Star Trek: Vanguard - 009 - In Tempest's Wake Page 7

  Returning the nod, Kirk looked back to Khatami. “You’ll have it. And I hope your pilot’s as good as mine, because we’ll have to be almost on top of you to pull this off.”

  Without missing a beat, the Endeavour’s captain said, “We can avoid hitting the station as long as you don’t hit us.”

  Kirk smiled, encouraged by her composure and matter-of-fact demeanor even as the situation seemed hell-bent on collapsing around her. “Deal. We’ll follow your lead. Enterprise out.” No sooner did the transmission end than another round of weapons fire slammed into the ship’s shields. Kirk felt the reverberations in the hull as they channeled through the deck plating beneath him. “I think the Tholians might know what we’re up to.” Looking to his helm officer, he said, “All right, Mister Sulu. It’s up to you.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the lieutenant acknowledged, splitting his attention between his controls and the console’s tactical scanner. “Moving in to shadow the Endeavour now.”

  Smacking the communications control on the arm of his chair, Kirk snapped, “Engineering. Scotty, we’ll need everything you’ve got to reinforce the shields. Take power from anywhere you need to, including life support, but keep the shields up no matter what.”

  There only was the briefest of pauses before the voice of the chief engineer called out through the intercom from the bowels of the ship. “Aye, sir. We’ll hold things together with spit and baling wire if we have to.”

  “Bridge out.” Kirk severed the connection and redirected his attention back to the main viewscreen. The image there depicted dozens of Tholian vessels streaking back and forth across the Enterprise’s path. Ahead of them, Starbase 47 hung in space, its multiple phaser ports and photon torpedo banks continuing to track and fire at the attacking enemy ships. Sulu keyed several controls on his console, and the angle on the viewscreen shifted as the helm officer guided the starship on a diving turn to starboard. The station loomed even larger as the screen now was dominated by the Endeavour, with Sulu maneuvering the Enterprise ever closer to it. Kirk and the bridge crew were provided with a stunning overhead view of the other vessel, now so near that Kirk felt he might reach through the screen and touch the ship’s hull. His stomach lurched in response to the Endeavour’s proximity.

  This is going to be tight.

  Sulu adjusted the Enterprise’s trajectory so that the starship fell behind its sister vessel as the Endeavour moved into the shadows cast by the underside of the station’s massive saucer-shaped primary hull. Rolling so that the underside of its engineering hull faced the station, the Endeavour began to describe a circular path around the starbase’s core, using Vanguard itself for cover as it continued its restricted orbit.

  “Whoever’s at the helm of that ship is pretty good,” Sulu said, and Kirk heard the tension in the lieutenant’s voice.

  “Almost as good as you,” Kirk said, forcing himself not to react to the extreme nearness of the station’s hull even as he noted the copious battle scars inflicted upon it.

  From the science station, Spock called out, “The Endeavour has lowered its shields and is commencing transporter evacuation.”

  “Good,” Kirk replied. “Let’s hope we can get this done fast and get the hell out of here. Chekov, fire at your discretion, but keep the Tholians off our backs.”

  The ensign nodded without looking away from his console. “Aye, Captain.”

  “Overlay tactical plot on the main viewer,” Kirk ordered, and a moment later a faint schematic was superimposed over the screen’s existing visual feed. At its center was Starbase 47, with two small blue dots representing the Enterprise and the Endeavour circling it. Red dots, far too many to count, swarmed about the station.

  We just made their job that much easier for them.

  Glancing toward the science station, Kirk asked, “What about Vanguard, Spock? What kind of shape is it in?”

  “The primary hull section has sustained considerable damage,” answered the first officer. “Shields are down across the upper structure, including the Operations Center. I am picking up life readings throughout the station, though most of the remaining personnel appear to be in or near emergency evacuation stations.”

