XII
As he entered the bridge, Kirk was snapping orders even before he reached the command chair.
“Mr. Sulu, do we have an ETA yet on the approaching ship?”
“Three seconds, sir.”
Not much time, Kirk told himself as he sat down in the command chair. Not much time to do anything. Harrison’s—Khan’s—words continued to echo in his head, bumping up against long-held beliefs, knocking loose previously secure assumptions. No time for examining them, either. But “them” might prove critical in whatever was to come.
“Shields,” he crisply ordered.
It slammed out of warp from the depths of the green nebula that had been the most prominent stellar feature ever since the Enterprise had been left drifting.
It dwarfed the Enterprise. Jet black, it was constructed along the general design of a Federation starship . . . but her lines were heavier, her entire appearance from greatly extended nacelles to bow more massive and armored. Weapons blisters were amply in evidence everywhere on the huge vessel. Every part of her had been reinforced, beefed up, and braced. A glance was sufficient to indicate that this was a ship that had been built not for exploration, but for battle.
Overwhelming in scope, it was so immense that it blocked out the entire view forward.
It was just so damn big.
No one here had ever seen anything like it. Hell, Kirk thought, he’d never even seen diagrammatics that were anything close to what they were now confronting in reality. In person and in images, he had noted or studied every type of vessel in Starfleet’s arsenal, from tenders to the sister ships of the Enterprise.
This was the first Federation starship he had seen that looked . . . mean.
The shock of the new and unexpected stunned everyone on the bridge. The ship on the forward screen was nothing short of a raging belligerent’s most extreme Starfleet fantasy come to life.
“Captain,” Uhura announced, “they’re hailing us, sir. Standard Starfleet intership communications frequency, short-range tight beam.”
Further confirmation of the enormous vessel’s origins, Kirk mused tensely. No point in trying to ignore it. “On screen. Broadcast shipwide, for the record. Everyone on board might as well bear witness to whatever transpires.”
Any rapidly fading notions that the crew of the new ship might be non-human vanished with the appearance of a familiar figure on the forward screen. He was immediately recognizable, seated on a bridge that was at once more advanced and somehow leaner, colder, than that of the Enterprise.
“Captain Kirk.” Admiral Alexander Marcus’s tone was professionally cordial.
Kirk nodded, more to himself than in acknowledgment of the speaker’s identity. “Admiral Marcus. I wasn’t expecting you. That’s some ship.”
“And I wasn’t expecting to get word that you’d taken Harrison into custody in violation of your orders. Or did you forget that you were directed to find him and take him out?” Marcus shook his head sadly. “Orders disobeyed are orders never forgotten; the more so when they’re as simple and straightforward as the ones you were given.” He leaned forward slightly in his dark command chair. “What happened, son? What went wrong?”
If Academy gaming had taught Kirk anything, it was that when you can’t play for the win, you play for time. “The unexpected happened, sir. Not something to be dismissed lightly, when one considers our present location. We had to improvise when we experienced a warp core malfunction.” He responded in what he hoped was a manner both engaging and innocent. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, sir.”
Marcus looked annoyed while sounding increasingly impatient. “I don’t take your meaning.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To assist us with repairs? Why else would the head of Starfleet personally bring a ship to the edge of the Neutral Zone?”
From his position at the helm, Sulu murmured to Kirk. “Captain, they’re scanning our ship.”
“Did you hear that, Admiral? Having a quiet look around?” Kirk’s smile tightened. “Something I can help you find, sir?”
Tiring of the game, Marcus leaned forward. “Where’s your prisoner, Kirk? And don’t tell me he’s no longer on your ship. You know what he did. You’d never release him from custody and certainly not to send him back to Qo’noS. Tell me where you’re holding Harrison, and drop your shields so we can beam him over. I’m superseding your authority as of now.”
