The Antares Maelstrom

by Greg Cox

  “No fatalities that we know of,” Sulu said, although any bodies would have been swept out into space when the hangar depressurized. Short-range scanners were now searching the surrounding vacuum for any possible humanoid remains. “Doctors M’Benga and Trucco have already discharged the majority of the victims, who were just suffering from treatable respiratory problems, but are keeping roughly eleven patients under observation, just to be safe. They expect everyone to make a full recovery . . . eventually.”

  Sulu’s own throat and lungs felt raw and scratchy, but that was the least of his concerns. “It could have been a lot worse.”

  “Thank goodness,” Tilton said. “Thank goodness . . .”

  His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted back to the view outside his viewport. His face went slack as his eyes emptied out again. Sulu shared a concerned look with Grandle, who could hardly miss how out of it Tilton was. The security chief shrugged helplessly.

  Looks like it’s just the two of us for the duration, Sulu thought.

  Sixteen

  Yurnos

  The wagon rolled over a bumpy road, which did not make the ride any more comfortable for Spock and Chekov, who were stowed in the back with the rest of the cargo, hidden beneath a coarse, heavy tarp. Barrels of nabbia shared the bed of the open buckboard wagon with the captured Starfleet officers as, unable to see anything, Spock relied on his other senses. The paws of harnessed marmots padded against the road as a team of four pulled the wagon, whose squeaky axles needed oiling. By his reckoning, they had left Wavebreak behind and were now making their way down a lonely, unfrequented road late at night. The smell of brine and the persistent sound of waves crashing against rocks indicated that they were hugging the shore, en route to a clandestine rendezvous with the smugglers, whom Eefa had, with some effort, persuaded to meet with her at their usual spot.

  So far, so good, Spock thought, after a fashion.

  Ironically enough, Eefa was doing precisely what she had originally agreed to do: facilitate a meeting with the smugglers.

  Although, admittedly, the conditions were less than ideal.

  He and Chekov remained bound and gagged, unable to communicate with each other. Spock tested the chains binding his wrists behind his back, which proved stronger than anticipated. He had to commend Yurnian metallurgy; the chains resisted even his Vulcan strength. It was possible that, with significant time and effort, he could break his bonds, but not without attracting undue attention from their captors, who were at present seated at the front of the wagon, less than a meter away.

  “Hurry it up,” Eefa urged Woji, who was apparently driving the wagon, while his fidgety employer sat beside him, carrying on a one-way conversation with the guard, who Spock was beginning to suspect was literally mute. “And keep your eyes sharp and your ears pricked. Wouldn’t do to run across any pesky revenue agents out hunting for honest smugglers. As far as I know, they haven’t caught wind of our favorite cove yet, but you never know. ‘No secret stays such forever,’ as they say.”

  The wagon paused, causing Spock to wonder if they’d reached their destination. He heard Woji dismount and lumber to the right side of the road, where, from the sound of it, he exerted himself to move some heavy object, possibly a boulder or log. Brush rustled as well, as though being shifted out of the way. Eefa scooted over and took the reins while Spock attempted to deduce what was happening.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Clear the way.”

  The wagon turned off the road onto an even bumpier surface. Eefa paused long enough for Woji to replace the obstacle and brush he had moved; Spock deduced that the way to the “cove” she’d mentioned was blocked and camouflaged to avoid discovery.

  A logical precaution, he thought.

  Woji clambered back onto the wagon, which descended a steep, winding trail that, judging from its uneven terrain, barely qualified as a road. The crashing surf grew louder as the air grew saltier, suggesting that they were nearing the hidden cove. Spock anticipated the end of the ride with some eagerness; beyond encountering the smugglers at last, he had been bounced and bruised by his rough accommodations longer than he would have preferred. Chekov was doubtless of a similar mind.

  The road leveled off, and they continued only a bit farther.

  “That’s far enough,” Eefa said. “Lock the wheels.”

  Woji grunted as he brought the wagon to a halt and engaged a mechanical brake.

  “Fetch our unwanted passengers,” Eefa said. “The sooner we unload them onto their fellows, the easier I’ll rest.”

