Yesterday Son (14 page)

“Yes, sir. We’re being hailed by the
Lexington.”

“Put it on audio, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, sir.”

A stutter of static, then a harried voice filled the bridge. Uhura made a hasty adjustment. “... lost our aft deflectors. Enemy vessels closing.
Enterprise,
are you there? Come in,
Enterprise.”

“Open a channel, Lieutenant. Scramble it.”

“Aye, sir. ... Go ahead, sir.”

Kirk kept his eyes fixed on the forward viewing screen as he spoke. “This is Captain Kirk of the
Enterprise
here, we are receiving you,
Lexington.
What is your status? Over.”

A new voice. “Jim? This is Bob Wesley. We’ve held them off until now, but our aft deflectors are gone, and our port shield won’t take another direct hit. Over.”

“Hold on, Bob. ... I’ve got you on my screens.”

One large star and three smaller ones materialized and grew rapidly until the bridge crew could see the wounded vessel. The smaller Romulan ships circled her cautiously, wary of her greater firepower. Every time an opening presented itself, one of them would take advantage of their faster maneuverability to dart
[108]
in, fire, and pull back out before the
Lexington
could bring her weaponry to bear.

“Ready forward phaser banks, Mr. Sulu.”

“Phaser banks ready, sir.”

“Fire a ten-second blast amidships on my order, then change course immediately to four-five-two, point zero, mark.”

“Course four-five-two, point zero, mark, as soon as we’ve fired, aye sir. Phasers standing by.”

Kirk scanned the instrument panel, counted seconds, then said quietly, “Fire.” The deadly beams shot out, impaling the central Romulan warship directly. A sudden, blinding explosion flooded the viewscreen, then was gone as the
Enterprise
changed course. As the crew waited tensely, there came a shudder, then a slight lurch.

“A hit on the starboard deflectors, Captain, but not serious,” Sulu reported.

“Change course to five-three-eight, mark two-four, Mr. Sulu. Let’s go after the others.”

“Aye, sir. ... The
Lexington
just fired her main banks, sir.”

Kirk was already watching the instruments, between glances at the viewing screen. The hit was a glancing one, and the Romulan was able to turn away, though she appeared to have limited maneuverability.

“That scorched her tailfeathers some. ...” Commodore Wesley’s voice came over the channel.

Kirk raised his voice, “Bob, I don’t see the other one. Do you scan?”

“She used her cloaking device about a second after we fired.”

“Prepare to pursue the one that was crippled, Mr. Sulu. Course three-two-six, mark zero-four.”

“Aye, sir. Three-two-six, mark zero-four. ... Captain, she just faded off the screen.”

Kirk turned to his Science Officer. “Spock, switch all your sensors to infrared. We should be able to
[109]
pick them up by their heat emissions, even if we can’t see them or scan them.”

The Vulcan bent over his sensors, and straightened after tense moments. “Negative, Captain. I picked up a faint trail, but they changed course often enough to mask it. This sector is full of radiation distortions that make scanning unreliable.”

“Very well. Let’s get back to the
Lexington
.”

As soon as Kirk assured himself that conditions aboard the other Federation vessel were stable, and repairs were already underway, he ordered the
Enterprise
back to yellow alert status. As the atmosphere on the bridge relaxed noticeably, the Captain beckoned his First Officer over. When the Vulcan was standing beside him, he asked quietly, “Your opinion, Spock?”

“A feint, sir. A diversionary tactic to accomplish something quite different than an attack on one of our starships. Otherwise, the
Lexington
should have been damaged far worse than she is. Romulans may be many things, but they are not cowards. They should not have run, even though we had them outclassed. Their warrior ethic would demand blood for blood.”

“I agree. Now we have to
figure
out why they were prepared to either sacrifice themselves, or go against their own indoctrination in order to keep us busy. ... The
first
thing I’m going to do, however, is get those archeologists off Gateway.”