Kirk sat a little straighter in his own command chair. “No need for that, sir. As the captor of record, it’s my duty and responsibility to maintain control of the prisoner until he can be turned over to the appropriate authorities.” Though he put no additional emphasis on the word “authority,” both men knew what he meant. “All as per Starfleet regulations. The fact that I’m familiar with his crimes changes nothing. I’m preparing to return Khan to Earth for trial, sir.” He paused, and added, “I would hope we can proceed with your understanding. I assure you that the prisoner is being well looked after and is completely under our control.” Pausing again, he then said, “We didn’t even have to fire so much as a single one of the ‘new’ torpedoes at him.”
Expecting an angry response, Kirk was surprised when the admiral scratched at his forehead, leaned back against his chair, and appeared to soften . . . but not relax.
“Well, shit. You talked to him.” Marcus shook his head sadly. “This is exactly what I was hoping to spare you from.”
“‘Spare’ me?” Kirk did not try to hide his bemusement.
“Listen to me, son.” Marcus’s tone turned benign, even avuncular. “I made a mistake. I’m not afraid to admit it. There’d be no point in not admitting it. Not when your prisoner has gone out of his way to provide ample proof of my error. I took a tactical risk waking that bastard up, thinking his super brain could help us protect ourselves from whatever came at us next.”
Kirk supplied an answer. “The Klingon Empire.”
Marcus nodded. “At the moment, yes. In the future, who knows? I was hoping to use this creature to give Starfleet a boost in combat knowledge, skills, and material development. At first, it seemed as if that was going to be exactly the result. I was elated at the progress made by Section 31, but I decided to hold back on releasing any results until I had something really spectacular to present to the general staff. My problem . . .” His voice trailed away, and it took him a moment to compose himself.
“My problem with your prisoner was that I didn’t really know what he was—what he really was—and now the blood of everyone he killed is on my hands. That is something I will have to deal with separately, on my own. But not until this episode is resolved. I blame you for nothing, Kirk. Not even for failing to carry out your orders, now that I know you’ve spoken to him. Because I know what he’s capable of. He fooled me; he’s fooled you. There will be no reprisals against you or any of your crew. I’ll see to that personally. In fact, if I can mange it, the entire incident will be expunged from the official records. Now I’m asking you: Give him to me so I can end what I started, and let’s put all this behind us.”
It all makes a good deal of sense, Kirk told himself. Not only did the admiral’s words explain a great deal, they held out the promise of a full amnesty for him, Spock, and anyone else who had chosen to participate in taking Khan alive instead of killing him outright. Hadn’t Spock warned him against listening to the prisoner? Certainly Khan was persuasive, but was Kirk to believe the words of a confessed murderer versus those of a venerable admiral of the Fleet? Besides, there was nothing for him to gain by refusing Marcus’s demand. Hand over the prisoner, the man who had killed his mentor, Christopher Pike, and forget the entire incident. Go quietly back to exploring where no man . . .
Except for one thing. A small matter that could not be avoided. Something that Marcus had not even mentioned.
“And what would you like me to do with the rest of his crew, sir? Fire them at the Klingons? With their downsized internal drives, they’ll travel far more slowly, but they’ll still reach Qo’noS. You want me to murder seventy-two people in their sleep and start a war in the process?”
The admiral’s brow furrowed. He did not sound like someone striving to propound an elaborate lie. If anything, he sounded more convincing now than at any time since he had first greeted Kirk on screen.
“War? Is that what he told you? That’s why you were fishing around with all that nonsense about your damaged warp core? You think I sent you out here and hung you out to dry? The man is too clever by half, Kirk, capable of twisting words as easily as arms. Listen to him too long, and he’ll have you believing anything. I know; he did it to me. Just consider for a moment.” He shifted in his command chair.
“He put those people in those torpedoes. Or oversaw the process, at least. Nobody else did that. What was his real purpose? Did he have, did they have, no alternatives three hundred years ago? No other options than to commit themselves to cryostasis for an unknown length of time, without having a clue as to what the circumstances would be when—and if—they were thawed out and revived? I didn’t want to burden you with knowing what was inside those tubes. Better to dispose of them without knowing. Without having to deal with the unnecessary and stressful ethical conundrum you just related to me.” He was almost pleading now. “Think, Kirk. Step back and consider the situation objectively. If you managed to find this man and get him off Qo’noS successfully, then I suspect you’ve seen what he can do all by himself. He got himself to Qo’noS and, more significantly, managed to survive there. Alone, on a hostile, militaristic world, among a non-human species. One man. Can you imagine what would happen if we woke up the rest of his crew and they managed to get themselves organized? What else did he tell you? That he’s a ‘peacekeeper’? He’s playing you, son. Don’t you see that?”
