Chapter Twenty-three
Kirk woke to see Sylviana in her willowy feminine manifestation looking down at him. She seemed to be floating above him, semi-transparent and emitting a faint ghostly light. He started, thinking he had seen a ghost. Sylviana put a finger to her lips and beckoned to him to follow her into the forest, away from the clearing where Kirk and his companions had bedded down for the night. As he rose, Kirk was aware of eyes watching him and looked around to see Spock's wakeful gaze on him. He nodded to the Vulcan as he walked after Sylviana.
"What is it?" He asked the waif-like woman in front of him.
"They have gone." She said.
"Who's gone?" Kirk asked, his brain still dull with sleep.
"Those you seek." So, it was true. That was why they had encountered no resistance at the compound – Caton and the Morana were no longer on Skara.
"Mr Spock is well?" She asked. Kirk nodded.
"He's alive." He said, glancing over his shoulder. Sylviana looked too and saw the Vulcan standing at a distance, stooped in the shadows. She smiled.
"I am glad." Despite her affirmation, she sounded sad.
Kirk felt a certain irritation at her presence. Perhaps in some illogical way he blamed her for Spock's suffering; he had felt her presence when they first arrived on Skara and nothing good had happened to him since. With a pang of embarrassment, Kirk remembered that Sylviana was a telepath. If she had read his thoughts, she gave no indication. Why had she brought him here?
"What do you want?" He asked.
"Only to offer my assistance."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure how you can help." Sylviana looked to where Spock stood, still half concealed in shadow,
"Spock knows." She said, mysteriously. Kirk looked questioningly at his First Officer. Spock crossed to Kirk's side.
"Captain, I believe that Sylviana is willing to help us stop Caton in return for medical assistance in eradicating the virus that prevents them from mating with the Skarrans."
"That is correct, Mr Spock. "It is the only way to preserve my race and will not harm the Skarrans – they will take a great leap forward in terms of their intellectual development." Kirk stared at his First Officer. Spock's face was unreadable. If he was concerned about the ethical considerations of such a venture he did not show it.
"The Skarrans, despite their great strength are not a skilled people. Their numbers are dwindling. In a few generations they face extinction unless they learn how to harness their environment to their advantage. This would be an opportunity to preserve both our races." Sylviana pleaded.
"It would not be the first time that one race affected the development of a another, and technically Sylviana's people and the Skarrans are alike. Consider how many humanoid life forms exist in our galaxy sharing common characteristics – Humans, Vulcans, Klingons to name but a few." Spock commented, "I myself am a hybrid.".
"I don't have the authority to make a decision like that." Kirk said, mindful of the Prime Directive.
"Captain, we could make an appeal to Starfleet on behalf of Sylviana and her people. Where the survival of two peoples is at stake, I am confident that intervention would be considered. With the Skarrans consent, of course, if this can be obtained."
"The Skarrans have a language. We are able to communicate," said Sylviana.
"Alright." Kirk said, "If we put your case to Starfleet, with no guarantees of acceptance, how can you help us?"
"By accompanying you in your pursuit of Caton and the Morana. I am a shape shifter, Captain. Surely I may be of use?" Kirk nodded. "We're making for our vessel. I think you know where it is." Sylviana smiled her agreement. "Unfortunately it will take us more time to reach it than you, since we can't just sprout wings and fly. Meet us there."
"I can tell you a more direct route." Sylviana said, and Kirk nodded, listening carefully to her directions. Beside him, Spock slumped. Kirk grabbed his First Officer by the arm to steady him. Spock twisted his neck away from his captain and moaned. Kirk pulled him around gently so that he could look Spock in the face – the Vulcan's eyes were rolling madly. Kirk felt himself being pushed away as Spock sank to his knees, hands covering his face.
"McCoy!" Kirk yelled, but it was Blackstone who reached them first. Bending over Spock, the young Vulcan touched his temples and his own face contorted. For several moments both Vulcans were locked together, seemingly struggling against an invisible foe. Then, suddenly they parted and both were still.
Kirk caught McCoy's eye and saw his own concern mirrored in the medic's face. It was left to Spock to reassure them, "Captain, I apologise for my relapse – I assure you that, thanks to Mr Blackstone's prompt assistance, I am quite recovered."
"The hell you are." McCoy rasped, as he ran a hand through his sleep-dishevelled hair. To Jim, he said, far enough away he hoped, to be out of even Vulcan earshot, "Blackstone's not strong enough to shore Spock up for long. He needs help from a skilled Vulcan healer, Jim."
"He'll have it." Kirk asserted, "Just as soon as we get off this goddam planet and stop Caton hijacking the Enterprise." He looked around, suddenly remembering Sylviana and her promise, but she had long since melted into the Skarran night.
