by Susan Wright
Scotty checked the time and muttered under his breath, “At this rate, we’ll never get th’ job done!”
“Sir?” asked one of his engineers. She was concentrating on lasering off the securing bolts. Scotty was helping her remove the emergency bypass control valve for the matter/antimatter integrator. It had been completely fused. Scotty still couldn’t figure out how the replica had done it. Fusing the integrator required power levels that equaled the entire might of their main phaser banks.
He couldn’t wait to get a look at the engines on that Kalandan station. What was it that had produced so much power? He was also deeply impressed by the level of focus and control. The matter/antimatter integrator was barely half a meter across, yet the replica had fused it while they were nearly one thousand light-years away from the Kalandan station. His engineers had been working on getting it off since they had returned to the planetoid, with no luck yet.
“Th’ service for Watkins starts soon.” Scotty stripped off his gloves. “We’ll have to finish this after.”
“I think if we take off that edge, we’ll be able to get it off, sir,” she pointed out helpfully.
“Meanwhile th’ ship is sitting exposed.” Scotty shook his head in frustration.
At the ensign’s concerned expression, Scotty patted her arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, lass. We’ll have th’ warp engines going soon enough. Now let’s get to that funeral service.”
At the door to the chapel, Scotty was stopped by Dr. M’Benga. “So what’s the word on th’ virus?” Scotty asked.
Dr. M’Benga grimly shook his head. “Nothing yet. But now we have the medical and botanical labs working together on it.”
With a sinking feeling, Scotty noticed M’Benga seemed quietly desperate — an unusual demeanor for the cool, professional doctor. It looked like the man hadn’t slept in two days, and there were deep lines in the dark skin around his mouth. But every wiry black hair was in place, and his blue uniform was crisp.
Scotty knew he was disheveled from working on the engines. He ran a blunt hand through his hair, hoping that would settle it enough for civility’s sake. Glancing down, he brushed at the black, powdery streaks across the arms and chest of his uniform, left by the laser residue dusting the integrator.
“Sir, this is about the other deceased crew member,” M’Benga continued. “Lieutenant D’Amato.”
Scotty sighed. “Now what?”
“The transporter chief says the biofilter detects the organism in his tissues. His body can’t be beamed onboard.”
“But he’s been dead for two days, man!” Scotty realized he was talking too loudly when other crew members turned to look at them. From inside the chapel, some of the seated friends and coworkers of Watkins strained to see what was going on.
Dr. M’Benga replied, “The only method we have now of removing the virus is by splitting open the DNA of the gamma globulin molecules. If we did that, D’Amato’s body would disintegrate.”
Scotty grabbed M’Benga’s arm and dragged him a few steps away from the chapel. This time he took the precaution of lowering his voice. “Can’t you beam him into stasis or something?”
“I could, on your order, sir.” Dr. M’Benga looked unruffled. “However, I must inform you that, in our current state, operating on emergency power, there would be a danger to the crew if the stasis field failed.”
Scotty muttered under his breath. “Aye, now that’s a pretty pickle, isn’t it?”
Dr. M’Benga didn’t reply. He merely kept his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for Scotty’s order. Scotty almost wished Dr. McCoy were here. McCoy wouldn’t hesitate to give a superior officer his opinion.
Scotty perked up. “I know — why not just beam him from th’ station directly into space?”
“That would work fine,” Dr. M’Benga agreed. “Except that his family wants D’Amato’s body returned to Earth for burial.”
Scotty was disappointed that his quick fix wasn’t going to work. “All right, Doctor, leave him there. None of us are going anywhere until we get th’ landing party back.”
Dr. M’Benga nodded shortly. “Very well, sir. But you’ll have to speak to D’Amato’s relatives.” Dr. M’Benga narrowed his eyes slightly. “They have asked to know the status of the removal procedure.”
Scotty shook his head, raising his hands. “Not me! Interfacing with th’ deceased’s family, that’s yer job, Doctor.”
