Jim Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pursuedthestars) wrote2015-09-16 09:09 am
pursuedthestars) wrote2015-09-16 09:09 am
Space | Wednesday FT
Jim's thought processes were recovering along with the rest of him. Lying there silently off to one side, he had made the same connections as the two techs, as doubtless had everyone else on board who had even a passing interest in geoscience. The ensign's broadcast had instructed all departments to familiarize themselves with the complete body of information that had been transmitted from Vulcan. Swinging his legs off the gurney on which he had been resting, he wandered over to an unoccupied console and pulled up the extensive file.
It seemed reasonably straightforward. The energy anomaly, the consequent tectonic disruptions on Vulcan, the related forces involved—all what one would expect given the urgency of the message. It was all there in cold electronic print. According to the interleaved explication it had been translated from the Vulcan prior to transmission. A caveat he had committed to heart during his first year at the Academy flashed through his mind.
To be certain of accuracy when drawing conclusions, whether in the lab or in combat, always take care to refer at least once to the original information.
A lightning storm in space. Where had he read a description of an energy surge like that before?
No, it couldn't be, could it? Jim sat up fast, too fast, his head pounding. He hurt so much he wondered why it was so important…wondered why the room had suddenly gotten so bright.
Ever the solicitous doctor, and hoping that he could divert the med tech's attention away from his "patient," McCoy stepped over. "Oh good, Jim, you're awake. How 'ya feel?" Jim's moaning in pain ensured everyone would remember him, but before McCoy could berate his friend for overreacting, he noticed the size of his hands. "Good God, man!"
"What?" Jim knew something was wrong. He felt it, he just couldn't see it. He lifted his hands up; they had swollen to elephantine proportions. "What the hell's this?"
"A reaction to the vaccine, damnit."
What he was looking at was a translated electronic file. If he entered the appropriate command, the monitor would provide a hard copy—but it would still be the same translated electronic file.
What about the original transmission? Not that he was in a position to do anything about it one way or the other, but…
Ever since he had once memorized, just for fun, the instruction manual for a certain antique automobile, he had always been a firm believer in acting on original information.
It took only a second to pull up the actual broadcast. Unusually, there was no accompanying visual and the words were distorted due to distance and having been relayed several times prior to decoding. He listened intently, and the longer he listened the more he could sense the hairs on the back of his neck starting to rise. His lips parted in disbelief.
"Holy…!"
Now he remembered where he had heard of "a lightning storm in space."
McCoy was furiously scanning Jim.
"We gotta stop the ship!" Jim whirled, and managed a stride and a half before nearly knocking down McCoy. The doctor glared at him, started to say something, then changed tack as he saw the look on his friend's face.
"What the hell are you d—?"
"Something's not right," Jim shot back at him. "In fact, if I'm right, it's real wrong. Serious wrong." He grabbed at McCoy's arm. "Come with me, Bones—hurry!"
"What?" The doctor jerked free of the younger man's grasp. "Jim, I said low profile! That means you should…"
But Jim was already out the door and moving fast, leaving him behind. Flustered and fearing for his friend, McCoy rushed after him.
"Jim—slow down! Wait a goddamned minute! Jim, I'm not kidding—we need to keep your heart rate down."
Jim located a computer interface; he found his fingers had gotten larger. There followed an impressive string of words not exclusively but most emphatically of the four-letter kind. Only when the long exclamation finally concluded did he bark an order at the console.
"Computer, locate crew member and communications specialist Uhura!"
"As an officer Lieutenant Uhura's location is privatized unless…"
"DO IT!" He forced himself to take a deep breath. "Analyze urgency in request tone and calibrate accordingly!"
The ship responded without hesitation. "Intimations of exigency have been analyzed and their source has been noted for the record. Lieutenant Uhura is presently at communications monitoring station twelve, deck four."
"I haven't seen a reaction this severe since med school."
"We're flying into a trap!"
Fumbling in his medkit for the correct medication, the doctor looked up and noticed that his patient was gone.
Racing down the corridor, McCoy rounded a turn just in time to see the lift doors sliding shut in front of Jim. The doctor caught up in time to meet the younger man's eyes, but not in time to make it into the lift with him. He took a step back, forced to wait for another lift to arrive.