"The warp core of this vessel is primitive compared to our own. It is going to take longer than I thought to convert it to hyperwarp." Piklamer told Caton. He had just spent several hours crawling through Jeffries tubes on the Enteprise's engineering deck and looked exhausted, his skin glistening with silvery beads of sweat. Caton switched off the video monitor, unpertutbed. He had been resting in the captain's quarters, reacclimatizing himself with the feel of a Starship. He had been just thirty years old when he took his first command, but even so he had felt cheated – he should have been promoted sooner. If it had not been for his timely commendations, he might have had to wait even longer.
Inevitably, being aboard a starship evoked memories of the past, and surprisingly, not just of the years when he had commanded his own ship, but of his years as an ensign, particularly of his years aboard the Heracles with George Woodhouse. And further back at the Academy where he had sought out Woodhouse looking for revenge and found that friendship would be much more useful to him.
From the outset, Caton had recognised that George Woodhouse was destined for great things. He had shone as a cadet and graduated first in his class. Attaching himself to Woodhouse had been a touch of genius. Caton squirmed, remembering how he had ingratiated himself with the rising star that was George Woodhouse, and smiled, remembering how richly it had paid off.
It had been Woodhouse who vouched for him, got him aboard the Heracles when Starfleet had doubts about his suitability to serve aboard a starship – he had been selected for service on a spaceship – a lesser vessel, where he might have passed his days in endless ferrying to and fro between spaceports and on insifnigicant missions while Woodhouse explored the far corners of the galaxy, captain of his own ship.
It had not been all one-sided. True, Caton had done his share of sucking up and ego-massaging and fawning in Woodhouse's presence, but he had also done him some favours, including introducing him to his lovely wife, an act of self sacrifice if ever there was one, for if he had given her the least encouragement, Kat, he was convinced, would have been his for the taking. It had almost destroyed him to let her go and thinking of it, even now, across all these years released a fury in him so intense, that he had to pace the room to bring it under control.
His anger unappeased, Caton swiped a row of old-fashioned leather-bound books off Kirk's shelf – who even kept books these days? Kirk. Another upstart Academy golden boy. His own ship at twenty-five. Twenty-five! The youngest Starship captain in the fleet, ever. Earlier, he had looked through Kirk's personal effects, seen the medals, commendations, accolades. Now his eyes scanned the cabin taking in the captain's career, his life, the kind of man he was. Just like Woodhouse. There would always be more. This time Caton's fist came down hard on Kirk's computer console, leaving his hand bloodied and throbbing with pain, but still it was not enough. Wresting the console from Kirk's desk, he hurled it across the room, smashing it into the farthest corner.
Caton ran his fingers along the smooth wall of Kirk's captain's quarters, leaving behind a streak of scarlet blood. This was what defined James T Kirk, this ship and all it meant to him. But perhaps there was something that he valued even more than his command and Caton had been foolish enough to leave it behind on Skara. He should not have left the Vulcan on Skara; he saw that now. Piklamer had insisted that they leave him to his madness, and the Klingons had no place in their ship for a crazy Vulcan. Caton calmed himself satisfied, for now, with the thought that when Kirk found his precious Mr Spock, as he surely must have by now, it would be a stranger's lunatic eyes that stared emptily back into his.
Kirk looked around the cramped bridge of the pirate ship. It felt good to be back aboard a spaceship, even if it was only the one commandeered from the pirates pursuing Weston. Good too, to have Spock back by his side. En route to the ship, they had met up with T'Hana, Kravok and T'Sorf and Sylviana, who was an invisible presence, conserving her energy ready to assume whatever form might help them most when the time was right.
They were in orbit now, around Skara and Spock had already pinpointed the positions of the Enterprise and the Klingon vessel. The information that he relayed to Kirk presented them with a puzzle.
"Why has no-one attacked?" McCoy asked, thinking aloud. "If Caton wants the Enterprise, why hasn't he taken a shot at her?"
"A disabled Enterprise is not what Admiral Caton wants, Doctor."
"Spock's right." Kirk said, grimly, "If I were him, I'd be looking for some way to persuade Scotty to beam me aboard ship. Take the Enterprise from within."
"Mr Scott is unaware of the Admiral's treachery, is he not?" Spock said. "That confers on the Admiral a certain advantage."
"Can we assume that Caton is already aboard the Enterprise?" Hunter asked.
"Impossible to say with any accuracy, however, we would be wise to factor that assumption in to any plan on how to proceed." Replied Spock.
"And if so, then Scotty and the rest of the crew are probably being detained, most likely on deck five." said Kirk
"What if they already know we're here?" McCoy asked.