Kirk tried to object. “He and his crew were misused, forced into cryosleep in order to escape the—”
Marcus cut him off. “Khan and his people were war criminals, condemned to death before they managed to get away! I thought I could make use of his knowledge and subsequently deal appropriately with the resulting fact of his revival. As I’ve told you, I was wrong, and for that bit of hubris, I will eventually have to answer. I seriously underestimated what I was dealing with. I suspect that has always been the case with this individual and his colleagues.
“Now it is our duty to carry out the original sentence that was passed on the prisoner and his cohorts before anyone else dies because of them. I intend to oversee that myself, as part penance for what I foolishly allowed to happen. So I’m asking you again. One last time, son. Lower your shields and tell me where he is.”
Kirk tried one final ploy. “Assuming I’m correct in taking that as a threat, sir, are you saying that you feel so strongly about this that you’re willing to fire on another Starfleet vessel?”
The admiral was remorseless. “It has nothing to do with ‘feeling’ anything, Captain Kirk. It has to do with removing a threat to the entire Federation. That must be balanced against the possible harm that might be done to a single vessel and her crew. For which I will hold you responsible, should further measures have to be taken to secure the appropriate disposition of the prisoner.”
Kirk knew there was little more he could do. He was outranked and, more important, outgunned. Always a gambler, he preferred the odds to be in his favor, or at least even. Challenging the dreadnought visible on the Enterprise’s sensors was a chance he could not take. He took a deep breath.
“He’s in Engineering, sir. Under heavy guard, awaiting continued questioning. But I’ll have him moved to the transporter room right away.”
Marcus was visibly relieved. While implying that he was prepared for a fight, it was clear he didn’t want one, and was pleased that it had been avoided.
“Thank you, son. I’ll take it from here.”
The image of Marcus on the viewscreen was replaced with that of the enormous warship hanging in space.
The instant intership communication was terminated, Kirk looked to his helmsman. “Do not drop those shields, Mr. Sulu.”
“Yes, sir,” Sulu said. “Understood, sir.”
A familiar voice insinuated itself from just behind Kirk. “Captain, bearing in mind that the reality is that Khan is in sickbay and not in Engineering leads me to believe that you are contriving a plan that conflicts with what you have just told the admiral.”
“Can’t fool you, Mr. Spock. My ‘plan’ consists of doing exactly what we said we were going to do. I told Marcus we were bringing a fugitive back to Earth to stand trial, and that’s what we’re going to do.” He addressed his comm pickup. “Mr. Chekov, can we warp?”
“Sir, we’re working on it as hard as we can,” came the reply from Engineering. “There is some functionality, but if we engage it now, we risk further damaging the core.”
“Can we do it or not?” Kirk snapped.
“Technically, yes, but I would not adwise it, Keptin! The dangers are multiple and we risk undoing all the difficult repair work that has already been completed.”
“Objections noted.” Kirk turned to the helm. “Mr. Sulu, set course for Earth.”
“Yes, sir.” It took the helmsman scarcely a moment to enter the necessary command. “Course laid in.”
Having been privy to the entire conversation between Kirk and Admiral Marcus, those posted to the bridge could be forgiven for exchanging more than one uneasy look. But no one raised an objection. Previous experience had taught them to put their trust in their captain.
“Punch it,” Kirk ordered his helmsman.
One moment the gigantic black ship had loomed over the Enterprise; the next, it dominated only empty space and the uninhabited planetoid that had served to shield both ships from detection by the Klingons.
On board the fleeing starship, there was calm. Outwardly, at least, everyone was content to attend to their duties. There was no voiced uncertainty, no murmurings of dissatisfaction with the captain’s decision. Only in Engineering were there signs of, if not discord, then imminent alarm.
