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Harbinger

David Mack

Summon the Thunder

Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

Reap the Whirlwind

David Mack

Open Secrets

Dayton Ward

Precipice

David Mack

Declassified

Dayton Ward, Kevin Dilmore, Marco Palmieri, David Mack

What Judgments Come

Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

Storming Heaven

David Mack

In Tempest’s Wake (eNovella)

Dayton Ward

CONTENTS

Historian’s Note

In Tempest’s Wake

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Acknowledgments

About the Author

HISTORIAN’S NOTE

This story begins in 2269, five days after the destruction of Federation deep space station Starbase 47 (Star Trek: Vanguard—Storming Heaven).

ONE

Stardate 5829.6

Starbase 12

James Kirk loved looking at his ship.

It was a rare luxury. Whenever circumstances permitted, Kirk relished the chance to gaze upon the Enterprise, noting each line and curve along with every hull plate and seam. Infrequent travel to or from the starship via one of its shuttlecraft provided such opportunity, but even then duty and schedules often prevented him from enjoying indulgences of this sort. Reviewing a computer-generated image or studying a technical readout, or even wandering its corridors and interior spaces, could not compare to beholding the sight of the Enterprise the way it was meant to be seen—presenting itself to the stars.

Getting a little carried away with yourself, aren’t you?

Kirk smiled at his own mild rebuke as he leaned against the railing separating him from the large curved transparent aluminum window overlooking Starbase 12’s cavernous inner docking area. From this vantage point, he could see the Enterprise hanging before him, though his view was not untarnished. Tucked away from open space and held in its docking slip by invisible mooring beams, the vessel was the center of commotion as workbee support craft and maintenance personnel in Starfleet extra-vehicular activity suits moved about it. With the ship’s warp engines and main energy plants deactivated, power was supplied to it via massive cables tethering it to the berth’s control and operations hub. Kirk could see station support personnel working within that hub, overseeing the current inspection and repair tasks. Marring his ship’s exterior were numerous scorch marks and pockmarked hull plates, evidence of the recent confrontation it had endured. Those blemishes would soon be gone, he knew, along with the other damage the ship had sustained in what had been a fierce and costly battle.

“Captain.”

Turning at the sound of the single word spoken from behind him, Kirk saw Commander Spock standing nearby. Was the scene outside the view port so engrossing that Kirk had failed to notice his first officer’s approach? For that matter, how long had he been waiting there? Had he made more than one attempt to gain his captain’s attention?

“I’m sorry, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, clearing his throat. “You weren’t waiting there long, were you?”

His hands clasped behind his back, Spock regarded the captain with his usual neutral expression. “Three point eight seconds from the time of my arrival, sir.”

Kirk chuckled. “I’ll try to do better from now on.” Gesturing over his shoulder toward the window and the Enterprise beyond it, he asked, “Any updates on the repairs?”

“Battle damage repair and other maintenance tasks are proceeding on schedule,” the Vulcan replied, stepping toward the railing to stand next to Kirk. “With the Enterprise, Endeavour, and Sagittarius each requiring attention, the station’s engineering and support staff is somewhat overextended. However, Mister Scott is supplementing their efforts with our own personnel. Estimated time of completion for all outstanding tasks is fifty-eight point seven hours.”

Frowning, Kirk asked, “Why so long? I didn’t think we were hurt that badly.” He recalled no report from his chief engineer detailing the need for such extensive repairs.

Spock replied, “Mister Scott is taking advantage of station facilities to replace several major components of the ship’s warp drive and deflector shield generators. Though they suffered no severe damage, there was notable strain on both propulsion and defensive systems during the hostilities.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Kirk said, recalling the ferocious battle in which the Enterprise had so recently found itself. “Has it really been five days? What’ve I been doing all that time?”

Ever willing to help Kirk with a question for which he really did not need an answer, Spock said, “You spent most of that period sequestered in your quarters, responding to requests from Starfleet Command to provide reports and debriefing memos detailing the Enterprise’s role in the battle.”

“Right.” Kirk offered a knowing smile. “How could I forget?” Spock was being polite when he said that the captain had been sequestered. In truth, he had been all but confined to his cabin as he labored to complete what had felt like an endless stream of administrative artillery fired at him by various flag officers prowling the halls at Starfleet Headquarters back on Earth. The only thing more chaotic than the skirmish the Enterprise had survived was the amount of scrambling Starfleet was doing to minimize the numerous and potentially devastating impacts the incident might leave in its wake. Though Kirk’s involvement, along with that of his ship and crew, was at best nominal compared to other personnel, the highest echelons of Starfleet leadership were working overtime to contain what remained a volatile situation. Kirk, so far as he could tell, was at this point little more than a casualty of that process.

Lucky me.

It took another moment for him to realize that his first officer was standing in silence as though waiting to be prompted. “Something else, Spock?”

“I have received inquiries from several of the department heads,” the Vulcan replied. “They are curious as to when they might be allowed to grant full shore leave to the station.”

Kirk sighed. It was a question he himself had asked, posing the query more than once to the starbase’s commanding officer. In each case, the response had been the same. “Until we’re told otherwise, shore leave for all personnel is not authorized. Only those of us with specific business on the station are allowed to leave the ship.” Kirk was here because he had been ordered to report to the station’s operations level for a debriefing. Spock had been asked to proceed to the starbase’s main computer center, presumably to assist in an update to the Enterprise’s data library systems that had been ordered by Starfleet Command. Despite the apparent urgency characterizing his own summons, Kirk arrived only to be told to stand by for further instructions. At this point, he had no idea with whom he would be talking, or when, or where.

Hurry up and wait, he mused. Starfleet’s unofficial motto.

As though sensing his impertinent thoughts, a faint but sharp beep from Kirk’s communicator called for his attention. Reaching to the small of his back, he retrieved the device and flipped open its antenna grid. “Kirk here.” Instead of his chief engineer, Montgomery Scott, or even the officer tasked at this moment with overseeing activity on the Enterprise from its bridge, he heard an unfamiliar female voice.

“Captain Kirk, this is Lieutenant Commander Haystead with Starbase Operations. I’m sorry that you’ve been kept waiting, sir, but I’ve been informed that they’re now ready for you here in our Ops Center on the station’s command level.”

Knowing the delay was not Haystead’s fault, Kirk replied, “Thank you, Commander. Please tell Commodore DeRoché I’m on my way.” In truth, he had been expecting the summons from Starbase 12’s commander, Commodore Kwame DeRoché, from the moment the Enterprise had docked, but no such directive had been sent until just under an hour ago.

There was a pause before Haystead said, “Um, no sir, I’m sorry. The commodore didn’t issue the order, though he’s the one who passed on this information to me. I don’t honestly know who you’re meeting, only that you’re supposed to come up here, and it’s expected to happen ‘yesterday.’ At least, those are the commodore’s words, sir.”

Frowning at Spock, who said nothing, Kirk cleared his throat. “I see. Well, I guess I’m on my way to meet somebody. Kirk out.” He closed the communicator’s cover and returned the unit to his hip. “What do you think about that, Spock?”

The Vulcan’s sole emotional reaction to the question was to raise his right eyebrow. “I think that you should proceed to your meeting with all due haste, Captain.”

“Thanks,” Kirk said, suppressing a small chuckle. “You’re a big help.” Gesturing toward the viewing port and the Enterprise, he added, “There’s no telling how long I might be. Go mind the store until I get back.”

•   •   •

Starbase 12’s Operations Center, by Kirk’s estimate, was perhaps three times the size of the Enterprise bridge, with what looked to be that many more workstations. He counted no fewer than two dozen men and women seated at different consoles or moving about the large control room. Situated within the uppermost level of the space station’s cone-shaped primary hull, the Ops Center was circular, though Kirk noticed that the main ring of stations did not line the bulkheads but instead were positioned around the room like islands, in groups of three or four, with aisles separating the islands. From where he stood, Kirk could see down one of the aisles and noted doors set into the wall outside the main work area.

Mounted above and behind the workstations on the center’s curved bulkheads were ten viewscreens, each displaying images from within and outside the space station. On one of the monitors, Kirk saw a visual feed of the Enterprise and the work taking place on and around it. The angle showed the starship from below, with a pair of workbees sitting on the engineering hull and two Starfleet engineers in EVA suits standing near a section of plating that had been removed.

Another screen depicted one of the Enterprise’s sister starships, the U.S.S. Endeavour, in an adjacent docking berth and receiving similar treatment. The image depicted the vessel’s primary saucer hull and its forward navigational deflector dish, with the rest of the Endeavour obscured by that berth’s control hub as well as the lattice of a repair dry dock positioned over the ship’s warp nacelles. Kirk knew that the other ship had endured a far worse pounding during the recent fight in which both it and the Enterprise had taken part, and that it had suffered a number of casualties including the loss of almost the entire engineering team. Only through the tireless, valiant efforts of its crew to affect frantic repairs in the face of enemy fire—and, in the case of the chief engineer and his staff, certain death—had the ship survived long enough to complete its mission and make its escape.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind him, Kirk turned to see a young, attractive female dressed in a gold duty uniform walking toward him. She was trim and athletic, with brunette hair that was lush and full of curls as it hung around her face and across the back of her collar. Her eyes, dark and wide, seemed bright with enthusiasm. She held a data slate in her right hand, which allowed Kirk to note the lieutenant commander’s stripes on her sleeve. In her left ear was a Feinberg communications receiver.

“Captain Kirk?” she said as she stepped closer. “I’m Commander Haystead. I’m supposed to escort you to your meeting.”

With a small grin, Kirk asked, “Do we know who I’m meeting yet?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, sir,” Haystead replied, pausing to clear her throat. “I know this is unusual, Captain, and for that I apologize, but my orders on this were very explicit.”

“No apology needed, Commander,” Kirk said. “Orders are orders, even if we don’t always agree with them or even understand them.”

The young officer’s next words were cut off as she looked away for a moment, her left hand reaching up to touch the receiver in her ear before she returned her attention to Kirk. “That’s our cue, sir.”

Kirk gestured toward her. “Lead the way.”

Falling into step behind her, he followed as Haystead cut a path for the aisle separating two islands of workstations on the far side of the Ops Center, maneuvering around various personnel going about their duties. He took the opportunity to steal one last look at the Enterprise on another of the overhead monitors, this one displaying the ship from above and behind it as another workbee maneuvered around its port warp nacelle. None of the activity here in the center or out in the docking bay seemed to show any signs of stopping or even slowing.

“Is it always this busy here?” he asked.

Haystead glanced over her shoulder. “Not always, sir, but with the rush to get the Enterprise and Endeavour repairs completed as quickly as possible, we’ve kicked things up a notch or two.”

“I can imagine,” Kirk replied. With two Constitution-class starships currently under repair and the U.S.S. Defiant lost and presumed destroyed, there were no other such ships in this region. There were frigates and science and patrol vessels, of course, but nothing else matching the Enterprise and the Endeavour for versatility to undertake a host of differing missions. The defensive capabilities of both ships also could not be understated, with the Tholians and Klingons still posing potential threats in the aftermath of recent events. Given the current heated political climate and the ever-present possibility of a new reprisal by the Tholians in particular, Starfleet would want its most capable ships and their crews returned to active service as soon as possible.

Behind the Ops Center’s primary work area was a curved corridor with doors set into the far bulkhead. Each of the doors featured a plate at eye level inscribed with an alphanumeric designation and a descriptor, such as BRIEFING ROOM 1 or the office of someone assigned to the station’s operations staff. They passed the door labeled with the name of the starbase’s commander, Commodore DeRoché, without breaking stride, and Haystead instead stopped before another door farther down the corridor. Its label was marked with the designation 01-TMP-2 and the descriptor PRIVATE, VISITING FLAG OFFICERS.

Kirk’s eyebrows rose as he read the description. “Well, this just got a lot more interesting, didn’t it?”

Rather than replying, Haystead pressed the lone button set into the bulkhead next to the door. A moment later, the door slid aside, and the commander gestured toward it. “This is as far as I go, sir.”

Nodding, Kirk offered another smile. “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, notify Commander Spock to execute my last recorded orders.” He heard Haystead struggle to stifle a chuckle as he stepped into the room. The door slid closed behind him, by which time Kirk had gotten his first look at the office’s interior. A desk was the room’s most prominent furnishing, though like everything else in the office, it was standard Starfleet issue. There were no photographs, artwork, or other personal effects anywhere in the room save for an open briefcase next to the computer terminal on the desk. The lack of such items highlighted the fact that this space was for temporary use by persons not typically assigned to the starbase. Kirk noted all of that detail in just the second or two it had taken him to enter the room, by which time his attention had focused on the person seated behind the desk.

“Admiral,” Kirk said.

Reclining in the desk’s high-backed chair, Heihachiro Nogura eyed Kirk with a wan smile. He gestured to the chair positioned in front of the desk. “Hello, Captain. Have a seat.”

As he moved to the proffered chair, Kirk took another glance at the admiral, who seemed to have aged ten years since their last face-to-face meeting. He looked tired, which would be a natural consequence of the stress he had endured in recent months.

“How are you, sir?” Kirk asked before lowering himself into the chair.

With his usual aplomb, Nogura replied, “Considering how close I came to getting an entire space station blown out from under me, I suppose I could be doing a lot worse. As it stands, I’m managing.” He paused, looking down at something behind the desk that Kirk could not see. “Want a drink?”

Startled by the question, Kirk shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Nogura countered, resting his hands in his lap as he began to swivel his chair a few degrees from side to side. As always seemed to be the case when he spoke, he delivered his words in a precise, clipped tone, and his dark eyes felt to Kirk like phasers boring through duranium. “Starfleet doesn’t want me here, but I insisted this debriefing was necessary before we all go our separate ways and resume whatever it is they think are our ‘normal duties.’ So this isn’t an official meeting. There won’t be any formal record, though I’ll write a report for a file that you’ll never get to read. When we’re done and so far as the entire universe is concerned, you and I never met today, and we most certainly didn’t do it here, of all places. Nothing we talk about will ever be spoken of again. Do I make myself absolutely crystal clear?”

Now believing he was beginning to understand the nature of this furtive conversation and the reasons for Nogura’s actions and precautions, Kirk nodded. “You do, sir.”

Appearing satisfied with that answer, the admiral seemed to relax as he shifted in his chair. “Good. Now let’s you and I have our last conversation about Operation Vanguard, concentrating on the role you, your crew, and the Enterprise played before the whole thing went to hell.”

On second thought, Kirk decided that drink was not such a bad idea after all.

TWO

Holding the squat octagonal-shaped glass in his left hand, Kirk examined its contents. It was Saurian brandy, which Nogura had poured from a bottle he had produced from a drawer in his desk. For a brief moment, Kirk pondered how the admiral might have learned his preferred label but chalked it up as just another bit of evidence fueling the popular theory that Nogura simply was omniscient. Rather than dwell on the point, Kirk instead wondered what Commodore DeRoché might think of two officers using one of his station’s private offices to engage in such unseemly activities at just before the midpoint of the starbase’s main duty shift.

Let him sit in on this conversation, and he’ll probably want a drink of his own.

“Permission to speak freely, Admiral?” Kirk asked.

Nogura did not hesitate. “Absolutely, at least for the duration of this conversation. I figure you’ve earned that much.”

Emboldened by the admiral’s accommodating response, Kirk took a sip of his brandy before plunging ahead. “As you know, sir, I’m not read into Operation Vanguard. Not really, anyway. I believe it’s you who last told me I have no need to know.” The brandy was smooth; when it came to his choice of spirits, Nogura had impeccable taste.

Nogura’s expression betrayed nothing as he settled back into his chair while holding his own glass. “You still don’t. Yes, I know you’ve had exposure to some aspects of the project, as well as being involved in one or two peripheral incidents, but you’re correct; you’re still not fully read into the program. That’s not going to change.”

Forcing himself to maintain his bearing, as much out of respect for Nogura as the simple fact that the admiral was unlikely to bend on this point before either of them died, Kirk said, “Even though you and Starfleet have done your best to keep the whole thing under wraps, I’ve been able to put some of it together. This all started with that meta-genome the Constellation found six years ago, and led to incidents at Ravanar IV, Erilon, and Gamma Tauri IV, before you replaced Commodore Reyes as commander of Starbase 47. So far as I can tell, things went completely to hell after that.”

