Star Trek: Starfleet Academy #3: Cadet Kirk Page 8

  “Hey, Joe! Klaag says to tell you all the liquid fuel’s been spilled out! Somebody punched holes in every single drum!”

  “Joe, up here! The tractor’s down! I can’t get the beam to broadcast anymore! It’s gotta be those Starfleet cadets!”

  “Okay, all of you shut up for a minute!” Joe Swingle shook his hands in the air, then rubbed his short haircut. Around him, his men quit giving him all these nasty reports of things going wrong. “Crawler! What’s going on up there?”

  He looked up, up, up, to the top of the tractor beam emission tower they’d rigged. They had taken more than a week to rig up that tower, and now the stupid thing suddenly wasn’t working.

  Crawler climbed down from the beam tower, shouting all the way. “The power’s cut off. Far as I can tell, everything up there is working, but there’s just not any juice coming through.”

  The grumpy electrician jumped from the ladder to the slate floor and lumbered to him. He wiped his hands on his legs.

  “I don’t know what else to do, except maybe reroute power from the main complex couplings. Depends how bad you want it.”

  Joe drilled him with a glare. “I want it, you moron! Without it, we’re sunk like a stone!”

  “Okay, Joe, okay. Lay off.”

  Swingle shook his head and squeezed a hand over his eyes. “Kids … punks … puppies … I should’ve drowned them when I had the chance. But nooo … I had to be sweet.”

  He opened his eyes and glanced around the complex.

  “They’re watching us,” he crabbed. “I can feel them … that kid with the eyes like a vulture, looking at me. He’s out here right now, trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Bonyor!”

  The other man poked his head out of the conduit shed he was working in. “Yeah?”

  “Have you got the North Pole turned off yet?”

  “I think I can get it in ten or fifteen more minutes.”

  “Isn’t fast enough, creep. This complex is falling down around us and you want ten more minutes?”

  “Look, Joe, there are certain connections that got redirected, and they take time to track. You can do it yourself if you want to. Otherwise, get off my back!”

  “Just fix it, or you won’t have a back!”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Everybody was acting this way. Frustrated. Mad. Grumpy. Picking at each other. They were cold, they were cheated out of their reward for kidnapping a famous scientist, and now the complex was breaking down left and right. On top of that, they hated each other anyway. Crawler was an escaped convict who couldn’t stick his head up without some Starfleet bloodhound breathing down his neck. Bonyor was a liar and a thief who thought any crime was right as long as he got away with it. Klaag came from the ship of the Klingon captain they were all working for. Zenoviev, Irwin, and Hovitch were just common slugs Swingle had picked up in his travels. They were like big, dumb pets. They were all just here for the ransom money. There wasn’t any loyalty.

  Swingle told himself again that he didn’t need them to be loyal. Just greedy.

  He could deal with that. He could keep them on his leash with their own greed. They didn’t care how they got whatever they got in life, and he was willing to use that.

  He would’ve felt better about it if half the complex weren’t burning down around him and the other half freezing! And on top of that, it was starting to rain.

  “All right, morons. We’re going to get to the main power couplings and reroute the energy back to the tractor beam. Then I’m gonna start yanking ships out of space until I get Richard Daystrom. And keep looking for those cadets! First man who finds ’em gets a bonus! Spread out! What’re you waiting for?”

  “Wait—we can’t get back.”

  “Why not?”

  “See that light glowing over there? That’s an infrared sensor. If we move, they’ll be able to see us clear as daylight.”

  “What can we do? We can’t stay here, that’s for sure!”

  “No. We’ll have to take the long way around, keep out of its eye. Look—there’s Swingle.”

  In the farthest corner of the courtyard, behind a cement cistern of some kind, probably used for collecting and testing rainwater, McCoy huddled behind Jimmy Kirk. They watched the searing flames eat away at several of the buildings he and Jimmy had set on fire.

  Time wasn’t on their side. Soon it would be daylight—only an hour or so now. The three moons had already paled to a coy pink, and the stars were fading.

