Chapter Ten
"Good to see you, Jim. It's been too long." George Woodhouse stood up and extended his hand warmly, as Kirk crossed the room to his desk. Jim smiled and shook George Woodhouse's hand, feeling genuine affection. Though nearly twice Jim's age, the man before him looked only ten years his senior. Jim had attended some of Woodhouse's classes at the Academy and they had become friends despite the difference in age. In the intervening years, they had touched base maybe a dozen or so times. The space in between was always too long.
"Good to see you too, George. How are Kat and the girls?"
"Kat's never better. She's looking forward to seeing you. This evening, by the way. Seven sharp. If you're not there, my life won't be worth living. And make sure you bring that old quack Len McCoy with you. The girls are, let me see…"
Woodhouse had four daughters, two of them already in Starfleet, the other two at the Academy. The next ten minutes were taken up with his proud descriptions of their exploits and achievements. Kirk listened, wondering if the Admiral were aware that he had slept with one of his daughters whilst still a cadet. He decided that George Woodhouse was innocent of the knowledge.
Truth to tell, despite McCoy's shot, Kirk was finding it hard to conceal his mounting impatience. That he felt impatience with this old friend was itself a source of irritation; he could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow from the strain. Woodhouse's room was hot and he interpreted Kirk's obvious discomfort as a reaction to the heat.
"You alright there, Jim? Look a little hot."
"I'm just used to the temperature aboard the Enterprise; it's a little warmer down here."
"Make the most of this fresh air while you can, Jim. Although, I must admit the summers on SB Ten can be hot. I'll activate the air-conditioning if you like. Don't tend to use it myself – find it better to acclimatise.
"I'm fine, George."
"I hear the Enterprise is going to be in dock for a while. And what's this I hear about you and two of your crewmen being poisoned?"
News travels fast. Thought Kirk, but of course, the Admiral had already seen Kirk's logbooks. Woodhouse regarded him closely when he explained how he was affected.
"I have it under control, thanks to the 'old quack'" Kirk reassured him. Then, because he could restrain himself no longer, Jim blurted out, "George, I need a ship." Woodhouse smiled,
"You have a ship, Jim. I take it this is about your First Officer?" Kirk nodded.
"I don't think it's a coincidence that that Klingon ship was at Skara."
"What are you saying, Jim?"
"Think about it, George. The Enterprise receives a distress signal seemingly emanating from Skara. Lieutenant Uhura couldn't begin to explain the loss of that signal, or confirm its origin. She was puzzled. She even suggested that the source of the signal might not have been Skara at all, despite the evidence of her own instruments. It's not that difficult to fake a signal."
"A lure? From the Klingon ship?"
" Possibly."
" Unless the Klingons also received some kind of message."
"Klingons don't generally respond to distress signals. They're more likely to be the cause of them." Kirk said, irritably.
"You say the Klingon ship was destroyed by the effects of the storm? "
Kirk explained about the Klingon shuttle.
"It's unlikely anyone made it to the surface of Skara alive."
"Even without the Klingons' presence there, Spock's life could be in danger. George, Spock is a first rate officer."
"Mr Spock's reputation is not in dispute. He's been called the best First Officer in the fleet."
"He's my friend." Woodhouse nodded. Kirk changed tack.
"Admiral, what do you know about the Curie incident?"
"What everyone knows." Woodhouse answered, guardedly. Kirk waited. "Hell, Jim, why are you asking?
Ittitated again, Kirk explained about the Curie's shuttle, knowing that his friend must have seen this in the ship's log also.
"It's a possibility is that the distress signal was sent by Hunter and whoever helped him hijack that shuttle."
"Kort. The person who helped him was a Klingon by the name of Kort."
It was Kirk's turn to be surprised. "Jim, do you have reason to believe that either of these men might still be alive?"
"There were no bodies in the wreckage. Skara is a habitable planet. I would say there's a good chance that they survived and are living on Skara. George, did you know these men?" George Woodhouse stared at Kirk for a moment. Something about his posture suggested indecision.
"Dammit, Jim, I know I can trust you."
"What do you mean, George, of course you can trust me."
"Used to be a person could automatically trust that uniform, not any more." Kirk frowned, waiting for the Admiral to explain. Woodhouse sighed and seated himself behind his desk, motioning to Jim to take a seat
"Ever hear of Ben Caton?"
"Admiral Caton? Are you serious?" Kirk had been about to ask Woodhouse the same question. Had his hunch about linking Caton with the Curie incident and Skara been right? Ben Caton was one of the biggest names in Starfleet. He had risen from captain to admiral after an illustrious career. "Everyone's heard of Ben Caton."
