Текст книги "Killing Time "

Автор книги: Della Hise

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Chapter Fifteen

CAPTAIN SPOCK LOWERED himself into the command chair, dark eyes focused on the central viewscreen. The stars of the Romulan Empire spread a band of gold across the sky, but he found no beauty in it. Instead, he felt his own brand of insanity take a step nearer. It called him by name, whispering promises that could never be fulfilled. He found himself wanting … needing. Blood sang through his ears, a song of sirens and the hot red sands of Vulcan. His mind slipped into the rhythm of blood, the call of home … but a home which no longer seemed to exist in anyuniverse.

"Communication coming in now, Captain," Uhura said, breaking into his reverie. "Switching to audiovisual transmission mode."

Leaning back in the chair, the Vulcan waited, absently drumming his fingers on the side of the chair. He glanced around the bridge, at the expectant eyes of the crew. They had been briefed, he reflected, but did they truly understand what they were facing? Time itself had become a viable entity, pressing forward, demanding precedence above all else. He took a deep breath, attempting to battle the increasing impatience. But when the picture finally shimmered to light on the screen, he felt himself relaxing just a little.

"Captain Spock!" the T’Ruda's commander said cordially. "It's been a long time!"

The Vulcan inclined his head in greeting. "Indeed," he murmured in surprise. " CaptainPike?"

The human nodded, a wide grin spreading across handsome features. "Your recommendation had a lot to do with it, Spock," he said warmly. "But I'll save the thanks for when we get together in person." But the bright blue eyes darkened ominously. "I … take it you people got the word from FleetCom?"

"Yes," Spock said simply, nonetheless relieved that it was his former first officer and friend who now commanded the T'Ruda.Perhaps it would make matters somewhat easier. "After discussion with the ShiKahr's senior officers, I am forced to state that Admiral S't'kal's orders seem somewhat … peculiar."

Pike nodded. "Yeah," he conceded with a heavy sigh. "At first we thought it was somebody's idea of a bad joke; but the orders are confirmed as genuine." He laughed weakly. "Can't say that I like the idea of initiating an unnecessary war, but … I'm assuming FleetCom has reasons they aren't making known." His voice trailed off momentarily. "Spock … tell me onething. Have your people been having any unusual problems over there?"

An eyebrow rose as the Vulcan studied his old friend. "Please specify," he requested. There was no margin for error.

"Well," Pike responded, "we've had several incidents of crewmen doing … odd things. Hell, one of the shuttles was stolen right off the hangar deck—and the problem wasn't detected until too late for us to get a tractor beam on it. Luckily, we weren't too far from Base Ten when it happened, and I got word that the lunatic who hijacked it ended up back at Com Headquarters. But that's just part of it," the human continued. "There've been other things, too. Lots of schizophrenia, according to my chief medical officer. Nothing he's been able to pinpoint scientifically yet, but …" Again, there was a long pause. "We're working with a skeleton crew, Spock—right down to the bare bones. And if we're going off into the Neutral Zone—uninvited, if you take my meaning—we're taking one hell of a chance. I've informed S't'kal of our situation, but he just keeps repeating his previous orders. I don't think he's taking me seriously when I tell him we're down to nothing over here!"

The Vulcan took a deep breath. "Commander Pike?" he said gently.

The human's eyes darkened to a frown. "What is it, Spock?"

For a long moment, the Vulcan was silent. Mutiny did not come easily … and the blip was still unexplained. He pressed a button on the side of the chair which would automatically scramble the transmission into code, then retranslate it into language on the T'Ruda.

"Captain Pike," he said, "what I am going to tell you is something which will require your personal consideration as well as professional. It is not a matter to be taken lightly."

Pike nodded. "Anything you suggest has to be an improvement over our present situation, Spock," he said at last. "Whatever you need or want, don't hesitate to ask."

Spock took a deep breath. "You must return to Starbase Ten at once, Captain," he stated without preamble. "For on board this vessel, we have irrefutable proof that Admiral S't'kal is experiencing the effects of a condition which has rendered him functionally insane. He must be stopped." He paused, looking closely at his former first officer. "Have you yourself experienced any … peculiarities?" he asked pointedly.

Pike shook his head. "I've been just fine, Spock," he said. "But do you realize what you're suggesting? I can't just walk into the Base and tell S't'kal to relinquish his authority."

"Please, Chris," Spock interrupted, feeling another press of Time, "hear me out. The peculiarities you have encountered on the T'Rudaare symptoms of an even greater … dilemma. It is notconfined to starships or starbases; indeed, I cannot be certain that it is confined to this galaxy."

"What're you talking about, Spock?" Pike asked slowly. "And don't get me wrong. We've put together a few theories on our own—which is what I wanted to talk about in the first place—but we'd vetoed a lot of them as too crazy to even consider. Care to extrapolate?"

