2292
Commander Pavel Chekov found the captain’s chair more uncomfortable than usual.
At this point in his career, he was accustomed to taking the conn on occasions such as this, when Captain Kirk was charming their VIP guests in the Enterprise’s lush botanical gardens, but not when the ship was warping through space alongside a Klingon bird-of-prey and a Romulan warbird.
And with their shields lowered, no less.
Granted, the three vessels were, by mutual agreement, staying safely out of weapons range of each other, and certainly maintaining yellow alert status during a joint diplomatic mission would send a distinctly mixed message. Just the same, as the Enterprise’s security chief and tactical officer, Chekov couldn’t help squirming inside. This felt unnervingly like that recurring anxiety dream in which he forgot to don his trousers before reporting to the bridge. He was far too exposed.
“Commander Chekov,” Ensign Dupic, a bright young Deltan officer, called out from the science station. “The Lukara has just released an escape pod.”
Chekov sat up straight, experiencing an instant rush of adrenaline. He did not know what this meant, but it couldn’t be good. He resisted the temptation to immediately sound an alert.
“The Lukara has slowed to impulse,” Dupic continued. “And the Romulans as well.”
So as not to leave the pod light-years behind in a matter of seconds. “Do the same,” Chekov ordered the helmsman. “Uhura, notify the captain at once. Dupic, scan pod for life signs.”
Perhaps an empty pod had simply been ejected by accident? Chekov wanted to think so, but his instincts, along with his Russian sensibility, led him to doubt they could be so lucky. He braced himself for trouble.
“The pod’s shielded against easy scanning,” Dupic said. “I’m increasing power to the sensors, but can barely make out three… no, four life signs aboard: an Osori, two Vulcanoids, and… a Klingon, I think? It’s hard to tell.”
Vulcanoids, Chekov registered. In other words, a Romulan observer—and Saavik.
“Can we lock onto them with our transporters?”
“Negative, sir. Not unless they lower their shields.”
Typical, he thought morosely. Stubborn Klingons won’t even be rescued except on their terms.
“Chekov,” Uhura said. “The Lukara is hailing the pod, demanding it return to the ship.” She swiveled toward him. “The pod is not responding.”
“On-screen,” he ordered.
The bird-of-prey appeared on the main viewer, dwarfing the small pod rocketing away from it. Chekov needed a moment to spot the pod relative to the larger battle cruiser. Thrusters flared as the pod sped toward the Oort cloud at the outermost edges of a nearby solar system. He recalled that, as with most Federation escape pods, Klingon pods were equipped with small, rudimentary impulse engines.
“Increase magnification on the pod.”
An inset window zeroed in on the pod, which was blockier and more heavily armored than its Starfleet equivalents. Chekov didn’t believe Klingon pods were equipped with weaponry, but couldn’t discount the possibility that the design had been upgraded since Kirk had captured that older bird-of-prey years ago. They would have to approach it with care if it came to that.
“Keep an eye on it,” he ordered. “Don’t let it out of our sight.”
Turbolift doors whished open and Kirk rushed onto the bridge, followed closely by his guests. Chekov winced inwardly at the presence of a Klingon and Romulan on the bridge, but gratefully surrendered the chair to Kirk as he quickly briefed the captain on the developing situation.
“I thought you would want to see this, Captain.”
“You thought right, Chekov.” He looked to Uhura. “Hail the Lukara. Find out what’s happening.”
“I’m trying, sir. They’re not answering.” She glanced over at the viewer. “I think they have their hands full, Captain.”
On-screen, the Lukara had changed course to pursue the pod. “Match speed and course,” Kirk ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Logovik replied from the helm.
“Harrier also flanking the Lukara,” Dupic reported, “but maintaining a safe distance.”
The pod had just reached the outer fringes of the cloud, which was composed of myriad small planetesimal bodies, when the Lukara latched onto it with a tractor beam and began drawing it back toward the ship. Chekov could not fault Captain B’Eleste’s swift response. The pod’s thrusters fought against the beam, but it appeared to be a losing battle.