"Ben and I were friends at the Academy. Close as brothers. We started out as ensigns together on the Heracles. You know how it is in the Service, Jim; you come to rely on people. I trusted Ben." Woodhouse shook his head. "I knew he had a ruthless streak, but I put it down to ambition. Ben wanted to be Starfleet's youngest ever Starship captain." At this, Woodhourse looked at Kirk and they exchanged smiles – that was an accolade Jim had under his own belt.
"I'm guessing Caton let you down?"
"More than that, Jim. I think he tried to kill me – or, at best, left me for dead." That was quite a claim to make against one of Starfleet's leading lights. Kirk's interest was piqued. He looked at George Woodhouse's anxious profile and realised his old friend still felt the betrayal – whatever it had been – keenly.
"It was way back when, Jim. We'd been called to Vascus, a tiny, but mineral rich world in the Nebbling system, to come to the aid of the Vascan people. It was in the days before the Organians' treaty and our interests there clashed with our old enemies'" Kirk nodded. Woodhouse was referring to a time when encounters between the Klingons and the Federation tended to be brief and bloody.
"Our ship was the closest to Vascus and Ben and I were members of the landing party that answered the distress call. It was a violent little skirmish, Jim. Ben and I got separated from the rest of the party and were captured by a group of renegade Vascans who'd sided with the Klingons, for profit, naïve idiots." Kirk gave a nod of understanding. The Klingons were infamous for reneging on deals with local populations.
"Well, to cut a long story short, I brokered a deal with the rebels – got them to fight with us against the Klingons and saw those bastards off the planet. Vascus joined the Federation and – happy ending all round."
Kirk was looking thoughtful. "As I remember it, it was Ben Caton, not you who negotiated that deal with the Vascan rebels. What really happened, George?"
"It happened the way I told it, Jim. With one crucial difference. It was Ben Caton who got the kudos for squaring it with the Vascans. After he'd reported me dead to our Captain." Kirk waited as Woodhouse paused to pour them both a drink.
"The Vascans escorted us part of the way back to where we could contact the rest of our landing party. Ben and I had to ride the rest of the way over mountainous terrain." Woodhouse scratched the back of his head. "I never really knew what hit me, Jim. To this day I couldn't swear that it was Ben. One minute I was riding along thinking of the promotion my little foray into negotiating would earn me, next minute the lights went out and I was waking up out of a coma and a whole year had gone by."
Kirk was listening attentively; he looked surprised at George's words, but did not interrupt. "Took me another six months to get myself back on my feet and contact Starfleet. By then, Ben Caton had been promoted to lieutenant and had transferred off the Heracles.
"And his story was?" Kirk asked.
"That my horse had stumbled on a rock and thrown me over the side of a ravine. His words were, 'no one could have survived a fall like that.' Besides, he knew that time was of the essence if we were going to rally the different factions of the Vascan government in time to oust the Klingons."
"So he left you for dead and took the credit himself." Kirk could barely conceal his anger. Woodhouse ignored him and continued.
"I was rescued by one of the Vascan hill people and spent eighteen months in one of their villages suffering multiple injuries from the fall that should have killed me. I also had amnesia. It was three years before my memory of the event returned and by then Ben had distinguished himself several times over and was well on his way to his first command.
"You never challenged him?"
"I could have simply fallen, as Ben claimed. Three years after the event, I had no way of proving my suspicions. And I couldn't trust my own memories. I had to let it go. "
"The Vascan rebels could have corroborated your story, confirmed that it was you, not Ben who brokered the deal." George Woodhouse shook his head.
"All dead, Jim." Kirk nodded. The Vascans had united against the Klingons but that had not meant they could live together in harmony – a bloody civil war had left their already small population decimated.
"Does Caton have something to do with the Curie incident? Is that why you're telling me this, George?"
"Curie. Skara. Caton could be your link. I've been following Caton's career for years and it occurred to me that no man could have had his luck. Always seeming to be in the right place at the right time. It had caused a welter of speculation but no scandal has ever been attached to the Admiral's name. I went back and examined his logs. I've also spoken to former crewmembers of his who don't remember certain events occurring in quite the way Caton recorded them."
Kirk stared at his old friend in disbelief. Falsifying a log entry was a serious offence. It was also difficult to do. Caton would have had to alter his accounts after they had been entered and checked. George carried on, "There were rumours in Klingon quarters after Curie, that the order to destroy the ship was routed through a Federation source close to the Klingon ship. Caton was in the vicinity but you can't stick anything on a man of his standing without proof."
