“What could possibly happen? After all, our noble commander is no doubt keeping a watchful eye on the humans to make sure that they don’t attack us.” There was again a ripple of laughter across the bridge.
Kali stiffened, and drew herself up proudly. “The Earthers are not our only worry,” she said coldly. “Do not forget that!” she said, thrusting out her arm toward the screen where the phenomenon billowed and writhed. “It is a foolish man who barricades and guards the door while leaving the windows open behind him.”
“Why, thank you for telling me. It is always enlightening to study tactics at the feet of such a master of strategy as yourself.”
“Don’t crow too soon,” she gritted from between clenched teeth. “I’ll have your job someday.” And turning on her heel she reentered the power lift. To her dismay Karsul crowded in after her, backing her into a corner of the small elevator.
“I know a way for you to have the job much sooner than you expect.”
“How? By killing you?” she snapped.
He laughed deep in his throat, an ugly, predatory sound that sent a shiver of fear through her body. He then reached out and captured her chin between his fingers. She jerked her head aside, trying to escape his touch, but he tightened his grip until his fingers dug painfully into the sides of her jaw.
“Little wild cat. No, that wasn’t what I had in mind. Rather, you should be very nice to me. Then when your husband is gone, and I have become captain, I might make you my first officer … among other things,” he added significantly.
The elevator hissed to a stop, and the doors opened. Kali brought the side of her hand down on his wrist in a numbing blow. Karsul let out a yelp and released her. She leaped past him out of the door and beyond his reach. She froze in the corridor in a defensive half crouch, glaring at him and panting a little with hatred and fright.
“Be nice to you? The very thought of it nauseates me! And as for being your first officer and other things—I would rather be a galley cook on board a garbage scow!”
Karsul cradled his injured wrist with his other hand, and gazed at her with a combination of anger and lust. “If that’s what you want, I’ll see to it that you get it, but only after I teach you the proper respect for men. Your husband is too weak to keep you in line, but I’m not! Under my tutelage you’ll learn the proper position for a woman—at the feet of her man!”
Kali gave him a scornful smile and threw back her hair with an impudent toss of her head. “Any Klingon woman is happy to take that position, but only if there’s a man available. I confess I don’t see one right now.”
Karsul let out a roar of rage, and leaped at her. Whirling, she fled down the corridor, and nipped into her and Kor’s quarters. She slammed her hand against the lock panel just as Karsul’s heavy footfalls reached the door. She began to shiver with reaction and, resting her back against the door, she slid to the floor where she sat hugging her knees to her chest.
“Kor,” she whispered aloud, her voice catching a little on a half sob. “Why aren’t you here? Why aren’t you doing something to protect me?” She knew she was being unreasonable and, disgusted by her own weakness, she pushed herself to her feet. Unable to relax, she flitted agitatedly about the room, dusting the already spotless dresser, straightening Kor’s collection of antique weapons that hung on one wall, smoothing the coverlet on the bed.
As she gazed down at the bed that she shared with her husband she found that her mindless activity had not managed to banish her fears and worry. She had only been back aboard Klothos for a scant thirty minutes, and already she had the temper of the officers and crew. It wasn’t good. Mutiny hung like a miasma in the air and drifted through the halls, carried by the mutterings of disgruntled men.
Instead of being here, aboard his ship where he belonged, Kor was lingering among the humans, doing what the gods alone knew. Adding fuel to the already prevalent attitude that he is a lover of Earthers, she concluded sourly, staring down at the bed.
Working with the humans had made sense to her when they had first been faced with the phenomenon, but now she wondered if Kor wasn’t carrying things a bit too far. In the beginning he had intimated that they would deal with the Enterprise once the space/time rip was successfully resolved, but she had begun to have doubts about his sincerity in that direction. She had known Kor for two years before she had finally convinced him to marry her, and during that time she had heard a great deal about Captain James Kirk of the starship Enterprise. He had a great deal of admiration for the man, and had always regretted that the Organians had interfered before they could test their strength against one another.
She wished she had not thought of the debacle on Organia, for it raised a fear that she had not even discussed with Kor. After the Organians had dispersed the Klingon and Federation fleets without allowing a battle, and forced a treaty upon the two warring powers, the Empire began to search for a scapegoat to bear the blame. It didn’t have to look very far, and the full fury of the thwarted ruling party fell upon Kor. He had been severely punished, and indeed had lost everything he had fought to gain in a long and distinguished military career. In fact, when she had met him he had been a mere lieutenant teaching tactics at the military academy outside of the capital, stripped of all rank and honors, and more importantly, mourning the loss of his beloved ship.
She had stood beside him, falling ever more deeply in love with this brilliant, ironic man, while he struggled to regain his position. Finally a shift in the political climate had returned him to his ship and his command. When he once again felt he had something to offer her he had proposed, and she had gladly accepted. Now it seemed he was ready to throw away everything they had fought so hard to regain.
She sank slowly down onto the bed, and forced herself to face the fear that had been torturing her for months. Was Kor still loyal to the Empire? And if not, what should she do? Duty dictated that if she suspected such disloyalty she should immediately report her suspicions to Imperial Command. But Kor was her husband, the mate she had chosen for life, and yes, as trite as it sounded, the love of her life. What was duty when compared to the love that she felt for this man?
