My
Heroes Have Always Been Gunslingers
by
Cat
Hicks
CHAPTER
ONE
Enterprise
– SD: 7398.6 (Earth date: 2264)
“Intruder
Alert!”
“Captain?”
James
T. Kirk “fisted” his command chair’s intercom, asked cordially, “What
is it, Mister Scott?”
“Uh
. . . well, Sir… We seem
t’have another . . . wee problem.”
Mr.
Sulu glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows arching upwards, and muttered to
himself, “What else is new?” before returning to watch the helm.
“Yah-know
that time warp we went through a couple’a weeks ago t’put things t’right?”
Scotty continued.
Captain
Kirk’s brows began to descend – the foundation of a thunder-head – as
Scotty’s accent was just a “wee bit” too prominent and his vocal range
was a bit too high . . . which usually meant trouble.
“Yes… And?” he
prompted.
“Well,
Sir, we had a glitch in the transporter circuit…”
“I
recall, Mister Scott, so please get to the point.
We’re to rendezvous with a Cynazian diplomatic ship within the hour
and I really don’t have time to listen to you recap a story we all lived
through. What’s the problem
now?”
“Yes,
Sir. Well, Sir, you see…
Something… I mean, some one,
must’a been caught in the transporter beam when it malfunctioned and was
stored in the buffer… Uh . . .
Sir… He’s standin’ on the
pad with a six-shooter pointed at me right now . . . Sir.”
Jim
Kirk stiffened, his eyes going wide as his jaw dropped.
“Mister Scott, please don’t tell me that . . person is on
board?”
“The
name’s Jess Harper!” came clearly over the link.
“And I wanna know where the Hell I am, just where the Hell you’re
hidin’ and just what the Hell’s goin’ on!”
Mr.
Scott sighed. “Aye, Captain,
I’m afraid I must confirm.”
Jim
was out of his Command chair and halfway to the lift before he called, “You
have the Com., Mister Sulu,” adding in rapid-fire, “Uhura, notify Mister
Spock and Doctor McCoy they’re required in the main Transporter Room . . . immediately.
And get security down there on the double; I want at least six men
waiting for them with phasers on stun!”
The
turbolift doors whooshed open…
“Oh;
and you’d better notify Star Fleet Command.
And the Cyrazians, we . . . uh . . . might be a bit late…” he added
and stepped into the lift.
While
Uhura was working like mad to get all that done, Mr. Sulu motioned for his
replacement to take the helm and settled into the Captain’s recently vacated
and still warm Command Chair with a soliloquized, “Ah, yes, another day in
Paradise.”
…And
then the “time-quake” slammed into the ship and knocked everyone, sitting
or standing, onto the deck! Emergency
lighting flashed on, bathing the interior blood-red as the claxons blared!
…
Captain
Kirk scrambled up from the turbolift floor holding his bruised left elbow,
then raced out the open door and down the corridor.
Despite the ship’s cacophonous warning, he’d heard that sharp, very
distinctive “crack” of sound the second the lift doors opened on deck
seven, the very same second his precious ship lurched, knocking him
right off his feet. That solid,
piercing noise had been a Nineteenth Century weapon’s discharge as sure as
he was born. It didn’t matter
that, a heartbeat after that, he’d also detected the “whine” of a phaser
because, if that man had shot his Chief Engineer…
Well, there’d be Hell to pay!
One
of the ship’s communication links “squawked” at him as he lurched out of
the lift. He pushed it on, heard
Uhura’s frantic, “Captain, we have…!”
“Not
now!” he interrupted, added, “And turn off that noise!” clicked off the
com and ignored it as it wrangled for attention again.
Silence
descended once more and, a second later, the lighting returned to normal as he
pelted around the corner and almost ran down a “red shirt” security guard
who was leaning against the wall with a dazed look in his eyes.
The man quickly snapped to attention, but his Captain had already run
past and was shoving the other four guards blocking
The
Mr.
Scott was leaning on the front of the transporter console, both hands
white-knuckled as he gripped the panel, his head hung down.
He was breathing hard like he’d just finished a five-kilometer run .
. . or he’d been frightened half to death.
“Scotty,
are you all right?” Jim inquired and laid a comforting hand on the man’s
back.
Chief
Engineer Montgomery Scott turned his head – his face was still a chalky
shade – quirked his brows, put on a crooked smile and nodded.
“Aye, Captain, but it was a ‘werry’ near thing,” he answered
and raised a still shaky right hand to point at the new scratch in the plating
at the back of the transporter station. “The
thing whizzed right by m’head and zinged about a bit, but I nuh-think it was
deliberate, Captain,” and he bobbed his head at the man on the transporter
deck.
