Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity (9 page)

“Of course,”
Laspas said.
“And if you would do the same for Chief N’Mi. Let us know what you conclude as soon
as you can, though; we’re scheduled to leave the system in two hours.”

The Goeg signed off, and once he did, Scotty moved up to Kirk’s side. “Sir? Are you
not keen on the lass’s idea?”

The captain put up a hand to slow him down. “Let’s not put the cart before the horse,
Scotty. Go back to engineering, look over the schematics for the other ship, and bring
me your report in an hour.”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty said and headed for the turbolift, already considering the dozens
of potential obstacles to the proposed undertaking, and formulating possible solutions
to each of them.

*   *   *

Once Scotty had exited, Kirk turned and walked back to where Spock was still standing
at the engineering station. “What’s your take on Laspas’s offer?”

“I believe your hesitation is warranted, sir. We would need to cede much of our control
over the
Enterprise
to an unknown entity. While their offer of help does appear to be altruistic, we
do not know what ulterior motives they may have.”

As usual, his first officer had summed up his concerns succinctly. And he was far
from happy about it. “But, is it fair to assume that they do have ulterior motives?
Couldn’t their altruistic offer of help be just that, nothing more?”

“It could be,” Spock answered. “But just as we cannot assume they harbor any ill intent
toward us, it would be irresponsible to assume that they are being absolutely guileless.”

Kirk shook his head. He knew Spock was right, that turning over control of his ship
would be a risk. Hell, even turning the ship over to an ally was a potential risk,
as their experience with Doctor Richard Daystrom and his M5 computer just a few months
earlier had demonstrated.

And yet . . . “If the shoe were on the other foot, Spock . . . if we were to discover
an unknown alien ship that had been attacked by Klingons along the Neutral Zone, wouldn’t
we offer to help them however we could?”

“Yes,” Spock allowed, “but while there do appear to be parallels and similarities
between the Goeg Domain and the Federation, it does not follow logically that they
would behave the same way as the Federation would.”

“Isn’t that a bit arrogant, though, Spock?” Kirk challenged. “For us to assume that
we’re the only truly noble and selfless ones in this galaxy?”

“I make no such assumption, Captain,” Spock
answered. “Commander Laspas may indeed be totally genuine in his offer of help. But
even taking our limited interactions thus far into account, there is no way of knowing.”

“So, logic says to distrust them?”

Spock hesitated an oddly long moment before making his reply. “Logic is dependent
on facts. The concept of trust only comes into play where there are uncertainties.”

Kirk gave him a bemused smile. “We’re Starfleet officers, Spock. We deal with uncertainties
every single day.”

“Yes, sir,” Spock answered. “And those prior experiences inform the things we choose
to trust in moments of uncertainty.” Spock’s eyes fixed on Kirk’s as he added, “Such
as one’s own judgment, or the judgment of one’s closest associates.”

Kirk gave his friend a smile. “And I appreciate your trust, Spock. You have the conn,”
he said as he turned to the turbolift, slowing just long enough to take another look
at the graphic of his damaged ship above the engineering station.

I hope that trust can be justified
, he thought as he left the bridge.

*   *   *

“Thanks for the hospitality, Nurse,” Crewperson Chao told Christine Chapel as the
two walked together out of the recovery ward, heading for the
medical section’s main doors. “I hope we don’t do it again anytime soon.”

“Likewise,” Chapel said with a small laugh. “But remember, if you have any discomfort
or any other problems, you come back, whether you want to or not.” Kaylee Chao had
been in a warp monitoring station during the Taarpi attack, and had been hit by an
electroplasma discharge, suffering second-degree burns across her chest and abdomen.
She was the last of the injured crew members to be discharged, with the exception
of one. As Chapel bade her farewell and the corridor doors slid shut, the nurse turned
back into the ward to check on her sole remaining patient.

Joe D’Abruzzo was asleep, as he had been since coming out of surgery. His entire torso
was wrapped in a metallic-hued electrosensor bandage, binding his left arm to his
side, from shoulder to wrist, immobilizing it. The bandage provided microelectric
stimulation to the damaged muscle and nerves. With the rest of the patients gone,
Chapel pulled a chair over to the lieutenant’s bedside and sat silently with him.

