Author's Note: This Chapter is at the request of Blackholelord. Doing this episode and the sequel episode (Blood Oath – DS9 Season 2) also has me changing course slightly. Originally, I had intended for Buffy and Dawn to go all the way through TNG starting in Season 2 through Generations and then First Contact. To be able to fit in Blackholelord's request. The TNG arc will now only go through part of Season 6 before jumping over to DS9 where we will stay till First Contact. I still intend to end the story with First Contact. The addition of these two episodes to the story won't be a major detour and I don't think there is anything I need to worry about rewriting to fit DS9 in as I never said when doing First Contact how Future Buffy and Dawn had gotten onboard the Enterprise E only that they had been onboard.
Now the next chapter starts Wrath of Khan.
Chapter 21: Day of the Dove
November 1, 2268
Platonius
Though the planet had signaled it was under attack by an unidentified spacecraft, the Enterprise landing party had found only eerie desolation—a barren landscape of black dust, stark white rocks, and clusters of strange, pulsating plants that seemed to twist and shift as if animated by some unseen force. The tricorders—McCoy's, Dawn's, and Chekov's—remained stubbornly silent, refusing to report any signs of life or the presence of a colony. Yet, the crew knew the settlement had once existed—one hundred men, women, and children had been there. And now, nothing but emptiness.
Kirk crouched down, scooping up a handful of the black, powdery soil. It sifted through his fingers like ash, weightless and void of answers. His eyes, darkened by concern, scanned the lifeless horizon. "An SOS from a human settlement," he murmured, his voice heavy with frustration. "One hundred men, women, and children. All gone. Who did it? Why?"
As if in response to his question, his communicator crackled to life, breaking the heavy silence. Buffy's voice came through, tense and urgent. "Buffy here, Jim. Sensors have picked up a Klingon ship closing in fast."
Kirk's jaw tightened. "Deflectors on, Buffy! Protect yourselves. Total response if attacked," he ordered, snapping the communicator shut with a grim frown. So that was the answer—Klingons. The thought clawed at him. Was this desolation their doing? Had they wiped the settlement from existence?
But before he could dwell on it, Buffy's voice interrupted again, this time laden with confusion. "Trouble aboard her, Jim. Evidence of explosions… massive damage. We never fired at her."
Kirk's brow furrowed further. "Maintain full alert, Buffy," he replied, the unease growing. Something was deeply wrong here.
Suddenly, behind them, the very air seemed to shimmer, bending light into a dazzling swirl. The landing party turned, just in time to see six Klingons materializing, weapons already drawn and aimed with deadly precision. Their stiff metallic tabards gleamed under the harsh light of the alien sun; their faces set in hard lines. Leading them was Kang, his slanted eyes blazing with fury. He strode forward as his form solidified, the hatred in his gaze palpable. Without hesitation, he seized Kirk and swung him around roughly.
"You attacked my ship!" Kang roared, his voice like thunder. His grip on Kirk was unyielding, his breath hot with rage. "Four hundred of my crew—dead! My vessel is disabled. I claim yours! You are prisoners of the Klingon Empire for committing a wanton act of war against it!"
He nodded sharply to his men, and they moved quickly to disarm the landing party. The air was thick with tension, every move charged with potential violence. Dawn instinctively began to raise her hand, her eyes narrowing with readiness to act, but a subtle wave from Kirk stopped her. His command to stand down was clear, though it came with the weight of uncertainty.
"We took no action against your ship," Kirk said, his voice calm but edged with steel. He had been shoved into line beside Chekov, Dawn, and McCoy, all of them now at the mercy of their captors.
Kang paced before them like a caged predator, his movements tight with controlled anger. "For three years your Federation and our Empire have been at peace... a treaty we have honored to the letter..." His voice dripped with accusation, each word like a coiled threat.
Kirk's protest came through gritted teeth, his patience thinning. "We did not attack your ship."
Kang's eyes blazed, his fury unrelenting. "Were the screams of my men imaginary?" he snarled, stepping closer, his presence looming. "What were your secret orders? To start a war? You have succeeded! Or perhaps you were testing some new Federation weapon. We shall be very interested to examine it!"
Kirk's voice remained steady, but tension rippled beneath his words. "There was a Federation colony on this planet. It was destroyed."
Kang's laughter was cold and harsh. "And by what? I see no bodies, no ruins. A colony of the invisible, perhaps? Is that your story?"
The accusation hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Kirk's patience was wearing thin, the Klingon's provocations fueling his rising frustration. "Perhaps it was a new Klingon weapon," Kirk shot back, his voice taut with anger. "One that leaves no traces. Federation ships don't specialize in sneak attacks!"
Kang's expression darkened further. He took a step forward, towering over Kirk. "You lured my ship into ambush with a false Klingon distress call!" His accusation was a venomous hiss.
Kirk's brow furrowed in disbelief as he stared at the Klingon warrior. "You received a distress call?" He struggled to process the implications. "We were the ones who received it!"
Kang's patience snapped, his voice hardening to a growl. "I don't propose to waste any more time debating your Federation fantasies, Kirk! The Enterprise is ours!" His tone was final, brooking no argument. "Instruct your Transporter Room," he demanded, "We are ready to beam aboard."
Kirk's jaw clenched. The situation was spiraling out of control. He straightened, refusing to back down, his defiance cutting through the tension. "Go to the devil," he shot back, his voice cold.
Kang's lips curled into a grim, humorless smile. "We have no devil," he said, his voice low and dangerous, eyes gleaming with disdain.
Dawn, who had remained quietly observant until now, stepped forward, her voice cutting through the charged air like a blade. "That's not true," she said, her tone steady but edged with knowledge. "There is Fek'lhr."
Kang's eyes flicked toward Dawn, his momentary hesitation revealing a flicker of surprise at her knowledge of Klingon lore. "You know much," he acknowledged, his voice still low and menacing, a grudging respect veiled beneath the threat. His gaze shifted back to Kirk, the dangerous gleam in his eyes returning. "I will torture you to death, one by one!" His voice grew sharper, more vicious. "Who will be the first? You, Kirk?"
The tension on the planet's surface seemed to swell like a tangible force. Suddenly, Chekov, eyes wild with grief and fury, lunged toward Kang, his rage erupting like a storm. "Swine!" he screamed, his voice breaking with raw emotion. "Filthy Klingon murderers! You killed my brother! Piotr! The Arcanis Four Research Outpost… a hundred peaceful people massacred—just as you did here! My brother, Piotr…"
His words struck the air like thunder, filled with an agony Kirk hadn't heard before. Chekov's pain seemed to manifest physically, his fists clenched as he charged at Kang with reckless abandon. The anguish that had been bubbling beneath the surface had finally boiled over.
Kang, unmoved by the display, looked down at Chekov with cold disdain. "So, you volunteer to join him. That is loyalty." His tone was almost mocking as he gestured to one of his men. The Klingon soldier moved swiftly, pressing a sputtering device against Chekov's neck.
The moment the device touched Chekov, his body convulsed violently. His cry of agony was sharp and guttural, echoing through the barren landscape. Dawn's stomach turned at the sight. She recognized the device immediately—the agony-inducer, not unlike the one from the Mirror Universe. The memory of that alternate reality flooded her mind, and for a brief second, she wondered what had become of her counterpart in that twisted world. Had she managed to retain control of her empathic abilities, or had the anger and cruelty of that universe swallowed her whole?
Kirk's voice sliced through the scene, desperate and resolute. "You win, Kang!" he shouted, his face twisted with frustration and helplessness. "Stop the torture!"
McCoy's horrified voice cut in next, his hands clenched in fists. "Jim! You can't hand over the Enterprise!"
Kirk turned to him; his voice hard but filled with concern for Chekov. "Help Chekov, Bones."
Kang, still gripping the moment of his cruel triumph, turned back to Kirk with a predatory smile. "Don't plan any tricks," he warned. "I will kill a hundred hostages at the first sign of treachery!"
Kirk met Kang's gaze; his resolve steely. "I'll beam you aboard the Enterprise. Once we're there—no tricks."
"Your word?" Kang demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Kirk gave a sharp nod, his expression grim. "My word."
But Chekov, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of the device's assault, gasped through gritted teeth. "Captain!—we can't!... don't let these… animals… have the ship!" His voice was hoarse, laced with a mixture of pain and desperation, as though pleading with Kirk to resist the impossible situation they were trapped in.
Kang's eyes glinted with cold disdain as he turned his head slightly, focusing on Chekov. "Animals?" he repeated, his voice low and mocking. "Your captain crawls like one. A Klingon would not have surrendered." His words cut through the air, sharp as a blade, laden with the scorn and pride of a warrior who would never yield, no matter the odds. His gaze then shifted back to Kirk, sizing him up, as though he were deciding whether Kirk was worthy of even the slightest respect.
"Order everyone in this area to be transported up," Kang commanded, his tone brooking no argument. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of authority and the undercurrent of threat, as if daring Kirk to defy him. He barked something in Klingon to his men, and they responded instantly, adjusting their stance, their weapons trained more tightly on Kirk and the landing party.
Kirk's hand hovered over his communicator, the cold eyes of the Klingons watching his every move. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the weight of the moment. With a brief glance at his crew—Chekov still trembling from his recent torment, Dawn and McCoy standing protectively beside him—Kirk made the inevitable decision. His fingers closed around the small device, opening the line to the ship.
"Kirk to Enterprise. Buffy…" Kirk's voice was steady, but there was a weariness to it, the frustration of a captain forced into a position he'd rather not take.
Buffy's voice crackled back through the communicator, sharp and alert. "Go ahead, Jim," she said, her tone carrying the edge of battle-readiness.
Kirk glanced at Kang, then back to his communicator, feeling the Klingons' weapons bristling around him. "We have guests," he said grimly. "Adjust Transporter for wide-field and beam up everyone in the target area."
As he spoke, his thumb hovered for the briefest moment over the tiny control on the communicator. Then, with a final glance at the others, he pressed it, sealing the order. The Klingon warriors stood motionless, their dark, intense eyes locked on Kirk, as though daring him to betray them.
Buffy's voice came again, calm yet urgent. "Yes, Jim."
In an instant, the landscape around them began to shimmer, the harsh rocks and dust of the planet dissolving into a glittering haze. Kirk's form was engulfed in the golden light of the Transporter, the Klingons surrounding him, weapons still drawn. Chekov, still pale and shaken, leaned heavily on Dawn and McCoy as the beam transported them away from the bleak surface of the planet.
U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701
In the Transporter Room, only the landing party materialized, their forms solidifying as the golden shimmer of the transporter beam dissipated. The familiar hum of the machinery faded into silence, but something was off—there were no Klingons standing on the platform. Kirk's sharp eyes immediately noticed the absence, and a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Kirk stepped off his pad, his boots hitting the deck with purpose. "Full Security on the double, Mr. Galloway!" His voice was commanding, but there was a hint of relief beneath it. "Good work, Buffy!"
Buffy, standing just beside the transporter console, gave a brief nod, her expression hard yet triumphant. This wasn't just a victory; it was a maneuver that had tipped the scales back in their favor, if only for a moment.
Galloway quickly hit the intercom, his fingers flying over the controls with practiced efficiency. His movements were precise, controlled, but the tension in the room was palpable. The stakes were still high, and everyone knew it.
Behind them, McCoy, bewildered, glanced around the room, his brow furrowed. "What—happened?" he asked, the words slipping out with the frustration of someone who wasn't used to being kept in the dark.
Dawn turned to her sister and Scott, her expression both amused and impressed, though her exhaustion was still visible in her posture. "You left the Klingons in the buffer," she said, her voice calm but with a slight edge of incredulity. She couldn't help but marvel at the sheer audacity of the plan.