"Dammit, Jim!"
Communications twelve was occupied by a mix of junior officers and ensigns, all preoccupied with their current assignments. That did not prevent several of them from looking up curiously as Jim burst in. Spotting Jim racing to Uhura's station, the doctor caught up with him.
"Are you out of your mind? What's going on here?" Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around Jim's upper right arm. "Maybe, just maybe, if we can get you back to sickbay without being intercepted, I can…"
Jim met his friend's gaze. "Bones, trust me."
McCoy didn't hear him. "Are you trying to get us both discharged from the service? On our first day on duty? I don't mind my name going into the books, but not attached to a record like that!"
"I'm trying to save your ass."
McCoy stiffened, and regarded his friend. "Damnit, Jim, stand still!" He injected Jim and released him.
"Ow, stop it."
Racing down the crowded section, Jim kept looking for the one person he knew would confirm his conclusion. Finally, he located Uhura. Any other time he would have found amusing the shock that registered on her face as she recognized him.
"Sorry. Listen, I need to talk to you."
She gaped at him in astonishment. "No way."
"You gotta listen to me." Couldn't she hear the desperation in his voice? Was there no communication in communications?
"No!" she shot back. "I don't ‘gotta' listen to you, James Kirk. You—you can't even be on this ship! How did you get on?"
"Later." He moved as close to her as he dared. His voice rose to a shout. Now everyone in the room was looking at him. Leaning to the side, one of the officers had begun whispering urgently into a pickup. Jim knew he didn't have much time. They would haul him back to medical, and if not McCoy, some other doctor would then pump him full of sedative.
"The transmission from the Klingon prison planet—what exactly…"
Jim might be insane, but he wasn't kidding. She shook her head. She stared hard at him. "Oh my God! What happened to your hands?"
He had to get her to understand now. "Who?"
"Your hands…"
Behind him, McCoy was dividing his attention between his friend, the communications officer he was badgering, his medical scanner, and the portal that somehow still remained devoid of a security detail.
Jim knew his time was running out. "Who is responsible for the Klingon attack?" He leaned toward her, heedless of how she might react. He didn't care if she punched him out so long as she concentrated. "Was the ship woluam?"
Uhura was shaking her head slowly and frowning; she could tell from his inflections that Jim was deadly serious. "Was the ship what?"
"What's happening to my mouth?"
"You got numb tongue?" the doctor asked.
Horrified that something so stupid could stop Uhura from understanding, Jim asked, "Numb tongue?"
"I can fix that," McCoy promised.
"Was the ship what?" Uhura asked, concerned that she would never understand Jim.
Trying to form the word slowly and clearly, Jim asked, "Wolumn?"
"What?"
"Wolmun?"
This time the communication specialist looked at his lips, seeing how he was forming the word.
"Romulan?"
He nodded urgently. "Yea."
"Yes."
"Yes!"
*_*_*
McCoy and Uhura both tried to catch up to Jim, but the cadet was moving too fast for them—mentally as well as physically. By the time they succeeded in closing the gap between them, he was already bursting out of a lift. Crew members stationed on the bridge who did not know him looked up in confusion at the unexpected arrival. Those who did recognize the intruder gazed across at him in horror. Unauthorized entry onto the bridge was by itself a court-martial–worthy offense.
None of which was on Jim's mind as he rushed toward the command chair. "Captain Pike! The energy surge near Vulcan…!"
A startled Pike stared at him in disbelief. "Cadet Kirk? How did you…?"
The lift disgorged McCoy and Uhura. "It's my fault, sir." In the race from communications twelve to the bridge, the doctor had resigned himself to one of the shortest careers in the history of Starfleet Medical. "I brought him aboard. At the time I felt it would be a harmless and unnoticed subterfuge. Given the Red Alert situation I thought Starfleet could use every available hand. I gave him a—"
Pike broke in tellingly. "I don't want to know how, I want to know why." His gaze bored into Jim, and it was evident the cadet would have one fleeting chance to explain himself before being assigned to the brig for the duration of the voyage. "Not why you're on board, but why you're standing here in front of me right now, looking like someone who just met himself coming. And," he added in a low, dangerous voice, "it better be good."
