Worlds in Collision (57 page)

“Aye, Captain,” Scott said and smiled at Spock. “And I'd be more than willin' to give you a hand with your reprogramming, Mr. Spock.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott, but I believe that will not be necessary once the satellite has been repaired.”

Kirk left them to it and went to Sulu to request a change in orbit. But Sulu had overheard and the orbit was already plotted.

“Very good, Mr. Sulu, take us in.”

Chekov jumped up to take his place at the defense subsystems monitor and prepare countermeasures. Ensign Leslie left his environmental station to take over Chekov's navigation post. Kirk sat back in his chair. All operations were smooth and routine as Talin grew in the viewscreen.

Kirk turned back to his screenpad and the QM's report. The program warned that if current consumption was maintained, the ship's stores of real chocolate would be exhausted within two months. It recommended encouraging a switch to consumption of synthesized chocolate. Kirk shuddered at the thought and vetoed that suggestion with a quick flick of his stylus.

“Coming up on satellite five,” Sulu announced.

Kirk glanced up. The curve of Talin filled the lower half of the screen. The satellite was too small to register though he could see its sensor echo on the astrogator screen. He signed off on the QM report and the week's medical log synopsis appeared on the pad.

“Within focused sensor range, Mr. Spock,” Leslie announced.

“Scanning,” Spock said.

Kirk vetoed the medical log as well. All that was in it were ten requests for Kirk, James T., to report to sickbay for a scheduled checkup or risk being put on the captain's disciplinary list.

“All equipment checks out,” Spock said.

Kirk looked up. It had been subtle but there had been surprise in Spock's tone.

Scotty smiled. “You're sure I can't be giving ye some help with the software, Mr. Spock?”

Spock shook his head. “The software does not seem to be the problem either, Mr. Scott. It is no longer resident in the satellite's control circuits.”

Kirk put the screenpad down on the arm of his chair.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Spock?” Scott said.

“The control programs have been erased?” Kirk asked.

Spock nodded. “It is quite impossible, but all memory storage on the satellite is empty.”

“Explanation, Mr. Scott?”

“I…have none at the moment, Captain. I don't know how such a thing could be possible without…”

“Without what, Mr. Scott?”

“Well, the password authorization…the encryption codes…the scrambling mechanisms…. The satellites were prepared according to FCO specifications. They're near impossible to program or extract information from by brute force.”

“Mr. Spock, any theories?”

“Absolutely none. A violent subspace pulse could have burned out the transtator circuitry but we have not detected any phenomena of the required intensity. I shall have to—”

“Keptin! I have detected an energy burst on the planet's surface.”

“What kind of energy?” Kirk scanned the screen. Just beyond the terminator on Talin's nightside, he saw a brilliant white flare. “Helm, magnify. Is that it, Chekov?”

Chekov looked over at the screen. “Y-yes, sir.”

The viewscreen swam, then fixed on an enlarged image of the flare. Kirk could see pinpricks of red fire spring up around it. “What is it, Ensign?”

“N-nuclear, Keptin. It is a forty megaton nuclear detonation.”

Kirk felt as if the ship had jumped to warp nine without warning. “Where?” he asked. On the screen, from the pattern of city lights along the coastline, the detonation appeared to be in the center of the Greens' continent—their agricultural heartland, Palamas had called it.

Chekov read off the coordinates. “The Green nation state,” he said, voice choking. “Eastern administrative district. Subregion five.”

Kirk stared at the glowing spark of hellfire on the screen. An entire city might already be ashes.

“Those are the coordinates of a missile silo facility,” Spock said.

Kirk tensed. It was a military target. It could only mean one thing. “Why would the Browns launch a first strike now?” he asked.

“And why would they launch a first strike with only one warhead?” Spock said. He bent to his scope.

“Keptin! I have missiles launching! I have missiles launching!”

“Dear God,” Kirk whispered. A regular pattern of red dots had appeared across the Green continent. Hundreds of missiles were in flight.

