Chapter Thirteen
U.S.S. Enterprise, in combat around Aeternus
Stardate 3956.4
"Status of the Dracone's shields and phaser banks, Mr. Sulu."
The helmsman glanced down instantly, having anticipated the Vulcan's query. "Shields down enough to allow transport lock. Phasers unchanged, sir. Activity in Engineering, but that's to be expected if we hit them there…"
"I am aware of it, Mr. Sulu. Continue monitoring all systems. Mr. Scott, status?" the First Officer spoke into the communications on the arm-rest.
"Preparing to energize, Mr. Spock."
"Keep a close watch upon them, Mr. Scott, and be prepared for emergency beam-out at a moment's notice." To anyone else, the order was a standard precaution, per regulations when beaming into a danger zone. However, to anyone who had sailed on the Enterprise for any length of time, the tight lines around the Vulcan's dark eyes bespoke of very serious misgivings about the venture.
"Energizing…now, sir," Scotty's voice, calm and efficient but drawn-out as he concentrated on his task.
The leather of the chair-arm creaked under the Vulcan's fingers, and he hastily released his grip, (almost) relieved that no one had noticed the lapse in control. But the uneasiness remained, and even increased – highly illogical, which was in itself worrisome as he could not explain the feeling.
Suddenly Sulu pounced on his console, jolting the First Officer from the command chair in an instant. "Mr. Spock, the Dracone is firing up its warp engines!"
Exactly three-tenths of one second was all the time necessary for his brain to make the connections, and he rammed a hand down upon the intercom button so hard it cracked, nearly snapping off in his hand. He made a mental side note to summon Maintenance before the Captain saw it and 'had' what McCoy would call 'a spizz-fit' about his precious chair being damaged, but that thought did not subtract any time from his immediate response.
"Mr. Scott, is the transport complete?" he demanded, making the conscious effort to not raise his voice or increase the speed of his diction.
"Not quite, sir, I had come trouble gettin' through the –"
"Do not complete the transport!" Every eye turned toward the uncharacteristically tense snap, sudden apprehension palling over the Bridge. "I repeat, do not transport the Captain and the negotiating party. Hold them in transport and return them to the ship immediately!"
"Aye, sir, at once…" He could vaguely hear the Scottish burr of consequential grumbled complaints, but knew Scott was as efficient as a man could be.
"Mr. Spock, the Dracone just jumped to Warp Seven!" Sulu shouted from behind him.
"Transporter Room, do you have them?"
"Noht yet..." Scott muttered grumpily, "but I've got a sure enough lock on them, just a matter o' bringin' 'em home now."
"She's gone, sir," Sulu spoke up quietly, staring at the blank screen before them, broken only by the glimmering of stars.
"As I suspected," he almost fell into the human habit of muttering but corrected the slip in time, speaking aloud. "I thought as much. Mr. Sulu, take the conn temporarily."
The turbolift doors swooshed closed, leaving the crew staring numbly at a star-filled expanse. "That…that horrible man was going to beam them right into open space," Uhura whispered at last.
Sulu shuddered, taking the command chair with all the eagerness of youthful dreams. "Sure would have. Nice fellow."
U.S.S. Enterprise, stationary over Aeternus
Stardate 3956.4
As the shimmer-effect of the transportation device faded, I was somewhat startled to see that this room as well was nearly identical to the one aboard the other vessel, the Enterprise. Then I perceived two things; one, that this was indeed the Enterprise, for Mr. Scott was still at the controls, and two, that my stomach was in very severe danger of rebelling against the onslaught of swirling particles and heaven only knew what else, my head reeling and dizzy and my insides churning.
In front of me on the platform I saw McCoy fold to one knee, moaning as he clutched his stomach. "Ughhhhh, Scotty," he gasped. "How long did you keep us in there…and why the dickens aren't we on the Dracone?"
Holmes raised an eyebrow at me, looking a bit pale himself, and even Kirk appeared slightly off-balance as he put a sympathetic hand on the physician's shoulder. He was about to respond to the blustering Scotsman when the doors opened to admit a tall figure in blue, obviously having hurried from the Bridge.
"Spock, what is this?" the Captain demanded, stepping off the platform.
I offered McCoy my hand, and after bristling for a minute he scrambled to wobbly feet using it as an anchor. "Hate those god-awful things," he muttered, and I heartily agreed. Holmes only looked amusedly at us, obviously more intent on eavesdropping on the two senior officers' conversation.
"Captain, had we completed the transport, you would have beamed to those coordinates – which are at the present moment in the vacuum of deep space," Mr. Spock intoned matter-of-factly.
Kirk's eyes widened soundlessly.
"The Dracone fired up its warp engines as transport began," the First Officer continued soberly. "You are extremely fortunate, all of you, that the transport had not yet begun to materialize in space, or your patterns would have been lost when the ship jumped to warp."
"Tha's why it took a bit to get ye back," Mr. Scott interjected gravely. "I couldn' reverse until I was sure ye all were there and the warp field had settled…"
McCoy's face turned a shade greyer. "I need a drink," he mumbled, slinging the oddly-shaped hand weapon onto the counter, and rubbed a hand over his face.
"I would appreciate one myself," I muttered, completely not comprehending how Holmes could be so absolutely fascinated with the idea that Moriarty had just about managed to kill the four of us by letting us return to ourselves in the dark expanse of space, which from these men's reactions I judged was not capable of sustaining life.
But no, my friend was hovering over the flashing lights and buttons, asking the eager Scot about how he had managed to get us back, and what the devil did 'pattern buffer' mean, and why did we have to stand on the transporter platform if Watson had been taken directly from the Enterprise Bridge, and could they send any object through the transporter or was it only possible with people, etc, etc.
Upon hearing that the Dracone had effectively made its escape, the Captain looked as if he were about to slam his fist through the nearest wall. Instead, he seemed to calm when his tall friend brushed his arm with the fingertips of one hand, indicating the opening doors.
"Scotty, repair the shields as soon as possible, and we'll probably need Warp Eight and a bit more."
"That'll take a good fifteen hours, sir…" the man protested.
"You've got five."
"Aye, sir." From the grin on the fellow's face, which was ever-so-briefly mirrored on Kirk's, apparently this was some running joke between him and the Captain. "You'll have it."
Kirk sighed and turned to leave, shooting us one glance over his retreating shoulder. "Good. Bones, do something with our guests while we track down that renegade ship?"
"I'm a doctor, not a babysitter!"
But the doors had already closed behind the two officers. I cleared my throat uneasily, but the tension was broken quite effectively by the Scottish fellow clapping Holmes on the back in a most jovial manner and exclaiming something about 'findin' a kindred spirit', whatever that was supposed to mean.
"Doctor – Doctors," Holmes amended hastily as we both glanced over at him, "I shall remain with Mr. Scott. He has a fascinating wealth of information I should like to hear about regarding the workings of this ship."
"Ummm…" McCoy rubbed his chin uneasily. "You're not supposed to learn anything here that could alter your time period…"
Holmes chuckled dryly. "I assure you, Doctor, I have neither the incentive nor the ability to build a starship of my own three and a half centuries in your past. Most of the materials used, I believe, are not even in existence yet, and I shall be shown no formulae to memorize. If that will satisfy you?"
The physician nodded finally, more in an I-don't-care-this-is-ridiculous-anyway gesture than out of acceptance of Holmes's promise, and turned to me.
"Well, Dr. Watson. I don't guess you'd like to discuss battle surgery over a brandy, would you?"