“Sure, why not? You say many of your planets are poor and hostile, so let the Singers improve them for you, and you pay them for the service.”
“You would allow this?”
“The Federation doesn’t own the Taygetians. They’ll be free to make any arrangements they wish.”
“I don’t know,” Kor said so quietly that Kirk had to strain to hear him. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“There has to someday be a time for trust, Kor, and I think we’ve gone a long way toward proving that this just may be that time.” Kirk rose, and moved around the table to the burly Klingon. They stood face-to-face for a moment, then Kirk said, “I pledge my honor that the Taygetians will not become a weapon in the hands of the Federation,” and he held out his hand.
Kor slowly, hesitantly placed his dark hand in the human’s fair one. “That is a pledge worthy of great respect. Very well, Kirk, I will leave Taygeta for the Taygetians.”
Chapter Twelve
Kirk was escorting Kor back to his shuttle when Chekov’s voice, agitation deepening his accent, came resounding over the open ship intercom.
“Captain! Captain Kirk, please report to the bridge at once!”
The two commanders exchanged glances, and Kirk leaped to a wall com, and thumbed it on. “Yes, Mr. Chekov, what seems to be the problem?”
“We’re not quite certain, sir, but the Klingons seem to be doing something odd.”
“On my way, Kirk out.” He flipped off the com, and gave Kor an inquiring look.
The Klingon held out his hands helplessly, and shook his head. “I am as confused as you are, and perhaps it would be best if I did not set out in a small shuttle until I know precisely what is going on. May I accompany you to the bridge?”
“That might not be a bad idea, and frankly, Commander, I’d like to have you where I can keep an eye on you.”
“A wise precaution, Captain,” Kor said, falling into step with the human. “Even though I can assure you I’m not going to sabotage your phasers.”
They entered the bridge on the run, and indeed something odd was happening with the Klingon ships. They had pulled abruptly out of parking orbit, and were peeling off to either side of the Enterprise. Kirk leaped to the navigation console, and leaned in over Sulu’s shoulder.
“Obviously trying to outflank us, and get us trapped against the planet. Take us out of here, Mr. Sulu.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Which heading?”
“Straight up. I want maneuvering room.”
They began to drift upward, and Kirk cursed the decaying dilithium crystals. He had forgotten how low they were on power, so instead of springing out of the trap that was closing around them they were crawling like an aged tortoise. Fortunately the two Klingon cruisers weren’t in much better shape.
“If this was by your order, Kor, your timing was lousy,” the captain called over his shoulder. “You should have given yourself more time to get off the Enterprise.”
“Fortunately or unfortunately, this was not by my design. I would not have handled matters so crudely.” He paused to clear his throat. “You see, I regret to inform you, but I think I am no longer in command of my ships.”
“Well, we still have a few tricks up our sleeve. Who are we up against?”
“On Klothos, no doubt Karsul, my exec. On the other ship I don’t know. I’m certain Kandi would not have betrayed me, but I don’t know who they would have replaced him with. Karsul is behind this, however.”
“What can you tell me about this Karsul?”
“Young, bright, but he is also hotheaded and inexperienced.”
“A plus for our side,” Kirk said, swinging back up to the command chair and seating himself.
“You seem awfully eager to spill your guts,” Scotty suddenly rumbled from his position at the engineering consol. “How do we know we can trust you? Why would you want us to win over your own people?”
“He does have a point,” Kirk said, cocking an eye up at the Klingon.
“Mr. Scott, believe me, I am fervently hoping that you will succeed because if you don’t I’m either going to die with this ship or be executed by my former first officer, and in either case he will then take my wife. None of these prospects fills me with much joy.”
“I’d say those are pretty compelling reasons for trusting you,” Kirk said. “Mr. Sulu,” he said, turning his attention to the navigator. “Bring up the shields and have phasers at the ready. As soon as we clear the planet I want to turn and get a shot at those two ships.”
“Aye, sir.”
