Thinking of his ship again, Kirk looked up—and saw a swarm of jeeplike military flitters and, above them, several fixed-wing jet aircraft. They've got the sky covered, too, Kirk thought. He discarded his half-formed plan of creating a diversion while Sulu hustled everyone else into Cogley's flitter and took off. No matter what Kirk did, the sky forces would easily target Cogley's civilian clunker and bring it down—possibly gently, with tractor beams … but perhaps not so gently, with a pair of air-to-air missiles.
Kirk ran it through his mind again. We're relatively safe as long as we stay in here, as long as Burke knows where we are and feels he's in control. If we leave, Burke will think he's losing control, and we're dead. But we've got to leave. Now just how the hell are you going to pull this one off, Jim?
Kirk was frank enough with himself to admit he could see no way out, short of abject surrender to Burke—and the surrender of his prisoners to planetary authority. That was strictly against his orders … not to mention Federation law. Kirk was more stubborn than to give in. He had arrested these weasels; he was responsible for them. He'd see this thing through, and he'd beat Burke.
But he was damned if he knew how.
Chapter Twenty-Three:
The Enterprise
THE TURBOLIFT DOORS squeaked open, and the returning party from the Columbus—Spock, Chekov, and both McCoys—stepped quickly onto the bridge.
Joanna McCoy had never been aboard a ship of the line before; her experience was limited to small impulse-only craft on the rare occasions she had gone to Starbase 7 as a child. She looked around curiously. Those on the bridge, realizing who she must be, grinned and waved quickly before turning back to their duties. A bit self-consciously, she smiled and waved back. I wish I didn't look like something the ocelot dragged in, she thought.
She would not be aboard the Enterprise now if her Uncle Jim weren't in trouble. She liked Uncle Jim a lot, and she had never allowed herself to wonder just why. She had also not yet been willing to be separated from her father, now having been with him and worked with him as a colleague for several days—but her sense of duty would have prevented her from leaving with Bones McCoy for that reason alone. However, once her father had told her why he was leaving Dr. Weinstein's camp, Joanna had quickly asked to come along. Both Spock and Weinstein had okayed it.
"I have the conn, Miss Uhura," Spock said. "Mr. Chekov, please take the science officer's station; I will be needed in the command chair. Miss Flores, I realize you have been on duty for some hours, but I ask that you remain in the navigator's position."
"Of course, sir," Dossie Flores said as Chekov slid into Spock's usual seat.
"Miss Uhura, is there anything I need to know before I determine a course of action?" Spock asked.
"I don't think so, sir," Uhura said from her communications station. "While you were all on your way back up here, I attempted sensor readings of the area from which we received the subspace communications blip, but interference is still swamping most sensor frequencies. Those that still work are useless to us in the search."
Spock thought for a moment. "Since you have not heard from the captain or Mr. Sulu, you have rightly assumed that there has been trouble. Your second assumption—that the communications blip was a signal from Captain Kirk—is actually two assumptions: one, that the blip was not an anomaly and, two, that the captain was responsible for it. It might have been Mr. Sulu, or a third party unknown to us."
"Oh, stop the lesson in logic, Spock!" Bones McCoy said, exasperated. "Where the hell is Jim?"
Spock was unperturbed. "I was about to say that Chief MacPherson has checked the communications system for anomalies in the tracer subassemblies and has found none—"
"Aye, thot's correct," boomed MacPherson from his engineering station.
"—and so I believe Miss Uhura's assumptions were warranted. As for the precise origin of the signal …" The science officer held out a computer-generated map of the hemisphere below them; it showed a standard projection of New America. A large circular area was shaded.
"The signal came from somewhere inside the shadowed area," Spock finished. He handed it to McCoy, who looked at it briefly. Joanna glanced at it, and then looked more closely.
"I believe we will have to perform a visual search of the entire area, since we cannot do better with the sensors under present conditions," Spock said. "A random pattern will suit us best—"
"Mr. Spock? Excuse me," Joanna interrupted. "Daddy, the valley's on this map. Right here." She indicated it with a finger; it was on the eastern edge of the shaded area. McCoy nodded, then hmmm'd as he realized what his daughter was implying.