Kirk's brow furrowed. George Woodhouse, he knew had contacts in the highest echelons of Starfleet; still, could it be that he was simply an old man with a grudge? There was no proof that Caton was a traitor, just as there was no proof that he had tried to kill George.
"You're not wholly convinced, Jim. That's alright. I don't expect you to jump aboard my truckload of theories about Ben Caton. Maybe you're thinking I want revenge for a ruined career?" Kirk glanced over at the motorised wheelchair near Woodhouse's desk. George could not get far without it. When Kirk had asked him back at the Academy how he had ended up in it, Woodhouse had dismissed his question, referring simply to his, 'accident.' The one that had meant he ended up studying Law and teaching at the Academy instead of in charge of his own Starship.
"It may interest you to know that I'm not the only one with suspicions about Caton, Jim. The net's slowly closing in. Trouble is, Caton has friends in high places and for whatever reason, they're protecting him."
Kirk whistled. "That's some theory, George."
"The Curie tragedy may not be Caton's greatest sin. I have reason to believe he was involved in the strikes on Ravik V." Woodhouse nodded, seeing the astonishment in Kirk's face.
"Jim, you might just have stumbled on something significant at Skara. The two scientists, Kort and Hunter were on the science station on Ravik at the time of the strikes. They were working on a highly classified project. They spent years following up leads on the attack and their trail led them to Ben Caton."
"You've been in contact with them?" Woodhouse nodded.
"Caton knew they were after him. I believe he had the Curie destroyed because he knew they were aboard. More, they had something on him." Jim looked up, catching Woodhouse's eye.
"You think Caton's on Skara?"
"If that's where Kort and Hunter have gone, then I think they may well have gone after him." Something didn't add up, Kirk thought.
"Why George? For what possible reason would Ben Caton wish to destroy a whole planet?"
"He knew what they were working on there." Kirk waited expectantly.
"Took me a long time to find out. There was more secrecy surrounding that project than around Vulcan mating rituals." Kirk smiled, despite his anger; that was a subject that he had had cause to become acquainted with.
"It had to do with developing a hyperwarp facility for Federation starships. A ship had been found and brought to Ravik. Its engines were like nothing anyone'd ever seen before, and at its heart, an unidentifiable mineral that seemed to do what dilithium crystals do for our warp core and more. Kort and Hunter were directly involved in researching this. It's their belief – and mine – that Caton is developing the hyperwarp for the Klingons and he just might be doing it on Skara."
It was a lot to take in. "That's a helluva conspiracy theory, George." Was all Kirk could find to say.
"That First Officer of yours, he means a lot to you, doesn't he?"
For a moment, Kirk's agitation evaporated completely. In his mind's eye he had a vision of Spock glancing up from his station on the bridge, looking over his shoulder the better to catch his captain's eye. An ordinary moment that had repeated itself time and again over the past couple of years, yet it seemed so far away now. In that moment, all Kirk wanted was for the ordinariness to return, for him to look up and connect with his friend. He answered Woodhouse with a nod.
"I understand, Jim, I really do. But if Caton is on Skara, he has to be stopped. That has to be your primary mission in returning there. Think what it would mean for the Federation if the Klingons developed a hyperwarp first. I'll get in touch with people I know I can trust at Starfleet. Your orders are to return to Skara and investigate what's going on there. Commander Scott will be under orders to join you there forthwith. I'll do my best to find you a ship by the end of the week. Kirk sighed. Rescuing Spock had just got a whole lot more complicated.
The Enterprise was in good hands at Starbase Ten's spacedock. Even her first engineer was beginning to feel like a spare pair of hands as a team of capable professionals set to work on her refit. McCoy had finally persuaded Montgomery Scott to leave them to their job and beam down to the surface of the planet where the Starbase's main administrative and recreational facilities were situated.
"I wonder how the Captain's farin' with Admiral Woodhouse? I hope the laddie's behavin' himself. He's been mighty touchy these past few days."
"I may have some good news for him." McCoy remarked and he told Scotty about his conversation with Diana King.
"Dr McCoy, I hope you were intendin' to invite me along. Some of those freighters are fit for nothin' more than the scrap heap, if you don't mind me sayin' so. You're going to need an engineer along to ensure your – and the Captain's safety."
McCoy grinned. Scotty's reaction was exactly what he would have predicted.
"Scotty, I knew you'd say that, but, as third in command, Jim needs you here. And I know it would break your heart to leave the Enterprise in the middle of a refit." This much was true.
"Besides, we're going to need you to command the Enterprise and make sure she gets to Skara." Scotty grunted.
"Aye, I reckon I could manage that, alright."
