Beyond Deep Space Station S-8
“Hailing Lucky Strike, please respond. I repeat: please respond!”
Sulu feared he was wasting his breath. He had been hailing the errant ship for what felt like forever, ever since it had first veered toward the Antares Maelstrom, but to no avail. He had to assume that Captain Dajo was receiving his transmissions—Helena would never set off into deep space without making certain the ship’s communications array was in tip-top shape—so Dajo had to be deliberately ignoring Sulu’s urgent attempts to contact him.
“Blast it, Dajo,” he muttered under his breath. “Answer me.”
Sulu was at the helm of Fleetness, a high-speed Zephryte shuttle he had commandeered back at the station. In hot pursuit of the Lucky Strike, he was flying solo, having left Knox and the rest of his officers behind at the space station in order to take on as many people as possible if, in a worst-case scenario, he needed to evacuate Dajo’s ship. In addition, he was reluctant to risk any of his crew if he had to dive into the Maelstrom after Helena and the others.
Helena . . .
“Sulu to Lucky Strike. Resume your original course immediately. Do not attempt to cross the Maelstrom. If you survive, you will face prosecution for reckless endangerment upon your arrival at Baldur III.”
Sulu told himself that this suicidal stunt had to be Dajo’s idea and that Helena was just following orders. She had always played fast and loose with the rules, which was why she had chosen the private sector over Starfleet, but he couldn’t imagine that she thought this was a good idea.
Listen to me, he thought, even if you can’t or won’t respond.
The Lucky Strike was nearing the outer fringes of the Maelstrom. Sulu hoped that his words were reaching Dajo or Helena or someone, because, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he could do besides sternly issue orders and warnings. The borrowed shuttle was no match for the Lucky Strike if it came to phasers or tractor beams; all Sulu truly had going for him was his authority as a Starfleet officer, which appeared to carry little weight with Dajo and his crew. Even if he caught up with the Lucky Strike before it entered the Maelstrom, Sulu could hardly pull the other vessel over and issue Dajo a ticket. His best and pretty much only bet was to somehow persuade the other ship to turn back before it was too late.
And if the Lucky Strike did plunge heedlessly into the Maelstrom . . . ?
Sulu hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Hailing Lucky Strike. Think of the safety of your passengers. Do not enter the Maelstrom. That’s an order.”
Dajo rolled his eyes. “Persistent fellow, isn’t he?”
“You have no idea,” Helena said.
The bridge of the Lucky Strike was maybe a third of the size of, say, the bridge on a Constitution-class starship, but the basic layout aped Starfleet’s. A mere handful of crew members manned the bridge controls, with a few more stationed in the engine room at the rear of the ship. Helena occupied her usual post at the communications station, while Dajo stood off to the side, listening to Sulu’s messages along with her. At her captain’s request, she kept the volume low enough that only she and Dajo could easily hear Sulu’s warnings and admonitions. The ship’s passengers, who were stowed away in the passenger compartments, couldn’t hear a thing.
Probably just as well, she thought. “He’s not going to give up, Mirsa.”
“Just keep giving him the cold shoulder.” Dajo smiled slyly. “We can always claim afterward that we didn’t receive his hails. ‘Technical difficulties’ and such.”
“If there’s an afterward,” she said in a low voice, “after the Maelstrom.”
“Now is no time for faintheartedness, First Officer. The die is cast and the Passage awaits us. We know the way through the storm.”
In theory, she thought, although she kept her doubts to herself. This was all her fault, in a way, since she was the one who had alerted Dajo to the opportunity. Having picked up a weak distress signal from the Ali Baba, she had been covertly monitoring the urgent communications coming to and from the space station, which was how she’d found out that the Allegra had been diverted to deal with the emergency, leaving a path to the Maelstrom open. Perhaps I should have thought twice before informing Dajo of that development.
“He’s gaining on us, Captain,” Buzuz called out from the sensor station. The insectoid Kaferian employed a shoulder-mounted vocoder unit to address his more mammalian shipmates.
Dajo returned to the captain’s chair. He stroked his thin mustache thoughtfully.
“How long until he intercepts us?”
The navigator ran the calculations. “Approximately five minutes.”
“And how long before we reach the Maelstrom?”
“One minute.”
“Well, there you have it.” Dajo relaxed into his chair, draping one leg over an armrest. “He’ll turn back once we enter the Maelstrom.”
Helena doubted it. “You don’t know Sulu.”
Nevertheless, she hoped Dajo was right—for Sulu’s sake. She fought the temptation to respond to his hails so she could try to talk him out of pursuing them.
Don’t do it, Hikaru. Don’t risk yourself.
“Listen to me. It’s not too late to turn back. Don’t throw your lives away just for a shortcut!”
The Maelstrom loomed ahead, dominating the horizon, as Sulu came within visual range of the Lucky Strike. The gold-plated passenger ship was dwarfed by the Maelstrom, the sight of which would give any sane captain or pilot pause. As a helmsman, Sulu had flown through ion storms, asteroid barrages, minefields, and even time itself; nevertheless, the Maelstrom sent a chill down his spine. The sheer size and turbulence of it reminded him somewhat of the galactic barrier enclosing the Milky Way—and not in a good way.
You don’t fly into something like that unless you have a very good reason.
Sulu’s heart sank as, undaunted, the Lucky Strike accelerated toward the Maelstrom without hesitation. Eyeballing the distance between him and the other vessel, Sulu didn’t need a navigator at his side to realize that he wasn’t going to be able to catch up with the Lucky Strike before it entered the Maelstrom, let alone get between it and the border. Not for the first time, he wished he was at the helm of the Enterprise instead. He would have a lot more options in that case.
“Sulu to Lucky Strike. This is your last chance. Think about what you’re doing!”
The Maelstrom’s border was not clearly defined, being thinner at its outer fringes then deeper within its churning depths. For a short time, Sulu was still able to make out the Lucky Strike before it vanished into the Maelstrom as though disappearing into a dense, colossal fog bank. The shuttle’s sensors could still track the other ship, despite the volatile energies surging within the Maelstrom, but for how much longer?
This is it, Sulu realized, the moment of truth.
He was not required to follow the other ship into the Maelstrom. He could simply cross his fingers and pray that Dajo knew what he was doing. Having done his best to dissuade the foolhardy travelers, Sulu could return to the station where he was still sorely needed.
“Who am I kidding?” he muttered.
Throttling up, he plunged into the Maelstrom.