Chapter Text
The Constellation lunged at the star like a ravenous shark. The temperature on the bridge rose by the minute, reached discomfort level in five. Samuels's hands, however, were sweating long before then. Zhour bent over the tactical console, searching any energy source from which he could squeeze some extra reinforcement into the heat shields. Nevertheless he felt light-headed already: Andorians are native to colder environments, and even upper-reach Class N planets are terribly uncomfortable for them, to say nothing of flying in close to 6,500-Kelvin main-sequence stars.
"Mr. Hasselmann...." He took a breath. "I don't think we'll be needing the phasers here if you wouldn't mind diverting some of that power to the shields."
"Gladly, Herr Zhour," Hasselmann smiled. "I think we come from similar climates, but I'm a long way from the Zugspitze."
Zhour smiled back, as grateful for the extra shield power as he was for the universal translator. But for that, even some of the Earth natives on the Constellation might have struggled with Hasselmann's thick Austrian accent - there was still a twinge of it even when translated to Andorian.
In the hangar, Veltanoa had made fast all the shuttlecraft and detailed half a dozen deck hands, tethered to the launch and recovery tracks, to give each container a zero-G push out of the hangar as the ship passed close to the star. It would be an exact reversal of the acquisition of the containers under Galbraith's supervision - and reckoning with a force of nature a thousand times deadlier than Klingons. The closer they came to the star, the more sinister and violent it looked. Marlowe's hands trembled on her console as she unblinkingly ogled their heading: Decker leaned forward in his chair and fingered his computer disks as if they were a wad of dough.
"Eight million kilometers and closing," Marlowe said breathlessly.
"Veltanoa, you ready down there?" Decker called out.
"Long ago, sir!"
"Sir, we're picking up speed," Samuels said. "Helm control is set to warp two, but we're approaching warp four velocity!"
"Cut to warp one!" Decker snapped. "Masada, gimme a report!"
"Gravimetric transients on the port bow," Masada said. "Sir, we'd better lean right, or we'll be in a distortion!"
"Samuels, come right, one eight eight mark two! Get ready to break away!" Decker mopped his damp forehead with his sleeve. "Hangar bay, stand by to jettison....and....now! Give Morgul the boot!"
He tensed and waited. The Constellation rocketed abeam of the star and then away, velocity dropping as the star's gravity began to outpull the warp field. Again time seemed to grind to a standstill.
"Morgul is released, sir!" Veltanoa called out.
"Zhour, repulsor beam! Shove it off!" Decker ordered. "Samuels, increase speed to warp four, get us the hell away from this star!"
"Happy to oblige, sir," Samuels exclaimed. "One down, seven to go!"
Masada leaned over the sensor viewer, but it was already so warm to the touch that he could only lightly rest his fingertips on it. "Morgul has fallen into the star's gravity well," he announced. "Going, going....gone!"
"All right, haul off!" Decker commanded. "Zhour, drop the shields, give 'em a chance to recharge. Veltanoa, which one's next?"
"Isengard, sir."
"Very well. Take a breather. I'll give her about fifteen minutes to cool down before the next pass."
The hair at Marlowe's temples was visibly dampened as she slid it behind her ear. She wiped a film of perspiration from her display and allowed Samuels a look, whereupon he peered into his sensor viewer and angled the ship toward the innermost planet of the system. He rubbed his upper lip and stared at the viewer as the planet, a rocky Class X affair with a volcanic surface, became visible as a flaming red globe, an appearance glaringly befitting the "Operation Orodruin" moniker of the mission.
"Hull temperature?" Decker inquired of Hasselmann.
"Four hundred Celsius and falling, Herr Kommodore."
"We should be so lucky to keep it that way," Samuels muttered.
"Yeah, we should," Marlowe agreed. "Passing inner planet to port."
"Coming around, reducing speed to warp two," Samuels responded.
"No unusual solar activity I can detect, sir," Masada called over his shoulder from the sensors.
"We should stay so lucky in that regard, too," Decker said. "Begin the second pass. Hangar, stand by with Isengard!"
None of the surrounding stars were visible in the viewer as the Constellation raced toward M-427 again. The star occupied most of the middle of the viewer, then drifted off to the left side as Samuels steered slightly away. Again the temperature elevated; again Zhour raised the heat shields, and squeezed every joule of power he could find into them; again the Constellation began to pick up speed, and Samuels helmed away still further.