"The valley?" Spock inquired. "Which valley, Miss McCoy?"
"Garrovick Valley, Mr. Spock," Joanna answered. "Captain Kirk might have gone there."
"I think she's right, Spock," McCoy said. "I should have seen it myself."
"Garrovick Valley?" Spock said, curious. "Named after the captain's former commander aboard the Farragut?" The Vulcan took the map back. "I see the valley is not named on this map, but there is a Farragut River running through it. I infer the captain had something to do with bestowing names on these geological features?"
"Very good, Spock," Bones McCoy said. "Jim owns most of the land you have right there under your finger." He paused. "I'm surprised he's never told you about it."
"He has obviously never felt the need to do so," Spock said. "Miss McCoy, do you have any reason to believe the captain would have gone there, as opposed to another place in the search area?"
"He loves it there, Mr. Spock. He has a cabin with full facilities. He keeps it well-stocked with supplies. If he had to hide, I think he'd do it there. I know I would."
Spock nodded. "Would the cabin happen to have a commander's communications unit installed in it?" he asked.
"What's that?"
Bones interrupted. "Yes, it does. It was put in when Jim got the Enterprise. He hid it behind a bookcase—"
"Thank you, Doctor," Spock said, cutting him off. "Mr. Chekov, since our sensors are virtually useless to us in this instance, I'll need a visual inspection of the area immediately surrounding the captain's cabin. Miss Uhura, I believe you can guide Mr. Chekov in the use of the long-range cameras?"
"Of course, sir." Uhura moved behind Chekov and began punching buttons. The main bridge viewscreen began to swim with colors. "Thank goodness visible light frequencies aren't affected by tachyonic fallout," she said.
A picture formed. "That is the walley in qvestion from an apparent height of two hundred kilometers," Chekov said. No one could see anything out of the ordinary; at that apparent altitude, they might have missed the Great Wall of China if it had been in the valley. "Going to extreme magnification now."
The picture swam again. "Apparent height now, uh, five kilometers—look there!" Chekov pointed; there seemed to be a swarm of motes circling and careening in the air over the valley. "Aircraft, many of them!" Chekov said excitedly.
"There does seem to be something in the valley attracting them," Spock said dryly. "Miss McCoy, your intuition has served us well. Mr. Chekov, the magnification is insufficient to see if our people are in the valley, but I think we can assume such to be the case."
"Well, I sure would," Bones McCoy said. "Spock, what are we going to do about this?"
Spock paused. "If the captain is under attack, then this ship will, of course, go to his aid. Mr. Siderakis?"
"Yes, Mr. Spock?" the helmsman replied.
"Phaser status, please."
"Charged and ready, sir. Manual aiming and firing mode only; computer guidance is out."
"Have phasers standing by," Spock said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I am reluctant to go in shooting. I saw no evidence of armed force being used against the captain's postulated position; I was looking for fire, smoke and other indications of violence. I also do not intend to take the Enterprise into battle against a friendly power."
"They're not being so damn friendly, Spock," McCoy g
rated. "It looks like the invasion of Altair VI down there."
"I realize that, Doctor—but there may be another way to accomplish our goal." Spock took out his communicator and flipped it open. "Spock to Mr. Scott."
"Aye, Scott here."
"Mr. Scott, I require your presence on the bridge."
"Verra well, Mr. Spock. I'll be right up. Scott out."
A few minutes later Scott was on the bridge—and he was talking very loudly indeed.
"Ye want t' do what with ma ship?" he was saying. "Are ye daft, sir?"
"My mental functions are unimpaired, Mr. Scott," Spock said patiently. "I suggest that you calm yourself. I have asked you a question; I need an answer."
"Aye, sir, then here's one," Scott said. "Ye canna take a starship inta atmosphere and expect her t' perform with anything approachin' precision. Ye may remember th' time we hit th' black hole and got bounced through spacetime, right inta old Earth's atmosphere. We had th' devil's own trouble makin' standard orbit from there—and th' ship was in far better condition then than now."