“A logical move, Captain. It has just occurred to me that before we arrived, the Romulans may have launched a shuttle. The
Lexington
might not have noticed it, since she was under attack from all sides. If they did launch one, I should be able to pick up life-form readings. ...”

“Get on it.” The Vulcan turned away, and Kirk addressed his Chief Communications Officer. “Lieutenant Uhura, contact Doctor Vargas on the planet’s surface.”

“Aye, sir.”

[110]
The senior archeologist’s face filled the viewscreen after a short pause. The image wavered and rippled erratically. “Captain Kirk?”

“Yes, Doctor. We’ve requested additional support from Star Fleet. Meanwhile, I want you and your staff to prepare to beam aboard. There’s a possibility that the Romulans may have other ships in the system. How soon can you be ready?”

“I’ll send my people aboard within two hours. However, I insist on staying here.”

“Out of the question, Doctor. It’s too dangerous.”

“Kirk, we have records and artifacts that are invaluable. They must be preserved, at all costs. I’m not prepared to take the chance that they—or anything else on this planet—will fall into enemy hands.”

“I’ll beam down a security squad to help you pack up the artifacts, and you can transmit the records. Then Gateway will be maintained by my security forces until it’s safe for you to beam back down.”

“No. It’s too dangerous to allow unauthorized personnel access to ... the ruins. They could ... damage them.”

A yammer of static, and the image blanked, then came back on. Kirk straightened. “Doctor Vargas, I will take full precautions to see that my security guards do no ... damage. I assume all responsibility. I’ll beam down a team immediately to assist you in your packing—they’ll have instructions to see that every one of you is transported aboard the ship with the records. Do you understand?” His voice was hard.

“My communications equipment is malfunctioning, Captain ... I couldn’t hear you ... I’ll watch for your security team ...” The image bobbed and dipped, then steadied. “When all the equipment is packed, I’ll contact you so you can beam up my staff and your guards.”

“And
you,
Doctor. That’s an order.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t hear you ... my transmission is fading ...”

[111]
Uhura turned away from her panel, as the image on the screen faded out. “She cut power, sir.”

Kirk resisted the urge to slam his fist against the arm of the command chair. “The hell she couldn’t hear me—I can’t allow her to—” he controlled himself with an effort. “Uhura, was her equipment really malfunctioning?”

“Yes, sir. But she didn’t lose the transmission—she cut it off.”

“That’s what I figured. Of all the stubborn—” He shook his head wearily. “I’d feel the same way, I guess. Still, I can’t allow—”

Spock moved over to stand beside him, dropped his voice. “Captain, I must speak with you.”

They faced each other in the deserted briefing room. The Vulcan lowered his lanky frame into a chair, stared at his hands for a moment. “Captain, when I worked on the equipment at the archeologists’ camp, I realized it was badly in need of a complete overhaul. Their entire communications system is unreliable, and it is dangerous to depend on belt communicators. The time emanations from the Guardian, and the radiation pockets from the black stars in this sector make both communications and sensor readings subject to distortion. I recommend that, in the absence of reliable life-form readings, we evacuate the archeologists and post a security team—to be commanded by me. It may also be possible for me to rig a force field around the Guardian, which will provide additional protection.”

Kirk nodded. “I agree with you on all points—except one. I’m not sending you down to Gateway with the security team. I need you here, to monitor the Guardian’s emanations. With unreliable communications, I can’t afford to take the chance of stranding you. Your knowledge of the Guardian is too valuable to risk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep working on that idea of a force field as a
[112]
final protection
for the time portal. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, though.”

With the red alert over, Zar went back to the quad he shared with Steinberg and Cordova. He found them checking the charges in their phasers and clipping communicators to their belts. They were dressed in heavy-duty uniforms.

“Glad you came back, old man,” Steinberg said, holding out a hand. “Juan and I wanted to say goodbye before we left.”

Puzzled, Zar shook hands with both of them. “Where are you going, Dave?”