"One half AU, closing fast," Marlowe panted. "We should be able to - " She broke off as the Constellation shook, heaving much further to starboard than Samuels had intended.
"What the hell was that?" Decker demanded, turning to Masada.
"Looks like a gust of stellar wind interfered with the warp field for a moment," Masada answered. "We're still making warp two....gravimetric drag is pulling us toward warp three velocity!"
"Ease us off, helmsman," Decker said. "Zhour, how are the shields holding up?"
"Taking as much as they can, sir." Zhour was even shorter of breath than Marlowe. "More than I'm able to, if I'm being honest. I would recommend....a few more minutes of cool-down time after we complete this pass."
"Recommendation noted. Bearing to the star?"
"Three zero five relative," Masada replied. "At this speed, we have twenty-two seconds till we can unload Isengard."
Decker looked at the chronometer mounted beside the helm. As far as he could tell, it was ticking the seconds off at a normal pace. At least, that was how it looked from where he was sitting. Who could say if a gravimetric distortion would affect their perception of the passage of time.
"Hull temperature?" he asked Hasselmann.
"Four hundred and fifty Celsius and rising." Hasselmann's eye fell on a flashing warning light near his left hand, which he immediately reached over to flip the acknowledging switch. "Herr Kommodore! The port warp nacelle indicates a weakened H-frame in the support pylon! Very much more stress of this sort and it may buckle!"
"Christ, it never rains...." Decker muttered. "Auxiliary power to number six shield!"
"Jawohl, Herr Kommodore!" Hasselmann hastened to make the power transfer as Decker leaned forward in his chair.
"Veltanoa, get ready on Isengard," he ordered tensely. "Stand by....and....let 'er go!"
He watched one of the side monitors on the bridge, which showed a view astern of the Constellation. The second container flew out of the shuttlecraft hangar and tumbled toward the star, lost to view in an instant in the fiery golden glare. The star receded, falling away on the port side, but not at all quickly enough for anyone's liking.
"Isengard's away!" Veltanoa crowed. "Readying Udûn!"
"Zhour, kick it! Samuels, break! Hasselmann, get a damage control team down to that pylon and shore it up! We'll drop to impulse while they get that licked." Decker half-turned to his right. "Talk to me, Masada."
"Isengard is falling in," Masada said. "Gravimetric drag is reducing....no change in time lapse."
Decker nodded and drew his already damp sleeve across his mouth. "So far, so good. If we can just - "
"Sir," T'Prea interrupted, "urgent call for you from sick bay."
"Put 'em on. Report, Dr. Jol."
"Sir, Starlife indicates many of the crew are feeling the effects of heat exhaustion," Jol responded.
"I could've told him that," Zhour panted.
"Most of the affected personnel are in the outer zones of the ship," Jol continued. "I strongly suggest all hands move inboard wherever possible."
Decker caught the pleading look from Zhour, who was puffing as he faced him. He regarded Samuels and Marlowe, both of whom breathed heavily, sweat stains widening across their backs. And there were still six containers to get rid of.
"T'Prea, tell Commander Edgerton to stand by in the auxiliary control room," he ordered. "You and Masada stay with me on the bridge. Everybody else, report to auxiliary control. And stay cool, people. We'll make it through this."
"Like hell we will," Samuels muttered under his breath as he hauled himself up out of the bridge well and back to the turbolift. He threw his arm around Zhour, who was unsteady on his feet as he got up, gulping hard and exhaling with exertion.
Decker scratched the side of his head and felt the dampness at his hairline. The heat on the bridge struck him as comparable to the heat that the instrument panels and weapons had radiated when the Organians truncated the war, when Trefayne came aboard to warn him that he must undertake this mission to begin with. He caught himself oddly wondering if it was also comparable to the heat in which Vulcan men found themselves at the peak of their mating cycle.