Tense seconds passed as they waited to clear the planet. Kirk felt the hair on the back of his neck rising, and he hunched his shoulders as if expecting a blast of disruptor fire from behind them. They cleared the planet, and he began to release the breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding, when suddenly a new sight drove all the air from his lungs. Directly before them, some three hundred kilometers distant, a Klingon cruiser winked out of warp space. It raced down on them like some avenging bird of prey, and it was apparent it wasn’t suffering from the power drain that afflicted the Enterprise and the two other cruisers.
“Captain!”
“Oh my God!”
“What do we do?”
“Captain, look!”
The bridge exploded into a discordant babble of frightened voices. Kirk ignored them all, as did Sulu, who kept his eyes riveted on the captain’s face. “Down! Take us back where we came from.”
“Karsul must have summoned them in secret, and they have been holding beyond the range of the harmonic effect. I should have killed that young man months ago,” Kor murmured almost to himself.
“I hope you won’t think me gauche for saying so, but I wish you had too,” Kirk said ironically while Sulu’s deft fingers played over the console, and the Enterprise struggled to respond. A blast of disruptor fire hit the upper edge of their shield as the ship dropped back behind the protective bulk of the planet. The great ship shuddered under the impact of the blast, and people struggled to remain in their seats. Kor gripped the back of Kirk’s chair, and in a low voice said, “We are going right back into the line of fire from two other ships.”
“I know, but at least we know they don’t have the firepower of our friend overhead.”
“Unfortunately he will soon come to join the party.”
“And then we very well may be damned, but we’ll deal with that when it happens.” Kirk glanced down at a computer graphic of the tactical situation, and a small smile curved his lips. “Mr. Sulu, take us up to warp speed, and then bring us out at coordinates zero, two, seven.”
“Captain, you’re burnin’ up what little power we have left!” Scotty objected, taking a few steps toward the command chair.
“I have no choice, Mr. Scott. We can sit here while they batter down our shields, or we can use what power we’ve got offensively.”
Kor, who had been staring at the schematic, suddenly smiled and nodded. “I see what you are up to, and yes, Karsul will fall for it.”
Seconds ticked past, and the third Klingon cruiser came plunging into warp space after the fleeing Enterprise.
“Captain,” Chekov said, and there was a nervous catch in his voice.
“I see him, Ensign, but you keep your attention on those other ships. Ready phasers.”
“Phasers ready, sir.”
They hit the coordinates, and Sulu brought them out down from warp speed directly between the two Klingon vessels.
“Fire!” Chekov hit the firing button, and twin beams of energy lanced out at the ship before them. “Now! Take us out of here Mr. Sulu! Now!”
The Enterprise drifted down between the two Klingon ships as they each discharged their disruptors, and caught each other in a vicious crossfire. There was a loud cheer from the bridge crew.
“Very nice, Captain, but what do you do for an encore?” Kor asked as he watched the third, fully powered, cruiser come haring after them.
“Ask me again in a minute. I
might be able to tell you by then,” Kirk replied as he knuckled at his chin with one hand.
“Holy shit!” Ragsdale yelled as a burst of disruptor fire sizzled the air next to his left ear. He went one way, and the tray of food he had been carrying went the other as he dived frantically for cover.
Maslin, who had been staring with maniacal fascination at the keyboard of the synthesizer while a group of nearly one hundred cubs sat clustered about the instrument waiting patiently for his next musical passage, went diving behind the synthesizer. He realized that he would only draw the fire toward his precious machine so, keeping low, he made a mad dash for one of the tents. Behind him he heard one of the cubs scream in agony as a blast of disruptor fire hit its unprotected flesh, and he almost raced back to help it. Sanity reasserted itself before he had done more than turn, and he continued his dash for cover.