"Unlikely, doctor since I have taken great care to plot a course that will shield us from detection – unless, of course they are specifically searching for a small craft, which is unlikely. They will assume that you and the Captain arrived with the Enterprise and beamed down from there."
"Which confers on us a certain advantage." Kirk said, thoughtfully.
"T'Hana, how long will it take Piklamer to fit the hyperwarp to the Enterprise's warp core?" The Klingon woman shrugged. Spock had returned her memory to her but she was still finding her way back to it.
"That depends on whether he has managed to stabilise the porathium sufficiently to proceed. Since he has some knowledge of my formula, it is likely that he has already begun. If he has, there is a necessary cooling phase during which the porathium metamorphoses."
"How long?" Kirk asked, impatiently, and was surprised by the reply.
"Around three days."
"Even were Mr Scott to cooperate, that could not be reduced." Spock pointed out. "He has intimate knowledge of the Enterprise's mechanisms and his scientific and engineering knowledge is inestimable, but only T'Hana has experience of handling porathium for this purpose."
"I've read some of Mr Scott's research papers on warp facilities. He is more than capable of advising Piklamer." T'Hana agreed, adding that she too, was aware of the contribution the Enterprise's Chief Engineer had made to this field. Kirk was beginning to feel that the already high opinion he had of his Chief Engineer's capabilities, was still inadequate. He had never underestimated Scotty's ability and knew that Spock held him in high esteem – in itself a considerable accolade but hearing him praised in this way by his peers was a reminder of how lucky he was to have the Scotsman aboard.
"Scotty would die rather than assist the Klingons." McCoy said, a miserable image of his friend and drinking partner being submitted to torture presenting itself in his mind. Kirk nodded. Of that he needed no convincing.
"There is a further problem." T'Hana pointed out, "The closer the Morana get to making the transwarp operational, the trickier it will be to dismantle. Even if we were able to beam aboard the Enterprise, I would require assistance to accomplish such a task. I do not know if Mr Scott alone would well-versed enough "
"And we can't count on Scotty's being available to assist – they'll have him under lock and key somewhere." Kirk said.
The scientists carried on discussing the hyper warp and T'Hana's discovery; it seemed to Kirk that he was the only one who hadn't read all the latest research papers on the subject as names and article titles were bandied back and forth. He was on the point of interrupting, time being of the essence, when a name suddenly caught his attention and he looked up to find McCoy looking at him.
"Did someone just mention Nancy Weston?" Kirk asked, interrupting. Hunter replied,
"Yes, Captain. Nancy was a friend of mine back in our university days. A brilliant, but unconventional mind. She married a xenoentomologist and I believe they went into business shipping cargo. Nancy kept abreast of research and regularly contributed to academic engineering journals. She and your Mr Scott collaborated on a piece quite recently." Kirk smiled. Spock raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Tell me, Mr Spock, if we were to beam Nancy Weston aboard the Enterprise, would she have the skills required to assist in deactivating the hyperwarp?"
"I assume your question is conjectural since Ms Weston is…"
"Spock, just answer the question."
"Yes, Captain. As an engineer Ms Weston would be able to contribute to what you suggest."
"Contribute?"
"She would require the assistance of someone with expert knowledge of porathium and experience of handling it." Spock said, glancing at T'Hana.
"Nancy Weston is aboard a warp- disabled cargo ship less than a stone's throw from here." Kirk announced to another, inevitable raised eyebrow from his First Officer.
"Blackstone, I'd like you to navigate. Set a course for our last known point of contact with the Aurora, allowing for drift. Spock, can we get more than minimum warp out of this…rustbucket?"
"I will investigate the 'rustbucket's' potential, Captain." Spock answered, with that look of his that was for those who knew him, the nearest thing to a smile.
"If I only knew what those Klingon devils are up to." Scotty said, for the umpteenth time.
"Do you think the captain's in trouble down there?" Ensign Chekov asked. He too had been pacing the room, unable to settle.
"There's no way of finding out with a ship crawling with Klingons and us in the brig." Scotty sighed, "I designed the security mechanism on these doors myself – there's no way of breaking out of here." He followed ensign Sulu's gaze to the ceiling, "And don't think we can crawl out of here through the ducting. This is a hermetically sealed room."
"So we just have to sit here and do nothing while the Klingons take over the ship?" Uhura asked.
"Aye, that's about the long and the short of it. Unless someone can come up with a better plan?" All eyes were on Scotty.