Kirk wondered for a moment if it might not have been better for to him to have exercised some restraint, but Nogura had given him permission to speak without the hamstringing of protocol. Given the circumstances, in particular the dense shroud of secrecy that had enveloped the mysterious project from its inception, Kirk decided that Nogura’s decision even to have this conversation was an act of understanding, if not kindness. It was true that the Enterprise on occasion had crossed paths with the project, up to and including the climactic battle that had resulted in Starbase 47’s destruction. However, Kirk and his crew had managed degrees of tangential involvement from the earliest days of the station’s presence in the Taurus Reach, a wedge of space at the fringes of Federation territory and sandwiched between the borders of the Klingon Empire and the Tholian Assembly. It was here that the Federation had launched a massive colonization effort, supported by Starfleet security patrols as well as logistical and other aid from the station itself. Only a small, select group of people had known of the secret mission for which all of this activity provided cover: Operation Vanguard, a top secret project with the single mandate to discover the secrets of an ancient race which once had ruled over the Taurus Reach, the Shedai.

From what Kirk had managed to learn about the Shedai—thanks mostly to articles published by Federation News Service reporter Tim Pennington, himself living and working aboard Starbase 47—they once possessed and commanded a level of technological sophistication almost beyond comprehension. The Vanguard project had managed to acquire significant information about the Shedai and the complex, artificially constructed DNA structure they had created, dubbed the “Taurus Meta-Genome.” A number of practical applications for it had been postulated, particularly in the areas of terraforming as well as medical science, based on what had been learned about the Shedai civilization that had existed millennia ago. However, that knowledge had come at tremendous cost, spanning more than six years and costing lives in numbers of which Kirk had little real knowledge. The project had come perilously close to unleashing upon the Federation an enemy against which it had limited means of defense. Only through the ingenuity and courage of a handful of people and no small amount of luck had the Shedai been defeated.

“There’s a lot I still don’t know, sir,” Kirk said, rotating his glass between his hands as he studied its contents. “I’m going to have some questions.”

“I’m sure you will,” Nogura replied. “I may be able to answer some of them, but probably not all of them. You should keep that in mind before you actually ask me anything. It’ll save us both some time.” Though the statement was firm, the admiral punctuated it with a small mischievous smile that succeeded in taking away some of the sting.

“Fair enough,” Kirk said, before pausing to sip from his brandy. “I’m actually surprised we’re having this discussion at all. Given the secrecy surrounding the project, I figured you’d already be working to clean up as much of the mess as possible before burying the whole thing for good.”

Nogura nodded. “Oh, make no mistake, that’s being done even as we speak. For all I know, they’re preparing to stuff me in a box along with all the data and other materials we collected.” He brought his glass to his lips and inhaled the brandy’s aroma before taking a sip. “However, aside from the ships actually assigned to Starbase 47 in support of the project, you and your crew had more involvement than anyone else. So it seems only fair that we have this one last talk about it before I order you to forget the whole thing forever.”

Managing to suppress a chuckle, Kirk said, “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that song, Admiral. I imagine you’ll be having a similar talk with Captain Khatami.”

“I’d call that a safe bet,” Nogura replied. “I’m talking to you first, because the Enterprise repairs will take far less time than those required by the Endeavour. Khatami and her crew aren’t going anywhere for a while yet.”

“How long before the Endeavour’s ready for duty?” Kirk asked.

Nogura gestured to the computer terminal on his desk. “According to the last report I got, at least three weeks, and that’s with repair crews working around the clock. Most of the engineering staff has to be replaced, and there aren’t too many chief engineers around qualified to crew a Constitution-class starship.” He paused, his expression falling. “They really got pounded. It would’ve been a hell of a lot worse if the Enterprise hadn’t swooped in when you did.”

The fiery end of Starbase 47 in the Taurus Reach a mere five days earlier had been one of the most intense conflicts in which Kirk had ever taken part. Nogura had called the Enterprise back to Vanguard when it became clear the station would be targeted for annihilation by an armada of Tholian vessels. Kirk and his crew had arrived in time to render aid to the Endeavour in the final moments of that vessel’s hopeless bid to defend the massive Watchtower-class space station against the hundreds of Tholian ships pitted against it. The Endeavour—assisted by two other Starfleet vessels that ultimately were destroyed and a third that was so damaged it was forced to leave the battle—had managed for a time to stave off the incursion. However, sheer numbers had worked against them from the moment the first shot was fired. With the Enterprise able to provide cover, the Endeavour had succeeded in evacuating Vanguard’s remaining personnel before both starships retreated just as the station exploded.

“The Sagittarius, on the other hand,” Nogura said, “is faring much better. According to the latest report, it should be ready for duty in about three days. I’ve ordered its priority downgraded so that we can get you on your way as quickly as possible.”

Kirk nodded, his mood sobering. “From what I can tell, Captain Terrell certainly deserves his promotion. I just wish it could be under better circumstances.”

“Agreed,” Nogura replied. “He’s got big shoes to fill. Captain Nassir was one hell of an officer.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Kirk sighed. “Yes, he was.” Adelard Nassir, captain of the Sagittarius, was one of two casualties the small Archer-class scout had suffered during the battle. The ship’s first officer, Clark Terrell, assumed command and guided his wounded vessel to safety when it had become apparent that the Sagittarius was outmatched against the waves of Tholian vessels. That had not stopped him from wanting to stay in the fight, and he might well have done so if not for an order from Captain Khatami to evacuate the area. “I’ve never met Terrell, but I hear he’s a good man, too. He’d have to be, or else Nassir would never have recruited him to be his second-in-command.”

Nogura, having finished the brandy in his glass, reached for the bottle and poured himself another portion. “He’ll do fine, and he and the Sagittarius will have plenty to do, as our exploration efforts in the Taurus Reach will continue, but that’s not why we’re here.” He leaned back in his chair, sipping brandy. After a moment, he added, “Of course, I suppose we’re going to need a new space station.” He shook his head, and his expression turned to one of discontent. “An entire Watchtower-class starbase, gone. Do you have any idea how long it takes to build one of those damned things?”

“Lieutenant Xiong was very brave, doing what he did,” Kirk said.

“Yes,” Nogura agreed, his eyes dropping to stare at his desk. “He certainly was.”

The captain had been saddened to hear of Xiong’s passing, though he could not help but admire the lieutenant’s bold, selfless action that had saved so many lives. He had met Starbase 47’s archaeology and anthropology officer during the Enterprise’s mission to the Federation outpost on Ravanar IV to investigate the loss of the U.S.S. Bombay, a vessel assigned to the station and believed destroyed after an attack by Tholian vessels. That assignment, and the ensuing mission to the planet’s surface, had almost ended in disaster when Kirk and his landing party, along with Xiong, fell victim to a booby trap left by the Tholians responsible for the outpost’s destruction. Kirk had found Ming Xiong to be a driven, ambitious officer, motivated not by a desire for personal gain but instead the simple furthering of knowledge. The lieutenant had approached the mystery of the meta-genome and the Shedai with the hope of bringing all the knowledge they once had commanded back to the Federation.

“From what I understand,” Kirk said, “he stood by the button until the last possible second, giving us every chance he could to get clear.” After a moment, he added, “He was a good man.”

Nogura countered, “He was an idealist, which by itself isn’t a bad thing. There were those who argued he wasn’t the right man for the Vanguard project, but I came to believe otherwise. In a lot of ways, he was our moral compass. More than anyone else, he wanted the Shedai technology to be an instrument for good, and who knows? That might still happen, at least in some small way. I’d like to think that was possible, even after everything that’s happened. At least then maybe his sacrifice and that of so many others won’t feel like such a damned waste.”

Despite his still-limited knowledge of the veils of security that had shrouded Starbase 47 and its mission in the Taurus Reach, Kirk reasoned that the decision to allow the station’s destruction was born from a desire to protect whatever secrets remained of Operation Vanguard. That the act also had dealt the attacking Tholian fleet a crippling blow and sent the survivors into a frenzied withdrawal from the skirmish had been a fortunate happenstance for both the Enterprise and the Endeavour.

“After our mission with Lieutenant Xiong and his team to Ravanar IV,” Kirk said, “we were ordered to purge all details of that incident from the Enterprise memory banks.” He paused long enough to finish the brandy lingering in his glass. “I suppose you’ll be asking us to do that again?”

Nogura smiled. “Already being taken care of. Commander Spock has been given precise instructions on the transfer and deletion of relevant data from your ship’s computer records. Everything with even the most fleeting connection to Vanguard will be expunged, beginning with your mission to find the Defiant.”

THREE

Stardate 5694.7

Everything around him was darkness.

Kirk drifted in the void, the sound of his own low, ragged breathing echoing within the confines of his environment suit’s helmet. It almost, but not quite, masked the soft repeating drone of the alert indicator reminding him that his suit was running out of oxygen.

There was nothing but unyielding blackness in all directions. How long had he been here? Hours, obviously, straining to their limit the capabilities of his suit’s life-support systems. When the shock had passed in the wake of the Defiant’s transition to . . . this place, whatever it was, and it became evident that a quick rescue might not happen, Kirk had taken steps to extend his suit’s oxygen supply. Small, shallow breaths, just as he had been taught in academy survival training. Still, he could not rule out that he might already be suffering the effects of oxygen deprivation. The act of being transferred to this odd realm also seemed to have other effects. First, a feeling of sudden, almost overwhelming fatigue had gripped him, as though his body had fought the transition down to the last molecule. Then there was the disorientation as he struggled to get his bearings, when he was certain he was falling victim to hallucinations. Instead of floating, out here in the midst of nothing, he had envisioned himself aboard the Enterprise, seeing members of his crew and calling to them for help. His shouts seemed to go unheard, but had his people seen him? Did he imagine them reaching out as though trying to make contact?

As for the Defiant, it was gone, having disappeared in the same abrupt manner in which it and he had been brought to this place. Had it returned to normal space, visible to the Enterprise, or had it been sent somewhere else entirely? Perhaps it simply had been destroyed, falling victim to whatever unknown forces might be at play here.

That doesn’t bode well for you, does it?

Fatigue already had him in its grasp, and it was a fight for Kirk even to remain conscious. He tried to focus on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling in short, measured repetition, holding each breath as he counted off the seconds before releasing it. His efforts were only delaying the inevitable, he knew, but he could not bring himself to surrender even this small battle. Kirk had faced death on numerous occasions, but in almost none of those cases had he been a passive observer to his own demise, powerless to ward off whatever fate might await him.

Aside from the odd hunch or stroke of intuition that from time to time had informed a decision during a heated moment, Kirk did not consider himself a prophet or possessed of any gift of foreknowledge. Still, one of the beliefs he always had held, for reasons he did not understand, was that he would die alone. He was certain that did not mean he would suffer the lone fatal injury while commanding a landing party, or even that he might be the sole casualty while standing on the bridge of his ship. He had no ideas, thoughts, or beliefs as to the actual time or means of his demise, only the certainty that when death came, it would visit him during some point of extreme isolation. There could be no denying that holding on to such a thought was silly, but that did not stop him from contemplating it. On occasion, while lying in bed in the privacy of his quarters aboard the Enterprise, Kirk had wondered if his being “alone” in that instance might imply a literal or perhaps metaphorical sense.

This seems pretty literal to me, right about now.

He wanted nothing more than to sleep, though he knew what likely would happen if he allowed himself to fall into slumber. Keeping his eyes open required physical effort, and only the interior of his helmet provided any means of telling the difference between the inside of his eyelids and the vast gulf of absolute black before him. It would be so easy, he knew, such a simple thing to just close his eyes.

Then fleeting bright light exploded in his vision. He had just enough time to register the effect and flinch in the face of it, his body swathed in the same odd tingling sensation he had felt upon entering the void with the Defiant. As before, his body seemed to rebel against the grip of whatever forces snared him. A wave of nausea swept over him and he worried that he might vomit inside his helmet. He forced away the anxiety, seeking some measure of calm as he willed his body not to resist whatever was happening. Then, as quickly as the light appeared, it was gone.

And stars were everywhere.

Kirk grunted in surprise at the scene before him, but when he tried to draw another breath, he was greeted by the low buzz of his life-support system telling him he had depleted the final remnants of his oxygen supply. Whatever air remained to him was trapped within the confines of the suit itself. He had minutes, at most. There would be no fighting it. There would be no fighting anything, as he felt the lingering vestiges of strength draining away.

Then another odd tingling played across his body. This one he recognized, and the first rush of relief began even as he felt the transporter beam envelop him. The stars disappeared, replaced by the familiar welcoming environs of the Enterprise transporter room. Behind the console was Lieutenant O’Neil, one of Scotty’s young engineering technicians, and standing next to him were McCoy and Nurse Chapel. Kirk was able to comprehend the concerned expressions on their faces as the transporter beam faded and his body gave out, unable to support its own weight let alone the added burden of the now useless environment suit.

He collapsed to his knees on the transporter platform, struggling to raise his arms enough to remove his helmet and fighting for whatever traces of oxygen lingered within the suit. His limbs betrayed him, but by then Chapel and McCoy were hovering over him. The nurse was deactivating the helmet’s seal and Kirk felt it lifting away from the collar around his neck at the same time McCoy pressed something against his right arm. The powerful hypospray, likely containing tri-ox compound or some other medication to aid his oxygen-starved body, hissed as Kirk gulped air, feeling the drug already beginning to take effect. Slumping forward, he rested his hand on his knee and held himself from falling face-first from the platform. His head seemed to weigh a hundred kilos, but he still was able to raise it enough to make eye contact with McCoy, who reached out to grip his right arm and steady him.

“Bones,” Kirk said, his voice hoarse. He tried to say something else, but words failed him as he fought to regain his strength.

His expression one of undisguised relief, McCoy squeezed his arm and offered a small reassuring smile. “Welcome home, Jim.”

Whatever reply Kirk might have made was lost as he sat on the transporter platform, letting McCoy’s medicines do their work. Too weak to reply, he responded with a simple tired nod.

Good to be home.

•   •   •

Alone in his quarters, Kirk regarded the desktop computer terminal’s viewscreen and the transcription of his latest log entry displayed upon it. Having paused the computer’s recording of his dictation, he now reviewed the cold, stark translation of his rambling, almost aimless thoughts. He already had entered his update for the official captain’s log and had done so while minding all of the usual protocols and practices. For his personal log, he felt the need to expound on his remarks in a manner not suited to the official record, documenting his experiences and feelings while trapped in that boundless void that had taken the Defiant.

Finding the appropriate words was difficult.

Despite having “a whole universe to himself,” as he earlier had described it to Spock and McCoy, Kirk realized that concentrating on surviving long enough to be rescued by the Enterprise had precluded any sort of true contemplation about his situation. The only thing he recalled with any clarity was his sense of total isolation. There of course was no way to know if his assertion was true; it had been nothing more than a gut feeling reinforced by the unremitting nothingness in which he had found himself. His ability to recount what had happened to him out there in a way that made sense and might resonate with whoever chose to review these logs in years to come was proving inadequate.

That’s why you’re a starship captain and not a storyteller or a poet. Smiling, Kirk imagined he could hear McCoy giving voice to the errant thought.

“Computer,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair and reaching up to rub his temples, “cancel current recording.”

The stilted, feminine voice of the Enterprise’s main computer asked, “Shall I hold the data in memory for later update?”

After considering the query for a moment, Kirk shook his head. “Negative. Erase it completely.”

“Acknowledged.” The text on the terminal’s viewscreen disappeared.

Deciding he had spent enough time in solitude and that he should return his focus to other matters at hand, Kirk rose from his chair just as his door chime sounded. He frowned, wondering if he had forgotten a meeting or other appointment. “Come.”

The door slid aside to reveal McCoy, dressed in standard uniform trousers but with the short-sleeved blue medical smock he preferred to wear while toiling within the environs of sickbay. He was carrying a tray shrouded with a cloth napkin, and Kirk eyed it with suspicion. “Now, what might you be?”

“Room service,” the doctor replied as he stepped through the doorway—without actual, proper invitation, as was his habit. “After what you’ve been through, it seemed that a little extra medical attention was in order.”

Chuckling as McCoy set the tray on the desk before helping himself to the unoccupied chair positioned before it, Kirk asked, “It’s not any of that theragen antidote you cooked up to deal with the interphasic effects, is it?” He had read reports from both Spock and McCoy detailing how the doctor had studied the effects of the interspatial rift on some crew members’ neurological systems, notably Lieutenant Uhura, Ensign Chekov, and members of both the medical and engineering staffs. McCoy had deduced that in order to mitigate or ward off the affliction, desensitizing certain key nerve inputs to the humanoid brain was required. A search of the Enterprise’s library computer banks had provided him with the best option for producing the desired effect: theragen, a nerve gas employed by the Klingons. Though lethal when used in its natural form, the toxin could be diluted and mixed with other compounds to produce a powerful neurological relaxant, which he prescribed to the entire crew.