  Kirk frowned. With its shields compromised, the starbase’s Ops Center was even more vulnerable to attack. If any sort of coordination with respect to the evacuation was originating from there, rather than a more secure location deeper inside the station, a strike at that point would hinder if not outright thwart the Endeavour’s rescue efforts. Eyeing the station’s immense cylindrical secondary hull, he asked, “What about the engineering sections?”

  Once more looking into his sensor viewer, Spock replied, “Power reactors are approaching overload. Sensors are detecting several radiation leaks and power surges throughout the central core.”

  For a moment, Kirk considered ordering the Enterprise shields dropped so that it could participate in transporting survivors from the station, but he dismissed the notion. This crazy plan’s only chance of success was if he and his ship held their position and protected the Endeavour while it completed the evacuation. That conclusion was strengthened as he looked to Chekov, whose hands were alternating between his station’s weapons and targeting controls. On the main viewscreen, Kirk noted the extinguishing of several red dots, each a Tholian vessel falling victim to the weapons of the station, the Enterprise or the Endeavour. It seemed that as each icon disappeared, three more moved into view, taking its place.

  The ship shuddered around him, and Kirk tightened his grip on the arms of his chair as the Enterprise’s deflector shields absorbed yet another strike. Alarm indicators flared to life across the bridge, though he recognized most of them as pertaining to noncritical systems. Still, the message being sent by the Tholians was becoming clearer with each passing second.

  I don’t think we’re going to get that full five minutes.

  “Any estimate on how long until the Endeavour retrieves the rest of the survivors?” When Spock did not respond, Kirk looked over to see that the first officer seemed to be directing even greater concentration at his instruments. Frowning, he prompted, “Spock, what is it?”

  “I’m picking up a massive new energy reading,” the Vulcan reported, “emanating from within the station’s central core. A significant matter/antimatter reaction has been enabled, which is not part of the primary or backup power systems.” Pulling himself away from the sensor controls and looking over his shoulder, he added, “Captain, based on these power readings, I believe someone on the station has activated a self-destruct mechanism.”

  Kirk’s jaw went slack. “Are you sure?”

  “I cannot be certain,” Spock said, “but the energy levels are too high and concentrated to be appropriate for simple power generation. Considering the security requirements surrounding the station’s activities and the current tactical situation, it seems a logical course of action.” An alert tone from his station made the science officer turn back to his console and adjust several controls. “Sensors now detecting yet another energy reading, from the same area. Its pattern is not consistent with any of the station’s power systems.” He paused, and Kirk noted his friend’s hesitation as he worked to interpret the data he was receiving. Then Spock turned and fixed his gaze on Kirk. “Captain, it is a Shedai energy reading, larger than anything we’ve previously encountered.”

  “The Shedai?” Kirk repeated, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. Jerking his attention back to the image of the station rushing past beneath the Enterprise, he asked, “Where the hell did it come from?” What had the men and women of Starbase 47, toiling in secret to understand the Shedai, done to so anger the reclusive, fearsome beings?

  Spock replied, “From inside the station, sir. I am detecting multiple Shedai life readings, within a very restricted area. The Shedai appear to be attacking it from within.”

  TEN

  Alarms were echoing throughout the Enterprise’s cavernous main engineering space, at least until Montg
omery Scott touched a control on his station to mute them. Around the room, situation monitors flashed for attention, and gauges and other indicators provided the current status on systems throughout the ship. To the untrained eye and ear, it was an indecipherable cacophony conveying nothing but gibberish, but for Scott, it represented a heartfelt appeal from the vessel that had been entrusted to him. Each alert tone was a call for help; every light a statement of concern or—in many cases—a declaration that the starship was continuing to answer the demands being placed upon it. This, of course, was in addition to the very substantial effects of Tholian weapons fire making themselves known as the deck trembled beneath his feet, the bulkheads around him, and even his bones and teeth. Overhead, lighting flickered yet again as multiple enemy weapons struck the Enterprise’s shields, which were holding.

  For now.

