Kirk had shuttled immediately across the Med basin to the massive old hydroelectric complex at Gibraltar. Here, Starfleet maintained one of its communications branches from which he could contact headquarters and confirm the senceiver alert.
It was also the fastest way in which he could get another answer. Troubling Kirk almost as much as the mysterious “cloud intruder” had been the fact that the senceiver message carried no intimation that he was being summoned back to Starfleet Headquarters. He felt that he must have somehow missed that part of the message—otherwise, something had to be dreadfully wrong. It was unthinkable that Starfleet, facing an emergency like this, would ignore his years of deep-space experience, not to mention his staff responsibilities in areas of fleet deployment.
A troubled Jim Kirk paused outside the Gib signal installation, wanting to compose himself before contacting the Admiralty. He was standing near the top of the massive ramparts which towered high above Gibraltar. Well over twenty kilometers-away he could see identical ramparts at the Africa side, and between them the mighty wall separating the Atlantic Ocean from what had once been the Mediterranean Sea. This spectacular panorama, combining as it did with his love of history, began to work on his imagination. Putting all his weight on one foot, Kirk could just barely feel the hum of the huge old hydroelectric turbines which still operated deep down at the bedrock level where great streams of cold Atlantic Ocean water plunged sixty meters down to the Mediterranean Sea level. He knew this installation to be hopelessly bulky and inefficient by today’s standards, and yet it was still operating—certainly a tribute to the skill of those early twenty-first-century engineers whose creation here had served the energy needs of Southern Europe and most of North Africa for almost two centuries.
Below him past the sea-locks, Kirk could make out Gibraltar Rock itself, looking so tiny from here that it was hard to believe it had once been an important military bastion in the power struggles which had divided humanity. The fabled Mediterranean Sea was now hardly more than a long, slender lake which trailed off into the hazy blue distance in the direction from which he had just come. He wondered if the Mediterranean Alliance had done the right thing in so drastically altering the character of this old sea and the region surrounding it. The Mediterranean had played a significant role in humanity’s climb to civilization—did humanity really have the right to meddle to this extent with their past and with the nature of planet Earth? As always, Kirk was forced to admit that the answer was, of course, yes. The inescapable fact was that human ingenuity had saved more of the past here than it had lost—the museum cities and the library at Alexandria were only two examples of that. On what had been the sea-bottom, pre-Minoan ruins had yielded priceless new information on the human past. And the skillfully engineered climate alterations had not only made the entire Med Basin into a virtual garden, it had profoundly improved the climate and the character of the entire northern half of Africa—and this had contributed greatly to that continent’s having become an island of human progress and tranquility during the savagery which had racked much of the rest of the world during the twenty-first century.
Kirk became aware of a squawking seagull which in turn made him also aware that for several minutes now he had been standing there gawking and daydreaming like a tourist. He turned and hurried through the signal-center entry, annoyed at being so easily distracted. The African vacation leave was over; he could visit and explore the old Gib complex another time. But now he was a flag officer responding to a major Starfleet alert.
Inside, Kirk found it to be one of those small signal relay stations built in the days when travel around Earth required several more hours than it did now. The young signal technician came to her feet fast, surprised at receiving such a high-ranking visitor, a reaction that changed to something closer to awe as Kirk identified himself.
It was a nuisance having to ask to be put through to Starfleet on a security basis. Kirk considered most secrecy something which usually degraded the accuracy of whatever it touched. The I.D. scan quickly confirmed his identity, and the young technician led him immediately to the security-shielded comcon room.
As Kirk seated himself at the transceiver console, the viewer came on to reveal a comcon operator who smiled pleasantly at Kirk from nearly half a world away in San Francisco.
“Admiral Kirk, Operator. Request verification . . . ”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” The operator had interrupted Kirk quickly but courteously. “Please stand by for a moment.”
The operator’s image faded from the viewer, and in the same instant the console readouts informed Kirk he was to remain silent until further notice. Clearly, Starfleet wanted no unnecessary conversations about this alert. He heard the hum of an I.D. sensor and realized he was being scanned and his identity verified a second time. Evidently, Starfleet was determined to keep the existence of the Intruder “cloud” from becoming general knowledge at this time. Why? Kirk felt adrenaline surge into his bloodstream as he realized there could be only one possible reason—the Intruder was indeed headed for Earth, and the danger was real enough to cause panic if the information got out before Starfleet was ready with some answers.
Kirk’s mind was already racing ahead to consider still other possibilities too. If the power of the Intruder was as awesome as it had seemed, this could become one of those emergencies in which rules had to change and procedures had to be altered. The right opportunity if resolutely seized might even allow one Admiral James T. Kirk to escape from his flag-rank prison.
