The Enterprise War

by John Jackson Miller

  “And also, I understand, because of yours.”

  “Thanks. I don’t have to tell you what the ‘captain’s club’ means to those who are in it. When you tell me we’ve lost so many, so fast—”

  Terral shook his head. “I admire your loyalty, Captain. But we are adequately defended—and we have other plans for Enterprise. The mission you already have.”

  “A mission assigned before war broke out.” Pike didn’t know how hard to push. “Navigating the Pergamum’s like swimming in glue. Whatever we’re learning here—well, I’ll be honest, it can wait.”

  “That is not our judgment.” Terral paused. “Are you certain that is the only reason you wanted to return, Captain?”

  Pike was caught off guard. “Yeah. I should think it’s enough.”

  Terral didn’t seem so sure. He looked down, referring to something off-screen. “I do not see anything about personal connections at home that would command your attention. Or,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “does it relate to two years ago?”

  Pike blinked. Terral meant Talos IV, and the incidents surrounding his visit there in 2254. The admiral would have been one of the few people brought into that mass of secrets. “No, that’s all fine,” he replied. “I’m not having any problems.”

  “Then it comes back to something your science officer would agree with, Captain. Logic. Intended function. Production for use. Enterprise is a science ship.”

  “You know, people keep saying that. It’s strange, because it feels an awful lot like a warship.” They’d found an old sore spot, long a point of contention between him and Starfleet. “Just about every time I’ve come back to port since my missions started, we’ve been refitted with weapons that have only grown more lethal. And those were for peacetime.”

  Terral scowled. “This again.”

  “It’s the truth, Admiral. Two years ago, we were outfitted with lasers; now it’s phasers. There are single armaments on this ship with more firepower than was expended in the last war. H.M.S. Beagle carried four six-pound guns and two nine-pounders. I have more destructive power attached to my belt. I have the most overpowered ‘science ship’ ever conceived.” He chuckled. “Now, maybe my history’s wrong, but I don’t think Jacques Cousteau ever needed to flatten a city.”

  “It is a dangerous galaxy. How often has Starfleet discovered that?”

  “A few times. I just worry that we’re starting to get so obsessed with that fact that we’re losing perspective. We’re going to wake up one day and find out we all joined a military outfit after all.”

  Terral gave him a chilly Vulcan stare. “Moments ago you wanted to come back to fight. You are a pacifist now?”

  “I didn’t know I had to choose. I even worry that, eventually, just carrying around all these weapons is going to make us the target.”

  “Then you have little to fear. If somebody comes for Enterprise, you’ll be able to fire back.”

  Curt words, the latest in what had been a volley between them over Starfleet’s direction going back years. But they also jogged Pike’s memory. “There’s something else you should know, Admiral. We think somebody shot at us.”

  That got Terral’s attention. “I thought you said nobody was there. When did this happen?”

  “It was today, on our way out. Galadjian thinks it was a photon torpedo.”

  “If he says so, it was.”

  “Agreed.” Pike didn’t mention the five-percent chance that it wasn’t. “We didn’t see who fired it.”

  Terral’s eyes narrowed. “There have never been any reports of Klingon activity near the Pergamum. It is not in their quadrant.”

  “I grant it’s not much of a tourist destination. But they’re not your usual tourists.”

  “Very well,” Terral said. “Then you have just given yourself another reason to stay. If you find Klingons, certainly, emerge long enough to get us a message. Starfleet Command will issue further orders then. Otherwise, we will see you when your mission is complete.”

  Pike slouched a little in his chair. Another trademarked Terral logical trap—and he’d walked right into it. “Aye, Admiral.”

  “The nebula sounds like a strong defensive position,” he said. “If you want to contribute to the war, finding planets there that can be safely inhabited would be a job of high importance.”

  Pike swallowed. So things aren’t going as well as you say, he thought. “We’ll do our best.”

  “Excellent. I am sending a report on the Battle of the Binary Stars.”

  “It has a name already?”

  “Enough memorials and that will occur.” Terral spoke clearly. “It is for your information, and should not affect your intentions. Is that understood?”

  “It is.”

  “Trust us to win the war, Captain, and we will trust you to find something interesting we can all study when it’s over. Starfleet out.”

  6

  * * *

  Warship Deathstrike

  Pergamum Nebula

  One thing was true of just about every sentient species, Kormagan thought. As a creature’s rank and privileges rose, so did the complaining when all that was taken away.

  Ever since her warriors captured his ship, the fat grayish thing with the shriveled face—now manacled to a bridge support—had never stopped yammering. She had inferred from his clothing that he had superior rank, and that had been proven correct. But even a short time with him was enough to make her regret ever loading the Lurian language into her armor’s audio systems.

  “You are making a colossal mistake,” he declared. “All of you! Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Baladon,” she replied. Unless it changed since the last time you told me.

  “I am ambassador extraordinary for the ruler of Luria, visiting this nebula on a fact-finding tour. On behalf of my government, I demand compensation for damages to this vessel!”

