Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Seize the Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  Of all the specimens of alien life she had either encountered or studied, Rry’kurr was either the bravest or the most foolish.

  Tie-tan’s aquatic helmrunner turned her chair so that she faced Rry’kurr. “We really can’t run the tractor beam at this intensity for much longer, Captain.”

  “How much time do we have?” Rry’kurr said.

  “Ten minutes. Maybe twelve at the outside. Unless the S’alath generates too much kinetic energy for her exhaust manifolds to cope with and vaporizes herself first.”

  Rry’kurr made an expressive exhalation. “Then we keep at it for the next ten or twelve minutes. In the meantime, stay alert for any signals from Tuvok. Mister Gibruch, maintain the transporter locks and watch for any sudden changes in Brahma-Shiva’s power output. If that happens, I want Tuvok and S’syrixx beamed back here immediately.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the mammal with the bizarre, dangling cranial appendages.

  “I’m receiving an incoming signal,” Rager said.

  “Commander Tuvok?” Rry’kurr asked.

  “No, sir. It’s Krassrr.”

  “On audio, Lieutenant.”

  Z’shezhira was relieved that Rry’kurr had again opted not to open a visual channel; he must have thought, as she did, that the presence of a Gorn on Tie-tan’s command deck might complicate Captain Krassrr’s mood unpredictably.

  “Rry’kurr!” rumbled Krassrr’s guttural voice over the comm speakers.

  “Good to hear from you, Krassrr,” Rry’kurr said. “I’d love to chat, but I’m a little busy at the moment trying to stop a member of your own warrior caste from making a suicide run at your ecosculptor.”

  “So I can see. I also see that your power grid is overloading from the effort. My ship is approaching yours. I will direct its tractor beam to reinforce Tie-tan’s.”

  “Thank you, Krassrr. I appreciate the help. Titan out.”

  Z’shezhira watched the screen. Another beam of force, this one a mixture of gold and green, lanced toward the S’alath, converging with Tie-tan’s beam amidships.

  “Is this the new set of options you were waiting for?” she asked.

  Rry’kurr’s lips again curled upward. “We’re about to find out.”

  “Ra-Havreii to bridge!” It was the voice of the chief engineer, though much more shrill than before. “What’s going on up there, Captain?”

  “Krassrr has added his tractor beam to ours,” Rry’kurr said. “To take some of the weight off our shoulders.”

  “Well, tell him to stop! Our beam is losing power fast. Krassrr’s beam operates at a power frequency that creates interference rather than reinforcement. We’re trying to compensate down here, but we’re putting every power relay we have at risk to do it. If our beam fails, that ship will slam into Brahma-Shiva at nearly warp one.”

  “Understood, Commander,” Rry’kurr said. “Lieutenant Rager, get me Krassrr.”

  Within a matter of moments, Tie-tan was down to a single struggling tractor beam.

  “Perhaps several of Krassrr’s ships can operate their tractors in tandem,” Z’shezhira said. “Then Tie-tan could power down its tractor beam.”

  “There wouldn’t be any margin for error during the handoff,” the helmrunner said. “Our beam would have to remain on until theirs established contact and began to reinforce one another. But our beam would also tend to affect theirs the way theirs affects ours.”

  “Couldn’t we recalibrate our tractor beam to reinforce Krassrr’s?” Rager said.

  “Not in under half an hour,” said the being with the cranial appendages. “Commander Ra-Havreii is in contact with Krassrr’s chief engineer right now, probably going over all of this and more.”

  “Then why not have Krassrr’s fleet blow up the S’alath while we’re holding it in our tractor?” said the fishmammal.

  Rager shook her head. “For the same reason it’s a bad idea for Krassrr to take any potshots at us—the proximity of Brahma-Shiva.”

  “All right then, what about beaming a boarding team over to the S’alath?” the helmrunner said. “We could take control of Gog’resssh’s helm.”

  “And free my caste-mates as well,” Z’shezhira said. “But I would not advise any such attempt. Gog’resssh would have been a fool not to deploy transport scramblers since your captain and I escaped from the S’alath. He may be insane, but he has never been stupid.”