"What do you mean you've got me a ship?" Kirk asked his CMO, puzzled. Had McCoy somehow overheard his conversation with Admiral Woodhouse? McCoy explained about his meeting with Diana.
"Trust Diana." Kirk said, "Well, it's not ideal, but we can't hang around for a week waiting for a ship. To George, he said, after obtaining permission to travel incognito on the Aurora, "I guess this means dinner's off. Tell Kat, another time."
"Somehow, boarding at this ungodly hour makes it seem underhand." McCoy remarked to Kirk, hours later as they waited where Diana had instructed them to wait, well past midnight.
"How was Chekov?"
"He's as well as can be expected. I've left him in capable hands. Good news about Ryan. There's no trace of the toxin in his bloodstream. My serum seems to have eradicated it. So, it should be having a similar effect on you before long."
"McKay! Hopkirk!" The voice seemed to boom out of nowhere. Both men turned, recognising the aliases they had given Diana for the Aurora'a captain.
Kirk stepped forward in answer to the man walking towards them.
"I'm Jim Hopkirk. This is Len McKay."
"Roger Weston."
"Captain." Said Kirk and McCoy in unison, McCoy bowing slightly in his best southern gentlemanly fashion, Kirk nodding faintly. Diana had told her friend only that they were acquaintances of hers. Weston had no idea of their true identities. Kirk and McCoy were dressed in civilian clothes.
"At ease, gentleman. I'm a civilian. Diana tells me you need a lift. To Skara. I'm not in the habit of breaking Federation rules. You are aware, of course that that planet is off limits, non-interference and all that. Weston glared at Kirk as he spoke.
"Quite aware, Captain. We have no wish to place you or your crew at risk of breaking the law."
In response, Weston simply harrumphed loudly as if to indicate that he did not give two hoots about breaking Federation laws.
He was a big man, taller than either McCoy or Kirk and he had an impressive girth. His long hair, receding at the temples, was pulled back in a ponytail, his face was shadowed by dark stubble and he was dressed colourfully, flamboyantly, even, in red silk robes. Something of an eccentric, Kirk thought, sensing a maverick personality that perhaps made him ideally suited to the independent, roving lifestyle of a deep space trader.
"I can get you close enough to Skara to travel the rest of the way in one of my shuttles, but it'll cost you. I owe Diana but not that much. If there's a Starfleet scouting ship in the area, the deal's off. Do you still want a ride?"
Kirk nodded, "I think we can do business, Captain."
Aboard the Aurora's cramped shuttle Weston, navigating his way around the dock where the Enterprise was moored, commented, "Beautiful ship. No doubt it's crew wouldn't board her the old-fashioned way, like us. Sorry I can't offer you the luxury of a transporter, gentlemen."
It was only after a full five minutes of listening to the older of his two passengers remonstrating on the unnaturalness of having his atoms scrambled and reassembled for the sake of saving the time it would take to travel by light spacecraft, that the Aurora's captain conceded that the transporter was not everyone's favoured mode of travel. "He's quite a character, isn't he?" He remarked to Kirk when McCoy moved aft to check his kit. Kirk grinned.
"His bark's worse than his bite."
"What's your business on Skara?" Kirk considered whether Weston expected a truthful answer.
"We're looking for a friend." He answered, laconically. To his relief, Weston did not probe further. The Enterprise was still within Kirk's field of vision and he kept his eye on her, captivated by his ship's graceful beauty and the novelty of seeing her from a distance like this. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw McCoy looking at him and smiling in silent acknowledgement of his own thoughts.
By contrast, Roger Weston's ship was an unattractive sight. Clearly a vessel designed for practical use, if not ugly, its form was basic and unadorned. On first catching sight of it, McCoy immediately recalled Scotty's comment about scrap heaps and was inclined to agree. He and Kirk exchanged dubious looks. The Aurora's captain, on the other hand, was evidently proud of his ship, even if he did introduce her with an apology.
"Gentlemen – The Aurora. She's not much to look at, granted, but a sounder little ship you won't find in the galaxy."
Kirk and McCoy made appreciative noises.
The shuttle docked smoothly in the Aurora's hold. As they disembarked, Captain Weston pointed out another, smaller shuttle anchored in an adjacent bay. This he explained, he could hire to Kirk and McCoy, when they reached an appropriate distance from Skara. After two weeks, he would be able to rendezvous with them to pick them up.
With luck, the Enterprise would be providing back up in less than a week. Until then, they would be on their own, gathering what information they could on what Caton was up to on Skara. Woodhouse had all but warned Kirk off putting his First Officer's safety before the mission, but Kirk and McCoy were of one mind on this. As long as it did not jeopardise the mission, they would do what they could to locate Spock.
