The Antares Maelstrom

by Greg Cox

“Understood,” Kirk said. “We’re at the outer fringe of the Maelstrom now. Do you think you can hold out until we reach you?”

  “We can try, Captain, but can you tell us how long that might be? Not to rush you, but time is not on our side.”

  “I wish I could give you a firmer answer, Sulu, but I’m informed that tracking your signal through the Maelstrom is likely to be . . . challenging. We may have to search some before we can pinpoint your precise location.”

  Sulu considered the turbulence and interference lying between the two ships, not to mention the increasingly restive gliders.

  “Reluctantly, I’m inclined to concur.” The prospect of the Enterprise wasting precious time hunting for the Lucky Strike dampened some of his earlier elation at being hailed by Kirk. Another concern occurred to him, and he muted the intercom long enough to turn to Helena. “Alert the gliders that another ship is entering the Maelstrom, but only to assist us in leaving their domain. The last thing we need is for them to see the Enterprise’s arrival as a provocation . . . or evidence of ill intent on our part.”

  And for the gliders to interfere with Enterprise’s rescue mission.

  “One more thing, Captain,” Sulu said, reopening the channel. “I told you briefly about the life-forms we encountered here, which we’ve taken to calling ‘gliders.’ A word of advice: should you come under attack by them, do not fire upon them. They’re energy-based entities, at least in part, and phaser beams only seem to strengthen them. Your best bet is to try to communicate with them. Our comms expert can send you the appropriate frequency and linguacodes.”

  “Much appreciated,” Kirk said, “but you said these ‘gliders’ were guiding you out of the Maelstrom?”

  “That’s right, Captain, but I’m afraid we may not be departing quickly enough to suit them.”

  “Then perhaps they can speed matters along by leading us to you?”

  “I was just thinking that myself,” Sulu said. He blamed several grueling hours of being jolted and shaken nonstop, in the immediate wake of having been neurally neutralized, for not arriving at that plan earlier. His own circuits felt about as fried as the Lucky Strike’s. He glanced over at the comm station. “Helena?”

  She shrugged.

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  * * *

  “Entering the Maelstrom, sir.”

  Vance reported from the nav station, not that the monstrous vortex was hard to miss on the Enterprise’s main viewscreen. Kirk contemplated the perilous space ahead, where the Lucky Strike was in need of rescue, along with possibly the finest helmsman who had ever served under Kirk. The sheer immensity and violence of the Maelstrom convinced Kirk that he’d been right to relocate all the evacuees before setting out on the rescue mission; unloading the evacuees had taken longer than he liked, but he could not in good conscience take innocent civilians into the Maelstrom. This was a Starfleet mission.

  “So I see,” he said. “Full speed ahead, Mister Painter.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Plunging into the Maelstrom, they hit serious turbulence almost immediately. Kirk didn’t envy Sulu enduring such conditions for as long as he had, and in a significantly smaller and less formidable vessel than the Enterprise, no less. Kirk doubted that even the Enterprise could endure these conditions indefinitely. A plasma swell caused the bridge to briefly lurch to one side before stabilizing. Yeoman Landon, who had been approaching the command area bearing a data slate, stumbled and grabbed onto a railing to keep from falling. The slate clattered onto the floor.

  “Sorry, Captain,” she said.

  “You’re excused, Yeoman.” He addressed the helmsman. “How are you faring, Painter?”

  “We’re riding the rapids, Captain,” Painter said. “Currents and eddies are doing their best to carry us off course, but we’re managing.” His gaze darted back and forth between the viewscreen and the astrogator to maintain his bearings. “Wouldn’t want to keep this up forever, though.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Kirk said. “This is strictly a rescue mission. In and out.”

  “Works for me, sir,” Painter said.

  Kirk turned toward the science and comm stations. “Have we located the Lucky Strike yet?”

  “Only in a broad sense, Captain,” Faust said. “We have a lock on their distress signal, but we’re also getting interference and echoes from the Maelstrom, complicating our efforts to zero in on the source of the transmission. At present, we can only narrow down their location to a search area of approximately one cubic parsec.”