McCoy shook his head. “I’m saving that for the next time we get assigned to cart some huffy ambassador somewhere.” He pulled the napkin off the tray to reveal two tall glasses filled almost to their brims with ice as well as a translucent yellow-green liquid. Each glass was topped off by a sprig of lush green leaves.

“Are those what I think they are?” Kirk asked, his nose already catching the first faint hint of spearmint.

“Damned right,” the doctor replied with unabashed pride. “The official McCoy mint julep family recipe, given to me by my father, who got it from his father, and on back for more generations than I’ve got fingers. I’ve been saving the leaves in stasis for months, waiting for just the right occasion, and I figure your captain not dying ranks right up there.” He handed one of the cocktails to Kirk before retrieving the other drink for himself. “If you don’t want to eat the glass when you’re finished, then you don’t know anything about drinking.”

Kirk took a hearty swig from the drink as he reclined in his chair. The blend of whiskey and the mint from muddled spearmint leaves sweetened with sugar was, in a word, exquisite, and he closed his eyes as he savored its taste. Though McCoy was a gifted surgeon, Kirk wondered not for the first time if his friend might have missed his true calling as a bartender.

“This might just be your best prescription yet,” he said. “Even better than that Finagle’s Folly you gave me last year.”

“It’ll recrystallize your dilithium, all right,” the doctor replied before taking a long sip from his own drink. After a moment, he asked, “So, no lingering aftereffects? Fatigue? Disorientation?”

Kirk shook his head. “Nothing. I feel fine, Bones.” Holding up his glass for emphasis, he added, “Better than fine, now.” Upon his return to the Enterprise, he had felt utterly exhausted, drained to the point where he was certain his body would simply shut down as a consequence of the ordeal he had endured. Fortunately, the effects of his time in the interspatial rift were fleeting, his strength returning soon after McCoy set to work treating him.

Grunting as he leaned back in his chair, McCoy lifted one leg to rest atop Kirk’s desk and gestured with his mint julep. “If only every diagnosis were as easy to treat.”

Before Kirk could respond, he was interrupted once again by his door chime. “Come in,” he called out.

This time, Spock stood before the threshold, his hands clasped behind his back. Noting McCoy’s presence, he said, “Good evening, Captain. Doctor. I apologize if this is an intrusion.”

Kirk shook his head, gesturing for his first officer to step inside. “Not at all, Mister Spock. The doctor was just conducting a . . . follow-up examination.” He decided not to smile at Spock’s arched right eyebrow as the Vulcan entered the room. “I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me you’ve got an idea about recovering the Defiant?”

Moving to stand next to McCoy, the first officer replied, “No, sir. With Mister Scott’s help, I recalibrated our sensors to better register the energy field it generated but that was not initially discernible by our equipment. All scans of the area where the interspatial rift was located show no signs of the phenomenon. It is as though it was never there at all. I can only conclude that our entry into the region, followed by the Tholians and our ensuing exchange of weapons fire, or the use of their energy web generators, disrupted what we already knew to be a fragile balance with respect to the rift.”

Swirling the remaining contents of his glass, McCoy said, “So there’s no way to know where the Defiant went, or even if it went anywhere?”

“Not at this time,” Spock replied. “Based on the information currently at our disposal, we are able only to classify the Defiant as lost and presumed destroyed.”

It was disheartening to write off a Constitution-class starship and its crew with such a cold, blunt statement, even with the knowledge that, without doubt, everyone aboard the Defiant had perished. In the absence of other evidence to the contrary, Kirk knew it was the only proper choice with respect to cataloging the tragic incident.

“Then that’s how my report to Admiral Nogura will read,” he said after a moment. “So, if that’s not why you’re here, then what can I do for you?”

Spock answered, “I have been examining the data retrieved from the Defiant’s memory banks. With the Tholians and our attempts to rescue you, this was the first such opportunity to present itself. Most of the relevant data was transferred to the Enterprise computer, but I realized during my research that certain files were not moved. They were not only omitted from the transfer but also erased by another program created specifically for that purpose.”

Kirk frowned at this revelation. “Deliberately deleted from the computer banks? Why? Some kind of security procedure?”

“Affirmative,” Spock replied. “I was scanning the Defiant memory banks with my tricorder at the time of the data transfer, and only when I compared the two sets of data did I realize the omission. The files in question were protected by a sophisticated encryption algorithm that required substantial effort to circumvent. I thought doing so might offer insight into what happened to the Defiant, but I fear I have violated Starfleet regulations with respect to classified materials.”

“Let me guess,” McCoy said, as though realizing where the science officer was going. “Vanguard.”

Spock nodded. “It would appear so, Doctor, though I found no direct reference to that project.” To Kirk, he said, “Admiral Nogura did dispatch the Defiant to the Traelus system, and according to the information Captain Blair appended to his official log entries, the system’s second planet was of interest to both the Tholians and the Klingon Empire. Traelus’s location along the Taurus Reach’s outer boundary places it in proximity to the Tholian border. I recall that there even was a dispute between the Federation and the Klingons with respect to the planet. The Klingons laid claim to it, and after some arguing as to which party had made the original claim, the Federation eventually relented. Conventional thinking at the time was that the Klingons wished to have a permanent presence there. They established what they claimed was a mining colony, though there were reports of military activity in and around the system.”

“Any chance they were there for any other reason?” Kirk asked, offering a grim smile as he shifted position in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“If you are referring to the Taurus Meta-Genome,” Spock said, “it is unlikely that the Klingons were even aware of its existence during the time of the original dispute. However, logic suggests that Starfleet’s presence in the system stemmed from what then was an ongoing effort to locate other instances of the meta-genome on worlds throughout the Taurus Reach. Without access to data or other materials pertaining to Operation Vanguard, I can only theorize on this point, of course.”

“Of course,” Kirk repeated. “However, based on incidents involving the Klingons in the Taurus Reach since then, I’d bet that they’re at least somewhat aware of the meta-genome and the potential it carries.” Given what had been revealed to the public about the Shedai, as well as what Kirk had gleaned from intelligence reports regarding Klingon activity in the region, it was safe to say that they had come into possession of at least some relevant information. However, nothing Admiral Nogura had told him, directly or through implication, suggested that the empire’s efforts to understand the mysterious race and their ancient technology were not on par with what Operation Vanguard had achieved.

McCoy said, “The Defiant was sent to the Traelus system to investigate incidents of escalating violence between the Tholians and the Klingons. Do you suppose that meta-genome thing played into that?”

Spock shook his head. “No, Doctor. I suspect that the Defiant’s mission, while peripheral to the Vanguard project, instead was motivated by more conventional concerns.”

For the first time, the first officer brought his hands from around his back and held up a square red computer data card. “We know from reviewing Captain Blair’s log that they were being chased by Tholian vessels before they encountered the distress signal that led them to the interspatial rift. However, I did find one other entry of interest.” When Kirk gestured to the computer terminal on his desk, Spock stepped past McCoy and inserted the data card into the terminal’s reader slot and tapped a sequence of keys on the unit’s interface. A moment later, the screen activated and coalesced into the image of Captain Thomas Blair. A human male in his early fifties, Blair had gray-black receding hair and a slight roundness to his face. From the image’s background, Kirk surmised that this log entry had been recorded in the privacy of the captain’s quarters. Blair’s expression was solemn as he began speaking.

“Captain’s Log: Stardate 5683.9. My engineer and science officer have spent the past twelve hours examining the alien object recovered from the decimated Klingon colony on Traelus II. They theorize that when combined with other similar devices we found deployed at equidistant positions around the colony’s perimeter, it generated an energy field enshrouding the entire settlement. Residual energy traces recorded by the landing party indicate the field was lethal to any living being within its sphere of influence. Judging by the conditions of the Klingon bodies we found, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant way to die, either.”

Frowning, Kirk leaned forward his chair as he studied Blair’s image. “Nogura never mentioned anything about the Defiant recovering alien technology.”

“No, sir,” Spock said. “A review of other log entries submitted by Captain Blair reveals that the object in question was Tholian in origin, one component of the larger mechanism to which he refers here. It seems the Tholians deployed a land-based variant of the energy field generator they utilized against us. Given that our information regarding the Tholians did not include knowledge of that weapon, it seems likely that this new version is not known to Starfleet Intelligence.”

“Well,” McCoy said, placing his glass on the desk, “that certainly explains the Tholians chasing after the Defiant, not to mention harassing us.”

Kirk rose from his chair. “Yes, it certainly does.” Upon his return to the Enterprise and after being updated by Spock on the situation, Kirk had surmised that the aggressive actions carried out by the Tholian vessels were in response to outsiders trespassing on their territory—frustrating enough, given the Tholians’ seeming penchant for arbitrarily redrawing their borders. This new information changed all that.

McCoy frowned. “You don’t think Nogura would send the Defiant out to investigate Tholian activity and not warn Blair about their potential weapons capabilities?”

For a brief moment, Kirk considered that unpleasant possibility. “I don’t think so. Nogura might not give us the whole picture, but I can’t believe he’d send them—or us, for that matter—out there blind.” The thought festered, until he finally dismissed the notion. “No, he wouldn’t. This is something new. The question is how or if it impacts what Nogura and his people are doing in this part of space.” Looking away from the desktop terminal, he regarded Spock. “I don’t suppose you found anything in Captain Blair’s logs about that?”

The first officer shook his head. “As I said, I found no overt references to Operation Vanguard in any of the Defiant’s memory banks. Either that information was already removed from the computer, or else no such entries or references were made. Each is a valid possibility, given Captain Blair’s limited knowledge of the overall project.”

Kirk nodded in agreement. “Makes sense.” Reaching toward the computer terminal, he removed the data card and returned it to Spock. “What did you do with the data you retrieved from the Defiant?”

“As per Admiral Nogura’s orders,” the Vulcan replied as he took the card, “it is stored in an encrypted file secured under voiceprint identification. Only you or I may access it. With the apparent connection to Vanguard and our previous instructions regarding information pertaining to the project, I thought it best not to house this data in the main computer banks. Until directed otherwise, it will remain protected until we can deliver it directly to the admiral.”

“I just love the cloak-and-dagger stuff,” McCoy said, punctuating his remark with a snort. “I think I’m going to need another drink.” With no apparent shame whatsoever, he reached for Kirk’s unattended glass and drank from it.

Ignoring the doctor, Kirk gestured toward the data card in Spock’s hand. “Prepare a full report on the information and your findings for Admiral Nogura, and store it in the same fashion. It’ll be up to him to decide what should be done with it.”

Based on his experience with anything related to Operation Vanguard, Kirk already knew what Nogura would say.

FOUR

Stardate 5829.6

Starbase 12

“So,” Nogura said, reaching for the brandy bottle in order to refresh Kirk’s glass, “now you know why I asked for the Enterprise to be assigned to search for the Defiant.”

Kirk retrieved the glass, then leaned back in his chair. “Because of this new Tholian weapon?”

The admiral shook his head. “We actually had no advance knowledge of the technology the Tholians deployed on Traelus II. Captain Blair had detected elevated Klingon and Tholian ship activity in that region, and I authorized him to investigate. What he found there was . . . unfortunate happenstance, I’m afraid. Still, given everything we had going on at the time, it seemed prudent to classify it along with all other data and materials attached to Vanguard.”

“For what it’s worth,” Kirk said, “and from what Mister Spock showed me, the weapon doesn’t seem very practical, at least in its current form. It requires too much in the way of setup, which in turn requires stealth.”

Nogura shrugged. “While I can’t see it being of any real use against a hardened target, it could definitely be a problem if used against a civilian facility. What concerns me is how the Tholians were able to deploy the damned thing on Traelus II in the first place. You’d think the Klingons would’ve picked up on them being there long before that.” He gestured as though to dismiss his own idle thought. “Anyway, that’s not why I wanted the Enterprise. While the Defiant was sent out there for a legitimate reason, to investigate heightening tension between the Tholians and the Klingons, we did suspect it might have some connection to one or both parties finding something related to the Shedai. You and your first officer guessed right: a sample of the meta-genome was found six years ago on Traelus II by the Sagittarius. Extensive surveys were never conducted thanks to the diplomatic screwup that gave the Klingons the right of claim to the planet.”

“Did Traelus II possess any other Shedai artifacts?” Kirk asked, frowning.

“Not that we know of,” Nogura replied, “and not that it matters anymore, anyway. With the Shedai gone, all of their technology appears to have self-destructed or else it’s simply inert. Even the pieces we have that we’d managed to get working to one degree or another are all dead now. Whatever control the Shedai possessed over their technology disappeared when they did.” Grimacing, he added, “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. On the other hand, we can still learn from the meta-genome samples we’ve collected and the research notes recorded by Lieutenant Xiong, Doctor Marcus, and their teams. The downside is that anybody else can, too.”

It required physical effort for Kirk not to react at the mention of Carol Marcus. He had not heard from her since her reassignment from Starbase 47 to a location that—to him and for the moment, at least—remained undisclosed. Their last meeting on Vanguard, like their recent previous encounters, had been awkward, with her maintaining her adamant stance that their son, David, remain with her and clueless as to Kirk’s true identity. Her fervent desire that the boy not come to idolize Starfleet while he waited at home for his father’s infrequent returns from long duty assignments was but one of the many points on which Kirk and Marcus disagreed. In the end, he acceded to her wishes, maintaining his silence for David’s sake.

There’s an easy way to fix that, he chided himself, just as Carol had reminded him the last time they spoke. He almost as quickly pushed away the thought—not because it was unwelcome but because he knew it was true.

Kirk forced his attention back to the matter at hand. “From what I know, the Klingons haven’t had the same success with respect to examining the meta-genome itself and learning anything from it. Are you saying we just got lucky with that?”

Nogura grunted. “Hardly. Don’t tell the Diplomatic Corps I said this, because heaven forbid we insult anyone, but my personal theory is that the Klingons’ research is flawed because they tend to go about these types of things the wrong way. Their primary motivation always seems to be how or if something can be used as a weapon. While I’m sure there’s a way to figure out something along those lines, we know that the meta-genome has so much other potential. I think the Klingons’ limited focus ultimately will end up being a waste of time. Besides, they—at least, their military and some segments of their leadership—don’t typically think long-term. They’re more interested in the quick exploitation of a resource. If they can’t get what they need or want from it right away, they tend to move on to something else.”

“Not all Klingons think like that,” Kirk said, recalling some of his own memorable encounters with various representatives of the empire.

“I agree,” the admiral conceded. “However, those brighter thinkers tend to be outnumbered by their less-enlightened counterparts. For now, that’ll have to be good enough, I suppose.”

Twirling the brandy in his glass, Kirk decided that the permission granted to him by Nogura to speak his mind was due for testing. “Sir, it occurs to be me that you neglected to mention this part of the Defiant’s mission during my debriefing about our rescue attempt.”

“I didn’t neglect any damned thing,” Nogura snapped, and for a fleeting moment his expression darkened with what Kirk recognized as restrained irritation. It was gone as suddenly as it appeared, and within seconds the older man had regained his composure. “As you’ve no doubt surmised all on your own, Captain, you had no need to know those aspects of the Defiant’s assignment, owing to my concerns about connections to the project. You still don’t, so drink my brandy, don’t push your luck, and try not to take advantage of my good graces.”

Kirk nodded. “Understood, sir.” They sat in silence for a moment, each staring at the top of Nogura’s desk, before the captain said, “Admiral, just about anyone who’s been paying attention knows you were the one who saw things going bad with the Klingons back before the Organians stepped in.”

“I’m not clairvoyant, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” Nogura remarked, the ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I guess that means I lose the betting pool, sir,” Kirk countered. “You knew that the situation in the Taurus Reach was going to escalate with the Klingons—and the Tholians, for that matter—well ahead of anyone else. You all but predicted the name of the Klingon ship that attacked that freighter in the Iremal Cluster, which tells me you either have some exceptional intelligence assets embedded within the empire, or else you may have had something to do with the freighter being in that location at that time. Maybe a diversion of some kind, but for what, I have no idea.”