"Aye, Dawn," Scott replied, crossing his arms over his chest, his face split by a wry grin. "They're in here—until we decide to rematerialize them." His voice was thick with the satisfaction of an engineer who had just executed a near-impossible feat with flawless precision. The transporter hummed softly, its memory banks holding the suspended forms of the Klingon warriors, trapped between existence and oblivion.
"Galloway?" Kirk's voice cut through the moment, sharp and focused.
"Security squads on the way, sir," Galloway replied, snapping to attention, his face tight with determination. The door to the Transporter Room slid open, and the sound of boots echoed through the corridors as the Security detail rushed in, weapons at the ready.
Chekov's voice, thick with barely contained rage, broke the brief silence. "Captain! Leave them on the planet! Leave them where they are! In nonexistence. That's so many less Klingon monsters in the galaxy!" His words came out in a near snarl, the pain of losing his brother—his family—fueling his venomous suggestion. His eyes blazed with hate, his body trembling with the raw, unresolved grief that had been gnawing at him since the massacre at Arcanis Four.
Kirk looked at him, a brief flicker of understanding crossing his features, but his voice remained steady, calm. "And that's what they would do," he said simply, a reminder that they could not sink to the level of their enemies, no matter how tempting it might be. There was a line they could not cross, a moral high ground that separated them from the brutality of the Klingon Empire.
As the Security team filed in, taking up positions, Kirk turned back to Scott, his voice clear and resolute. "Bring them in."
The six Klingons sparkled into shape on the platform, the golden shimmer of the transporter beam giving way to their solid forms. The moment they fully materialized, their eyes darted around, taking in the changed situation—the Enterprise's Transporter Room filled with armed Security personnel. Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, the Klingons stiffened. The tension between the two sides was palpable, a sharp, invisible line drawn between the prisoners and their captors. Despite their warrior instincts, the Klingons made no move to resist as their weapons were methodically stripped away.
Kang, standing tall and proud even without his weapon, fixed his gaze on Kirk, fury flashing in his slanted eyes. His voice cut through the heavy silence, dripping with venom. "Liar!" he spat, his lip curling in contempt.
Kirk stepped forward, his posture rigid and formal, every muscle coiled with barely restrained frustration. "I said no tricks after we reached the ship," he replied, his voice terse, clipped. His eyes locked with Kang's, a battle of wills playing out in the brief moment. "You are prisoners of the United Federation of Planets, against which you may or may not have committed an act of war."
Kang's expression remained defiant, though the weight of the situation had clearly begun to sink in. He wasn't used to being on the back foot like this, especially not aboard an enemy ship. His jaw clenched as he spoke again. "There are survivors still aboard my ship," he growled, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. Despite his anger, his loyalty to his crew was unmistakable.
Kirk turned, his nod to the Transporter chief subtle but decisive, signaling the next step. Before anything could be done, Buffy's voice broke through the tension, her tone urgent. "Jim, we haven't been able to get through to Starfleet Command. All subspace frequencies are blocked."
Kirk's eyes flicked to Scott, his trusted engineer, for further explanation. Scott grimly added, "And there's too much radiation from the Klingon ship—it's a hazard to the vicinity." His words hung in the air like a grim pronouncement.
Kirk's face hardened. There was no time to waste. "Prepare to destruct, Scotty," he ordered, his voice cold and decisive. The very air in the room seemed to freeze at the command.
Kang's fury erupted again, his voice rising with bitter accusation. "Completing the job you started!" His words were sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.
Kirk wheeled on Kang, stepping closer, his gaze blazing with barely contained anger. "You wouldn't be standing there if I had," he shot back, his voice hard as steel. The space between them seemed to vibrate with the intensity of their standoff.
As if on cue, the shimmering forms of the surviving Klingons began to materialize on the transporter pad behind Kang. Of the six that appeared, several were women, their faces as fierce and unyielding as their male counterparts, yet marked by the exhaustion of battle.
Kang's demeanor shifted, his anger momentarily giving way to something softer, though still intense. He reached out, taking one of the women by the arm with a firm but gentle grip. "This is Mara—my wife and my Science officer," he said, his voice quieter but still carrying the weight of his pride and respect for her.
Mara's eyes never left Kang, her fear and confusion etched deep in her features. Though her stance remained as rigid as her training allowed, her trembling arm betrayed the depth of her terror. She spoke quickly, her voice hushed but filled with desperation. "What has happened, Kang?" Her eyes flicked anxiously around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings and the armed Federation officers.
Kang's expression remained stoic, but there was a dark undertone to his words as he replied. "More Federation treachery," he growled. "We are prisoners." His voice carried the weight of betrayal, deepening the tension between the two sides.
Mara's breath hitched as the full realization of their situation washed over her. She visibly stiffened, her terror manifesting in the way her body seemed to fight against her composure. "What will they do to us?" she whispered, panic rising in her voice. "I have heard of their atrocities... their death camps! They will torture us for our scientific and military information..." Her eyes widened as though imagining the worst fates, haunted by stories passed through Klingon ranks, the Federation painted as cruel enemies in the long-standing conflict.
Suddenly, Dawn's voice cut through the room like a sharp blade. "vay' DaghajtaHvIS," she said smoothly, her flawless pronunciation of Klingon catching both Mara and Kang off guard. (A/N)
Both Klingons turned to look at her, astonishment flashing in their eyes. They had not expected to hear their own tongue spoken with such precision, least of all from a Federation officer.
Dawn's face remained calm, her expression unreadable, yet there was a knowing glint in her eyes. "You aren't the first Klingons my wife and I have met," she continued softly, the depth of her experience with their culture evident in her steady voice. "I learned your language a very long time ago."
Kirk, sensing the need to ease the rising tension, turned to Galloway. His voice was calm but authoritative. "Detain them in the crew lounge," he ordered. "Program a food synthesizer to accommodate our... guests. You will be well treated, Commander Kang."
Kang's eyes narrowed, but he gave a slow nod, acknowledging the gesture, even if he did not trust it. "So, I have seen," he said, the skepticism heavy in his words, but there was no malice in his tone.
Kirk bowed slightly, a formal gesture to signify the end of the confrontation. Without another word, he turned and left the room, Buffy, Dawn, McCoy, and Chekov following closely behind him.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
As they stepped into the corridor, Dawn's brow furrowed, her mind still racing with the complexities of the situation. She glanced at the others, the question lingering heavily in the air. "What did attack their ship?" she mused aloud, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.
Kirk didn't immediately respond to Dawn's question, his thoughts racing ahead. There were too many pieces that didn't fit together, and time was running out. The sense of urgency settled heavily over him, like a weight pressing down on his chest. He squared his shoulders. "Buffy, maintain Red Alert," he ordered, his voice crisp. "Scan this sector for other ships. Run a full check on the colony. We've got to nail this down fast…"
Chekov's voice, thick with emotion, broke through. "We know what happened!" he cried, his fists clenched at his sides, face flushed with anger. The young officer was bristling, his grief over his brother still raw and bleeding. "That distress call—"
But Buffy, calm and analytical even in the midst of heightened tension, shook her head. "I don't believe so," she countered. Her voice was steady, grounding the moment in reason. "From their distant position, the Klingons couldn't have attacked the colony at the time we received the call. Also, they were apparently attracted there themselves by a distress call."
"Lies!" Chekov spat, his voice rising, full of pain and rage. "They want to start a war by pretending we attacked it!" His anger was palpable, an almost tangible force in the confined space of the turbolift, where emotions seemed to bounce off the walls, intensifying with each passing second.
Kirk shot a glance at Chekov, his overwrought expression betraying more than just professional frustration. It was personal, painfully so. Yet before Kirk could say anything, McCoy chimed in, his southern drawl laced with bitterness. "Chekov may be right," the doctor muttered darkly. "The Klingons claim to have honored the truce—but there have been incidents!... raids on our outposts…"
Kirk narrowed his eyes, his voice low and edged with frustration. "We've never proved the Klingons committed them, Bones."
McCoy's usually calm demeanor was frayed. He was flushed, his anger unusual but fierce, the doctor unable to contain it any longer. "What proof do we need? We know what a Klingon is!" His words, sharp and cutting, echoed in the lift as the doors slid open. He stormed out in a huff, leaving a tense silence in his wake.
As they stepped onto the bridge deck, the atmosphere crackled with unresolved tension. Chekov stalked stiffly to his post, his back ramrod straight, every movement filled with stubborn defiance. The young man's shoulders were rigid with barely contained rage, his need for justice blinding him to the subtleties of the situation.
Kirk, watching his young officer with concern, saw Dawn approach Chekov quietly. She leaned in, her voice soft but firm as she whispered in his ear, "After your shift, my office. And that is an order, Pavel."
Chekov's expression flickered, the fire in his eyes dimming momentarily at her words. There was no room for argument. He nodded once, a terse motion, before turning back to his station, his emotions still simmering beneath the surface.
Kirk shifted his gaze toward Buffy, catching her eye. "Buffy?" he said, his tone expectant. His mind was already moving ahead, calculating their next moves.
Buffy, quick to respond, turned to Uhura. "Nyota," she said, her voice commanding, "report."
"Still unable to contact Starfleet Command, Commander," Uhura reported, her brow furrowing slightly as she worked at her console. "Outside communications are blanketed."
The bridge felt heavier in the silence that followed, the tension rising with every failed attempt to reach Starfleet. Buffy stood near the command chair, eyes flicking between the main viewscreen and the crew, her mind already calculating the implications. "Keep at it," she said, her voice firm but not impatient. There was no room for frustration, not now.
"We've got a diplomatic tiger by the tail," Kirk muttered, leaning back slightly in his command chair as he weighed their precarious position. His voice carried a note of grim understanding, as if he could already feel the potential chaos that would unfold if they misstepped. He swiveled in his seat, focusing his gaze forward. "Forward phasers locked and ready to fire, Mr. Sulu."
Sulu's hands moved smoothly over his controls, his face calm but alert. "Aye, sir," he confirmed, eyes trained on the crippled Klingon vessel that flickered on the screen, a wounded predator still dangerous despite its damage.
"Fire phasers," Kirk ordered, his tone sharp, decisive.
On the viewscreen, the damaged Klingon ship erupted in a brief, blinding flare of light, its hull buckling under the attack before it simply vanished into the vastness of space. The lingering remnants of the explosion faded, leaving nothing but the cold, unfeeling stars.
So that was that. A diplomatic tiger, indeed. Kirk's expression remained unreadable, his jaw tight as he stared at the empty space where the vessel had once been.
"Nyota, any change?" Buffy asked, breaking the silence that hung over the bridge like a thick shroud. Her voice had a subtle edge of hope, a thin thread of it still clinging despite the odds.
Uhura glanced over her shoulder, her fingers still moving deftly across her console. "No contact with Starfleet yet," she responded, the disappointment evident but controlled. It was in her nature to stay calm, composed, even when the odds seemed insurmountable.
Buffy nodded, resolute. "Keep trying, Nyota."
A flicker of movement caught the corner of her eye. Spock, his fingers deftly manipulating his viewer, raised his head. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was something unreadable in the depths of his eyes. "Sensor sweeps reveal no other ships within range, Captain."
"Mr. Sulu, set course seventeen mark four. Warp speed three," said Kirk, his voice steady with command, the familiar routine of orders a contrast to the tension thrumming through the bridge.
"Warp three, sir," Sulu responded, fingers gliding over the controls with practiced ease as the ship hummed to life. His calm demeanor was a perfect mirror of the discipline expected on the bridge, but there was a subtle tension in the air, a feeling that something was just out of place.