  Kirk frowned. That was too large an area to search in so short a time. He could only hope that Sulu had managed to convince the locals to give them a hand.

  “Any sign of a reception committee?” he asked.

  Faust consulted the short-range sensors. “Life-forms approaching, sir.”

  Kirk hoped that was a good thing. “Show me.”

  “Coming within visual range in three, two, one . . .”

  A swarm of gliders appeared on the viewscreen, swooping out of the swirling depths of the Maelstrom. The creatures were as Sulu had described them; their nonhumanoid appearance made it difficult to gauge their intentions and mood. Kirk couldn’t tell if these particular gliders were feeling hospitable or not.

  “Lieutenant Uhura. Did you install that translation data the Lucky Strike sent us?”

  “Aye, sir. The new matrix is loaded. In theory, we shouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel when it comes to deciphering their language.”

  “Let’s test that theory,” Kirk said. “Hail them.”

  “Opening a subspace channel now, Captain. They should be able to hear you.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Kirk took a moment to compose his greeting in his head. Despite the urgency of the emergency, he felt the same excitement he always experienced when making contact with a new life-form for the first time. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Thank you for greeting us. We appreciate your hospitality, as well as your generous assistance to our fellow travelers.”

  An inhuman voice, that somehow remained so despite the translator, replied:

  “Jamesteekirk? Enterprise? Hos-pi-tality? You are . . . difficult . . . to understand.”

  “The matrix is still very elementary, Captain,” Uhura explained. “I recommend using simpler language.”

  “I see,” Kirk said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. It’s a while since we’ve had to deal with a genuine language barrier.”

  How old-fashioned, Kirk thought, before trying again.

  “We mean you no harm. We only want to help the others like us.”

  “Help them . . . leave?”

  “Yes, if that is what you want. We will help them leave.”

  “What we want, yes. Follow us . . . quickly.”

  On-screen, the gliders reversed formation and flew deeper into the Maelstrom. Kirk was grateful that this first contact had not forced him to resort to phasers or photon torpedoes to defend his crew. Thank you, Sulu, for putting in a good word for us.

  “You heard our hosts, Mister Painter. Follow those gliders.”

  * * *

  “What do you mean, it’s too late?” Dajo asked.

  “Too late for your ship,” Sulu said. “But not for the people aboard.”

  Led by the gliders, who were anxious to see both ships gone, the Enterprise had finally reached the Lucky Strike before its shredding shields gave up the ghost, but only just barely. The Starfleet vessel was now cruising on impulse directly above the Lucky Strike, its own shields and engines in much better shape despite its speedy voyage through the Maelstrom. A swarm of gliders lingered in the vicinity, watching over the proceedings.

  “It’s true, Captain,” Fass reported. “There’s no way our shields—or what’s left of them—can hold up long enough for the Enterprise to tug us out of the Maelstrom, even at warp speed. We need to abandon ship. It’s our only option.”<
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  Sulu agreed with the assessment. The bridge of the Lucky Strike already resembled the interior of a derelict ship. The lights flickered dimly when they functioned at all; the illumination had already gone into evening mode to conserve energy. The gravity was pretty much gone as well, so that loose objects, ashes, and debris drifted about as though wafting on phantom winds. Charred consoles testified to numerous malfunctions and short circuits. The hull groaned, reminding Sulu of the last minutes of Fleetness. The tranquilized passengers were rising; he could hear them shouting and milling about outside the bridge. Stale air reeked of smoke, sweat, and desperation.

  “But . . . there must be another way.” Dajo had reclaimed the captain’s chair, giving the helm back to Sulu. “Can’t the Enterprise extend its own shields to protect us as well?”

  “Not in the Maelstrom,” Sulu said. “Maybe that might be an option in normal space, but the Enterprise can’t stretch its shields that thin in these conditions without risking both ships. The Lucky Strike is expendable. Our lives aren’t.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Dajo whined. “What happened to that famous Starfleet ingenuity I’ve heard so much about? Aren’t you supposed to pull some brilliant solution out of thin air?”