It took a moment, but finally Nogura’s expression changed just enough to offer Kirk a hint that he might have guessed right. “Always thinking like a tactician. I knew there was something I liked about you, Captain.” Finishing his second drink since the start of the briefing, the admiral slid his empty glass across the desk, where it clinked against the brandy bottle. “And you’re right. The Ephialtes was a diversion of sorts, providing cover for a sensitive mission I gave to Captain Nassir and the Sagittarius, the very mission you ended up helping to complete.”

FIVE

Stardate 5729.8

U.S.S. Enterprise

Though Kirk had ordered the Red Alert klaxons silenced, the Enterprise bridge still was bathed in the soft crimson lighting indicating general quarters, and even the power utilized for standard illumination had been routed to systems that for the moment were of greater importance. Diverting his attention from the streaking stars on the bridge’s main viewscreen, Kirk glanced to his first officer, who was leaning over the hooded sensor viewer at his science station.

“Spock, any change?”

Without looking up from the viewer, the Vulcan replied, “No, Captain. The twelve Tholian ships are still pursuing the Endeavour and the Sagittarius. Sensor scans indicate that they have been running at their maximum speed for an extended period. Their weapons are active, but I detect no signs of fire being exchanged.”

“They should be picking us up, by now,” Kirk said. “What about our ships? What’s their status?”

It took an extra moment for Spock to respond, so focused was his attention on the telemetry being fed to the viewer by the Enterprise’s array of sensors. “The Sagittarius appears to be running at full power, but the Endeavour has sustained significant hull and internal damage. Its propulsion systems are compromised but are operating well enough for the moment.”

For the moment, Kirk mused. From the report given to him by Admiral Nogura just prior to the Enterprise’s departure from Starbase 47, the Endeavour already had taken quite a pounding at the hands of the Tholian attackers. The admiral was less than forthcoming with details pertaining to the Endeavour’s mission, or the Sagittarius, for that matter. In that regard, he remained as consistent as his predecessor, Commodore Diego Reyes, concerning just about anything with even the slightest connection to the station or the top secret mission that was the real reason for its presence in the Taurus Reach. The one thing about which Nogura had been very clear was that the Tholians harbored strong reasons for not wanting the Sagittarius in particular to make a safe return to Vanguard. It was obvious that the Endeavour had been sent to support that effort and had continued to do so for the past two days, now acting as a shield for the smaller and more vulnerable Sagittarius. Based on Spock’s sensor scans, that had come at tremendous cost, and if whatever patchwork repairs that ship’s engineers had managed to cobble together failed, Kirk knew that the Endeavour quickly would be little more than a practice target for its relentless pursuers.

Not if we can help it. Kirk would be surprised if either the Endeavour or the Sagittarius still possessed any of its photon torpedo complement, and their phaser batteries might well be exhausted, too. The Tholians likely were biding their time, waiting for an opening in which to strike.

As if this were not enough, Kirk also was thinking of his crew’s next pressing mission. The report from Starfleet Command regarding the bacterial affliction that was causing catastrophic damage to the planet Ariannus and its atmosphere had come while the Enterprise was en route to the Iremal Cluster. The assault, the origins of which at this time remained unknown, threatened more than one billion people along with every other living thing on the planet. A massive orbital decontamination effort was the only hope, and the Enterprise had been given that vital task. Since receiving the update from headquarters, Scott and his engineers had spent every available moment preparing the special chemical compounds that would be introduced into the Ariannus atmosphere upon the starship’s arrival. At present, that mission was being delayed by this side trip.

So, let’s get this over with.

“How much longer, Mister Sulu?” Kirk prompted.

Sitting at the helm console positioned in front of the captain’s chair, Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu looked over his shoulder and replied, “Just under five minutes at our present speed, sir.”

“With all of us moving at warp eight, those five minutes are going to be up mighty fast,” said the Enterprise’s chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, from where he sat at the engineering station to Kirk’s left.

“Weapons and shields ready?” the captain asked.

Scott replied, “Aye, we’re locked and loaded, sir. Everything shows green.”

“Captain,” said Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, from her communications station behind Kirk, “I’m picking up a transmission from the Endeavour, intended for the Tholians and alerting them about us.”

Kirk smiled. “Well, at least Captain Khatami knows we’re here. Mister Chekov, commence targeting on the Tholian ships. Stand by to fire on my command.” Given the already tense situation, and the Tholians’ notorious reputation for employing their weaponry ahead of their diplomacy, Kirk saw no harm in making sure the Enterprise was ready for anything the instant it entered weapons range. The Tholians likely would see the move as aggressive, which was the point. He would leave the smoothing of any ruffled feathers to whichever distressed ambassadors from either side were so unfortunate as to draw their respective short straws.

I’ll send them flowers.

“Targets acquired, Captain,” replied Ensign Pavel Chekov from the navigator’s station next to Sulu. “All weapons standing by.”

Spock, still hovering over his sensor viewer, called out, “The Tholian ships are changing course, Captain.”

His muscles tensing in anticipation, Kirk leaned forward in his seat. “Some kind of tactical maneuver?”

“Negative,” replied the first officer. A moment later he rose to his full height and turned from his station. “They are now headed back toward Tholian territory.”

“However that’s defined today,” Scott added.

Kirk rose from his chair and moved around the helm console. “All twelve ships are retreating?”

Moving to stand at the curved red railing separating the upper bridge deck from the command well, Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “Affirmative, sir. Sensors detect no further hostile action on their part.”

“After all that?” Kirk frowned as he folded his arms across his chest. “They just turn tail and run? It doesn’t make any sense.” Whatever the Sagittarius had recovered was of enough importance to commit the Tholians to two days of high-speed pursuit and the risk of engaging superior Starfleet forces the closer they got to Starbase 47. Despite the pride he had in his ship and crew, Kirk found it hard to believe the Tholians would simply break off the chase when faced with one more vessel poised to oppose them.

Damned peculiar, that’s what it is.

“Captain,” Uhura said, “I’m picking up a transmission from the lead Tholian ship.”

“Put it on-screen,” Kirk ordered. A moment later, the main viewscreen shifted to display the image of a Tholian, and Kirk realized this was his first time actually seeing one himself. His only prior exposure to the mysterious, isolationist race had come through his review of log entries and archived communications between Tholian vessels and the Enterprise during the starship’s search for the U.S.S. Defiant. Like Loskene, the Tholian depicted in those communications, this one appeared to be an oversized crystalline structure, the only sign of a face being a pair of narrow white slits that were eyes, or whatever was the equivalent in Tholian physiology. Its body emitted a bright crimson hue as it stood within the roiling, superheated red-orange cloud that was its native atmospheric environment.

Thanks to the universal translator protocols Uhura already had engaged, everyone on the bridge was treated to the Tholian’s posturing as it said, “This is not over. You have meddled with forces you do not understand—and you will all pay for your interference.” No sooner did the Tholian finish speaking than the transmission ended, returning to the screen the view of multicolored streaks of passing stars as the Enterprise plunged through space at high warp.

“He doesn’t sound very happy, does he?” Sulu asked.

Kirk said, “I don’t care what he sounds like, as long as they keep heading home.” Even with the Endeavour’s comprised condition, it, along with the Enterprise and the Sagittarius, would be able to hold its own against even a dozen Tholian vessels. Abandoning a potential firefight and running for safe ground was the best solution for all involved. “Spock, track their course until they’re out of sensor range. Helm, proceed on course to rendezvous with the Endeavour and the Sagittarius.” He looked over his shoulder toward the engineering station. “Scotty, they’ll probably need some help once we get there.”

“Aye, sir,” Scott replied. “We’ll take good care of them.”

“It’ll have to be fast,” Kirk said as he turned to look at Sulu and Chekov. “Start computing a new course to Ariannus. Let’s hope this delay won’t end up costing us too much time. Scotty, we’ll need those engines of yours to keep pouring it on for a while longer yet.”

Once again, the chief engineer nodded. “Not a problem, sir.”

Kirk turned his attention back to the main viewscreen. “All right, then. Lieutenant Uhura, hail the Endeavour. Let’s see what kind of shape they’re in and get this over with. We all look to be in a hurry, after all.”

Though he knew his own mission to Ariannus was of the utmost importance, Kirk still wondered what had prompted Admiral Nogura to send the Endeavour and the Sagittarius into harm’s way, and what was so critical that it was worth risking the Tholians’ ire.

Whatever they’re up to, it’s something big. Damned big.

SIX

Stardate 5829.6

Starbase 12

Leaning back in his chair, Kirk studied Nogura’s face as the admiral sat in silence, listening to the recounting of events. The older man had said nothing during Kirk’s recollection of the encounter, most of which already was recorded in the official report the captain had filed after the conclusion of the Enterprise’s role in the incident.

“After rendering assistance to the Endeavour,” Kirk said, “and escorting it and the Sagittarius to our rendezvous with the Buenos Aires, we proceeded with our mission to Ariannus to carry out the decontamination protocol.”

His hands clasped before him and with both index fingers extended so that they joined at the tips, Nogura looked almost Vulcan as he regarded Kirk. Then, in a manner that was very much not Vulcan, the admiral smiled. “And even that wasn’t such smooth sailing, was it? I read your report on that, too. Tell me, Kirk, is trouble naturally drawn to you, or do you have some innate talent for finding it with such ease and regularity?”

Kirk returned the smile. “I imagine it’s a bit of both, sir.” The temporary delay in the Enterprise’s journey to Ariannus resulting from its encounter with Lokai and Bele, two beings from the planet Cheron, had almost resulted in the ship not arriving at the planet in time to carry out the critical process of neutralizing the raging bacterial attack on its atmosphere. The aliens’ incredible story, with Bele, a political officer charged with apprehending those deemed to have committed treason against his planet’s people, having hunted Lokai from system to system across the galaxy for more than fifty thousand years, was one Kirk still found hard to believe. There had been no mistaking the antagonism and raw hatred Bele and Lokai felt for each other. After Bele forced the Enterprise to return him and his charge to Cheron, it was discovered that such hatred—much of it fueled by racial bigotry—had brought about the destruction of its entire civilization. Lokai, escaping the ship, transported down to the dead world, and Bele, still driven by that same rage, continued his chase. There was no way to know for certain what had come of the pair, but Kirk held on to the theory he had submitted with that after-action report: Bele and Lokai had fallen to the same fate as the rest of their people.

Such a waste.

Kirk leaned forward until he could rest his forearms atop the desk. “The Sagittarius, sir. What was it carrying?”

“Our salvation,” Nogura said without hesitation. “And, as it happens, our doom. The system I sent Captain Nassir to investigate, Eremar, contained thousands of crystalline artifacts created millennia ago by a civilization that called itself the Tkon Empire. As it turns out, they and the Shedai had gotten on each other’s nerves more than once, and the Tkon figured out a way to defeat them or, rather, keep them at arm’s length. The crystals acted as a sort of trap for the Shedai, each able to hold a Shedai’s particular noncorporeal essence within itself. The trade-off is that the artifact becomes a potential power source, and when channeled through other Tkon technology or—in our case—whatever our engineers could cobble together, it can be used for all sorts of things, including some pretty catastrophic applications.”

Kirk’s brow furrowed. “Such as?”

“Such as blowing up planets,” the admiral snapped. “We learned that one by accident. The damn thing blew up eleven planets just from us trying to scan it. Thankfully, none of them were inhabited. How the hell we managed not to kill anybody, I’ll never know.”

“Good Lord,” Kirk said. Even imagining that level of devastation, unleashed with such ease, disturbed him. He had known—or surmised—that one of Starfleet’s primary motivations in seeking out any remnants of the Shedai and their technology was to prevent its being found first by one of the Federation’s enemies. What he had not dared to consider was the true immensity of that threat in this context.

“We’d already lucked ourselves into finding a couple of the things,” Nogura continued. “Xiong actually came across the first one, while he was a . . . guest of the Klingons on Mirdonyae V. When we rescued him from that, we also retrieved the artifact. Xiong and his staff were studying the thing, which contained a Shedai entity he’d managed to trap when it attacked the station. He and a team from the Corps of Engineers from the Lovell were trying to communicate with the Shedai inside when it broke loose.”

“The Lovell,” Kirk said, putting it together and recalling the all-but-ancient Daedalus-class ship that for a time had been assigned to Starbase 47. “The official report said it was destroyed due to a failure in its warp engines.”

Nogura nodded. “A plausible enough cover story, considering the ship is older than I am.” He waited, as though expecting Kirk to be so reckless as to offer a joke or other observation on that point. When Kirk held his tongue—despite being unable to prevent just the slightest hint of a smile—the admiral said, “Your restraint has earned you another glass of my brandy.” Without asking, he refilled Kirk’s glass and slid it back across the desk.

Taking a pull from the glass, Kirk closed his eyes, relishing the warmth of the brandy as it coursed down his throat. He and Nogura had been savoring the spirits as they talked, and Kirk was beginning to feel the cumulative effects of the alcohol on his system. He imagined the look on the face of Commander Haystead or whoever else might wander into the office only to see him and Nogura drunk and either giggling like children or just sitting asleep in their chairs.

That’d look good in somebody’s report.

“Once we figured out what these things could do,” Nogura continued, “we started hunting for their source, or at least someplace where we could find more. Xiong figured if we could get enough of them, we might be able to construct an array or other device to use against the Shedai. Well, the Eremar system was our pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The Sagittarius ended up bringing back more than five thousand of the Mirdonyae artifacts.”

Kirk’s jaw went slack. “Five thousand? Each of them with the same power as the ones you already had?” Even with his limited knowledge of the Shedai’s true nature, he still was able to appreciate the magnitude and potential not only of the technology they once had wielded but also that of anyone else who may have created a weapon with the power to defeat them.

Nogura nodded. “Closer to fifty-five hundred, actually. As for what they could do, hell, we still don’t know the full extent of their capabilities. Xiong and his people were guessing right up until the end. It took them a bit, but they finally figured out how to build a contraption that definitely got the Shedai’s attention. They were able to tap into the conduits the Shedai used to move through space, sort of like interspatial or even interdimensional passages. They could move from planet to planet the way you and I walk across a room, and now we had access to that technology.”

Becoming more animated, the admiral began to move his hands as he spoke. “Can you imagine what we could do with that kind of ability? Putting aside the military applications, the possibilities for opening up avenues for exploration were incredible, and that’s just talking about the Taurus Reach. What if we were able to adapt what we’d learned and push farther out? Star systems and even other galaxies, centuries away by our standards, now close enough to touch.” Sighing, Nogura shook his head. “Yes, the tactical potential was important, too, particularly with the Shedai breathing down our necks, but it could’ve been so much more.”

“So what happened?” Kirk asked.

Nogura’s lips tightened for a moment before he replied. “What always happens in situations like this: somebody higher up in the food chain gave orders, and the rest of us had to follow them. Starfleet Command wanted that thing operational as soon as possible, despite almost continuous protests from Xiong and Doctor Marcus. I agreed with the notion, at least in part, and up until we were able to capture the Shedai.”

The statement was offered in such a matter-of-fact manner that it took Kirk an extra second to comprehend it. “So you were able to capture a Shedai?”

The admiral shook his head. “No. We captured all of them. After using Xiong’s new toy to locate every last Shedai, he was able to . . . transport them into the array he’d built. Snatched them right from wherever they were in less time than it just took me to tell you that.”

“All of them,” Kirk repeated, the words barely a whisper. “Damn.”

“It scared the living hell out of me, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Nogura said. “Scared a lot of other people, too. The power requirements to keep them contained inside that thing were staggering, Kirk. But now that we supposedly had all of the Shedai under our thumb, so to speak, that started giving people all sorts of ideas. If we could blow up planets by accident with just one under our control, what might all of them, working in concert, be capable of?”

Kirk, his mind already racing to conjure those possibilities, felt a cold chill run down his spine as he imagined the Klingons, the Romulans, or other Federation adversaries coming into possession of such unchecked power. “So these other people, the Tkon, were able to do something like that?”

Nogura shrugged. “We don’t know. So far as Xiong was able to determine, the crystals largely were meant as prison cells for the Shedai. Whether they later attempted to exploit whatever advantage this gave them is anybody’s guess. Of course, the Tkon have been dead for thousands of years, too, so maybe they did try something and paid a heavy price for it.”

For the first time, Kirk was beginning to see the real reasons behind the climax of the battle at Starbase 47. “It’s no wonder the Tholians wanted to get their hands on the array, and the Shedai.”

Nogura, to Kirk’s surprise, laughed. “Hardly. They didn’t want the array, but our having it definitely pissed them off. You had your own taste of that, didn’t you?”

Kirk nodded. “Yes, sir. We certainly did.”