Across thousands of light-years, the Vulcan held Pike's expectant gaze. "At present time," he began, "we have approximately eleven Standard days in which to correct an apparent … malfunction in this universe itself. Currently, we are unable to formulate a workable hypothesis as to what has causedthis malfunction; yet the symptoms and the eventual results are easily computed. In essence, our research has proven beyond a reasonable doubt that this very universe is some distorted reflection of another—and it is the otheruniverse from which our true reality stems." He paused, motioning to Uhura. "I am instructing my communications officer to transmit a complete duplication of our research programs directly to your central library computer. If, after your science officer has analyzed the material, you do not find yourself in agreement with my conclusions, I shall surrender my position as captain at once, leaving command of this vessel to First Officer Chekov."

Again, he paused, noting that Uhura had already keyed the information into a coded transmission.

"Since it is also a fact that only certain individuals are affected by the madness," the Vulcan continued, "it is clear that someone such as yourself must replace S't'kal at once. Though that shall not solve the entire problem, it will keep further incidents to a minimum until a more permanent solution can be implemented."

Pike stared mutely at his old captain for a very long time; and Spock thought the human would simply terminate the transmission altogether. Finally, however, a very faint smile came to Pike's lips.

"It's an alternate dimensional plane, isn't it, Spock?" he asked at last, slapping one hand down across the arm of the command chair. "I heard about the Halkan incident a couple years ago—and that's been part of the basis for our own research. I dunno if we can addanything to your conclusions, but I know damned well we won't disagree with them!"

The Vulcan nodded, allowing himself the luxury of breathing again. "And the S'Tasmeen's commander?" he asked. "What are Captain Benedict's views on the current situation?"

"The S'Tasmeen's a day behind us, Spock," Pike provided. "And you don't have to worry about Benedict. She's had as many troubles over there as we've had on the T'Ruda. Personally, I think she'd stand in line to get a crack at S't'kal. Between the two of us, we've been working on the dual universe theory around the clock. Unfortunately, there don't seem to be any clear-cut answers. About the only thing I can add to what you've already told me is that Captain Benedict's research points to the possibility that whatever caused this … alteration, for lack of a better word, had to be one specific incident. Something technological as opposed to natural phenomena."

"Then it is possible to surmise that the alteration has been done by a specific party for a specific purpose," the Vulcan stated.

"That's the gist of it," Pike confirmed. "Don't know what good it does us at this point, but it's worth considering. Unfortunately," he added, "Benedict's theories are also going along the lines that this incident had to be based in the past history of one specific world. But since wehaven't developed time-travel yet, we'd might as well say that the cause was the fall of the Roman Empire. It's easy enough to see where the Romans went wrong, but not quite so easy to go back and correct it."

"Indeed," the Vulcan replied. But a stray thought whispered through his mind. Certain cultures didhave time-travel abilities. Perhaps S't'kal didknow more than he was telling … yet starting a war with the Romulan Empire hardly seemed a viable solution. "If you will excuse me, Captain Pike," he said presently, "I must return to my research. Please inform me once you have reached your decision regarding our … interim solution."

But Pike only laughed. "There's no decision to it, Spock," he said. "And I know I can speak for Captain Benedict, too. S't'kal has to be yanked off that throne of his—and we're the only ships close enough to do it. We can get back to Starbase Ten without arousing too much suspicion anyway—just by saying that the main warp engines are out of balance. That'll buy us some time. And general rumor has it that S't'kal's been getting a lot of static from unaffiliated worlds in Alliance territory already." He smiled. "Word has a tendency to get around fast—especially when it's classified top secret." He paused for a moment. "What're your people going to be doing in the meantime?"

"I have a certain theory regarding the specific cause of the alteration," the Vulcan replied. "Also, there isa hypothetical formula for using ship's power to create a time warp. Unfortunately," he added, "that theory has never been tested—and even in the event it should be found workable, we do not know where to begin looking. If my suspicions are correct, however, there may be an alternative to random chance."

Pike nodded. "Well, since time seems to be a scarce commodity, I'll leave that end of it up to you." Again, the blue eyes softened. "Take care, Spock," he said. "Pike out."

The screen went blank, but the Vulcan did not immediately look away. Presently, the stars returned … alien stars. Cold. Stars of the enemy. He thought of the blip which had been detected earlier.

His blood sang.

* * *

Ensign James Kirk entered Sickbay to find Jerry slouched into a recovery chair in one corner. His head rested squarely in his hands, and a faint purring snore seemed to erupt from the chair. S'Parva lay sprawled on the floor of McCoy's office, head neatly tucked between well-groomed brown paws; and the doctor sat lazily at the desk, feet propped haphazardly on one corner of a mess.