Behind them, Uhura, usually the embodiment of poise, was abruptly irritated, her hands moving faster across the communications panel. She jabbed at the controls with unusual force, frustration sharpening her movements. "Still no outside contact! Carriers normal. Channels open. I don't understand!" Her voice carried a hint of exasperation. "Could the Klingons be doing something—?"
The words hung in the air just as the ship suddenly shuddered beneath them, an unsettling tremor that rippled through the metal bones of the Enterprise. The engine's familiar hum became a rising whine, increasing in intensity. Kirk's head snapped around, eyes narrowing as the bridge seemed to pitch underfoot. "Mr. Sulu?"
"Change of course, sir! Accelerating..." Sulu's voice, usually so composed, had an edge to it as his fingers flew over the switches, but nothing responded. His expression darkened as the controls defied him. "Helm dead. Auxiliary navigation dead!"
Buffy, standing beside Kirk, braced herself against another shudder that rocked the ship. The vibration rattled her bones, and she quickly steadied herself by gripping the edge of the command chair. 'Starfleet really ought to give the first officer somewhere to sit,' she thought fleetingly, her mind briefly drifting from the gravity of the situation. "Override," she commanded, her voice sharp.
Sulu's hands were a blur on the console as he tried to comply. He turned, the tension in his face betraying the calm he usually maintained. "Nothing responds!"
Kirk's jaw tightened, his mind already racing to calculate their next move. "New course?"
"Nine-oh-two mark five," Sulu said, a quiet dread beneath his words.
Kirk's eyes flicked toward the main viewer, his mind quickly mapping out the new course. It wasn't just an off-heading; it would take the Enterprise out of the galaxy, into an uncharted void where neither Federation nor Klingon had ventured. His hand slammed down on the console, hitting the button that connected him to Engineering. "Scotty—stop engines!" His voice was urgent, the controlled captain's calm giving way to the immediacy of their impending peril.
The engine sound grew to a whining roar that seemed to reverberate through the entire vessel. On the intercom, Scott's voice, usually steady and composed, cracked with alarm. "…would if I could, sir! My controls have gone crazy! Something's—taken over…" The bridge trembled under the rising roar of the engines. Scott's next words came out in a frantic shout. "The engines, Captain! They've gone to warp nine—by themselves!"
Uhura's board was a chaotic dazzle of wildly flickering lights, a vivid display of the ship's turmoil. Earphones securely fixed in place, she cried out, her voice a mix of urgency and disbelief. "Captain! Reports from the lower decks! Emergency bulkheads closed! Almost four hundred crewmen trapped down there!"
"Dawn!" Buffy called sharply as she headed for the turbolift, her mind racing through the emergency protocols.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Buffy and Dawn moved swiftly through the Enterprise, their purpose clear as they made their way to the crew lounge.
Kang, observing the chaos with a grim satisfaction, appeared almost delighted by their predicament. "The bulk of your crew trapped? Your ship racing from the galaxy at wild speeds? Delightful!" He raised an eyebrow, a touch of mockery in his voice. "But how did I perform this sabotage? My men are here."
Buffy turned her gaze toward Galloway. "Double security. Some Klingons may have beamed aboard undetected. Dawn, head to Engineering. Help Scotty hammer things back to normal and release those crewmen!" The urgency in her voice was palpable as Dawn nodded and sprinted out of the room.
Buffy's attention then fixed on Kang. "Before I throw you in the brig, I owe you something!" Channeling the strength bestowed upon her as a Slayer, she drove her fist into Kang with a powerful, decisive blow. The force of the punch sent him stumbling back into a console, and his hand inadvertently fell onto a lever. The lever came loose, its surface glowing red, and transformed into a sword. Kang, stunned and disbelieving, stared at it with wide eyes before hefting the weapon.
In a surreal twist, the lounge's furnishings began to glow. Objects around them morphed into an array of medieval weaponry—swords, shields, javelins, battle-axes, and a single solitary scythe of red and gold. Buffy's eyes widened in recognition as she saw the scythe, the Slayer's scythe, an ancient weapon she had not seen in over two hundred years. The scythe had been lost in the devastation of the Third World War when the rebuilt Watcher's Council was destroyed and the scythe buried in the rubble, lost to time.
Buffy picked up the scythe, feeling its weight in her hands, her mind flashing back to its storied past. Behind her, her fellow officers reached for their phasers, only to find them glowing and transforming into swords and maces.
Kang, now fully armed, took a confident swordsman's stance, his expression hardened with resolve. "Your Captain killed four hundred of my men. It is time that debt be repaid…" His voice was a chilling promise, the tension in the room crackling as the Klingons prepared for battle.
Buffy looked at the scythe, feeling its immense power flow through her as if it were the genuine artifact from her past. It was as if the scythe had been meticulously recreated to exacting specifications, embodying all the strength and magic of the original. The weight of its power seemed to anchor her, a comforting reminder of her strength and purpose.
The Klingons attacked with ruthless efficiency, their battle cries echoing through the lounge. The Security guards, outnumbered and overwhelmed, were forced to retreat under the relentless onslaught. Buffy, her every move precise and fluid, twirled the scythe with expert agility. She deflected a vicious slash from Kang with a deft flick of the blade, the impact resonating through her arms.
In the midst of the chaos, Buffy spotted Lieutenant Galloway, injured and struggling. Determination set in her eyes as she fought her way through the melee, her scythe cleaving through the air with deadly grace. She reached Galloway, carefully getting an arm around him and propelling him toward a nearby turbolift. The doors whooshed shut just as Kang and his men lunged forward, their weapons clanging futilely against the closing doors as they rang with the sound of frustrated, rhythmic beating.
Buffy quickly hit the intercom, her voice urgent and controlled. "Engineering, Dawn. The Klingons are free and armed. They'll try to take the ship. How many people do we have?"
"Unknown, Buffy," Dawn's voice crackled through the intercom, tinged with frustration. "At least three hundred and ninety-two are trapped below decks."
"Deploy forces to protect Engineering and the Auxiliary Control Center. Check the Armory and try to free those trapped below deck," Buffy commanded, her mind racing through strategies.
"Doors and bulkheads won't budge, Buffy," Dawn replied, the strain evident in her voice. "We'll have to cut through—"
"Understood," Buffy said, her tone resolute. "Do what you have to." She then turned to Scott. "Scotty, any luck regaining control of speed?"
"No, Buffy," Scott's voice was filled with grim determination. "She's a projectile—at warp nine. Don't ask me what's holding her together." His frustration was palpable, the engineering challenge ahead of them monumental.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
When Buffy stepped onto the bridge, the tension was thick in the air. Kirk stood, his stance tense as he leaned slightly toward Spock, who was coolly assessing the situation from his station. The chaotic pulse of the ship seemed to mirror the gravity of what was unfolding. Kirk, seated in the captain's chair, kept his eyes sharp and his voice taut with command. "Full sensor scans of the ship, Mr. Spock," he ordered. "Report any movements from the Klingons. They think they can defeat us with swords, clinging to their Empire's dueling tradition."
Spock, unflappable as ever, inspected the sword in his hand, which had inexplicably replaced his once-reliable phaser. His dark eyes remained focused as he turned the weapon slightly, the metal catching the bridge's dim lighting. "Neither Klingon technology nor our own is capable of this level of instantaneous transmutation of matter, Captain," Spock said with calculated calm. "I doubt they are responsible."
Kirk's impatience simmered beneath the surface, his fingers tapping the armrest of his chair. "Other logical candidates?" he demanded, needing an answer, needing something to make sense in the middle of this bizarre turn of events.
"None, Captain," Spock replied, his voice a level monotone, as if he were stating a simple fact rather than discussing something impossible. "But if they had such power, it stands to reason they would have created far more effective weapons—and only for themselves."
Buffy, stepping up to Kirk's side, offered a brief nod. "I ordered Dawn to secure Engineering and Auxiliary Control."
Kirk returned the nod, his appreciation evident in the brief but approving glance he gave her. "Good thinking, Buffy." He then turned his attention to Sulu, who was sitting poised for action at the helm. "Mr. Sulu, assist Dawn with commanding the forces protecting Engineering and Auxiliary Control."
Without hesitation, Sulu rose from his seat, ready to take on the task, but Chekov quickly followed suit, his movements sharp and agitated. His eyes burned with a personal fire, one fueled by deep resentment and pain.
"As you were, Mr. Chekov," Kirk said, his voice firm but calm, expecting the young ensign to obey.
Chekov, however, couldn't contain himself. His voice wavered with barely suppressed emotion. "No, sir!" he exclaimed, almost pleading. "Let me go, too! I've got a personal score to settle with Klingons!"
The bridge fell silent for a moment, the raw intensity of Chekov's words hanging in the air like a challenge. Kirk, his gaze steady and unyielding, responded with a cool authority that left no room for argument. "Maintain your post," he ordered, his tone carrying a weight that cut through Chekov's emotional turmoil. "This is no time for vendettas."
"Captain, I…" Chekov's voice cracked as he tried to speak, his body shaking with pent-up rage.
Kirk didn't look away, his eyes locking with Chekov's in a moment of silent authority. "Sit down, Mister," Kirk ordered, his tone firm but tempered by understanding.
But Chekov, overwhelmed by his fury, couldn't obey. In a sudden surge of emotion, he bolted for the turbolift, his footsteps frantic as if every second counted. He had to act—his need for vengeance consuming him. Before he could reach the door, though, Buffy was there, her reflexes faster than his desperation. She gripped his shoulder firmly, halting his escape.
Chekov, wild-eyed and cornered, wrenched himself free. His hand flew to his sword, drawing it in one swift, heated motion. The blade gleamed in the dim light of the bridge, the act so raw and primal it momentarily shocked everyone.
Buffy's reaction was immediate and unyielding. She raised the scythe, her stance calm but radiating power. Her eyes never left his. "I wouldn't, Pavel," she said, her voice a low, warning growl. The scythe in her hands seemed to hum with ancient energy, its presence commanding. "This is the weapon of a Slayer. It doesn't matter how it got here; I can feel the power radiating from it as if it was the real thing. And the real thing was built to dispatch the last of the demons known as the Old Ones." Her words were measured, each one striking with the weight of millennia. "I would hate to do real damage to you."
Chekov's breath came in sharp, heavy bursts as he stared at Buffy, his eyes flicking from her face to the scythe in her hand. There was a moment of tense hesitation. The blade in his hand suddenly felt inadequate against the ancient weapon she held, a reminder that this was no ordinary fight. Slowly, reluctantly, Chekov lowered his sword, the fire in his eyes dimming into a sullen, defeated glimmer.
Buffy watched him carefully, her grip on the scythe still firm, though she relaxed her stance slightly. "I'll escort him to his quarters," she said, her tone gentler now, the dangerous edge gone.
Kirk nodded, the tension in the room ebbing slightly. He trusted Buffy's instincts, and there was no one better suited to handle Chekov in his current state.
Together, Buffy and Chekov stepped into the turbolift. As the doors slid shut, the bridge was left in a thick silence, the sound of the engines the only noise. Sulu, still standing at his post, looked after them, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"What's Chekov's grudge against the Klingons? Who's—Piotr?" Sulu asked, the name unfamiliar on his lips.
Kirk's expression darkened; his voice quiet. "His brother," he answered simply. "Killed in a Klingon raid."
Sulu's confusion deepened. He shook his head slowly, the disbelief clear in his eyes. "His brother?" he repeated blankly. "Chekov never had a brother! He's an only child."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
After Buffy left Chekov in his quarters, his frustration and anguish still palpable in the air, she made her way quickly to Engineering. Her steps were swift, purposeful, her mind already anticipating the challenges ahead. As the doors slid open, the controlled chaos inside the department greeted her—a flurry of activity, blinking consoles, and tense faces. She spotted Dawn near a control panel, her brow furrowed in frustration as her fingers danced across the controls, trying yet again to find a solution.
