Captain's Blood зпвш-8

by William Shatner

  La Forge leaned forward so Picard sat back, fervently hoping his engineer had seen some opening that had escaped the rest of them. “Captain Kirk,” La Forge asked, “what do you think the Remans’ next move will be?”

  “What they’ve proposed is that I return to Virron’s segment headquarters tomorrow, with Joseph. There’s a ceremony they’d like to perform.”

  “What kind of ceremony?” Crusher asked.

  “A…christening, I suppose. They want to give him his formal, family names. And his function name, as a Reman.”

  Picard frowned because he knew what that name would be. Shinzon.

  “Jean-Luc,” Kirk said earnestly, “I know the moment Joseph sets foot on Remus, I’ve lost him. They will not let me take him back.”

  There was only one thing Picard could say to that, and he said it. “Then we will not let Joseph set foot on Remus.”

  Kirk took a deep breath, as if he had been expecting more of a confrontation. “Thank you. Then the sooner we break orbit, the—”

  “We’re not leaving,” Picard said. “We have to get to Romulus. We have to investigate Spock’s assassination.”

  Kirk regarded him in astonishment. “Jean-Luc…you’ve heard the stories, about the kind of fighters Remans are, the savagery. If we stay in this system, this ship can’t outfight them. Our only chance is to outrun them.”

  “Exactly,” Picard said. He knew as well as Kirk did that the Remans had warbirds to guard their orbital processing platforms, and those ships were staffed by Reman soldiers who served in the Dominion War. “We can outrun them to Romulus.”

  Kirk’s shoulders squared for battle and Picard’s instincts told him why. For too long, Kirk had been a starship captain, a man whose every word was respected, whose every order was immediately carried out. He was unused to taking part in arguments he could not win simply by claiming command authority.

  “We don’t have clearance for Romulus,” Kirk said angrily. “And given the relationship between these two worlds, how do you think the Romulan government is going to respond when they find out we’re carrying the Shinzon who’s someday supposed to free the Reman slaves?”

  Picard nodded, no argument possible. “You’re right. We’re a civilian ship. They’d blow us out of space. Worry about the diplomatic repercussions later.” He glanced at La Forge beside him, Crusher at the other end of the small cabin, could see that both of them were silently urging him to break Janeway’s orders and bring Kirk into the full mission.

  Picard hesitated, weighing his options.

  That hesitation did not go unnoticed.

  “What’s going on, Jean-Luc?”

  Picard stood to face his friend. “Jim, I respect you too much to say ‘Nothing.’ Or ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Obviously, there are other considerations at work here.”

  The cold fury that leapt into Kirk’s eyes surprised Picard.

  “When you asked for my help, did any of you know what the Remans wanted with my son?”

  The awful betrayal that drove that question made Picard’s heart ache for Kirk. And made him eternally grateful that this was at least one question he could answer with absolute honesty.

  “No, Jim. On that you have my word. We all expected to be on Romulus now, investigating Spock’s murder. No one—me, my crew, the planners at Starfleet—none of us had the slightest thread of information to suggest the Remans would become involved.”

  Picard could see that Kirk was replaying each word he had spoken, as if searching for the smallest indication of falsehood.

  ” ‘Other considerations,’ ” Kirk said in an ominous, quiet way. “Starfleet desk jockeys, you mean. Putting me in this position. Putting my son in this position.”

  Picard hadn’t thought it would be possible to feel any worse about having lied to Kirk. Now he regretted ever agreeing to Janeway’s plan.

  “Jim…” Picard began, trying to find a way to bridge the divide between them.

  But Kirk shook his head with an angry snap. “Just don’t. Don’t say a thing. I asked Janeway point-blank, and she denied to my face that there was a third mission. I asked you, and you lied to me, too.”

  “Need to know, Jim. Operational security.” Picard hated each word as he spoke it, but there was nothing else his orders permitted him to say. Wisely, La Forge and Crusher remained silent, adding no more fuel to the incendiary standoff.