Jim steadied himself. "I checked the complete available scientific description of the energy surge that was reported near Vulcan prior to Starfleet's reception of the request for assistance. The parameters are almost identical to a similar surge that was detected just before the Kelvin was attacked by a Romulan ship more than twenty years ago—the day I was born, sir. Furthermore, that was also described as a ‘lightning storm in space.' You know that, sir. I read your dissertation. That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen or heard from again. The Kelvin attack took place on the edge of Klingon space. And at twenty-three hours last night, there was an attack; forty-seven Klingon warbirds were destroyed by Romulans, sir. And it was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship."
Pike's expression darkened to match his tone. "And you know of the Klingon attack how?"
All eyes turned immediately to the heretofore silent communications officer. "Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself. Jim's report is accurate."
Jim stepped forward. Off to one side, a lieutenant moved his hand toward a cabinet that held his sidearm. From looking and listening to the excited, slightly wild-eyed cadet, there was no telling what he might do—or what he might be on.
Jim held his position, and the lieutenant stayed his hand—for the moment. "We're warping into a trap, sir. The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that."
A troubled Pike digested this, then switched his attention to his science officer, who, despite Jim's startling appearance on the bridge, had remained remarkably restrained and silent.
"The cadet's logic is sound. Lieutenant Uhura's record in xenolinguistics is unmatched in recent records, Captain. We would be wise to accept her conclusion."
Pike considered Spock's counsel. Turning, he ordered the communications officer, "Scan Vulcan space. Check for any transmissions in Romulan."
"Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan."
"What about you?" Pike asked. "Can you speak Romulan, Cadet…"
"Uhura. All three dialects, sir."
"…Uhura, relieve the lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
Silence enveloped the bridge as Pike deliberated. Coming to a decision, he turned toward the helm. "Mister Sulu, hail Captain Alexander aboard the Newton."
As the helmsman complied, the ship's science officer shot the attentive Jim another look. It was less than affectionate.
Sulu's eventual response was confused—and ominous. "Sir, our hail's not getting through. We're being blocked by some kind of subspace interference." His hands whipped over the console in front of him. "I can try to analyze the—"
"Never mind that now." Pike was sitting up straight in the command chair. "Try the Excelsior."
Sulu complied, and on his own tried several other routings before sitting back slightly. "Nothing, sir. In fact, I can't make contact with any of the fleet."
"‘Subspace interference' my ass," Jim muttered. "Given the reality of what's likely a fake planetary distress call, I'd hardly be surprised to discover that someone or something is deliberately interfering with Starfleet communications. Sounds to me like our signal is being blocked."
Pike deliberated. "We need to refine communications power in order to be able to warn the other ships of what we've discovered."
"Sir," Sulu said unnecessarily, "for that we'd have to drop out of warp so that our signal incurs no distortion from post-lightspeed motion."
Emerge in the Vulcan system in concert with the rest of the armada or fall from warp in order to talk to them: not a choice Pike wanted to make. Try as he might, however, he could not come up with another option. Meanwhile, time was looking over his shoulder.
"Understood," he declared finally. "Emergency stop."
Sulu leaned toward his console. "Emergency stop, aye!"
The six lines of subspace stretching from Sol to Vulcan abruptly became five as the Enterprise dropped out of warp. No stars burned in its immediate vicinity and no planets gleamed nearby.
The ship was very much alone.
Pike turned to Uhura, who, following a brief but intense discussion with the lieutenant who had been manning communications, had now relinquished that position to her.
"Hail those ships, Cadet. Now."
"Attenuating relevant frequencies in order to increase power, Captain." Her hands were delicate but their movements were assured as she worked the pertinent instrumentation.
An unusual quiet descended on the bridge as, lost in their own thoughts, everyone waited for a response. When it finally came it was neither what was hoped for nor what was expected.
Unrecognizable pings and strange electronic stutters, as if somewhere a transmitter was crying in emptiness.
Interference, an edgy Jim thought. He stared at Uhura, silently trying to encourage a response that was not forthcoming. "Come on, come on, come on."