Being a small ship, the Aurora's crew was pared down to essential personnel. The first crewmember to greet them, by throwing her arms around Weston and kissing him warmly, was Nancy Armitage, whom Weston introduced as the ship's engineer. Nancy prodded him in the ribs and he added, "Did I forget to mention – Nancy's also my wife. And she's the favour I owe Diana King." McCoy and Kirk waited, uncomprehending, for an explanation.
"Diana introduced us." Nancy explained.
She was a sprite, kirk thought, petite and Elvin-like; a pair of pointed ears would not have looked amiss under the lustrous dark hair that fell past her shoulders. Kirk found himself searching for them and was almost disappointed to see that they were entirely human.
"I'm sorry your quarters are so cramped." Nancy apologised as she opened the door to a room that was less than half the size of their quarters aboard the Enterprise. "Out of necessity, most of our on board space is given over to storage. We carry a lot of cargo. There's not much left over for living space and I'm afraid this is the smallest cabin."
"It's fine." McCoy reassured her. Kirk smiled in agreement. When she had gone, they unpacked their bags, taking care to place tricorders and phasers and McCoy's well-stocked medikit out of sight. Nancy had assured them that their quarters were private but these were necessary precautions to conceal their identities.
"It's going to be a long week." McCoy sighed, looking around at their cramped living space.
"Perhaps we can make ourselves useful." Kirk said, rubbing his eyes.
"You okay, Jim?" Kirk nodded, though he felt irritable. It was normal irritation, not the kind he had been used to feeling after Skara.
Inside, the Aurora looked to be in good shape. After two days aboard ship, Kirk had become well acquainted with her workings. He was particularly impressed with the state of her engineering rooms. Nancy Armitage was a skilled engineer and he wondered at her lack of ambition in working aboard the Aurora when she was demonstrably able in her chosen profession. As if reading his mind, she explained to him that she had grown bored with the rigours of a normal working life.
"I'm a free spirit, like Roger." She declared, and indeed, Kirk had to concede that, skilled as she was, Nancy Armitage was not the type of person who would flourish under the disciplines enforced by the service. She – and Weston were simply too unconventional.
Kirk was surprised to learn that the Aurora provided a home for the couple as well as a livelihood. "This is all we need for now." Nancy explained, "A life among the stars – How could anyone want more?" Kirk was not the man to argue with that.
Besides Nancy and Roger, there were three other crewmembers – Hag, an uncharacteristically shy and peace-loving Andorian with a gentle, unassuming personality was the navigator and cook. Nyreea, a porcelain-faced humanoid of delicate beauty from the Beltan system was introduced as a general crewmember and the ship's medic, though her qualifications for the latter were doubtful at best. And Weston had taken on another latecomer, a tall, slender young man with glossy black hair which, he wore shoulder length and tied back in a pigtail. He introduced himself, unsmilingly, as Stephen Blackstone. He seemed a particularly solitary individual, and more than a tad aloof.
It did not take long for Kirk and McCoy to work out that the Aurora's crewmembers were misfits and rebels. Hag despised the warlike characteristics of his fellow Andorians. He was a writer and poet. Nyreea was an artist who sold her works wherever the Aurora travelled to. Blackstone was reticent about his reasons for being aboard, claiming only that he needed work and wanted to see other worlds. He claimed to have worked on other ships and to have a high level of technical expertise. Weston had put him to work on the bridge, monitoring consoles. Otherwise, he was a useful spare pair of hands.
For the most part, after the Aurora's goods had been brought aboard and stored, there was little in the way of duties for the crew to perform, and they were left with ample time to pursue their various interests. Weston, too, it transpired, had an obsession - xenoentomology. His quarters contained drawerfuls of insects from all over the galaxy that he had collected and classified and which he regularly donated to museums. He was particularly proud of his beetle collection, which contained many hitherto undiscovered species.
McCoy and Kirk volunteered for work and were politely turned down. "We don't go in for unnecessary labour on this ship." Nancy informed them. "We spend our time cultivating our interests and in study. For example, I'm working on modifying and extending a design for impulse engines proposed in a recent paper by a senior Starfleet engineer I'm in contact with – you may have heard of him – Montgomery Scott?" Kirk and McCoy shook their heads in unison.
"I'd love to meet him one day and discuss his ideas about neutrino technology. He's an absolute darling in our communications, always ready to review my ideas. I think he's rather sweet on me too."
"Wait 'til we tell our 'absolute darling' that his lady love is married to a six-foot six, pony-tailed bug-collector." McCoy laughed, unable to contain his mirth.