  Kirk made fists of his hands, tried to pace but there was just no room. “Even now…” Whatever else he was going to say was swallowed by a harsh laugh of disbelief. “All right…you needed me on this trip. You thought maybe Joseph would be protective coloration. After all, what sane father would risk his own son in a covert Starfleet operation?”

  Picard remained silent, let Kirk say whatever he needed to make sense of the terrible decision he was facing

  “And now you’re asking,” Kirk continued, seething, “if there’s anything I can imagine doing that will let you continue your primary mission to Romulus.” Kirk pointed his finger at Picard. “Getting my son the hell out of Romulan space. Now.”

  Picard straightened his jacket, mentally seeking as he did so some way to keep the dialogue going, even though he knew he could not accept Kirk’s terms. “The Calypso can probably outrun the ships in this system. But we’d be at risk of interception before we reached the Neutral Zone. And our primary mission to Romulus would be lost.”

  But Kirk shook his head. “No. You keep the Calypso. You keep your mission. But the other thing you do is get the Titan in here to take Joseph out.”

  La Forge whistled, which was as an effective way of commenting on the impossibility of Kirk’s request as anything Picard thought he could say.

  “Problem?” Kirk asked sharply.

  “Several,” Picard reluctantly said. “And they’re significant.”

  “That’s not the right answer, Jean-Luc.”

  Picard prepared to make one last attempt to follow Janeway’s orders, before taking the initiative himself.

  “Jim, the Titan is on a diplomatic mission to Latium Four.”

  Latium was one of the first Romulan colonies to be established by the fledgling empire. To limit the number of potentially hostile ships traveling to their home system, the Romulans had established Latium IV as a centralized location for alien trade and diplomatic missions. It was far easier to obtain clearance to travel to Latium than to Romulus. So Starfleet had created a minor diplomatic inquiry to justify Will Riker’s presence only ten light-years from Romulus.

  “That’s less than ten hours away for the Titan,” Kirk said. “And that’s why she’s there, isn’t it? To come to our rescue?”

  Picard knew this was as far as he could go. One more chance. “To come to our rescue, Jim. To save the mission.”

  Picard waited, in hopes that Kirk would seize on what had not been said.

  “You mean, to save the mission, but not my son.” Kirk’s voice flattened, as if the anger and betrayal roiling within him had suddenly given way, too great to exist. “Damn you.”

  With that, Picard knew he had gone far enough. Janeway had given her orders under one set of circumstances, but those circumstances had changed. So the orders must change, too.

  It was time to tell Kirk everything.

  Picard reached up to the upper bunk, pulled his civilian communicator free of the folded blanket there just as the annunciator chimed, followed by a familiar knock.

  “That’s my son,” Kirk said.

  He opened the door and Joseph barreled in, hugging him wildly, excitedly saying, “Daddy, Daddy!”

  McCoy remained out in the corridor, giving Picard a shrug as his comment on Joseph’s inexhaustible supply of energy.

  “Slow down, son,” Kirk said quietly.

  Joseph broke away from his hug, looked around at the others crowded into Picard’s cabin. “Is the ghost here?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  “The ghost?” Kirk repeated.

  “Seems the ship is haunted,” McCoy volu
nteered. “We’ve been looking for ‘the ghost’ on every deck.”

  Kirk tapped Joseph on the nose. “What did I tell you about ghosts?”

  “There’s no such thing,” Joseph said. “Except on this ship.”

  “We take the blame for that,” Crusher said before Kirk could ask his son to explain. She got up, went to Kirk and Joseph. “He heard us talking in the galley, thought he heard another person.”

  “I did,” Joseph insisted.

  Kirk glanced at Picard, and there was no question that the gentle acceptance he showed his son did not extend to Picard and the others. “Did he?” Kirk asked.

  Picard snapped the battery cover from his communicator. “Not exactly,” he said.

  The Calypso shuddered.

  Everyone in the cabin braced themselves. Kirk pulled Joseph close. Instinctively, they waited for some indication that the problem was due to the artificial gravity, which would be an inconvenience, or due to collision, which would be a disaster.