  In the strange light cast by the fires, Swingle and his men cluttered the courtyard near the base of the tractor beam tower. Swingle didn’t look happy. He was pacing back and forth like a tiger, his head down, his hands on his hips. Now and then he paused to shout at one of the men, pointing his finger furiously into somebody’s face.

  “He’s mad,” Jimmy said. “We’re getting to him.”

  “I wish I knew whether that was good or bad,” McCoy said. “Look at that—half the complex is burning now. You’re a real troublemaker, anybody ever tell you that?”

  “Plenty of people. My father, mostly.”

  The crackle of flames whispered softly across the courtyard. A light rain began to drizzle passively, steaming against the cold building and fizzing on the hot ones.

  McCoy gazed at him. Some kids had to grow up awfully fast. He got the feeling he was crouching next to one who had done just that.

  “They’re moving out,” Jimmy said then, pointing to the six men who were hurrying away now.

  “Where would they be going?”

  “Looks like they’re heading for the main power generators. Why would they do that?”

  “Probably trying to make their beam work again, I’d guess.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “Don’t ask me—I’m no Vulcan.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy sighed. “Speaking of Vulcans, we’d better go get Ensign Spock. He’s so fascinated by those weather programs, he probably wouldn’t even notice if these criminals walked right in on him. We’ll get him out of there, then we can steal one of their vessels and leave the planet.”

  “If they get the tractor beam back up, we won’t be able to go anywhere.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let them get it back up.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Did you start the rain, sir?”

  “Yes, I did cause the rain, Cadet.” Ensign Spock pressed his spine up against the side of a building and glanced out at Atlantis Outpost’s main power couplings. “I indulged a bit in the weather control systems. Truly remarkable—”

  “I’m glad it’s remarkable,” McCoy interrupted. “When this is all over, you can come back here and tamper all you please. Create snowstorms if you want. Monsoons. Deserts. But right now, let’s just concentrate on getting out of here, shall we?”

  He was clutching his box of homemade chemical bombs, glad he hadn’t tripped as he followed the other two all the way here on the rain-slicked slate.

  Between Spock and the four fifty-foot tanklike structures that were the main power couplings, Jimmy Kirk squinted through the light rain. “They’re over there. I can see them. There’s Swingle on the right. We can’t let them hook the power back up. We’ve got to blow those couplings.”

  “Blow them?” McCoy gulped. “How?”

  As if he didn’t want to admit that he had no answer, Jimmy shrugged. “There’s got to be a way. Look … their vessels are right over there, about a hundred meters past the couplings. With your permission, sir…” He paused and looked at Spock.

  “Go ahead with your suggestion,” Spock said.

  Jimmy faced them. “You two go to the vessels. One of you start the engines, the other disable the other vessel. I’ll take care of the power couplings, and meet you over there.”

  “You’ll ‘take care’ of the couplings?” McCoy asked suspiciously. “Dare I ask again exactly what you have in mind?”

  “I don’t specifically have anything in mind yet, sir,”
Jimmy said. “But I’m sure something’ll come to me.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” McCoy clutched his box. “You’d better take a couple of these with you.” He handed the cadet two of the six plastic bottles. “Whatever you do, don’t drop them. And don’t forget to take the tops off before you throw them.”

  “Got it.” The cadet cradled his laser rifle in one arm and the two bottles in the other. “See you in a few minutes.”

  “When will we know to expect you?”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll know.”

  He whipped around an observation tower and disappeared.

  “What did he mean by that?” McCoy asked nervously. He put the box down, handed two of the bottles to Spock, and kept the last two for himself. “How’d I get into this? I went on a simple, innocent trip to a simple innocent seminar. Nothing to it. This was supposed to be a peaceful weekend. Even boring! Where am I instead? Following a Vulcan around a foreign outpost, being chased by killers, waiting for a junior cadet to wreck a power coupling bigger than my whole hometown! Brilliant! You tell me what regulation says we should take crazy chances like this?”

