Chapter Twenty

“KAL-TOR LISSAN,” Spock replied.

“I have done my research,” Lissan said. “I know of you, Captain. And Dr. McCoy and Commander Uhura, as well. How touching, that you rush so eagerly to the rescue of a friend. But am I not correct in assuming that this is hardly a Starfleet-issue vessel?”

“What this vessel is or is not is not under discussion,” Spock said.

“And what precisely is under discussion?” Lissan asked. “What do you want from me, Captain Spock?”

“These games do not become the representative of such an intelligent species,” Spock said. “We have knowledge of your recent communication with the president of the Federation and your threat. We have come for the hostages, as you must know.”

“We have them all, you know,” Lissan said. “Including Scott, Chekov, and James T. Kirk. Surely you can’t imagine that we’d turn them over simply because you asked nicely?”

“My Starfleet training compels me to pursue the diplomatic option first,” Spock said.

The words seemed to anger Lissan. Before, he had been lounging in his chair, sneering. Now he bolted forward, his hands on the desk in front of him.

“Always the diplomats, you Starfleet and Federation types. Well, my people are at war, Mr. Spock, and frankly, as we both know, the fleet presently on its way to Huan is no match for your powerful vessels over the long term. However, I have two safeguards—the virus, about which you already know, and the hostages. I won’t hand them over, and if you don’t depart Sanctuary space within ten of your Earth minutes, I will begin killing them one by one. I know your kind, Mr. Spock. You Federation types are soft. As long as I hold the hostages, I have the upper hand. You’ll back down.”

Desperately McCoy tried to read the face on the screen. He didn’t know Lissan or his people from a hole in the ground. Some species would indeed start killing the hostages without a care in the world. Others would be bluffing, preying on the human respect for life in order to get what they wanted, but also sharing that respect. Which one was Lissan? A killer, or a good poker player?

“You have made an error in judgment, Kal-Tor,” Spock replied. “While a professional Federation negotiator might indeed back down, as you put it, I will point out that I am a Vulcan. Under these circumstances, I find backing down illogical. I am aboard a Klingon ship. Klingons find backing down dishonorable. Commander Q’allock, fire at will.”

Kirk’s communicator sounded. Even as he ran, phaser in hand, firing as he went, he fished for it and flipped it open. It crackled, and a sound that might have been a voice and might have been a high-pitched squeal of static issued forth. Then, dead silence.

A phaser blast whizzed past, almost hitting him. Kirk whirled, communicator still in his left hand, and fired in the direction from which the shot had come. The five of them kept running, in a close-knit group, all three phasers being put to good use.

Even as he defended himself, Kirk’s mind raced. What had just happened? Had some of the colonists disobeyed orders and taken communicators? They had discussed this and decided it was too risky. If Lissan had been able to get a hold of even one communicator and had had his wits about him, he could have tricked any of the colonists into revealing themselves. But Kirk knew that these independent idealists couldn’t always be trusted to obey orders to the letter. It wouldn’t have surprised him if someone thought they knew better than James T. Kirk and was now trying to contact him.

Or was it just a burst of static, an accident? Given all the signals being broadcast here, it wouldn’t surprise him in the least if his communicator had inadvertently gone off.

Regardless, it was irrelevant. There would be no way to talk to anybody until they got to the precise console and could send a message out. Still running, he smoothly returned his communicator to its holster. Looming ahead was the entrance.

The Klingon crew currently under Spock’s command had clearly been itching for just such orders. Barely had the words left Spock’s mouth than the weapons officer, uttering a cry that made the humans’ hair stand on end, fired phasers.

The eight small attack ships had their shields up, but even so they took damage. They zoomed from the spacedock with startling speed, their quickness an advantage over the larger, but more heavily armed, battle cruiser. As they zipped past, they fired. The ship rocked.

“Report,” Spock ordered.

“Slight damage to the port nacelle,” the Klingon bridge officer cried. “Decks one and three are staunchly carrying on.”

Spock and McCoy exchanged glances. While McCoy’s expression remained appropriately serious, there was a twinkle in his eye at the words the Klingon chose to describe the ship’s damage.

“Lock phasers on their weapons and fire again,” Spock said.

The Klingon gleefully did so. He struck one of them a good blow. It slowed and stopped, dead in space.

The ship rocked again. “Target weapons systems and engines of all vessels and fire at will. Helm, maneuver as necessary. I suggest everyone grasp a secure hold of a railing or chair.”

Shrieks of victory filled the bridge as the Klingons obeyed. One voice rose over all the others, and Spock recognized the famous aria “Bathed in Blood, I Stand Victorious.”

Red phaser fire screamed across space, hitting target after target. For a moment, the ship pretended it was a little skiff, moving so rapidly that even Spock became slightly disoriented. There was a half roll and a dive. Ship after ship took damage. Despite Spock’s orders, he suspected that the Klingons were not being terribly scrupulous in their targeting. He supposed he could not blame them.

After what seemed an eternity of Klingon curses and song, a rolling ship, and the yellow light of fire filling the screen, the ship steadied.

“We have Kahless’s own luck,” Q’allock announced. “All ships have either been destroyed or disabled.”

Spock sat back in his chair, thinking. If there had been any weapons on the planet, Lissan would have put them to use by now. It was indeed too bad that Vulcans did not believe in luck.

“I believe we are safe for the moment,” he said. “We must now focus on destroying the force field and retrieving Captain Kirk and the others.”

Standing Crane was halfway through the list of people she had to contact when she received a top-priority incoming message. Her gut clenched. What now?