“Planetside. And a more barren, nasty ball of rock I’ve never seen. Not even any gorgeous women. Just a bunch of elderly archeologists to nursemaid. Oh well, orders is orders.”

“Archeologists?”

“Yeah, some Doctor named Vargas is running the place. They’re being evacuated, and we’re going to stand guard over some old ruins. Why the Romulans could possibly want to invade
this
sector is beyond me ... nothing but some burned-out suns, and an even more burned-out planet.”

Juan Cordova grinned. “Just keep the old homestead clean while we’re gone. When we get back, I’ll give you the next lesson in ‘Cordova’s Course in Corruption.’ Maybe booze and gambling didn’t work out so well, but wait till next time!
Women.
...” Cordova jabbed Steinberg in the ribs with his elbow. “Look at that, Dave, he’s blushing!”

Zar glared in mingled annoyance and amusement. “Juan, I’ve been looking for someone to practice that shoulder pinch on. Seems to me I just heard somebody volunteer ...” He moved purposefully toward Cordova, who ducked behind Steinberg, laughing.

“Come on, Dave. We’d better get out of here before he really gets sore. ...” The two security men picked up their kits and headed for the door. From the corridor, Cordova gave Zar a thumbs-up sign.
[113]
“See you later—stay away from strange men and dogs!”

One black eyebrow climbed. “Dogs? There aren’t any dogs aboard the
Enterprise
...”

Steinberg shook his head. “He meant, ‘take care of yourself.’ We’ll drop you a postcard from gorgeous Gateway. ...”

“Dave, Juan!” Conscious of a strange reluctance to let them out of sight, Zar headed for the corridor and shouted after them, “What’s a postcard?”

“We’ll tell you when we get back—” The turbo-lift doors closed on them.

Suddenly the quad seemed much larger, and the silence was oppressive. Zar wandered into his cubicle, picked up his sketchbook, but couldn’t concentrate on drawing. He realized that he was doodling, idle lines that formed—that formed a face. He stared, arrested by the familiar features in the rough sketch. Wiry hair, wrinkles, laugh lines ... Doctor Vargas. ...

He flung the sketchbook down, paced uneasily around the tiny room, then picked up the tape on Sarpeidon’s history—the one that showed his cave paintings—and fed it into the viewer. He turned pages, scanning the words and illustrations absently, mentally replaying the conversation with Dave. Suddenly the lean fingers closed convulsively on the speed-control button, and Zar stared fixedly at the picture on the screen.
It can’t be
... his gaze traveled involuntarily to the painting on the easel, and he flicked the viewer’s “off” button with an uneasy frown.

Two mysteries.
... The security man’s words echoed in his mind again, and against his will the logical approach Spock had taught him set up the situation as an equation—and he didn’t like the obvious solution. Finally, he went to the library computer console and keyed in a question. It clicked for a moment, then a light flickered on the console’s screen. “No information in that area.”

[114]
Unable to relax, he prowled the corridors of the ship. The
Enterprise
seemed oppressive, her corridors nearly deserted. Several times he turned suddenly, thinking someone was behind him, only to find himself alone. There was a sensation at the back of his neck that he recognized. He’d felt that prickling before, tracking prey, only to find that he, in turn, was being stalked.

He resisted the urge to drop in on McCoy, knowing the Doctor was busy. Briefly he considered going to the mess for a snack, but realized the churning in his stomach had nothing to do with real hunger. Blaming his increasing discomfort on loneliness, he attempted to dismiss it. After all, loneliness was something he’d learned to live with long ago; something that was always there, like the sun and the rocks and hunger. Funny now, but he’d thought in those days that
people
were the cure—people to be with, talk to ... Instead, they only seemed to compound the problem. Not logical, but nevertheless true.

His thoughts turned to Spock, and he wondered what the Vulcan was doing, remembered the scene in the mess hall. Anger was gone, leaving only the futility—and shame. How naive he’d been! Something tightened in his abdomen, and he shivered, feeling queasy.