  Spock ducked under an awning and hurried between a pair of refrigerator units. “Emergency Action Regulation T-four slash nine, subsection twelve. ‘Any Starfleet personnel exposed to threatening behavior on the parts of—’”

  “I didn’t really want an answer!” McCoy snapped. “Might’ve known you’d have one.”

  “Ensign, it would be wise to keep your voice down, please,” Spock said. “We have to cross open ground now. Be prepared. You go first. Take the vessel on the left. Start the engines. I’ll disable the other vessel. Can you comply?”

  “Can I start the engines? I think so. How much do you think these men trust each other?”

  “I have no idea. Ready … go.”

  They started running. As hard, as fast as they could, they charged across the slippery, wet slate of Atlantis Outpost. From behind them came a yell—somebody spotted them!

  McCoy dared to glance to his right—and his foot slipped! He skidded wildly, flailing out with one arm, and nearly dropped the bottle in that hand.

  Just as he regained his balance, a laser bolt streaked across the compound and grazed a metal wall, sending sparks burning over McCoy’s face and hair. He ducked, barely in time to be missed by a second bright bolt.

  Spock shoved him violently aside. “Down!” the Vulcan shouted over two more bolts that whined toward them.

  McCoy crouched on the open slate, knowing he was a perfect target. Above him, Spock pulled the top off one of the plastic bottles full of chemicals. He raised his right arm and drew back, then with all his strength threw the bottle.

  The plastic container soared almost gracefully in an arch. Some of the contents spewed out as it tumbled in midair, but most of it stayed inside.

  As three of Swingle’s men ran across the slate grounds, the bottle landed perfectly in the middle of the triangle they formed.

  Poof! A chemical cloud exploded between the men, dousing them with choking ammonia and sulfur vapors. They staggered away, doubled over and coughing violently. The white-and-yellow cloud spread like a living thing.

  “Go!” Spock called to McCoy, and caught him by the arm.

  They heard Swingle’s men coughing and yelling behind them.

  “More are coming!” McCoy shouted. He twisted around, popped the cap, and threw one of his own bottles. He escaped just as the putrid cloud puffed up in the path of the other men chasing them.

  He heard the men swearing and choking behind him as he ran through the rain. Luckily, there was just enough rain to make him—and those men—uncomfortable, but not enough to ruin the clouds of his stink bombs.

  Poof—poof—two more stink bombs went off near the bases of the power couplings. Jimmy!

  McCoy and Spock were almost to the two small runabouts, and at the last minute split up. McCoy dashed to the vessel on the left, and Spock to the one on the right.

  Once inside, McCoy felt terribly alone as he picked at the controls. Could he start this vehicle? He wasn’t a pilot….

  There it was! The ignition. He pushed it with his thumb, and the vessel hummed to life. All the control lights and the navigational computer popped on.

  McCoy slid out of the pilot’s seat and rushed to the hatch. “I got it started!” he shouted.

  Spock appeared in the hatch of the other vessel. “Acknowledged. This one is disabled.”

  The Vulcan jumped out of the little craft and peered across the compound, where laser bolts were dancing wildly near the power couplings. Someone was shouting, “No, no! No! No!”

  “Sounds like Swingle,” McCoy panted as he joined him. “They’re not chasing us anymore—look! They’re all over there, looking for Jimmy!”

  “Can you see him?”

  McCoy squinted through the haze of rain. “Yes! There he is! Oh, no! What’s he doing? Look! He’s running right in front of the power couplings! He’s making a target of himself!”

  “No! No!” Swingle’s voice carried across the grounds.

  More laser bolts speared through the air between Swingle’s men and the power couplings. In the flash of laser fire, McCoy could see the compact form of Jimmy Kirk dashing right across the front of the power plants.

  “That’s stupid!” McCoy gasped. “That crazy kid’s making them shoot at him!”

  “At the power couplings,” Spock corrected, obviously more upset than he wanted to show. “He’ll be killed…”

  Suddenly one of the couplings began to wheeze—the protective skin had been breached! Alarms started going off like wild animals shrieking. Then more alarms—danger bells and warnings. And a computer voice echoing all over the station:

  “DANGER … DANGER … CORE BREACH … EXPLOSION IMMINENT … EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY … MINIMUM SAFE DISTANCE IS TWO KILOMETERS … DANGER … DANGER…”

  Chapter 14

  The tops blew right off three of the power coupling towers like volcanoes spewing hot gas. In seconds, there would be an explosion, and all the towers would ignite each other.

