Star Trek: That Which Divides (40 page)

“Spock, don’t,” Kirk snapped, and when Vathrael turned back to face him she saw the raw determination, even defiance, in the man’s eyes.

Unable to resist a small smile, she asked, “Captain, surely you’re concerned for the safety of your crew, to say nothing of the people living on this planet?”

“Of course, I am,” Kirk replied, “but living under Romulan rule isn’t exactly paradise, is it? Maybe I’m doing them a favor by not stopping this detonation.”

He was being aggressive for a purpose, Vathrael
concluded, perhaps to distract her from some other gambit he was attempting, but what could that be? “Drixus,” she called out, not taking her eyes off Kirk as she drew her disruptor and aimed it at Spock, thereby freeing her centurion for a new task. “Since the captain appears to be uncooperative, kill one of his subordinates.”

“You do that,” Kirk said, “and you might as well kill us all, because I’ll stand here until the clock ticks down to zero or you shoot me, whichever comes first. Surrender now, and we’ll do what we can to abort the self-destruct. Refuse, and we all die.”

Considering his brash demand, Vathrael shook her head. “Captain, please don’t confuse any admiration I have expressed with stupidity. Humans are notoriously weak-willed when it comes to such sacrifice.”

“Don’t believe your propaganda,” Kirk snapped. “For the right reasons, we humans are more than capable of sacrificing ourselves, but we’d rather live. But if the difference between possibly living and certainly dying means doing something bold or even crazy, then so be it.”

His expression changed, and he even shook his head as he regarded her with what Vathrael thought might be a small, grim smile of resignation. Only then did she comprehend the full meaning behind his words, and by that point Kirk’s hand was moving as though to reach for something.

Pulling the disruptor from where he had tucked it at his back and beneath his shirt, Kirk felt its weight as he raised his arm. The weapon was still awkward in his hand, but he ignored that as he concentrated on simply aiming the damned thing. In front of him, Vathrael recoiled from his
sudden movement, turning to bring up her own disruptor to aim at him as Kirk leveled his weapon at his intended target.

“Kirk!” the Romulan shouted as he fired.

He felt the vibration coursing through his hand as the disruptor whined and spat forth its bolt of controlled energy, which screamed across the space separating him from the control cube hanging from the center of the room. The bolt struck the cube, followed by a second and third salvo as Kirk fired again. This entire gambit, shaky as it was, had relied upon the Romulans focusing on confiscating his and Sortino’s phasers and not considering the possibility that they might be harboring other weapons.

The greater risk, Kirk figured, was firing directly on the sensitive control mechanism even with the disruptor set to a lower power setting. He had no idea how it or the rest of the security system might react, considering the Romulans had already disabled the room’s automated defense weapon. Was there another turret lurking somewhere else in the chamber, or was there some other, possibly lethal countermeasure waiting to be deployed? What other tricks might the long-dead Losira and her creators have hidden up their respective sleeves? Whatever was going to happen, Kirk was certain it would happen in the next handful of seconds.

It took rather less time for fate—or whatever it was that had looked after Kirk on so many occasions over the years as it tolerated even his more aggressive and often outlandish tactics—to choose once more to smile upon him.

The cube’s internal light show accelerated and the patterns it emitted turned from fluid to chaotic as displays and
lights began flaring and blinking on various panels around the room. The overhead illumination faded, dropping the room into near darkness broken only by the light cast by the surrounding control consoles. Maybe his shots had only disoriented the cube and this was its way of resetting itself, but there was no way to know for sure. Behind him, Kirk heard the drone of hidden motors as the reinforced hatch began to slide downward.

“Commander!” a male voice shouted. “The door!”

As the door continued to close, Kirk saw Dana Sortino lunge to her right, away from him, as she pulled her own captured disruptor from behind her back. Rather than seek cover, the ambassador was moving forward, searching for a target and firing with seemingly reckless abandon in the general direction of two centurions, prompting the Romulans to drop in search of cover.

That woman is certifiable
.