Spock
stepped into the conversation, as stoic as ever.
“I agree the discharge of the weapon was unintentional, Captain, a
reflex action when the time quake struck,” the Vulcan said and offered his
Captain the “offending weapon” held by the barrel between his thumb and
fingers.
Jim
accepted the heavy metal as well as the archaic ammunition and the four spent
shells Spock had removed from it. He
weighed the device in his hand as he frowned at the unmoving figure who’d
wielded it. “Security…”
The
guard still kneeling beside their unwanted guest looked up.
“Remove
the belt as well and thoroughly inspect him for anything that could
even be considered a weapon. Including
those spurs!”
The
guard looked puzzled a moment, then looked at the man’s boots and the
sharp-looking circular things protruding from the back.
He dipped his head in acknowledgement and rolled the unconscious man
onto this back, started unbuckling the ammunition belt first.
Jim
scowled at Jess Harper’s sleeping countenance and forced his breathing to
steady. A moment later two
medical orderlies and one of McCoy’s other doctors pushed through the door
– Bones must be very busy indeed to let someone else answer Jim’s summons.
The three white-smocked men had to wait for the guard to finish his
pat-down and removal of potential weapons before they’d be allowed to get
close however and the Captain nodded his approval.
Jim
turned to Scotty again, a curious expression on his face.
“Stored in the buffer? How’d
he get transported in the first place, let alone get sidetracked into storage?
And why didn’t you notice anything was amiss?”
Scotty’s
eyes widened. “Captain, there
was so much confusion . . . circuits blowin’ and systems failin’ all over
the ship! Ah d’know how that
happened,” he pleaded. “But
Ah’ll find out right away…”
Jim
halted Scotty’s “charge for the door” with a gentle fist (he still had
the casings and ammunition in hand) against his Engineer’s chest.
“I’m sorry, Scotty, I didn’t mean to imply it was your fault.
Just assign someone to look into it and you get some rest.
I think you need some time to get yourself in order.
That was a close call.”
Scotty
looked pained. “But
Captain…” he pleaded, “Ah-cannuh let someone else go pokin’ around,
especially about m’ bairns!
An’ that’s where Ah get m’most rest...” he answered hopefully.
Jim
looked around at Spock’s raised brows, remembering how devoted his Chief
Engineer was to what he considered “his ship” and all the times when
Scotty had been forced to get some “rest and relaxation” only to
have it turn into a disaster. “All
right, Mister Scott. Look into
it… And have fun.”
Scotty
beamed, “Aye, Captain, Ah will!” and raced away, sidestepping all the
people that clogged his transporter bay with the practiced ease of a
broken-field runner.
The
orderlies were just settling their new patient onto the anti-grav litter.
Jim
called, “Doctor…? I’m
sorry…” and raised an inquiring hand.
The
white-smocked man looked up from his medical tricorder.
“Kitanan, Sir.”
“Doctor
Kitanan,” Jim nodded. “Please make certain that Doctor McCoy knows to
secure this man properly. And I
mean secure. I want him
put in restraints. If Doctor
McCoy gives you any argument, you tell him to call me.
This man is very unpredictable and dangerous and I don’t want him
loose on my ship.”
The
doctor frowned, but nodded. “I’ll
see to it, Captain,” and followed the floating litter out the door.
“Security,”
Jim added, catching the attention of the officer with the ammunition belt
draped over his arm and a set of spurs hanging from his hand.
“Post at least two guards inside the
“Yes,
Sir,” the guard said, juggling his extra burdens until he had them secured
before he turned to follow the litter out.
He snagged the three men inside and the two out in the corridor on the
way and delegated – thrust the intruder’s ammunition, belt, weapon and
spurs – into another unfortunate subordinate’s arms to take to storage.
Jim
jiggled the spent shell he’d retained in his palm, looked up.
“Any theories, Mister Spock?”
The
Vulcan cocked his brow. “Many,
Captain, the foremost being the cause of the time-distortion wave.”
Jim
pointed his chin at the door, referring to their unwanted passenger on his way
to
“I
cannot say at this time, yet it does appear this Jess Harper may be extremely
important…”
“I
was afraid you were going to say that,” Jim huffed and marched for the door.
“And I suppose you’re ‘already working on’ how that . . .
homicidal cowboy . . . could possibly be the cause?”
Spock,
his hands clasped behind him, nodded as he followed his Captain out of the
transporter room and down the short hall to the turbolift.