  As the towers flamed and the alarms rang madly and the computer voice calmly instructed them to get the heck out of here, McCoy and Spock stood together, waiting anxiously and watching.

  In the courtyard, sparks and bolts and clouds of stinky stuff kept them from seeing what was going on.

  But they could hear—Swingle yelling in pure rage.

  “You’re finished, kid! It’s over! Where are you, you little flathead?”

  McCoy shivered at the sound of the threats.

  He jumped when a form appeared nearly beside him out of the rain. Jimmy Kirk!

  The cadet brushed hot sparks off his sleeves. “We’re winning,” he stated calmly.

  “Winning?” McCoy choked. “They’re madder than before!”

  “Cadet,” Spock began, “when did I order you to take such risks as baiting them to fire at you?”

  Jimmy blinked at the Vulcan. “I thought it was implied, sir. I couldn’t shoot at the couplings, so I got them to do it for me.”

  “Risky,” Spock assessed. “But obviously effective. The tractor is down permanently. Now that you’ve sufficiently enraged our hosts, we should make our escape.”

  He gestured toward the humming vehicle on the left.

  McCoy put one foot on the hatch ramp and started up, then noticed that Jimmy was gazing back across the compound instead of following him and Spock inside.

  Spock doubled back to Jimmy. “Cadet?”

  “Sir…”

  “Speak up. Time is not on our side.”

  “Sir, I don’t want to…”

  The young man gazed longingly across the compound, no longer interested in the spewing energy field or the fires, or even the angry men rushing back and forth across the slate yard. His hands clenched tight. His lips pressed flat. He seemed almost as if he were watching something die. Something he cared about.

  “Take off without me, sir
,” he said suddenly then.

  “Without you!” McCoy pounded back down the ramp.

  “I’ll distract Swingle from your takeoff. I’ll make sure they don’t fire on you. I’ll go back to the Spitfire and take it up so there’s no chance of Swingle and his men coming after us.”

  “But you said it was disabled!”

  “Maybe they’re smart enough to enable it. We shouldn’t take the chance.”

  “I refuse to leave you behind, Cadet,” Spock proclaimed. Under his shell of Vulcan reserve he was shocked at the whole idea.

  “For once, I agree!” McCoy ranted crankily.

  Jimmy looked desperately from one to the other. “Sir … I don’t want to leave … the…”

  Seeing there was something else going on, Spock paused. For several seconds, in spite of the burning and exploding in the foreground, he looked only at the cadet.

  “The Spitfire,” he said slowly. “It’s your first command.”

  Jimmy’s face flushed with color. “Yes, sir.”

  McCoy almost blurted how crazy that was, how stupid to be concerned about a lump of metal, a vehicle that was all the way across the compound now, parked on a dusty slab, dragged out of the valley by Swingle and his men. That didn’t even have weapons!

  “I agree,” Spock spoke up then. “We’ll take the Zodiac.”

  With a sigh, McCoy moaned, “Unbelievable. You’re both crazy!”

  “Possibly. But I understand the concept of losing a command, a ship signed to one’s responsibility. I would not want a notation on my record that I let a vessel fall into hostile hands. You may stay here, if you wish, Doctor. This vehicle has a automatic takeoff and pilot program. You can make it into the spacelanes and be certain that Starfleet is notified, in case the cadet and I fail.”

  Spock looked at Cadet Kirk as if, for the first time, he understood what was going on in that hot little head. Jimmy Kirk gazed back, and a tiny smile pricked at his stern lips.

  There was no bucking the resolution he saw in the two powerful sets of eyes. And McCoy knew Spock was no coward.

  “We’ll go,” he agreed. “But all of us together. As a crew.”

  Jimmy looked at the medic now, gratitude still flowing.