“One I am now relinquishing to you, as commanding officer of this ship.” M’Benga sounded fine, but Scotty knew what it meant. Hysterical relatives weren’t his forte, either.
“Uh-oh. Well, I canna do it at this moment, can I?” Scotty gestured to the chapel, which was now full and obviously waiting for him.
“I’ll send the latest message to your console,” M’Benga assured him.
Scotty didn’t want to think about it. If this was what Captain Kirk had to deal with, he was more than ready to give the job of command back. Scotty preferred the quiet hum of his engines to dealing with the needs of all these people.
He squared his shoulders, completely forgetting about the black streaks on his uniform, as he marched into the chapel. There were some things a man had to do in life, and saying good-bye to a fellow officer was one of them.
Scotty normally didn’t go into the chapel on the Enterprise except for funeral services. And he rarely went then, preferring to watch with the rest of the crew on the screens.
Scotty took his position at the front of the chapel. To his left was the panel covering the portal in the hull that the sealed coffin would slide through. The blue seal of the Federation of Planets, along with the Starfleet symbol, were burned into the rounded lid of the silver coffin. Watkins’ body could drift for a hundred thousand years and never encounter anyone, the galaxy was that huge. To be alone in space, pilot of your own tiny craft, exploring until the end of time . . . Scotty didn’t understand why D’Amato’s relatives were denying him that, but to each his own. That’s what he always said.
Watkins’ friends and crewmates were sitting there, waiting for him to say something profound that would somehow explain this useless death. The yellow alert signal flashed ominously behind him, like a continuous warning that something terrible could go wrong any second.
Scotty took a deep breath. “John B. Watkins died while serving on board th’ Enterprise, th’ best ship in th’ fleet. Watkins risked his life like the rest of us, because we believe in what we’re doing out here. For that, we honor our shipmate. He was a good engineer and a good lad. He will be missed.” Scotty looked around the suddenly silent room, shocked to stillness by his blunt address. “I don’ know about you folks, but I’ll lift my glass tonight to the memory of John Watkins!”
A rousing murmur of agreement surged through the room. Scotty nodded to everyone and stepped aside to let one of Watkins’ friends stand up. She began to sing one of his favorite songs, about longing and lost love.
Scotty knew that Captain Kirk would have made a more fitting statement — the captain surely could talk his way around an idea, making it grand in the telling. But Scotty was pleased that he had said what he felt. He only wished he knew when Kirk, Spock and McCoy would be returning. He would much prefer to make his toast to Watkins while surrounded by friends of his own.
Chapter Six
FOR THE SECOND DAY inside the Kalandan station, Kirk continued to struggle with the Losira replica to try to get more information. Sometime yesterday he had discovered that he could access the commander’s logs. After that he had been lost in a whirl of aliens and other worlds as the Losira replica replayed the logs. He learned more about the Kalandan culture and their scientific studies in his late-night session, and he used a tricorder to record each entry for computer analysis.
He was making more progress than Spock, whose attempt to penetrate the computer monofilaments with the nanites had failed. The beacons ceased to broadcast within hours after the nanites had been released, never to be heard from
again.
Dr. McCoy and the entire medical and botanical staff of the Enterprise weren’t having much luck either. The virus was still growing and shedding spores in their systems.
Kirk slouched in the command chair, his chin propped on one hand. He was almost glaring at the Losira replica as she blithely continued her report on a planet the Kalandans had just explored. It contained silicone-based, rudimentary life-forms, and Losira was remarkably enthusiastic about the dominant species on the planet. They looked like tangled-up worms to Kirk.
The Losira replica held the knowledge he needed to access the rest of the station, but she stubbornly refused to give it to him. Almost every question was now smilingly deferred to the defense computer. Instead he was getting reams of information that wasn’t helping him complete his mission. Yet the more he saw, the more he was convinced Starfleet Command needed to know about these people’s miraculous feats of engineering.