“Christine?”

Her head jerked up as she heard her name and felt the touch on her shoulder. She twisted
in her seat, and was mortified to discover it was Captain Kirk who had caught her
napping on duty. “Sir, I’m sorry,” Chapel said as she got to her feet. “I only closed
my eyes for a second, and . . .”

“At ease, at ease,” the captain whispered, favoring her with an indulgent grin. “I
know full well how hard you work yourself. Is McCoy around, or has he gone off duty?”

“He’s off duty now, yes, sir.”

“Oh, well.” Kirk’s smile faded then as he gestured with his chin to the man in the
biobed. “How is he doing?”

Quickly composing herself, Chapel said, “He’s recovering well. Far better than could
have been expected. Doctor Deeshal saved his life.”

“Don’t let your boss hear you giving all the credit to someone else,” the captain
teased.

Chapel smiled at the captain’s joke, but told him, “Actually, those were Doctor McCoy’s
exact words.”

Kirk shook his head slowly back and forth. “Saved by a Goeg, after nearly being killed
by them. Which is the more representative act?”

“I’m sorry, sir?” Chapel asked.

“No, nothing,” he told her. “Just thinking out loud.”

“Oh,” Chapel said. She studied the captain’s face as he looked at D’Abruzzo, taking
note of his furrowed brow and his mouth drawn tight in thought. “Though if you wanted
my opinion . . .”

Kirk looked up as she trailed off. “Yes?”

Seeing the captain was genuinely interested in her thoughts, she answered, “From the
way Deeshal described the melee down on the planet, that
was sparked by a knee-jerk reaction, with no real thought or real intention behind
it. But his choice to help Lieutenant D’Abruzzo, to come aboard and to spend the time
he did in surgery to save his life and try to save his arm . . . there was a purposeful
effort behind that. That seems to be the truer measure of a person to me.”

Kirk considered her words for a long moment, then said, “Thank you, Christine,” before
turning to go.

“You’re welcome, sir,” she said, and then asked, “Did you want me to tell Doctor McCoy
you were looking for him?”

Kirk flashed a broad smile over his shoulder. “That won’t be necessary. I think I
got what I came here looking for.”

*   *   *

Main engineering was abuzz with activity, with Scott and his staff exchanging high-level
engineering lingo at a clipped and rapid-fire pace. As Kirk entered, he saw one group
standing before the main diagnostic schematic along the wall, pointing out and arguing
over simulations of system interactions, while others manned the row of computer stations
that ran down the length of the room, running a variety of analyses. Scotty moved
from one group to another, quickly picking up the thread of each conversation and
adding his own contribution
to whatever piece of the technical puzzle each was trying to hammer out. “With subspace
field tolerance at that level,” he said to one of his junior engineers, “the system
response time has to be much faster.” He turned away then, and finally noticed Captain
Kirk, who had been standing back, watching with admiration the way the man managed
his team. “Captain. Sorry, I didn’t see you there. It hasn’t been an hour already,
has it?”

“Not quite,” Kirk reassured him, “but it seems you’ve really hit the ground running
here.”

“Aye, sir. My preliminary review of the
814
’s engine schematics looked promising, so Chief N’Mi and I bounced a few ideas off
each other, came up with a basic plan. Now, we’re seeing if it all holds together
once we get down to the fine details.”

“And the verdict?”

“There are still a few things I want to double-and triple-check,” Scotty answered.
“We would need to join the two ships together via a system of supports and run a pair
of umbilical warp plasma lines from our engine to their nacelles. It’d put a serious
physical strain on both vessels, and if anything goes wrong anywhere along the way,
we could end up with two marooned ships instead of one.”

“But . . . ?” Kirk prompted.

“But,” Scotty continued, “if all works out, we could be at Wezonvu in about ten days.
And from what N’Mi tells me, it sounds like the facility there
could give the San Francisco Fleet Yards a run for their money.”

The grin now pulling at the corners of the engineer’s lips telegraphed the answer
to the next question Kirk asked. “As of right now, your professional opinion about
accepting the Domain’s offer?”