“I am not convinced, however, that he, alone, was the cause of the
Distortion Wave.”
“How
so?” Kirk asked in a rather too hopeful tone.
Spock’s
lowered brows were turned in his direction, the Vulcan’s equivalent of
uncertainty. “I must, of
course, consult genealogical archives as his progeny may have made a
significant contribution in the past. Yet
the three week delay between the
Jim
sighed – sounding much like the lift doors’ “sigh” as it opened –
and stepped in. “You will, of
course, tell me something before this day is over I suppose?” he
asked as he grabbed the ‘lift control to order it to the Bridge.
Spock
waited a split-second, then said, “Of course, Captain, as I am sure you will
notify me where, precisely, the
………………………..
CHAPTER
TWO
One-hundred-twelve
planetary days before
“A
problem for you, Captain…”
Captain
James Kirk sat back in the chair and waited for the last of his department
heads to exit the briefing room before he flipped a casual hand at the
wall-screen displaying the perpetually scowling dark face of a
“traditional” Klingon. “Just where the hell did this rogue, Klag, get a
Romulan cloaking device?”
Spock,
hands clasped behind his back, was standing near one of the view ports,
possibly watching the streaks of stars as they flashed by.
He turned and raised that inevitable brow.
“Is that a proper query, or simply rumination, Captain?”
Captain
Kirk scowled and shook his head. “Just
chewing over Star Fleet’s and Klingon High Command’s reports, Mister
Spock. And,” he added heatedly,
“pondering the implied complications of such a joint operation.”
He slapped his palms against the table and thrust himself from the
chair. “I don’t trust those .
. . bastards,” he hissed, throwing out another gesture at the picture on the
screen. “Any of them; all of
them! Star Fleet knows how I
feel, and still they expect me to work with them?”
Spock
strolled around the table with his usual impassive expression set firmly on
his face. “Captain,” he
interjected into the “steaming” silence, “Star Fleet also understands
you are the best man with the best ship for this particular endeavor.
Even the Klingon Empire understands this.”
“Well,
I won’t tolerate any . . . emissary or advisor . . . or whatever the
Klingons are calling a spy these days. Not
on my ship!”
“Jim,”
Spock spoke softly, “I doubt that is what Admiral Langford had in mind when
he expressed his eagerness to accept the Klingon High Council’s aid in this
matter. We already know, though intelligence, how unstable the Empire is at
this time, how fragile the infrastructure that holds it all together.”
Jim
snorted a laugh, lowered his head and shook it.
“You always come up with something to brighten my mood, Spock.
Now if the whole Empire would simply crumble into dust…”
“And
I doubt you actually mean that as well, Jim.”
“Don’t
I?”
James
Kirk turned his burning look aside, closed his eyes, grabbed a cooling,
calming breath and let it out. “All
right, maybe we don’t need a whole bunch of unsupervised, murdering Klingons
running around the Universe, but how can we trust this . . . report Admiral
Langford presented on their behalf?”
“I
would accept it a face value,” Spock responded.
“The Klingon Empire cannot afford one of their people starting a
war.”
“Well,
that seems to be Klag’s intention, to start a war between the Federation and
the Empire.”
“Not
necessarily.”
Jim
met that remark with a concentrated frown.
“Would you care to explain that Vulcan logic, seeing we have a rogue
Klingon in a cloaked scout ship moving undetected through some Federation
space at this very moment?”
Spock
stepped closer to the table. “The
Klingon High Command did indicate that Klag and his crew of three had spoken
of ‘grabbing fate by the throat and shaking the Federation to its
knees,’” Spock answered, pointing to the written report, the plasti-film
pages disarrayed across the table. “They
were, I believe the appropriate euphemism is, ‘deep into their cups’ on
that occasion, yet truth is often revealed when the tongue is loosened.”
“Yes;
they want a war…” Jim started.
And
Spock interjected, “Consider other possible adversaries, Captain.
The Empire realizes, as I am sure Klag does, that war with the
Federation would only bring disaster to the Empire.
However, the Federation at odds with another power would
be to the Empire’s advantage.”
Jim
pondered that a second, probably wondering why his second in command hadn’t
brought this up during the meeting, then asked, “But, if that’s Klag’s
plan, why is the Empire warning us?”
“It
may well be a matter of diplomacy, a diverting of blame so that none will be
placed upon the Empire, yet I do not believe the Emperor is that naive.
This cooperative effort could indicate that the Emperor himself
has more ‘farsighted reasoning’…”
“I
don’t follow…” Jim started.
“Captain,
do you not recall what the Organians told the Federation and the Klingon
Empire?”
