Adams turned to Mendon. “Any effects?”
“One moment, sir. I…” the Benzite trailed off. He hesitated, and his eyes widened. Defensively, he raised his blue- and gray-flecked hands. Adams didn’t need to ask what was wrong with his science officer. He could also sense it: an unbelievably disconcerting feeling, best described as the horrifying, irrational dread that people sometimes felt in nightmares just before they were torn from their sleep. This feeling built up in Adams like an offshore tsunami… no, it built up in everyone. Carson gasped in horror. Zh’Thiin’s antennae bent down until they lay flat on her white hair. Chell whimpered quietly.
And then, the Prometheus’s shield bubble was suddenly struck by an enormous blow.
3
NOVEMBER 25, 2385
I.K.S. Bortas, in orbit around Iad
Raspin huddled over his console when chaos broke out. The red light on the bridge flickered, and a sound similar to heavy rainfall could be heard from outside the armored battle cruiser. The calm sea the Bortas had been smoothly sailing through, protected by the shield bubble of the Federation starship, had transformed into a stormy ocean. The ship shuddered, and pressure built up inside Raspin’s head.
The Rantal with the white skin and the jet-black eyes looked at his captain in confusion. He wanted to ask what had happened, but he swallowed his words when he noticed how the faces of the other crew members had distorted. He wasn’t Klingon, he was jeghpu’wI’, a member of a species that the Empire had conquered. Less than a citizen, more than a slave, Rantal were permitted to serve on Klingon Defense Force vessels in crew positions.
“Starfleet is attacking us!” Second Officer Chumarr cried out, standing at the gunnery console in the back of the bridge.
Rooth, standing next to him, shook his head so vigorously that his white hair flew in all directions. “That’s not Starfleet, you fool! It’s that beast on the planet.”
“And Adams does nothing!” Kromm furiously pounded his command chair’s armrest with his fist. “He dares to call himself a warrior? He allows the Renao to do as they please and attack us. And now, he wishes to talk to that creature down there.”
Resting his hands on the front of the gunnery console, Chumarr bent forward. “Adams must go.”
“Yes, Captain,” Klarn said eagerly, working his comm console on the port bulkhead across the bridge from Raspin. “Let us destroy Prometheus and then destroy Iad—once and for all!”
The pressure inside of Raspin’s head increased to the point that the Rantal feared his head might explode. He turned back to his console, and to his horror he realized that all the displays had gone mad. The Prometheus shields have collapsed, shot through his mind. We are completely unprotected against the energies emitted from Iad, and against the influence of this being on the planet surface.
He knew that the legendary Son of the Ancient Reds had been influencing the entire cluster mentally. In all likelihood, the Renao had been exposed to this exotic radiation for years. But their worlds were far apart, which had probably kept the irrational fury caused by the Son at bay. The Prometheus crew had found a way to neutralize most of the radiation with their shield modifications, but now those shields were down, and disaster had struck.
Once more, Raspin glanced at the Klingons on the bridge, anxiously awaiting their next move.
Strangely enough, while the alien presence seemed to be giving him a pounding headache, that was apparently the only effect it had on Rantal minds. He wasn’t feeling the same anger that everyone around him was experiencing.
“Separate the Bortas from the formation,” Kromm said. “We’re going to attack.”
“Captain, no!” L’emka, his first officer, turned away from the helm. She was piloting due to her being better qualified to fly in close formation than Toras, the usual pilot. “This is the being on the planet retaliating against our attack. You’re not thinking straight.”
“Be silent, Commander,” Kromm shouted, “and obey my orders. Or would you like to continue our duel here and now?”
Raspin almost felt sorry for her. L’emka was an intelligent officer, far too good to serve under a fool like Kromm, who took a predictable, conservative path to dubious honor and glory. During the entire mission in the Lembatta Cluster both senior officers had clashed time and again. Above Xhehenem, they had been ready to slit each other’s throats.