Scotty’s smile dimmed by a degree as he said, “Well, sir, I know there are other considerations
ye have to take into account . . . but, ten days sure beats sixteen weeks.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Kirk was forced to concede. “Get me your final, detailed
recommendations as soon as possible.” The captain turned and made his way back out
of engineering.

There had been a part of him that had hoped Scotty would tell him the Liruq engineer’s
scheme was unworkable, and that he could simply refuse Laspas’s offer on that basis.
But the decision now remained his, and his alone, to make. Even discounting the possibility
of more attacks in this unfamiliar star system, a grueling six-week schedule of EVA
repair work was more of a risk than he cared to subject his crew to. But did that
make entrusting his vulnerable ship to the mercies of these strangers a better course
of action?

Kirk entered the open turbolift at the end of the corridor, took hold of the control
throttle, and ordered it to his quarters. He absently watched the indicator lights
slide across the pane of the motion
indicator panel as his mind wandered. All through his career, the one thing that Kirk
considered to be his most vital talent was his ability to read people. The Goeg commander
did seem to be sincere with his entreaties of friendship, and Kirk had gotten the
sense from the first that he and Laspas were very much of a kind—fellow ship’s captains
and leaders of men, fully embracing the adventure of space exploration.

Regardless, the thought of giving up control of his ship rankled him. It wasn’t that
long ago that the
Enterprise
had been seized by Rojan and his advance scouts from the Kelvan Empire, who had incapacitated
the majority of the crew and taken the
Enterprise
out beyond the galactic barrier toward the distant Andromeda Galaxy, before he’d
managed to wrest control back from them. And before that, the fugitive con man Harry
Mudd had hijacked the ship and diverted it to his private planet.

But was Laspas another Mudd? Kirk actually laughed out loud in the privacy of the
turbolift car at that thought—no, Harcourt Fenton Mudd was most certainly a one-of-a-kind
individual. Nor did he believe that the Goeg Domain was another Kelvan Empire.

As soon as the car stopped and the doors opened, Kirk walked to his quarters and punched
the comm button on his desktop. “Kirk to Uhura,” he said as he slipped into the chair,
“patch me through to Commander Laspas on the
814
.”

Uhura acknowledged, and moments later, the alien captain’s face appeared on his computer
monitor.
“Yes, Captain Kirk?”

“Commander Laspas,” Kirk said, “I would like to accept your gracious offer of assistance.”

Laspas gave Kirk an appraising look from the small screen.
“I imagine that couldn’t have been an easy decision,”
he said.
“I know I would be hard-pressed to ask the help of a stranger.”

Kirk didn’t deny that, but what he told the Goeg commander in reply was, “I’d prefer
to think of it as the first joint venture between new allies.”

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Laspas’s throat.
“Yes, that does sound preferable,”
he agreed.
“I will arrange for a briefing by Chief N’Mi for you and your key personnel.”

“Very good,” Kirk answered.

Laspas reached below the frame, presumably to end the transmission, but paused before
doing so.
“I have to admit, I’m glad our association is not ending here,”
he said,
“and that we will have this opportunity to build upon the foundation of friendship
we’ve created here, James.”

“As am I, Laspas,” Kirk answered, smiling. “As am I.”

The bridge of the
814
reminded Chekov of old twentieth-century photographs he had seen of the Baikonur
Cosmodrome mission control center, during the early “space race.” The crew stations
were arranged in three tiered rows of six each, with a set of steps on either end
leading down to a small open deck where Second Commander Satrav, the officer at the
conn, paced back and forth. Rather than a single viewscreen mounted against the forward
bulkhead, there was one large screen ringed by eighteen smaller screens, each showing
the data or video feeds from each of the individual technicians’ posts. On the dominant
middle viewer right now, Chekov saw the gleaming white underside of the
Enterprise
’s engineering hull, growing slowly but perceptibly closer. Computer-generated overlays
outlined in bright pink the ship’s primary and secondary ventral airlocks, while all
around him, Domain technicians were calling out figures and numerical coded instruction.