Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven (19 page)

The music emerging from the piano was a mystery to her. The melody was nothing she had ever heard or been taught. It was very different from the human jazz and blues that she had played for decades; this new style was slower, more fluid and yet just as complex as jazz and as rich with feeling as blues. At moments it skirted the edge of dissonance, but each time she felt the way to bring it back into harmony before it went too far. Hidden in its rhythms and chords, she was certain she could hear influences as varied as Terran classical and Vulcan sonatas, Deltan chamber music and Andorian concertos.

All at once she felt the improvisation draw to a close. The melody culminated artfully and found its ending with a quiet grace. The measured, dignified conclusion reverberated softly inside the deserted cabaret, and as the last note decayed into silence, T’Prynn opened her eyes. She understood then what Spock had meant. It had simply
felt right
.

Neither of them spoke for several seconds. They sat together, reverent in their respect for the silence and each other. Reflecting upon her inner state, T’Prynn discovered a feeling she had not truly known since her childhood: contentment.

Spock’s communicator beeped twice. He tucked his lyre under his left arm, plucked his communicator from his belt, and opened its gold grille with a flick of his wrist. “Spock here.”

A voice that T’Prynn recognized as James Kirk’s responded,
“Spock, we need you back on the
Enterprise
. There’s an emergency, and we’re shipping out in twenty minutes.”

“On my way. Spock out.” He closed the communicator and tucked it back onto his belt as he stood. “You must excuse me.”

As he moved to step away from the piano, T’Prynn reached out and gently grasped his left wrist. He met her gaze as she said in a humble voice, “Thank you, Spock.”

He turned to face her and raised his right hand, fingers spread in the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, T’Prynn.”

She stood and returned the salute. “Peace and long life, Spock.”

He lowered his hand, then hurried down the stage’s front steps and crossed the cabaret’s main room at a quick step on his way to the rear kitchen entrance. As she watched him leave, she wondered how she would ever repay him for this great kindness.

Then she imagined what Spock would want her to do: He would want her to live a life worthy of such a gift. She didn’t know if she was equal to such a goal, or if she ever would be.

But as he disappeared from her sight, she vowed to try.

I don’t know whether to admire the Tholians’ tenacity or pity them for it,
Khatami brooded.

Two days had passed since the
Endeavour
and its Tholian pursuers both had run out of torpedoes, but the twelve wedge-shaped warships remained close behind, engines pushed to their limits in order to keep pace with the heavy cruiser and its speedy companion, the
Sagittarius
. The only way the Tholians would be able to continue their assault would be if one or both of the Starfleet vessels dropped from warp speed to impulse, enabling the Tholians to bring their beam weapons to bear, but that wasn’t likely to happen before they reached Vanguard. And once
Endeavour
and
Sagittarius
reached the station, they would be under the protection of its formidable defenses, which would easily pulverize the twelve Tholian ships.

All we have to do now,
Khatami reminded herself,
is not let the ship fall apart before we get back to Vanguard
.

Stano conferred with an engineering liaison officer at a console on the bridge’s upper ring, updated some figures on her data slate, then stepped down to join Khatami. “Mog reports he and his people have salvaged enough working parts to keep the last shield emitter running until we get back to Vanguard, but to do that they’ll have to seal off nonessential compartments and shut down a number of auxiliary systems to conserve power.” She handed the slate to Khatami. “Also, I’ve approved his proposal to consolidate crew accommodations and seal off outer sections in the saucer to reduce the strain on the life-support systems.”

“How long to get it all done?”

“About two hours. They’ve already started.”

An approving nod. “Good. Keep me posted.”

The first officer stepped away to continue coordinating the crew’s seemingly Sisyphean tasks. Though damage-control operations on the
Endeavour
had continued around the clock since the first shots were exchanged with the Tholians days earlier, so many of the ship’s systems had been overloaded, compromised, or simply destroyed that complete repairs would not be possible without the aid of a starbase. Only the tireless efforts of the crew, guided by the unorthodox solutions of their Tellarite chief engineer, had kept the ship cruising at warp speed.