“Oh, I’m ready to fight, believe me, Captain,” L’emka answered sharply. “But not while our ship is in danger.” On cue, the lights on the bridge flickered again, and the pattering sound on the hull turned into pelting.
Kromm leapt from his chair. “You’re a coward! That’s why you won’t fight me! You are a disgrace to the Empire!”
L’emka whirled around, the light of the damaged ceiling lamps reflecting furiously in her eyes. “You are the disgrace, Captain! A drunk, brawling, bawling disgrace! Your entire life is a feeble attempt to achieve glory and forget that you are not the hero of the Ning’tao.”
Furious, Kromm cried out, “Be silent!”
Shaking her head, L’emka said, “Oh no. It’s about time someone held a mirror in front of your eyes and took your delusions away. The High Council cares not a whit for whatever pathetic deeds you might accomplish. You were not given the former flagship of Chancellor Gowron to honor you but because it was already scrap! You were consigned to the outer edge of the Empire in the hopes that you wouldn’t do too much damage.”
Klarn took a step back from his console, and moved toward L’emka, snarling. “The captain told you to be silent!”
Rooth approached Klarn. “Take your station, Klarn. You’re out of line.”
The communications officer pulled his d’k tahg from his belt and let out an incoherent growl as he ran toward the gray-haired security officer. But L’emka intercepted him, thrusting her knee into his stomach.
Again the Bortas shuddered. Raspin gasped, his head pounding harder, as if he’d drunk an entire barrel of bloodwine, though he hadn’t touched a drop.
“The Federation wants to kill us!” shouted Chumarr. “Firing disruptors and photon torpedoes.” Glistening streaks of energy appeared on the bridge monitor, cutting through the swirling radiation zone around Iad.
Kromm shouted at the top of his lungs, pounding the comm controls on his chair’s armrest. “Security! Kill them all! Kill them all!”
They’re all losing their minds, Raspin thought. Haunted, his gaze flickered from left to right, watching violence break out all around him. I have to do something. But he didn’t have a clue what he could do.
U.S.S. Prometheus
“Evasive maneuvers!” Adams clutched his command chair’s armrests while the primary hull shuddered under the disruptor hits from the Bortas. An energy conduit to his left burst with a loud bang. “Defense status?” The barrage from the radiation zone made it sound as if Prometheus was located under a giant waterfall.
“Ablative hull plating holding,” Sarita Carson shouted above the din. “Shields down to forty percent and weakening. The strain is simply too much.”
“Reroute emergency power to the shields and initiate the polaron modulator.”
“Aye, sir.”
The Prometheus was hit by a photon torpedo and shuddered.
“Shields down to twenty-seven percent,” Carson said. “The regeneration circuits can’t cope with the fluctuating radiation.”
“Sir, do you want me to return fire?” Roaas asked from tactical.
“Negative, Commander.” Adams was sweating. He had to almost physically force himself to remain passive. Everything inside of him was screaming out to discipline this wretched barbarian on the Bortas who had been nothing but trouble since the beginning of the mission. But he knew that this was the Son’s influence speaking.
Pull yourself together.
“Status of the Bortas?” he asked.
“She was under our protective shield bubble until it collapsed from the first attack,” Carson said. “Our automatic emergency me
asures kicked in, raising the regular shields. But the Klingons are without protection from the radiation.”
“I was afraid of that.” He cursed under his breath. Kromm in full command of his mental faculties was difficult enough to deal with. If he had gone into a frenzy he would not listen to reason at all. “Tactical defense mode theta two, Mr. ak Namur. Evade the attacks as best you can.”
“Understood, Captain.” The young Renao’s hands danced across the console, and the glimmering mists suddenly dropped to one side when he took advantage of the Prometheus section’s superior agility to evade the Klingons’ mindless raging.
The captain glanced at the comm station to his left. “That goes for all sections, Mr. Winter.”
“I’ll let the others know, sir,” the dark-skinned German hastily acknowledged.
“Shouldn’t we try to hail the Bortas?” Roaas asked. “Maybe we can get them to listen to reason.”