She waved a hand in his direction. "Jim, quiet! I've channeled all communications strength into a narrow stream of encrypted information, and the ship is working to send it now." Her other hand worked the console in front of her. "Opening a channel." There was a stir on the bridge as everyone seemed to lean in her direction. At last she announced, "Channel open, sir. If you would like to try and make conta—"
Pike was speaking before she could finish. "This is Captain Christopher Pike of the U.S.S. Enterprise. All ships be advised: possibility of hostile Romulan presence in vicinity of Vulcan. Until presumed emergency situation is further clarified, recommend full shields and weapons systems at standby."
"Message sent, sir," Uhura reported.
They waited for a response. And waited. Possibly it was being blocked by whatever was interfering with their communications.
No one wanted to dwell on certain other possibilities.
"No response, sir," Sulu eventually felt compelled to report aloud for the official record.
"From…any ship."
The fingers of Pike's right hand drummed fretfully on the armrest of the command chair.
"What's the fleet's ETA to Vulcan orbit?"
Spock checked his readouts. "They should be preparing to drop out of warp now, Captain."
Pike nodded. "Tactical on screen. Display their automated transponder signals. Those, at least, should be strong and clear enough to penetrate any two-way interference."
Once more the science officer manipulated instrumentation. In response a quintet of glowing blue dots appeared on the forward main viewscreen. Each was accompanied by a name—
Armstrong…Defiant…Newton…Mayflower…Excelsior…The attention of everyone on the bridge followed the dots as they moved into the Vulcan system.
Spock continued to monitor his instruments. "The fleet has dropped out of warp."
As he watched the monitor, Pike tried not to show his unease. A moment passed, then another, and another. The dots had slowed enormously, but remained exactly as they should. The tension that had gripped the bridge began to subside. McCoy had moved to stand beside Jim. Both men regarded the screen.
"See?" Leaning close to his friend, the doctor dropped his voice to a whisper. "They're there. They've arrived. I shouldn't have just given you a dose of mud flea vaccine—I should've put you under general anesthetic. It would have been better than…"
"Bones." Jim had not taken his eyes from the forward monitor. "Wait."
One of the blue dots had vanished from the screen.
As a communications officer, Uhura had been trained to render reports straightforwardly and without elaboration, but at her age it was difficult to banish every trace of emotion from her voice.
"Captain, we're receiving a transmission on the distress frequency." She worked her console. "I can't get—Wait, something's coming through. I'm acquiring only intermittent bits of contact, nothing complete."
"Let me hear whatever you've got," Pike replied grimly.
She transferred all incoming transmissions to the bridge speakers. None of it was clean, but there was no mistaking the gist of what they were hearing: bursts of screaming voices, cries of despair, orders underscored by hopelessness. The crackling, static-marred bursts of discontinuous distress were accompanied by the quiet disappearance of another blue dot from the viewscreen.
"There are only four ships remaining," a somehow dispassionate Spock declared. "Now three…"
Pike's voice reverberated throughout the bridge. "Red Alert! Ready all weapons. Mister Sulu, get us to Vulcan now—maximum warp!"
There was no sense of forward motion. One moment the Enterprise was alone in the vastness of interstellar space—and then it had dropped into that subsidiary realm where reality was deformed by mathematics into a class of physics that would have delighted Charles Dodgson.
"Arrival at Vulcan in five seconds," Sulu reported calmly. "Four, three, two…"
"EVASIVE!" Pike roared.
"ON IT, SIR!" was Sulu's immediate response.
The captain's command was unnecessary. Having dropped out of warp directly in front of the flaring, disintegrating remains of the Defiant, Sulu had responded instantly and reflexively to avoid the impending collision. Wrenched sideways on impulse power at the command of her helmsman, the Enterprise shuddered but quickly steadied herself.
Chaos was in orbit around Vulcan.
The two remaining ships of the fleet were engaged in a desperate and losing battle against a gargantuan craft the likes of which was as unfamiliar to those on board the Enterprise as it was startling in its unprecedented dimensions. Nothing they fired appeared able to penetrate the enormous defensive field that surrounded the hostile intruder. Meanwhile, an unending stream of torpedoes and similar deadly devices continued to detonate against the smaller ships, hammering away at their defenses.
Spock's voice was controlled as ever, but he was speaking faster than usual. "No identifiable registry on the ship. It's massive. Energy signatures, deployed weapons systems, design—all unknown."
"Get Starfleet Command on subspace!" Pike demanded. Uhura's response was immediate and disheartening.