  Spock was inclined to agree. He also wished to make the acquaintance of the smugglers as expeditiously as possible. Curiosity and duty spurred a keen sense of anticipation that was nearly as powerful as any human emotion.

  Woji followed her instructions. Within minutes, the tarp was yanked back, exposing the captives to the light of a solitary moon. None too gently, he dragged them out of the wagon and onto their feet. Spock’s stiff legs, which had been on the verge of falling asleep, welcomed the activity. He appreciated being upright again as he got his bearings.

  They had indeed reached a small, rather isolated cove sheltered by rocky slopes and cliffs. Foaming surf lapped against the edge of a pebbly beach, while a warm breeze blew off the water. Spock surmised that the cove was not visible from the road above, making it an ideal spot for maritime smuggling. All that was missing was any sign of the smugglers themselves. He, Chekov, Eefa, and her accomplice appeared to have the remote beach to themselves, nor did he discern any vessels upon the water or in the sky.

  Curious, he thought.

  “Where are they?” Eefa scanned the horizon. “They should be here by now, curse them!”

  Spock shared her concern. He and Chekov had endured considerable danger and discomfort to reach this juncture. He did not wish to think that it had been a wasted effort. What if the smugglers left Eefa waiting in vain?

  “Mgggmgg!”

  A muffled protest escaped Chekov’s gag. If anything, he appeared more discontented than either Spock or Eefa, which was perhaps understandable, considering the circumstances. Spock reminded himself that Chekov was merely human, after all.

  “Mmggllggm!”

  Chekov clearly wished to be heard, gag or no gag. Eefa shrugged in resignation.

  “All right, all right,” she said wearily. “Go ahead and take their gags off, Woji. Our foreign friends are surely going to want to question them . . . if they deign to show up.”

  She brandished her pistol as Woji removed the captives’ gags.

  “Da!” Chekov blurted as the gag came away from his mouth. He took a deep breath of the seaside air. “Are you all right, Mister . . . Fultar?”

  “I am unharmed,” Spock said. “And you?”

  “Well enough, although I’m not fond of being trussed up like a Preebian sponge-hog.” He spit the taste of the gag from his mouth. “I’ve been treated better by—” He caught himself before mentioning Klingons or the like. “Well, by worse characters than you.”

  “Don’t even think about shouting for help,” Eefa warned them. “There’s nary a soul around for leagues.”

  “Why would we wish to summon help?” Spock said. “We are precisely where we want to be.” He glanced about the deserted beach. “I take it our guests are overdue?”

  “You’re an icy one, aren’t you?” She regarded him with annoyance. “I’d be a good deal more worried if I was in your position. Both of you.”

  “We will take that under advisement,” Spock said.

  That they were possibly in serious jeopardy did not elude Spock, yet they were making significant progress in their investigation. Danger was inherent in many Starfleet missions; one simply had to be confident in one’s ability to cope with hazardous situations as they arose. Focusing entirely on self-preservation defeated the purpose of visiting new worlds and defending the Federation and its principles.

  “You do that,” she said, keeping him and Chekov in her sights. She plucked
her generic communicator from a pocket and tried to contact her tardy partners in crime. “Hello? Can you hear me? Where in limbo are you?”

  “Patience,” a voice answered. “We’re right offshore. You didn’t think we were going to show ourselves until we needed to?”

  Eefa risked glancing at the bay. Spock followed her gaze and witnessed a disturbance in the water several meters beyond the beach. The moonlit water frothed and roiled as a large object rose from the deep water farther out. Foam streamed off the object, revealing the metallic hull of a green-tinted vessel roughly the size of a Starfleet shuttlecraft. It rose vertically from the depths, its nose pointed toward the beach.

  “A submersible!” Chekov exclaimed, stating the obvious. “That’s how they’ve evaded detection so far.”

  On the planet at least, Spock mused. The mystery of how the smugglers came and went from Yurnos without being spotted by sensors remained to be solved. “So it appears.”