“I doubt it, but you’re right, we have to try. Mr. Winter, hail the Klingons.”
Winter nodded. “Right away, Captain.” He operated his instruments for several seconds before finally saying, “Here we go. No response, but I managed to establish a link to their bridge.”
“On screen.” What Adams saw after giving him that order did not give him hope for a rational conversation. There were several figures wrestling, illuminated by the bridge’s dark red light and the erratic flickering of a console. He heard growling and roaring, interrupted by inarticulate words here and there. A disruptor shot screamed, striking one of the panels on the wall, sending sparks flying in all directions.
“Captain Kromm?” Adams leaned forward in his command chair. “Heavens above, Kromm, can you hear me? Commander L’emka? What’s going on over there?”
A pale face with large black eyes came into view, slowly rising up in front of the viewscreen pickup. After a moment, Adams recognized Raspin. It looked as if the Rantal had been hiding under the console.
“They’re all insane,” he whispered frantically. It was the first time that Adams had heard him speak at all. “They’re killing each other.”
A Klingon stumbled into the image from one side—one of the soldiers Adams didn’t know. He bared his crooked teeth, his mouth and chin smeared with blood. Someone must have punched him in the face. Or he might have bitten someone… Adams couldn’t tell. The Klingon growled something unintelligible, staring into the pickup, before pushing himself back furiously and disappearing.
Raspin returned. He appeared to be completely terrified, but amazingly he wasn’t in the least bit aggressive. Did the Son not have a hold over him?
“Listen,” Adams said. “We’re under massive attack from the alien life form down there on the planet surface. The Bortas is firing at us. That needs to stop. We don’t want to shoot at you, but we won’t have any other choice soon.”
“There’s nothing I can do,” Raspin said. “I’m only a bekk—worse, I’m jeghpu’wI’. Nobody will listen to me.”
The Prometheus shuddered under another direct hit. Adams believed he heard triumphant laughter over the comm line.
“Shields down to twenty percent, Captain,” Carson said. “We need to retreat—or fire, sir.”
Fury hammered in the captain’s chest. How dare this brazen woman interrupt him during a conversation, trying to give him orders? “Leave the decision of what we do or don’t do to me, Commander!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what he had said, and he forced himself to calm down. “Thank you for the warning, though, Carson.” He focused his attention once more on the chaos on the bridge’s main screen. “ Bekk Raspin, it’s in your hands. We can’t let the Bortas back into a shield bubble as long as she’s firing on us, unless we incapacitate you, and that would have dire consequences for the entire mission. Can you fly the cruiser?”
Hesitantly, the Rantal nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
“Do it. Plot a course to the periphery of the system, beyond the chaos zone. Your people should regain their senses then.”
“I can’t do that…”
Adams got up and stepped forward. “Yes you can, dammit! Get to the helm and save your ship, Bekk. That’s an order!”
The white-skinned alien winced, and looked like a beaten dog. Adams took pity on him. It wasn’t his place to get involved in another captain’s internal ship procedures, but no crewmember should be as petrified as this young bekk was.
“Sir, I will do—”
A disruptor beam blinded the pickup, and the image vanished. The computer switched back to exterior view, where the olive-green cruiser orbited high above Iad.
Horrified, Adams stared at the screen. “Damn,” he mumbled.
“I guess that’s it as far as the Bortas goes,” Carson said. “No one can save her now.” The Prometheus’s primary hull took another direct hit, and she added, “Shields down to twelve percent.”
The energy storm’s pelting increased in volume. Adams imagined the worm-eaten roof of an old wooden house that was torn to shreds by hailstones as big as golf balls. He returned to his command chair and sat down. “Mr. ak Namur, head to the edge of the system. Take us away from here. Full impulse. Mr. Winter, all sections retreat.”
Both men acknowledged the orders. The Renao’s fingers danced across the conn. “Course set, Captain. Full impulse.”
The Prometheus suffered another hit, which almost threw everyone out of their seats. Ensign Naxxa was startled, and screamed, while Adams heard a racket and a thud behind him.