"I do not require any great degree of precision, Mr. Scott. I simply wish to prevent the Enterprise from crashing into the surface. Can that be done?"
Scott shook his head. "Mr. Spock, with all respect, this ship is not a glider. She canna handle high-altitude winds—or low-altitude ones, either. Our drift compensators are nae workin' right, and they're nae built to handle winds anyhow. I canna say wha' outside weather conditions might do t' th' impulse engines; th' outside weather might bother them, since they were nae designed for planetary conditions. Th' Enterprise is nae a landing craft and shares none o' th' abilities with same."
"Thank you for the information, Mr. Scott," Spock said. "I am now aware of the reasons why an approach to the surface would be difficult. My question, however, concerned whether such an approach is possible or impossible under present ship's conditions."
Scott blew out a breath. "The ol' girl's hurtin' too much, Mr. Spock. It pains me to say it's nae possible."
There was a moment of silence. Then Alec MacPherson rose from his chair and cleared his throat.
"Scotty, if ye will pardon me?" the big Scot began. He cleared his throat again. "I beg t' differ wi' me boss on this matter, wi' all respect t' him."
Scotty looked surprised. So did some others on the bridge. This was the first instance in which the "twins" had publicly disagreed.
"'Tis true thot th' warp engines are out for th' duration, until we haul ourselves t' a starbase for crystal replacement and a major rewirin' job." MacPherson paused. "But I think I see a way t' route impulse engine control through th' warp-drive governors—and as ye know, Scotty, th' warp governors are many times more precise than those for th' impulse engines."
Scotty blinked. "How d'ye propose t' do that, lad?"
"The impulse engines require but three dimensions o' governance," MacPherson explained. "Hyperspace and pseudotime guidance—all that can be ignored. I can channel those navigation centers inta compensatin' for atmospheric conditions, such as wind. Scotty, d'ye see my approach yet?"
The chief engineer was nodding slowly. "Aye, thot I do, laddie. Damn, I wish I'd thought o' it ma'self. We'll do it. Mr. Spock, ma apologies; the lad's approach ought t' work. We'll see if th' ol' lassie's truly got th' right stuff or no."
"Thank you both, gentlemen. I suggest you begin your work; I do not believe we have very much time. Mr. Siderakis, prepare a course and stand by."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Spock turned his attention back to the viewscreen, and waited.
Chapter Twenty-Four:
Garrovick Valley
SECOND SUNRISE HAD come; Kirk and the others had been forced to don sunglasses against the glare from outside. The almost painful brightness was far from helpful in keeping track of the subtle movements of shrub and brush—movements that revealed to Kirk just where Burke had disposed his forces.
Kirk was sure the troops outside had much better eye protection than sunglasses.
Barclay and his fellow Leaguers sat huddled in the middle of the cabin floor; Kirk wanted them as far away as possible from any window. Barclay seemed content; the four others appeared nervous. Kirk wished he could open a window—but the shatterproof windows had turned out to be his cabin's main defensive mechanism. If Burke decided to lob a gas grenade into the cabin, he'd have to blow a hole in one of the walls first; Kirk's windows were dynaplast, not glass, and wouldn't break under anything less than the force of a good, dense mass traveling at supersonic speed.
Unfortunately, Kirk thought as he rubbed his tired eyes, the windows weren't hyperpolarized duraplast. Kirk used blackout shades against glare—more primitive and cabinlike, he'd thought—and the shades had to be up so he could see out.
Not for the first time, Kirk wished he had grabbed some sleep. His every muscle ached, particularly the ones in his back; no amount of toner isometrics seemed to relieve the stiffness. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Attention inside the cabin!" came a voice on a loudspeaker. Burke's voice.
"This is Minister of Internal Security Burke. Captain Kirk, your cabin is surrounded, as you undoubtedly realize. I require that the suspects in the New Athens bombing be turned over to Centaurian custody. We do not acknowledge that the Federation has any authority in this matter. Your arrival and subsequent actions on this planet constitute a violation of our government's sovereignty, under relevant sections of the Federation Charter.