"What's the status?" Buffy asked, her voice cutting through the noise.
Dawn looked up, a deep frown creasing her forehead. "Not good. All attempts to release the crewmen trapped below decks have failed. Phaser beams can't cut through the bulkheads. It's like the metal's structure has changed—become something different. Even my Millennial gift couldn't make a dent in it. Whatever's going on, it's beyond our usual tech."
Buffy's gaze hardened. The idea of nearly four hundred of their crew members cut off, trapped by some unknown force, gnawed at her. "What about the Armory?" she asked, her mind racing for alternatives.
Dawn let out a short, bitter laugh. "A collection of antiques, basically."
Buffy's brow furrowed. "Phase pistols instead of phasers?"
Dawn shook her head, her frustration evident. "Nope. Even more ancient than that."
Buffy glanced at Scotty, who was monitoring the engine control panel nearby. He nodded grimly, confirming Dawn's statement.
"Stuff you used when we were in Sunnydale," Dawn added, her tone almost incredulous. "Crossbows, swords, knives, axes. It's like something out of a medieval armory down there."
Buffy's grip tightened on the Slayer's scythe, the weapon a strange comfort in her hands. She glanced at its gleaming edge, the ancient craftsmanship humming with a power she hadn't felt in centuries. "And the only thing that hasn't been duplicated or turned into a relic of the past is this," Dawn said, motioning toward the scythe with a nod. "The Slayer's scythe. How is that even here?"
"I don't know, but it's not just a copy—it feels real," Buffy replied, her voice softer now, filled with a mix of awe and uncertainty. "But we're going to need it." She looked toward Scotty, who was still working tirelessly at the console. "Scotty, keep trying to reestablish engine control. Whatever's controlling the ship is only going to get worse if we don't find a way to stop it. And make some phasers—fast."
"Aye, Buffy," Scotty responded, his voice laced with determination. His fingers moved deftly over the controls, pushing the limits of what was possible.
Buffy turned back to Dawn, who was still pondering the mystery of the scythe. "Jim is sending Hikaru down to help you with security," she said, her tone steady but urgent.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
As Buffy stepped onto the bridge, she found Spock standing at his console, his long fingers deftly tapping commands into the computer with his usual, unflinching precision. The Vulcan's face was as calm as ever, though there was a sharp glint in his eyes—a sign that something had caught his attention.
Spock lifted his head from the computer, his gaze sweeping across the bridge before settling on Kirk. "The Klingons occupy Deck Six and the starboard side of Deck Seven, Captain," he reported, his voice steady, unshaken by the mounting chaos. "We control all sections above."
Kirk nodded, his mind already moving several steps ahead, strategizing. But before he could respond, Spock's attention was drawn back to his viewer, and his expression, while still composed, tightened slightly. He bent closer, his sharp eyes narrowing in concentration as something on the screen held him in rapt focus.
"Most curious," Spock muttered, his tone not of alarm but of deep, analytical interest.
Kirk glanced at him, catching the note of intrigue. "What is it?" he asked, stepping closer.
"There appear to be more energy units aboard the ship than can be accounted for by the presence of the Enterprise crew plus the Klingons," Spock explained, his voice tinged with the cold calculation of a scientist facing an unknown variable. "A considerable discrepancy."
Buffy, standing near Kirk, felt a ripple of unease pass through her. More energy units? That didn't bode well. She stepped forward, her grip tightening slightly on the scythe still in her hand, its presence now a strange constant, the ancient weapon humming faintly with untapped power.
"Could some more of Kang's crew have beamed aboard?" Buffy asked, her voice low but steady, the thought of an unseen Klingon force spreading through the ship enough to send a chill through her spine.
Spock straightened, his fingers moving swiftly across the console as he flipped a switch, his gaze never leaving the data that scrolled across the viewer. "Their ship was thoroughly vacated, Commander," he replied, his voice crisp, but then he paused, adjusting the readings. "I shall compensate for the human and Klingon readings."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
In Engineering, the hum of the consoles filled the air, thick with tension as Dawn stood next to a panel, her hand hovering near the controls, fingertips buzzing with the energy she was siphoning from the ship's core. Her eyes darted across the readouts, but her senses were on alert, keenly aware of every movement in the room. The thrum of power pulsed through her veins as she channeled it, ready to use it if necessary.
"Hikaru," she said, her voice calm but purposeful as she spotted Sulu enter through the side entrance, his phaser drawn and eyes scanning the area. "Any signs of the Klingons?"
Sulu, ever poised under pressure, gave her a quick nod. "All clear, Counselor," he replied, but his tone was cautious. His eyes, sharp and watchful, roved over the shadowed corners of Engineering, always expecting the unexpected.
Suddenly, there was a flash of movement from above. Klingons had infiltrated the upper level of Engineering and, with the ferocity of their kind, leaped down to the lower deck, weapons drawn and battle cries echoing through the metallic chamber.
Dawn didn't hesitate. She lifted her hand, energy crackling in her palm, and with a swift motion, she fired a blast of raw, electric power straight at the nearest Klingon, the force sending him sprawling back, his body convulsing as the energy coursed through him. "Sulu, Scotty, fall back," she ordered, her voice steady but urgent. "They outnumber us."
Sulu and Scott exchanged a quick glance but obeyed without question. They moved back toward the far exit, weapons still raised, ready for any Klingon that dared come near. Dawn followed close behind, her eyes sharp, every movement calculated. As she retreated, she raised her hand again, releasing another arc of energy that hit two more Klingons who were chasing them, their bodies collapsing like ragdolls.
"We need to split up," Scott panted, his breath coming in sharp bursts as they reached a corridor outside Engineering. His face was pale, the gravity of their situation etched in every line. "I don't know how many of these creatures are around. We'll split up here. Maybe… one of us… can make it back to the bridge."
Inside Engineering, the chaos was palpable. The rest of the crew, who had been bravely holding their positions, were now forced against a wall, the cold, hard metal at their backs as Klingon warriors disarmed them. Weapons clattered to the floor, Klingon boots stomping over them triumphantly.
The door slid open with a hiss, and a jubilant Kang strode into the room, a broad grin spreading across his rugged face. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction; the taste of victory sweet on his tongue. Mara, his Science Officer and wife, stood at his side, her gaze sweeping over the subdued crew.
One of the Klingon soldiers approached Kang, his expression one of awe mixed with concern. "Commander," he said, motioning toward the downed Klingons still twitching from the energy blasts. "One of them has the power to fire blasts of energy from the palm of her hand."
Kang's face darkened slightly, a flicker of intrigue passing through his fierce eyes. "So," he mused, glancing at the fallen Klingons with a newfound respect. "It seems the Federation harbors more surprises than we anticipated."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
On the bridge, the tension hung thick in the air, though Buffy and Kirk remained steady beside Spock at his station. The Vulcan's hands moved swiftly over the console, his face a mask of calm concentration, as usual. "An alien life force, Commander, Captain," Spock said, his tone unwavering despite the weight of his revelation. "A single entity. I am unable to ascertain its location," he continued, flicking a switch with precision. The quiet hum of the Enterprise's systems seemed louder in the ensuing silence. "Readings diverted to the library computer for analysis . . ."
Kirk's expression tightened, his mind racing for solutions. "We have to make contact… find out what it wants!" His voice carried a sharp urgency, his gaze never leaving the flashing display. They were flying blind, caught in the grips of an enemy that seemed invisible and all-powerful.
Spock remained calm, as though the chaos around him was nothing more than an intriguing puzzle. "Computer, report on alien life force," he said coolly, with the same serenity as if he were asking about the weather on Vulcan.
There was a soft click, and then the computer's sterile voice echoed throughout the bridge. "Alien life force on board is composed of pure energy. Type unknown. Actions indicate intelligence and purpose."
"What purpose?" Spock queried, his gaze narrowing slightly, though his voice betrayed no emotion.
Again, the computer replied in its mechanical monotone, "Insufficient data for further analysis."
Kirk's brow furrowed in frustration, piecing the scattered clues together, his mind working furiously. "A brother that never existed," he said aloud, almost as if to himself. "A phantom colony—fancied distress calls! The illusion that phasers are swords! Does everyone begin to sense a pattern?" He paused, his words trailing off as something caught his eye—blue arcs of electricity sparking from the engineering console.
In the span of a heartbeat, the electrical arcs shifted, swirling together like a living storm, solidifying and coalescing into the form of Dawn. Her arrival was as abrupt as it was surreal, her appearance jolting the officers with a mixture of awe and confusion.
"Sorry for arriving this way," Dawn said with a half-apologetic smile, her voice steady as she adjusted to her surroundings. "I didn't want to risk being trapped below deck." There was a faint shimmer of energy still trailing from her fingertips as she moved, a reminder of the raw power she had tapped into.
Spock looked up from his console, offering her a brief but respectful acknowledgment before turning back to Kirk and Buffy. His mind, ever logical, was already processing this new development. "If the alien has caused these phenomena, it is apparently able to manipulate matter and minds," he stated, his voice unwavering, though the implications were staggering.
Buffy's grip on the Slayer's scythe tightened, the ancient weapon humming with power in her hands. "More than that," she said, her voice lower but intense. "What I said to Chekov was true. This is a Slayer's weapon. The real one... the last Dawn or I knew, it was buried in the rubble created by the Third World War. Neither of us has seen it since." She looked at the scythe, feeling its familiar weight, the surge of energy vibrating through her veins. "But this one—I can feel the power radiating from it, just as if it was the real thing."
Her eyes met Kirk's, and then Spock's, the gravity of her words sinking in. "Which means the alien can manipulate energy. It's not just creating illusions or bending minds. It can make my body believe this is the real thing."
"Now it's controlling the Enterprise—taking us out of the galaxy! Why?" Kirk's voice rang with frustration, his gaze flicking from Spock to the endless stars on the viewscreen. They were being pulled away from everything familiar, dragged into the void by an unseen hand.
Spock, ever the anchor of logic amidst the storm, met Kirk's eyes with his usual calm. "I am constrained to point out, Captain, that as minds are evidently being influenced, we cannot know that our own memories at this moment are accurate," he said. His voice was level, but the implications were chilling. If they couldn't trust their own memories, then reality itself was unraveling around them.
Kirk's frustration simmered. With his back against the wall, there was only one option. He turned, his jaw set with grim resolve. "We've got to talk to Kang and bury the hatchet!"
Dawn stepped forward, her expression one of caution. She knew the depth of Klingon pride and honor, how hard it was to sway them once blood had been spilled. "It won't be as easy as that," she warned. "Once blood is drawn, the Klingons will not easily agree to put animosities aside. It will be hard to make any kind of truce with them." Her voice carried the weight of centuries of battle, both physical and emotional. She had seen too many wars, too many lives shattered by unyielding pride.
"A truce?" McCoy's voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp with outrage. He stormed into the room, his white surgical uniform spattered with blood—a stark reminder of the cost of this conflict. His face was flushed with fury, his hands trembling with barely contained rage. "I've got seven men down in Sickbay—some of them dying—atrocities committed on their persons! And you can talk of making peace with those fiends?" His words were venomous, each syllable dripping with righteous anger. "They'd jump us the minute our backs were turned! We know what Klingons do to prisoners! Slave labor, death planets—experiments!"
Kirk flinched at McCoy's uncharacteristic outburst. He had never seen Bones this livid, this consumed by hatred. "Bones—" he began, trying to temper his friend's fury, but McCoy would not be stopped.
McCoy's voice rose, nearly shaking with indignation. "Even while you're talking, the Klingons are planning attacks! This is a fight to the death—and we'd better start trying to win it!" His fists clenched, the blood on his uniform a stark symbol of the violence that had already scarred the day. His anger, born of loss and fear, was palpable, a storm raging just beneath the surface.