  “So in other words it’s up to Titan to save the day,” Rry’kurr said with evident weariness. “What else is new?”

  The hiss of one of the turbolift doors momentarily drew Z’shezhira’s attention; she turned and observed the approach of a black-haired, dark-complexioned female mammal whose pinnae tapered to delicate points at their upper ends.

  As she stepped to the side of Rry’kurr’s command chair, the mammal captain noticed her as well.

  “T’Pel. Is everything all right in the nursery?”

  “Yes. Natasha is fine. But I haven’t come to discuss the children. I am here to speak about my husband.”

  Rry’kurr nodded, though he appeared troubled. “I know you must be very concerned about his safety. I am as well. In fact, I have to beam him back to Titan now, whether his mission is completed or not. When the tractor beam fails—”

  “No, Captain,” the mate of Tuvok said, interrupting. “I understand his mission.”

  Rry’kurr’s brow wrinkled. “Funny. I don’t recall seeing you at the briefing.”

  “Vulcans share a telepathic bond with their mates. Ours is particularly strong.”

  The striations on Rry’kurr’s brow suddenly went smooth. “I understand.”

  “Obviously, I do not know the mission details. However, I am aware that he is currently engaged in a form of . . . debate. And that he is very close to achieving a successful resolution.”

  Z’shezhira was too hardheaded a scientist to put much faith in such things as telepathic mating bonds. Rry’kurr, surprisingly, appeared to have no such qualms, either because of his own personal experiences or some primitive mammalian superstition.

  Of course, she knew that some of her own people might scoff at the spectacularly unlikely circumstances that had conspired to separate her from her beloved, only to bring them close to a reunion more than a suncircuit later.

  “All right,” Rry’kurr said at length. “I’ll wait a little longer. But not until the tractor beam fails.”

  “I thank you, Captain,” said the pointed-eared mammal. She withdrew from the center of the command deck, but made no move to exit.

  “Perhaps,” Z’shezhira whispered as she leaned toward Rry’kurr, “yet another set of options will present itself before that time.”

  • • •

  “We can only hope,” Riker told Z’shezhira.

  Then he settled into his chair, continually checking on the status of Lieutenant Radowski’s short-range transporter locks, the tractor beam, and the concomitant power drain it was causing in many other shipboard systems.

  Everything was beginning to focus to a single point, and that point had little to do with the safety of his away teams, his ship, his family, or even the likely fate of millions upon millions of innocent Hranrarii.

  Riker knew he had a military duty to the Federation that transcended any concerns about what might become of either Hranrar or Titan—he could not risk allowing Brahma-Shiva to remain under the Gorn Hegemony’s control.

  There was a simple, expedient way to reach a desirable outcome—order Lieutenant Rager to shut down the tractor beam, thereby instantly turning the S’alath into a high-impulse projectile that would more than likely transform Brahma-Shiva into rubble in a matter of seconds.

  The main problem would be the likely reaction of the Gorn. Krassrr seemed to regard Titan’s present course of action as evidence of good faith; it was all but certain that he would take a far dimmer view of any action that resulted in Brahma-Shiva’s sudden obliteration.

  “Tuvok has succeeded,” said T’Pel, who had somehow g
lided back over to his command chair without his having noticed her approach. He almost did a double-take when he noticed a single tear rolling down her cheek. “The effort has been costly, but he has rendered the Brahma-Shiva artifact benign.”

  “You’re certain?”

  She nodded.

  Riker tapped his combadge. “Bridge to transporter room two. Beam Commander Tuvok and Mister S’syrixx aboard immediately.” Recalling what T’Pel had said about the mission’s cost, he added, “Send them both straight to sickbay.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Radowski said over the comm. Moments later, the transporter engineer appended, “They’re both back aboard, safe and sound in sickbay.”

  “Doctor Ree,” Riker said, tapping the combadge again. “You have two new arrivals. What’s their condition?”

  “Comatose, from what I can tell so far, Captain,” said the Pahkwa-thanh surgeon. “Their lives do not appear to be in any immediate danger. However, I must run some tests to make a diagnosis. I will inform you as soon as I know anything definitive.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” T’Pel said.

