ade it down to—planet in one piec—”

  They’re alive! Riker thought, belatedly recognizing the voice of Christine Vale, despite the distortion. He relaxed backward slightly into his command chair. But even though the relief he felt was almost palpable, he didn’t want to surrender to it just yet, right here on the bridge. He’d postpone that moment until sometime after recovering the away team, and reuniting with Deanna. Sometime after he’d discharged his responsibilities to the Hranrarii.

  Assuming, of course, that those responsibilities didn’t leave him, his ship, and his crew in a condition that strongly resembled that of the shuttlecraft Beiderbecke.

  “Titan here, Chris,” he said, speaking loudly and resonantly in the hopes of drowning out the static. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

  “I’m trying to establish a signal lock, Captain,” Rager said.

  “Good,” Riker said. “Get the shields back up the moment the away team’s on board.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Commander Vale, give me a sit rep,” Riker said.

  “—raid I had to ram—Gorn ship,” Vale said.

  “I can see that. The Gorn vessel was destroyed, along with the Beiderbecke,” Riker said, speaking loudly again for his exec’s benefit. He knew that Captain Krassrr wasn’t going to be thrilled about that, but there was nothing he could do about that now, other than to get Titan hidden again before Krassrr could retaliate. “Right now we’re trying to lock on and beam you up.”

  “—utstanding plan, Capt—I second the—otion.”

  Riker chuckled. “In the meantime, I suggest you keep an eye peeled for any uninvited guests. If you had time to execute a last-second bailout, then maybe a few of the Gorn troopers on that ship did as well.”

  “Transporter lock established, sir,” Rager said. “But I’m not sure how long it’ll hold.”

  Lieutenant Lavena turned so quickly from her helm station that Riker could hear her hydration suit sloshing. “Captain, I’m picking up an incoming bogey.”

  “Confirmed,” said Tuvok as he worked the tactical station with his customary calm but relentless efficiency. “It’s the Ssevarrh again, Captain. And she’s closing fast.”

  “She’s charging weapons,” Rager said.

  “Do you have the away team aboard yet?” Riker asked the ops officer.

  “Negative, sir. And I’ve lost Commander Vale’s comm signal. Probably more Gorn jamming.”

  “What about the transporter lock?” Riker asked.

  “I need just a little more time, given all the atmospheric effects down there.”

  Damn!

  “Keep trying. Hail Krassrr, and tell him we’re just trying to recover our away tea—”

  “Incoming fire,” Tuvok said.

  “Raise shields!” Riker cried, springing out of his chair.

  As the lights dimmed and the deck went nearly perpendicular, Riker realized that it was already too late for that.

  16

  HRANRAR, MINUTES EARLIER

  “We beamed back to the very same Hranrarii city we were surveying during our first visit to the planet’s surface,” Troi said, answering Vale’s earlier question. The counselor strove to recover at least a small degree of her customary professional demeanor now that she had obtained the much-needed catharsis of hugging someone she had feared dead only moments earlier.

  “We still had a good line of sight to this location when we had to bail out,” Olivia Bolaji said. The pilot was kneeling on the moist, mossy earth, inventorying the cache of emergency supplies that had accompanied the away team during their hair’s-breadth exit from the doomed shuttle-craft Beiderbecke. “I’m afraid we didn’t have time to be any choosier than that with the preprogrammed transporter coordinates. At least we’re pretty well stocked with supplies.”

  “Let’s hope it’s enough to protect and feed ourselves until help arrives,” Lieutenant Sortollo said. “If help arrives, that is.”

  “Captain Riker isn’t going to leave anybody behind,” Vale said, a stern edge in her voice.

  “I hope you’re right, Commander,” Sortollo said. “But if Titan really is coming for us, then that had better happen before the Typhon Pact fleet arrives. Performing a rescue with the Gorn terraforming fleet here is almost too much already.”

  “Maybe it’s not,” Troi said, pointing up at the dissipating fireball that was still visible overhead through a scudding of low clouds. “Commander Vale appears to have thinned the Gorn ranks a little.” The empathic memory of their passing made her shudder slightly.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Sortollo said.

  “Unfortunately, staying aboard the Beiderbecke until I was absolutely sure the Gorn ship was destroyed wasn’t one of my better options,” Vale deadpanned.