For his own part, Jim Kirk had found out about Vulcan mating cycles the hard way and would never forget the lesson. Since he'd faked his death to satisfy Spock's bloodlust, encountered a Greek god, had another near-fatal run-in with the bloodthirsty gas creature from Tycho IV, been mistaken for a father figure by an ancient Earth probe, met Spock's parents during a sensitive diplomatic mission, and nearly been trapped in a parallel universe, life on the Enterprise had more or less returned to normal: at least, according to the ship's, and Kirk's, definition of the word. Spock was his old imperturbable self again, but McCoy, if Kirk knew him, would take all of about fifteen minutes to find some new minor discomfort to overstress.
Returning to his quarters from a personal training session with a security officer who was an expert in martial arts, Kirk had just finished changing his clothes and plopped down at his desk to relax when the intercom whistled. No rest for a weary starship captain. He nodded his head a moment, leaned over and hit the button. "Kirk here."
"Bridge here, Captain." It was the lightly accented voice of Clara Palmer, the relief communications officer covering Uhura's leave after the parallel-universe thing. "Encrypted transmission from Starfleet Operations incoming, coded captain's eyes only."
"In my quarters, Lieutenant," Kirk instructed. He turned on his monitor screen and pressed the decoder switch beside it, frowning at the text that appeared.
CONFIDENTIAL - EYES ONLY
STARDATE: 4102.2
FROM: COMMANDER STARFLEET OPERATIONS SECTOR 15
TO: COMMANDING OFFICER U.S.S. ENTERPRISE (NCC-1701)
PRIORITY: SEARCH AND RESCUE
SUBJECT: STARSHIP MISSING IN ACTION IN AREA
ENTERPRISE WILL DIVERT IMMEDIATELY TO SECTOR L-300. U.S.S. CONSTELLATION (NCC-1017) UNDER COMMAND COMMDR. M.R. DECKER LAST KNOWN TO BE OPERATING IN THAT AREA HAS FAILED TO RESPOND TO REPEATED SUBSPACE TRANSMISSIONS. CONSTELLATION HAS BEEN REPORTED OFF COURSE AND OFF MISSION AS OF STARDATE 4014.5 1100 HOURS LOCAL. SEEK OUT AND ASCERTAIN CONSTELLATION'S CONDITION AND MOUNT A RESCUE OPERATION IF NECESSARY. IF HOSTILE FORCES ARE ENCOUNTERED, ASSESS SITUATION AND CALL FOR REINFORCEMENTS.
AUTHORIZED SIGNATURE
CAPT. A.V. BRETTON SFC-UFP
STARFLEET OPERATIONS
CONFIDENTIAL
Kirk read the message a second time and then looked contemplatively across the room. Sounded like just the sort of risk he was accustomed to taking - but since when had Matt Decker ever deviated from a mission assignment? Something must be seriously wrong out there. He leaned back over to the comm panel. "Kirk to bridge."
"Bridge, Spock here."
"Mr. Spock, we've received new orders. Alter course for sector L-300; one of our starships is missing and possibly disabled. Issue a security alert to all decks and place rescue and damage-control parties on standby."
"Acknowledged."
"Kirk out." He read the message on his monitor screen one more time and rubbed his jaw. "All right, Matt, what's going on out there?" he muttered. "You're not the kind of captain to take your ship for an unauthorized joy ride. Unless you've been driven mad by some unearthly affliction...."
On the Constellation, racing in mad, headlong oblongs around M-427 and its nearest planets, the temperature had risen to nearly 40 degrees. Despite all efforts to cool the ship down between passes, the hull continued to retain more and more heat with each pass. Almost two hours had elapsed since the first pass and it already felt like almost a day - and it very well might have been, if there had been any undetectable gravimetric effects. After the fourth pass, Hasselmann and a new contingent of deck hands relieved Veltanoa and his group, who promptly sought refuge in sick bay. Even their environmental suits were struggling to regulate their core temperature.
The star itself was reacting as the refined magnotritium nitrate plunged into it and burst on impact. So far, there was no instability Masada could detect, and no hazardous reactions along the lines of a coronal mass ejection or an electromagnetic storm. Yet it lent credence to Masada's assertion that they were best off dropping each container one at a time, lest the star be unable to digest the refined substance all at once and immolate its entire system and the Constellation with it.