Jim’s
brows converged over the bridge of his snarl-wrinkled nose.
“Must you always bring that up when we have to deal with the . . .
murderous monsters, Spock?”
Spock
dipped his head. “Obviously,
Captain, as you seem to forget...”
“I
don’t forget,” Jim countered rudely, tossing away a gesture of
disgust. “I disregard and
resist the idea that we ever could become ‘fast friends and allies’
in some . . . distant future,” he barked and turned his back before his face
showed more of his absolute hatred as well as the sorrow for all the lost
crewmen and women . . and honored friends . . . he considered
“assassinated” by those devils. “We
aren’t ‘allies’ now, so don’t throw that up at me again, do you
understand?”
Spock
allowed no emotion to mar his features, but a soft sigh of resignation escaped
him as he answered, “Yes; I believe I understand, Jim.”
Jim
turned and cocked his head, never quite sure when Spock spoke a double
entendre -- though his Vulcan half would hardly allow even a crude thought
to mar his mind . . unless he was in Pon Far, and even that was a stretch of
the imagination. But Spock was
also half human…
“Are
you implying something else, Mister Spock?” he asked formally.
“Only
my concern.”
And
there was too much in that statement to even ponder.
Jim let it go. “Then
let’s be concerned about what we’re going to do.
“You
mentioned a ‘third party’…”
“My
exact words were, ‘another power’,” Spock answered.
Jim
nodded, “All right, ‘another power,’ then.
Just what other ‘power’ do you predict?
The Andorians? They
don’t seem too happy with the Federtation ‘pink-shins’ at this time, but
I wouldn’t exactly call them a major ‘power’ either.
Maybe it’s the Tholians, who weren’t pleased to find us in ‘there
space?’ But I can’t see the
Tholians swarming out to attack a Federation that outnumbers them about a
million to one, even with that . . . ‘web’ of theirs.
So who else could it…”
Jim
paused, blinked twice, levered a finger and shook it at the Vulcan.
“You’re thinking Romulans, aren’t you,” his lip curling as if
Spock had just made a joke. “Wasn’t
there some speculation that the Romulans and Klingons had a pact at one time
because their ships shared some specific designs? If that’s so, why would
Klag want them to start a war with us?
“And
please don’t tell me you believe Klag got that cloak from the Romulans.”
“I
doubt very seriously that any Romulans willingly parted with their cloaking
technology, which is yet another reason why the Klingon High Council would
give us help to stop Klag,” Spock answered as he bent over the library
computer terminal.
Jim
idly wondered why he didn’t just “ask” the computer for the information,
but he didn’t interrupt as Spock swept the haughty alien countenance from
the screen and replaced it with a view of the known Galactic region, the
Klingon Empire at the top of the great bubble that was Federation space.
“If
there was a pact,” Spock continued, “the Klingons would wish to keep
allies, potential or acquired, and not unleash a great conflagration that
could easily spill over into their borders.
Yet, I do believe Klag intends to strike . . . here,” and Spock,
using the “pointer-key,” indicated the outpost colonies curving around the
Romulan Treaty Zone.
Jim
blinked and then chuckled. “Spock…
Klag’s in a Bird of Prey class scout ship, not a
warp-ten battle cruiser. It’d
take them . . . close to a planetary year to cross through our space, even if
they could maintain their maximum warp-six-point-three and they
didn’t have to stop for supplies.
For your theory to work, it’s got to be some other ‘power’ closer
at hand.”
Spock
cocked his head. “You overlook the report, Captain.
Their scout ship has been greatly ‘modified,’ yet we do not know to
what extent...”
“It’s
got a cloak…” Jim interjected, no longer smiling.
“However,
placing facts before possibility,” Spock continued without losing a beat,
“Klag and his crew number four. This
class of scout ship is quite capable of transporting a complement of eight to
ten.”
“Maybe
Klag couldn’t get anyone else to come along,” Jim offered.
Undaunted,
Spock continued. “If you will
pardon my presumption now, however, I must engage in a bit of deduction.”
Jim
waved him a “go ahead.”
“This
smaller complement could indicate the alterations to their ship are quite
extensive. Structural
modifications to allow for greater stress-to-warp ratio; redesign to
accommodate a larger, more efficient warp engine; storage for consumables;
battery compartments and shielded dilithium crystal storage cells…
All these conversions would have taken up space usually set aside for
personnel, thus limiting the crew.”
Jim
frowned and shook his head. “When,
exactly, did you receive this information, Mister Spock?”
