2268
Captain’s Log, supplemental. Commander Spock in temporary command: The Enterprise is circling Atraz at a distance exceeding the usual standard orbit while remaining in communication with the Galileo shuttlecraft currently located on the planet’s surface. While we await news from the landing party regarding the search for Doctor Hamparian, I am taking the opportunity to more closely review her work, including various classified materials transmitted to the Enterprise via an encrypted signal from Starfleet Command.
“Curious,” Spock murmured to himself as he studied a series of top-secret proposals and progress reports via a portable data slate, while also overseeing the bridge from the captain’s chair. He would have preferred to work at his customary post at the science station, but appreciated the symbolic importance of not leaving the captain’s post unoccupied; Ensign Chekov was ably manning the science station in his place, ceding navigation to Lieutenant John Farrell. Adjacent to him, Lieutenant Naomi Rahda had the helm in Sulu’s absence.
“What’s that, Mister Spock?” Scott asked. With the ship cruising on impulse, the engineer had remained on the bridge to better monitor the situation. He entered the sunken command well to converse with Spock. “You come across something of interest?”
“Perhaps.” Spock lowered the data slate, taking the opportunity to share his concerns with Scott. “A careful review of Doctor Hamparian’s recent communications suggests that she had been increasingly chafing at the restrictions imposed on her by the Federation’s ban on human genetic engineering. Although I am not personally afflicted by such emotions, I can readily discern an impatient and even occasionally indignant tone to her protests at such restrictions. Reading between the lines, as it were.”
Despite his Vulcan heritage and training, Spock prided himself on having a better grasp of human emotions than the average Vulcan, thanks to many years in Starfleet, serving under and alongside any number of more emotional beings. He often found such responses an impediment to efficiency, but he liked to think that he had learned to recognize and predict them—to a degree.
“I can believe it,” Scott said. “She wouldn’t be the first daring scientist or inventor to feel she was being held back by faint-hearted skeptics and supervisors. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thrown out the rule book on occasion… when there was no way around it, of course.”
“Striking the proper balance between boldness and caution can often be challenging,” Spock agreed, “but Hamparian’s evident dissatisfaction and frustration raise the disturbing possibility that she might have staged her own ‘abduction’ to escape the constraints imposed on her by the Federation.”
Scott’s eyebrows shot upward. “You think she was in league with the spacejacker to fake her own kidnapping?”
“I do not think or know that this is the case, but we cannot rule out the possibility that she seeks greater freedom to pursue her work as she sees fit, beyond the borders of the Federation.”
“Aye, and doesn’t that muddy the waters.” Scott glanced at the astrogator installed between the helm and nav stations, which was used for long-range course plotting. “And none too far from the Klingon border at that. You don’t suppose she’s defecting to those blackhearted scoundrels.”
That troubling scenario had already crossed Spock’s mind. “Her work, militarized, might indeed be of great value to the Klingons. Furthermore—”
“Mister Spock!” Chekov called out from the science station. He was peering into the viewing scope, which cast a blue glow on his youthful features. “I’m picking up something on the midrange sensors. Another ship, it looks like!”
“Klingon?” Scott asked.
Spock shared the other man’s concern but avoided jumping to conclusions. “Can you identify the vessel?”
“I think so, sir. Give me just a moment.”
Spock rose from the captain’s seat. He and Scott quickly crossed the bridge to the science station, where they looked over Chekov’s shoulders as he worked the sensor controls to refine its readings. Spock resisted the urge to take over the station. Chekov was well trained; he knew what he was doing.
“Almost have it.” A tactical display appeared on the primary monitor above the station’s control panel. A blinking dot, flashing against a blue schematic, indicated the movement of another ship relative to the Enterprise’s position. Swirling patterns on the bandwidth display monitor fluctuated as Chekov homed in on the other vessel while the entire bridge crew watched and listened intently; Spock noted an increase in the ambient tension level among the humans under his command. Chekov appeared to be handling the pressure well, given his youth and emotional tendencies. “It’s just on the edge of our sensor range, but coming closer. We should be able to determine its configuration… now!”
The blinking icon was supplanted by a graphic representation of a large vessel, comparable in size to the Enterprise, whose winged primary hull was preceded by a bulbous command pod at the end of a long neck. Twin nacelles rested beneath its wings. Sharp intakes of breath could be heard across the bridge. All present recognized that distinctive outline.