Fortunately, the
Sagittarius
had suffered only moderate damage before escaping from the statite, and that was due in large part to the
Endeavour
serving as its shield for the entire marathon run for home. Whatever they might have found or learned on the statite apparently had been important enough for Admiral Nogura to make its safe return to Vanguard a top priority. Unfortunately, the numbers on the data slate in Khatami’s hand made it clear that her ship was one mishap away from a total warp core failure, and she had no doubt that if the
Endeavour
fell behind, the Tholians would scream past it and continue chasing the
Sagittarius
.

Her grave ponderings were interrupted by the anxious voice of Lieutenant Klisiewicz. “Captain? Long-range sensors detect a ship ahead of us, moving at warp eight, on an intercept trajectory. Whatever it is, it’s big.”

Stano crossed the bridge to look over his shoulder. “Can you identify it?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep scanning for an energy signature.”

Neelakanta turned his chair to look back at Khatami. “Captain, if the Tholians have flanked us with a battleship, and our only functional shield emitter is angled aft—”

“I’m aware of our tactical predicament, Lieutenant.”

The Arcturian navigator’s red eyes widened with alarm. “I should also remind you, Captain, that we can’t use phasers at warp, or power them without dropping the shields.”

“Luckily,” Khatami replied, “we’re not alone out here. Estrada, hail Captain Nassir and let him know we need the
Sagittarius
to cover our bow. Whatever shield power they have should be angled forward, and if they still carry a pair of photon torpedoes, they should get ready to use them.” The communications officer nodded and set to work relaying the message.

Khatami took a deep breath and forced herself to present a calm front to her crew as the minutes ticked down, bringing the
Endeavour
and the
Sagittarius
closer to whatever was heading their way. She was contemplating turning the
Endeavour
’s shuttlecraft into bombs and launching them on autopilot at the pursuing Tholian fleet when Klisiewicz suddenly exclaimed at the top of his lungs, “Yes!” All eyes turned toward the lieutenant, who looked up, eyes bright and wide. “Sir, I’ve identified the incoming vessel! It’s the
Enterprise
!”

A loud cheer erupted from around the bridge, and if not for the demands of propriety, Khatami would gladly have joined them. She raised her voice to be heard above the noisy celebration. “Estrada, tell Captain Nassir to belay my last, then hail the Tholian fleet commander. Let him know he’s about to meet our reinforcements.”

“With pleasure, Captain,” Estrada said, already at work.

As she expected, there was no immediate response from the Tholian fleet commander, though she wasn’t sure if it was merely posturing or the fact that the Tholians’ sensors hadn’t yet confirmed the identity of the approaching Starfleet vessel—a
Constitution
-class heavy cruiser like the
Endeavour
. Once the
Enterprise
closed to visual range, however, the Tholian fleet abruptly dropped out of warp and began a hasty course correction, back toward Tholian space.

“Not a moment too soon,” Stano said under her breath.

Before Khatami could reply, Estrada said, “The Tholian commander’s hailing us.”

“Put him on,” Khatami said.

The image on the main viewer shifted from an aft view of the Tholian fleet to a hazy crimson glow, within which Khatami could barely discern the outline of the Tholian fleet commander’s arthropodal crystalline body. His metallic shriek of a voice
came through the universal translator charged with fury.
“This is not over,”
he said.
“You have meddled with forces you do not understand—and you will all pay for your interference.”

Then the transmission ended, and the screen reverted to the image of the alien fleet as it finished its course change and leapt to warp speed, en route to regroup with its waiting armada.

Stano crossed her arms. “Charming fellow. Real smooth talker.”

“For a Tholian, he’s practically a diplomat,” Khatami said.

Estrada looked up from his console. “
Enterprise
is hailing us, Captain.”

“On-screen.” Khatami watched the forward screen snap to an image of the
Enterprise
’s dashing young commanding officer, a lean and fair-haired man in his mid-thirties. “Captain Kirk, I presume?”

“And you must be Captain Khatami.”

She favored him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for rolling out the red carpet.”