Three nights into their journey on the Aurora, Kirk and McCoy were startled into wakefulness by the sound of what was obviously the ship's alert siren, a loud, repetitive wailing that would set the steeliest nerves on edge. Kirk was out of his bunk in a flash, pulling on his clothes as McCoy struggled out of REM sleep, blinking sleep bleary eyes at his wide- awake-and ready- for- action Captain.
"What the blazes…" grumbled the CMO.
"Something's wrong." Kirk replied. "I'm going to find out what it is."
"Be careful, Jim." Cautioned McCoy, "Remember, you're not the captain of this ship."
Kirk ignored McCoy's remark and hurried into the corridor where he encountered Stephen and Hag making their way to the bridge. Neither could enlighten him as to the cause of the red alert. When they reached the bridge, Kirk assessed the situation instantly. He bit back his instinctive impulse to bark out orders and looked at Weston and Armitage, alarmed by their expressions of confusion.
"We've been monitoring the movements of a ship in our vicinity for a couple of hours." Nancy said, "It seemed to loom out of nowhere, then just kept its distance, but it's closing in and we're afraid its intentions may be hostile."
Stephen Blackstone sat at a console and began taking readings. "I can't identify its origin." He said after a couple of seconds. "From its present course and orientation it seems logical to conclude that it is pursuing us with hostile intent. Why else would it ignore our attempts to communicate?"
The Aurora's crew were now assembled on the small bridge. McCoy and Nyreea were the last to arrive and McCoy noted that the fragile Beltan clutched a small medikit to her chest. All eyes were on Roger Weston.
"Suggestions?" he asked, uncertainly, looking round at his crew.
"I say we wait." Hag said.
"I agree." Nyreea.
"I propose taking some kind of evasive action." This from Blackstone.
Kirk listened in despair. It was clear to him that no one on this bridge had the faintest idea how to handle an emergency situation. McCoy could sense his captain's frustration from across the room.
"Try contacting them again." Weston said.
"Aurora to unidentified ship. We mean you no harm. Please state your business with us." Hag's voice carried no conviction, no ring of authority. Kirk thought of his own bridge, the efficient machine that was his bridge crew; Spock's steady support. He waited.
"We don't know they wish us harm. Why would anyone want to attack a cargo ship?" Nyreea said.
"They could be pirates." Nancy suggested.
"Pirates are almost unheard of in this sector." Said Blackstone.
Kirk could bear it no longer, "If you hold your present position, you're asking for trouble. May I suggest that you consider Blackstone's advice and initiate evasive manoeuvres before it's too late?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, but even so, all eyes turned on him with the same expression of interest and expectation that he had observed in the eyes of his own crew.
Kirks words seemed to galvanise Weston into acting. "Let's give it a shot. Nancy, can we manage warp two?" Nancy nodded and hurried off to engineering. "Stephen, set a course for the Menges belt, we may be able to lose him in the asteroid field – some are as big as dwarf planets."
Now you're talking, thought Kirk. It was what he would have ordered.
"What's your weapons capacity?" he asked, not feeling hopeful.
"Mr Hopkirk. We're a cargo ship, not a fighting ship." Said Weston.
"All ships have some means of defending themselves."
"We have limited capacity." Hag informed Kirk.
"How limited?" The answer did nothing to raise Kirk's spirits.
The Aurora lurched momentarily as it responded to Hag's sudden change of course. Kirk kept his eyes on the small viewscreen, monitoring the other ship's response – and was unsurprised to see that it altered course immediately to match theirs.
"I think that answers any questions about whether he's in pursuit." Weston declared. "What if we can't outmanouvre him?" The question was directed at Kirk.
"Then we'll soon find out exactly what his intentions are." Kirk answered, grimly.
For the next five hours they played a game of cat and mouse. Each time the Aurora changed course, the mystery ship immediately adjusted its own course and speed to remain in pursuit. It was McCoy who first started calling it 'The Shadow.'
The so-called Shadow provided no clues as to its origin. It was approximately the same size and classification as the Aurora but that fact alone said nothing about its weapons capacity. Did it have photon torpedos? Kirk asked himself. The Aurora had a limited number of missiles – they would have to be used with pinpoint accuracy and to maximum effect.
What was its interest in the Aurora? Whenever Jim asked himself that question, the scenarios that popped into his head were of no comfort.
"Get some rest, Jim." McCoy urged when they had been shadowed for more than twenty hours." Kirk had spent most of that time on the bridge with Weston and Stephen Blackstone. The Aurora's crew's concern had evaporated over the hours as the mystery vessel did nothing more than tail them at a distance, but Kirk's instincts told him they should not let their guard down. Their Shadow was there for a reason.