  “We’re lifesavers, not magicians.” Sulu had already consulted with Captain Kirk, who had reached the same conclusion regarding the best course of action under the circumstances. “You want miracles, find an Organian.”

  “You think this is funny?” Dajo gripped the arms of his chair as though he would have to be pried out of it. “I expected better of—”

  “For Athena’s sake, Mirsa!” Helena looked up from where she was efficiently downloading the ship’s logs onto microtapes in anticipation of abandoning ship. “A few hours ago, we were as good as dead. Now we’re escaping with our lives . . . and the lives of the passengers in our care. Show a little gratitude.”

  Dajo looked only slightly chastened. “But we’re talking about my ship, Helena. My livelihood. My pride and joy.”

  “Which you acquired less than a year ago by fleecing that shady Orion smuggler in the Serpentine Belt,” she said. “You’re welcome to go down with the ship if you insist, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Ditto.” Sulu had some sympathy for Dajo. He could only imagine what it would be like to abandon the Enterprise, let alone a ship of his own, but Dajo had brought this on himself by recklessly braving the Maelstrom in the first place. “And I suspect that Captain Kirk will be unwilling to leave you behind no matter what you decide, so you might as well get used to the idea of surviving.”

  “Well, if I have to . . .” Dajo said. “Under protest, naturally.”

  “Naturally.” Sulu refrained from smirking. “We should begin beaming people over immediately, starting with the passengers. The less time the Enterprise has to lower its shields, the better.”

  “And our shields?” Dajo asked.

  Fass snorted. “Barely worth lowering. We’re practically down to bare hull at this point.”

  “All the more reason to hurry,” Sulu said. “But don’t worry, the Enterprise has more than enough room to take on everyone—crew and passengers.”

  “And our cargo and provisions and personal effects,” Dajo added.

  Sulu shook his head. “No time for that.”

  Dajo started to protest, but then Helena reopened the channel to the gliders.

  “Leave. Quickly. Now.”

  “Care to take it up with them?” she asked. “Sounds to me like we’re wearing out our welcome.”

  “Not to mention our hull,” Fass added.

  “Fine!” Dajo said. “I’ll inform the passengers that there’s been a slight change of plans to their travel arrangements. But first, about my accommodations aboard the Enterprise . . .” He looked hopefully at Sulu. “I understand there are VIP suites available?”

  “Don’t press your luck,” Sulu said. We also have a brig, if it comes down to it.

  Helena packed up her microtapes and launched herself toward him. The lack of gravity actually made navigating the lurching deck somewhat easier. She grabbed onto the back of his chair to halt herself and whispered in his ear.

  “Speaking of accommodations, how large are your quarters on the Enterprise?”

  Sulu grinned.

  “Large enough.”

  Thirty-Five

  Baldur III

  “Welcome to New Town Hall,” the mayor said. “For the time being, that is.”

  Kirk, McCoy, and Landon met Poho and her advisors in a two-story log cabin on the outskirts of town. Her makeshift office was in a state of relative disarray, with maps and monitors and microtapes piled everywhere and overflowing storage containers stacked haphazardly in corners. As Kirk understood it, the cabin had previously served as the headquarters for a logging operation that had shut down once pergium fever hit. Tents and barracks outside the cabin provided temporary shelter to families and individuals who had lost their homes in the fire. They were not the only such shelters, Kirk knew, but he was grateful that even more were not required. Additional refugees had been absorbed into Jackpot City’s many surviving buildings, which had generously opened their doors to the displaced. It was a few days past the disaster and the colony, although still recovering, was starting to get back on its feet again with help from the Enterprise and other ships in orbit.

  “Glad to see you’re making do,” Kirk said, “after everything you’ve been through.”