  Troi nodded sadly. “They’re dead. I can tell.” She knew she didn’t need to offer any further explanation. Trying not to sound as though she were making an accusation, she added, “But I wish there had been another way.”

  “I do, too, Deanna,” Vale said as she moved toward the mobile subspace transceiver, which Ensigns Evesh and Dakal were already in the process of setting up. “But if I hadn’t set the Beiderbecke on her suicide run, the crew of that ship could have detected our beam-down site in real time, while we were using the shuttle’s transporter. If I hadn’t blown up their ship, we’d already be up to our asses in Gorn troopers right now.”

  “I have to agree,” Sortollo said as he busied himself checking the charges on the phasers.

  Now that she had an opportunity to think the matter through, Troi could see that both the exec and the security officer were almost certainly correct. But the necessity argument didn’t make her feel any better about killing on such a scale.

  “Much as I hate to recommend this,” Evesh said, “perhaps it would be prudent to get back into our isosuits. If we are disguised as Hranrarii, any Gorn who come calling might not recognize us.”

  “Good plan,” Sortollo said as he finished checking his sidearm and moved along to begin examining the contents of the field-ration case. “But it doesn’t take into account the fact that we no longer have the isosuits.”

  “Come again, Lieutenant?” Vale said.

  Sortollo paused in his labors and looked apologetically at the exec. “When we bailed out, we only had time to include the prepackaged supplies in our beam-out. Our isosuits had just come off a few minutes earlier; they hadn’t been stowed yet when the Gorn ship attacked us.”

  Troi could sense that Vale had only barely overcome the temptation to bark something unkind at the security man. “Great,” the exec said at length. “Does anybody else have some good news they’d like to share?”

  “Well, there’s still the undiscussed possibility that the Gorn crew actually did succeed in pinpointing this spot before they were vaporized,” Dakal said. He spoke without making eye contact, kneeling on the ground as he methodically reconnected subspace comm components that had been disassembled to accommodate the limited storage space aboard the Beiderbecke. “They could have transmitted our present coordinates to the rest of Krassrr’s fleet on the other side of the planet just before the explosion.”

  “Good point,” Vale said.

  “On the plus side of the ledger,” said Evesh, “unless they really did follow our transporter beams down here from orbit in real time, the rest of the Gorn fleet should have considerable difficulty finding us just by searching randomly.”

  Dakal nodded. “We have the planet’s magnetic field and atmospheric energy emanations to thank for that.”

  “Still,” Vale said, “let’s keep the comms quiet for the moment, just to avoid attracting any more unwanted attention. Mister Dakal, Mister Evesh, I want you to drag the comm unit out of sight.” The exec pointed toward a nearby copse of gnarled, vine-
draped, treelike vegetation. “That’ll be our base of operations, at least for the moment. Once the comm gear is set up and running in there, I want you to monitor all Starfleet frequencies. But don’t transmit anything unless it’s to answer a call from Titan.”

  “And if you receive a call from Titan,” Troi said, addressing both technicians, “give me a chance to verify it before you send any response. We can’t afford to forget Mister S’syrixx’s gift for mimicry. Captain Krassrr might have kept a few more like him in reserve.”

  Within a matter of minutes, the team had finished carrying its assorted matériel into the copse, which formed a crude arboreal fence that reached a height of some three-and-one-half meters. The concentration of vines, moss, and leaf-litter toward the bottom of the natural barrier provided a not inconsiderable amount of concealment.

  A moment after Sortollo went out to start setting up the small proximity alarms that would alert the team of anything that might try to approach, Vale turned to Troi. “This reminds me of the treehouse I built on Izar when I was eleven.”

  Despite the smile on Vale’s face, Troi could sense that her friend’s memories of that time and place weren’t entirely fond ones. “I suppose the present circumstances are somewhat less enjoyable.”

  Vale shrugged. “We’ll see. At least this time I had the good sense to build my fort on solid ground instead of three meters up. Let’s see if I can avoid falling and breaking my arm this time.”

  Troi’s grinning reply was interrupted by a stereo wash of static, both from her own combadge and from Vale’s. Buried in the white noise was a familiar sound.

  “Sounds like a standard digital hail,” Vale said. “From Titan.”

  In response to Vale’s questioning look, Troi closed her eyes and concentrated. Imzadi?

  Troi opened her eyes. “It’s genuine, Chris.”

  Tapping her combadge, Vale said, “Away team to Titan. We made it down to the planet in one piece.”