"Negative! All outsystem transmissions are subject to severe interruption emanating from the vicinity of Vulcan. And there's something else, sir. I think I've located the source of the general interference. I detect the signature—very advanced, but identifiable—of a plasma drill operating in the atmosphere."
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the Star Trek novelization. More to come later.]
It seemed reasonably straightforward. The energy anomaly, the consequent tectonic disruptions on Vulcan, the related forces involved—all what one would expect given the urgency of the message. It was all there in cold electronic print. According to the interleaved explication it had been translated from the Vulcan prior to transmission. A caveat he had committed to heart during his first year at the Academy flashed through his mind.
To be certain of accuracy when drawing conclusions, whether in the lab or in combat, always take care to refer at least once to the original information.
A lightning storm in space. Where had he read a description of an energy surge like that before?
No, it couldn't be, could it? Jim sat up fast, too fast, his head pounding. He hurt so much he wondered why it was so important…wondered why the room had suddenly gotten so bright.
Ever the solicitous doctor, and hoping that he could divert the med tech's attention away from his "patient," McCoy stepped over. "Oh good, Jim, you're awake. How 'ya feel?" Jim's moaning in pain ensured everyone would remember him, but before McCoy could berate his friend for overreacting, he noticed the size of his hands. "Good God, man!"
"What?" Jim knew something was wrong. He felt it, he just couldn't see it. He lifted his hands up; they had swollen to elephantine proportions. "What the hell's this?"
"A reaction to the vaccine, damnit."
What he was looking at was a translated electronic file. If he entered the appropriate command, the monitor would provide a hard copy—but it would still be the same translated electronic file.
What about the original transmission? Not that he was in a position to do anything about it one way or the other, but…
Ever since he had once memorized, just for fun, the instruction manual for a certain antique automobile, he had always been a firm believer in acting on original information.
It took only a second to pull up the actual broadcast. Unusually, there was no accompanying visual and the words were distorted due to distance and having been relayed several times prior to decoding. He listened intently, and the longer he listened the more he could sense the hairs on the back of his neck starting to rise. His lips parted in disbelief.
"Holy…!"
Now he remembered where he had heard of "a lightning storm in space."
McCoy was furiously scanning Jim.
"We gotta stop the ship!" Jim whirled, and managed a stride and a half before nearly knocking down McCoy. The doctor glared at him, started to say something, then changed tack as he saw the look on his friend's face.
"What the hell are you d—?"
"Something's not right," Jim shot back at him. "In fact, if I'm right, it's real wrong. Serious wrong." He grabbed at McCoy's arm. "Come with me, Bones—hurry!"
"What?" The doctor jerked free of the younger man's grasp. "Jim, I said low profile! That means you should…"
But Jim was already out the door and moving fast, leaving him behind. Flustered and fearing for his friend, McCoy rushed after him.
"Jim—slow down! Wait a goddamned minute! Jim, I'm not kidding—we need to keep your heart rate down."
Jim located a computer interface; he found his fingers had gotten larger. There followed an impressive string of words not exclusively but most emphatically of the four-letter kind. Only when the long exclamation finally concluded did he bark an order at the console.
"Computer, locate crew member and communications specialist Uhura!"
"As an officer Lieutenant Uhura's location is privatized unless…"
"DO IT!" He forced himself to take a deep breath. "Analyze urgency in request tone and calibrate accordingly!"
The ship responded without hesitation. "Intimations of exigency have been analyzed and their source has been noted for the record. Lieutenant Uhura is presently at communications monitoring station twelve, deck four."
"I haven't seen a reaction this severe since med school."
"We're flying into a trap!"
Fumbling in his medkit for the correct medication, the doctor looked up and noticed that his patient was gone.
Racing down the corridor, McCoy rounded a turn just in time to see the lift doors sliding shut in front of Jim. The doctor caught up in time to meet the younger man's eyes, but not in time to make it into the lift with him. He took a step back, forced to wait for another lift to arrive.
"Dammit, Jim!"
Communications twelve was occupied by a mix of junior officers and ensigns, all preoccupied with their current assignments. That did not prevent several of them from looking up curiously as Jim burst in. Spotting Jim racing to Uhura's station, the doctor caught up with him.