  Scott’s voice came over the PA system, shouting over bridge alarms. “All personnel t’ the bridge! A cloaked ship has just grappled onto our hull!”

  “Bones!” Kirk was closest to the door, pushing Joseph toward McCoy in the corridor. “Get to an escape module!”

  McCoy reached in to take Joseph’s arm, when suddenly a flash of disruptor fire threw the frail doctor to the side.

  Instantly, Kirk pulled Joseph back from the door, looked around. “Who has a weapon?”

  But an intruder was already in the doorway, hand disruptor held out to fire.

  In the instant it took for Picard to charge forward to drive Kirk out of harm’s way, Kirk had wheeled and kicked the intruder, forcing him back.

  Who or what the intruder was, Picard did not know. The figure was in full combat helmet with mask, and the sealed uniform concealing the rest of him was all black, devoid of markings. Picard had just enough time to register it as a special operations pressure suit—one that allowed its wearer to survive explosive decompression—before he collided with Kirk.

  By then two other intruders had appeared in the doorway, pushing forward, shouting in static-filled voices from exterior speakers on their helmets, warning everyone to step back.

  As Picard and Kirk leapt to their feet, La Forge fired a palm-sized phaser, but the energy blast ineffectually shimmered over the first intruder’s suit, dissipated by the attenuation armor.

  A heartbeat later, La Forge crumpled as the intruder returned fire.

  Kirk slammed the disruptor from the first intruder’s hand as the second intruder jumped through the door. Picard slowed him down with a solid punch to his midsection.

  The ship shook again, gravity shifted, and now the deck angled down, throwing everyone off balance.

  But that didn’t stop Crusher from swinging the desk stool at the first intruder as he tried to reach for his fallen disruptor.

  He fell back into the second intruder, and both slipped to the deck.

  The victory was short-lived, though. A third intruder was in the doorway, disruptor rifle leveled, well out of reach of a punch or kick.

  “Send out the child.” The harsh, mechanical voice was frightening in tone, and in intent.

  Eyes wide, Kirk glanced back as did Picard, to see Joseph cowering against the far bulkhead, beside the wall cabinet.

  At once, Picard pulled himself forward against the growing slant of the deck to stand at Kirk’s side, ready for Kirk’s forward move to block the third intruder’s line of fire. He had no doubt Joseph’s father would sacrifice his life for his child. But, together, perhaps one of them could draw fire while the other continued the fight.

  Instead, Crusher started swinging the cabin door closed and Kirk grabbed the edge of it, pulling it faster as he kicked at the tangled bodies of the first two intruders that blocked it.

  The disruptor rifle fired and the door blew back against Crusher, sending her to the deck beside La Forge. Kirk pulled his hand to his chest, clearly in pain.

  “The child! Now!” the intruder demanded.

  “Never!” Kirk answered.

  The intruder lunged forward, expertly flipping his rifle to strike at Kirk with its stock.

  Kirk slammed back into Picard, who staggered with the impact. The angle of the deck was too steep now for either of them to stay upright.

  As he crashed to the deck, Picard heard Joseph begin to cry with fear.

  Kirk swore and scrambled to regain his footing.

  The third intruder pulled himself through the door, braced himself against the metal frame, and held out his hand to Joseph. “Come here or I’ll kill your father!”

  Joseph wailed with terror now as more of the enemy appeared in the doorway. The ship was overrun.

  “Come here or I’ll kill them all!”

  Kirk leapt at the intruder.

  The intruder leapt at him.

  And then, as if the Calypso had fallen into a wormhole, all action in the cabin ceased as the golden light of a transporter beam flickered over everyone, accompanied by a soft musical tone.

  Kirk and the intruder turned in mid-fight as both looked for the source of the beam.

  Picard found it, as well.

  A shimmering curtain of light enveloped Joseph, his tearstained face fading, even as his last cry for his father did the same.

  “Joseph!” Kirk’s disbelief tore at Picard. But the child was gone.

  An instant later, the intruders leveled their disruptors. Picard saw the flash of their emitters and then…

  Nothing.