She was appalled at her own thoughts, and she rose and took a quick turn about the room. She was a Klingon. Surely the Empire that had raised her, educated her, given her a career, deserved her service and her loyalty. She thought of the unwarranted and unfair treatment Kor had received at the hands of the Empire, and her lips tightened into a rebellious line. They had had no right to treat Kor like that. No commander could have done more against the awesome might of the Organians.
And they’ve lied, she thought suddenly, beginning to warm to the logical construct that she was beginning to form. They said that the humans were cruel and barbaric. That their only response to a Klingon was death or the camps.
“And it’s not true,” she said aloud. During the time she had spent with the humans on the surface of Taygeta she could see that they were all, humans and Klingons, very much alike. Oh granted, the humans were weak and overly sentimental, but they were by no means despicable. One could begin to like them with some exposure.
She turned and stared at the door, her jaw tightening into a militant line as she considered Karsul, and her probable fate if he led a successful mutiny against her husband. By Klingon law she was booty, spoils to the victor. If Karsul succeeded in his bid for power she would be expected to go meekly to his bed. Her hand reached out and snagged a bottle of perfume from the dresser. She sent the glass vial crashing against the door.
“Never,” she whispered hoarsely, watching the amber liquid flow down the door and fill the room with the sweet scent of deenaela blossoms. “I will never submit myself to that man!” If this was what Klinzhai expected from its women then she refused! She would stand by Kor whatever action he might take.
“What is it with you?” Guy asked softly as he hunkered down in the sand to pet his Taygetian shadow.
There was a dull ache that seemed to
have settled behind his eyes, and he felt faintly sick, but he was unwilling to return to camp to face Spock’s impatient and questioning glances, and what he felt was mute reproach from the other members of the landing party. He had felt so cocky a few days ago. The answer seemed just around the corner, but that corner had been followed by another and still another until he felt as if he was in some bizarre musical maze. And out in space the phenomenon grew and advanced, devouring yet another segment of Taygetian space, and drawing ever closer to the system’s sun.
The Taygetian trilled gently and nudged his hand with its muzzle. “Why don’t you respond to me?” Maslin continued. “It’s so important that I understand you, yet nothing I do seems to reach you. I know I’m not that stupid. My machine and I have pretty well figured out the rudiments of your language. We’ve removed the hunters that were hurting your parents. So why won’t you respond?”
The Taygetian youngster seemed to sense his mood, and it hooted mournfully up at him. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad since you’ve been such a good and constant friend to me. In fact, you’re not even the worst. Your parents are the really impossible ones. You at least have the courtesy to listen while the synthesizer and I hoot, and tweet, and hum and trill at you. But your elders …” The composer made a hopeless gesture in the air. “They don’t even know I exist. What can possibly be so important that they don’t even acknowledge the presence of alien invaders on their world?” he added almost to himself. He had stopped his steady stroking, and the cub sang a fretful and complaining little passage, then took the human’s hand in his mouth, and gave it a gentle shake.
Guy resumed his steady stroking through the silken fur, and the cub gave a sigh of contentment and closed its eyes. Guy smiled with wry amusement at the blissful youngster.
“Little hedonist. Don’t you realize you’re in dreadful danger?” The cub opened one eye and peered up at him, then dropped back into its semisomnolent state. “Apparently not, and apparently you don’t give a damn either. Just so long as there’s someone around to pet and pamper you the rest of the universe can go to hell. Actually, you sound a lot like me,” Guy said, and the thought struck him as so amusing that he gave a short bark of laughter. Short, because the laugh triggered a violent coughing spasm that left him weak and breathless.
He lay back on the sand, trying to catch his breath, while the cub pushed itself up on its front flippers, and stared worriedly down into his white face. Maslin started to rise, then fell back exhausted onto the beach. His arms seemed to have lost all strength. The Taygetian had begun to chirp, and flop in agitated circles about the prone human. Suddenly it broke into a complicated song, and began haring up the beach.
“Hey!” Maslin shouted, struggling up onto one elbow. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me,” he cried after the rapidly retreating cub, but the creature paid no attention. He fell back on the sand, and fear gripped him. Never in all the years of living with the disease had he felt this horrible. Pain gnawed at his chest and stomach, and seemed to send burning tendrils coiling along the nerve endings into his legs and arms.
He reached into a pocket, searching for his pills, and realized that he had left them back in the tent. He thought with longing of the camp. Suddenly it seemed far more comfortable and attractive than any resort planet he had ever visited, and just as distant. He had walked for miles trying to outrun his depression and frustration, and no one knew where he was. He closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the pain.
“Uhura,” he whispered softly. “Oh God, I need you.” After a time he slipped into a fevered sleep in which he seemed to be dancing on a tide of golden music. Uhura was in his arms, and they went spinning and whirling like chips in a stream. A golden light was all around them, and they were one with the music. It swept them past stars and planets and great glowing dust clouds, where life was beginning. He reached out and captured some of the precious substance. It spilled from his hand like diamond dust, and he quickly raised his hand so it fell gently onto Uhura’s black hair. The particles sparkled and flared like miniature stars against the veil of her hair, and she seemed crowned by an incandescent aura.