"Three days!" Commander Kaathos was not encouraged by the news. He had assumed that fitting the hyperwarp would be a couple of hours work for an advanced people such as the Morana must be to have perfected it as a means of space travel in the first place. H'Narth had explained it to him - crystals that powered the hyperwarp occurred naturally and in some abundance in the Morana's galaxy. Here they had needed to mine for a substitute, bretinium and combine it with the notoriously unstable porathium and even so the bretinium was slow to react with the porathium. Three days was the best estimate Piklamer could give him for the right reaction to occur. And meanwhile he had to circle this god-forsaken wilderness of a planet, waiting.
Kaathos was not interested in the science, only the outcome.
Caton had promised him the formula to reproduce the reaction from the combined minerals. The plan was for Kaathos to return to Klingon where a ship would be converted for the hyperwarp and the Klingons would then use it to travel to the Morana's galaxy, where they could mine for the pure crystals available in abundance there. At last, the means by which to bring the Federation under Klingon rule would be at the Klingon's disposal.
Kaathos prepared to beam aboard the Enterprise, leaving H'Narth to stand for him in his absence, about which he had some reservations – H'Narth was an ambitious warrior, but he was also loyal to the Empire, and his previous Commander had spoken highly of him. But he was inclined to be rash, to let his emotions rule him. A little Vulcan logic and control would serve him well, Kaathos thought, laughing at his own joke.
He had requested that he be beamed straight onto the bridge. Materialising in the nerve- centre of a ship like the Enterprise was an exhilarating experience, even for a battle-hardened warrior like Kaathos, and he stood for a few moments drinking it in.
Compared to the functional, brooding darkness of his own bridge, she was excessively decorous. Kaathos ran a hand along the shiny red rail separating the support stations from the command chair and the helm. Forward of these, and taking up almost the entirety of the forward bulkhead, the giant viewscreen was filled with the predatory image of Kaathos's own ship hanging eerily still in space. Then, he remembered that he was aboard the ship that had destroyed the Vr'Tsak and he wished that he could destroy it, not hand it over to the Morana.
Caton rose from the command seat to greet him. "She is a fine ship, isn't she?" Kaathos snorted,
"A ship designed for spineless fools. The Klingon battlecruiser is a ship for a warrior."
"Perhaps, but you can't deny that the Federation Starship has a certain elegance of design." Kaathos grunted. Caton laughed, "Don't worry my Klingon friend. I may appreciate the aesthetics of this ship, but I am no friend of Starfleet. Surely I have done enough favours for the Klingon Emprire over the years to demonstrate where my loyalty lies?" Kaathos grunted again. He asked,
"The ship is secured?"
"Yes. Crewmembers are confined on decks five and six. We will commence beaming them down to Skara shortly. We can run this ship on a skeleton crew of Klingons and Morana. Officers are in the brig. It may be useful to take them along – the Chief Engineer in particular may be of use if he can be enticed to share his knowledge and experience of the ship's workings." Kaathos nodded, satisfied that everything was proceeding according to plan.
"One more thing." Caton added, "Captain Kirk. I want him dead. You will return to Skara and hunt him down when this is over. Promise me that you will make it your personal mission." Kaathos faced Caton, his face as void of emotion as a Vulcan's. Then, he smiled, a slow, snarling grin that transformed his face into something cruel and devilish. "It is in these moments when you show your raw emotions that we are most alike." He said. Caton misunderstood him, "We are not alike."
"I was not referring to us. To you and I." Caton regarded him, quizzically.
"I meant we Klingons and you Humans." Kaathos laughed, "And the Vulcans too beneath their logic and their thin veneer of control. We are all governed by the same instincts; they are what make us who we are. Carried to its logical conclusion this way of thinking could make enemies – or allies of us all."
"And where would that leave me?" Caton said.
"There is a Klingon word to describe what you are." Replied Kaathos, "Hit'er'lok. It means…"
"I know what it means." Caton said, tersely.
"Forgive me. I forget that your mastery of Klingon language and culture is exceptional." Kaathos bowed and turned to exit via the turbolift.
As the doors swished shut behind him, Caton sank in to the Command chair, suddenly exhausted. Was it true what Kaathos had said, that he was a man without roots, without a people, without a brother? One who walks alone. The Klingon language was not usually a subtle one, but this particular word had multiple layers of meaning, some less complimentary than others. Which had Kaathos intended in his case, Caton wondered?
Caton had turned his back on his own kind and he could never be fully accepted by the Klingons, simply because rejecting your own was anathema to them, against their code of honour that was bound up with family and tradition. Not for the first time, he considered the extent to which he had isolated himself, but he did not dwell on it. The Klingons would never welcome him as one of their own, but he had earned their respect, and if it was for all the reasons that would make his fellow Humans shun him, then so much the better.
Author's note – Hope this compensates for the shortness of the previous chapter. Exciting final chapters to follow soon!