"No one has any intention of harming Federation personnel in the course of their duties—but Federation interference in this matter cannot be tolerated. We do not intend to allow the suspects in your custody to leave this planet without all jurisdictional disputes settled."
Sam Cogley snorted. "He has no intention of settling any 'jurisdictional disputes,'" he said. "There aren't any, and he knows that."
"I know it, too, Sam," Kirk said. "It doesn't make any difference anyway. Sulu, keep a sharp eye out; Burke may be counting on his monologue to distract us a little, take our edge off."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
"We demand the immediate surrender of the suspects now in your custody," Burke continued. "You, your aide and Samuel Cogley will be free to go. You have ten minutes to consider these terms. At the end of that time, Captain, we shall be forced to take the suspects by force of arms. I await your reply."
Silence fell—but it was soon interrupted by Barclay. "I hope you realize, Kirk, that I will not tolerate a surrender," he said.
Kirk was interested. "Why not, Barclay? What can you do about it? I raise the white flag, and that's it, as far as you and your friends are concerned. No skin off my nose, just a couple of thousand words of explanation to Starfleet."
"And, no doubt, Starfleet would not mind very much—if the only consequence of your surrender was the loss of our freedom. But there is far more at stake." Barclay looked cool; he was operating now.
"Such as what?" Kirk asked, drawing him out.
Barclay was willing to be led. "Let me tell you a little story, Captain. Let's take a … hypothetical … planet, much like this one. Astonishingly like this one." Barclay grinned humorlessly. He had everyone's attention.
"There's a political movement on this planet we're considering," Barclay continued. "It starts with a few forward-looking citizens, who see what a debilitating effect membership in the Federation has had on a once-vibrant culture. Human and natural resources have been diverted from domestic use. Aliens have entered the local economy and have returned nothing, except for their noxious influences on a formerly pure human culture. Members of lesser human races have been allowed to persist in their ceaseless disrespect for an advanced human culture they did not and could not have attained on their own—"
"Mr. Barclay," Cogley said, "I advise you to stop. Anything you say can be held against you in court—"
"Shut up, Cogley," Barclay said. "I'm speaking hypothetically here; the captain knows that. Don't you, Captain?"
Kirk nodd
ed. "Go on, Barclay. I'm fascinated."
"Certainly. The struggle begins, as it must, in the old, outmoded political arenas. The small group of advanced thinkers in the movement know their program will benefit all humans; its attractions are undeniable, yet the political system will not tolerate the vast and sweeping changes being proposed. After years of struggle, it comes to pass on our hypothetical world that a brilliant but unappreciated scientist, long a member of this hypothetical movement, stumbles on something truly amazing, Kirk. Can you imagine what it might be?"
"Haven't the faintest idea."
"I thought not," Barclay smirked. "Strange—I would have thought that someone of your racial makeup and obvious intelligence would have worked it out long ago." Sulu's a patient man, thought Kirk. I would have slugged this maggot five minutes ago.
"I'm afraid I haven't hit on it yet, Barclay," Kirk said. "What was it—hypothetically?"
"Merely a breakthrough that, for once, gave our fictional movement the political and social power it had so long merited but been denied. Captain, what do you know of antimatter?"
"A lot."
"Then you know it is both difficult and quite costly to produce. The technique and expense are beyond the means of any organization but a multiplanetary government—or a galaxy-spanning military force, such as Starfleet." Barclay paused. "Or, I should say, it used to be."
"Go on," Kirk prompted.
"This scientist hit upon a new theory of subnuclear manipulation, Kirk. It was so simple, and so easily put into practice, that for relatively little money—and with the approval of the leaders of his movement—he himself, with no help, manufactured several hundred grams of antimatter in a basement laboratory. No heavy shielding, Kirk; no big equipment. He had little more than a simple pressor-tractor array to manipulate things the way he wanted them. He also had several simple cardboard boxes. Do you know what our imaginary friend did then, Captain?"
Crisis On Centaurus Page 19