  “You said that.” The Lurian’s vocabulary was as big as he was—and while the temperature on the bridge was lower than Kormagan’s species liked, her armor’s sensors told her that it was slightly higher surrounding him. Probably from all the words.

  “And you will return my crew!”

  “They’re already in Processing.”

  Baladon’s eyes widened. “You intend to eat them?”

  “Not that kind of processing.” Kormagan looked up from the console she was studying. “Your ship’s labeled Deathstruck. Maybe there’s a problem with our translation. In our language, it sounds as if this is the ship struck by death.”

  “It was meant to be Deathstrike. My cousin has trouble with verbs.”

  “Because when we started trailing you, we were concerned it was a plague ship. The way the name was hand painted.”

  “The only plague is on me.”

  That’s a relief, Kormagan thought. Bacteriological and viral hazards came with the territory on this kind of mission, and they could ruin the worth of a good prize in a hurry.

  “Wait,” Baladon said as she moved to another terminal. “You were stalking us?”

  “You weren’t hard to find. Skulking just inside the nebula—not something an outsider does unless they’re hiding from someone. You sure you’re a diplomat?”

  Baladon’s eyes narrowed. “I refuse to answer.”

  “So you know how to remain silent.”

  “You’re the one who kept me here. If I am so disturbing, you are perfectly welcome to leave!”

  This is a waste of time. Kormagan caught the attention of one of her companions and pointed to one of the remaining consoles. The armored figure set to work examining it.

  Kormagan stood to her full armored height, towering over Baladon. “I know your language because we’ve encountered your people before—and we know what they were up to. I also saw your spacepods back there. This is a pirate vessel.”

  “A scurrilous accusation, I deny!”

  “Your crew didn’t.”

  Baladon sputtered for several moments before going
silent. He rested his head against the column he was secured to. “Ruin. They have brought me to ruin.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “How?” the Lurian asked. “When you started taking equipment, I thought you were privateers—but your questions prove otherwise. You are authorities of some government!”

  “We have our own ships—we don’t need yours. Though if there’s a good idea in here,” she said, referring to the console being carted out, “we’ll use it. No, what we want is you.”

  “Me!”

  “And any more of those torpedoes we saw you fire.”

  Baladon snorted. “What we had, you saw. If we had more, I would’ve sent one to you to inspect close-up.” He bared his teeth. “But you would not have had long to study it.”

  Kormagan disregarded the attitude. “Maybe there is one more thing. That.” She gestured to the screen on the starboard bulkhead, where the image of a colossal starship had been present since her arrival. The smooth curves fascinated her. It looked nothing like Baladon’s ship—nor any vessel her own people had. “What is it?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  She put an armor-encased finger under Baladon’s stubby nose. “If you’ve found something that’ll help us, you’re going to want to share it. If not now, in a couple of weeks, when I put your speckled ass on the front lines.”

  “On the what? What are you talking about?”

  There was no point in answering. Kormagan’s recently arrived companion was already having some success in operating the Lurian’s computer systems. Captions appeared next to the ship on the wall. “U.S.S. Enterprise,” she read. “Did you chase it into the nebula, Baladon, or were you following it out?” She couldn’t tell from the data on the display. “A warship, for sure.”

  Baladon stared at her. “I thought you said you weren’t pirates.”

  “I didn’t say what we were. Enough.” Kormagan toggled her armor’s onboard communicator. “Redsub, give me two to get the Deathstrike captain out of here.”

  “Affirm.”

  Baladon groaned and stared at the deck. At last, he addressed Kormagan. “If I tell you what I know about Enterprise, will you let me go?”

  “No.”

  “What if I lead you to it?”

  “No.”

  Baladon frowned. “If I help you capture it!”

  “You’re going to do that anyway.” A pair of Kormagan’s comrades entered the bridge. She pointed at Baladon. “Put him with his friends—and scrub them down the second they reach Processing. Jayko hates people smelling up his deck.”

  “Wait!” Baladon said, launching a stream of protestations that continued for his entire journey out of the room.

  Kormagan looked to her other companion, still standing over a console. “You have the data on Enterprise?”

  “That’s affirm, Wavemaster.” She heard his voice clearly through his faceplate, a battlesuit feature that helped reserve comm channels for true distance communications. “The info is duplicated in the datacore we already brought out. This console just operates the screen.”

  “Then leave it here. Anything else worth a look?”

  “Deathstruck isn’t very interesting.”

  “No, the name is—” Kormagan started to say. “Never mind. Dismissed.”

  Alone, she studied the Enterprise image. Her armored hand touched the screen, and she traced its long, sloping lines. Inside her headgear, her eyes narrowed. Warp nacelles. Weapons banks. Some kind of emitter. And was that a shuttlebay in back?

  Whatever you are, Kormagan thought, you’re worth more to me than these people.

  7

  * * *

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Outside the Pergamum Nebula

  Pike had done as instructed. He had not gone to the bridge to issue his order to return to the nebula, but rather had sent the command over the comm system. He hadn’t had the heart to order it in person. It was easy to imagine the reactions across Enterprise. They’d just gone through hell to leave the Pergamum the fast way—and now they had to turn back and re-enter the slow way.