  “We’re a hardy bunch, Captain.” She looked over the office. “The new digs lack the historical luster of the old building, but it beats working in a heap of ashes. We also managed to back up and preserve all important records before they went up in flames.” She guided them to a cluttered conference table, at which they found room enough to sit down. “Mind you, we fully intend to rebuild the original town hall the first chance we get. We’re just going to make it more fireproof next time!”

  “Probably a good idea,” Kirk said. “I applaud you for already looking ahead to the future.”

  Any bad blood about the Enterprise briefly abandoning Baldur III to rescue the Lucky Strike had apparently been left in the past in favor of planning for tomorrow. Kirk approved of the mayor’s attitude; he had never been one to look backward when there were new worlds and challenges ahead.

  “Speaking of which, Captain, I have good news for you. After thinking it over, my council and I have voted unanimously that it’s past time Baldur III steps up and joins the Federation. The Enterprise’s invaluable role in saving Jackpot City, along with the crucial assistance those other offworlder vessels provided during the crisis, convinced us that we’re better off with you than stubbornly hoeing it alone. ‘No man is an island,’ they say, and neither is a planet, it seems.”

  Kirk smiled. He was not totally surprised by the news, since he had known such discussions had been underway, but he was pleased nonetheless.

  “That is great news . . . for everyone. From what I’ve seen, Baldur III is going to be a tremendous addition to the Federation, and not just because of your pergium. Your people’s ingenuity, courage, and hospitality are right in line with the core values of the UFP. You’re going to fit right in.”

  “Damn right, we are,” Poho said. “And we can’t wait to pay Starfleet’s generosity forward by helping out the other worlds of the Federation whenever we can.” Her eyes twinkled. “While still making a decent profit, of course.”

  Kirk grinned back at her. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “It’s true,” Landon said. “He anticipated you’d vote this way. It’s in his logs.”

  “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” McCoy said, “but you said the vote was . . . unanimous?”

  He gave Boyd Cahill a quizzical look.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the noted curmudgeon said. “And don’t think I’m not asking myself the same question, but . . . well, my own house is downtown, on the lucky side of that firebreak you carved, and my granddaughter was
evacuated from her school by somebody in a Starfleet uniform. If the Enterprise hadn’t been here when Thunderbird started blowing its fuse, I don’t want to think about what would have happened to this town and everyone I care for.” He shrugged. “Maybe the Federation comes in handy.”

  “I like to think so,” Kirk said. He respected Cahill for being willing to change his mind.

  “Just don’t think you’re going to turn everything upside down overnight,” Cahill insisted. “Or that we won’t pull out of the Federation in a moment if you start throwing your weight around.” He eyed Kirk suspiciously. “We can leave if we want to, right?”

  “The Federation is an alliance, not an empire,” Kirk assured him. “Unlike the Klingons or the Romulans, we don’t hold on to planets against their will.”

  Granted, seceding from the Federation was not as simple as giving two weeks’ notice; the mechanisms for arriving at such a momentous decision varied from planet to planet, and could have serious consequences, but it was possible. Membership in the Federation was strictly voluntary.

  “I think you’ll find, however, that the advantages of being part of the Federation far outweigh any imagined threats to your culture or identity. As Mayor Poho just sagely observed, we’re stronger together than apart.”

  Cahill declined to agree too readily. “Well, we’ll see, I guess.”

  “An open mind is the most we can ask for,” Kirk said diplomatically before turning toward Navvan. “What about your people, Navvan? Are the Troglytes and the other newcomers okay with Baldur III joining the Federation?”

  “I’ll be honest with you, Kirk. Back on Ardana, during the long days and nights of our oppression, the Federation seemed very remote and irrelevant. You were too far away to hear our cries or witness how cruelly we were being treated by the elites of Stratos, let alone do anything about it, but then the Enterprise arrived and things began to change, albeit too slowly for some. And here on Baldur III . . . I heard how you intervened when my people came under attack over that claim dispute in the hills. That could have ended very badly, had you not taken swift and judicious action.” Navvan reached across the table to shake Kirk’s hand. “So, yes, Kirk, thanks to you, my people are willing to give the Federation the benefit of the doubt.”