“Our pleasure, Captain.”
Kirk turned serious.
“What’s your status? Do you need assistance?”

“More than I’d like to admit. We got beat up pretty badly over the last few days.”

Kirk nodded.
“Understood. We’ll be in transporter range in a few minutes. Once we’re all at impulse, we’ll beam over engineers, supplies, and whatever else you need.”

“Glad to hear it,” Khatami said. A glance from Stano confirmed that she was passing the good news to Mog. Turning her attention back to Kirk, she added, “Maybe then we’ll be able to keep up with you on the way back to Vanguard.”

“We’ll only be with you for half the trip, I’m afraid. About an hour ago, we received a distress signal from the planet Ariannus. We’ll have to leave you after we pass Kessik. But don’t worry—the latest intel from Starfleet says the rest of that sector is clear, and the
Buenos Aires
is en route to meet you at Al Nath. They’ll be your escort from there back to Vanguard.”

“Acknowledged.” Khatami was about to sign off, but she
didn’t know when she might get another chance to speak with Kirk, and her curiosity was too intense to be denied. “Captain, if it wouldn’t be too impertinent, could I ask you a personal question?”

The young captain looked amused by her carefully couched inquiry.
“Be my guest.”

“I read a report from Starfleet Command last year that said you’d met the Greek deity Apollo. I was just wondering . . . did that
really
happen?”

Kirk glanced at someone off-screen, then his mouth curled upward with playful mischief.
“I prefer to think that Apollo met
me
. . . .
Enterprise
out.”

Jetanien kneeled on his portable
glenget
opposite Lugok, at a table in a secluded corner of Ventus, one of the few restaurants still operating within the limits of Paradise City. The narrow, low-ceilinged dining room’s deeply subdued illumination did little to conceal its filthy floors and bare walls. If not for the dim shaded bulb hanging directly above their table, Jetanien doubted he would even be able to read the menu. He looked around the dingy eatery with suspicion. “Lugok, are you quite certain this establishment is open for business?”

“Quite certain,” the Klingon replied without lifting his eyes from his menu.

Tapping the digits of one scaly manus on the tabletop, Jetanien wasn’t convinced. “If that’s the case, old friend, shouldn’t someone be attending us? Had we not found menus on our table when we arrived, I suspect we would still be waiting for them.”

Lugok looked mildly irritated as he peeked over the top of his menu. “Be patient. Maybe they’re busy.”

“Oh, really?” He waved broadly at the sea of empty tables surrounding them. “With whom? If this restaurant is a going concern, why do we appear to be its only patrons?”

The Klingon answered with a glum frown, “Its cuisine isn’t very popular.”

“Nonsense,” Jetanien huffed. “I’ve already seen several items on the menu that sound delectable to my rather discerning palate.”

“As I said.”

Jetanien ground his mandible for a moment, then set down his menu. “I suppose we can at least be grateful that by meeting here, we are unlikely to fall victim to eavesdroppers. Or the temptation
to overeat. Or eat at all.” He leaned back and strained to divine any sound or motion from the kitchen, but detected nothing. “Perhaps this is a self-service automat.”

“I am quite sure it’s not.”

Leaning away from the table, Jetanien grumbled, “Maybe if I go back there, I could get their attention.”

Lugok harrumphed. It was a deep but muffled sound, hidden under his thick beard and fleshy torso. “Like the way Captain Khatami got the Tholians’ attention at Eremar?”

“So, you heard about that, did you?”

A sadistic chuckle animated the Klingon’s swarthy face. “Half the quadrant’s heard about it by now. The Tholians all but called it a war crime.”

“Ridiculous. Captain Khatami’s actions were entirely proportional and in accordance with accepted interstellar law. She did not fire on their ships until they fired upon hers.”

“You speak as if the Tholians give a damn about such distinctions. At a time when the Gonmog Sector—”

“We prefer to call it the Taurus Reach.”

“Good for you,” Lugok continued, unfazed by the interruption. “At a time when the Gonmog Sector is teetering on the brink of all-out war, Khatami should have known better.”