  13

  PROCESSING SEGMENT 3, STARDATE 57486.7

  Consciousness returned to Kirk in a series of memories, melting one into the other, each of them different, each of them the same.

  They were memories of pain, stiffness, the burning of a sudden reflexive breath. The symptoms came from different causes: a Klingon fist, an Andorian knife, an alien kiss. But as it had so many times before, the return of consciousness was accompanied by one all-too-familiar sensation: the hum and sparkle of medical equipment, and by McCoy’s stern scowl above him, as the ship’s doctor worked his miracles on him as surely as Scott worked his miracles on the Enterprise.

  “Bones…” That single word came out as a bark. Kirk coughed, cleared the postdisruption congestion in his chest. “You’re all right.”

  “My few remaining original parts are just fine.” McCoy moved away from Kirk, and as Kirk struggled to raise his head and squint through the dim lighting, he saw his friend hobbling away, leaning heavily on a cane of pale green metal, like weathered copper. “Unfortunately, they’re not the important ones these days,” McCoy groused to himself.

  The doctor came back to Kirk’s medical bed with a strange instrument—what appeared to be an uncut ruby the size of a lemon with something silver and gleaming embedded within it.

  But medical instruments weren’t Kirk’s concern. “Joseph?” he asked.

  McCoy’s expression was unreadable. “What do you remember?”

  Had any other person in the galaxy dared refuse his question by asking another, Kirk would have grabbed him by the throat and squeezed until he had satisfaction. But McCoy had always had reasons for everything he did. Most of the time, those reasons even made sense.

  Kirk sank back on the medical bed, closing his eyes as he rapidly arranged his last memories in coherent order. “Scotty said something over the speakers about a cloaked ship grappling the hull. Gravity went out of alignment. The Calypso was boarded. Humanoids in combat environmental suits. No identifying insignia. But they used disruptors.” He opened his eyes, looked at McCoy. “Since you’re still with us, they weren’t set to kill. But whoever boarded us, they wanted my boy. They threatened to kill all of us if he didn’t go with them.”

  Kirk took a deep breath, and his chest relaxed. Whatever the instrument McCoy was using on his chest, the pain of disruption was lessening. But there was no cessation of the agony of losing his son far too close to the agony of losin
g Spock.

  “And then what?” McCoy asked briskly.

  “Joseph was beamed away. Starfleet signature.”

  That was the only reason Kirk wasn’t tearing apart wherever he was in order to find his son. However improbable, Joseph had been rescued by a Starfleet transporter. “Was it the Titan?”

  McCoy put the odd medical instrument on a narrow tray. “Here’s the thing, Jim. What you remember is what Picard remembers. Both of you say that Joseph was transported by Starfleet technology.”

  Kirk felt his stomach churn, but forced himself not to interrupt. McCoy has his reasons, he told himself. Don’t push him.

  “But the mystery is,” the doctor continued, “that there are no Starfleet vessels on orbit of Remus. In fact, we’re the only Federation ship within ten light-years of this system.”

  Kirk had to sit up then. The sudden movement made him dizzy, but it was impossible to remain still in the face of this news. “Then where did he go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But it was a Starfleet transporter,” Kirk insisted.

  “No argument from Picard.”

  “Bones, could there be another Starfleet Q-ship near us?”

  McCoy leaned against a counter, hooked his green metal cane over the countertop, and stretched his arm. “Well, there’s the other mystery. Scotty maintains that when we were attacked, our full navigation shields were up. There’s so much junk and mining debris on orbit here, seems that’s standard procedure.”

  Kirk saw the problem at once. “So how could Joseph have been beamed through the shields?” Then he saw the solution. “Intraship beaming! He was beamed from one part of the ship to another, inside the shields.”

  Kirk’s heart beat wildly. Joseph could still be on the ship.

  But McCoy dashed that hope quickly. “No such luck. Apparently the Calypso’s transporter bay doesn’t have that kind of capability. It only has a single transporter array and can’t be backfocused. Besides, Scotty was the last one of us shot. He says he would have seen the transporter system come online. And it didn’t.”