Spock's calm interjection seemed almost too serene for the situation. "We are trying to end it, Doctor," he said, his voice softer than usual, as if trying to quell the fire that had overtaken McCoy. "There is an alien aboard which may have created this situation…" His logic, though sound, felt distant in the face of such raw emotion.
McCoy whirled on Spock, his eyes burning with disbelief and contempt. "Who cares what started it! We're in it! Those murderers! Let's wipe out every one of them!" His words were jagged, fueled by his protective instinct over the wounded in his care. His desperation to stop further harm blinded him to reason.
Buffy, always the voice of experience in these moments, stepped in. Her voice was firm but not unkind. "Doc," she said, her gaze steady on McCoy, "the alien is the enemy that we have to deal with, not the Klingons—" She understood McCoy's anger, the pain behind it, but she had lived long enough to know that war was rarely black and white.
Before anyone could respond, Uhura's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, sharp and urgent. "Sickbay calling, Doctor. There are more wounded men requiring your attention."
McCoy stormed toward the turbolift, his movements stiff with frustration, his face a mask of hopeless rage. As the doors began to close, he hesitated, turning back to face Dawn, Buffy, Kirk, and Spock. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room. "How many men have to die before you begin acting like military men—or in Buffy and Dawn's case, women—instead of damn fools?"
His words were filled with bitterness and despair, the weight of every casualty pressing down on his shoulders. His eyes lingered on them, a silent plea masked by his anger. Then the doors slid shut, cutting off the last glimpse of his bleakly hopeless expression as he disappeared from view, leaving a thick silence in his wake.
Kirk exchanged a glance with Buffy, Dawn, and Spock, the weight of McCoy's words hanging in the air like a thick fog. McCoy's fury had struck a chord in them all, though each tried to remain composed in the face of it.
Spock, ever the calm observer of human behavior, broke the silence. He murmured, almost to himself, "Extraordinary."
Dawn sighed, the burden of the crew's emotional state resting on her shoulders. "His emotions are heightened due to the situation," she said, her voice soft with understanding. "I think the whole crew is going to have to come see me when all is said and done." Her empathy ran deep, and she could feel the strain that this ordeal was placing on everyone.
Before anyone could respond, Uhura's calm but urgent voice interrupted them from her station. "Captain," she said. "I have Kang on comms."
Kirk straightened, his expression hardening as the gravity of the situation returned in full force. He spoke quickly, trying to seize control of the conversation before things escalated further. "There's something important we must discuss . . ."
But Kang's voice, filled with cold triumph, crackled through the comms. "I have captured your Engineering section! I now control this ship's power and life support systems. I have deprived all areas of life support except our own. You will die… of suffocation… in the icy cold of space…" Kang's vindictive satisfaction was palpable, a chilling reminder of the Klingon warrior's merciless nature.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the panels across the bridge flickered and went dark. The oppressive silence that followed was filled only with the low hum of failing systems. The ship, usually alive with energy, seemed to sigh in defeat.
Kirk turned sharply toward Dawn, his mind racing through their limited options. "Dawn, get down to Emergency Manual Control. Try to protect the life support circuits and activate auxiliary power." His voice was steady, but there was a thread of urgency beneath it.
Dawn nodded, her eyes filled with determination. "Aye, Jim," she said. She placed her hand on the nearest console, preparing to travel through the ship's electrical systems as she had done before. But before she could disappear in the cascade of electricity, the turbolift doors whooshed open, and Scott burst onto the bridge.
Scott's face was flushed, his usually calm demeanor shaken by the chaos in Engineering. He barely spared a glance at Dawn, though her empathic abilities picked up the undercurrent of stress and frustration radiating off him. She frowned, sensing the turmoil in his mind, then glanced back at Kirk. With a subtle tap to her temple, she indicated that something was amiss with Scotty's emotions. Kirk, reading her signal, nodded in silent understanding.
Dawn touched the console, and a surge of electricity engulfed her. Her form shimmered, dissolving into pure energy before she disappeared into the intricate wiring of the Enterprise, vanishing in a flash of light.
Kirk wasted no time, moving toward Scott with Buffy close behind him. "Scotty! I'm glad you escaped…" Kirk said, his voice laced with both relief and urgency.
Scott's hands trembled uncontrollably as he spoke, his voice edged with a mixture of fear and fury. "Chekov was right, Captain! We should've left those slant-eyed goons in the Transporter! That's right where they belong—in nonexistence!" His outburst was not a calculated attack but rather an outpouring of raw, unrestrained misery. The anguish in his eyes revealed his deep-seated despair. "Now they can study the Enterprise—add our technology to theirs—change the balance of power!" His face was a mask of distress, and he lurched toward Kirk, not to attack but to seek some form of solace in his captain's presence. His voice carried a plaintive cry. "You've jeopardized the Federation!"
"Scotty…" Kirk began, his voice heavy with a mixture of regret and concern.
Spock had moved in to assist, his presence imposing and calm. "Mr. Scott, calm yourself," he said, his voice devoid of the emotion that seemed to consume Scott.
Scott recoiled, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and fear. For a chilling moment, Buffy and Kirk feared he might lash out physically. The aversion in Scott's expression was palpable. "Keep your Vulcan hands off me! Just stay away! Your 'feelings' might get hurt, you green-blooded, halfbreed freak!" His words were harsh, a stark reflection of his internal chaos.
Buffy and Kirk exchanged incredulous looks, their eyes wide with disbelief. The venom in Scott's words was shocking, and the unexpected hostility left them momentarily speechless.
Spock's response was measured but icy. "Let me say that I have not enjoyed serving with humans. I find their illogical and foolish emotions a constant irritant." His voice was cold, but the underlying pain of his statement was evident.
"So, transfer out!" Scott shouted, his anger flaring uncontrollably.
Spock moved closer to Scott, his stature imposing and formidable. The confrontation was intense, and Scott, overwhelmed by fear and rage, took a clumsy swing at Spock. The punch missed, but the animosity was palpable in the tense air.
Buffy stepped in, her Slayer strength evident as she grabbed their arms. With a decisive shove, she pushed Kirk and Scott away from each other, her intervention a necessary force to break the escalating conflict. "Calm down, both of you," she commanded, her voice steady and authoritative.
The harsh reality of their situation settled over them like a shroud. Kirk, breathing heavily, looked around at his team, his voice filled with both confusion and desperation. "What's happening to us! What are we saying to each other?"
Spock, his demeanor returning to its characteristic stoicism, regarded the unfolding situation with a heightened sense of detachment. "Fascinating," he remarked, his voice cool and analytical. "A result of stress?"
Kirk's frustration flared as he countered, "We've been under stress before! It hasn't set us at each other's throats!" The intensity of his voice mirrored the turmoil they were experiencing, a stark contrast to Spock's calm.
Scott, fueled by his agitation, started forward again, only to be halted by Buffy's firm hand. His eyes were wide with panic as he shouted, "This is a war!"
Buffy's pause was almost imperceptible, her own words hanging heavily in the air. "No, it isn't," she began, but doubt crept into her voice. "Or—is it?" The question was a reflection of the unsettling uncertainty that had begun to permeate their situation.
Scott's despair was palpable as he pleaded, "Have we forgotten how to defend ourselves?"
Kirk's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. "Shut up, Scotty." He turned to Buffy, recognizing the thoughtful look on her face. Her extensive experience with both alien entities and supernatural phenomena gave her a unique perspective. "What is it, Buffy?"
Buffy's gaze was intense, searching for answers as she spoke. "What is happening to us?" Her voice carried a depth of concern. "You all were trained to think in other terms—than war! I, on the other hand, was a Slayer long before any of you were born, long before I became a Starfleet officer. I was trained to fight. But you all are trained to fight its causes whenever possible!"
Kirk's realization was swift, his mind racing through the implications. "I see where you are going," he said, grappling with the implications of Buffy's words. "So why are we reacting like savages?"
Buffy's nod was solemn, her expression one of grim recognition. "There are two forces on this ship, armed equally," she said, her voice steady but filled with tension. "Both in weapons that I used on a daily basis in Sunnydale. Has—a war been staged for us? A war complete with weapons, grievances, patriotic drumbeats?" Her gaze hardened as she turned on Scott. "Even racial hatred!"
Spock, ever the embodiment of logical analysis, nodded in agreement. "Recent events would seem directed to a magnification of basic human and Klingon hostilities. Apparently, it is by design that we fight. We seem to be pawns."
Kirk's brow furrowed as he absorbed Spock's words. "In what game?" he demanded. "Whose game? What are the rules?" The questions were more than mere inquiries; they were a reflection of his mounting frustration and the urgency of their situation.
Spock's expression remained resolutely calm, though his voice carried an edge of uncharacteristic urgency. "It is most urgent," he said, "that we locate the alien entity, determine its motives—and some means of halting its activities." His words conveyed the gravity of the situation, emphasizing the need for immediate action and clarity.
Scott, his earlier agitation replaced by a subdued despondency, looked at Spock with a mixture of worry and remorse. His voice was softer, laden with the weight of his earlier outburst. "Without sensors, sir? All our power down? The thing can pass through walls. It could be anywhere." The enormity of their predicament settled heavily on him, and he struggled to reconcile his feelings of helplessness with his role in the crisis.
Kirk, determined to regain control of the situation, activated his intercom with a decisive press of a button. "Commander Summers, report!" His voice crackled through the ship's intercom system, the demand for information echoing with urgency.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn, her figure partially obscured as she examined the interior of the Jeffries tube, responded with a note of frustration. "No good, Captain. Circuits are in but systems aren't responding." Her voice was tinged with exasperation as she observed the intricate network of lights and instruments flickering intermittently. The components settled into a rhythmic pattern, a subtle sign that something was shifting behind the scenes.
The intercom crackled again with Kirk's voice, a hint of hopefulness in his tone. "Are we getting something?"
Dawn's eyes widened in cautious optimism. "Power and life support restored—remotes on standby…" Her report was punctuated by the gradual illumination of the systems around her, signaling a partial return to functionality.
"Good work!" Kirk's praise was genuine, a moment of relief amidst the tension.
Dawn's voice held a note of surprise as she responded, "Jim, I didn't do it! Everything just came on by itself!" Her tone was a mix of bewilderment and curiosity, reflecting her own confusion about the unexpected restoration of power.
"All right, Dawn. Get back to Manual Control. Kirk out," Kirk instructed with a brisk, authoritative tone.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The bridge, once dim and ominously quiet, had returned to its usual bustle of activity. The lights, now fully restored, cast a steady, reassuring glow over the room. The panels, which had earlier gone silent, hummed back to life with their familiar, rhythmic drone. This subtle symphony of operational sounds created a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos that had gripped the ship.
Spock, ever the embodiment of composed efficiency, turned from his station with a note of restrained urgency. "Sensors operating again, Captain," he announced, his voice steady but tinged with the gravity of their situation.
Kirk, his eyes sharp and determined, responded immediately. "Start scanning, Mr. Spock. Look for the alien." His command was decisive, reflecting his focus on regaining control of the situation and neutralizing the threat.
Minutes passed with tense anticipation as Spock monitored the sensor readouts. The Vulcan's usual calm demeanor seemed to be strained by the weight of their predicament. His fingers moved swiftly over the controls, eyes narrowing as he concentrated on the data streaming in. Finally, his posture shifted from focused concentration to alert tension.
"Alien detected, Captain!" Spock's voice cut through the air with sudden intensity. "In the Engineering level, near reactor number three!" The announcement was met with a rush of adrenaline from the crew, a collective shift towards action.
Kirk sprang from his command chair, propelled by a surge of urgency. "Let's go!" His command was both a rallying cry and an imperative, driving the crew into immediate action.