Spock’s
left brow arched upward. “This,
as I have stated, is merely speculation, Captain.”
Jim
sat down again and set his elbow on the table. “Yes, but it is a very
‘logical’ conjecture. That’s
what worries me,” he answered around his thumb and finger pressed against
his lips, his brow wrinkled in thought. “As
far as the civilian population is concerned, only the Romulans possess the
cloaking device, so, let’s say you’re correct and Klag plans to attack one
of those outposts, or even some colony near the Treaty Zone.
He could certainly get in close enough and everyone would assume the
Romulans had broken the treaty. That
rogue Romulan Commander had tried to do it before, so why not another Romulan
again? And such an attack would
do irreparable damage to the treaty because it wouldn’t matter how adamantly
the Romulans denied any involvement, the fragile peace would be shaken at
least and there’d be Federation ships all over in that area.
The Romulans, on the other hand, would take that as a threat and…
Yes… I think I see your logic
now, Mister Spock.” His eyes
widened and he snapped his fingers. “And
I’ll give you odds that Klingon scout ship’s
‘modifications’ include some weaponry with a marked Romulan-signature.”
“Captain,
I would not disagree with anything you have said,” Spock answered.
Jim
added with a puzzled note, “But, if the Romulans didn’t give it to him,
how do you suppose Klag came to have a cloaking device?
Unless you’re suggesting someone at Star Fleet…”
“I
am sure Federation officials are seeking an answer to that question,
Captain,” Spock answered and steered the discussion back onto the path.
“At this time, however, we should be more concerned with the
possibilities of this conversion and consider how improved they have made
their
Jim
sat up. “A little under...?
Spock, they supposedly left Klingon space . . . four weeks ago!”
Spock
dipped his head. “According to
the report, that is correct.”
“Which
means we have not quite three weeks to find the bastard…” Jim muttered as
if in pain, slapped his hands against the table and leaped from his chair once
more. “Then what are we doing
sitting here!” he shouted as he turned to the door.
Spock’s
words halted him: “According to Admiral Langford’s orders, Captain, we are
to wait for confirmation of a sighting.”
Jim
pivoted with a scowl. “And you
think we should stay placidly stagnant in space waiting for someone to
forward some ‘unusual sensor reading,’ is that it, Spock?”
The
Vulcan shook his head. “I do
not believe it advantageous, though I must point out that all I have said is
simply an assumption.”
Jim smiled and wagged a finger. “I trust your wildest guess over anyone else’s facts, Mister Spock,” he said, came back to the table and jammed a finger on the com button. “Uhura, get me Star Fleet Command, Admiral Langford, immediately! And,” he added, “piggyback a copy of Briefing Room One’s discussion between myself and Mister Spock with my complements,” then cut her acknowledgement off in mid-syllable.
He
turned to Spock with a large grin. “I
guess it’s time we took our own Cloaking Device out of storage and hooked it
up. As they used to say in the
old American West, we’ll see if we can’t ‘head ‘em off at the
pass’.”
……………………………….
CHAPTER
THREE
“We’ve
got him, Captain!”
Jim
Kirk lounged in his command chair, right leg thrust out, heel of his boot
hanging over the raised platform, his left elbow on the armrest and thumb and
forefinger pulling at his lip, the epitome of brooding.
He wasn’t actually seeing anything physical at the moment, certainly
not concentrating on the main viewing screen or the debris of the extensive
asteroid field Mr. Sulu was maneuvering through.
Until…
“Captain?
I’m getting . . . some . . . unusual reading…”
Jim
immediately lost his bored pose. “Could
it be a cloaked ship, Mister Sulu?”
He
couldn’t see his helmsman’s face, but, by the way the man shook his head
over his readouts, Sulu must have one of those deep frowns trying to bring his
eyebrows together. “I
suppose… It doesn’t quite
match the Romulan heat signature, though.”
Jim
was out of his chair, leaning over Sulu’s shoulder in a blink.
“The Klingons probably couldn’t modify their ship enough to mimic a
Romulan craft,” he said, looking at the helm’s “unusual readings” for
himself. “Mister Spock?” he
asked without taking his eyes from Sulu’s board.
“I
would conclude that we have found Klag, Captain.”
Jim
straightened with a jerk and slammed a fist into his other palm.
“Then we have him! Keep
that reading in sight, Mister Sulu, and follow it…
But not too close. He’s
got a lot of places to hide within these asteroids and we don’t need to
search for him again.”
“Aye,
Captain,” Sulu remarked and “eased”
“Should
I notify Star Fleet?” Uhura asked.
Jim
turned, his lips compressed in a thoughtful face before he shook his head.