"Are you out of your mind? What's going on here?" Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around Jim's upper right arm. "Maybe, just maybe, if we can get you back to sickbay without being intercepted, I can…"
Jim met his friend's gaze. "Bones, trust me."
McCoy didn't hear him. "Are you trying to get us both discharged from the service? On our first day on duty? I don't mind my name going into the books, but not attached to a record like that!"
"I'm trying to save your ass."
McCoy stiffened, and regarded his friend. "Damnit, Jim, stand still!" He injected Jim and released him.
"Ow, stop it."
Racing down the crowded section, Jim kept looking for the one person he knew would confirm his conclusion. Finally, he located Uhura. Any other time he would have found amusing the shock that registered on her face as she recognized him.
"Sorry. Listen, I need to talk to you."
She gaped at him in astonishment. "No way."
"You gotta listen to me." Couldn't she hear the desperation in his voice? Was there no communication in communications?
"No!" she shot back. "I don't ‘gotta' listen to you, James Kirk. You—you can't even be on this ship! How did you get on?"
"Later." He moved as close to her as he dared. His voice rose to a shout. Now everyone in the room was looking at him. Leaning to the side, one of the officers had begun whispering urgently into a pickup. Jim knew he didn't have much time. They would haul him back to medical, and if not McCoy, some other doctor would then pump him full of sedative.
"The transmission from the Klingon prison planet—what exactly…"
Jim might be insane, but he wasn't kidding. She shook her head. She stared hard at him. "Oh my God! What happened to your hands?"
He had to get her to understand now. "Who?"
"Your hands…"
Behind him, McCoy was dividing his attention between his friend, the communications officer he was badgering, his medical scanner, and the portal that somehow still remained devoid of a security detail.
Jim knew his time was running out. "Who is responsible for the Klingon attack?" He leaned toward her, heedless of how she might react. He didn't care if she punched him out so long as she concentrated. "Was the ship woluam?"
Uhura was shaking her head slowly and frowning; she could tell from his inflections that Jim was deadly serious. "Was the ship what?"
"What's happening to my mouth?"
"You got numb tongue?" the doctor asked.
Horrified that something so stupid could stop Uhura from understanding, Jim asked, "Numb tongue?"
"I can fix that," McCoy promised.
"Was the ship what?" Uhura asked, concerned that she would never understand Jim.
Trying to form the word slowly and clearly, Jim asked, "Wolumn?"
"What?"
"Wolmun?"
This time the communication specialist looked at his lips, seeing how he was forming the word.
"Romulan?"
He nodded urgently. "Yea."
"Yes."
"Yes!"
*_*_*
McCoy and Uhura both tried to catch up to Jim, but the cadet was moving too fast for them—mentally as well as physically. By the time they succeeded in closing the gap between them, he was already bursting out of a lift. Crew members stationed on the bridge who did not know him looked up in confusion at the unexpected arrival. Those who did recognize the intruder gazed across at him in horror. Unauthorized entry onto the bridge was by itself a court-martial–worthy offense.
None of which was on Jim's mind as he rushed toward the command chair. "Captain Pike! The energy surge near Vulcan…!"
A startled Pike stared at him in disbelief. "Cadet Kirk? How did you…?"
The lift disgorged McCoy and Uhura. "It's my fault, sir." In the race from communications twelve to the bridge, the doctor had resigned himself to one of the shortest careers in the history of Starfleet Medical. "I brought him aboard. At the time I felt it would be a harmless and unnoticed subterfuge. Given the Red Alert situation I thought Starfleet could use every available hand. I gave him a—"
Pike broke in tellingly. "I don't want to know how, I want to know why." His gaze bored into Jim, and it was evident the cadet would have one fleeting chance to explain himself before being assigned to the brig for the duration of the voyage. "Not why you're on board, but why you're standing here in front of me right now, looking like someone who just met himself coming. And," he added in a low, dangerous voice, "it better be good."
Jim steadied himself. "I checked the complete available scientific description of the energy surge that was reported near Vulcan prior to Starfleet's reception of the request for assistance. The parameters are almost identical to a similar surge that was detected just before the Kelvin was attacked by a Romulan ship more than twenty years ago—the day I was born, sir. Furthermore, that was also described as a ‘lightning storm in space.' You know that, sir. I read your dissertation. That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen or heard from again. The Kelvin attack took place on the edge of Klingon space. And at twenty-three hours last night, there was an attack; forty-seven Klingon warbirds were destroyed by Romulans, sir. And it was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship."