“What is this all about?” Gledii asked anxiously. He and the other guests crowded into the command well, keeping close to Kirk. Chekov lingered just outside the railing in case he needed to clear the space around Kirk of any overly agitated civilians. The Osori’s central eye was riveted to the screen. “Is Cyloo in danger?”
“You know as much as I do, Envoy.” Kirk turned to the Klingon observer. “Can you shed any light here, Lieutenant Motox?”
“Only that no Klingon with any honor would desert his vessel against his captain’s orders.” He looked past Kirk at his Romulan counterpart, who had staked out a spot on the opposite side of the captain’s chair. Contempt colored his voice. “I cannot speak to the motives of any of the Lukara’s less trustworthy passengers.”
“Be thankful, Lieutenant, that Subcommander Taleb cannot hear you impugn his integrity so,” Varis said coolly. “He’s much less tolerant of Klingon boorishness than I.” She adopted a more concerned tone for Kirk and Gledii. “I promise you, Captain, Envoy, I’m as baffled as anyone regarding this peculiar complication… although it should be noted that there are no such issues where the Harrier is concerned. All this drama and uncertainty is coming from the Klingon side of our awkward triangle.”
Gledii nodded solemnly. “That is not lost on me.”
“Beware, Envoy,” Motox growled. “This smooth-tongued Romulan twists everything to her advantage.”
“Only because you blustering Klingons make it so easy—”
Uhura interrupted the wrangling. “I can confirm that the Harrier is also hailing the Lukara, demanding an explanation… without notable results. The Lukara is now warning us all to keep our distance and let them deal with this situation their way. Our assistance is very much not requested.”
Chekov wondered what the Klingons were up to. Were they simply out to clean up their own mess, to keep their dirty laundry private, or was this all being staged as part of some larger deception? Or was Motox right and the Romulan observer aboard the Lukara had hijacked the escape pod for some insidious purpose? And where did Saavik fit in? Had she needed to flee the bird-of-prey, taking the other Osori envoy with her? Chekov couldn’t rule out that possibility. He could all too easily imagine having to escape from a Klingon vessel for good reason.
“Isn’t there something you can do, Captain?” Gledii asked. “Cyloo is scarcely more than a child. She has a vast future before her.”
“I have a crew member aboard that pod too,” Kirk reminded him, no doubt acutely aware that Saavik’s life might also be in danger. “But Captain B’Eleste seems to have matters in hand. We need to give her a chance to recover the pod, then provide us with a much-needed explanation.”
“And if she refuses to provide one?” Varis asked. “What then?”
“We cross that bridge if we come to it. For now, let’s see what happens before—”
A blinding white flash lit up the viewscreen as the pod exploded before their eyes. Chekov shaded his eyes, unable to look away, as a miniature starburst flared up brightly before being extinguished by the void, leaving only an empty tractor beam behind. The beam itself blinked out a moment later as somebody aboard the Lukara realized there was no longer any purpose to it. A stunned hush fell over the bridge.
The pod was gone, annihilated in an instant.
“Saavik,” Uhura whispered, giving voice to what they were all thinking. “Please, no…”
Gledii’s three eyes blinked in confusion. Chekov’s own eyes watered, not from the glare.
“How did this happen?” the elder Osori moaned. “How can this be so?”
Chekov had a pretty good idea, but Motox spoke up first.
“Our escape pods are equipped with antimatter charges, to be detonated if the pod is at risk of falling into enemy hands. Escape is one thing; allowing oneself to be captured is another. Self-destruction is then the only honorable course of action.”
“But why would they fear being recovered by their own ship?” Kirk demanded, his voice throbbing with emotion. He lurched from his chair, unable to sit still after what had just occurred. “That makes no sense, damn it!”
Motox had the decency to look uncomfortable. “I have no answers for you.”
“That’s not good enough,” Kirk said. “Not by a long shot.”
Varis backed away from the captain, shrewd enough to refrain from any more pointed barbs under the circumstances. Chekov wondered how well she’d known the Romulan aboard the pod. Had they been close? Was she grieving now, too?
Chekov didn’t have to imagine how anguished and angry Kirk had to be after suddenly losing Saavik so horribly.
Because he felt exactly the same.