2292
“Captain? Captain Kirk? Can you read me?”
A spike of high-pitched feedback hurt Saavik’s ears, but the Enterprise did not respond. The screen above the biobed, where the unconscious Rhaandarite remained bound, went dark.
“My apologies, Saavik.” Cyloo’s smart glove flowed over, under, and around the wrist communicator she had commandeered from Wight. She flexed and wiggled her fingers as though operating an invisible control panel. “Kesh is blocking me. He’s accessed Hiberna’s systems through an upstairs terminal and is fighting me to regain control of the base’s systems.”
“Can’t your advanced Osori tech defeat him?” Taleb paced restlessly back and forth across the besieged laboratory, perhaps in an effort to further warm himself after escaping the cryotube. “Aren’t you supposed to be thousands of years ahead of us?”
“Yes, but it’s his tech we’re contending over. I have my glove, true, but he knows all the passwords, codes, and hidden back doors.” Strain showed on Cyloo’s iridescent countenance. “Could you operate an ancient Romulan chariot or blacksmith’s shop better than your ancestors? It’s all I can do to keep these lower levels locked down and inaccessible to him, physically and virtually.”
“Your efforts are appreciated,” Saavik said, “as are the challenges.”
“So that’s it? We managed only one paltry distress call?” Taleb stopped pacing long enough to scowl at Melinda. “Meanwhile, your stray keeps looking at me. Can I help you, human?”
“Sorry, I’ve never seen a Romulan before… except in Saavik’s memories, I mean.” Melinda had fully donned Saavik’s maroon jacket, which fit her reasonably well. She glanced around, as wide-eyed as Cyloo had been not long ago. “Just like I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m actually inside an asteroid, zillions of miles from Earth.”
“Zillions is an imprecise measurement,” Saavik noted, “but that is essentially correct. The question before us is how and when we can escape this location.”
“Just my luck. I snooze for nearly three hundred years and wake up in the middle of an outer-space hostage crisis!”
“But the Enterprise will come for us?” Cyloo asked plaintively. “Now that they’ve received our message?”
“I have every confidence in Captain Kirk’s ability to track our signal to these coordinates. He is almost certainly en route as we speak.”
“And the Harrier,” Taleb added. “Maybe even the real Klingons as well.”
“But how will they find us?” Cyloo asked. “Amidst the countless icy bodies surrounding us?”
“Now that they know what to look for, they will be able to scan for anomalous energy signatures, deflector shields, and the like,” Saavik said. “Certainly, that is what I would do.”
“I hope you’re right,” Cyloo said. “I’ve never been so scared in my life!”
“Tell me about it,” Melinda said.
“I know this must seem very new and frightening,” Saavik said to the other women; Spock had spoken to her of the importance of maintaining morale when in charge of more emotional species. “It may reassure you to know that I have personally been in far more hazardous situations than this and survived to see better days, thanks in large part to the crew of the Starship Enterprise.”
Cyloo gaped at her. “I don’t know whether to find that comforting or horrifying. Are such perils normal beyond the safety of Osor?”
“For some more than others. Exploring unknown space carries risks, increasing the probability of encountering personal jeopardy. The experiences of Starfleet personnel are thus not entirely representative of ‘normal.’ ”
Melinda chuckled. “Oh, I think we left normal long ago. I sure have.”
“So what are we to do now?” Taleb asked impatiently. “Simply sit back and wait to be rescued, preferably before Kesh regains access to this level?” He armed himself with a laser scalpel he salvaged from a tray of medical equipment. “We should spend less time talking and more time preparing to defend ourselves should—”
A chime sounded from the food-synthesizer slot on a nearby wall, signaling that a meal or beverage was ready. Taleb shot it an annoyed glance.
“Which of you requested food at a time like this?”
Saavik’s eyes widened with alarm. “Cyloo! Did we disable—?”
A loud bang went off inside the slot, blowing open its sliding door. Thick green fumes billowed from the slot, expanding rapidly across the lab. The acrid vapor obscured Saavik’s vision and stung her eyes, producing an extreme lachrymal response despite her protective inner eyelids. Tears streaming down her face, she clapped a hand over her mouth and nose, but the vapor still invaded her throat and lungs. Nausea racked her abdomen, and sour bile rose in her throat. An unseemly quantity of mucus issued from her nostrils. Squinting through tears and fog, she saw that her companions were similarly afflicted. A coughing fit woke Wight, who found herself in restraints.
“What the—?” Melinda exclaimed, gasping and coughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Freaking tear gas?”
Too late Saavik realized what Kesh had done. While Cyloo had focused on keeping the turbolifts, transporter, and safety doors out of his control, he had covertly gained access to the lab’s overlooked food synthesizer, disabled its safety protocols, and programmed it to produce a volatile, toxic compound out of basic elements and ingredients.
“Vent this infernal gas!” Taleb slashed futilely at the fumes with the scalpel. “Clear the air!”
“But… these levels are sealed off!” Cyloo glowed amidst the swirling gas, phasing to remain untouched by the poison in the air; the wrist communicator fell through her intangible arm to crash onto the floor. Her eyes alone were dry, although the lack of visibility presumably hampered her as well. “I can’t clear the atmosphere without compromising the seals.”
Taleb vented his disgust instead. “Lovely!”
“By the Tapestry,” Cyloo cried out, “are you all going to die?”
Unlikely, Saavik thought. Kesh would not want to lose his test subjects without resorting to nonlethal options first. On the other hand, he deems only Cyloo essential, rendering the rest of us expendable?
“Breathing masks!” Taleb, his eyes and nose gushing, ransacked drawers and cabinets, throwing their contents onto the floor. “We must find breathing masks!”
Her stomach cramping painfully, Saavik joined him in his search, regretting that there had not been time to conduct a thorough inventory of the lab earlier, even as she wondered what Kesh ultimately hoped to gain from this attack. To force them to abandon the lab—or simply to create a distraction?
Her keen hearing detected a telltale whine coming from the adjacent transporter room. Deducing instantly that Kesh had taken advantage of the confusion to wrest back control of the transporter, she whirled about, stolen phaser in hand, to see, through the fumes, Kesh entering the lab, wearing a breathing mask and goggles and brandishing a type-3 phaser rifle.
“Stay where you are, Doctor.”
He advanced through the vapor, and she did not hesitate. She fired the phaser—or rather she attempted to. No beam was emitted.
“Note the biometric grip,” Kesh gloated through his mask. “An early innovation of mine. Only Wight or I can operate it.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” the Rhaandarite called out from the bed. “She threw something at me!”
Taking Kesh at his word, Saavik employed a similar strategy, hurling the inert phaser at Kesh in hopes of duplicating her earlier success, but the faux Klingon was not so easily taken unawares. He easily ducked the missile and menaced her and her companions with the rifle. Unarmed and impaired by the gas, they found themselves at a severe disadvantage. A stun beam targeted Taleb, dropping him before he could even attempt to employ his purloined scalpel.
“That’s enough, all of you. This pathetic uprising ends now.”
“Forget it, Orlando! You’re the one who needs to stop once and for all,” a ragged voice objected. A figure in a red Starfleet jacket staggered past Saavik, placing herself between Kesh and his captives. “This insanity has gone on way too long!”
Kesh’s eyes bulged behind protective lenses. Bristling gray eyebrows shot upward.
“Melinda?”