  “Easy, lass,” Scott said under his breath, as he stood before the master situation panel that dominated the section of bulkhead over the chief engineer’s workstation. “We’ll get through this.” Thanks to this single station and the array of information it conveyed, he was able to discern nearly everything of note taking place within each of the ship’s major systems. There were other, less tangible signals, such as the sounds of the vessel’s immense power plant reverberating through nearly every surface in this chamber. The slight, almost imperceptible warbling emanating from the depths of the ship was more than enough to tell him that the Enterprise was feeling the strain of the battle waging beyond its hull.

  On an intellectual level, Scott knew that the ship, despite any romantic notions he or anyone else might have to the contrary, truly was nothing more than a sophisticated machine that was the physical manifestation of science, technology, and perhaps even art and dreams. Still, he liked to think that the bond between an apparatus and the engineer charged with its care was one that could be forged only over time and as a consequence of the care given to such complex mechanisms. No one ever would convince him that his years spent working in and around the myriad components that came together to form the heart, mind, and even soul of the starships they inhabited had not given him insight and an appreciation that extended far beyond manuals and technical schematics. Reaching for the workstation, Scott laid his hand upon the console’s smooth, polished black surface and gave it a reassuring pat.

  “You’ve never let me down before; you won’t now.”

  The sentiment was punctuated by another strike against the shields. This time the deck pitched and Scott gripped the console to maintain his balance. Lights flickered as the entire ship seemed to shudder, groaning in protest at this latest attack. Something snapped above and behind him, and he turned in time to see a stream of bright pink smoke jetting from one of the conduits running down the bulkhead near the main energizers. It was followed an instant later by a new alarm sounding in the compartment.

  “Coolant leak!” someone shouted over the din, but Scott already was reacting to the new danger. His fingers found the controls to isolate the compromised conduit and contain the leak. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Crewman Hertzog, one of his engineering assistants working near the energizers, already had fallen victim to the coolant’s toxic fumes. Another crewman, a muscled young man named McLoughlin, had crossed the room and was pulling Hertzog away from the immediate danger, and Scott heard someone using the intercom to contact sickbay.

  A few more commands entered to his console told Scott that the leak had been addressed, with coolant now being rerouted through an adjacent, secondary conduit designated for such emergency purposes. Automatic cleaning and decontamination protocols already were clearing the noxious coolant fumes from the compartment, though Scott still caught a faint scent of the harsh, hazardous compounds. Dividing his attention between his console and his fallen crewman, Scott looked to where McLoughlin and other engineers knelt over an unconscious Hertzog. “How is he?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” McLoughlin called over his shoulder, his expression clouded with concern. “He was only a few steps from the conduit when it ruptured. I didn’t see it, but I think he might’ve gotten sprayed right in the face.” Indeed, Hertzog’s face, neck, and hands were discolored, indicating severe direct exposure to the coolant. The engineer kneeling next to McLoughlin, Lieutenant Donovan Washburn, was treating the affected areas with what Scott recognized as a medicinal spray from an emergency medical kit.

  “What about you?” asked the chief engineer. “Did you get hit?”

  McLoughlin shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t breathe any of it in, and I didn’t touch him with my bare hands, just hooked him under his arms and dragged him away.”

  “Good lad,” Scott said, “but let Washburn treat your exposed skin, anyway, and have the medics look you over.” That was all the helpful advice he was able to offer before the ship trembled again, and this time Scott was thrown off his feet. He landed hard on the deck, the wind forced from his lungs. Wincing at the pain in his hip where he had struck the unyielding metal, he looked up to see that other members of the engineering team also had been tossed into consoles or bulkheads or had fallen to the floor. “Everybody all right?”

  There was a chorus of replies as the other engineers resumed their stations, and Scott saw a host of new alerts and status indicators illuminated on different monitors around the room. His gaze fell upon one of the displays at an adjacent station, which now showed a tactical plot as provided by Enterprise sensors. It depicted a large blue circle at its center representing Starbase 47, with two smaller circles—the Enterprise and the Endeavour—orbiting it in a tight circuit around the enormous Watchtower-class space station’s core. With the Enterprise committed to covering its sister starship as its crew worked to transport survivors from the besieged starbase, both vessels were prime targets for the armada of Tholian warships currently laying waste to Vanguard and anything else in their sights.