“Not yet. For all we
know Klag has been monitoring communications, that’s why he’s managed to
elude every other ship that’s reported a heat anomaly.
We’ll just let him think we’re just another strange reading and let
Star Fleet know after we’ve blown him out of the sky.”
He
saw Uhura frown before she answered, “Yes, sir,” and turned back to her
panel, but he didn’t care what she, or anyone else on the ship for that
matter, thought. Everyone should
know by now how disinterested Klingon’s were concerning surrender.
Jim simply had no intention of giving Klag and crew the opportunity to
deny the offer…
He
returned to perch on the edge of his chair, now totally interested in the
screen.
“Anything
else, Mister Spock? Spikes that
might indicate weapons powering up?”
“Nothing,
Captain,” was Spock’s slightly muffled reply as he was hovering over his
scanner. “He appears unaware of
our cloaked presence.”
“Let’s
hope it stays that way. Maybe we
can sneak up on him…”
Spock
looked up, returned, “And ‘blast him out of the sky,’ Captain?
Admiral Langford did express his desire to interrogate…”
“If
he intends to start a war by attacking a settlement, Mister Spock, I don’t
think he has any intention to surrender, to us or anyone else.
We’re talking about a totally amoral Klingon who wants to start a
war, not some misguided human on a mission of revenge.”
Jim
glanced in Spock’s direction and caught his Science Officer’s
over-the-shoulder stare that must speak volumes . . . had Jim been able to
read Vulcan “meaningful looks.”
A
few minutes later, Sulu said, “Captain!
I think he may be onto us!”
Jim
was hovering over the helmsman’s shoulder again, frowning.
“Spock? Is he
running?”
“It
appears so, Captain.”
“Damn,”
Jim muttered. “Stay with him,
Mister Sulu, right on his tail. He
can’t go any faster than sub-light through this field, but if he gets ahead
far enough…” If Sulu
couldn’t figure out the rest, he didn’t know his helmsman.
“Aye-aye,
Captain,” Sulu answered (a warrior’s tone if Jim ever heard one).
“Captain,”
Spock said, “Klag appears to be heading toward the system’s star…”
Jim
straightened with a jerk, turned with a, “What?
Why?”
“He
just broke out of the field,” Sulu all but yelled.
“He’s dropped his cloak, Sir…”
“Klag
is powering up for Warp…”
Jim
was beginning to get dizzy, trying to watch both Sulu’s board and look at
Spock at the same time. “Where…?”
“Ten
seconds to asteroid perimeter,” Sulu announced.
“Klag
has gone to warp-one, Captain. And
I believe he intends to slingshot…”
The
rest of what Spock said was lost in Jim’s, “What the Hell?”
Spock
turned, his expression still stoically Vulcan. “I believe Klag has executed
a Time-Warp.”
The
bridge got very quiet for two seconds before everyone at their station began
reporting at once…
“Enough!”
Jim yelled. “Spock, can you
determine if he accomplished it? And
can we follow? We can’t let him
escape into . . . some past!”
“Or
future,” someone on the bridge said.
Spock
turned to survey the crew. “That
is entirely unlikely, given the trajectory of Klag’s ship.
And,” he spoke to Jim, “I believe I can formulate the same
trajectory and entrance vector.”
“Then
do so…”
“We’re
out of the field; do I jump to Warp, Captain?” Sulu asked.
“No…
Just…. Hold her here for
a bit…”
All
at once Jim had to sit down – or fall down, his legs suddenly just wanted to
buckle under him. He found his
chair by touch alone and dropped into it.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, shook his head.
“How’d he find out about the Time-Warp?”
He
jumped when Spock whispered right into his ear, “I believe whoever has given
our rogue Klingon the design for the Romulan Cloaking Device has also granted
him the knowledge of our own Time-Warp capabilities.”
Jim
leaned away and favored Spock with a worried frown.
“You don’t think it’s someone on
“There
have been no new replacements, Captain.”
Jim
grabbed a breath, let it out. “So,
it is someone in Star Fleet.”
“Or
someone on the Federation’s Science Board,” Spock answered.
“Our
own fly in the ointment…”
Spock
raised a brow.
“We
have our own ‘rogue,’” Jim augmented, then frowned again and spoke
louder. “I thought you were
supposed to calculate telemetry to follow…”
Spock
stood straight and, chin raised and hands behind his back, answered, “I am
calculating, Captain.”
Jim
sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t
know why I bother to ask…”
……
The
bridge came slowly back to life, electronic systems blinking and
reestablishing parameters as well as the biological crew shaking off the
Time-Warp Jump with groans, stretching limbs and neck readjustments.