"Well," McCoy grumbled, glancing at the chronometer, "it's about time you showed up." He looked expectantly over Kirk's shoulder. "Isn't the captain with you?"

Kirk shook his head, unabashedly grabbed an unoccupied chair, and dragged it over to the desk, winking at his roommate when Richardson opened sleepy eyes.

"Captain Spock was called to the bridge," he explained. "He asked me to relay any information." Suddenly, he felt confident again, sure of himself. "So, in the words of the poet, what's up, Doc?"

McCoy's face tightened to a disbelieving frown as he slid his feet under the desk and slapped the arm of the chair in one swift movement. "If that Vulcan's not half crazy, I'll eat my shingle!" He eyed Kirk curiously. "And you seem awfully chipper, Kirk," he observed. "Care to tell me why?"

But the ensign only shook his head, a smile coming to light hazel eyes. "Let's just say I've got a reason to be," he replied evasively.

From the corner, Richardson groaned. "I'll say," he muttered, stretching his arms above his head and yawning deeply. "Talk about rapid promotion!" A deep sigh parted his lips.

Kirk's brows narrowed. "What do you mean, Jerry?" he asked, feeling a shiver crawl up his back.

Richardson shrugged, nodding quickly toward McCoy. "I'll let Doc explain it, Jim," he said. "Remember that link you suggested I do with S'Parva?"

Kirk nodded. "I remember," he said, glancing over to where the Katellan was starting to awaken. She stretched lazily, arching a long back and neck and finally sitting up. He turned to Richardson. "What about it?"

"Well," McCoy said, "from what we can tell from their link, Kirk, you could figure very prominently in some major changes around here." He inserted the holo-tape into the desk scanner, adjusting the controls, then leaned back to wait as he studied the human. "At this point," he added, "I don't know what the hell we're going to dowith the information, but I suppose there's no harm in your seeing it. And then," he stressed, "maybe you'll give in to a vid-scan."

Kirk shrugged. At this point, he thought, he'd probably do just about anything. Shewas alive in his blood again. "Maybe," he conceded, glancing at Richardson. His roommate appeared downright nervous. "Jerry?"

"Just look at the tape, Jim," Richardson replied with a gentle smile. "Consider it a graduation present."

Once the tape had been played, Kirk leaned back in the chair. Despite the meld with Spock, it was nonetheless disturbing—and uplifting—to see it in living holographic color. And at the very least, it was tangible confirmation.

He looked expectantly at McCoy.

"Don't ask meto explain it, Kirk!" the surgeon said quietly. "I'm a doctor, not a film critic." He paused, blue eyes scrutinizing the ensign. "You have anything to say about it?"

Kirk took a deep breath. "Only that it … feels right," he ventured, allowing himself to relax in McCoy's presence. In many ways, the doctor was almost as familiar as Spock; the only thing missing was the customary glass of brandy. He thought about the meld, but avoided mentioning it. There was something which seemed to demand privacy … something in the Vulcan's demeanor when they'd parted in the gardens. He rose from the chair, reaching automatically for the tape. "I'll drop this off at the captain's quarters," he volunteered.

But McCoy's hand grabbed his wrist. "Not so fast," he said, rising from the chair to face the ensign. "If I know you—which I suspect I do—it'll be like pulling teeth from a Gorn to get you back in here once you leave. How about that vid-scan?"

Kirk glanced nervously at the chronometer, and allowed the cunning starship commander to slip out. He pulled the tape from the machine, slipping easily from McCoy's grasp. He chose his most charming smile. "Captain Spock didwant this information as soon as possible," he pointed out with a wink. "What's the matter, Doc? Don't you trust me?"

McCoy bounced on his toes. "No," he stated flatly. "I do not." But he smiled anyway, taking a deep breath as Kirk stuffed the tape into the pocket of a ragged flannel shirt. The doctor observed the remnants of leaves and dirt on the ensign's clothes, but he merely tucked the details into a safe corner of his mind as Kirk disappeared into the hall.

"Well," Richardson yawned, "I guess I'll have to get another roommate. Royalty beds down on the officers' deck." He turned to S'Parva. "Whatta you doin' tonight, sweetheart?"

The Katellan shrugged. "Not much," she said with a wink to McCoy. "What'd you have in mind, Romeo?"

Bluff called, Richardson gulped.

McCoy shook his head in mild amazement.

Captain Spock lay back on the bed, but the meditative state eluded him. And he knew now, beyond any reasonable doubt, that his own deadline had been shortened. Pon farr. Another symptom of the universe's insanity, he thought. It had merely come for him in this manner … the one manner which he could not hope to escape. Logic alone was useless. He glanced over to the nightstand, dark eyes scanning the computer tape which Kirk had dropped off an hour before. Answers, yes. Even truth. But … for what? Without a way to go back in time and correct the cause, they were trapped. And that, he realized, was the ultimatetruth.