Pike's expression darkened to match his tone. "And you know of the Klingon attack how?"
All eyes turned immediately to the heretofore silent communications officer. "Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself. Jim's report is accurate."
Jim stepped forward. Off to one side, a lieutenant moved his hand toward a cabinet that held his sidearm. From looking and listening to the excited, slightly wild-eyed cadet, there was no telling what he might do—or what he might be on.
Jim held his position, and the lieutenant stayed his hand—for the moment. "We're warping into a trap, sir. The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that."
A troubled Pike digested this, then switched his attention to his science officer, who, despite Jim's startling appearance on the bridge, had remained remarkably restrained and silent.
"The cadet's logic is sound. Lieutenant Uhura's record in xenolinguistics is unmatched in recent records, Captain. We would be wise to accept her conclusion."
Pike considered Spock's counsel. Turning, he ordered the communications officer, "Scan Vulcan space. Check for any transmissions in Romulan."
"Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan."
"What about you?" Pike asked. "Can you speak Romulan, Cadet…"
"Uhura. All three dialects, sir."
"…Uhura, relieve the lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
Silence enveloped the bridge as Pike deliberated. Coming to a decision, he turned toward the helm. "Mister Sulu, hail Captain Alexander aboard the Newton."
As the helmsman complied, the ship's science officer shot the attentive Jim another look. It was less than affectionate.
Sulu's eventual response was confused—and ominous. "Sir, our hail's not getting through. We're being blocked by some kind of subspace interference." His hands whipped over the console in front of him. "I can try to analyze the—"
"Never mind that now." Pike was sitting up straight in the command chair. "Try the Excelsior."
Sulu complied, and on his own tried several other routings before sitting back slightly. "Nothing, sir. In fact, I can't make contact with any of the fleet."
"‘Subspace interference' my ass," Jim muttered. "Given the reality of what's likely a fake planetary distress call, I'd hardly be surprised to discover that someone or something is deliberately interfering with Starfleet communications. Sounds to me like our signal is being blocked."
Pike deliberated. "We need to refine communications power in order to be able to warn the other ships of what we've discovered."
"Sir," Sulu said unnecessarily, "for that we'd have to drop out of warp so that our signal incurs no distortion from post-lightspeed motion."
Emerge in the Vulcan system in concert with the rest of the armada or fall from warp in order to talk to them: not a choice Pike wanted to make. Try as he might, however, he could not come up with another option. Meanwhile, time was looking over his shoulder.
"Understood," he declared finally. "Emergency stop."
Sulu leaned toward his console. "Emergency stop, aye!"
The six lines of subspace stretching from Sol to Vulcan abruptly became five as the Enterprise dropped out of warp. No stars burned in its immediate vicinity and no planets gleamed nearby.
The ship was very much alone.
Pike turned to Uhura, who, following a brief but intense discussion with the lieutenant who had been manning communications, had now relinquished that position to her.
"Hail those ships, Cadet. Now."
"Attenuating relevant frequencies in order to increase power, Captain." Her hands were delicate but their movements were assured as she worked the pertinent instrumentation.
An unusual quiet descended on the bridge as, lost in their own thoughts, everyone waited for a response. When it finally came it was neither what was hoped for nor what was expected.
Unrecognizable pings and strange electronic stutters, as if somewhere a transmitter was crying in emptiness.
Interference, an edgy Jim thought. He stared at Uhura, silently trying to encourage a response that was not forthcoming. "Come on, come on, come on."
She waved a hand in his direction. "Jim, quiet! I've channeled all communications strength into a narrow stream of encrypted information, and the ship is working to send it now." Her other hand worked the console in front of her. "Opening a channel." There was a stir on the bridge as everyone seemed to lean in her direction. At last she announced, "Channel open, sir. If you would like to try and make conta—"
Pike was speaking before she could finish. "This is Captain Christopher Pike of the U.S.S. Enterprise. All ships be advised: possibility of hostile Romulan presence in vicinity of Vulcan. Until presumed emergency situation is further clarified, recommend full shields and weapons systems at standby."