His breath was rasping in his throat, and there was a burning in his lungs by the time he covered the thirty yards that separated him from the tent, so he simply lay on the ground behind the flimsy cover, and tried to calm the frantic hammering of his heart. Around him he could hear cubs singing in discordant terror, and occasionally one or two of them would come flopping past. The tiny cub who had a patch of golden hair on one flank, and who was a particular favorite of the composer’s, went howling past the tent. Maslin reached out and, wrapping his arms around the round, furry body, pulled it into cover with him. It seemed the least he could do since the creature had saved him that day on the beach when he had been overcome by his illness. The creature moaned in a minor key, and buried its face in the human’s shoulder. They huddled together while energy bolts ripped through the camp.
Across the camp McCoy maintained a steady monologue about the perfidy and duplicity of Klingons while Spock, phaser out, scanned the cliff walls searching for their attackers.
“Damn Klingons! I knew we were making a big mistake trusting them. Why Jim felt he had to rely on—”
“Doctor,” Spock interrupted, “since you do not have a phaser could you perhaps try to make yourself useful by contacting the Enterprise, and apprising the captain of our situation?”
“I was going to do that,” McCoy replied in an aggrieved tone.
“You surprise me,” Spock said dryly as he squeezed off a shot at an unwary head which had appeared over the top of a boulder some three-quarters of the way up the right cliff.
McCoy ignored him, having finally managed to reach the ship. T’zeela’s voice came faintly through the communicator, overlayed and punctuated with heavy static.
“Doct … one moment, the captain will … soon …”
“Jim!” McCoy shouted into the communicator. “What’s going on up there?”
“Klingons, we’re …” The rest of his words were lost in a long burst of static.
“What? Repeat please, you’re not coming through.”
There was a momentary clearing, and Kirk’s voice came through clearly. “We’re under heavy attack up here so I’m afraid you’re on your own. Take care of them as best you can. Kirk out.”
“Captain? Captain? Jim!” McCoy demanded, shaking the communicator and twisting the tuning dial, but there was no answer.
“Don’t try to reopen communication, Doctor. It is apparent the captain is fully occupied, and should not be distracted by us.”
“So what do you suggest we do?”
“Fight, and hope for the best.”
“I can think of other people I would prefer to have in command of a battle situation,” McCoy muttered as he thought back on that time when Spock had taken command after the Galileo 7 shuttle craft had been drawn off course and forced to land on Taurus II. A bolt of deadly energy buried itself in the sand next to his leg, and McCoy flinched back behind the tent.
“I am aware of your doubts about my command abilities in a combat situation, Doctor, but believe me.” He paused and fired, and a small figure jerked and tumbled down the cliff face. “I am capable of fighting when I am forced to it.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Spock,” McCoy concluded and, hunkering down next to the tent, he stared at his own quarters some fifty feet away, and bitterly regretted leaving his phaser among his belongings in the tent.
Maslin too was feeling useless, and more frightened than he had ever felt in his life as he lay huddled behind the tent with the Taygetian clutched in his arms. He hoped that no errant shot would find his hiding place, and each time there was a whine from a weapon being fired he could feel his body pull in on itself as if anticipating the burning pain that would precede death from disruptor fire.
He heard the thud of running feet, and he looked up to see Donovan racing across the open center of the camp heading for new cover. There was a streak of red-tinged energy from somewhere up the cliff, and Donovan tumbled to the ground. His forward momentum had carried him to within feet of Maslin’s hiding place. The composer crawled out and, grabbing the officer by the shoulder, he tried to pull him back behind the tent. Donovan rolled ponderously onto his back, his hand flopping uselessly in the sand, and Maslin stared into the burned and bloody mass that had been a face. Turning aside, he vomited into the sand and, wrapping his arms around himself, he sat back on his heels and shook. The Taygetian gave a whine of despair, and began to dig out a hole beneath the edge of the tent. This accomplished, it huddled in the hole with just its eyes peering out between the bottom of the tent and the sand.
A whine of fire brought Maslin back to his surroundings, and he scurried back behind the tent. He then peered out, noticing the phaser that lay where it had fallen from Donovan’s hand. It was a scant three feet away, and he decided to risk it. Dropping down onto his belly he crawled on knees and elbows out to the phaser and, grabbing it, went hauling back into cover.