  Levitating less than a meter above the water, the smugglers’ craft glided toward the beach at a relatively cautious pace, giving Spock ample time to inspect it as it drew nearer. The unmarked craft bore no name or registration number, which was suspicious in itself. Streamlined contours rendered it well suited to both atmospheric and aquatic travel, but a pair of extendable nacelles, currently tucked in on both the port and starboard sides of the craft, indicated that it was space capable as well. Spock estimated that its cargo capacity was sufficient to take on enough nabbia to justify a trip to Baldur III and back.

  “Don’t tell me you’re surprised by that remarkable craft,” Eefa said. “We all know that such marvels are commonplace where you come from.”

  “Ah, yes,” Chekov said. “Collu S’Avala.”

  “Precisely.” Spock remained conscious of the need to avoid revealing any more to the Yurnians than they already knew. “A veritable land of wonders.”

  The marmots chittered and pawed the ground as the submersible shuttle approached, their agitation notable but not too extreme. Spock took this to mean that the huge rodents had seen the craft before. Woji crossed the beach to calm them, leaving Eefa to watch over the bound prisoners.

  The aquamarine craft touched down on the beach, landing gear extending to cushion its landing. A side door opened and a pair of humanoids emerged. Spock was not surprised to see that they were largely indistinguishable from Yurnians, given Eefa’s startled reaction to his more Vulcan characteristics. The duo consisted of a pale-skinned male and a darker-skinned female, both wearing utilitarian olive-colored jumpsuits with no insignia or other identifying markers. The man had a comet tattooed on one cheek; the woman flaunted a trillium pendant and ear studs. Both bore surly expressions. Disruptor pistols clung to their hips.

  “Hello, Mars, Venus,” Eefa greeted them. “Glad you could join us after all.”

  Spock assumed those were code names or aliases, much as he and Chekov had been employing. Their etymology suggested, but did not confirm, that they hailed from the Sol system. If so, they were a long way from home.

  Then again, he reflected, so are we.

  “Let’s make this snappy,” said the woman, who was presumably Venus. “I hope you brought enough nabbia to make this trip worthwhile. Some of us have schedules to stick to, you know?”

  “Yeah,” her partner said. “What makes a couple of snoopy strangers worth all this fuss?”

  “You tell me,” Eefa said.

  She waved Spock and Chekov forward with her pistol, so that Venus and Mars could get a better look at them. Genuine surprise registered on the smugglers’ faces.

  “A Vulcan?” Venus said.

  “Or a Romulan.”

  “On this side of the Neutral Zone?” She snorted at the notion. “Don’t be daft.”

  Spock could not immediately determine which of the pair was in charge, if either of them were. A third figure—the pilot?—could be glimpsed through the front viewports of the shuttle. Spock noted that the craft had not powered down upon landing but was instead “keeping the motor running,” as humans put it. It seemed the smugglers were not planning on staying long—and perhaps wanted to be able to make a hasty exit if necessary.

  “Vulcan? Romulan?” Eefa said, understandably at sea. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Spock worried that the smugglers were revealing too much about the galaxy beyond Yurnos’s gravity well.

  “Pardon the interruption, but we should be mindful of the Prime Directive when choosing our words.”

  The smugglers exchanged a look.

  “Yep, Vulcan, all right,” Venus said smugly.

  Mars conceded the point. “With a human partner, no less.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Chekov said.

  “What’s that accent?” Mars asked. “Russian?”

  “I don’t get it,” Venus said. “What are a Russian and Vulcan doing here, poking their noses into our business?”

  “Stop talking like I’m not here!” Eefa grew ever more agitated. “What in limbo is a Vulcan?”

  “One of the forbidden secrets of Collu S’Avala,” Chekov volunteered. “Trust me, you are better off not knowing.”

  Nicely improvised, Ensign, Spock thought. Chekov’s “explanation” cowed Eefa to a degree. Looking uncertain, she retrieved their phasers and communicators from the front of the wagon and presented them to the smugglers.

  “We took these off them before,” she explained. “That’s when I knew they weren’t just any snoopers. Well, that and the ears on that one.”

  Mars and Venus took the devices, which they regarded with alarm.