“A Klingon battle cruiser!” Scott said. “Speak of the devil.”
“D7 type, to be precise.” Spock perceived that their mission to Atraz had just become significantly more hazardous. “Condition yellow.”
Striding back to the captain’s chair, he triggered a ship-wide alert via a switch on the left-hand armrest. Amber annunciator lights flashed across the bridge and, theoretically, the rest of the ship.
“Aye, sir,” Rahda reported from the helm. A bindi dot adorned her furrowed brow. “Deflectors to full power.”
Scott gave Spock a quizzical look. “Not battle stations?”
“That would seem premature, Mister Scott.” Spock settled into the chair. “Mister Chekov, any indication that the Klingon vessel is about to take immediate action against us?”
“Nyet, sir. They are staying out of weapons range… for now.”
“Their course and velocity?”
“Slowing as they approach Atraz—from the opposite end of the system, naturally—but they don’t appear to be entering a standard orbit. They’re keeping their distance from the planet.” Chekov looked over at Spock. “Just like us, sir.”
“Intriguing.” Spock steepled his fingers before him as he considered the variables of the evolving situation. “On main viewer.”
“Aye, sir,” Chekov said. “One Klingon battle cruiser, coming right up.”
The D7 cruiser appeared on the screen. An inset graphic indicated that the Klingon vessel was circling Atraz at a right angle to the Enterprise’s own course, in a long-distance orbit along the planet’s axis while the Enterprise circled Atraz’s equator. Keeping the enemy ship in view would require effort, but the cruiser’s commander would face the same difficulty. For the moment they were evenly matched, the D7’s defenses and firepower roughly equivalent to the Enterprise’s. Both ships remained out of transporter range of the planet.
“It would appear that the Klingons are also taking a measured approach to infringing on the treaty,” Spock observed. “Going no farther than we have as yet.”
“And how likely is that to last?” Scott rejoined Spock in the command well, leaning against one of the curved red railings as he grimly contemplated the intimidating vessel on the viewscreen. “That blasted eyesore is not called a battle cruiser for nothing.”
“Your point is well taken, Mister Scott. Still, the Organian Peace Treaty has obliged the Klingons to be more circumspect in their rapacity in recent years, and in this instance it can be argued that we committed the original provocation by entering the neutral sector in the first place. This vessel may simply be responding to our presence here… and is in no hurry to escalate the situation.”
“Or they’re here to get their hands on Doctor Hamparian and all that classified biomedical know-how in her head, with or without her consent.”
“Possibly.” Spock factored the cruiser’s arrival into his unconfirmed theory that the missing scientist might be seeking to defect to the Klingons. “Which begs the question, however, of why we arrived on the scene first. If the plan was indeed for Hamparian to be delivered into the Klingons’ grasp, voluntarily or otherwise, why is this vessel just now arriving in the system?”
“You got me there, Mister Spock.” Scott scratched his head. “It’s a puzzle to be sure.”
“Which may require additional data to solve.” Spock swiveled the chair toward the communications station behind him. “Lieutenant Uhura, hail the Klingon vessel and ask their intentions.” He assumed that the commander of the battle cruiser was fully aware of the Enterprise’s presence, but whether the Klingons already knew the nature of their mission to Atraz remained undetermined. “In addition, alert Galileo to the Klingon vessel’s arrival at your first opportunity.”
“Yes, Mister Spock.” Her fingers danced expertly over the controls at her post, pausing only to adjust her specialized earpiece. “On a secure channel, I assume.”
“Correct, Lieutenant. Maximum encryption.”
Spock reviewed the parameters of the present crisis. Although he deemed it imperative that Captain Kirk and the rest of the landing party be informed of the Klingon ship as expeditiously as possible, he was also aware that, even if the Enterprise were to come within transporter range of Atraz, they would not be able to beam the landing party aboard without lowering the ship’s shields, which could be problematic if the Klingon ship followed them into the planet’s orbit. Nor, for that matter, could Spock dispatch reinforcements to assist Kirk on the planet if the Enterprise needed to keep its shields in place. Nor could the shuttle return to the ship without possibly coming under fire.
The permutations rivaled a challenging game of three-dimensional chess. Depending on the Klingons’ next moves, the landing party could well find themselves cut off from the Enterprise.