Buffy, already attuned to the flow of events and the strategic necessities, cast a glance toward Uhura. Her voice was calm yet firm as she issued her next order. "Have Dawn meet us there."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
In Engineering, Mara stood before a large control board, her eyes darting over the shifting lights and data with mounting confusion. "Their life support systems have resumed and are holding steady," she reported to Kang, her voice carrying a note of concern.
Kang's face, usually a mask of cold determination, darkened with frustration. "Cause them to be unsteady," he commanded, his tone laced with anger. His voice was rough and commanding, resonating with the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
"They appear to be controlled from another location," Mara said, her voice wavering slightly. For the first time, her confidence seemed to falter. "I'm also unable to affect the ship's course—to return to our Empire." Her admission of failure was rare for a Klingon, betraying an unfamiliar vulnerability.
"Some trick of Kirk's?" Kang's voice was a mixture of incredulity and irritation. "Has he bypassed these circuits? What power is it that supports our battle, yet starves our victory? Interrupt power at their main life support couplings. Where are they?"
Mara glanced at the schematics on her viewer, her brow furrowing as she traced the pathways of the ship's systems. "They are on this deck." At Kang's sharp nod, she turned to one of the Klingon warriors. "Come with me," she instructed, her tone resolute despite her internal unease.
Mara and the Klingon warrior sprinted out of Engineering, their footsteps echoing down the metallic corridors. The urgency of their mission quickened their pace as they navigated the labyrinthine pathways toward the life support couplings. As they passed an alcove, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Chekov, his face a mask of hatred and determination, his sword drawn with a menacing gleam.
With swift, practiced movements, Chekov executed two precise slashes that dispatched the Klingon warrior before he had a chance to react. Mara's eyes widened in alarm as she turned to flee, but Chekov's reflexes were quicker. He lunged forward, grabbing her and spinning her around with an almost predatory efficiency.
Mara fought fiercely, her training evident in her swift, fluid movements, but Chekov was relentless. He blocked her martial arts strike with a cold, calculated precision. With brutal strength, he pinned her against the wall, his sword hovering dangerously close to her throat. For a moment, his face softened with an unsettling leer, a cruel curiosity in his eyes. "No, you don't die—yet," he said, his voice dripping with twisted satisfaction. "You're not human but you're beautiful, aren't you?" His grip tightened as he pressed her against the wall. "Just how human are you?"
Desperately, Mara pushed against him, her struggles growing more frantic as she attempted to break free. Chekov, his hand now clamped over her mouth, began to press her into the alcove. The muffled scream that escaped Mara's lips pierced through the tension in the corridor, drawing the attention of Buffy, Kirk, and Spock, who had just emerged from the turbolift.
Assault was the last thing on their minds as they heard the distressing sound. Their faces registered shock and horror as they exchanged a brief, troubled glance. Without hesitation, they sprinted towards the source of the commotion. They rounded the corner and came to an abrupt, horrifying halt at the sight before them.
"Chekov!" Kirk's voice rang out with alarm and anger, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Chekov, caught in the act of his grotesque violation, whirled to face them. His expression shifted from predatory to wild, like a cornered beast robbed of its prey. Mara's clothing was torn from her shoulders, exposing her in a state of disarray and vulnerability. As Chekov spun her away from him, she crashed against a wall and collapsed, her strength spent.
Buffy, driven by a surge of righteous fury, seized the opportunity. She launched herself at Chekov with the fierce agility of a Slayer, her hands connecting with his face in a series of stinging slaps. The intensity of her blows left Chekov sobbing; his sword raised in a futile attempt to defend himself. With a decisive swing, Buffy disarmed him, and a powerful punch sent him crashing to the floor, effectively neutralizing the immediate threat.
As the scene settled into a tense silence, Buffy glanced over at Dawn, who had materialized from the ship's circuitry. "I thought when he went peacefully with me to his quarters that he would stay there," Buffy said with a weary edge in her voice. "I should have placed guards."
Mara, crouched on the cold metal deck, was desperately trying to pull her torn clothes together, her hands trembling as she attempted to reassemble the remnants of her dignity. Her face, contorted with a mixture of fear and fury, was a stark contrast to the calm demeanor usually associated with Klingons. The bruises and tears in her uniform only highlighted her vulnerability. Kirk approached her with a tone that balanced urgency and appeal. "Listen to me," he said, his voice carrying a weight of earnestness. "There's an alien entity aboard this ship. It's forcing us to fight. We don't know its motives—we're trying to find out. Will you help us? Will you take us to Kang… a temporary truce! That's all I ask!"
Mara's eyes burned with a potent mix of hatred and fear, a volatile combination that made it clear she was grappling with conflicting emotions. Her gaze followed Kirk as he turned away, a silent plea for understanding in her eyes. Kirk gestured toward Buffy and Dawn. "Bring her. Dawn. Buffy?"
Buffy, her expression a blend of resolve and concern, carefully lifted Chekov in her arms. His body was limp and unresponsive, the earlier fury in his eyes now replaced by a haunting emptiness. As she carried him into Sickbay, McCoy was busy tending to Galloway's wound. His face, usually set in a mask of professional detachment, now displayed a flicker of astonishment as he looked up. His gaze traveled over the scene—Spock, Kirk, Buffy with the still-sobbing Chekov, and the disheveled Mara, closely followed by Dawn. The sight was enough to momentarily divert his attention from Galloway's injury.
McCoy shook his head in disbelief as he hurried over to assist Buffy, placing Chekov on an exam table with practiced efficiency. He applied a diagnostic device to Chekov's head, the soft hum of the equipment filling the tense silence.
"Brainwaves show almost paranoid mania," McCoy reported, his voice tinged with concern. "What happened, Jim?"
Kirk's face was a mask of frustration and worry. "He's—lost control—useless as a fighter," he said, turning to the door. "Come on, Buffy, Dawn, Spock…"
McCoy's voice halted them. His demeanor, while somewhat calmer, still carried an air of bewilderment. His tired face bore the marks of exhaustion and confusion. "Jim—Galloway's heart wound has almost entirely healed! The same with the other casualties. Sword wounds… into vital organs—massive trauma, shock—and they're all healing at a fantastic rate!"
Spock's analytical mind quickly processed this new information. "The entity would appear to want us alive."
Kirk's eyes narrowed, his mind racing through possible explanations. "Why?" he demanded. "So, we can fight and fight—and always come back for more? Some kind of bloody Colosseum? What next? The roar of crowds?"
Galloway, still on the exam table, listened intently. His jaw was set with determination, a stark contrast to the others' confusion. The notion of being kept alive only to fight again seemed to fuel his desire for retribution. His gaze, hardened by the promise of further conflict, made it clear he was itching for another chance at the Klingons.
Dawn, acutely aware of the emotional undercurrents in the room, felt the weight of the lieutenant's hostility pressing down on her. "We need to find that alien!" she said, her voice strained with urgency. "Everyone's emotions are beginning to play with mine. I'm beginning to feel increasing anger. If this isn't stopped, I will eventually be rendered useless as that will be all I will feel and at that point will need to be restrained."
Kirk turned to Dawn, his gaze firm and resolute. He nodded in understanding, acknowledging the urgency of the situation. Turning to Mara, he added, "You come along. Maybe we can prove to you that it exists!"
In the dimly lit corridor, Spock took the lead with a practiced efficiency. He unlimbered his tricorder, the device's rhythmic beeping blending with the low hum of the ship's failing systems. He moved cautiously, methodically scanning the area with the tricorder aimed first in one direction, then another. His Vulcan instincts were on high alert, each step deliberate as he led the way. When they reached a second intersection, he halted abruptly, his sharp eyes signaling a direction. The group followed his gesture, turning the corner with a quiet anticipation.
The corridor was cloaked in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint hum that grew more pronounced as they advanced. Without a word, Spock pointed upward to the right side of the corridor, his tricorder's readings intensifying. There, hovering in the air, was an ethereal being composed entirely of pure energy. Its form was a swirling mass of vivid red light, pulsating with an almost otherworldly intensity.
Kirk's eyes met Mara's with a meaningful glance. The visual confirmation of the alien's existence was undeniable, and he could see the shift in her demeanor as she processed the sight before her.
"What is it?" Kirk asked, his voice carrying a note of urgency and confusion.
"Totally unfamiliar, Captain," Spock responded, his voice steady yet tinged with curiosity. The Vulcan's analytical mind raced to comprehend the sight before him, trying to make sense of the alien entity's nature.
Dawn, her gaze fixed on the energy being, stepped forward with a sense of purpose. "I am the Key. I was once a being of energy such as you," she said, her voice filled with a mix of empathy and inquiry. As she approached the entity, her expression softened, hoping to establish a connection. "What do you want?"
The energy being responded by glowing even more intensely, its light brightening as it bobbed slightly in the air. Spock, noticing the change, quickly shifted his focus at a sudden sound coming from behind them.
Emerging into the corridor, still wrapped in bandages and bearing the marks of his recent injuries, was Galloway. Despite his weakened state, his face was set with a grim determination. He hefted his sword with a resolute grip and began to push past the group, his actions conveying a singular focus. It was as if he was determined to confront whatever challenge lay ahead, completely oblivious to the presence of the others.
"Lieutenant Galloway!" Kirk called out, his voice cutting through the tension. "What are you doing here? Did the Doctor release you?"
"I'm releasing myself!" Galloway shot back, his voice a mix of defiance and resolve. His eyes, though weary, held a steely glint, reflecting his determination to take action despite the circumstances.
"Go back to Sickbay," Kirk said firmly as he grabbed Galloway's arm, his tone brooking no argument.
"Not on your life!" Galloway retorted with fiery determination. He shook off Kirk's hand with a forceful jerk. "I'm fit and ready for action!" His voice was laced with a fierce resolve. "The Klingons nearly put me away for good! I'm going to get me some scalps…" His eyes, filled with a mix of vengeance and desperation, locked onto his goal with single-minded intensity.
"I order you!" Kirk insisted, his voice rising with authority.
"I've got my orders!" Galloway shot back, his defiance palpable. "I'm obeying orders! To kill Klingons! It's them or us, isn't it?" His tone was a defiant declaration of his commitment to the cause, despite the pain and exhaustion etched into his face.
Buffy, standing nearby, noticed the energy being bobbing and shimmering in response to Galloway's heightened emotions. As Galloway pushed past her, making a beeline for the turbolift, Buffy acted swiftly. "Spock," she called out, grabbing Galloway and steering him toward the Vulcan. Spock, with his usual precision, performed a Vulcan neck pinch. Galloway's defiant struggles ceased abruptly as he slumped to the deck, unconscious and defeated.
Buffy's attention was immediately drawn back to the energy being. Its once vibrant glow had diminished, now a mere flicker of its previous brilliance. "Dawn, is it empathic?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she observed the entity's waning energy.
"I think so," Dawn replied, her gaze fixed on the alien entity. "I think it's feeding off our emotions, especially negative ones. When Galloway entered the corridor, his intense hatred and lust for vengeance… I could feel it surging. The alien must have sensed it too, as its life-energy level increased. Now that he's unconscious, the alien's energy has diminished."
"Not the same as you," Kirk mused, his brow furrowed in thought. "But related in principle. Where you simply feel emotions, it actually subsists on them."
"Yes," Dawn confirmed, her voice steady. "But its primary diet is hate. It is the opposite of me. Where I distance myself from the overwhelming emotions of Earth, it seeks them out and acts as a catalyst in situations like this. It craves them to satisfy its hunger. We and the Klingons were drawn here to feed it; it provided us with weapons to promote the most violent mode of conflict. It has fueled racial animosities…"
"And kept numbers and resources balanced to maintain a stable state of violence!" Kirk interrupted, his face set with grim determination. "It's got to have a vulnerable area. It's got to be stopped!" His voice was firm, underscoring the urgency of their mission.