  “These are Starfleet issue!” She cast an anxious look at the captives. “Oh, crap, this is not good.”

  “You’re telling me.” He ran his hand nervously through his lank, dirty-blond hair. “We’ve got Starfleet breathing down our necks now? They haven’t got better things to do?”

  “You were violating the Prime Directive,” Spock pointed out. “Starfleet could not overlook that.”

  “We didn’t violate anything!” Mars wheeled about to confront Spock. “It’s not like we set ourselves up as gods or anything. We just exchanged some harmless trinkets for tea, that’s all.”

  “ ‘Harmless’ is debatable in this instance,” Spock said, “and your entire operation is highly questionable. That we became aware of it at all demonstrates that you were not being nearly as careful as you thought.”

  “I don’t need a lecture from you, Vulcan.” Mars clipped a stolen communicator and phaser to his belt as he looked to his partner for guidance. “So what are we supposed to do now? Vanish them?”

  “And put us on Starfleet’s most-wanted list? Are you kidding me?” Venus asked, claiming the other Starfleet devices. “We’re not talking about a couple of shady customers moving in on our racket. These are honest-to-goodness Starfleet operatives. You realize what kind of heat ‘vanishing’ them would bring down on our heads? They’d hunt us across the entire quadrant!”

  She was clearly worried more about provoking Starfleet than about infringing on the Prime Directive. While this was personally advantageous to him and Chekov, Spock questioned her priorities.

  “Starfleet?” Eefa was lost again. “What is this ‘Starfleet’ that’s got you bothered?”

  “Nothing we want anything to do with,” Venus said. “Period.”

  “What are you saying?” Eefa plainly didn’t like where this was going. “You’re supposed to take them off my hands, deal with them yourselves.”

  “Forget that,” Mars said. “We’re not letting them get anywhere near our boat. They’ve seen too much already.” He glowered at Eefa. “You should have handled them on your own and never dragged us into this mess.”

  “This was already your mess,” Eefa protested. “They’re your people, not mine. It’s your lot they’re after, not me!”

  “Tough.” Venus looked fed up with the entire topic. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get that tea loaded and head up north before we
miss our window.”

  “You got that right,” Mars said. “Don’t want the light show to start without us.”

  “Loose lips much?” She nodded at Spock. “Pointy ears are listening.”

  Too late, Spock thought, intrigued by the smugglers’ exchange. A theory began to formulate in his brain as he recalled the planet’s unusually variable magnetic field.

  “You listen here!” Eefa was tired of being confused and dismissed. “Don’t think for one minute that you’re taking my tea without taking these two as well. I didn’t bring them all this way just for you to leave me in the lurch. They’re your problem too!”

  She swung her pistol at the smugglers and away from her captives. Woji took up an aggressive stance between the smugglers and the wagonful of tea. He crossed his brawny arms across his chest, while keeping an eye on Spock and Chekov as well. A menacing growl rumbled up from his chest.

  “Seriously?” Mars said. “You’re actually threatening us?”

  Eefa stood her ground. “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re making a big mistake.” Venus raised her voice. “You reading this, Mercury?”

  An amplified voice issued from the shuttle. “Loud and clear, Venus.”

  “Then you know what to do,” she said.

  A scarlet disruptor beam fired from the nose of the craft, striking Woji. The man flared up brightly, briefly becoming an incandescent red silhouette, before dissolving into atoms, leaving only a fading afterimage behind.

  His sudden incineration panicked the marmots, which reared up on their hind legs and screeched loudly enough to hurt Spock’s ears. Their upper paws smacked their silky chests as a sign of their distress. The animals tugged frantically at their harnesses, but remained anchored to the stationary wagon.

  “Woji!”

  Eefa stared in shock at where he had been standing only moments before. A few fading red sparks were all that remained of the man and even those blinked out within seconds. Her horrified gaze swung back toward the smugglers. “Fiends! Monsters! You didn’t have to do that!”

  “Said you were making a mistake.” Venus smirked at Eefa’s primitive flintlock pistol. “Now put away that toy and let’s get that tea loaded before we lose our patience and light you up just as bright.”