“Go to red alert,” Kirk said. It was standard procedure, but he knew the missiles were not meant for his ship. He had Uhura kill the warning sirens on the bridge, but the red alert lights still flashed.

“Captain,” Spock said. “My sensors show that detonation occurred deep underground.”

“Depth, Spock? What was the depth?”

“Consistent with underground missile emplacement.”

“No!” Kirk said. He turned to the screen. More red dots. A thousand missiles in flight. “It was a
mistake!”

Uhura cut in. “Communications intercept from the planet's surface, Captain. Brown forces have detected the Green launch.” There were tears in her eyes. “Captain, they're retaliating.”

“Brown missiles are launching!” Chekov called out. “Brown missiles are launching!”

“It's a mistake, you fools!” Kirk shouted at the viewscreen, at the dying planet.

“Spock! It has to be! The Talin warheads are faulty. Only a sixty percent accuracy rate! The Greens were dismantling their missiles and accidentally set off one of their own damn warheads!”

Spock's face was rigid. His eyes were fixed on the screen. “That would be…the most logical explanation.”

“A mistake!” Kirk slammed his fist against the side of his chair. “No!”

“Captain?” Spock asked.

“I will not allow a mistake to destroy this planet.” He burned with anger. This planet was going to survive. Any other fate for it was a personal insult.

“Captain, we can do nothing,” Spock said. But his words and his tone conveyed two different meanings. “The Prime Directive forbids us from interfering.”

“No!” Kirk snapped. “The Prime Directive forbids us from interfering in a planet's normal development. Look what's going on down there. Spock, that's not the planet's normal development. That's an accident. An accidental detonation has triggered off an aberrant chain of events. The Talin are not doing this to themselves on purpose.”

Spock's face flickered with an expression of pain, quickly hidden. “Captain, I agree you can make a case for this being a…natural disaster…an event similar to a runaway asteroid about to impact…but still we cannot be seen to interfere.”

“But we won't be seen, Spock.” Kirk's mind raced. There had to be a way out. There always was a way out. Change the rules, change the goals, do anything. But find that way out. “We can do it. The
Enterprise
can do it. And the Talin won't know what happened any more than they'll ever know what set off that first missile in its silo. We won't be interfering, Spock. We'll only be giving them some time. Some time to sort things out on their own. That's all.”

The bridge crew froze at their stations. They would do anything their captain told them to do, but they knew their captain would tell them nothing if Spock did not agree.

Spock leaned on the railing.

Kirk held his hands out before him, imploring. “Spock…think it through. It works. The Prime Directive is upheld. They won't know what has happened.”

Spock spoke slowly. “Yes…the Directive…is upheld.” He squared his shoulders. “I shall prepare coordinates.” He turned to his scope.

Kirk gave orders in an endless stream. There was no time to stop to think or consider his actions. There was time only to do, to take action, to save a world.

The
Enterprise
flooded Talin IV with sensor radiation. Within seconds, her computers established the location and trajectory of each missile arcing through the skies below.

Scott was the one who knew how the warheads worked. He took over five percent of the
Enterprise'
s computing capacity to decode and transmit self-destruct signals to the missiles in flight. They vanished from the screen by the hundreds.

Uhura knew the radio codes. Another eight percent of the
Enterprise'
s computers went to decoding and translating radio voice callback signals to bomber wings and fighters and submersible weapons platforms. Most Talin who received those messages did not turn back immediately, but they held in failsafe positions and requested verification, unsure of their commanders' commitment.

Chekov moved back to his station and took over the main phaser banks. Four hundred and twenty-seven missiles refused to respond to Scott's signals. Chekov took them from the skies with pinpoint precision.

In forty minutes, Sulu had taken the
Enterprise
around the planet twice. The Browns' missiles were gone. The Greens' missiles were gone. The bombers were returning. The submersibles were silent and still. The skies of Talin were clear.

Kirk's shirt was drenched with sweat. His voice was hoarse. The red alert signal still flashed.