SEVEN

Stardate 5821.3

U.S.S. Enterprise

“Red Alert! Red Alert! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill! Captain Kirk to the bridge! Repeat, this is not a drill!”

Already walking from his quarters toward the nearest turbolift, Kirk sprinted forward in response to Lieutenant Uhura’s summons. Hearing or seeing his approach, members of his crew cleared a path for him while making their way to their own assigned stations. The ship’s alarm klaxon began wailing for attention as Kirk plunged into the waiting turbolift car.

“Bridge,” he called out, reaching for one of the lift’s control levers. The car began its rapid ascent, already working under a command override that gave him priority access to the fastest turboshaft route leading to the Enterprise bridge. Willing the lift to move faster, Kirk slapped the activation switch on a nearby communications panel. “Kirk here. What’s going on?”

Instead of Uhura, it was his first officer who replied. “Spock here, Captain. Our sensors have detected four Tholian vessels on an intercept course. However, the direction from which they changed in order to come after us indicates they were on a course for Starbase 47.”

Damn it, Kirk thought. Nogura was right. “Are you sure?” he asked, frowning as the turbolift began to slow.

The Vulcan replied, “Affirmative, sir. All four vessels identify as Tholian warships.”

The turbolift came to a halt and the doors opened. The car was filled with the sounds of heightened activity as Kirk stepped onto the bridge. His eyes moved to study the main viewscreen, which at present showed only a field of streaking stars as the Enterprise made its way through subspace at maximum warp. Though he had left Spock with the conn in his absence, the command chair was vacant as the first officer busied himself at his science station. Noting the captain’s arrival, Spock turned from his console as Kirk approached.

“Nogura suspected something like this might happen,” Kirk said by way of greeting, “which is why he ordered us to get back to the station as fast as possible.” The potential for Tholian incursion had been a constant threat for the past few years, dating back to Starfleet’s earliest probes into the Taurus Reach. From those first days, the Tholians had made no secret of their displeasure at having outsiders moving about this region, for reasons they of course chose not to provide.

Starfleet had since figured out the cause of the Tholians’ unrest, with its discovery of the Shedai and that ancient civilization’s array of advanced technology, as well as the millennia-old connection it shared with the Tholians. The reclusive, xenophobic race’s discontent only deepened the farther into the Taurus Reach Starfleet explored as it acquired more knowledge about the Shedai. Aggressive action already had been taken by the Tholians against Starfleet, including the destruction of the U.S.S. Bombay and their recent attack against the starships Endeavour and Sagittarius, in ongoing bids to force the Federation to reconsider its interests in the area. According to reports Nogura had given him—each of them incomplete and heavily redacted to remove any information deemed beyond the scope of his own security classification—Kirk knew that the Tholians would not hesitate to unleash even greater offensive sanctions if they believed Starfleet’s continued presence constituted a threat to their sovereignty and security.

Maybe they already have.

“Time to intercept?” he asked, turning from the science station to once more regard the image on the main viewscreen.

Spock replied, “At our present speeds, we should be in visual range in two point seven minutes. Our scans have determined that their weapons and defenses are active.”

“Put them on screen, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said as he stepped down into the command well.

“Aye, sir,” replied the lieutenant, and the image on the viewscreen shifted to show a quartet of angular, arrowhead-shaped Tholian vessels. They were traveling in a diamondlike formation, from which Kirk surmised they could deploy either individually or in pairs in order to bring to bear not only their weapons but also the energy web generators with which the Enterprise already had firsthand experience.

Without being prompted, Sulu reported, “Deflector shields at full power, sir. All weapons and crews on standby.”

“Thank you, helm,” Kirk said. “Lieutenant Uhura, open a hailing frequency to the Tholian ships.” Looking over his shoulder, he saw the communications officer tapping instructions to her console with her right hand, the other holding a Feinberg receiver to her left ear.

“Frequency open, sir.”

With his back to the helm and navigation stations, Kirk placed his hands behind him and used them to brace himself against the console. He drew a deep breath before announcing, “Tholian vessels, this is Captain James T. Kirk, commanding the Federation Starship Enterprise. Our sensors have detected your approach course and that you have armed your weapons. This is an act of aggression and we are prepared to defend ourselves. Please state the nature of your presence in this area.”

After a moment, Uhura said, “No response, Captain, though they are receiving.”

“As talkative as ever,” added Ensign Chekov from where he sat behind Kirk.

Considering his next move, Kirk regarded the enemy ships, which were growing larger on the screen with each passing moment. “Tholian vessels, we also detected your transit toward our starbase in this region. If you’re planning an attack against it, I’d caution you that such action is unwise. Your four ships would stand little chance against the station’s defenses.”

“Trying to goad them a bit, sir?” Scott asked from where he stood at the railing near his engineering station.

Kirk shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

“Captain,” Spock said, and when Kirk looked to the science station he saw the Vulcan bent over his sensor viewer. “They are accelerating.”

“They’re breaking formation!” called Sulu, and Kirk was in time to see the quartet of ships each veering off in different directions.

Pushing himself away from the helm console, Kirk moved for his chair. “Lock photon torpedoes on targets and stand by for my command.” He caught Scott eyeing him as he settled into the center seat. “I guess it worked.”

“Looks that way, sir,” the engineer replied before returning his attention to his own station.

Spock peered into his sensor viewer. “They appear to be attempting an enveloping maneuver using four different attack vectors.”

“That’ll be a neat trick at warp seven,” Scott said.

Leaning forward in his seat, Kirk ordered, “Push it to warp eight.”

“Aye,” Scott replied, and the captain noted the hint of uncertainty in the man’s voice. Kirk could sympathize, as the Enterprise had endured much travel at its maximum speeds in recent weeks while responding to the demands placed upon its captain and crew. The chief engineer had requested a quick layover at a starbase at the earliest opportunity, wanting a chance to inspect the ship’s innards and complete any necessary maintenance tasks, but operational tempo had so far prevented that. Despite the need to return to Starbase 47 as soon as possible, Kirk had deferred to Scott’s recommendation that they not exceed warp seven unless absolutely necessary. Though Kirk was now forced to invoke that exception, he still had full confidence in Scott’s ability to keep the ship in top operating condition.

Just so long as nobody shoots it out from under us.

A faint but noticeable vibration working its way up through the deck plates, along his chair’s pedestal, and into his boots was Kirk’s first indication that the ship was increasing speed in response to his command. Glancing over Sulu’s shoulder at the helm console, he noted the Enterprise’s current velocity as reported on one of the station’s status indicators.

“Warp eight, sir,” Sulu reported.

“The Tholians are accelerating to pursue,” Spock said, turning from his console. “They are matching our speed.”

Not wanting a replay of the Tholians’ recent chase of the Endeavour and the Sagittarius out of the Iremal Cluster, Kirk ordered, “Tactical plot on main viewer.” A computer-generated schematic appeared on the viewscreen, illustrating the Enterprise’s current position relative to the Tholian ships. Using the data presented, Kirk considered the strategic options available to him. Though he knew from his review of the Tholians’ tactical abilities that his ship likely could withstand an attack even from four warships, a prolonged firefight definitely would favor his opponents. His best move was to put the Tholians on the defensive by any means available. The longer he waited, the fewer choices would remain. The time to act was now. “Fire a warning shot, Mister Chekov. One photon torpedo across the bow of the ship to our starboard side, aft.”

The young ensign nodded, keying the proper instructions to his console. “Aye, sir. Firing.”

On the viewscreen, the tactical diagram displayed the trajectory of the torpedo toward its target, and the response was immediate as the Tholian vessel veered away from its pursuit course. At the same time, the other three ships also changed their directions, and Kirk knew what was happening even before the report came.

“Incoming fire!” Sulu exclaimed.

“Brace for impact!” was all Kirk had time to say, gripping the arms of his chair as something struck the Enterprise’s deflector shields and the ship shuddered around him. Overhead lighting blinked and alarm klaxons wailed around the bridge as the shields absorbed the strike. Two more salvos followed in rapid succession, each blocked by the shields but still powerful enough to channel a portion of their energy into the ship itself.

“Deflectors holding,” Scott reported, “but they won’t for long if our friends keep that up.”

Kirk nodded. “Return fire, all banks!”

As the barrage of torpedoes was launched, the tactical plot showed the Tholian ships’ attempting to respond to the weapons, but Kirk knew that evasive maneuvers at this speed were all but useless.

“Hits on all four ships,” Sulu said, his attention divided between his controls and the tactical scanner that he had brought up from his console. “Their shields absorbed most of the damage, though.” A second later, the Enterprise shuddered yet again as the Tholians scored their own hits on the starship’s shields.

Rising from his chair, Kirk moved to stand behind Chekov. “Continue firing. Concentrate on their forward shields. Don’t give them a chance to shore up their defenses.” He had no interest in destroying the enemy vessels unless left with no other option, but if one or two of the ships could be disabled, perhaps the others would be persuaded to break off their attack. “Scotty, how are the shields?”

The engineer replied, “We’re down to seventy-six percent on the aft and port generators. I can up that a bit if we reroute.”

“Do it,” Kirk ordered. “Take everything from the forward shields if you have to. I don’t plan on letting them get in front of us.” His plan was simple: keep the Enterprise moving forward and force the Tholians to match its speed, and hammer their forward shields until something punched through . . .

. . . Before they do the same thing to us.

Looking up from his sensor viewer, Spock said, “One of the vessels is decelerating.”

“It took a direct hit!” Sulu added, peering into his own scanner. “That last strike took out its forward shields and impacted its hull.”

When another strike connected with the Enterprise shields, Kirk felt the deck shift, and he gripped the back of Chekov’s chair to maintain his balance. Something popped at or near the environmental control station on the bridge’s port side, and within a few seconds the unmistakable odor of a circuit burnout assailed Kirk’s nostrils. A glance in that direction told him that the officer manning that station, Lieutenant Medeiros, already had the situation under control, ensuring that any fire threat was contained.

“Damage report!” Kirk snapped.

Scott replied, “Our aft starboard shields are buckling, and we’re getting reports of overloads across the ship. I’m rerouting power to reinforce them, but they’ll give way if they take a couple more hits like that last one.”

“Remaining vessels are maintaining course,” Spock said, “though I’m detecting disruptions in the port deflector shields of the lead ship.”

Kirk tapped Chekov on the shoulder. “Target him and fire.”

“Aye, sir.” The ensign’s hands moved over the firing controls. Kirk watched the tactical readout on the main viewscreen charting the trajectory of the two torpedoes Chekov had dispatched, and a moment later the younger man pounded his fist on his console. “Both hits, sir!”

Spock said, “Affirmative. The ship’s port and forward shields are down, and I’m detecting damage to the vessel’s hull. It is dropping out of warp.”

“Captain!” Sulu snapped, and when Kirk looked up, the helm officer was pointing toward the screen. “The other two ships are veering off.”

Pushing himself away from Chekov’s station, Kirk asked, “What about it, Spock?”

“The two vessels are decelerating and changing course back toward their companions,” the Vulcan replied. “They may be attempting recovery operations.”

“Sulu, bring us out of warp,” Kirk ordered. “Uhura, hail the lead ship and tell them we’re maintaining station and won’t interfere in any attempt to aid those ships, but we stand ready to assist if they request it.” Looking to Spock, he saw his friend offer an almost imperceptible nod.

A moment later, Uhura swiveled in her seat, her expression one of concentration as she reached for the Feinberg receiver in her ear. “I’m picking up a response, sir, but it’s weak. Their communications array may have been damaged.” Her free hand played across her console before she added, “You’ll want to hear this, Captain.”

“On speakers,” Kirk said. Uhura made the necessary adjustments, and the bridge’s intercom system flared to life with the sounds of a rather annoyed Tholian.

“Maintain your distance, Starfleet vessel,” it said, in the high-pitched, filtered whine that was a characteristic of translated Tholian speech. “There is nothing you can do that will mitigate the damage caused by your ignorant meddling. You have ignored our every warning, and now you will pay for your arrogance. We will drive the Federation from this space and show no mercy. Flee, humans, for your time as a nuisance to us is at an end.” There was an audible snap as the transmission ended, and Kirk turned to Uhura, who already was examining various indicators on her console before she looked up and shook her head.

“They severed the link, sir.”

Spock added, “Sensors are picking up indications of transporter activity, Captain. So far as I am able to determine, neither damaged Tholian vessel suffered any casualties.”

“I suppose that’s something,” Kirk mused, more to himself than anyone else. His thoughts were focused on the terse message transmitted by the Tholian leader. Drive the Federation from this space? “They were on a course for Vanguard,” he said as he stepped toward the railing separating him from Spock’s station. “Their message can mean only one thing: the Tholians really are planning to attack the station. Nogura knows about it, which is why he called us back.”

Nodding in apparent agreement, the first officer turned from his console and clasped his hands behind his back. “Such an act would require a sizable offensive force. Perhaps the ships we encountered were traveling to join with such an armada.”

Kirk, already resting his hands on the railing, felt his grip tightening as he contemplated the possibilities. Starbase 47, though possessing considerable defensive capabilities, was still a stationary target a long way from home. Support from other starships would be limited, at best, and that was if Admiral Nogura’s people had been able to effect repairs to the Sagittarius and the Endeavour, both damaged during their flight from the Iremal Cluster. If the Tholians were massing an attack force to throw at Vanguard, nearly every other Starfleet ship with the realistic ability to come to the station’s assistance would be too far out of range.

Except one.

“Mister Sulu,” Kirk said, new resolve beginning to well up from within him, “get us back to Starbase 47. Maximum warp, Scotty, until we get there, or we blow apart.”

EIGHT

Stardate 5829.6

Starbase 12

Kirk watched as Nogura, apparently needing a change of pace from the Saurian spirits they both had enjoyed to this point, retrieved a saucer holding a cup of steaming tea from the food slot at the rear of the office. Lifting the cup from the saucer, Nogura brought it to his nose and inhaled the tea’s aroma, and his expression softened as a sigh escaped his lips.

“Last chance before I sit back down,” Nogura said, prior to taking a sip of the tea.

Holding up a hand, Kirk shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.” Despite its allure, he also had opted against enjoying any more of the admiral’s exquisite brandy, not wanting to risk any real compromising of his faculties. Perhaps Nogura felt the same way, though Kirk suspected the older man never would admit any such thing.

Nogura again sipped from his cup before moving toward his chair behind the desk. “As you rightly surmised, we were well aware of the potential for the Tholians to attack the station. What we didn’t count on was bringing them down on our own heads.” Reclaiming his seat, he placed the cup and saucer on the desk. “Xiong discovered that activating the array and trying to direct its power had one major side effect: it transmitted a signal in such a manner that it was heard, or received, or felt by every Tholian, everywhere. From that, they knew what we’d done, and what we were capable of doing.” Shrugging, he added, “Neat trick, considering even we didn’t know what we might be able to do with the array.

“Xiong was against the experiments, of course, worried that we were exploiting a sentient race against their will for our own ends.” Nogura shook his head. “Even when things were at their worst, Xiong still looked for some way, any way, to find a peaceful solution and a means of somehow communicating with the Shedai. He was against the notion of simply plundering their technology, at least not so long as there were representatives with whom we might share a dialogue.” Blowing out his breath, Nogura leaned back in his chair. “I’m as realistic and even cynical as the next person, but if he’d been given enough time, I’d like to think he would’ve succeeded.”

Kirk nodded. Though his interactions with the young lieutenant had been few and infrequent, they still were sufficient for him to form an opinion on the man’s character. “We’d all probably be better off with more people like Ming Xiong.”

“Damned right,” Nogura replied as he reached for his tea. “Unfortunately, most of the people currently running Starfleet are like me, and we have only ourselves to blame for what happened in the Taurus Reach.” As Kirk opened his mouth to respond, the admiral held up his hand. “Yes, our motives may have been pure, but our methods left much to be desired. Some of the decisions we were forced to make may have been inescapable, but the circumstances that led us to those decisions were of our own creation. Whether blinded by hopeless optimism or boundless arrogance, we made our bed out here.”

It was unusual to hear a flag officer, particularly one of Nogura’s experience and standing, ruminating in such a fashion. However, Kirk had known for some time that the admiral was not the typical bureaucrat of the sort that seemed to fill the halls of leadership and power, not only within the upper echelons of Starfleet Command but also the Federation civilian government. Far too many of those people—in Kirk’s opinion, at least—seemed more concerned with protecting their own careers and casting blame away from their areas of influence, rather than asking the hard questions that demanded difficult and often unpleasant answers. Kirk much preferred officers who presented themselves in the latter fashion, and though he and Nogura did not always agree, such as when they butted heads over security and Kirk’s need to know regarding aspects of Operation Vanguard—he found his respect for the admiral growing each time they met.