As he inspected the weapon, familiarizing himself with its operation, he wondered where in all this madness Uhura had gotten to? He pictured her killed, like Donovan, and his chest was squeezed with a pain so sharp that for a moment he thought he was suffering from a heart attack.
In his youth he had done some hunting at his family’s cabin in the Adirondacks, and he found that the old reflexes still held. Lying prone on the ground, he steadied the phaser on his left forearm, and waited patiently. He saw a flicker of movement at the base of one cliff, and sighting carefully he pulled off a shot. There was a wail, and the running figure dropped. Smiling viciously he thought, That’s for Donovan, and for the cub you killed. Wish Uhura could have seen that, he ruminated as he waited for another target to present itself. That would have shut her up about how I lack the training to look out for myself.
Back in the Klingon camp Kali struggled in her bonds where she sat tied to the center pole of her tent. She felt the rope rasp harshly across the skin of her wrists, but it didn’t give in the least. An hour ago ten more men had transported down to the camp, and she had overheard Karsul order the now-augmented landing party to attack and destroy the humans. She had been terrified that he would order her back to the ship and, not wanting that to happen, and also wishing to warn the humans, she had tried to slip out of camp. Quarag had caught her before she had reached the bottom of the hill, and he had tied her in her tent.
Now, off in the distance, she could hear the whine of weapons being fired, and she redoubled her efforts to work free. Five minutes later she was exhausted and no closer to freedom, and all she could feel was the warm trickle of blood over her abused hands. She looked desperately about the tent, and spotted her pack. She had a blade stored in there, if she could only manage to reach it.
Sucking in a deep breath she quieted her mind, steadied her nerves and then gave a quick heave. The pole swayed, but held. Three tries later she managed to bring it down, and with it the entire tent. She lay under the suffocating folds of material and tried to get her bearings, then propelled herself across the floor by means of small pushes with her bound feet.
Ten minutes later she was free, and came climbing out from under the fallen tent. Quarag had tak
en her disruptor, and a quick search failed to produce an extra. Grumbling, she tore a long piece of fine wire out of one of the geocorders, and jerked it experimentally several times between her hands. Since she had failed to find a weapon here she would simply have to make one, she thought with a predatory little smile, and she slipped off toward the sound of the fighting.
She ran swiftly toward the human camp without bothering to use cover. She assumed that Karsul’s men would have all their attention centered on the humans, and never suspect an assault from the rear. She reached the left outcropping of rock that formed one arm of the sheltering cove in which the humans were camped, and here she became a good deal more covert. She didn’t want to go stumbling blindly into one of the men she had come to hunt.
Taking cover she listened, trying to pinpoint the location of one of the attackers from the sound of his disruptor fire. There seemed to be someone a scant thirty yards from her sheltering rock. Holding her breath she peered over the top of the boulder, and spotted the head and burly shoulders of one of the new arrivals. Pulling back down she slipped wraithlike from rock to rock until she was directly behind her quarry.
From this proximity she could hear his heavy breathing, and an occasional muttered curse as a bolt of phaser fire came uncomfortably close. She tested the wire between her hands, and was suddenly assailed by doubt. She was about to kill one of her own kind, a comrade in arms. And why? To save a group of Earthers who were her traditional enemies. She hugged her arms about her body, back pressed against the rough surface of the rocks, and tried to decide what to do. She wished Kor were here to advise her.
The thought of her husband steadied her, and she remembered how days ago she had decided if it were a choice between Kor and the Empire she would take Kor. It seemed now that that choice had come upon her. It was apparent that Kor was no longer in command of his ships, and if he were taken he would be killed. As for herself … her fate was far less enviable. She would end up as chattel to the man who had murdered her husband.
Her jaw tightened with determination and, keeping her back against the rocks, she slipped up behind her prey. The soft sand muffled any sound from her footfalls, and the man was dead before he knew he had been attacked. Kali calmly removed her garrot from the man’s throat and, picking up his fallen disruptor, brushed the clinging sand from its barrel. She then settled down to look for targets.
The Tears of the Singers Page 19