“Yes, Mr. President?” she said as his visage filled her screen.

“We’ve gotten some preliminary results back from the first round of tests,” he said. “Lissan was correct. This virus will indeed prevent any infected vessels from going to warp.”

She could tell by his expression that there was more, and her heart began to thud rapidly. “And?”

“The virus targets the dilithium crystals. Any attempt to introduce matter and antimatter causes them to shatter.”

“Great Spirit,” Standing Crane breathed, her hand coming to her mouth. Shattered crystals meant a warp core breach, and that of course meant … “H-how many ships would be affected?”

“Our best guess is only an extrapolation. Taking into account all the ships and docks and starbases actually visited by the Falorians, and assuming a certain number of cross contaminations, we’re looking at upward of six thousand vessels. Delaney tells me that it’s a conservative guess. She thinks it’s more likely to be in the tens of thousands. And with each minute that ticks by, the likelihood of further contamination doubles.”

Tens of thousands of vessels, not people. Thousands of ships that would try to go to warp and end up as atoms floating in space. Millions of people who’d end up the same way.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She stared numbly at the president, knowing that her horror was written plainly on her face.

“I know. It took me several minutes to calm down sufficiently to tell you,” the president said, sympathizing. “It appears that most of the planets that are mining dilithium have been infected, too, so it’s not a matter of swapping out the crystals. Laura, we’re looking at the worst disaster the Federation has ever faced.”

“And because of the very nature of that disaster, we can’t do a damn thing about it,” she finished, nodding her head. She forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly, to regain control. She would not serve well if she broke down. “So, what do we do now?”

“Delaney is trying to figure out how to counter the virus, but she’s not making much progress. Most of the ships have docked safely, but there’s a lot of them still out there.”

“The only way then for us to remain safe is to permit no ships to go to warp until we’ve figured this out,” Standing Crane said. “Lissan and his buddies are going to walk all over Huan, and there’s not a thing we can do about it.”

“There are some days when it just doesn’t pay to get up in the morning,” the president said dryly, and Standing Crane forced a smile.

If she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. And she knew if she started to cry, she might not stop.

Kirk took back his comments to Scotty about their previous attempt not being easy compared to this second one. Every inch of ground they got was hard won. They tried to keep Julius and Skalli in the center, as there were only three phasers between them. They did a good job, but even so, at one point Kirk heard Skalli cry out and turned to see that she’d taken a hit. She clapped a hand to her smoking, burned shoulder and grimly continued, though her expressive face was contorted in pain.

Once, Julius stumbled and hit the ground hard, face-first. In one smooth motion, Kirk leaned down, hauled his nephew up by the arm, and pushed him forward. They had to keep moving. Julius’s face was a mask of blood. It looked as though he’d broken his nose and knocked out a few teeth, but they were almost there.

Ahead, looming over all, was the Starfleet-issue subspace relay tower, the source of the carrier wave. Kirk knew that the controls were inside, deep underground. Briefly, Kirk wondered if this was part of the black market equipment Julius had helped the Falorians smuggle in, or if this was something they’d obtained on their own. Angrily he cut off that line of thinking. Whatever Julius had done was in the past, and now that the Falorians had shown their true colors, Kirk felt certain his nephew would do everything he could to help them. It was the reason he’d brought the boy along.

Under heavy fire, they kept going, until they were at the entrance of the tunnel. Skalli, who had been checking her tricorder despite her injury cried out, “Wait! They’ve got a field up!” The group skidded to a halt and ducked behind one of the small outbuildings. It wasn’t much, but it offered temporary shelter while they weren’t moving targets.

“Julius, you got them this equipment,” Kirk said. He knew how harsh it sounded, but it was the truth, and there wasn’t time to dance around Julius’s feelings. “What frequencies do they use?”

A phaser blast struck the building. Kirk leaned around the edge, fired quickly, and was rewarded by a harsh cry of pain.

Julius spat out a mouthful of blood. He leaned in close to Skalli and together they adjusted the tricorder to the same frequency as the shield.

“Got it!” cried Skalli.

“Watch out—they’ll have guards down there!” Kirk got off a few more shots and then they ran hell for leather for the tunnel entrance. They were greeted by phaser blasts. Kirk, Chekov, and Scott took careful aim and picked their attackers off one by one.

They scrambled down inside, all clinging as best they could to the gantries. “Skalli, change the frequency and get that force field back up,” Kirk cried, gasping for breath. It wouldn’t last for long, but any second of reprieve would be welcome.

He looked around, phaser at the ready, and was stunned to find they encountered no further resistance. Apparently the guards who had attacked them on the surface, plus the four or five who had fallen defending the entrance, were all the security Lissan could summon. It was a lucky break, and Kirk intended to make the most of it.

“Shield’s up, Captain, and the frequency has been reconfigured,” Skalli said. “I threw in a few things to make it harder for them to crack it. They’ll figure it out eventually, but it should buy us some time.”

Kirk paused for a second to regard Skalli with respect. She continued to astonish him. If they got out of this alive, he wouldn’t just be her advisor, he’d be her damned sponsor through Starfleet, and count himself lucky to have the privilege.

“Everyone all right?” he asked.

“We can all walk,” Scott said grimly. It wasn’t exactly a direct answer to the question, nor was it encouraging, but Kirk took it. He nodded, gulped for air, and then they began to descend.

Somewhere down there were the controls to get a message out to Starfleet about the true scope of the disaster they were facing. Kirk would get that message out, or die trying.