They were now deep within the maze of asteroids known as the Menges Belt, and Hag was proving to be a competent but not skilled navigatior. Jim itched to be in control. If the Shadow became more of a threat, he was prepared to take over to employ tactical manoeuvres to diffuse it – even at the expense of blowing his cover. Reluctantly he settled down on his bunk and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. Satisfied that Jim would sleep, McCoy let his own heavy eyelids close.
"What the blazes...!" The shuddering jolt shook Kirk and McCoy off their bunks and brought everything in the cabin that wasn't secured crashing down on top of them.
"We're under attack!" Kirk's voice, urgent, alarmed. How was this possible? The Shadow had not even been within range. Cursing aloud, Kirk stumbled to the door, McCoy close behind. In the corridor, both men were thrown to the floor again as a second blast shook the Aurora's frame and she listed violently.
On the bridge, only Hag was at his post. "Where's Weston?" Kirk asked, already knowing the answer. More than one captain had been caught napping.
Roger Weston arrived on the bridge in time to hear Kirk request an update on the situation, and to hear Hag's faltering reply.
"It just seemed to loom up out of nowhere like it did before." He said, bafflement showing in his face. McCoy could not have said at what precise moment Kirk took command of the situation – and the Aurora- but as soon as he set foot on the bridge, Weston seemed to defer to the Enterprise's Captain. Certainly, Kirk used Weston's hesitation on assuming control, as a spur to action.
"Evasive manoeuvres." He instructed, bypassing Hag and setting a course himself into a cluster of asteroids that would give cover, just as another blast caused the ship to jolt and shudder. Just how had the Aurora strayed into an open and vulnerable position?
Kirk turned to Weston and asked, "What damage have we sustained?" Stephen Blackstone walked onto the bridge in time to fill Kirk in; he was noticeably dragging his left leg.
"We took a slight hit on the forward hull. The missile must have glanced off our flank –the second hit an asteroid ahead of us – we felt the blast but suffered no damage." He nodded at the screen, where a billion splinters of rock radiated outwards from the Aurora, the pulverised debris of something big and solid. Kirk was puzzled. "We've strayed from the course set earlier." He said. Hag looked around, shamed.
"I must have fallen asleep." Kirk took a deep breath and counted to twenty. It was inconceivable to him that a man steering a ship through an asteroid belt could allow his concentration to slip so completely. He had to remind himself that Hag was untrained, undisciplined, but still he could not have been as forgiving as Roger Weston was now showing himself to be.
"We all make mistakes, Hag. I've made plenty in my time. Still, when all our lives are at stake, some extra vigilance wouldn't go amiss. I'm relieving you of your duty. I suggest you rest for a bit." Hag slumped off without meeting a single eye.
"Is that it?" Kirk asked, incredulous. Hag shrugged his shoulders.
"We don't seem to measure up to your standards, Mr Hopkirk. You think I should have been harsher with Hag?"
"It's your ship." Kirk answered, curtly.
"Yes it is. And you are a passenger on my ship."
"You were ready enough to take my lead when your ship was under attack." McCoy groaned inwardly, willing Jim to leave it at that. Weston ignored the comment. He took up a seat at the navigation console.
"Let's hope he can manage to keep his eyes open." Jim muttered to McCoy.
"Easy, Jim." The doctor said.
"I don't like this. What's this so-called Shadow up to? McCoy had no answer.
"Go on." Jim said to his CMO. "I saw you looking at the way Blackstone was dragging his leg. I know you're desperate to find out if Nyreea's skills as a medic are as lacking as Hag's as a navigator and Weston's as a Captain. Go patch Blackstone up."
McCoy winced and decided to come clean. Hell, he had stopped at his cabin to pick up his medikit. What was the point of allowing Blackstone to suffer?
"That leg needs attention. If you'll allow me? I'm a doctor." Blackstone's manner, McCoy noticed was cagey. McCoy nodded at the young man reassuringly, but Blackstone all but backed away, "I assure you Doctor, I am not in need of attention."
"You're dragging your leg."
"An old injury. I sustained a knock when the torpedo hit. It is not serious."
"If you don't want me to examine it, perhaps Nyreea might?" Blackstone laughed, instantly transforming his normally serious face.
"Nyreea would not know what to do. She is a medic in name only. Nancy cut her finger yesterday and Nyreea would not go near. She faints at the sight of blood."
"At least let me give you something for the pain," McCoy offered, noticing the young man suppress a wince.