Kirk did gain some insight. From things Losira said and the number of people she referenced, he estimated that the station had been manned by several hundred Kalandan scientists. Losira also mentioned storage bays on the station, which must be extensive, since the Kalandans had routinely gathered samples of everything they encountered.
It also became clear that the station took up only a tiny fraction of the planetoid. At first, Kirk had believed the planet was hollow, housing the station. But Spock said the planetoid needed significant mass in order to create a magnetic field.
Sprinkled throughout Losira’s logs were repeated comments about the shifting magnetic pole of the planetoid, and the current stability rate of the dipolar magnetic field. She gave daily reports on the geomagnetic declination, indicating that this information was key to running the station. Kirk forwarded every reference about the magnetic field to Spock.
“Captain?” Sulu came up beside him.
Kirk grimaced as he straightened up in the chair. “End log,” he ordered. The accompanying image disappeared and Losira abruptly ceased speaking, folding her hands in front of her and waiting with a slight dreamy smile.
“Mr. Spock is preparing his preliminary report, Captain.”
Spock was attempting to determine if tapping the magnetic flux of a planetoid of this mass could provide the power necessary to fling the Enterprise one thousand light-years away.
“What does he think?”
“It appears that his hypothesis is correct. The magnetic field is capable of producing more power than he anticipated.”
“So that’s something Losira has given us.” Kirk narrowed his eyes at the Losira replica. She was perfectly exquisite, and acted as if she could wait forever. But they didn’t have forever.
“Reinhart’s checked almost the entire length of the corridor, sir. But there’s nothing. I don’t understand it — even a small station has to have more than a few botany labs!”
“I agree, Mr. Sulu.” Kirk tried but couldn’t stifle his yawn. “Where did several hundred scientists sleep? Where did they eat? They had to live somewhere.”
Losira came alive, her eyes shifting to look at him. “You have been granted access to the living quarters.”
“What?” Kirk sat forward, not quite believing his ears.
“You have been granted access to the living quarters,” Losira repeated.
At the same time, there was a shout from the corridor. “Captain Kirk! Lieutenant Sulu! Come look at this!”
Kirk leaped from the chair, feeling a bit stiff from sitting on the hard surface for hours. Sulu was right behind him.
The sloping corridor had been transformed from a featureless tube into the central spine of a lattice of connecting corridors. As they went forward, they could see doorways lining the side corridors. These corridors went on for a long way, curving out of sight. Periodically they were pierced by secondary corridors running parallel to the main one.
Reinhart rushed down to join them, his eyes wide and phaser in hand. “What happened? Everything just opened up!”
Kirk was grinning. “We finally got what we asked for, Mr. Reinhart. Losira has decided to be helpful, for a change.”
The curving walls of the corridors were bland white, just like the main ones. It was starting to be a strain on Kirk’s eyes — too much white. Like being trapped in a blinding snowstorm.
But while watching the logs, he had noticed there were moving colors on the walls behind the Losira replica. It looked like the same shifting, glowing colors that ran across the computer node overhead. Perhaps when the Kalandans were alive these corridors had been decorated with similar pulsing patterns.
In that instant, Kirk could imagine what it was like back when the station was full of Kalandans passing each other in the corridors, talking and laughing. Active, vital explorers going about their business, just like his own crew up on the Enterprise.
Kirk stepped to the first doorway and went in. The walls were bare and white, molded softly around counters and benches that were lined with thin cushions. He pressed on a cushion, to find it was made of some sort of slippery plasticized material, like everything else on this station.
The room curved in a broad sweep of uninterrupted walls. At the opposite end there was a low platform. It took Kirk a moment to realize it was a bed. There were two packing cartons and a few stacks of cloth resting on the bed. The room had a bare, unlived-in feeling.
“They died.” Kirk’s throat felt thick. “It happened slowly. They had time to pack up their belongings and prepare for death.”
He knew they were thinking of the virus in their own systems. Did the same fate await them?