Until now, Kirk had not permitted himself to admit how desperately unhappy he had been during the last couple of years. It was his pride; it was hard to accept the painful truth that his acceptance of admiral’s stars had been a foolish blunder, even a ridiculous one considering that his friend and mission comrade, ship’s doctor McCoy, had tried so desperately to warn him against accepting flag rank. Bones McCoy had even invaded staff country at the Admiralty, angrily insisting that James Kirk was one of that “quarterdeck breed” whose symbiotic man-vessel relationship had intrigued and puzzled psychiatrists (and before them, poets) since the days of sailing vessels. To such men, command of a starship is likely to be an ultimate experience—no other way of life, no combinations of honors or gratifications can ever come near the excitement, challenges, and almost total freedom of a deep-space command.
What Kirk did not realize was that the decision to accept Admiral’s stars had already been made for him by Starfleet’s commanding Admiral. On bringing the Enterprise back safely from its historic mission, Kirk had become simply too valuable to be allowed to accept another deep space command. He had not been told that McCoy’s arguments had been supported by many medical colleagues who believed that a ground assignment at this juncture might destroy Kirk, or at least his Starfleet career. Starfleet’s commanding Admiral had had to make a difficult choice between what was good for Kirk, and what was good for Starfleet—and the organization had won. Kirk was never even aware that he had been cleverly manipulated from the beginning in ways that had made McCoy’s arguments seem trivial and made flag rank appear to be new growth and new adventure. Also, he had not really understood how deeply Spock’s abrupt departure for Vulcan had affected him. He had been depending on the Vulcan’s friendship and logic much more than he realized.
By the time Kirk had recovered from the physical and emotional exhaustion of his five-year mission, he was already an Admiral, a member of the Commanding Admiral’s staff, and was convinced that he had simply followed the path of responsibility and duty.
Still seated at the Gibraltar station’s signal console, Kirk waited for the San Francisco operator to appear again on his viewer. He was about ready to place his call again when the viewer flickered and the operator’s image appeared.
“Gib comcon, I have an Admiralty staff officer requesting holocom contact with you. Stand by, please.”
Vice Admiral Lori Ciani arrived. It was, of course, only her holocom image, but it was a surprise, nevertheless. It was a perfect transmission signal connecting the Gib station with Starfleet, and Lori looked so completely real and radiant that Kirk could suddenly hear his heart pounding as it always did whenever she came near him during that year they had spent together. Her unusually large eyes and the slim, youthful angularity in her arms and legs always reminded him of a fawn’s wild grace and innocence—and he marveled again at how much this contrasted with her real wildness which was anything but fawnlike, but much more exciting and satisfying. She was also a remarkably brilliant and able officer, as attested to by the fact that she was a member of the commanding admiral’s inner staff. She was the zeno-psychologist in charge of Starfleet Command’s relationships with non-human species, and also Nogura’s personal representative to the new human groups here at home.
“Hello, Jim.” As always, her lips seemed to caress his name as she spoke it.
He could almost catch the scent of her body fragrance, and he could feel the slight pressure of his genitals responding to those memories. She had been perfection—lover, friend, wife, mother, and in every other role and joy she supplied as he slowly recovered from the fatigue and emotional wounds of those five long years out there. They had lived the basic and simple one-year arrangement together—but those months had been memorable ones. He had not been aware, at least not consciously, that during that time she had been something of a surrogate Enterprise to him.
“What’s happening, Lori?”
“Admiral Nogura knew you’d be calling and he asked me to verify the alert.”
Kirk remembered how he had once wondered if the commanding admiral had had any hidden motives in bringing Lori and himself together. But he had dismissed the notion as ridiculous. True, living with Lori had helped make a promotion to flag rank seem attractive, even sensible. . . .
Lori interrupted his thoughts: “How well did the implant signal come through?”
“If a huge ‘cloud’ thing just ripped three Klingon heavies apart, I received it fine. Someone did a good job of infiltrating our drones into that formation.”
Lori nodded. “Commander Branch at Epsilon Nine. I have his entire signal ready if you’d like a direct look at it.”
As he started to reply, Kirk became troubled by something she had said earlier. Admiral Nogura knew you’d be calling and he asked me to verify the alert. Strange. Why would the Commanding Admiral send Lori to do this? The San Francisco comcon operator could have replayed the original signal for him. Certainly, Nogura had more pressing duties for Lori at a time like this.
Lori’s holocom image frowned slightly at the play of expression on Kirk’s features. Actually, of course, the real Lori Ciana was sitting at a console at Starfleet Headquarters where she was herself watching a holocom image of Kirk which appeared to be sitting next to her there. That holocom image of him was obviously revealing to her that something was troubling him. “If you’re wondering why fleet deployment hasn’t been discussed with you, Jim, it’s because the Intruder is headed this way at over warp seven. . . .”