The thought echoed in Kirk’s mind as the door sealed itself, locking everyone within the room. Visibility was compromised due to the diminished lighting, but he was able to see Spock dispatching one of the centurions with a nerve pinch. He was fast, turning to face Vathrael at the same instant the Romulan commander perceived his movements. Rather than shoot him, she blocked his arm before he could reach her neck, then lashed out with her other fist, punching him in the midsection. Spock stumbled in the face of the sudden attack, though he did not fall or even back away. His right hand struck hers, freeing her grip on her disruptor and sending the weapon across the room, where it bounced off a control console.

“Spock!”

Despite his training and experience, the Vulcan seemed
to be no match for Vathrael, who Kirk could see possessed formidable unarmed combat skills. Raising his disruptor, he raced forward, taking aim at her back as she kicked Spock with sufficient force to slam him into the nearby wall.

“Commander!” he snapped. “Stop right there!”

Moving with startling speed, Vathrael pivoted on her left foot and ducked just as he pressed the weapon’s firing stud, dropping beneath the energy bolt that tore through the space she had occupied heartbeats earlier. Kirk adjusted his aim, trying to track her, but she was too fast. Her right foot caught the end of the disruptor, and Kirk felt it rip from his hand. He had no time to think about recovering the weapon before Vathrael was closing on him, and then he felt the first strike to his rib cage. Pain exploded in his side and he gasped from the intensity of the punch even as instinct pushed him away from the attack. He felt a hand on his right arm as Vathrael latched on to him, gripping part of his shirt as she tried to move closer. Kirk jerked away from her, twisting his arm until he heard the material of his shirt sleeve begin to tear. The material stretched and Vathrael tried to wrap her hand around it in a bid to keep Kirk from escaping. He saw the next hit coming from his left, and lowered his arm to block the strike. As Vathrael began to pull back her arm he grabbed it, twisting his hand around her bicep. The Romulan responded by swinging at his head with her right fist, which Kirk also deflected. Their movements brought them face-to-face, centimeters from each other just as the room’s lighting stabilized and returned to normal levels, and he now saw the fury in the commander’s eyes.

“Kirk!” she hissed through gritted teeth, followed by
something he did not understand, spoken in her native language. There was no way to decipher the invective.

He smashed her face with his forehead.

Stars danced in his vision, but he ignored them along with the sharp ache above his brow, feeling Vathrael sag as she recoiled from the attack. It was enough for him to free his right arm, and he used it to strike a second time. The edge of his hand caught the side of her head, but she held her ground, bringing up her arm in an attempt to retaliate. Kirk, having shaken off most of the pain from Vathrael’s initial assault, pressed forward, landing two fast jabs to her sides and forcing her backward. Wincing in obvious pain, the commander tucked her left arm close to her ribs as though protecting them even as she recovered her footing, and Kirk knew she was readying for another attack. He moved to his right, trying to come at her from her weakened left flank. His eyes locked with hers, and he saw the mounting hatred in the Romulan’s eyes.

So focused was he on trying to anticipate her next move that he was almost caught by surprise when her expression flattened and her body went limp. Only then did Kirk see Spock’s hand on her shoulder. Vathrael collapsed into the Vulcan’s arms, and he lowered her with care to the floor.

“If it’s the last thing I ever do,” Kirk said, catching his breath as he regarded the torn material of his uniform shirt, which had separated at the shoulder, “I’m going to learn how to do that.”

“I remain optimistic, Captain,” Spock replied, rising to his feet. “I hope that you did not take offense at her suggestion regarding improper physical relations with your ancestors.”

Straightening what remained of his tunic, Kirk eyed the unconscious Romulan. “Is that what that was?” He and Spock turned to see that Ambassador Sortino had done an admirable job subduing the other Romulans. The two who remained conscious were now under the watchful eye of Uhura and Boma, both of whom now wielded the disruptors Sortino had given them.

“Very nicely done, Ambassador,” Kirk said.

Sortino smiled as she recovered the phasers confiscated from the landing party and held one out to him. “Are you kidding? I haven’t had this much excitement in years. And didn’t I tell you to call me Dana?”

The comment evoked a chuckle from Kirk as he made his way over to Boma. “Lieutenant, are you all right?”

Boma nodded. “I’ll be fine sir. Just a bump on the head.”