  “Mister Scott!” a voice shouted from across the room, and the chief engineer turned to see Lieutenant Cleary manning one of the consoles devoted to overseeing the Enterprise’s defensive systems. “Port side shields are buckling! We’ve got outer hull breaches in the saucer section!”

  A glance at the master situation panel confirmed the younger engineer’s report. “Reroute all power from the ventral shields,” Scott called out, once more eyeing the tactical plot. With the Enterprise’s current orientation as it circled the station, its underside was protected from the majority of the incoming enemy fire. “Concentrate allocations dorsal and aft.” It was a risk, given the madness of the situation, but Scott knew James Kirk’s thinking processes well enough when it came to defensive maneuvering. Based on the Enterprise’s position relative to the Endeavour as it shielded the other ship, Scott could anticipate Kirk’s needs and appropriately allocate the ship’s resources.

  But for how much longer? The thought echoed in the chief engineer’s mind as he regarded the ever-changing array of status displays. Despite the best efforts of his team, the Enterprise was still outnumbered, outgunned, and almost out of time.

  “Kirk to Engineering!” bellowed the voice of the Enterprise’s captain, exploding from the intercom system. “Scotty, how are we doing?”

  His hand slamming down on the control to activate his console’s comm unit, Scott replied, “We’re taking quite a beating, sir.”

  “We have to hold things together for another couple of minutes,” Kirk said. “The Endeavour’s warp drive is out, and they’re making some kind of quick repair. They expect to be ready any minute, but we need to cover them until then.”

  Scott’s first thought was to offer his assistance to the Endeavour’s engineering staff, but he knew that was an impractical suggestion. He had his hands full here just keeping the Enterprise in the current fight. Still, he could not resist asking, “Can we do anything to help them?”

  “You’re already doing it,” the captain said. “Just maintain our shields and weapons for another minute so we can keep the Tholians off their back. W
e’re almost home.”

  Buoyed by Kirk’s comments, Scott already was setting to the process of rerouting power from systems across the ship. “Aye, sir, we’re on it.”

  The connection was terminated, and he once more regarded the master panel, seeing the disturbing number of crimson indicators. Each of them begged for his attention, laboring to communicate to him the injuries his ship had sustained. Even with the damage the Enterprise had absorbed, Scott knew it still was in far better shape than the Endeavour. He knew also that Kirk would not abandon the other ship and its crew, not while he still possessed any ability to fight.

  All right, lass, Scott mused with renewed determination as he once more tapped the console before him. Let’s see this through.

  • • •

  The ache at the small of his back was beginning to work its way up his spine and toward his legs, and Kirk forced himself to shift positions in his chair. For the tenth time in less than two minutes, he glanced to each of the consoles around the bridge, starting with Lieutenant Leslie at the engineering station and proceeding clockwise. Each person’s attention was focused on his or her instruments as the crew carried out whatever task or function best supported the current tactical situation. For his part, Sulu seemed to have melded with the helm station, his eyes locked on the various controls and indicators before him. His hands appeared possessed of their own will, their every movement one of economy and tenacity as the lieutenant guided the Enterprise on its unthinkable course. Despite the obvious tension permeating the bridge, Sulu’s demeanor was one of utter self-control, offering no hints that the slightest miscalculation or deviation on his part would doom the ship and everyone aboard it.

  The man is a machine.

  Sensing other eyes on him, Kirk turned his chair to see Lieutenant Uhura regarding him from her communications station. Her anxiety was obvious, even though she managed to mask that worry in her expression, and he offered what he hoped was an encouraging nod. Uhura returned the gesture, her features softening as she returned her attention to her console.