“And the Tholians did their level best to make us lie in that bed,” Kirk said. “Though, as you say, we pushed them to that point.”

Nogura finished his tea. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Given the usual Tholian xenophobia, it’s not as though we ever were going to be the best of friends, but that doesn’t mean we needed to go out and antagonize them, accidentally or otherwise. Once the link was discovered between the Tholians and the Shedai, and how sensitive they were to the entire situation, we could’ve backed off, or stopped altogether, or maybe—in a fantasy world—somehow enlisted their assistance. A few individual Tholians helped us along the way, after all. It’s too bad we couldn’t have expanded on that collaborative spirit.”

Kirk shifted in his seat. “If the Tholians’ ancestors were slaves to the Shedai, it makes sense that they’d never want to risk that happening again.”

“And yet here we were,” Nogura replied, “having captured the last of their ancestors’ oppressors.”

Kirk recalled what he had read about Tholian culture and history, at least the little information that was available or collected in the brief time the Federation had enjoyed what passed for diplomatic relations with the cloistered race. After delving beyond the usual reports about their low regard for most humanoid species and their penchant for expanding and retracting their borders with no apparent rhyme or reason, there was one fact about their physiology that had fascinated him. “From what I understand, the Tholians are able to somehow share or experience the memories of their ancestors, which in turn are passed along with the memories of each generation to the next. However they do it, they seem actually able to feel as though they lived through such events themselves.”

Nodding, Nogura replied, “It sounds crazy, I know, but there’s apparently some truth to it. If that’s the case, then it’s entirely possible that the current generations of Tholians possess memories of their forefathers living under Shedai rule, and for all we know it feels to them like it just happened yesterday.”

Kirk grunted. “It sure as hell’s a unique explanation for holding a grudge.”

“And that’s before we went and tried to use the Shedai trapped in Xiong’s array,” Nogura countered. He leaned forward, his voice growing quieter as though he suspected his next comments might be overheard. “We destroyed a planet with the damned thing, Kirk. Ursanis II, an uninhabited rock chosen just for the purpose. We crushed it to powder before making it disappear to who knows where. Remember the Jinoteur system? Imagine being able to do that at will.”

Dread gripped Kirk as he recalled what he knew of the Jinoteur system, both from official Starfleet reports as well as the explosive feature written by that journalist, Timothy Pennington, for the Federation News Service. Believed to be the origin point for the Shedai, the system was the scene for what turned out to be a remarkable confrontation between members of the mysterious race and Starfleet. “The Shedai made the whole system disappear,” he said. “Whether they destroyed it or transported it to some other location or dimension is anyone’s guess.”

“Exactly,” Nogura said. “And once the Tholians realized what we had and what we could do, there was no way they were going to let us keep it. They didn’t want it, and they weren’t going to risk us losing control of the Shedai and letting them escape. In their minds, that left one option: send the Shedai, the station, and everyone on it straight to hell, and God help anything or anyone who got in their way.”

NINE

Stardate 5822.6

U.S.S. Enterprise

Despite full power to the Enterprise’s shields, the effects of the first barrage of Tholian weapons fire were strong enough to lift Kirk from his seat. He clutched the arms of his command chair and planted his feet on the pedestal to keep from being pitched forward, but not everyone on the bridge was as fortunate. In front of him, Chekov was bounced from his own seat at the navigation console and went tumbling to the deck. Kirk was already pulling himself from his chair in order to help him when the younger man rolled onto his side, saw his captain, and held up a hand.

“I’m fine, sir,” Chekov said, pulling himself to his feet and reaching for his station.

“Maintain course and speed!” Kirk called out, his full attention already returning to other matters at hand. “Lock on targets and stand by to fire on my command!” Thanks to Sulu’s piloting skills, the Enterprise had dropped out of warp almost in the midst of the armada of Tholian vessels swarming about Starbase 47. The image on the main viewscreen was saturated with the signatures of weapons fire from the enemy ships, Vanguard’s considerable armaments, and—so far as Kirk could see—a single Starfleet vessel attempting to assist the station. His eyes widened at the sight of the damage inflicted upon the starbase. Dark pits and twisted hull plating marred its surface, and the flames from plasma fires belched from within as compartments were sliced open, only to be extinguished as those sections were exposed to space.

Good God.

Reports of a fleet massing at the Tholian border of the Taurus Reach had been distributed by Starfleet Command and Starbase 47 almost from the moment the U.S.S. Endeavour detected its inception weeks earlier. What remained a mystery, at least to most people, was the purpose or possible target of the mobilization. Nogura had informed Kirk of the deployment when he assigned the Enterprise to rescue the freighter Ephialtes near the Iremal Cluster, at the time adding that he was certain the target of any major Tholian offensive would be Vanguard. In the admiral’s opinion, it was not a matter of whether the Tholians would attack, but when.

And when is right damned now. The thought taunted Kirk as he gazed upon the scenes of bedlam, with Starbase 47 at its center. Whatever Nogura and his people had done to precipitate such a response, there could be no mistaking the Tholians’ intent: utter annihilation of the station along with everyone and everything aboard it.

“What’s the story, Spock?” Kirk asked.

At the science station, the first officer did not look up from his instruments as he replied, “The Sagittarius has sustained heavy damage and is on a course away from the station, and sensors are detecting debris from at least one Starfleet vessel, possibly the Buenos Aires. The Endeavour is the only other ship, and their course and evasive maneuvers suggest they are attempting to remain within transporter range of the station. Its shields are compromised and losing power.”

“Trying to evacuate personnel, most likely,” Kirk said. If Captain Khatami was maintaining her ship’s position for that purpose, it would not take long for the Tholians to deduce that for themselves, at which time the Endeavour would be little more than a sitting duck, and that was before it dropped its deflector shields in the hopes of transporting survivors from the station. “Move us toward them, Mister Sulu.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the helm officer, nodding without turning from his station.

Behind him, Kirk heard Uhura say, “Captain, we’re being hailed by the Endeavour.”

“On-screen,” Kirk ordered, and a second later the image on the main viewscreen depicting the chaos of battle was replaced by that of Atish Khatami. The Endeavour’s commanding officer seemed to be holding up well enough, all things considered, but he still saw the relief in her expression. Disregarding the usual greetings and other protocol, Kirk cut right to the point. “What’s your status, Captain?”

Her voice crisp and controlled, Khatami replied, “We need cover so we can beam survivors off the station. Can you buy us five minutes?”

Kirk’s mind raced through tactical scenarios. The Endeavour would have to lower its shields to employ its transporters. For the Enterprise to provide effective protection throughout that maneuver, it would have to be within close proximity to its sister starship. Very close proximity. He glanced at Sulu just as the lieutenant looked over his shoulder and realized from the other man’s expression that he already had surmised the situation for himself. Without saying anything, Sulu nodded, his expression one of utter confidence.

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 Montgomery 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. We’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.

The ship lurched as more Tholian weapons fire struck the deflector shields, and everyone on the bridge gripped their consoles as the deck heaved. Despite the artificial gravity and inertial damping systems, the effects of the prolonged assault and the need to transfer ever-increasing amounts of power from other areas of the ship to strengthen its defenses were beginning to take their toll. The rescue maneuvers in which the Enterprise and Endeavour had engaged left the starships vulnerable to Tholian attack, but at the time the enemy vessels had seemed obsessed with pummeling Starbase 47. It was apparent now that the aggressors had deduced what the Endeavour was attempting and were changing their tactics.

“More buckling in the starboard shields aft,” Spock reported from the science station. “Engineering is rerouting power from other sections to compensate.”

“Continue firing, Mister Chekov,” Kirk ordered, turning so that he once again was facing forward. He studied the image of the Endeavour as it raced ahead of the Enterprise, circling the space station in an orbit that was so close and dangerous that it had triggered every possible proximity sensor and collision threat alert. Near the edges of the viewscreen, Tholian vessels darted into and out of view, firing their weapons either at the station or at the pair of beleaguered starships. Kirk winced as a burst of energy plowed into the Endeavour’s hull, and his thoughts turned to the crew of the other ship as they labored to effect emergency repairs under such hellish conditions. How much longer could they last? During her last transmission to the Enterprise, Captain Khatami had said they needed only another minute to get their warp drive back online, but that interval had expired.

“Spock?” Kirk prompted. “What’s going on over there?”

The Vulcan, his face bathed in the cool blue light of the science console’s sensor viewer, replied, “The Endeavour’s warp drive is still off-line.”

“What about the station?” Kirk asked. “The Shedai?”

There was a noticeable pause as Spock continued to consult his instruments. “The Shedai life readings appear to be restricted to one area of the station’s central core. It is the same section as the elevated power readings we detected. Something seems to be keeping the Shedai contained there.”

Had Nogura and his people devised some means of combating the Shedai? It was a question Kirk was sure would never be answered to any degree of satisfaction, and dwelling on it now served no useful purpose. “If you’re right, and the station does have a self-destruct, whoever’s still over there is obviously holding off for us to get clear before they trigger it.” Was someone standing by, waiting until the last possible moment before being beamed out by the Endeavour? Were they trapped, unable to be rescued, or had they elected to remain at their post, working to prevent the Shedai from somehow interfering with the self-destruct? If that were the case, then the longer the Enterprise and Endeavour remained here, the more their already untenable position possibly also served to undermine whatever crazy plan had been put into motion aboard the all-but-overwhelmed space station.

Come on, Kirk thought, his apprehension mounting with each passing second. Come on!

His stomach felt as though it might be trying to flip over on itself as the Enterprise was rocked by another Tholian salvo. The deck lifted, the ship’s gravity and damping systems struggling to keep up as Kirk was pushed back into his chair. More alarms sounded around the bridge as various status and alert indicators flashed red. As the Enterprise settled in the wake of the latest assault, Kirk glanced around the various stations, verifying that no one had been injured.

Spock, looking up from his sensor displays, said, “The Tholians appear to be redistributing their attack vessels, diverting a considerable number toward us and the Endeavour.”

“I think they’ve finally got us locked in,” Chekov added, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Shields down to sixty-four percent, sir.”

“Captain,” Spock said, “the station’s primary shield generators are off-line.” As though punctuating his report, the main viewscreen now displayed dozens of new impacts against the starbase’s hull. Unhindered by the station’s deflector shields, each new strike was inflicting far more damage as the enemy weapons chewed through duranium plating and found the less-resistant materials comprising Vanguard’s defenseless interior areas.

Whatever time remained to them could likely be counted in seconds, Kirk decided, and not very many of those. While the Enterprise conceivably could outrun any enemy pursuers if he gave the order to withdraw, he had no intention of leaving Atish Khatami and her crew at the Tholians’ mercy. But beyond providing simple covering fire, there was precious little else he could do if the Tholians had decided to leave no survivors.

“Captain!” Uhura all but shouted, and when Kirk turned toward her he saw that the communications officer’s expression was one of fresh excitement. “The Endeavour’s signaling us. Their warp drive is back online!”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Kirk snapped, once again offering thanks to those deities who chose to smile upon starship engineers. “Sulu!” Even as he spoke the helmsman’s name, he saw that the lieutenant already was taking action. His fingers moved at uncanny speed, manipulating the controls before him as he worked to guide the Enterprise toward safety.

“The Endeavour has broken orbit,” Spock reported from his station. “A few Tholian vessels are altering their attack vectors to pursue, but most appear to be continuing their assault on the station.”

“Watch our backs, Chekov,” Kirk said. “Keep the shields angled aft and concentrate firepower to cover the Endeavour’s withdrawal.” On the viewscreen, the image of the station fell out of the frame as the Enterprise banked away, picking up speed and heading for open space. There still were far too many Tholian warships for his liking, but he saw that Chekov was addressing that issue as well. Concentrating the ship’s firepower forward, the navigator was not aiming for the enemy vessels so much as he was simply trying to scare them out of the starship’s flight path. His tactic, so far as Kirk could see, was having the intended effect.

“Warp eight,” the captain ordered. “Get us to the evacuation convoy.” Glancing toward the science station, he asked, “Spock? The Endeavour?”

Once more consulting his sensor data, the Vulcan nodded. “It has accelerated to warp and is on course for the convoy.” He then added, “Captain, I am detecting a massive power surge from within the station.” When he said nothing else, Kirk looked toward the first officer to see him turning from his console. Spock’s expression offered nothing, though the captain could see in his friend’s eyes what he had not said aloud.

“On screen,” Kirk said, rising from his chair as the main screen shifted from its view of onrushing stars to depict Starbase 47. Dozens of Tholian vessels darted around the station, many of them continuing to fire at it even as they worked to evade Vanguard’s weapons. Stepping around Sulu at the helm, Kirk had time for one final look at the station, silhouetted against the stars, before an enormous ball of white light burst from deep within its core. Instinct pulled his hands to his face to shield his eyes from the assault, but the viewscreen automatically adjusted its resolution to compensate. The blast spread in the space of mere heartbeats, consuming the station and the scores of enemy warships around it. A cloud of ionized gases pushed outward, sending with it whatever debris had not been annihilated by the massive matter/antimatter detonation. Then the blast began to fade, leaving nothing but the bits of twisted wreckage that were the only evidence that the Watchtower-class space station had ever been there at all.

“Oh, my god,” Kirk heard Uhura say, her voice barely a whisper. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw that she had moved from her own station and now was standing at the rail encircling the command well, tears in her eyes as she fixed her gaze on the viewscreen.

“Spock,” Kirk said, keeping his composure and reminding himself that the battle might not yet be over. “Scan the station’s location for Shedai life signs.”

The science officer said nothing for a moment, once more consulting his instruments before answering, “Sensors detecting no indications of the Shedai.”

Not taking his eyes from the main viewscreen as the last vestiges of the explosion continued to disperse, Kirk prompted, “You’re sure?”

“Affirmative,” Spock replied. “No life readings, and no residual energy traces. They are simply gone, likely obliterated in the explosion.”

Chekov said, “Let’s hope so.”

Amen to that, Kirk mused. “Are there any Tholian survivors?”

“Most of the warships were caught up in the blast,” Spock said. “Those few ships which were tracking us and the Endeavour are breaking off their pursuit.” He adjusted one of his controls before adding, “They appear to be on course for the Tholian border at their best possible speed.”

Kirk nodded. “I guess they’re satisfied that the Shedai are gone.” It certainly appeared as though Admiral Nogura and his people had accomplished at least one of their primary objectives: containing the Shedai threat. There was every reason for Kirk to believe that the top secret project also had borne other fruit, perhaps in ways he would never know or understand, but at what cost? Lives, ships, entire worlds had been lost; relations with interstellar neighbors and adversaries were damaged if not destroyed.

In the final analysis, would the secrets gleaned by Operation Vanguard prove to be worth their staggering price? It was a question for others to answer, Kirk knew.

But I doubt it.

ELEVEN

Stardate 5829.7

Starbase 12

Neither Kirk nor Nogura said anything for several long moments, and Kirk could tell from the admiral’s expression that the older man had not simply been listening to his report on the final moments of Starbase 47. Pressing his slight frame into the oversized chair, Nogura seemed to be staring at a point in space as he held his teacup between both hands, and Kirk decided he must be recalling the harrowing events as he had experienced them for himself.

“Admiral?” Kirk prompted after a time. “Are you all right?”

Clearing his throat, Nogura nodded before straightening his posture. “Yes. I’m sorry, Kirk. I guess I’m still a bit shaken up by the whole thing.” He blew out his breath, setting his cup back down on its saucer before resting his forearms on the desk. “I’ve been at this a long time, and I’ve even had a starship shot out from under me, but losing an entire space station? That’s a new one.”

“I can only imagine what Starfleet Command had to say about that,” Kirk replied, shifting in his chair. How long had the two of them been sitting here, locked together in this room? At this point, it was the single longest conversation he had shared with Nogura since first meeting the man back on Vanguard. Indeed, he could recall no discussion of comparable length with any flag officer. Such individuals rarely had the time for indulgences of this sort.

Nogura grunted. “It won’t be the most flattering entry in my service record, but it should be the most interesting . . . for a while, at least.” Rising from his chair, he picked up the cup and saucer and made his way to the food slot.

“So,” Kirk said, vacating his own seat and moving to join the admiral, “what happens now?”