"Then all hostile attitudes on board must be eliminated, sir," Spock said with resolute calm. "The fighting must end—and soon." His voice, usually so controlled, now carried a note of urgency as he emphasized the need for immediate action to quell the pervasive hostilities.
"I agree with Spock," said Buffy, her expression serious and determined. "Otherwise, Dawn and I will be watching as you fight each other until the end of our thousand years. Since our lifespan is tied to the Millennium, we would be the ones likely to die while you continue to drift endlessly through space, perpetually engaged in conflict."
"Kang has to listen—we've got to pool our knowledge to get rid of that thing!" said Kirk, his voice rising with frustration. His eyes darted to the flickering energy being, which was now showing signs of agitation. It bobbed and pulsed, its glow intensifying as though enraged by the exposure of its malevolent intentions.
The energy being, sensing the imminent threat to its power, began to move toward Kirk as he strode to the intercom. Its throbbing hum grew louder and more insistent, creating an almost oppressive atmosphere. For a moment, Kirk hesitated, his resolve wavering under the weight of the energy being's malevolent presence. He steadied himself and pressed on. The energy being, now visibly furious, directed its ire towards Mara.
Without warning, Mara, her face contorted with a mix of fear and rage, hurled herself at Kirk. She clawed and bit at him, desperately trying to prevent him from reaching the intercom. Her frantic actions were a clear sign of the entity's influence on her. Buffy, recognizing the urgency of the situation, intervened immediately. She swiftly lifted Mara away from Kirk, her strength evident as she subdued the frantic woman, pinning her arms firmly to her sides.
Kirk, seizing the opportunity, hit all the intercom buttons in rapid succession. "Kang! This is Kirk! Kang! Kang!" His voice crackled with desperation as he attempted to reach the Klingon commander.
Mara's eyes widened in terror. "Commander! It's a trick! They are located—" Her words were cut off as Buffy's hand swiftly covered her mouth, silencing her.
Kirk continued to press the intercom buttons, frustration mounting. "Kang!" he repeated, but the response from the Klingon was glaringly absent. The intercom's silence was deafening, underscoring their isolation.
"It's likely the energy being here is affecting his mind, Jim," said Dawn, her tone filled with concern. "Soon it will grow so powerful that none of you will be able to resist it. Then I, as the last holdout, will fall as your emotions overwhelm me."
The intercom beeped suddenly, and Kirk's hand flew to it with a mix of hope and trepidation. "Kirk here!" he said urgently.
"Scotty, sir. The ship's dilithium crystals are deteriorating. We can't stop the process…" Scott's voice, though steady, conveyed a dire urgency.
Kirk's frustration reached a peak as he struck the wall with his fist. "Time factor, Scotty?"
"In twelve minutes, we'll be totally without engine power, sir," Scott reported, his voice tinged with anxiety.
"Do everything you can. Kirk out," Kirk said, his tone a blend of resolve and concern as he cut the communication.
The energy being, once a chaotic swirl of furious red, abruptly ceased its erratic movements. It glowed with an intense brilliance, as if it had regained control and confidence, settling back into its position of dominance. Its pulsating light illuminated the corridor, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls as it vanished effortlessly through a solid wall. The sudden absence of its menacing presence left the group in an unsettling silence.
Kirk turned to Mara, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. "So, we drift forever… with only hatred and bloodshed aboard. Now do you believe?" His voice echoed with the gravity of their predicament, each word a plea for recognition of the dire reality they faced.
Mara's strained eyes met his, but her gaze was clouded with disbelief and fear. She stood mute, her lips pressed tightly together, unable or unwilling to offer a response. The enormity of their situation seemed to weigh heavily on her, her face reflecting the torment of an unspeakable truth.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Meanwhile, the dilithium crystals continued their inexorable deterioration. Spock, fully immersed in his analytical role, moved methodically around the bridge. He scrutinized each panel, his sharp eyes catching every flicker of malfunction, his mind working furiously to find a solution. Despite his relentless efforts, the prognosis remained grim—there was no way to halt the decay of the crystals.
"We have nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds before power zero," Spock announced, his tone grave and devoid of any false hope. His face, typically composed, now bore the marks of profound concern. "But there is a logical alternative." His gaze shifted to Mara, a speculative glint in his eyes. "Kang's wife, after all, is our prisoner. A threat made to him…"
Scott, understanding the gravity of the situation, seized upon the suggestion. "That's something the Klingons would understand," he urged, his voice edged with a blend of hope and urgency.
"The question is, will it stall his hand or anger him further?" Dawn interjected; her tone tinged with apprehension. Her empathic senses were acutely aware of the delicate balance they were attempting to strike.
"It's worth the try," Kirk decided with resolute determination. He turned to the intercom, his voice sharp and commanding as he flicked it on. "Kang. Kang! This is Captain Kirk. I know you can hear me… Don't cut me off! We have Mara—your wife! We talk truce now—or she dies. Reply!"
The intercom crackled with silence, the tension in the air palpable. Kang's absence of response was deafening, a clear sign of his reluctance or struggle with the ultimatum.
"She has five seconds to live, Kang! Reply!" Kirk's voice cut through the silence, each second stretching into an eternity as he pressed for a response.
The answer, when it came, was chillingly detached. "She is a victim of war, Captain. She understands," Kang's voice resonated with a cold indifference that suggested he had long resigned himself to the brutal realities of conflict.
With their final card played, Kirk's expression hardened with grim resolve. He gestured toward a seat, his voice firm. "Sit over there and keep out of our way. Dawn, guard her."
Mara's confusion was evident, her voice trembling as she sought clarification. "…you're… not going to…?"
"The Federation doesn't kill or mistreat its prisoners. You've heard fables, propaganda," Kirk said, his tone firm and resolute. He glanced away from Mara, as if the weight of her presence was a distraction from the more pressing concern at hand. His attention was fully diverted to the critical countdown. "How much time now, Mr. Spock?"
Spock, ever the embodiment of calm precision, responded promptly, "Eight minutes and forty-two seconds, sir." His voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of urgency as he continued his grim task of monitoring the failing systems.
Mara, instead of retreating to a corner, moved with an almost mechanical determination toward the panel that Spock was studying. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of desperation and dawning comprehension, scanned the readouts. As she absorbed the dire information displayed before her, a look of shock and disbelief crossed her face. "So, it was no trick…" she said, her voice wavering as the full gravity of their situation sank in.
Dawn, standing nearby, observed Mara's reaction with a sympathetic understanding. Her empathic senses picked up the torrent of emotions swirling around them. "Yes," she said quietly, "the alien has orchestrated all of this. We are under its control, and so are your people."
Scott, his face set in grim determination, added, "The alien has done all this. We are in its power. Our people—and yours." His words were laden with a deep sense of shared plight, highlighting the mutual threat they faced.
Kirk, rising from his chair with a renewed sense of purpose, addressed Mara directly. "We wanted only to end the fighting to save us all," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his commitment to resolving the conflict and seeking a resolution.
Mara's face softened with relief, her earlier hostility giving way to a need to convey her understanding. "We have always fought, Captain Kirk," she began, her voice reflective. "We must. We are hunters, tracking and taking what we need. There are poor planets in the Klingon systems. We must push outward to survive." Her explanation was a glimpse into the harsh realities of Klingon life, revealing a culture driven by survival and necessity.
Buffy, her voice steady and filled with hope, offered a different perspective. "Another way to survive is mutual trust, Mara. Mutual trust and mutual help," she said, emphasizing the possibility of a different path—one of cooperation rather than perpetual conflict.
Mara's eyes met Buffy's with a newfound resolve. "I will help you now," she said, her voice imbued with determination. Her willingness to assist was a significant shift from her previous stance, indicating her recognition of the need for a unified effort.
Kirk, focusing on the immediate goal, pressed for clarity. "How?" he asked, his tone both curious and urgent.
Mara's response was straightforward and pragmatic. "I will take you to Kang. I will add my plea to yours," she said, offering a glimmer of hope in their desperate situation.
Scott's voice broke through the tense atmosphere, his skepticism palpable. "Captain—I wouldn't trust her…" His words carried an edge of caution, reflecting his deep-seated doubts about Mara's intentions.
Kirk, grappling with the urgency of their situation, took a deep breath. He glanced around, realizing their options were rapidly dwindling. "We can't get past the Klingon defenses in time now, anyway—" he began, his mind racing for a solution. He stopped abruptly, a sudden thought striking him with renewed hope. "Unless…" He whirled to Spock, his eyes flashing with determination. "Spock! Intraship beaming! From one part of the ship to another! Is it possible?"
Spock's brow furrowed in concentration, but it was Dawn who interjected, her tone serious and measured. "It'd be dangerous like you wouldn't believe. And not just because we're moving. But because of the accuracy we need. If we're off by the slightest, we could materialize in a solid object—a wall, the floor, a piece of furniture. With the exception of me and Buffy, that would likely result in instant death. And with me and Buffy, we would be trapped for the rest of our lives in constant agony."
Kirk's face hardened with resolve. "Prepare the Transporter," he ordered, cutting through the tension with a firm command.
"Mr. Scott, please help me with the Main Transporter Board," Spock said, moving decisively to a control panel. Scott hesitated, his apprehension evident as he looked from Spock to Kirk.
"Even if it works, Captain, she may be leading you into a trap!" Scott protested, his concern underscoring the gravity of their predicament.
Kirk's eyes were steely as he faced Scott. "We're all in a trap, Scotty. And this is our only way out of it," he said, his voice unwavering despite the peril they faced.
Scott nodded reluctantly. "We'll go with you, sir…" he said, his loyalty clear even through his trepidation.
Dawn stepped forward, her resolve unshaken. "I will go with you," she declared, her voice steady. Kirk appreciated her commitment; Dawn's unique abilities made her an invaluable asset in their fight.
Kirk gave a decisive nod, acknowledging Dawn's role. He understood her presence was crucial; with her ability to generate energy blasts, she could turn the tide in their favor, if necessary.
As Dawn and Mara entered the turbolift, Kirk followed, issuing instructions over his shoulder. "We'll wait for your signal. Buffy, you have the conn."
Buffy, already settling into the command seat, offered a reassuring smile. "I'll keep the seat warm till you get back," she said, her tone light but with an underlying current of seriousness.
As the turbolift doors closed behind them, Scott's gaze lingered on his sword, his mind a whirl of thoughts. "But she can't guarantee that Kang will listen. Right, Buffy?" he asked, his voice reflecting his lingering doubts.
Buffy's expression was resolute. "No," she admitted. "But we also have no choice, either." Her words underscored the gravity of their situation, marking the precarious balance between hope and desperation that defined what Kirk, Dawn and Mara had just set out to do.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The Transporter Room stood silent, its sterile emptiness amplified by the hum of machinery. As Kirk and Dawn entered, their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. With deliberate, practiced movements, they removed their swords, the glint of the polished blades briefly catching the dim light. Placing the weapons carefully on the console, their actions spoke of a strategic decision to avoid immediate conflict. Mara, who had followed them, regarded their disarmament with a calculating smile, her eyes flashing with unreadable intent.
Spock's voice crackled through the intercom, his tone clinical and precise. "Your automatic setting is laid in, Captain. When the Transporter is energized, you will have eight seconds to get to the pads." The console in front of Kirk was a dance of flickering lights, its rhythmic beeping marking the passage of time with an almost hypnotic insistence. The hum of the machinery grew louder, a mechanical heartbeat counting down the moments until their fate was sealed.
Kirk's face was a mask of resolve as he pressed a button, his gaze flickering between the console and Dawn. "I hope your computations are correct, Mr. Spock," he said, his voice betraying a hint of tension.