Masada himself sagged over his console, puffing like a dog: on the last pass, he'd been determined to ask if Decker intended to let the intense heat weaken the structural integrity any worse than it already had. If he could just seize some regulatory opening to table this wild endeavor, maybe get Edgerton to threaten Decker with relief, before it got the ship destroyed. However, by the middle of that pass, it was all he could do just to stay on his feet and mind the sensors to make sure the ship didn't burn up completely.
Decker, meanwhile, had little luck relieving the fierce itch in the middle of his back, aggravated by perspiration as it was. The turbolift hissed open, and Galbraith hurried out, carrying three stainless-steel flasks. Even her face glistened with perpetual sweat.
"Fresh water from ship's stores, sir," she said as she passed two flasks to Decker and Masada. "Medical orders from Dr. Jol."
"Oh, thanks, Laurie." Decker nodded gratefully and pounded down a swig: Masada could offer no such terms of gratitude.
"T'Prea?" Galbraith said, proffering the third flask.
The young Vulcan woman showed no ill effects whatsoever as she turned and looked up, making no move to accept the flask. "Thank you, Lauren. It is exceedingly rare for the temperature aboard ship to emulate that of my home planet." She turned back to her console and touched her ear antenna. "Sir, Mr. Hasselmann is ready to release Cirith Ungol."
"Get me auxiliary control," Decker said. "Richard, how you doing down there?"
"All that's missing is a bit of surf and sand," Edgerton replied jocularly. "But I'll settle for an Alpine resort."
"Three more passes and we're there," Decker told him. "Bring us around!"
"Reversing course!" Edgerton strode around behind Samuels and leaned on the auxiliary control console between him and the engineer. "Hold your breath, everyone," he said. "Anybody for a cold Boddington's in the officers' lounge when this is over?"
"I'll settle for Aldebaran iced tea," Samuels said. Relocating from the bridge had made his job a great deal easier, but he was starting to question whether he'd make it through three more passes. "That's if we aren't all ashes and cinders by that time."
"I'm starting to think Masada had a spot of bother following through," Edgerton muttered.
"We're now heading one seven five mark eight," Marlowe said, half to Edgerton and half to the communications speaker. "Bridge, I recommend we release Cirith Ungol in the middle of our next turn. I'm plotting another loop around the second planet to try and release some of this heat."
"Very well," Decker said. "Hasselmann, did you catch that?"
"Ja, Herr Kommodore," Hasselmann answered. "Moving Cirith Ungol as close as we dare to the hangar doors."
"All right, you've got....how long, Masada?"
There was no response. Decker looked over at the science station to see Masada leaning over it, chest heaving, head shaking slowly.
"Mr. Masada!" he snapped.
Masada gasped and looked up. "Sorry, sir," he said, heaving himself to his feet and over the sensor viewer. "Sixteen seconds....to periapsis." He bent over, chest still heaving and head still bobbing.
Decker blew out a heavy breath of his own. "You'd better get yourself to sick bay, fella," he warned.
Masada's head switched from bobbing to shaking. "I'll make it through this one, sir. Just - " Suddenly he flattened his hands on his console and stared into the viewer. "Solar flare off our starboard bow! Range eight hundred thousand! Its altitude is already higher than ours and it's still climbing!"
"Dodge it, Danny, dodge it!" Decker yelled into the speaker.
"Up and over!" A newfound burst of energy permeated Samuels's voice as he wrenched on the attitude controls. "Hold onto your heels, gang!"
The Constellation lurched and pitched sharply upward, taking on a heading to soar over the flare. But such unpredictable bursts of solar weather are a force of nature no human reflex can possibly outmatch. The flare spewed from the surface of the star at a far greater velocity than Danny Samuels, Pete Brent, or even Erica Ortegas could hope to best. All Samuels had for it was to haul off to port and away from the apex of the flare, veering to its left: yet still the star found time to scorch the starboard side of the Constellation's primary hull near the bow.
Decker wiped his drenched forehead and gasped in another breath as the flare dropped away to the right side of the screen. He leaned over the speaker.
"All right, Hasselmann. Give Cirith Ungol the heave-ho....now!"
He barely heard Hasselmann's shout over the intercom: "Cirith Ungol, los!"