Emerging from the smaller room, McCoy stepped around Boma and looked to Kirk. “Johnson will be okay, too. A couple of days’ bed rest and he’ll be ready for duty, assuming we get out of this, that is.”

“Spock?” Kirk prompted.

The first officer was already moving toward one of the consoles. “Understood, Captain. Lieutenant Uhura, I shall require your assistance once again.”

McCoy made his way to where Vathrael still lay on the floor. Glancing at Kirk as he knelt beside her, he muttered, “Fine way to treat a lady. This isn’t going to do your reputation any favors, you know.”

“Next time, I’ll let her punch you,” Kirk replied, rubbing his side where Vathrael had hit him and wondering about the size and color of the resulting bruise he knew would be there in a few hours. Making an attempt to tuck in the edge of his torn sleeve, Kirk sighed in resignation.

“You were overdue for that to happen, weren’t you?” McCoy asked.

Though he smiled at his friend’s playful jab, Kirk chose not to respond and instead nodded toward Vathrael. “Is she all right?”

Waving his diagnostic scanner over the unconscious Romulan, McCoy’s business-like manner returned. “She’ll be right enough once I’m finished.”

“Can you wake her up?” Kirk asked.

The doctor deactivated the scanner before returning it to his tricorder’s storage compartment. “Are you sure you want that? She was a handful before.”

Kirk nodded. “It’ll be fine.”

McCoy administered a hypospray and a moment later Vathrael stirred. She grimaced, perhaps from some lingering pain from her injuries during the fight. Reaching up to rub her forehead where Kirk had struck her, she cleared her throat.

“So,” she said, “I am your prisoner.”

“For the time being, anyway,” McCoy replied, returning his hypospray to the medical kit on his hip.

Kirk turned as Boma moved to stand beside him, aiming his phaser at Vathrael. “We’re a bit shorthanded, so far as guards are concerned,” he said, and Kirk could see that the man was still enduring some residual discomfort from his own skirmish with the Romulans.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kirk said before moving to where Spock and Uhura were working at the control console. “Spock? How much time?”

“Thirty-five minutes, eleven seconds,” the Vulcan replied, not turning from the console.

Kirk gestured toward the console. “Can you at least
break through whatever’s jamming communications?” He had been cut off from Lieutenant Kyle without warning, and now worried that the young officer, having secured the Romulan ship, might be considering making his way here in order to assist his captain. “We’ve got to tell the rest of our people to stay away, and warn the Dolysians what’s coming.”

His attention still on his workstation, Spock replied, “I do not believe we will be able to do that and disable the destruct protocol in the time remaining to us, Captain.”

Time and options were running out, Kirk knew. Looking to Vathrael, he said, “You still have time to evacuate, Commander.”

“What?” Boma asked, frowning.

“Are you kidding, Jim?” McCoy asked, his expression one of disbelief.

Shaking his head, Kirk kept his gaze on Vathrael. “She was only following whatever orders she was given.” To the commander, he said, “If you leave now, there should still be time for you to warn your people on the surface.” As he spoke the words, he imagined there would be people in the upper echelons of Starfleet Command who would disagree with his thinking, but none of them were here at the moment.

So, to hell with them
.

His thought was interrupted by the sound of a new alert tone emanating from the console where Spock and Uhura stood. Turning to look, Kirk saw the expression of worry on Uhura’s face even as Spock’s hands seemed to move with greater speed across the panel.

“What’s going on?” Kirk asked.

Spock replied, “We appear to have triggered some other
form of anti-intrusion device, Captain. The result is an acceleration of the countdown.”

Feeling the knot of anxiety already forming in his gut, Kirk asked, “Tell me you can stop it?”

“Unknown at this time,” Spock said.

“Well, how much time’s left?” McCoy asked.

His hands moving across the panel’s surface, Spock’s index finger paused on one illuminated red control before replying, “Twelve minutes, forty-two seconds, but the countdown is continuing to accelerate.”

“Wait!” Uhura shouted. “I think I can . . .” The rest of her sentence faded as the lieutenant leaned closer to the console, reaching toward one of the displays she had paused. Kirk saw her eyes narrow as she studied the depiction of Kalandan text, her fingers tracing over a grouping of characters and other symbols he did not recognize.