CHAPTER TWO
Before McCoy's words have time to fully register with the room there's a whistle from the comms unit.
"Captain. We're picking up a signal from the planet surface. It's weak but I think I can filter out most of the interference."
"Put it straight through here, Uhura."
The image that flickers on the briefing room screen is clouded and grey and at first Spock thinks the communication officer's filters are failing. Then he realises. There is rain on the lens of the device transmitting from the surface; moisture beading and blurring the lines of half finished buildings silhouetted against a muddy green sky. The unit speakers fill the briefing room with the rasping breath of the holder of the vidcom unit. Then a voice, speaking Standard:
"Goddammit. Miller to unit 3. Come in unit 3." The screen tips and darkens. A face appears, looking down as if to adjust the controls. "Blast it to hell. All units...if you can hear me, respond."
Kirk snaps forward to thumb open the channel. "Miller. This is James Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Can you read me?"
There's a hiss of static, but Spock's acute hearing picks up a sound behind the hiss, an indrawn breath.
"Kirk? What the...? Captain Kirk? From the Enterprise?"
"Affirmative. What is your position?"
Spock's fingers are already flying over his padd, calling up the colony datafile. He leans over to show Kirk the highlighted result.
Miller, Marcus J.
Rank: Lieutenant.
Currently assigned: Security, Deneb III.
Kirk nods.
"Lieutenant Miller, I repeat, what is your position? Are you in danger? Are there others with you?"
The voice is breathless. It's hard to tell whether its owner has been running or is simply suffering a bad case of hero worship. "The Captain Kirk. That picture..."
Spock raises an eyebrow as he keys in the code to proxy in to his science station. Uhura is already ahead of him, triangulating the signal between the vidcom, the bounce point and the Enterprise and feeding the data to his screen. The longer they can keep the two way communication going the more chance they have of pinpointing the source.
Kirk knows this. Spock does not even have to look up from his screen to sense they are working in tandem. Kirk leans closer to the unit's microphone.
"Miller. Can you clarify what's going on down there? Report, Lieutenant."
The screen darkens as a red sleeve wipes the dripping lens. The man at the other end can be seen in profile, looking right and left.
"Hold on a moment, Enterprise. It's not safe. Let me just..."
The image tips crazily and the view changes to one of muddy boots and blurred fabric. When it steadies, it is apparent Miller has taken shelter. He is inside but the building's power seems to be off; the Lieutenant's face is indistinct and unfocused in the gloom. He is squatting beside a console. Or what used to be a console before a phaser blast reduced it to a crumpled mass of fused polymer.
"Are you still there, Enterprise?" The voice is low and strained. And young. He sounds very young.
Kirk softens his tone. "We're still here, Miller. What can you tell us? Are you alone?"
The head swivels. "I think so, sir. When the colonists started arriving it was chaos. Three of us took a chance. We got away. But they..." The voice sinks to a whisper. "They're not responding on the secure channel. I don't think they made it. And the others... they're looking for me. I can hear them."
There's terror there now, real terror, and the shakiness of the image has nothing to do with the quality of the signal. Kirk reaches forward with both hands, as if holding the edges of the screen will steady a trembling hand and hold this young man together.
"Who's looking for you, Miller? Has there been an invasion?"
"No... no, sir. No invasion." The head turns again, craning around the corner of the console and listening, before he continues. "I didn't understand. None of us did. Not at first. They looked so... well, it's hard to tell, sir. But then people started disappearing. And we realised... It's like part of you is missing."
Spock can sense Kirk's frustration. These disjointed sentences make no sense. What the captain needs is a succinct, informative briefing from a witness to whatever catastrophe has befallen the colony below. What he's getting is a response that's close to hysteria. Kirk keeps his tone even, offering measured reassurance even as his grip on the screen tightens.
"Lieutenant Miller… Marcus. You need to hold on, son."
Spock has seen his captain steady an entire starship with this voice. The young man on the other end of the comm link draws a shuddering breath and nods, wiping his sleeve across his nose. It's an oddly childlike gesture.
Kirk continues, "We're sending help. If you can just give us the co-ordinates-"
"No!" The whisper has turned to an almost shout. "No - you mustn't. Enterprise. Listen to me. Don't use the transporter. For god's sake...don't..." Then Miller's eyes widen and his face goes rigid. And now the briefing room can hear what he's hearing. Phaser fire. Drawing closer. "Oh gods. They're coming."
The crash is loud enough to distort the sound from the speakers. The transmitting vidcom unit is on the floor, spinning. As it slows and steadies for a moment the watching officers get a glimpse of movement. Boots approaching. One lifts. Miller's voice rises to a scream.
"Please. No. No -"
A brilliant flash outlines a silhouette in phaser fire. The link cuts to black.
No-one speaks into the silence that follows.
Then Kirk lifts his hands from the screen and scans the room, ending on his first officer who nods a yes to the unvoiced question. They have the co-ordinates. Kirk stands, two fingers of each hand resting on the table. His voice is quiet with an undercurrent of steel.
"Right, gentlemen. I want a landing party. McCoy - I need you to put together a team of medics with the best field kit you can muster. Take anyone M'Benga can spare." He lifts his hand to quell the immediate protest. "I know you're swamped, Bones, but there are casualties down there, maybe even more than there are up here. Spock, you're with me too. Giotto, we'll need a security team. Tell them to wear their blacks. I don't want any more hysteria over red shirts. Scotty, you'll take the con. I want detailed scans around Miller's co-ordinates..."
The orders continue. Equipment, contingency plans, a message to Starfleet. A skeleton crew to beam aboard the Demeter.
It is the chief engineer who voices the question they are all silently asking.
"Are you intending to beam down, Captain?"
"Subject to the results of the latest scans, yes, Mr. Scott. Time is a factor here. With the weather patterns reported on Deneb III a shuttle will take too long and there's no guarantee it won't get stranded down there. Last time I checked the transporters were in working order, were they not, engineer?"
Scott bristles. "My transporters are in tip top shape, Captain. I just thought... since yon laddie warned us-"
"It's my judgment that Lieutenant Miller was in no fit state to make an accurate report." Kirk stops, frowning. "It's odd. I know the lad was terrified. But he was security. He made Lieutenant. I would have expected..." He tails off.
But Spock agrees with the thought that follows. Selection procedures for Starfleet security are rigorous; discipline in that branch of the service is rigid and promotion to Lieutenant takes drive and determination. None of those attributes were evident in the young man in the red shirt whose image still lingers on an empty screen.