Reports flooded in to Chekov almost faster than he could peruse them. This element overheating, that module teetering on the verge of meltdown, this containment component threatening to fail. As fast as the information came in, he strove to respond. There were no more questions on how to repair a failing bit of the ship’s propulsion system—there was no time for that—but only on how to keep it functioning.
Somehow, between the frantic efforts of the nearly overwhelmed technicians and the orders of their chief engineer’s replacement, things continued to work. The engines droned dangerously—but they functioned. The warp containment vessel deformed and flexed in ways that would have sent any sensible engineer rushing for the nearest escape pod—but it held. And the Enterprise powered through warp space and toward a distant Earth as fast as her damaged constituent parts could propel her.
Secure in sickbay and surrounded by guards who never took their eyes off him, Khan sat quietly, his expression blank, deep in thought and gazing at nothing in particular. Dr. McCoy studied the man. Peel back the layers of personality, of emotion, and what might one find? A murderous maniac or a man wronged by not one but two societies: his own of three centuries ago and today’s as represented by Alexander Marcus?
“Well, at least we’re moving again,” McCoy pointed out conversationally as he passed a tricorder over the prisoner’s face.
From where he was seated, Khan lifted his gaze to meet that of the doctor. “If you think you’re cleanly away, if you think you’re safe at warp—you’re wrong.”
McCoy just grunted at the prisoner’s reply, but it touched something in Carol Marcus. Having taken a break from her research, her eyes now grew wide at the prisoner’s remark. Before a curious McCoy could think to question her, she had bolted from the room.
Abnormal vibrations interspersed with the occasional atypical jolt were enough to let everyone on the bridge know that all was not right with the ship’s engines. Despite that, every pertinent readout indicated that they were traveling at the specified speed. The Enterprise continued through warp space until indicators showed that they were approaching their destination.
“Lieutenant Uhura, contact Starfleet,” Kirk said from the command chair. “Identify us and tell them we were pursued into the Neutral Zone by an unmarked Federation ship.”
Uhura had to interrupt him. “Can’t do any of that, sir. Comms are down. All ship auxiliary power’s being diverted to warp.”
That’s a bit of information Chekov neglected to pass along, Kirk thought angrily. His temper dissipated as quickly as it had flared. Pressed into service in Scott’s absence, the navigator had performed multiple miracles in just getting the ship moving again. That he had somehow held things together long enough to reach the solar system was a wonderment of the first order. Chekov’s actions called for praise, not censure. Later, Kirk told himself, he might proffer a mild criticism or two. But they were not quite home, and he did not want to do or say anything that might interfere with the running of the ship.
He was almost relaxed when Carol Marcus came running out of the turbolift. “Permission to come on the bridge!” she exclaimed even as she was halfway to the command chair position. Her expression was frightened, her tone urgent. Kirk eyed her uncertainly. What did she want on the bridge?
“Dr. Marcus?”
“He’s going to catch up with us, and when he does, the only thing that’s going to stop him destroying this ship is me, so you have to let me talk to him.”
Preoccupied as he was, he did his best to reassure her. “Carol, we’re at warp. He can’t catch up with us.”
“Yes, he can.” She was utterly positive, he noted. “He’s been developing a ship that has Mark IV capabilities and—”
The sounding of the ship’s proximity alarm interrupted her, its blare counterpointed by cries of surprise and astonishment from bridge personnel. Of these, Kirk focused his attention on his helmsman.
“Mr. Sulu, what’s going on? ”
Scarcely daring to look up from his instrumentation, Sulu found himself unable to avoid reporting the impossible. “Captain, I’m getting a reading I don’t understand. There’s a—distortion.” He squinted at one particular readout. “A very big distortion. There’s something in the warp tunnel behind us.”
This time, Admiral Marcus did not bother with professional niceties. Closing fast on the Enterprise, his state-of-the-art warship unleashed an array of powerful, state-of-the-art weaponry. Already barely traveling at warp on a wing, a prayer, and an assortment of increasingly frantic Russian entreaties, the Enterprise was rocked, jolted, and finally knocked sideways by a succession of explosions.