  At Riker’s nod, she walked quickly but gracefully to the turbolift, obviously bound for sickbay.

  Turning to face Z’shezhira, Riker asked, “Would you like to visit sickbay as well?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes grew cold. “But later. S’syrixx is not conscious at the moment. And I have yet to watch Gog’resssh die.”

  “Gog’resssh won’t be the only one to die, Z’shezhira. I saw other members of your caste when I was aboard the S’alath. Their lives are at stake as well.”

  “Unless Gog’resssh voluntarily shuts down his engines, those lives are lost already. Unless you can spare the power to beam them to safety.”

  Riker looked toward Gibruch for an answer to Z’shezhira’s question.

  The facial brow the Chandir used as his speaking mouth turned downward in apparent sadness as he slowly shook his head. “Sorry, Captain. We not only can’t spare the power, we wouldn’t know which life signs to lock on to.”

  Z’shezhira acknowledged Gibruch with a nod. “Then releasing Gog’resssh’s ship is the only way to free them from bondage. The duty of informing their families of how they lived their lives this past suncircuit—and how each of them made their return journeys to Great S’Yahazah—will fall upon my shoulders.”

  As will the guilt of being the lone survivor among them, Riker thought.

  Aloud, he said, “All right. You’re welcome to stay on the bridge and observe.”

  “Thank you,” Z’shezhira said with an almost courtly nod.

  “Captain!” Gibruch exclaimed in oboe tones. “I’m reading a small decline in both external luminosity and internal energy generation. Brahma-Shiva seems to be powering down.”

  T’Pel was right, he thought. Though he shared a similar link with his Imzadi, he wished he could feel as much certainty about the success of Deanna’s mission, or at least her well-being. Then he recalled the tear he had seen on T’Pel’s cheek. Her bond with Tuvok must have been powerful indeed to provoke such an intense emotional reaction in a Vulcan; perhaps having such an intimate connection could be a mixed blessing.

  Gibruch continued: “The power drop is marginal, Captain. But if it continues . . .” Though the gamma-shift watch officer trailed off, his meaning was crystal clear.

  If it continues, Riker thought, then the Hranrarii are out of immediate danger—and my reason for blowing the damned thing up could start looking a whole lot less morally defensible.

  But what other option did he have?

  He arrived at a decision. Opening another comm channel, he said, “Riker to Ra-Havreii.”

  “Engineering,” replied the Efrosian chief engineer. “Please tell me you’re done burning out my power couplings.”

  “Almost, Xin. First, I need you to make sure that the main tractor beam power coupling fails.”

  “That’ll interrupt the tractor beam, Captain. And send the S’alath into Brahma-Shiva like a projectile.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “Why not just shut off the tractor beam on the bridge?”

  “Because I have to assume that Krassrr is keeping as close a multifaceted eye as possible on everything we’re doing right now. And a component failure might make it harder for him to argue that I deliberately allowed Gog’resssh to blow up his terraforming toy. When can you be ready?”

  “Just a moment, Captain,” Ra-Havreii said. “Stand by.”

  “You speak as though you expect Krassrr to put you on trial, Rry’kurr,” Z’shezhira said.

  Riker suddenly felt an unpleasant certainty that the Gorn Hegemony’s military justice system would make Klingon criminal jurisprudence look like a little girl’s tea party.

  “I expect,” he said at length, “to have a little bit of difficulty getting out of here once all the dust settles.”

  “Everything’s ready, Captain,” Ra-Havreii announced. “One main tractor beam power coupling failure, coming right up.”

  GORN HEGEMONY RECONNAISSANCE VESSEL SSEVARRH

  Captain Krassrr stood in an alert warrior’s crouch on his command deck. Since his engineering tech-casters had explained the necessity of his inaction, there was little else he could do other than watch the S’alath, as it remained in the precarious grasp of the mammalship Tie-tan.

  So he watched.

  Until all at once the golden energy beam, the last narrow tether that was preventing mad, cursed Gog’resssh from enforcing his anarchic will upon the entire warrior caste, abruptly vanished.