Uhura cleared her throat. “Captain…I am on the diplomatic frequency. The negotiators are back on line. They are…apologizing, sir…they are…sir, they are praying to their gods together to thank them for salvation from…from a terrible…accident.” Uhura wiped the tears from her eyes. “They know it was an accident, sir.” Scotty went to her and put an arm around her. His hair was plastered to his forehead.

Kirk didn't turn from the screen. The nightside of the planet was scattered with thousands of small fires from the flaming debris of the destroyed missiles, but the planet was still there. A world still existed. A race still survived.

“Lieutenant Uhura,” Kirk said, “download all bridge records of the past hour, unedited audio and visual, to the FCO main computer on Talin's moon. Then download duplicates of all records into two separate message buoys for Starfleet Command and launch immediately.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Uhura said hoarsely.

The turbolift doors slid open and McCoy stormed onto the bridge. “What the hell is going on around here?” He stopped when he saw the small fires blazing across the face of Talin IV. “Good Lord, what're those?” He looked at Kirk, saw his exhaustion, brought out his medical scanners. “What have you done?”

It was Spock who answered, perfectly calm, perfectly controlled.

“Dr. McCoy, we have done our job.”

Kirk wore his formal tunic. He knew that technically there was no need for it, but when the board of inquiry replayed the tapes of these proceedings, he wanted them to know that he took his actions and his duty as seriously as they took theirs.

Spock, Scott, and McCoy sat with Kirk on one side of the table in the conference room. Zalan Wilforth, Alonzo Richter, and Yeoman Jorge Frietas sat on the other. The yeoman operated the recording computer as if it were an extension of himself.

“Recording, Mr. Spock,” Frietas said as the verification lights flickered across the computer terminal, constantly encoding all that it registered with elaborately sequenced security codes which could not be duplicated, thus ensuring that the original tapes could not be altered in any way. It was a new system designed to prevent abuses such as had occurred in the past.

Spock folded his hands on the table and began his formal recitation for the record. “The third session of the preliminary hearing into actions taken by Captain James T. Kirk at Talin IV is now in session. This hearing has been called by Captain Kirk himself because of his concern that some or all of his actions at Talin IV might be considered to have contravened the noninterference directive of Starfleet General Order One. This hearing's purpose is to gather preliminary information which may or may not support the captain's claim that all his actions were performed without such contravention. Any or all preliminary information gathered by this hearing is subject to further review and verification by Starfleet Command, if and when so desired.”

Spock waited patiently for a few moments. “Director Wilforth,” he said at last, “you may speak now.”

Wilforth squirmed in his seat. “Oh, ah, Zalan Ko'askla Wilforth, Director, Starfleet First Contact Office, Outpost 47, Talin IV.” He looked at Spock for approval.

“Please continue, Director.”

“Ah, I wish to present a report prepared by the communications section of FCO Outpost 47 concerning communications intercepts carried out in the three Talin days following the accidental detonation of a native nuclear warhead on Talin IV.” He held up a yellow microtape. “W-what do I do with it?”

Kirk sat calmly. This was an official procedure and, as a show of his respect for Starfleet, for once he was not impatient. Wilforth could take all day as far as he was concerned.

“Place it in the recording computer,” Spock said, “and then present your summary.”

Wilforth offered the microtape to Yeoman Frietas, but the young man shook his head. “You have to place it in the reader, sir. I can't touch it.”

“Oh, of course,” Wilforth said. He fumbled at the side of the terminal with the tape, then slipped it into place with a click. “And, ah, to summarize. Ahem.” He coughed into his fist. “The hours following the accidental detonation of the warhead on Talin are being referred to as the Blue Season Miracle. Ah, Blue Season is the native calendar designation for the current…ah…calendar period on Talin. Um, anyway, the use of the term ‘miracle' is important in the FCO's interpretation of events because it establishes that the Talin have clearly assigned an almost supernatural significance to what has happened on their planet. That is, they do not ascribe those events to the actions of an indigenous or extraplanetary agency.