Airtight barriers slid shut as a hole was ripped in the side of the Enterprise. Under the relentless pull of escaping air, desperate screaming crewmembers clung to beams, instruments . . . anything that remained fastened to a wall or the floor. One by one, they were sucked down corridors that were now exposed to remorseless space, perishing quickly in the unforgiving void.
In Engineering, overstressed elements let out inorganic shrieks of their own as, pushed beyond all reasonable design boundaries, they began to fail despite the best efforts of frantic techs to keep the intricate mechanisms functioning. Entire sections went dark. Illumination returned only because of luciferin-based lighting that was chemically integrated into the coatings that covered walls, ceilings, and deck.
Under such a sustained attack, not even Chekov and his dedicated team of technicians could keep the warp drive functioning. With a shudder and an electric crackling that sounded like sheet metal being torn, the core slipped out of alignment. Yelling instructions, Chekov saw to it that it was shut down and its containment compartment sealed off before it could further damage the ship.
Conditions were not much better on the bridge. Emergency lighting only served to illuminate the extent of the damage. As crewmembers stumbled about suppressing incipient fires and shutting down instrumentation that was likely to ignite in the closed atmosphere, Kirk steadied himself in the command chair. Like his ship, he was shaken but still functional.
“Sulu, damage report!” Mentally calculating the time they had spent in warp space gave him only a general idea of their possible position. An unprogrammed drop out of warp could have deposited them anywhere. Chronologically if not spatially, they should be close to home, but . . . “Where are we?”
“Shields are dropping, all weapons systems are offline!” Sulu reported promptly, ignoring the gash on his head. “We’re twenty thousand kilometers from Luna.”
“Almost home,” Kirk muttered disconsolately. “So close.”
“Captain,” Spock announced, “Marcus’s ship clearly has advanced warp and weapons capabilities proportionate to her size.”
Another blast rocked the artificial gravity on the bridge. If they lost that, Kirk knew, they would be almost helpless. “Evasive maneuvers! Get us to Earth now! Full impulse! Once we cross the halfway point between home and the moon, we can—”
“Shields are gone, Captain,” Sulu broke in. “Impulse power failing! We’re losing the last of our powered forward momentum.”
Having been thrown hard to the deck by an earlier concussion, Carol Marcus finally managed to pull herself up and totter over to where Kirk was standing. Protocol forgotten, she stepped so close in front of Kirk that he could not avoid her.
“Please, we are going to die, all of us, if I don’t talk to him!”
Aware he was nearly out of options, Kirk now found himself contemplating a most unlikely one. “He won’t listen to me. Not now. What makes you think he’ll listen to you or anyone else?”
Her fingers tightened against him. “What have you got to lose by letting me try?!”
Kirk considered the badly damaged bridge, the fact that they were virtually defenseless against the warship’s advanced weaponry, and the potentially mortal wounds to the rest of the Enterprise. As a captain from an earlier time would have said, they were essentially dead in the water. Inclining his head in the general direction of Communications, he nodded reluctantly.
“Lieutenant Uhura—hail them.”
It required two workarounds on her part just to generate a functional link. “Channel’s open—go.”
Shifting to one side, Kirk nudged a single control and then nodded at the anxious young woman standing beside him. Leaning forward, she addressed herself to the command chair pickup.
“Sir—it’s me, it’s Carol. I’m here. I’m on the Enterprise.”
No response, no reply. Two ships drifting in space: one crippled, the other looming nearby like some brooding vulture in armor. And no words passing between them.
On the silent bridge, Uhura checked her instrumentation and assured Kirk that as near as she could tell, a ship-to-ship link was open and operating. Carol tried once more. “Sir—can you hear me?”
The viewscreen forward activated, the image at first flickering and unstable. While reception remained sporadic, the likeness of Alexander Marcus was unmistakable. He acted concerned, looked pissed, and sounded confused.
“What are you doing on that ship?”
Father or no father, it was plain to see that she was scared of the man on the other end of the communication. She would have one opportunity to convince him.