“Damned if I know,” Nogura replied. The admiral inserted a data card into the food slot and tapped several buttons on the control pad. “My current orders are to reassign everyone with direct connection to the project back to Starfleet Headquarters on Earth. I’m guessing they, along with all the data and materials we’ve collected, will be debriefed and examined in excruciating detail.

“As for the rest of it, they’ll probably stuff it into a big box and bury it somewhere, and maybe me along with it. The whole thing’s toxic right now.” The slot’s door slid upward and Nogura took a tentative sip of steaming tea, then offered Kirk a wayward glance. “If I’d read you completely into the project, you and anyone else you brought into the loop would be on a transport heading for Earth right now. You’re welcome.”

Kirk was unable to suppress a smile as Nogura returned to his desk. Leaning against the wall, the captain crossed his arms. “They can’t keep the whole thing a secret forever, sir. The Shedai were a known threat, one believed to be too strong and powerful for us to defend against. How does Starfleet plan to explain their defeat? At least, in such a way that it convinces people the Shedai won’t be back?”

Sighing, Nogura replied, “So far as we’re aware, no one outside the project has any appreciable knowledge of the Shedai beyond what’s already been released, either through Starfleet channels or news reports published by . . . other parties.”

“You mean Pennington.” Kirk frowned as he considered the journalist. Timothy Pennington, through circumstance, fate, or luck, had found himself on the front lines of Starfleet’s unofficial “war” with the Shedai almost from the beginning. He had been among the survivors transported from Starbase 47 just prior to its destruction. “I’m surprised that he hasn’t been corralled by Starfleet or Federation authorities as a possible security threat, even if only temporarily.” Of course, detaining the reporter for any reason, but particularly if he had committed no actual crime, would bring about a host of new problems, which some might argue paled in comparison to the potential harm Pennington might cause if he decided to write and release even more detailed accounts of Starfleet’s final battle with the Shedai.

Some might argue that, but Kirk did not consider himself among that group.

“Pennington won’t be an issue,” Nogura said. “To this point, we’ve had what you might call an ‘understanding’ about the whole thing. I doubt he’ll be happy with how things play out, but I don’t expect he’ll make too much fuss.” When Kirk started to respond, the admiral held up his hand. “I’ll handle Tim Pennington, Captain. So far as the public at large will know, the Shedai attacked Starbase 47, and the Tholians came to our aid. Destroying the station was the only way of defeating the Shedai.” He paused, as though pondering the veracity of what he had just said. “Just enough truth in there to make it plausible.”

Kirk frowned. “And the Tholians are on board with this?”

“For now, at any rate,” Nogura replied. “Oh, they’re upset, all right. According to the last report I received, Tholian ambassadors were ripping into the Federation Council and the Diplomatic Corps. After all, this whole thing was our fault, but it’s not as though we were the best of friends before all this started. On the other hand, they’d rather downplay their history with the Shedai. They seem to think it’s not good for your reputation as an interstellar aggressor if it’s known your ancestors were once slaves.” He shook his head. “Tactically speaking, they’re hurting. They lost a significant portion of their fleet during the battle. It’ll take them some time to replace those assets, to say nothing of the casualties they suffered. Still, I don’t think they’ll be coming for revenge or anything like that. I imagine they’ll retreat back behind their borders and we’ll leave each other alone, at least for a while. We’re already fairly sure they’ll never forget what happened; I seriously doubt they’ll ever forgive us, either.”

For a moment, Kirk imagined the tenor of conversations between the diplomats representing both governments. If what Nogura said was true, the Tholian Assembly might well prove to be a thorn in the side of the Federation for years to come. Would there ever be a time when the two interstellar powers might be allies rather than adversaries? Of that, Kirk was less than hopeful.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

Rising from his seat, Nogura stepped around his desk. “We do what we always do, Kirk: we tend to our duty. I imagine Starfleet will find something for me somewhere. The Endeavour and the Sagittarius will be back in the game soon enough, supporting the legitimate exploration and colonization efforts in the Taurus Reach. That should be more than enough to occupy their attention for a long while. As for you, the Enterprise’s repairs will be finished in a couple of days, after which you’ll resume your regular assignments. I’d like to think that’d keep you out of trouble, but I know better.”

Kirk forced himself not to laugh. “I’ll try to behave, sir.” Sensing that the meeting was reaching its conclusion, he stood and held out his hand. “It was an honor serving with you, sir. I only wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.”

“Agreed,” the admiral replied, taking Kirk’s proffered hand and shaking it. “My compliments to your ship and your crew, Captain. They did a hell of a thing. Without them, and you, Operation Vanguard might well have ended on an even worse note than it did. Now, your orders are to forget all about it.”

Offering a knowing, humorless smile, Kirk asked, “Forget about what, Admiral?”

•   •   •

Stardate 5830.4

U.S.S. Enterprise

On the main viewscreen, the image of sloping metal bulkheads gave way to open space as the ship maneuvered out of Starbase 12’s docking bay. Beyond the confines of the mammoth space station, the stars beckoned to Kirk.

Across the bridge, Lieutenant Sulu turned to look at him from the helm console. “We’re free of the dock, Captain, and clear to navigate.”

From where he stood leaning against the curved red railing separating him from the science station, Kirk did not take his eyes from the viewscreen as he acknowledged the report. “Excellent,” he said, crossing his arms. “Proceed on course; ahead warp factor three.”

“Warp three, aye,” Sulu said, entering the necessary instructions to the helm.

Looking to his left, Kirk turned his attention to Lieutenant Uhura. “Notify the dock master of our departure heading and relay one final thanks to Commodore DeRoché for his hospitality.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the communications officer as she set to the task of relaying the captain’s messages.

Content to remain where he was as his officers carried out their various duties, Kirk continued to take in the image of the stars on the main viewscreen stretching into multihued streaks as the Enterprise made the transition to warp speed. He did not realize he had allowed his attention to wander until he felt a touch on his shoulder. Startled from his reverie, he looked up to see Leonard McCoy standing above and behind him, leaning over the railing.

“Jim?” the doctor prompted, concern evident in his eyes. “You okay?”

Kirk nodded, attempting a small smile. “I’m fine, Bones. Just lost in thought, is all.” Glancing past McCoy, he saw that Spock also was regarding him from where he sat at the science console. “Mister Spock? You look as though you might have something on your mind.”

As McCoy perched himself on the railing next to Kirk, the science officer swiveled his chair so that he faced both men. “I have just completed my final diagnostics of the library computer following the . . . modifications it received during our stay at Starbase 12. As expected, the primary and backup memory banks have been purged of all files and references to Operation Vanguard.”

“Don’t you just love Starfleet?” McCoy asked. “Always looking out for our best interests.”

Ignoring the doctor’s remark, Kirk turned and rested his forearms on the railing between him and Spock. “Well, we knew that was going to happen. For all intents and purposes, Vanguard never happened.”

Spock’s right eyebrow rose as he clasped his hands in his lap. Keeping his voice low, he replied, “Yes, sir, the alterations were not unanticipated. However, while the computer was performing its diagnostics, I took the opportunity to interface with Starbase 12’s systems and access the master Starfleet data network. I have found several . . . interesting developments.”

His curiosity piqued, Kirk asked, “Such as?”

“For example,” the Vulcan said, “Starbase 47 is now the designation of a Starfleet ship research and development facility located near the Tammeron star system. However, I know that this same facility was—until recently—designated Starbase 210. So far as I am able to determine, it is just one of several starbases that Starfleet is renaming.”

McCoy frowned as he asked, “Is that something they do very often?”

“Starfleet has lost or decommissioned several bases and other facilities over the course of a century’s worth of interstellar expansion,” Spock answered, “but I can find no record of any such previous action.”

Shrugging, Kirk rubbed his hands together. “Still, it doesn’t sound that unusual.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew he was not convinced. Besides, Spock would not have seen fit to mention the detail if he believed it irrelevant.

“I agree,” the first officer said. “So I conducted additional research; specifically, the Starfleet personnel databases. There is no record of a Diego Reyes having ever served in Starfleet in any capacity. Further, I found no other data on him. No birth or citizenship records or property or financial transcripts. It is as though the commodore never existed.”

“Are you saying they just erased him?” McCoy asked.

Spock seemed to consider the question for a moment before responding. “The commodore was convicted by a Starfleet court-martial and sentenced to a term of incarceration at the New Zealand Penal Settlement on Earth. There is no record of that conviction, or of his having arrived at the colony. It is possible that Starfleet Command viewed the nature of Reyes’s connection to Vanguard as being in need of particular safeguarding and provided him with a new identity before securing him in a safe location.”

Snorting, McCoy replied, “Or maybe they just threw him in a hole somewhere.”

“Bones,” Kirk said, casting a hard glare at his friend as a reminder to keep his voice down and his bearing in check, lest their conversation attract the attention of the other officers working about the bridge. He could understand Starfleet’s extraordinary efforts to conceal any and all knowledge of Operation Vanguard, but Kirk had to believe there was a line that could not be crossed. Regardless of whatever information Diego Reyes might possess with respect to the supersecret project and the tumultuous events that had surrounded it, he still was a decorated officer with decades of experience. If nothing else, he was a resource that could prove useful at some unknown future point in time. It was easier for Kirk to accept that Starfleet had used some of the considerable resources at its disposal simply to relocate the former commodore, archiving him, in a manner of speaking, for safekeeping.

“Other personnel attached to the project likewise seem to have disappeared,” Spock continued. “Lieutenant T’Prynn has been transferred to Starfleet Intelligence, but her duties are classified. The surviving members of Starbase 47’s senior staff also have been reassigned, but their present locations are unknown.”

Sensing where this might be going, Kirk looked down at his hands for a moment before asking, “What about Doctor Carol Marcus?”

“Her current location is classified,” replied the science officer. “She is listed as attached to Starfleet’s research and development division, but no specific position title or description of duties is given.”

Kirk could see McCoy in his peripheral vision, perhaps gauging his reaction to Spock’s report. As the first officer had no knowledge of his prior relationship to Marcus, and it was not a subject Kirk wished to raise here on his bridge, he forced his expression not to change as he said, “That’s too bad. I would’ve liked to have said good-bye before she left the station for . . . wherever.” Then, for Spock’s benefit, he added, “We’re . . . old friends.”

If Spock interpreted any additional meaning behind the explanation, he chose not to demonstrate it. “If you wish, I can endeavor to ascertain more information, Captain.”

Perhaps too quickly, Kirk shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.” Even if the Vulcan was successful in locating her, Kirk was compelled to acknowledge the possibility that Carol might not want to be found, at least not by him. Once more, he recalled their last, unpleasant conversation while she was still assigned to Starbase 47. If he had known it might be the last opportunity they would have to speak—for the foreseeable future, at any rate—he might well have done a better job carrying his part of the rather animated discussion.

Then again, probably not. It was a bitter thought, taunting him with its stark, brutal assessment. He deserved the upbraiding, Kirk knew. For the moment, all he could do was hope that fate one day would reunite him with Carol Marcus, and that he might introduce himself to his son.

My son.

“So,” McCoy said, intruding on Kirk’s thoughts, “I guess that’s it, then. Operation Vanguard is no more. We’re all just supposed to pretend it never happened and get on with our lives. Is that it?”

“That is essentially correct, Doctor,” Spock replied. “Operational security would seem to demand that all information on this subject be sequestered until such time as someone with the proper authority decides otherwise.”

Releasing a derisive chuckle, McCoy said, “And how often does that happen?”

“Not very often,” Kirk said, his thoughts only partially on the subject at hand. “To be honest, I’d bet a case of Saurian brandy that we never even hear the name Vanguard again.”

TWELVE

Stardate 7098.5

Starfleet Archives Annex, Aldrin City, Luna

Never say never.

Kirk hated the new uniforms.

He slid his right index finger between his neck and the stiff high collar of his admiral’s uniform. Was it him, or was it just too warm in this section of the complex? A glance at his companion, Admiral Nogura, told him that the older man seemed to be suffering no ill effects, either due to his own uniform or the environment within the subterranean lunar facility. Since Kirk knew that the internal temperature was kept at a comfortable level throughout the installation, the only other explanation for his apparent unease had to be the purpose of their visit.

“You look nervous,” Nogura said, as though reading his thoughts.

Shaking his head, Kirk replied, “No, sir, it’s nothing like that. I guess I just didn’t expect to be dealing with . . . well, this . . . again.”

“With luck, this will be the last time.” Then Nogura chuckled, as though to himself. “Then again, my luck when it comes to Operation Vanguard hasn’t been very good.”

Walking alongside the admiral, Kirk eyed the gleaming white passageway stretching before them, with closed doors on either side of the corridor. Perhaps fifty or sixty meters ahead was a junction connecting this passage with another, wider one. A moment later he saw an antigrav transport pass through the intersection, its onboard computer interfacing with that of the facility to guide the car and its passengers to their destination.

“This is my first time here,” Kirk said, genuinely impressed with the size of the complex. “I had no idea it was this big.” One of the most secure installations in the Sol Sector, the Aldrin City Archives Annex contained more stringent access protocols than Starfleet Headquarters itself. The use of transporters was not permitted except in the case of emergency, and even entering the base required the formal authorization of the chief of Starfleet Operations. This was fortunate for Kirk, as—thanks to the machinations of Admiral Nogura—it was the position he currently occupied.

Though he had visited the moon on several occasions—the earliest being a trip during his childhood with his father when the elder Kirk had been required to pilot a transport from Earth to another Starfleet installation—those visits had not included this facility. When young Jim Kirk had inquired about it, his father had offered little in the way of useful information, leading the teen to believe that it might well be some kind of top secret base that was home to all manner of sensitive and even dangerous information and perhaps even alien artifacts. It was not until he joined Starfleet himself that Kirk had been something less than surprised to learn the accuracy of that early, youthful assessment.

Nogura said, “Twenty-six levels, each of them occupying five square kilometers. There’s talk of expanding the complex, either outward or downward, depending on whom you ask. Apparently, Starfleet feels it might one day run out of room for all its secrets. Considering how much data and material pertaining to Vanguard we just brought here, I suppose they could use the extra space.” There was no mistaking the bitter tone lacing the admiral’s words, but a glance in his direction told Kirk that the other man had no apparent interest in expounding on this comment. “You should probably get used to the idea of coming here every couple of months or so. There’s never a lack of interesting reading, that’s for sure. Of course, this assumes the chief of Starfleet Operations will even let you in the place. I hear he can be a bit disagreeable.”

Kirk chuckled. “I’ve heard that, too. I’ll have a little chat with him about that.” Despite the shared levity, he knew that Nogura—in his patented oblique fashion—was commenting on the difficulties Kirk seemed to be having as he settled into his new role. Just over two months had passed since his promotion, and already he felt as though something within him—something he could not identify—had gone missing, some quality that no longer asserted itself as he settled into his current duties. Instead of directing the actions of one starship, Kirk now oversaw every ship in the fleet. His perspective on the interstellar political climate—in particular how it affected Starfleet—had expanded far beyond the center seat on the bridge of one vessel. Now the quadrant was a mammoth game board, with Starfleet representing his playing pieces as he and other senior flag officers worked to ensure that their resources were deployed in a manner best suited not only to supporting Starfleet’s mission of exploration and furthering Federation knowledge but also responding to the tests presented by adversarial powers.

Just another day at the office.

But was it enough? Along with the challenges of commanding a starship, Kirk also missed his friends. Spock, already gone to Vulcan, now was supposedly immersed in some form of advanced studies about which little was known or offered to outworlders. Leonard McCoy at last report was considering putting his own extended leave on hold in order to participate in a Starfleet program to send doctors and support services to planets, colonies, and other isolated communities along the Federation border. Such a choice seemed at odds with the doctor’s original and rather vocal intentions to “get lost for a while” following the Enterprise’s return to Earth. Kirk had no idea if his friend had accepted the assignment or carried out his good-natured threat to “disappear.” The rest of his former crew was busy elsewhere, with duties relating to the Enterprise’s upcoming top-down refit, or other assignments as handed down from Starfleet. He did not know at this point just how many of the crew would stay with the ship once its upgrades were completed. The only thing Kirk seemed to know for certain was that another captain would guide her toward her next mission.

Thanks for the reminder.