“Briefly, the FCO intercepts show that the Talin are aware that the detonation of a missile in the Green nation state was, without question, an accident. Though, owing to the destruction it caused, the reason for that accident will likely never be determined. The Talin are also aware that the resulting launch of approximately one quarter of the Green nuclear arsenal was triggered solely by automated alert systems which were scheduled for dismantling over the next few Talin…ah…months, I suppose you'd call them.

“Likewise, the retaliatory launch of approximately one third of the Brown nuclear arsenal was also a programmed response, again not initiated by deliberate orders.”

Wilforth looked around the table. His nervousness finally seemed to be under control.

“It is my expert opinion, as an FCO director, that the Talin as a race believe that an unimaginable accident nearly came to pass three days ago and that an almost equally unimaginable sequence of equipment malfunctions, programming conflicts, and even weather conditions, contributed to the failure of the warheads being exchanged.

“To support Captain Kirk's claim that what he did was not in contravention of General Order One, I should like to emphasize that because his actions preserved the Talin global communications system, the military and political leaders of the various nation states on the planet were able to enter into immediate, joint discussions which enabled them to prevent any further commitment of their remaining forces.

“It is the FCO's opinion that Captain Kirk's actions served only to give the Talin approximately fifteen to thirty minutes of extra time during which they were able to reaffirm the strong commitment to world peace that the Talin have demonstrated so often during our observation of them. The FCO believes the Talin have been saved from an unpredictable and uncontrollable disaster, not of their own making, and are now able to continue their normal and expected development as a race and a culture.

“Most importantly, according to all communication intercepts available to the FCO, Captain Kirk has accomplished this humanitarian deed without revealing in any way to the Talin that an extraplanetary agency was involved.” Wilforth cleared his throat a final time. “Our conclusion is that the Prime Directive has not been contravened and Captain Kirk deserves the Federation's highest commendation for the preservation of life and peace.”

Kirk didn't smile or otherwise acknowledge Wilforth's summary. As a career officer, he was used to listening to others praise him, and he knew how quickly that praise could turn to censure. He appreciated Wilforth's contribution because Kirk believed it to be true, but he also knew that the final authority to decide whether or not General Order One had been obeyed rested with Starfleet Command. However, he realized that for once he wasn't worried about second-guessing Command—he had saved an entire world, and given the politics of the Federation and the Admiralty, no one was going to go after a winner.

“Does anyone have anything more to add?” Spock asked.

No one replied.

“This hearing is adjourned.”

We pulled it off,
Kirk suddenly thought.
The
Enterprise
saved a world without revealing herself.
He felt a welcome rush of accomplishment. Then it was checked by one last realization.
If I didn't trust Wilforth's judgment two days ago, why should I trust him now?

 

“I have this idea for a bar,” Kirk said. He took a bite of his sandwich and gazed out through the herbarium's viewport. Talin was full and alive fifty thousand kilometers distant. The air around him was filled with the scent of blooming roses. The
Enterprise'
s greenhouse facility was his favorite room on the ship. Especially during ship's night.

“Funny, you don't look like the bartender type,” Palamas said teasingly. On the park bench reproduction they sat on, she finished spreading out the picnic Kirk had packed.

“No, no,” Kirk said, talking around a mouthful of chicken salad. “On the ship. Or a ship, anyway.”

“A bar on a Starfleet vessel?” She was skeptical now.

“For times like these.” Kirk turned to her and smiled. “The mission is accomplished. We're in friendly waters. It would be nice to have a place to go to enjoy these moments. Something with a bit more…atmosphere than the rec facilities or the mess hall. Could take the edge off waiting for shore leave, too.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “Just a thought.”

“Well, it sounds like a nice one. These ships can get pretty sterile sometimes.” Palamas began to peel an orange, staring at it thoughtfully. “Jim…how do you feel about what you've done?” She sounded flustered. “Have I asked that the right way? Do you know…?”

Kirk nodded. He inhaled the scent of the flowers. He remembered his mother's garden back on the farm. Just a small patch with a few rose bushes, some petunias, a rhododendron which never seemed to bloom. His father had always said flowers were nonsense on a farm. You couldn't eat them. But he was always out there with her, weeding and pruning. And smiling, Kirk remembered. They were always smiling when they were out in their nonsense garden together.