"Message sent, sir," Uhura reported.
They waited for a response. And waited. Possibly it was being blocked by whatever was interfering with their communications.
No one wanted to dwell on certain other possibilities.
"No response, sir," Sulu eventually felt compelled to report aloud for the official record.
"From…any ship."
The fingers of Pike's right hand drummed fretfully on the armrest of the command chair.
"What's the fleet's ETA to Vulcan orbit?"
Spock checked his readouts. "They should be preparing to drop out of warp now, Captain."
Pike nodded. "Tactical on screen. Display their automated transponder signals. Those, at least, should be strong and clear enough to penetrate any two-way interference."
Once more the science officer manipulated instrumentation. In response a quintet of glowing blue dots appeared on the forward main viewscreen. Each was accompanied by a name—
Armstrong…Defiant…Newton…Mayflower…Excelsior…The attention of everyone on the bridge followed the dots as they moved into the Vulcan system.
Spock continued to monitor his instruments. "The fleet has dropped out of warp."
As he watched the monitor, Pike tried not to show his unease. A moment passed, then another, and another. The dots had slowed enormously, but remained exactly as they should. The tension that had gripped the bridge began to subside. McCoy had moved to stand beside Jim. Both men regarded the screen.
"See?" Leaning close to his friend, the doctor dropped his voice to a whisper. "They're there. They've arrived. I shouldn't have just given you a dose of mud flea vaccine—I should've put you under general anesthetic. It would have been better than…"
"Bones." Jim had not taken his eyes from the forward monitor. "Wait."
One of the blue dots had vanished from the screen.
As a communications officer, Uhura had been trained to render reports straightforwardly and without elaboration, but at her age it was difficult to banish every trace of emotion from her voice.
"Captain, we're receiving a transmission on the distress frequency." She worked her console. "I can't get—Wait, something's coming through. I'm acquiring only intermittent bits of contact, nothing complete."
"Let me hear whatever you've got," Pike replied grimly.
She transferred all incoming transmissions to the bridge speakers. None of it was clean, but there was no mistaking the gist of what they were hearing: bursts of screaming voices, cries of despair, orders underscored by hopelessness. The crackling, static-marred bursts of discontinuous distress were accompanied by the quiet disappearance of another blue dot from the viewscreen.
"There are only four ships remaining," a somehow dispassionate Spock declared. "Now three…"
Pike's voice reverberated throughout the bridge. "Red Alert! Ready all weapons. Mister Sulu, get us to Vulcan now—maximum warp!"
There was no sense of forward motion. One moment the Enterprise was alone in the vastness of interstellar space—and then it had dropped into that subsidiary realm where reality was deformed by mathematics into a class of physics that would have delighted Charles Dodgson.
"Arrival at Vulcan in five seconds," Sulu reported calmly. "Four, three, two…"
"EVASIVE!" Pike roared.
"ON IT, SIR!" was Sulu's immediate response.
The captain's command was unnecessary. Having dropped out of warp directly in front of the flaring, disintegrating remains of the Defiant, Sulu had responded instantly and reflexively to avoid the impending collision. Wrenched sideways on impulse power at the command of her helmsman, the Enterprise shuddered but quickly steadied herself.
Chaos was in orbit around Vulcan.
The two remaining ships of the fleet were engaged in a desperate and losing battle against a gargantuan craft the likes of which was as unfamiliar to those on board the Enterprise as it was startling in its unprecedented dimensions. Nothing they fired appeared able to penetrate the enormous defensive field that surrounded the hostile intruder. Meanwhile, an unending stream of torpedoes and similar deadly devices continued to detonate against the smaller ships, hammering away at their defenses.
Spock's voice was controlled as ever, but he was speaking faster than usual. "No identifiable registry on the ship. It's massive. Energy signatures, deployed weapons systems, design—all unknown."
"Get Starfleet Command on subspace!" Pike demanded. Uhura's response was immediate and disheartening.
"Negative! All outsystem transmissions are subject to severe interruption emanating from the vicinity of Vulcan. And there's something else, sir. I think I've located the source of the general interference. I detect the signature—very advanced, but identifiable—of a plasma drill operating in the atmosphere."
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the Star Trek novelization. More to come later.]