  Within the space of that selfsame heartbeat, the Gorn Hegemony warship S’alath vanished from sight as all the pent-up energy generated by the vessel’s powerful impulse engines was converted from heat back into pure kinetic energy.

  The result was a virtually instantaneous impact of warship and ecosculptor at a substantial fraction of lightspeed (as the tech-casters belowdecks explained).

  The conflagration began at the ecosculptor’s base, then quickly spread all along the length of the narrower upper portion. The sight was spectacular in its intensity and color, though Krassrr didn’t care to comment on the aesthetics of it. It reminded him of a funeral pyre, and perhaps it was—a torch to mark the passing of an entire Gorn caste.

  Once we had warriors, they will say of us, Krassrr thought as he watched the unthinkable unfold before his silver eyes. Now we must rely on the weaker, lesser castes for our protection.

  And soon, we shall be extinct, Typhon Pact or no Typhon Pact.

  He realized a moment later that he couldn’t even take solace in the hope that Tie-tan had been immolated as well. There was the Federrazsh’n mammalship, battered and seared but still able to limp out of and away from the expanding cloud of pulverized debris, which was already spreading out across Hranrar’s darkened limb, probably already well on its way to placing an additional ring in the planet’s sky.

  But four of Krassrr’s ships were still in formation. Tietan needn’t go anywhere if Krassrr wished otherwise.

  Did Rry’kurr just deliver a malicious attack against a Gorn technological and military asset? Or had he merely failed in a good-faith effort to prevent another—a member of the Hegemony’s own revered warrior caste, no less—from doing exactly that?

  “Grezzsz, tell the fleet to detain Tie-tan,” Krassrr said. “Trr’reriss, inform Tie-tan that I would speak with Rry’kurr here, aboard the Ssevarrh—immediately.”

  U.S.S. TITAN

  Very slowly, consciousness began to return to S’syrixx.

  It began with a vision of a ball of brilliance that turned out to be a light fixture mounted on a light-blue ceiling. As his eyes came fully open and he realized he was in an infirmary of some sort, a sense of repetition—the feeling that he had already experienced these very circumstances before, perhaps many times—rushed over him.

  Ridiculous, he thought, closing his eyes. Now he heard a rhythmic beeping. I have merely been dreaming.

  When he opene
d his eyes again, he saw living proof that much of what was in his head at the moment was merely the aftereffect of a strange fantasy, or perhaps even an hallucination.

  Z’shezhira.

  “You’ve been with me all along,” he said. His throat felt parched, just as it had after Tie-tan’s crew had rescued him from the vacuum.

  No. That was only a dream.

  “Shhhhh,” Z’shezhira hissed. “Be still and quiet. “Doctor Ree says you must heal. You appear to have suffered a degree of neurolytic shock.”

  Ree? Do I know a Ree, other than the one I met in the dream?

  No. Ree was but a phantasm. Like the Temple of the Egg Bringer, where he had spoken to the Great Mother S’Yahazah herself.

  Like the Federrazsh’n mammals, who were nothing like I had expected them to be.

  A creature strode into the room. Pale, pinkish flesh. Cranial fur. Prominent mammalian characteristics concealed only superficially by a blue tunic.

  “He seems . . . confused, Nurssse Alysssa,” Z’shezhira said to the creature.

  “It’ll pass.” The mammal could speak! “The neurolytic shock he suffered was relatively mild. It could have been far worse—he wasn’t in direct contact with . . . with whatever it was Commander Tuvok encountered. Excuse me, please. I need to tend to him.”

  S’syrixx craned his neck to watch the mammal walk to the other side of the infirmary, toward another bed like the one on which S’syrixx now lay. A dark-skinned mammal with tapered eartips lay unconscious upon it.

  Tuvok, S’syrixx thought. I didn’t dream you, either?

  He turned back toward Z’shezhira, saw that her delicate manus lay in his. He squeezed it gently between the three fingers of his own manus. Together again, after such a long absence. It seemed impossible. And yet here they were, wherever here was.

  As memory slowly came back to him, much to the relief of S’syrixx’s confused consciousness, he began to wonder what sort of opposing dreams and realities the slumbering Tuvok might have to contend with right now. . . .