For himself, it wouldn't matter; for without a bondmate, the blood fever would insure his own death within a week. An eyebrow rose. Time had set a most efficient trap, he mused. Even if he couldreturn to Vulcan, there was no one there for him, no one with whom he could establish even a temporary bond. And the thought of attempting to mate with a soul-healer left him cold. No … Vulcan was still not the answer.

But before he could ponder it further, the communication panel by the bed chirped noisily for his attention. He inhaled sharply, the sound seeming far louder than usual, far more irritating than necessary. Rolling onto one elbow, he depressed the response button.

"Spock here," he acknowledged wearily.

"Aye, Captain," came the reply, "this is Mister Scott on the bridge." The engineer paused and there was a mumble of rapid conversation in the background. "I think ye might want tae come up here right away, sir. Sonar scans have located that blip again—and it's definitely a ship of some sort. Probably a transport vessel of some description, but we've got no further details yet."

Spock was already on his feet, reaching for the clean uniform shirt which he'd efficiently laid out before going to bed. "On my way, Mister Scott," he confirmed, and headed for the door after arranging the rest of the uniform neatly in place.

As he strode down the corridor to the lift, however, he couldn't help noticing the empty spot by his side … a place which, in another place and time, would have been filled with Kirk.

He ignored it as best he could, trying not to think too closely about what he'd seen in the human's mind. For if the blip turned out to be a Romulan cruiser, the entire matter could be rendered academic. As Captain Pike had pointed out, word had a tendency to get around; and if the Romulans had somehow intercepted S't'kal's orders … He let the thought fall from his mind, hoping he could find the same cunning in himself that his captain from that other surreal universe had possessed naturally.

Settling into the command chair, Spock attempted to ignore his own increasing pressures. The blood in his ears was a constant roar, a never-ending phantom whispering suggestions. He slammed a door on it.

"Status report, Mister Chekov," he demanded, voice coming out harsher than intended.

"Last sensor contact with the blip occurred precisely seven minutes ago, Captain," the first officer provided, glancing into the hooded scanner. "At that time, we were able to verify that it's a ship of some type. Too small to be a battle cruiser," he continued, "but definitely too large and clearly defined to be an asteroid or other space debris. We also detected power emanations from the vessel, but they weren't of sufficient duration to determine source of power." The Russian glanced up, meeting his captain's eyes. "They're playing with us, sir."

The Vulcan leaned forward on the edge of the chair, eyes scanning the viewscreen despite the fact that he would see nothing visible. "Spatial scan?" he asked.

"We've been running that scan since we first detected the blip again, Captain," Chekov stated. "Whatever that ship is, she's fast—fast enough to evade our sensors."

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, the Vulcan rose from the chair, turning impulsively to the communication panel. "Lieutenant Uhura, open all hailing frequencies in the event they wish to establish contact."

"Aye, sir," Uhura responded, flipping the series of controls required to broadcast universal friendship codes on all channels. "Negative response, Captain," she continued presently. "If anyone's out there, they're refusing reception."

"Keep trying, Lieutenant," Spock instructed, moving back to the command chair. He sat down quickly as a wave of unexpected nausea washed over him. He felt himself pale, and hoped no one else noticed. "If it is a Romulan vessel, they obviously came here for a purpose and will eventually state their demands."

"Yes, sir," Uhura acknowledged, replacing the nodule in her ear. "Captain?" she said. "I ampicking up a faint transmission on our T-channel now."

"On audio, Uhura," the Vulcan requested.

As Uhura worked the controls, a seemingly recorded message filtered through the bridge, broken occasionally by loud bursts of static. "This is the Scoutship T'Favaron," a female voice intoned mechanically. "We have become separated from Mothership Ravon, and believe ourselves to have drifted into Alliance territory. Sensors distorted, power failing. Any Romulan vessels receiving this transmission, please respond directly to computer."

Spock listened to the coded message carefully, annoyed that it took the ShiKahr's computers a full three seconds to translate the difficult Romulan coding.

"We are using our cloak to prevent detection by Alliance vessels," the message continued weakly, "but our power begins to wane. Supplies running low, fuel nearly exhausted. Please respond."

Spock waited. It couldbe a trick, he reminded himself firmly. And yet … it could also be the one answer he needed. An eyebrow climbed high.

"We have them pinpointed now, Captain," Chekov said suddenly. "Their ship appears to be a Scout-class Romulan transport vessel; only light armaments registering on our sensors."

The Vulcan hesitated for only a moment longer. "Put a tractor beam on that vessel, Mister Scott," he instructed. "Bring them into the hangar deck." He pressed a button on the arm of the command chair. "Full security detachment to the hangar deck," he said into the panel. "Condition: yellow alert."