Then the reports of “all systems functional” started coming in . .
. were logged and ignored.
“Well?”
Jim croaked when he got his voice back.
Spock
was already at his console and taking readings.
“My calculations were correct, Captain.
Klag’s cloaked ship’s signature is clearly ahead…”
“Are
we close enough for a torpedo?” Jim asked.
“No,
sir,” Sulu answered. “Not by
half…”
“Then
get back on his tail, Mister Sulu!” Jim called.
“Aye-aye,
Captain…”
Spock
added, “It should be relatively easy to follow their trajectory at this
time, Mister Sulu. They
seem to have suffered some damage…”
“Please
tell me they’re venting atmosphere,” Jim interrupted, pushed away from his
chair and staggered onto the upper deck’s Science Station.
“No,
Captain. The damage appears to be
minor and seems to be restricted to their starboard thruster array.
They are having some difficulty . . . flying straight?”
Jim
quirked a smile in spite of the situation.
He never knew if Spock ever consciously realized when he made a joke.
“However,”
his science officer continued unperturbed, “the repairs shall be well on the
way to completion and Klag should be gone before we can achieve maximum
torpedo range.”
“How
far away…?”
Spock
turned to raise that brow at Jim. “Should
you not be more concerned with ‘what time,’ Captain?”
Jim
felt his face flush – a reprimand if he ever heard one and delivered from
the only person on board he’d take it from, besides Bones McCoy.
He cocked a half smile, shook his head.
“Properly put, Mister Spock. Just
‘when’ has Klag brought us?”
“I
would estimate approximately one-hundred-thirty-four years, seven months and
thirteen days in the past.”
Jim
frowned at that “approximate” figure, tried to clear the residual cobwebs
from his brain, leaned close and asked in a whisper, “About the time the
first warp five
“Commanded
by Captain Archer,” Spock augmented, voice also lowered.
“We
aren’t anywhere near them I hope…”
“No,
Captain. I would speculate they
are dealing with . . . their own particular problems,” was Spock’s
surreptitious answer as not all Star Fleet personnel were privy to what
transpired aboard that particular
“Then
why did Klag come back to this time?”
Spock
raised a brow. “He may have
Time-Warp data, Captain, but that does not necessarily mean he possess
Time-Warp skill. This may have
been only an attempt to escape.
“However,”
Spock amplified, “according to long-range sensors, Klag has now executed a
turn…”
Jim
straightened with a jerk. “What?
Turned . . where? He’s
not thinking of making another Time-Warp jump this soon?”
“Trajectory
indicates he may be turning back toward Klingon space, though in the direction
of . . . Earth.”
“The
Bird of Prey has just jumped to Warp, Captain,” Sulu announced.
……………………………..
CHAPTER
FOUR
“Not
Again!”
Captain
Kirk made damned sure Klag didn’t make any course changes along his route --
he didn’t want this “slippery eel” to get away again.
In all truth, Jim was hoping Klag would change course at least
once, make a run for Klingon space instead, but it seemed the rogue was headed
directly for Earth.
Why?
In this “time” the sophisticated warning systems were not yet in
place? The Klingons had yet to be
“dealt with?” Was Klag
determined to incur Vulcan anger as they yet held a commanding presence on
Earth “helping humans” adjust to space?
It didn’t make sense…
But
nothing Klad had done so far had made any sense, which in Jim’s mind made it
logical as the whole Klingon race had never made sense to him.
Whatever
Klag had in mind with this turn-about maneuver, however, made him very jumpy
indeed. He could change a hell of
a lot of history just by being present in this time!
But,
so could this particular
What
irreparable damage were they doing to the continuum, to their own
“future?”
“We’re
coming up on . . . the Sol System’s Oort Cloud, Captain,” Mr. Sulu
announced.
“Drop
her out of Warp, Mister Sulu; one-half impulse until we clear the debris,”
Jim said, trying to sound nonchalant and sure everyone on the bridge heard the
tremor in his voice. As the
“Klag’s
signature is very much present, Captain.
He cloaked the moment he went sub-warp.
His trajectory indicates he is moving in the direction of Earth.”
“Then
let’s do the same,” and he thumbed his command console.
“Mister Scott, we need to be cloaked.”
“Aye,
Captain. She’s warmed up an’
ready.”
“Thank
you, Mister Scott,” and ended the com-link, very glad indeed they’d
managed to convince Star Fleet they might need that cloak some time in some
future instead of having it placed in storage somewhere after the Scientists
had poked and prodded every secret from it they could.