“Warp seven?” Nothing in the implant alert had suggested this incredible speed—even the deep-space Klingon Empire was only days away at these velocities! Kirk was aghast. Unless fleet deployment had been radically changed recently, Starfleet probably had nothing within interception range of an object moving toward Earth at that velocity.
Lori read this expression, too, and nodded. “Which is why you haven’t been ordered to report here, Jim. We haven’t even a light cruiser within interception range.”
“Still, there may be something I can. . . .”
“Of course, Admiral Nogura is anxious to have the benefit of your space experience,” Lori interrupted. “Which is why he assigned me to give you a look at the original transmission. Any comments or guesses you might have, I’m to relay them to him immediately.”
For the first time since Kirk had known Lori, he became aware that she was either lying or at least withholding some part of the full truth. Whoever had sent her to do this had miscalculated. Lori might be capable of a good lie if she believed it important and necessary—but plainly she thought this one to be neither. Also, Kirk had learned to know her far too well to be deceived this easily.
“Let’s see the transmission,” he said. He could deal with any deception later. Meanwhile, he wanted the best possible look at whatever was headed for Earth.
Lori touched a console control in San Francisco. The images picked up by the outpost’s drones and relayed to Earth were clean and nearly perfect. They were also frightening. Kirk’s holocom console now seemed to be hurtling through space in the midst of the Klingon cruiser formation. Unlike the senceiver alert, command level holocom images have no “daydream” quality—they appear in full dimension with a reality which seems actually to surround whoever sits at the receiving holocom console.
“Hold tight, we’ll seem to be coming in very close to them.”
It was Lori, her image warning Kirk that the drone sending this particular image was maneuvering to record close detail on the leading cruiser. Despite Lori’s warning, Kirk found himself clutching at his armrest as he seemed to hurtle in on a collision course with a huge Klingon vessel. Definitely, these were of the new K’t’inga class—Kirk could clearly see the larger engine nacelles, the new clusters of deflector screen pods and the heavier torpedo tubes. In the past, Starfleet’s best had proved only marginally superior to earlier Klingon designs and these K’t’inga class heavies could signal new problems for Starfleet’s present starships.
Then the mysterious “cloud” thing appeared, driving all thoughts of Klingons from Kirk’s mind. The senceiver “daydream” images had made it seem ominous enough, but this perfect holocom image let Kirk’s space-experienced eyes appreciate its true size. Its strange, colorful translucence could have contained and hidden a hundred planets like Earth . . . perhaps a thousand.
“Our science staffs theory . . . ”—this was Lori talking—” . . . is that the cloud itself may be a powerfield generated by something inside at the heart of it.”
“Shit!” It was an expression that a very young Jim Kirk had learned from Grandfather Samuel. It seemed to fit this moment exactly. Kirk’s mind reeled at the incredible power that would be needed to generate a powerfield that size. He wondered if even the sun generated power on that scale.
Then the holocom images faded and he no longer seemed to be hurtling through space. The signal station’s walls reappeared—Lori’s image remained—and apparently his own image was still seated next to her in San Francisco since she seemed still to be watching him. Was she awaiting his response to what they had just seen? Or to what had been left unsaid?
Come on, Lori, image or not, I can see that you’ve got something troubling to say. But you’ve always had a way of making troubling things seem sensible, haven’t you? Is this the first time Nogura has sent you to me this way?
“Jim, there is one starship that might be . . . positioned in time to pull off an interception.”
Kirk understood completely. But he kept his expression blank. Your next words could brand you a whore, Lori. Nogura’s staff whore. I hope I’m wrong.
“The Enterprise, Jim. There’s a chance they can get her out of orbital dockyards in time.”
“And?” Whatever Nogura had sent her here to say, he wasn’t going to help her with it.
“The commanding admiral . . . ”
“Meaning Nogura, of course . . . ”
“Of course. He’s ordered everyone available from your old crew aboard. That will give Captain Decker the best . . . ”
“Captain Decker?”
“Yes. You recommended they give the Enterprise to him, didn’t you? He’ll have the top crew in Starfleet, people already accustomed to working together . . . ”
“And Nogura was worried that I might want to take her out myself?”
“Well . . . no. Certainly, you’ll agree that the Enterprise has been so completely rebuilt and refitted that she’s not the same ship you were so familiar with. Your protégé . . . ”
“Decker.”
“Yes. He’s been aboard eighteen months now; he’s intimately familiar with every change . . . ”
“He knows the design changes, her new systems, like no one in the Fleet could possibly know them.”
“That’s right, Jim.”
“Thank you, Lori. Mind if I close down this console now? I’ve an appointment and I’m already running late on it.”