His communicator beeped. Kirk was glad for the interruption. He flipped open the cover. “Kirk here.”
“Scotty here, Captain. Long-range sensors have picked up an incoming vessel. It appears t’ be Klingon.”
“Klingon,” Kirk grimly repeated. Their encounter with the Klingons last month at Beta XII-A had almost ended in disaster. Commander Kang had believed the Enterprise had murdered his crew. It wasn’t until later that they had realized they were being manipulated by a malevolent energy being that fed off aggressive instincts. Kirk had required the assistance of the Klingon science officer, Mara, in order to call a truce and rid themselves of the hostile entity. If she hadn’t been Kang’s wife, her influence would not have been enough to sway him.
Kirk was certain that the truce would not hold for this encounter. Klingons were not disposed to be friendly.
“Is the shield holding?” Kirk asked.
“There’s a bit of ion leakage, but it should do, Captain. Unless they walk right up t’ it. But we’ll have to cease communications. I’ve already notified sickbay.”
Kirk lowered his voice. “We’re running out of options, Scotty.”
“Understood, Captain. I’ll let you know when th’ Klingons are gone.”
Scotty was nothing if not optimistic. But Kirk slammed his communicator shut. Klingons were approaching and he was stranded away from his ship!
“Now what, Captain?” Sulu asked. Both of them looked worried.
“Now we start searching these rooms,” Kirk ordered. “There must be personal computers or recording devices — something we can use to access the computer on this station.”
“Aye, sir!” Sulu and Reinhart replied at once.
As they left the room, Kirk turned to the containers and began to unload the first one. Anything was better than pacing back and forth in frustration, wondering what was happening to the Enterprise.
Captain Mox took the bridge of the Klingon cruiser ’Ong as they entered the sector where the power surge had been detected. None of his officers met his eyes, including his first officer. Mox remembered Gulda’s grin the day he had promoted her, not three duty cycles ago, as they clanged their flagons of bloodwine together.
Now Gulda would not look at him. So went the fleeting pleasures of life. Mox had insisted that his crew follow the code of honor established by Kahless the Unforgettable, even though they weren’t believ
ers. Now they were amused that he felt the dishonor of his father’s shameful death.
“Report!” Mox roared, glaring at each bridge officer. They shifted and glanced uneasily his way. That was better.
“There is a vessel in orbit around the planet,” Gulda announced.
Mox bared his teeth. He had come immediately to the bridge when their sensors had discovered the planet at the source of the power surge. “What vessel?”
“According to the energy signature, it appears to be a Constitution-class starship.”
“Starfleet . . . ” Mox arranged his tattered armor as he sat in the command chair. The others were restless. Starfleet vessels were a match for Klingon battleships, but the ’Ong was a mere cruiser.
“Stay on course!” Mox ordered. They would regret doubting his leadership. He would not give way to Starfleet. He scorned the Organian agreement that made them keep peace with the Federation, and he spit on Klingons who feared a race that lived halfway across the galaxy. A coerced peace was no peace at all.
The pin-dot planet grew slowly, brightening until it began to take shape as a sphere against the darkness. Odd that it floated free of any solar system. Yet it had an atmosphere like a typical Class-M planet.
“Captain!” the first officer exclaimed, returning to her more familiar tone of voice. “We have confirmation. It’s the Enterprise!”
The Enterprise! Mox felt a rising sense of certainty. This was why he had been called across space. To meet the flagship of Starfleet . . . the most powerful ship in the Federation of Planets.
Mox swung out of his chair and was at Gulda’s station in two strides. “Have they seen us?”
“Unknown, Captain.” Her fingers flew over the panel, trying to get a tactical reading. “Captain — they appear to be damaged. Warp engines are off-line. They’re operating on auxiliary generators.”
Mox let his mouth fall open. “It must be a trick . . .”
“No, Captain! They couldn’t mask the energy signals from their warp engines. The matter/antimatter reactor is shut down.”