"Not necessary. I am more than capable of managing my own pain, thank you, Doctor McKay." The fleeting smile was gone and Blackstone's expression had settled into one of composure."
"Suit yourself." Muttered McCoy. "You know, you remind me of someone, son." He said, shaking his head and leaving Blackstone to ponder.
Truth to tell, McCoy was slightly shocked. If what Blackstone had said about Nyreea were true, with the exception of Nancy, who at least was a skilled engineer, and possibly Blackstone who had yet to prove himself one way or another, a more inept crew it would be hard to assemble.
Back in their quarters, Jim was still seething. "They're a danger to themselves, Bones. We'll be lucky to make it to Skara alive."
"They're slapdash, Jim. But they're civilians. We shouldn't be so quick to judge." Kirk sighed,
"That Shadow may be a real threat. Weston hasn't got a clue how to deal with it." He did not say what else was on his mind – as long as they hid out in the Menges system, their chances of reaching Skara in time to help Spock diminished. There was no need for him to point out what he knew McCoy was already thinking.
"Dr McKay!" Another disturbed sleep. Nancy Armitage banged on Kirk and McCoy's cabin in the middle of the night. Again, it was Kirk who was immediately alert.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"It's Nyreea. She's been injured. Stephen says you are a medical doctor, Please help her." She strained to see past Kirk to where McCoy was already grabbing his medikit.
A shocking sight awaited them in the main cargo hold. Nyreea, her head in Blackstone's lap, was drenched in blood – amethyst-coloured Beltan blood, soaking through her tunic from neck to waist, spreading out on the floor like spilt wine. Kirk's immediate impression was that she must be dead already – no one could lose that amount of blood and live - but he was wrong.
"What happened here?" McCoy's voice, urgent, in control.
"Unsecured cargo." Blackstone was applying pressure to Nyreea's shoulder, the source of the bleed out; the fingers of his other hand flitted around her temples, as though unsure where to settle. His distress was palpable. Kirk knelt at his side as McCoy worked on Nyreea.
"Stephen, are you telepathic?" He asked Blackstone, on a sudden intuition. The young man did not reply immediately, then, as if to deflect further questions, he admitted,
"I have some limited ability. I can sense her pain, her fear." He said. Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances.
"Help her." Kirk said.
"I don't know how."
"Reach into her mind. Give her your strength, reassure her." Blackstone's face contorted with emotion. For a moment his fingers settled around Nyreea's temples in the way that Kirk and McCoy had witnessed Spock's doing when he was establishing a mind link. Then, as though scorched, he withdrew them.
"Help her, dammit." Kirk urged, taking Blackstone by the shoulders and shaking him.
"Jim!" McCoy prised his captain off the young man, "It's too late." Kirk looked at him in confusion. "She's dead, Jim."
McCoy shook his head, "A massive trauma. Nothing could have saved her. Even if I could have kept her alive long enough to transfuse, I'd wager there's no supplies of Beltan – or any other kind of blood – synthetic or otherwise - aboard this ship." He looked around, accusingly, daring anyone to contradict him. No one did.
McCoy laid a comforting hand on Blackstone's shoulder, "It wasn't your fault, son." He said, gently. "It was already too late by the time you found her."
"You need to find out exactly what happened here, Captain." Kirk said, as Weston appeared on the scene.
"A crate fell on her." Nancy said, dully, "It wasn't adequalely secured." Kirk could hardly conceal his disgust. It was an accident that could never have occurred aboard his own ship – aboard any ship with a modicum of regard for the safety of its crew.
Blackstone was visibly shaken. He looked at Weston, dismayed, "Hag and I secured some of these crates. You said you would do the others. I would have done the job myself." Weston looked contrite,
"I was going to do it. It slipped my mind." To his credit, he was visibly distressed. Nancy had tears in her eyes.
"She was so young, so talented." Of them all, McCoy was the angriest,
"How could you put lives at risk like this? This was completely avoidable. Jim, we have to report this."
"There's no need. It will be recorded in the ship's log. I'll take full responsibility" Weston assured him. Kirk turned his back in disgust and walked away, leaving McCoy to help move Nyreea.
"There's something odd about that young man." McCoy said when he and Kirk were alone in their cabin.
"Blackstone? He seems likeable enough." Kirk said, "The telepathy thing is interesting, though. If he's an esper he may have spent some time learning techniques on Vulcan – that would account for his seeming attempt at a mind meld, inept though it turned out to be."
McCoy looked thoughtful. His anger had abated but he still felt saddened at the needless loss of a young life. "Let's get some rest," he said, wondering what their chances were of sleeping through the rest of the night, before some other catastrophe came along.