“Quick,” he said to her. “Do the same for me. This is the stuff of life. We can live forever.”
But faceless, uniformed figures suddenly appeared and, taking her by the arms, pulled her slowly, inexorably away into the blackness of space. He cried out to her, and tried to follow, but the music swelled and crashed about him, and swept him away.
“No!” He jerked upright, his head throbbing with pain, and reached out, trying to capture her and bring her back. His flailing hands were caught and held immobile while he stared uncomprehendingly into her concerned and beautiful face.
“It’s all right, Guy. I’m here. You’re safe.”
“You went away!” he cried accusingly. “Went away and left me alone. You never even gave me a chance,” he said, his voice catching on a haft sob.
Uhura caught him to her, and held him while he struggled feebly against her. His cheek where it pressed against hers was burning hot. She drew back and studied him, noting the hectic flush on his high cheekbones, and the erratic pulse that was fluttering in the base of his throat. Still keeping a grip on him she dug out her communicator and called the ship.
“Enterprise.”
“T’zeela! Two to beam up, and this is an emergency. Have Dr. McCoy meet us in the transporter room.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Seconds later she felt the familiar disorientation as her molecules were separated and reassembled aboard the Enterprise. Kyle goggled at her, and she realized what an odd picture she must present, huddled on the transporter platform with Guy in her arms. The door hissed open, and McCoy came pelting into the room. He took in the situation at a glance, and before she could speak had bounded onto the platform and begun running his medical tricorder over Guy’s limp form.
“It’s the disease,” he said tensely. He checked the readings and looked grim. “It’s running rampant through his body. Good God, Uhura,” he tossed over his shoulder as he hurried down to the transporter control panel, “didn’t you notice this coming on?”
Stung by what she considered an unfair attack, she deposited Guy gently on the platform and leaped to her feet glaring at McCoy. “Perhaps if I had some medical training and knew how this disease manifested itself, I might have been able to diagnose his condition,” she said sarcastically. “Also, I’d like you to have done any better when Guy hides how he’s feeling, and refuses to admit when he’s ill.”
“I’m sorry, Uhura,” he said, turning back. “I’m not so much angry with you as I am with myself. It’s my responsibility to care for the people on this ship, and I hate it when I fumble a situation. I should have been down on the planet checking him over every day.”
“And he would have hated it,” she said, her tone softening at McCoy’s obvious distress.
“That’s still no excuse.” He punched open a communication line and, calling the sick bay, ordered a stretcher to the transporter room.
“Aren’t you going to tell the captain?”
“After I see how bad things are. Besides, he’s down in the gym working out, and I’d rather let him know that I screwed up after he’s released some tension and frustration.”
“You didn’t screw up,” she said, sinking back down on the platform. “At least no more than the rest of us. He should never have been forced to come here,” she concluded softly, drawing her hand through Guy’s silky black hair.
Kirk came hurrying into sick bay just as McCoy concluded his examination of the unconscious musician. He was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting sweat pants, and a towel was draped over his neck. A fine sheen of sweat still dampened his bare chest.
“What’s going on here? And why in hell wasn’t I informed by you, Doctor, that we had a casualty?”
“Because I didn’t want you cluttering up my sick bay until I’d had a look, and had something to report. Having Uhura hovering ove
r me was bad enough,” he said grumpily, with a glance to the communications officer where she stood at the side of the bed, holding Maslin’s hand.
“So what’s the problem?” Kirk asked, approaching the bed, and looking down at Maslin. “Exhaustion?”
“I only wish it were that simple. Oh, it’s exhaustion all right, but it’s triggered a dangerous flare of the syndrome, and if I can’t get it back under control—and quickly—it’ll kill him”
“Kill him?” Kirk echoed.
“Yes, kill him. I warned you this was a risk we were running by bringing him along on this mission.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Try massive doses of cordrazine. That sometimes throws this disease into an arrest.”
“All right. Let me know how it goes. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.” He started for the door, then turned back as a new thought struck him. “Has Spock been informed? We don’t want him running all over the planet because he thinks two of his landing party have vanished.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I forgot,” Uhura said quietly.
“Well get on it,” he began, then stopped when he noticed the way Uhura was clinging to the composer’s limp hand. He gave an inward sigh. “Never mind. I’ll handle it.” Uhura threw him a grateful look, and returned her attention to Maslin.
“Spock …”
“Captain, forgive me for interrupting,” the Vulcan broke in, his voice carrying an underlying tenseness. “But we have a problem down here.”
“No, you don’t,” Kirk said as he wiped the sweat from his chest, and tossed the towel onto the bed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lieutenant Uhura and Mr. Maslin are aboard the Enterprise.”
Spock looked peeved, and pressed his lips together. “May I ask why I was not informed of this decision?”
“It was a rather spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Maslin became ill; Uhura found him, and brought him to the ship.”
“I see. Is it serious?”
The Tears of the Singers Page 15