“I heard what you said—Father. That you made a mistake and now you’re doing everything you can to fix it. But, Dad—I don’t believe that the man who raised me is capable of destroying a starship—a Federation starship—full of innocent people to fulfill your aims. And if I’m wrong about that—” She paused to ensure that he knew she meant full well what she was saying. “—then I guess you’ll have to do it with me on board.”
A moment of silence ensued as Admiral Marcus pondered his lone daughter’s declaration of solidarity with the crew of the crippled ship. Reaching a decision, he leaned forward to peer intently into the vid pickup in front of his command chair. Unsettlingly, he did not sound particularly concerned.
“Actually, Carol—I won’t.” He glanced to his left.
Her eyes widened as the import of her father’s words struck home. As an all-too-familiar set of lights began to swarm her, she turned helplessly toward Kirk.
“Can we intercept their transport signal?” he called out.
“No, sir!” a tech quickly responded.
Racing past him, Carol ran for the turbolift. While she couldn’t hide from the other ship’s probing transporter signal, if she could just confuse it for a while, if she could only escape its grasp long enough to . . .
Kirk started after her, knowing that interposing himself in the field that was reaching out for her might just possibly throw it off enough to render at least the first attempt a failure. He was too slow, and she was gone before he could reach her. As Kirk caught himself, the now utterly cold and implacable voice of the admiral sounded behind him.
“Captain James T. Kirk: Without authorization and in league with the fugitive known as John Harrison, you and your crew went rogue in enemy territory, leaving me no choice but to hunt you down and destroy you.” He looked to his right. “Lock phasers.”
“Wait, sir!” Raising a hand, Kirk ran toward the forward screen. “Wait, wait, wait! ”
“I’ll make this quick. Target all aft torpedoes on the renegade’s bridge.” Marcus turned away from his visual pickup.
“Wait!” Kirk shouted one last time. Now that he had no more choices, it was almost a relief. He did not have to think. He knew what he had to do. “Admiral, I take full responsibility for my actions. But they were my actions, and mine alone. I’m sorry.” He was pleading now. Though it was something at which he had little experience, he found it came naturally enough. In a sense, it was the exact opposite of how Spock would have responded. Whether it was sufficient to change anything, he would know in a moment.
“My crew was only following my orders. From my first officer . . .” Over at the Science station Spock raised an eyebrow. “. . . to the lowest-ranking new inductee into Starfleet, they acted only as instructed. Following a captain’s orders should be reason for commendation, not termination. If I transmit Khan’s exact location to you now, all that I ask is that you spare them.” He stepped still closer to the screen and, by extension, the pickup that was transmitting his voice and image to the looming black ship.
“Please, sir,” Kirk continued. “Let them live. I’ll do anything you want, including and not restricted to turning myself over to you in concert with Khan. If, following that, it’s your intention to pronounce and carry out summary judgment on me, then I’ll accede to that without protest. There’ll be no request for clemency; I give you my word.”
Admiral Marcus processed Kirk’s speech without interrupting. When the captain of the Enterprise had finished, the older man sighed approvingly.
“Well, Captain, I have to say . . . that’s a hell of an apology. But if it’s any consolation . . .” He paused meaningfully as he resumed his seat in the command chair. “. . . I was never going to spare your crew. Too many witnesses. Too many potentially awkward questions. My preference when dealing with a difficult situation was always to leave . . . a clean slate.” This time he did not even bother to glance to his right. “Fire.”
At the rear of the great warship, two banks of photon torpedoes that, in themselves, were larger than many Starfleet vessels unfolded like the devil’s hands. Each held more torpedoes than several ships the size of the Enterprise. With Marcus having given the command, as soon as they locked in position, they would unleash enough destruction to destroy a large planetoid.
Having left his station to move to Uhura’s, Spock now found his hand grasped tightly in hers. With seconds left in which to make their peace with eternity, other crewmembers both on and off the bridge composed final thoughts, embraced crewmates, or whispered words they had wanted to say but previously had not possessed the courage or wherewithal to do so.
As for James Kirk, he had done all he could. He turned toward his chief science and communications officers. At such a moment there was little to say.
“I’m sorry.”
Closing his eyes, he silently awaited the inevitable.