“I know what you're asking,” Kirk said. “But to tell the truth, Carolyn, I don't think about it that way.” He saw the confusion in her eyes. “I did what I had to do at the time I did it. And now, it's done, so…it's time to do something else.”

But Palamas shook her head. “You saved an entire civilization, Jim. Two and a half billion beings…their history…their hopes….”

Kirk put his sandwich down and took Palamas's hand in his. “I didn't save a world, Carolyn. This
crew
saved a world. This
ship
saved a world. I was just the one in the center seat, and there are lots of others who could sit there just as well.”

Palamas stared into Kirk's eyes, questioning him with more than words. “You really believe that, don't you? This isn't false nodesty…or conceited humility…you honestly believe that you did nothing extraordinary on your own…?”

Kirk put a hand to her face, tracing the soft contours of her cheek and her lips. They were in friendly waters. There was room for just a few moments to themselves. “There are one or two extraordinary things I can do on my own,” he whispered.

“I know.” She touched his face in return.

Surrounded by the scent of flowers and life and precious memories, they kissed.

The red alert sounded two seconds later.

The paging whistle was like a knife.

Chekov's voice thundered from the intercom.
“Bridge to Keptin! Bridge to Keptin! We have missiles launched on Talin IV! We have detonations!”

 

Kirk pushed his way through the turbolift doors and arrived on the bridge out of breath.

The viewscreen showed the terrible truth in full magnification. The dayside of Talin glittered with the brilliant flares of fusion fireballs. Dozens. Hundreds. More sparkling into hellish life with each second.

“Why?” Kirk said. He whirled to Uhura. “What happened?”

Uhura looked desperate. “Unknown, Captain. There has been no mention of any war preparations on any of the com channels we've been monitoring.”

“Sulu! Take us in there! Full impulse.”

Even as the helmsman acknowledged the order, the image of Talin swelled on the screen. The ship was in geostationary orbit in seconds, poised over the terminator.

“Chekov! Evaluation!”

The ensign's hands trembled over his controls. “It's insane, Keptin. All weapons have been launched. All weapons. There is no strategy. No plan. Just…they are firing
everything.”

Kirk saw his straw and grasped at it. “Are you saying malfunction, mister? Is that it? Is that a malfunction down there?”

Chekov shook his head in confusion. “They can't want to do this. Not like that. It must be something else that caused it.”

The turbolift doors burst open again. Spock rushed onto the bridge still adjusting his uniform. His mouth opened as he saw what was on the screen, but he said nothing.

“Everything's been launched, Spock,” Kirk said urgently. “No plan, no strategy.”

“That is senseless,” Spock said.

“Exactly, Spock. Senseless. Another accident. Something to do with disarming the automated alert systems. That's the only explanation.”

“Yes,” Spock said. Even he was shaken by the destruction spreading on the screen. “The Talin are not capable of such…insanity. But without more information, we can't be sure what triggered it. We can't be certain what to do.”

Kirk turned to his crew. “Bring those missiles down.”

“No, Captain,” Spock said. “Without data, without communication logs…you cannot.”

“I know, Spock, I know.” He thrust out his arm to point at the screen. “But look what they're doing to themselves down there.” He made his decision. “Everyone: I cannot order you to do what we did before—when the situation was clearer. But I believe that something else beyond the Talin's control has caused this. And I believe we are justified in stopping it.”

Kirk looked at each of his bridge crew in turn. “But I cannot order you to act against the Prime Directive.”

Chekov spoke first. “Sir, I wolunteer to bring down the missiles.”

“Transmitting self-destruct and call-back codes,” Uhura said.

Sulu brought the ship about. “Moving in on main missile flights.”

“Processing targeting data.” Spock was at his station.

McCoy and Wilforth ran from the turbolift. Richter shuffled out with Cardinali and Mallett, then stopped in horror at what he saw. “My God.”