Following the signage, they traversed several sections of corridor that to Kirk all looked alike, before turning a corner and arriving at a short section of passageway that ended at a large, formidable-looking metal hatch. Positioned outside the hatch was a pair of guards—a human male and an Andorian female—each wearing the standard uniform for a member of the security branch, including maroon body armor and matching helmet bearing the Starfleet insignia. The officers were standing at ease, their hands behind their backs with their phasers holstered on their hips, and both came to attention at the sight of Nogura and Kirk.

“Admiral Nogura,” said the Andorian, a lieutenant. “Admiral Kirk. Captain Czerwinski’s expecting you.”

“Lead on, Lieutenant,” Nogura said, indicating the heavy hatch.

Turning to a recessed keypad set into the bulkhead to her left, the Andorian tapped a sequence, and a moment later the massive hatch slid aside to reveal what to Kirk looked like a typical computer operations center or even the bridge of a starship. The room was square rather than circular, with fifteen workstations of varying configuration lining the walls, only half of which were occupied by base personnel. A pentagonal island at the center of the room featured five additional workstations, only one of them in use. The island’s lone occupant, a human female with short blond hair, had already risen from her seat and now was moving around the station toward Kirk and Nogura. She wore a variant of the current Starfleet duty uniform—a white short-sleeved tunic and blue-gray trousers. On her shoulders were epaulets displaying her rank insignia.

“Admiral Nogura,” she said as she approached, “welcome to Aldrin City. I’m Captain Czerwinski, commander of the archives facility.” Turning her attention to Kirk, she added, “Welcome, Admiral. Congratulations on your promotion. I have to say, sir, that some of the things you and the Enterprise ran into made for lively reading.”

“Only about half of those reports are true, Captain,” Kirk replied, offering what he hoped was a disarming smile. In truth, he remained uncomfortable with the entire notion of somehow being “famous.” Though he did not consider doing as he was ordered to be worthy of any particular recognition, the media had taken great delight in covering the end of the Enterprise’s tour of duty. Much attention was given to comparing it to the starship’s sister Constitution-class vessels, along with the unfortunate and often tragic fates that had befallen several of them. He suspected that at least part of Nogura’s motivation for promoting him was to somehow exploit the good graces in which the former Enterprise captain now found himself with the press. Even Timothy Pennington, the former Federation News Service reporter who had been a witness to many of the events pertaining to Operation Vanguard, saw fit to write his own essay on the Enterprise, her crew, and her mission. Having read the article, Kirk was only somewhat surprised to note that his ship’s presence at the “Battle of Starbase 47” had escaped mention.

Kirk noted the change in Czerwinski’s expression, as though she sensed that Nogura was not in the mood for idle conversation. To him, she said, “Admiral, as you saw for yourself, your consignment has been installed in our long-term storage section on level twenty-five.” She made her way back to her workstation. “It’s to be categorized under ultrasecret classification as well as a special dispensation from the Starfleet commander and the Federation president, ordering its isolation for a period of not fewer than one hundred years. Extensions to this directive will be subject to review by . . . well, whoever holds those titles a century from now.”

“The only safe bet is that it likely won’t be any of us,” Nogura said. Then, with a raised eyebrow worthy of any self-respecting Vulcan, he added, “Except perhaps for you, Captain.”

Smiling at the unexpected compliment, Czerwinski cleared her throat as she reached for a data slate lying atop her station’s console. “All we need now, sir, is your authorization to activate the enhanced security protocols. Once that’s entered, the materials in question will officially be in isolation, and the clock will be running, so to speak.” As intended, Czerwinski and her personnel had no direct knowledge of the contents of the archive containers that had been placed in storage under Kirk and Nogura’s supervision. According to Nogura, more than twenty percent of the total inventory stored in this facility was shrouded in a security classification so dense and compartmented that it exceeded the clearance levels of the archive’s support staff.

“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Kirk said, moving past her to examine one of the island’s other workstations. Gesturing toward the console, he asked, “This station is the master access console for the central archive database, correct?”

Czerwinski’s expression changed to one of confusion, though she was able to reassert her composure. “Yes, Admiral. It’s a dedicated console, the only one with complete authority to access and update any memory bank in the facility. Only I and three other members of the archives support staff have sufficient credentials to access the database in this manner.”

“Then I’ll need you to supply us both with the necessary access permissions,” Nogura said. “For a one-time use, of course. Also, I need you and your staff to leave Admiral Kirk and myself alone in this room until one of us fetches you.”

Shock now replaced puzzlement on Czerwinski’s face, though she was able to maintain her bearing. “I’m . . . sorry, Admiral, but I don’t understand. Typically, access to the central database is strictly controlled, particularly when we’re talking about information on anything of a classified nature.”

Kirk said, “We appreciate that this is unusual and not normal procedure, Captain.” He retrieved a data card from a pocket of his uniform and handed it to her. “This should explain everything. We’re operating under orders from the Starfleet commander and the Federation president. This matter is very sensitive, requiring an extraordinary set of security measures that are ‘eyes only’ and ‘need to know’ and every other security cliché in the book.”

Czerwinski regarded the card with uncertainty. “Not to be disrespectful, Admiral, but I’d need to verify these orders before I could let you proceed.”

“And I’d have to shred your stripes if you did anything less, Captain,” Nogura replied. “However, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like not to die here of old age.”

Despite her evident anxiety, Czerwinski recovered and made short work of inspecting the data card’s contents. After only a few moments, she looked up from the workstation where she had reviewed the orders the card contained. “Everything looks to be in order, Admiral.” Moving to the dedicated library computer station, she entered a string of commands, then returned her attention to Nogura and Kirk. “I’ve authorized temporary access for both of you, sir, with credentials matching my own. They will expire in fifteen minutes, or when you log out of the system, whichever comes first.”

Nodding in approval, Kirk replied, “That should be sufficient, Captain. Thank you for your assistance.” He said nothing more, and both he and Nogura waited as Czerwinski ordered the other personnel to follow her from the archive’s operations center.

When the heavy door slid shut behind her and both men heard the tone signaling that the door now was locked, Nogura said, “Good officer. I like people who stick to their guns and don’t back down just because someone decides to pull rank.”

“Then you ought to love me, sir,” Kirk countered, forcing himself not to smile.

Rather than replying to the comment, Nogura produced from a pocket a data card of his own. Inserting the card into a reader slot on the workstation, the admiral keyed a control, and one of the console’s displays flared to life.

“Are you sure this new protocol of yours will work?” Kirk asked. Updating a database in the manner Nogura had proposed was tricky business, he knew, something left only to those with the proper skills and specialist ratings. Kirk was not that person, and he doubted Nogura was, either.

“As sure as I can be,” the older man replied. Then, with a small grin, he added, “I enlisted Commander Spock for this. It was the last thing he did before departing for Vulcan. I think you’ll agree that if anyone can do what I need done, it’s him.”

Kirk offered an appreciative nod. “Indeed I do, sir.” To his knowledge, Spock had left for his home planet weeks ago. He had no idea that his former first officer had remained on Earth, much less while working on a project for Nogura. Not for the first time, Kirk realized that he missed his friend, whose announcement of his intention to return to Vulcan had come as a surprise. Kirk had been under the impression that Spock would want to oversee the installation of the new state-of-the-art computer hardware and software that would control the upgraded Enterprise’s onboard systems. Operating under that assumption, Kirk even had recommended Spock for promotion and reassignment as captain of the starship. With the Vulcan gone, Kirk, in his role as chief of Starfleet Operations, now was considering other officers for that prized billet.

“All right.” Nogura motioned toward the workstation. “I didn’t bring you along to carry my bags. Let’s get this over with.” Reaching for the console’s manual interface, he tapped a sequence of keys. “Computer, this is Admiral Heihachiro Nogura, Starfleet Command. Voice authentication.”

Speaking with the familiar female voice characterizing all Starfleet information systems, the computer responded, “Voice authentication complete. Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: Identity verified.”

After the authentication process was completed for Kirk, Nogura ordered, “Computer, execute program package Nogura One.”

“Dual authorization required,” the computer responded.

His attention focused on the workstation’s display monitor, Nogura said, “Authorization Nogura, Alpha Three Nine Five Five Omega. Enable.”

Kirk added, “Authorization Kirk, Epsilon One Three Seven One Gamma. Enable.” In truth, he had thought Nogura would keep this entire affair to himself, rather than including anyone else. However, the elder admiral’s new security protocol was dependent upon a two-party endorsement, as was his intention, and Kirk was the only other current member of the admiralty with any real firsthand knowledge of Operation Vanguard.

In response to his order, the screen began to fill with lines of text, scrolling almost too fast for Kirk to read. He was able to catch snippets of information—file numbers, dates, authorization codes—though nothing of any real use to the untrained eye. Even with the knowledge he possessed as to what Nogura was doing, most of the data Kirk was seeing was little more than gibberish.

“Program complete,” the computer reported after several moments.

When no other information seemed to be forthcoming, Kirk frowned. “And that’s it?” he asked, making no effort to mask his skepticism.

“If Mister Spock did what I asked him to do,” Nogura replied. “Computer, search all memory banks for any instances of the following terms: Taurus Meta-Genome, Shedai, Operation Vanguard.”

There was a pause as the artificial intelligence processed the request, then the female voice answered, “No records found matching any of the provided search arguments. Please enter new search parameters.” Meanwhile, on the display screen, an additional block of text data appeared.

Reading aloud, Nogura recited, “ ‘Warning: Unauthorized access attempt; eyes-only compartmented data. Access requires ultrasecret clearance. Notify Starfleet commander immediately.’” Pointing to the screen, the admiral said, “The protocol Mister Spock wrote covers a list of search arguments and accompanying context that’s about as long as my service record. The new procedure will allow innocent searches that just happen to use certain key terms, though when such requests are processed, any lateral references to Vanguard will be omitted. So far as the data banks are concerned, the materials we just stored here don’t exist.”

“And if the person making the request is really trying to dig where he or she shouldn’t?” Kirk prompted.

Nogura nodded. “Then he or she gets the ‘no records found’ message returned from the computer. Meanwhile, the computer executes a containment protocol ensuring that no project-related data or materials are released. At the same time, this other warning is transmitted to the facility’s commanding officer. The CO, in turn, will contact Starfleet Command for further instructions.” Shaking his head, he added, “I don’t want to be around if and when that happens.”

“I guess it’s over, then,” Kirk said. “For good.” His eyes lingered on the display monitor as Nogura purged all record of his interaction with the archive facility’s computer system before retrieving the data card from the reader slot. After months of debriefings in the wake of Starbase 47’s destruction, along with an endless procession of reviews, hearings, and boards of inquiry—not to mention mountains of accompanying reports and documentation—the only thing left to do was to forget all of it.

“Operation Vanguard—officially, at least—is a closed subject,” replied Nogura as he examined the data card. “The typical dormancy period for materials carrying an ultrasecret classification is a century. However, I’ve decided that might not be enough of a cooling-off period. This new protocol effectively buries any record or mention of the project under so many layers of compartmentalization and obfuscation that only someone who knows precisely where to look has even a chance of retrieving anything. Right now, you and I are the only two people who can access the information without triggering any alerts, and we have to do it together.” He held up the data card. “But we’ll need this. The protocol for retrieving the information is encoded here, and it’ll be stored in the files of the Starfleet commander.” Shrugging, he added. “For all I know, Admiral Comsol may decide to flush it down the nearest head.”

“I suppose one could argue that might be for the best,” Kirk said. Starfleet higher-ups had reacted with something less than restraint when faced with the possibility of harnessing the power represented by the Shedai. When considering that turn of events, the notion of containing and obscuring the truth behind Vanguard seemed at least to have some merit. On the other hand, and given the terrible costs that had been incurred, the losses suffered and the damage done—noble intentions notwithstanding—Kirk found it impossible to believe that Starfleet and the Federation Council would allow the data, artifacts, and other material collected by Nogura and his people to be forever relegated to obscurity. To Kirk, that seemed a waste of great potential and something of an insult to those who had paid the ultimate price in pursuit of the project’s goals.

“Despite everything that’s happened,” he said, “surely we’ll find a way to do some good with at least some of what we learned.”

Nogura replied, “In a manner of speaking. One or two new research and development projects are already in motion, but you can bet they’re on a tight leash and always will be.” The admiral seemed to ponder the possibilities for a moment before adding, “Even if those efforts bear fruit, any connection to the project will be disavowed.” He sighed as he placed the data card in his pocket, and Kirk saw the unease in the older man’s eyes. “I still worry that someone in Starfleet will want to take what we already know and try to do the same sort of stupid thing that ended up costing us the station and the entire project.”

“While I understand the need for security, sir,” Kirk said, “this just seems wrong. Deliberately destroying or simply suppressing knowledge isn’t what we’re supposed to be about, Admiral.”

“On any other day,” Nogura replied, “I’d agree with you. Actually, I agree with you today, too. However, what we’ve got under our thumb here is just trouble waiting to be unleashed. I’d almost call it evil, though that’s probably taking things a bit too far.”

Recalling similar conversations he had enjoyed with his former first officer over late-night chess games, Kirk said, “If Mister Spock were here, he’d tell us that all knowledge is for good; only the use to which it’s put can be for good or evil.”

“And he’d be right,” Nogura countered. “In an ideal universe, at least. Hell, we’ve already proved your former first officer quite correct in that regard, which is why we’re going to all this trouble. All we can hope is that if and when it’s finally dug up again, it’ll be by someone smart enough not to repeat all our mistakes.”

The pair made their way to the exit, leaving Captain Czerwinski and her staff to their duties. Neither man looked back as the door closed behind them, signifying the final shrouds of secrecy cast over the efforts and sacrifices of so many people. How long would the fruits of such labor lie dormant here, locked within the bowels of this place and waiting for someone to find them? Was it truly possible for Operation Vanguard, as well as everyone and everything associated with it, to remain a mostly ignored and perhaps forgotten part of Federation and Starfleet history?

Maybe, Kirk mused. At least, until we need to remember it again.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks very much to the folks at Pocket Books, who asked me to take on this story. To be honest, I thought my tenure with Star Trek: Vanguard had ended with What Judgments Come, the series’ penultimate novel, so it was both a surprise and a privilege to provide this “coda” to the entire Vanguard story. The last thing I wanted was for this novella to dilute any of what the four of us—David Mack, Marco Palmieri, Kevin Dilmore, and myself—had accomplished over the course of seven novels and four novellas. So my intention with In Tempest’s Wake was to provide something of a capstone to the series without taking away from anything you might already have read. Whether I succeeded in that regard is up to you.

Speaking of David, Marco, and Kevin, I once again tip my hat to these friends and colleagues with whom I’ve had the pleasure of taking this journey for the better part of eight years. Bringing Star Trek: Vanguard to what we hope was a satisfying conclusion was a task we all took very seriously, and responses to this point have largely been very positive. Writing for this series is some of the most fun I’ve had writing Star Trek fiction for Pocket, due in very large part to their friendship.

What amounts to “additional scenes” for the third-season Star Trek episode “The Tholian Web” are contained in these pages, and I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that episode’s writers, Judy Burns and Chet Richards, for their inspiration. Thanks to you both for crafting one of my all-time favorite episodes.

And one final thanks to the readers and fans of Star Trek: Vanguard: we couldn’t have done it without you, and I hope you enjoyed the ride at least as much as I did.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DAYTON WARD. Author. Trekkie. Writing his goofy little stories and searching for a way to tap into the hidden nerdity that all humans have. Then, an accidental overdose of Mountain Dew altered his body chemistry. Now, when Dayton Ward grows excited or just downright geeky, a startling metamorphosis occurs.

Driven by outlandish ideas and a pronounced lack of sleep, he is pursued by fans and editors as well as funny men in bright uniforms wielding stun guns, straitjackets, and medication. In addition to the numerous credits he shares with friend and cowriter Kevin Dilmore, Dayton is the author of the science fiction novels The Last World War, Counterstrike: The Last World War—Book II, and The Genesis Protocol; the Star Trek novels In the Name of Honor, Open Secrets, Paths of Disharmony, and That Which Divides; as well as short stories in various anthologies and Web-based publications. For Flying Pen Press, he was the editor of the science-fiction anthology Full-Throttle Space Tales #3: Space Grunts.

Dayton is believed to be working on his next novel, and he must let the world think that he is working on it, until he can find a way to earn back the advance check he blew on strippers and booze. Though he lives in Kansas City with his wife and daughters, Dayton is a Florida native and maintains a torrid long-distance romance with his beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Visit him at www.daytonward.com.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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First Pocket Star Books eBook edition October 2012

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ISBN 978-1-4516-9589-2

Table of Contents

Cover

Historian’s Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright