Chapter Twenty-Six
U.S.S. Dracone, engaging U.S.S. Enterprise over Aeternus
Stardate 3956.9
The trio moved swiftly down the corridor, and Kirk was immediately grateful that the Dracone seemed to follow the standard layout of that class starships; it eliminated unnecessary meandering around the corridors.
They turned a corner and ran directly into two surprised Engineers, whose immediate dives for the communications system were halted by two quick phaser shots from Vulcan reflexes. The men dropped without a sound, alarming or otherwise, and they bolted for the doors that led to Auxiliary Control.
"Does this seem too easy to you?" Kirk muttered in an undertone as they paused outside, looking at the locked door.
"Most definitely. But have you a different plan, Captain?" his First replied, endeavoring to break the code on the door.
"We can't have another plan," Kirk remonstrated, firing one quick blast at an Ensign who trotted around the corner, stunned before she could even see who they were. "If they fire just one solid hit to our shields, they could destroy my ship!"
"What sort of code locks these doors?" Holmes asked suddenly, peering over the Vulcan's shoulder.
"This one has apparently been personally refitted by Morbus himself…it looks to be some sort of algorithm," the Vulcan replied, his voice tense with concentration.
"Or a theorem?" Holmes asked quietly.
The dark eyes met his for a moment, and then sparked into life. Nimble fingers tapped an impossibly long sequence into the panel, and the doors opened with a whoosh to reveal the brightly-lit Auxiliary Bridge. "The man certainly possesses an inflated ego," Spock observed, for the equation had gone down in ancient British history as a faulty binomial theorem of extremely primitive astrophysics.
"Indeed," Holmes replied, grinning. "I should be glad to discuss his Dynamics of an Asteroid witha race who has actually traveled among said asteroids, at a later date of course. Impressive of you to memorize all details about the man before our arrival, by the way."
Kirk, impatient with the dialogue, had stepped into the room, phaser at the ready. He was quick enough to shout a warning, turn to run for it, but not quick enough to evade the heavy stun that enveloped his nervous system in a blinding flare of neural shock. From a distance he heard Holmes's pained grunt, cut short by striking the floor with some force; barely saw from fast-dimming vision his First Officer standing over him, phaser drawn and firing rapidly, well aware that there was no location to retreat to and that their only hope lay in incapacitating their enemy. The Vulcan calmly took three hits and returned as many successfully before finally being struck with enough stun force to send him sprawling atop his now-unconscious Captain.
"I believe the term is coup d'maitre, Holmes," Professor Moriarty observed with mild respect. "Pity."
U.S.S. Enterprise, in battle over Aeternus
Whatever the Englishman was used to shooting, McCoy thought grimly, he knew what he was about, because he'd been expecting an awkward-at-best battle companion and had gotten a pretty sharp shooter even with the unfamiliar phaser weapon. Satisfied that his back would be sufficiently covered, the CMO calmly took out the two blue-shirted enemy officers who were approaching his Sickbay, malicious purpose gleaming in their eyes. He spared a second to wonder if Moriarty – or whatever they were supposed to call him – had some sort of mental control over the men he commanded from the Dracone, because the men were absolute fools to walk right into an enemy Starship – the flagship of the 'Fleet, yes – and expect to take her over so easily, crippled or not.
Behind him he heard a short grunt and the whine of a phaser. "How many more?" the Doctor asked in his ear.
Without turning his head, he surveyed the now-relatively-quiet corridor. "Should be four more somewhere, but if Security hasn't decked 'em by now then they all need transferred to a Neutral Zone patrol. We may be safe for right now."
"Good…" As the Englishman trailed off, uncertainty flooding his face, the other turned and glanced warily at him.
"You okay?"
"I…do not know," Watson muttered, lowering the weapon he held and reaching a hand to his head. "Something just…does not feel right."
McCoy was no fool, and knew better than to discredit any hunches, even if they were three and a half centuries old. "With you?"
"No," the other physician replied suddenly, understanding lighting up his eyes. "With Holmes – the boarding party. Something is wrong, I'm certain of it!"
McCoy, skeptical, was about to raise an eyebrow but caught himself with a gesture of disgust; last thing he wanted was to start imitating that Vulcan. "Doctor…are you sure?" he asked, wishing he'd tested the man for telepathy or any other latent abilities. They hadn't had the time to run full physicals on the visitors, as policy stated they were required to.
Hesitating only a fraction of a second, the Englishman nodded emphatically. "I cannot tell you how I know, I simply do," he replied earnestly.
"Great, just great."
McCoy glanced back at the closed doors of the Sickbay. Not even he could override the lockdown if initiated from inside, due to safety measures, and no one could override even from inside without Spock's override codes. If alien forces took over the ship, the drugs the 'Bay contained were so dangerous that no one could be allowed to gain access, and as CMO his voice override would be the logical choice to force entry. Hence, he himself had suggested only Spock have override clearance, because he was the one most likely to withstand physical or mental persuasion to override the lockdown.
Which meant, unfortunately, that they could not return, and had to go on themselves. "Lieutenant-Commander Scott is third in command, Doctor, and as such is in charge of things while our superiors are trying to get themselves killed," he informed, punching the nearest intercom. "Scotty, we've got a problem."
"You've got one! Try havin' a few dozen! We've no warp power, no lift power, and half the systems are goin' haywire. The whole motherboard looks like someone tried t' repair it with a durasteel-laser, an' half muh laddies are in yer Sickbay!"
McCoy had no time for sympathy over the man's precious engines and consoles. "Listen, Scotty, have you heard from the Captain and his party yet?"
"No, sir. And before ye ask, I canna lock onto them and I told 'em that afore they beamed over. I kin do nothing until they disable the shielding."
"But you can still send the two of us over, can't you?" McCoy demanded.
"Captain's orders, Doctor. No one's to beam over until he gets the shields down. Here now, there's no need for tha', sir," this last in amused response to the CMO's swearing. "I canna disobey a direct order, ye know tha'!"
"Never stopped you before," McCoy muttered ungraciously. "Fine, Scotty. Let me know when you hear from Jim, will you?"
"Aye, Doctor. Immediately."
The physician released the panel's button, face twisted with annoyance and indecision. Watson was fidgeting nervously, looking at the fallen men in the corridor. "What now?" he asked quietly. "McCoy, they are in danger…I should know, I've met Professor Moriarty before." Hazel eyes darkened with anger and a good amount of fear; McCoy recognized both with a practiced eye. "Honourable he may be, but now he holds all the trumps and once the pleasure of the game is gone…"
"Wait, wait just a darn minute," the other physician said suddenly, an idea occurring to him. "If it's true, that nothing can happen to you or Holmes because it would alter our timeline…then isn't it true that your professor can't do anything to you two either, for the same reason?"
Watson nodded lowly. "Logical enough," he agreed, brows twisting in thought. "But then…his plan must simply be to get Holmes and me back into our own timeline, and then ensure that no one can go back and return him as well…"
"So he's going to shove you two back through the Guardian and then blow it sky-high?"
"Possibly…but somehow I do not think that is what he has in mind. However, it is the most likely possibility…unless," Watson added soberly, "he will be quite satisfied to take over whatever remains here, if Holmes and I do not return to our own time. I doubt very seriously that it matters to him what universe he rules, or what changes occur in that universe. He thrives on power, McCoy. Any kind of it."
"And now he has the power of a starship, and if we don't hurry he'll have the power of Time itself," the other whispered. "And if he does, then heaven help us all, in any timeline."