“The shields have collapsed!” shouted Carson. “Regeneration routines are failing. Those damn bastards got us!”
Adams once again felt fury welling up inside of him… No, not just fury—it was pure hatred! Was he surrounded by idiots? He felt like throwing them out of the nearest airlock. The computer navigated Prometheus better than any human, Bolian, or Renao anyway!
“And now it’s time to get them!” Furious, Adams leapt from his chair, raising his voice to a thunderous shout. “Kromm! I’m going to kill you!”
Paul Winter started to tremble. Beads of sweat appeared on his bald head as he stared into empty space. “No… they want to kill us. That’s all they ever wanted to do.”
The exotic energy’s roar was deafening, and the bridge lights began to flicker. Adams heard a hiss behind him.
“Get away from my weapon systems,” Roaas said in a low, menacing tone.
Mendon was whining. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I had no intention of falling onto them.”
“If you don’t want to do something, don’t do it.”
Sarita Carson faced Jassat ak Namur. “You! It’s all your fault. We’re only in this situation because of you and your people of fanatics and terrorists.”
“Oh really?” The young Renao’s yellow eyes sparkled as he rose from his seat, neglecting the controls. “Get out of the cluster, then. That would be for the best, anyway. No one wants you here. Sphere defilers!”
The upper secondary hull came into view on the bridge’s screen. Glaring amber beams stabbed at the massive hull of the Bortas when Lieutenant th’Talias retaliated, using the Mark-XII phaser arrays.
Through the blood-red haze of anger, Adams thought, It’s happening, just like it did on the Bortas and the Valiant. We’re going insane with rage.
“Computer,” he started. “Attack mode Alpha…” He trailed off, pressing his lips together. He wanted to destroy the Bortas so bad, the urge was overwhelming. It would be so easy. But it’s wrong! Wrong! WRONG!
“Please repeat your last command,” the computer’s calm voice intoned.
Adams plucked up all the self-control he could muster. Carson began hitting ak Namur while Winter screamed attack orders at the comm station. Chell covered his ears with his hand, whimpering.
“Ignore command,” Adams shouted. He realized that they had but one last chance. “Computer, activate Emergency Medical Hologram.”
Trik materialized in the center of the bridge, animated by the holoprojectors that we
re embedded in the bulkheads.
“Please state the nature of the medical emergency.” He realized what was going on, and his eyes widened. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
“Doctor!” The captain beckoned the EMH over. Trik hurried to his side.
“Sir, what’s going on here? I—”
“Shut up and listen, Trik.” Adams spoke faster than he intended and sounded haunted. He hated himself for that. No captain should ever lose his calm. “You need to take over the ship. Seal all consoles with your medical override code. The crew is suffering from a severe case of mass psychosis. Take the Prometheus away from here.”
Trik pulled out his tricorder that he always carried on his belt, which had led to his nickname. “Captain, I—”
“Right now!” Adams yelled, making a menacing move toward the hologram.
Alarmed, Trik backed off, tucking his tricorder back into his belt. “As you wish. Loading standard command routines.”
After a second Trik straightened himself, and his long face became more serious and confident. His uniform flickered briefly, the blue trim of the medical and sciences department replaced by the red of command. The medical programming took a back seat while command functions gained priority. This was a direct consequence of when the Prometheus had been captured by Romulans during her maiden flight. The kidnappers, who had killed the entire crew, had only been stopped because the EMH of the starship Voyager—which was still missing in the Delta Quadrant at the time—had appeared by pure fluke, and relayed himself through an antiquated communications network to the other end of the galaxy in order to establish contact with the Alpha Quadrant for the first time. Voyager’s EMH had displayed remarkable initiative and flexibility in the usage of his program routines, and some of those traits had been programmed into Trik.
“Computer,” he said, “this is the Emergency Medical Hologram. I declare the entire crew unfit for duty and assume command. Override code Omega-178-Z.”
Star Trek Prometheus - in the Heart of Chaos Page 4