“Mister Spock, let’s get us hidden from any curious . . . Vulcans,”
he said and let a cursory glance slid toward his Science Officer.
“Cloaking
device has been activated. We are
now invisible, even to the Vulcans,” Spock announced just as unemotional/all
business as usual.
“Mister
Sulu, keep behind him and, if you can, get closer.
We don’t want him to attack Earth…”
“Aye,
Sir, but it’s a little more difficult to determine his reading through our
own cloaked shields. We’ve
picked up some hull ionization… But
I’m following as best I can.”
Jim
sighed. “I know you are, Mister
Sulu.
“Mister
Spock?”
“Klag
appears to be bearing toward Earth, Captain, but I am, as yet,
uncertain that is his ultimate destination.”
Jim
stiffened even more. “Explain.”
“Unless
he makes a slight course adjustment, his trajectory will bring him closer to
the new Mars colonies,” he answered, looked up and around.
“Or, it may take him . . . toward Sol itself.”
If
his chair had been spring-loaded, Jim wouldn’t have propelled himself from
it any quicker. He was across the
space and onto the upper level in three strides, leaning over Spock’s
readings to see for himself. “He
wouldn’t be thinking of another Time-Warp jump, would he?” he asked
breathlessly.
“The
Vulcan’s presence represents a major obstacle and threat should he intend to
attack Earth or any of the colonies, Captain.
Klag may be many things, but suicidal is not one of them.”
Jim
looked up from Spock’s board. “So…
Would he go back to our future? Or
would he…” He had to pause to
take a breath and swallow the sour taste that had suddenly come into his
mouth. “Would he attempt
another time-jump to the past?”
If
he was hoping for a “pause to consider,” he didn’t get one.
Spock immediately replied, “The past, before the Vulcan presence.
Were I to judge, perhaps even before the war that so devastated your
world.”
Jim
jerked and his voice trembled as he said, “My god, Spock, you don’t think
he could have triggered that . . . in the past?
History tells us we don’t know who started it, which country fired
off that first nuclear missile. Assuming
it was nuclear… Everyone just retaliated to what they perceived as a first
strike…”
“That
may be his intention now that we have foiled his primary plans,” Spock
answered.
Jim
turned, called, “Mister Sulu, increase speed!
We can’t…”
Spock’s
touch on his arm halted his Captain’s nervous orders.
“Jim,” he said, leaning in for a more private conversation.
“If you alter your own past, humans may not reach out to the stars at
all. Without the struggle that
your world went through during the aftermath of such destruction, Zefrem
Cochrane might be inclined to become . . . a shopkeeper instead of the genius
behind your own Warp-One Engine. Therefore, consider that as well before you .
. . ‘blow Klag from the sky.’”
And
Jim suddenly and painfully remembered another “decision” he’d had to
make, one that also involved a “time travel gate.”
That had all but torn his heart and soul apart.
“Edith,” he mouthed, bowed his head and shook it from side to side.
“Oh, Spock, what should I do? What
must I do?”
“Klag
may have committed to another Time-Warp, yet he has had little practice and
may not posses the understanding required for a precise historical event.
Therefore may I suggest we – I believe the ancient phrase is –
‘Hide and watch,’ Jim.
“He
may under-step his mark. If that
is the case, and he returns to Earth already trying to recover from the War, I
suggest we must take him ‘out of the sky’ then.
“If
he but succeeds in returning to our own time, Earth’s own defenses will
surely destroy him before he could come near enough to do damage.
“If,
however, he is indeed the author of your war and accomplishes this goal…
We must do nothing.
“Yet,
should he choose any other target or any other time, I shall be at your side
when you order photon torpedo launch, Captain.”
Jim
Kirk heaved a sigh and nodded. “Logical.
Always. I’m glad
you’re here to keep me sane, Spock,” he said and went down to command
level and regained his chair.
Sulu
turned his head, brows arched. “Orders,
Captain?”
Jim
considered that a second, then pointed. “Keep
on him, but not too close. Or too
far back, either. Maintain
distance.”
“Aye,
Captain. It’s getting a little
harder to read, but I’ll do my best to . . . stick to him like bonding
material.”
“I
think you mean ‘glue,’ don’t you, Mister Sulu?” Jim offered.
Sulu
glanced around, frowned, said, “Yes, Sir; I guess so, Captain.”
Then the Helmsman had the audacity to lean over to his navigator and
whisper, “What’s ‘glue?’” and
only got a shrug in return.
Jim
sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, muttered, “I must be getting old.”