  If there’s a Starfleet citation for going in circles, we’re a shoo-in.

  Pike had used the time instead to absorb the report Terral had sent him about the battle. It devastated him. After their heated conversation—he hoped it wasn’t an argument—the admiral had undermined his cause in sending the file, because it certainly didn’t make following the order any easier. He wondered whether Terral would have sent it at all, had Pike’s mention of the torpedo not made it imperative that he know the Klingons’ latest—and horrific—tactics.

  But there was one other element in the report that was relevant—immediately, he saw, as his door slid open to admit a visitor.

  “Spock. All wrapped up behind the deflector dish?” Pike asked.

  “Yes, Captain.” The crew had gotten bright new uniforms during the last refit; the young Vulcan’s was stained with lubricant. “You will forgive my appearance, but our transit necessitated frequent equipment repairs, and I was told you wanted to see me directly.”

  Pike’s brow furrowed, but not solely because Galadjian hadn’t mentioned any repairs. “Lieutenant, I have some news for you. You may want to take a seat.”

  “I am not tired. Or is there excess detail in what you have to say?”

  “It’s the weight, not the volume.” Pike figured he had better get to it. “The Klingon Empire has gone to war with the Federation.”

  “I learned from Yeoman Colt on my way here. I inferred it was behind our sudden departure.” Spock’s head tilted. “How large is the engagement?”

  “The Federation’s entire Beta Quadrant frontier with the Empire, as well as raids at other locations. You’ll get a full accounting. In short, they surprised us.”

  Spock thought for a moment. “The Klingons must be responding to some stimulus.”

  “It’s out of proportion to anything we did, so far as I know.”

  “That is further evidence to suggest there are factors involved we do not understand. Something must explain the difference in scale between provocation and response.”

  “I wouldn’t rule out pure meanness.” Spock always tried to find answers even when logic did not apply; it was a trait Pike admired in him. The captain took a breath. “There’s more. A number of starships were destroyed in the engagement.” He paused. “Shenzhou is one of them. Captain Georgiou and many of her crew were killed.”

  Spock took in the news. “A regrettable waste. The captain was a most qualified commander.”

  A succinct way to put it, Pike thought, but one he agreed with. He expected Spock might have more to say about the next news. “Michael Burnham is alive. I was assured of that.”

  Spock said nothing.

  “There’s more, but she’s okay. I thought you’d want to know.” Pike squinted. “I’ve known since the mission on Sirsa III that there’s a connection between the two of you.”

  “We are Starfleet officers.”

  “Yeah, well—” Pike started, before stopping. He decided to spare the details of Burnham’s imprisonment. Maybe they weren’t that close.

  “Has the Enterprise been recalled?”

  “Emphatically not,” Pike said. “Our mission is to continue, duration unchanged.”

  “Then I resubmit my request for an expedition to Pergamum 85752-B.”

  “Susquatane.”

  “As the preface to my report details, that name was recommended to the Federation Astronomical Committee by members of the 2244 survey voyage. But it has yet to receive formal approval.” Spock looked keenly at the captain and added, “Nor has my expedition.”

  Pike inhaled deeply. “Well, we’re retracing our steps. We should be able to see it again.” There were another half-dozen candidate planets for study—but frankly, Pike didn’t give much of a damn which one they went to. He stood. “Spock, I should let you know I didn’t agree with our return to the nebula. With the war on—well, I can
think of better things to do than to spend months in the middle of nowhere studying the effects of exotic radiation on space daffodils.”

  “We are unlikely to find any members of the Earth genus Narcissus, Captain. But the range of biomes does look promising for other discoveries, as—”

  “As mentioned in your report,” Pike said, walking toward the door in hopes of cutting the disquisition short.

  Realizing that Spock hadn’t moved, he stopped and looked back. They’d shared many experiences, including the Talos IV incident—yet there was little getting close to a Vulcan, and even less of a chance with Spock. “Is there something else?”

  Spock spoke. “Captain, the Klingons pursue violence. We would pursue knowledge. For now, they are more likely to convince the Federation to join them in their violence. By our remaining here—and continuing with our plans—we assure them that we will never abandon our path.”

  “Yeah, that case has been made.” Pike led him into the hall. “It’s a nice sentiment. We should send you to the peace talks.”

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “That would be a waste of material.” He turned and departed.

  I can never tell if he’s making a joke or not, Pike thought. Maybe someone else would figure Spock out someday.

  He called for the turbolift—only to see Una inside when it arrived. He gave her a playful glare. “It turns out I’m still the captain.”

  “That was my hope.”

  “More months in the chemical stew,” he said as he stepped inside. “That was some dirty trick you pulled. You tipped off Terral that I was coming home.”

  “It would have been . . . irresponsible not to check for Klingon incursions on our possible route.”

  “That’s what makes it a dirty trick. You did it in a way that I can’t get mad at you.” Pike kept his stern gaze on her—until he broke into a grin. “Well done, Number One. Where to?”