The container was halfway out of the hangar when Marlowe exhorted Samuels to pitch and change course. In two directions at once, the Constellation skewed away from the incendiary arch, letting the container tumble end over end out of the hangar - almost immediately the flare burst high enough to consume it, as if the star was ready and desiring of its explosive morsel. Without waiting for orders, Samuels increased speed and powered away along the course Marlowe had laid in for the second planet.
"Ungol away, Herr Kommodore!" Hasselmann exulted. "All we have left are Gorgoroth und Dol Guldur!"
Two more passes. Maybe they could get away with taking an extended breather and booting the last two containers simultaneously. Decker stood up and wiped his palms on his hips, one of the only regions of his body not already marinated in sweat.
"How long until - " he started, but a heavy thud to one side of him interrupted. He shot a look sideways to see Masada doubled over his console, collapsing into his chair, hyperventilating.
"Mr. Masada!" Galbraith cried. She dashed over to him and pushed him back in his chair, gasping at the sight of his pale, sopping face.
"That's it, he's had it," Decker snapped. "Help me - help me get him on the lift!" He fought off an attack of dizziness as he pulled Masada out of his chair and slung the science officer's arm over his shoulders. The best assistance Galbraith, who was nearly a foot shorter than either man, could offer was to hold his other arm as they struggled to manhandle him toward the turbolift.
"Tell sick bay to get a team to the turbolift yesterday!" Decker grunted at T'Prea. "Laurie, as soon as they take him, get back up here - we might need you." He none too gently lowered Masada to the deck in the turbolift and then sagged against the bulkhead beside it.
"Sir, are you - " Galbraith hesitated in the doorway, eyeing him with a concerned face.
"I'll be all right. Go!" Decker waved her on and turned, staggering back to the science station. He dropped into the chair, wheezing, and reached for the comm panel. "Auxiliary control....slow to impulse. We've got to vent some of this heat....before the next pass."
"Aye, sir," Edgerton answered. "Are you all right up there? Do you need some relief?"
"Just do it. I'll call you if I need you." Decker shut the speaker off and hung over the console. "Tell you what, T'Prea....it's lucky for you you're used to this kind of heat." He took another gulp from his water flask and sat heavily back in the chair.
"We will need relief on the sensors, sir," T'Prea pointed out. "However, at last report, Lieutenant McCreedie was experiencing symptoms of dehydration."
"Well, I reckon I'll just...." Decker trailed off and gave her a sidelong look. "How much did you familiarize Galbraith with the communication systems when you were investigating Dorian?"
"As extensively as necessary to determine the frequency of his activity and the level of encryption he was using."
"So she knows the basics, at least. If you feel up to handling the sensors, you two might as well switch places when she gets back up here."
"You do seem to place an inordinate amount of faith in her abilities, sir," T'Prea said matter-of-factly.
"Galbraith's a hell of a smart girl, T'Prea. The thing is she's not very good at showing it because of her neurological condition. You're familiar with it, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir. It's what's commonly known in the Federation psychological databanks as autism. The brain structure is actually relatively typical in Vulcans, but it is true that while Ms. Galbraith is not very sociable, she is extraordinarily intelligent by human standards."
"Well, just a couple of centuries ago, those same facets would have more than likely gotten her locked up in a mental institution or worse, murdered by her own parents. I hate to tell you this, but even to this day, humans can be real sons of bitches about things they don't understand. Times I wonder why the Vulcans who detected Zefram Cochrane in flight even bothered to drop in."
"We believed your civilization was ready to step forward into a newer and better era, to usher in a world that people such as Lieutenant Galbraith were intelligent and skilled enough to create," T'Prea said, turning back to her station to flip through the comm channels. "I would be interested in learning more of her genetic background; she exhibits a much more logical thought process than most of the humans aboard ship. I find it quite refreshing."
"You think she's got some Vulcan in her?"
"It does cause one to wonder if Vulcan cultural observers paid a clandestine visit to Earth shortly before autistic humans were initially identified."
"Now that's a scary thought," Decker remarked. He glanced at the scanner panel before him at the same moment as the turbolift doors hissed open.
"If you want my opinion, sir...." Galbraith's voice from the turbolift was steeped in anxiety. "This thought is even scarier."
As much as Galbraith's tone, instinct stiffened Decker's guard. He turned and only saw her petrified expression for a split second before he saw Dorian holding a phaser to the back of her head.