"You will know in five point two seconds, Captain," Spock's voice responded, unwavering and composed.
With practiced efficiency, Dawn, Kirk, and Mara stepped onto the Transporter platform. The beeps from the console continued, each one echoing like a countdown to a critical moment. As the final eight beeps resonated, their forms shimmered and then vanished, the Transporter's energy enveloping them in a sparkling cascade.
When they materialized in Engineering, the scene was one of instant chaos. Kang, who had been deep in conversation, jerked to his feet, his eyes widening in shock. "Mara! You are alive!... And you bring us a prize!" His voice roared with a mix of astonishment and triumph as he turned, bellowing orders. "Guards!"
The clang of metal on metal filled the air as Klingon guards, their swords drawn and ready, quickly surrounded Dawn and Kirk. Their stern faces, hardened by countless battles, reflected an unwavering readiness to protect their leader.
"Kang—wait!" Mara's voice cut through the din, her urgency palpable. "They have come—unarmed! They must talk to you!"
A Klingon warrior, his gaze cold and unyielding, pointed an accusing finger at Dawn. "She is the one that can shoot energy from her hand."
"Kill them," Kang commanded, his voice brooking no argument.
In a desperate bid to avert the impending violence, Mara leaped in front of Dawn and Kirk, her body a barrier between them and the advancing guards. "No! You must listen! There is great danger to us all!" Her plea was laced with an edge of desperation, her eyes imploring Kang to heed the gravity of their situation.
Kang hesitated, his fierce expression momentarily faltering as Kirk, with a determined resolve, pushed Mara aside. Unwilling to let her act as a shield for him or Dawn, Kirk faced the Klingon captain directly. "Before you start killing," he said firmly, "give us one minute to speak!"
Ignoring Kirk's plea, Kang turned his attention back to Mara, his gaze piercing and full of suspicion. "What have they done to you? How have they affected your mind?" His eyes fell upon her disheveled state—the torn garment, the bruised shoulder. As the realization of her condition sank in, his expression hardened into icy disdain. "Ah, I see why these human beasts did not kill you…"
In a sudden burst of fury, Kang hurled himself toward Kirk, a whirlwind of rage and aggression. Dawn, reacting swiftly, positioned herself between her friend and the oncoming threat. Her hand, glowing with the promise of destructive power, was pointed directly at Kang. With a focused concentration, she released a blast of energy that streaked past him by mere inches, its crackling force making the air shimmer with its intensity.
"That was just a warning," Dawn declared, her voice steady despite the tension. "Next one I shoot at you! Nobody will win here. While no one will die here, I can promise you that I would be the one to remain standing. Now listen, there's an alien aboard this ship that needs everyone alive!"
Kang, undeterred and fueled by a relentless anger, pressed forward with a vicious onslaught. His sword swung in a deadly arc, aimed with precision at Dawn. But she was prepared. With a steely resolve, she adjusted her aim, her hand shifting only a fraction as she focused on the threatening Klingon. "I am more than willing to send you straight to Sto'vo'kor. Listen to us! Let us prove what we say!"
As Kang advanced with another brutal slash, Dawn braced herself to fire once more. However, just in time, Kirk surged forward, pushing Dawn aside with a burst of force. His eyes locked onto the energy being that hovered ominously above their heads, its glow more intense and threatening than ever before. Without hesitation, he seized Kang by the shoulders and spun him around to face the true danger.
"LOOK! Up there!" Kirk's voice rang out, a mixture of urgency and command.
Kang's gaze followed Kirk's pointing finger. His eyes widened as he finally registered the presence of the menacing energy being. The realization of its significance struck him, but he struggled to grasp its full import.
Dawn seized the moment to add her voice to the mix, her tone both urgent and commanding. "Kang," she said, her voice carrying the weight of her frustration and desperation. "...cheghpu'DI' qeylIS, qar'a'? 'ach DaH leghchugh, vaj Qu' DawI'p—u' je!vay' Qumbogh ghotvetlh Dojqu'!"
The energy being pulsed with a deep, resonant throb, its eerie hum filling the room with a foreboding intensity. Kang's eyes, dark and brooding, fixed on Dawn with an expression of grim realization. "You can't kill me or my wife for we are Millennial and won't die till the start of the next Millennium. But Jim you can. And the thing is he won't stay dead. That thing will just keep bringing you and him back to fight each other over and over. It feeds on negative emotions. By fighting you are feeding it and the stronger it gets the longer you will be fighting. Until the very end of time, possibly. You will be denied Sto'Vo'Kor forever."
Dawn's words hung heavily in the air, a chilling prophecy of eternal strife and despair. Mara, desperate and impassioned, threw herself at Kang's feet, her voice breaking with urgency. "I'm your wife—a Klingon! Would I lie for them? Listen to her. She is telling the truth!"
Kang's gaze remained locked on the energy being, now pulsating more intensely, its light a disturbing beacon of their peril. The realization seemed to pierce through his ironclad resolve. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his hand unclenched from the hilt of his sword, and the weapon clattered to the deck with a metallic thud, symbolizing his tentative surrender.
With a commanding voice, Kang addressed the energy being, his tone a mix of defiance and reluctant acceptance. "Klingons kill for their own purposes." He then turned sharply to his warriors, his voice booming with authority. "Cease hostilities! At rest!"
The Klingon soldiers, initially bewildered by the sudden shift in orders, hesitated for a moment before complying, their weapons lowering as the sounds of combat continued to echo faintly from other parts of the ship. The abrupt quiet was unsettling, underscoring the gravity of the situation.
"We must stop all fighting immediately," Kirk said, his voice taut with urgency. "If the alien is to be weakened before our fuel runs out, every skirmish must end."
Kang, now visibly troubled but still holding a trace of suspicion, helped Mara to her feet. They moved to join Kirk and Dawn at the communications panel on the wall. Kirk's fingers danced over the controls; his focus unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air.
"Lieutenant Uhura, put me on shipwide intercom…" Kirk's command was sharp and clear.
"Ready, Captain," Uhura responded promptly.
Kirk took a deep breath, his voice steady as he addressed the entire ship. "Attention, all hands! A truce is ordered… the fighting is over! Regroup and lay down weapons." Stepping back, he turned to Kang, urgency in his eyes. "Kang! Your turn at the intercom…"
Kang hesitated, his imposing figure momentarily caught between defiance and reluctant compliance. His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked toward Kirk as he moved towards the com panel. With a barely restrained grimace, Kang delivered his command. "This is Kang. Cease hostilities. Disarm."
The energy being, once a radiant and furious entity, now throbbed erratically, its previous intensity diminished. Its once vibrant redness had faded to a subdued, flickering glow, betraying its weakened state.
"It's weakened," Dawn observed with a note of cautious optimism in her voice. Her gaze was fixed on the dimming energy being. "For once, I think I want to feel everyone's happy thoughts. It'll prove its undoing."
Kirk's eyes sparkled with a hard, determined gleam as he turned to face the fading energy being. His voice rang out with authority and defiance. "Get off my ship!" he commanded, the words imbued with the finality of a verdict. The energy being, still pulsing weakly, retreated with a diminished hum. "You're powerless here. You're a dead duck. We know all about you—and we don't want to play your game anymore. Maybe there are others like you still around. Maybe you've caused a lot of suffering—a lot of history. That's all over. We'll be on guard... we'll be ready for you. Now butt out!" Kirk's voice rose in a triumphant laugh, echoing through the chamber. "Haul it!"
As the throbbing of the energy being receded, Dawn felt a wave of elation wash over her. She grinned, her laughter mingling with a deep sense of relief. Kang's voice, once filled with grim resolve, now rumbled with a hoarse chuckle that soon blossomed into full-blown laughter. "Out!" Kang shouted at the energy being. "We need no urging to hate humans! But for the present—only fools fight in a burning house." His laughter boomed through the room, and he delivered a sadistic whack on Dawn's back, shaking her with the force of his mirth.
The energy being, now reduced to a dull, flickering ember, slowly faded from view. The once-bright entity vanished through a bulkhead, its final moments marked by a brief flare as it drifted into the vast expanse of space outside the Enterprise. It flared up one last time before winking out, leaving behind an eerie stillness.
Dawn, overwhelmed by the surge of happy emotions, let out a giddy laugh. "Captain, I think I need some time in my quarters. Until everyone's emotions come back under control."
"Granted, Dawn," Kirk said, watching her with a mixture of concern and understanding as she exited.
Uhura's voice came through, calm and efficient. "Captain, jettisoning of fuel has stopped. The trapped crewmen are free. All systems are returning to normal."
"Carry on, Lieutenant. Mr. Sulu, set course for—well, set it for any old star in the galaxy!" Kirk said, his voice lightening with a hint of humor. "Buffy, Dawn has gone to your quarters. She mentioned needing time while we collected our emotions."
"Understood, Jim," Buffy replied, her tone steady.
With a final burst of camaraderie, Kirk delivered a hearty thump on Kang's back. The impact nearly sent Kang stumbling, his eyes flashing with surprise and irritation. Kirk's grin was wide, almost mischievous. "Friends!" he proclaimed, his voice brimming with a cheerful finality.
Kang, momentarily taken aback, regarded Kirk with a mix of grudging respect and thoughtful consideration. "For you we will see," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of solemnity. "For the one you called Dawn. For her, the highest of regards and an offer of friendship."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
When Kirk arrived on the bridge with Kang and Mara flanking him, the atmosphere was charged with a blend of relief and cautious optimism. Buffy, her demeanor a mixture of professionalism and warmth, stood and gestured toward the center seat with a welcoming nod. "All warm and ready for you," she said, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction.
Kirk acknowledged her with a smile and took his place in the center seat, a symbol of authority and command. He leaned back, the weight of recent events momentarily lifting from his shoulders. "Ahead, Mr. Sulu. Warp one," he instructed, his voice steady and authoritative. He turned his attention to Kang and Mara, offering them a reassuring glance. "We'll reach a neutral planet by tomorrow. You'll be dropped there. No war, this time."
Buffy, sensing the need for a personal touch, stepped forward. "With your permission, I think I will go check on my wife," she said, her concern evident in her tone.
"Permission granted," Kirk replied with a nod, his gaze softening. "And tell Dawn that she is free to take a few days off."
"Thank you, Jim," Buffy said gratefully, her expression reflecting both relief and respect as she moved toward the turbolift.
As Buffy passed Kang and Mara, Kang's curiosity was piqued. "You are the wife of the one called Dawn?" he inquired, his tone a mix of genuine interest and respect.
"I am," said Buffy, her voice steady and warm.
"Then to you and your wife, I offer friendship," Kang said, his gaze earnest. "I understand from Dawn that you and she will live a very long time. I hope to see you both again."
"qatlho," Buffy responded, extending her hand in a gesture of sincere appreciation.
Kang's face broke into a genuine smile as he grasped her forearm with a firm yet respectful grip. He felt the strength of her fingers, the connection transcending words. "qaStaHvIS poH yI'a'Daq malja'chu'," he replied, the Klingon words conveying a deep sense of hope and respect for the future.
Translation
(Klingon) vay' DaghajtaHvIS
(English) You have some things to learn about us.
(Klingon) …cheghpu'DI' qeylIS, qar'a'? 'ach DaH leghchugh, vaj Qu' DawI'p—u' je!vay' Qumbogh ghotvetlh Dojqu'!
(English) …for the rest of your lives, Kang! For a thousand lifetimes—fighting, this insane violence! That alien over our heads will control us forever!
(Klingon) qatlho.
(English) Thank you.
(Klingon) qaStaHvIS poH yI'a'Daq malja'chu'
(English) Until we meet again.
