STAR TREK: TOS #22 - Shadow Lord

by Laurence Yep

  His fingertips just brushed a large branch. “And even nicer if I could have spent more time here rather than stay at the palace.”

  “The palace is more like a prison than anything else, and this”—Urmi’s palm bobbed up and down as if she were weighing something—“this is like paradise.”

  The subaltern led them toward a tower that dominated the path. A crowd waited underneath the [214] portcullis. A small, round Angiran bustled forward and bowed. “Your Highness, I’ve prepared rooms for you and your retinue.”

  “Are the Elders in session?” the prince asked.

  The servant paused in mid-bow. “Yes, I believe they are, but—”

  “Then I will speak with them directly. We have urgent matters to discuss.” The prince brushed past the little servant impatiently.

  The little man’s hand faltered in the air. “But, Your Highness ... the trip ... your clothes ...”

  “They can wait,” the prince snapped over his shoulder. He almost rammed into the elderly woman who tottered forward on a cane.

  An officious guard grabbed her by the shoulders. “Out of the way, old woman.”

  “Wait.” The prince held up a hand. “Megra, is that you?”

  The old woman dimpled. “I didn’t know if you’d recognize your old nursemaid after all these years.”

  “How could I forget you.” The prince affectionately traced a small scar on her cheek. “There’s the cut I made with the toy sword.”

  “It was sharp for a toy,” she mumbled, pleased that he had remembered.

  “Does your brother still live here too?” The laughter seemed to come bubbling out of the prince. “And does he still have those fruit trees?”

  “Yes,” an old man said. He was leaning forward on his staff. “But throne or not, you’re still not allowed to climb them at grafting time.”

  The prince surveyed the crowd with immense delight. “And these are ...”

  Megra swept her arm in a proud arc to indicate them [215] all. “My grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I think you might remember some of them.”

  “You’re quite the matriarch.” Impulsively, the prince hugged her.

  At that spontaneous gesture, the crowd itself surged forward, eager to trade remembrances with the prince. His escort would have tried to keep them back, but the prince seemed surprised and touched by the warmth of his reception and motioned them away.

  Left behind by everyone, Urmi turned to Sulu. “At least these people seem to like him well enough.”

  Sulu stepped out of the way of a group of giggling children coming up to see what the fuss was about. “Well, that may be Megra’s doing. I don’t think she would let anyone pick on the prince.”

  Urmi folded her arms across her stomach. “If he could have stayed here more often, maybe he wouldn’t have felt so isolated on Angira.”

  As he watched more people pour from their houses, Sulu said, “I think this is as close as he’ll ever come to a real home.”

  “But will he have a choice about staying or leaving?” Urmi pointed toward the servant scurrying furtively through the crowd and back into the tower—as if he wanted to warn the Elders about what had just occurred. “People have a way of clinging to power—even clan elders. I think there may be some kind of intrigue going on even here. What if the chamberlain came here to put the prince under wraps before he could gather a following.”

  “If you left it up to these folk”—Sulu nodded to the crowd—“he’d be the emperor.”

  “Just so,” Urmi mused.

  The servant returned, pushing and shoving his way [216] up to the prince. Every now and then they could see the servant speak to the prince urgently, however, the prince seemed reluctant to leave and spent nearly a half hour joking and reminiscing with the others.

  Finally, the servant turned to Megra. They could hear him loudly pleading with her. “Please, the chamberlain and the other Elders are waiting.”

  And it was Megra who stopped everyone and gave the prince a playful push toward the tower. “Go on and greet the politicians. We’ll have a nice, long chat tonight. Now let him go everyone. Let him go.” And the crowd obediently parted for the prince.

  But the prince himself seemed inclined to balk. “I still haven’t introduced you to my friends,” He beckoned to Sulu and Urmi.

  Megra, however, fixed him with a stern eye. “Go on now. When I’m in your palace, you can give me orders, but when you’re in my valley, you’ll listen to me.”

  “I know better than to argue.” The prince shook his head affectionately. He started to make his way to the tower, exchanging remarks with the rest of Megra’s kin.

  Skirting the crowd, Sulu and Urmi caught up with the prince just as they entered the tower.

  Urmi plucked at the servant’s soropa. “The prince may not feel tired. But I do. I’m going to use that room for a rest after all.”

  “Now?” the prince asked. “But I need you, Urmi. For moral support if for nothing else.”

  “I’ll just take a quick nap,” Urmi assured him. “You’ll probably still be talking when I wake up.”

  “As you wish,” the prince said grudgingly.

  The servant immediately pointed to a stairway. “Take those stairs and go up a level. Yours will be the [217] third door on the right.” The servant leaned over to the nearest guard and whispered something to him. Then the servant smiled at Urmi. “This man will go along with you to make sure you have everything you want.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Urmi said.

  “No doubt,” the servant said smoothly, “but you shouldn’t have to.”

  Sulu could not help noticing how closely the escort watched Urmi as he followed her upstairs. The servant himself ushered them into a large, circular room. A dozen elderly Angirans sat on benches set against the walls. In the center of the room was a single footstool which seemed to be for the prince.

  The prince didn’t hesitate but strode toward the Elders. “Gentlemen, this looks more like a trial than a welcoming ceremony.”

  “We were a trifle rushed,” said a fat Angiran. He had an annoyed, popeyed look—as if he had just sat down on a thumb tack. “So you must forgive the simplicity of the occasion.” He bowed his head slightly. “I have the pleasure of being the clan chamberlain.”

  The prince raised his foot and set it on top of the footstool. “I quite understand. In fact, it rather coincides with my wishes. There is much to do and I would rather not waste time listening to speeches. Do you accept me as the son of the emperor?”

  “We must take time to consider such a weighty matter.” The chamberlain spread his hands. “It’s rather unfortunate that all the credible witnesses perished in the massacre.”

  “And how many pretenders travel about with an offworlder for a companion?” The prince swept his arm out toward Sulu.

  [218] There were murmurs of agreement at that, but the chamberlain stilled the noise with a gesture of his hand. “It has been rumored that you might be an impostor whom the offworlders are trying to foist upon us.” He smiled with icy courtesy. “Of course, these are only rumors, which I neither believe nor disbelieve. As the true heir, you can see why we must take our time to dispel these falsehoods so that everyone may follow your banner wholeheartedly.”

  The prince slid his foot from the top of the stool and lowered it to the floor. “But we can’t delay. Even now while we talk, Rahu is out there savaging our world.”

  The chamberlain pressed his fingertips together patronizingly. “Let the dogs fight among themselves. We’re safe enough behind our mountains. And when they’re weak and tired, we’ll march out”—his palm swiped at the air—“and we’ll scoop them all up.”

  “And how many innocent folk in the cities and the little farming villages will also die in the meantime?” The prince looked around to appeal to the Elders. “The throne isn’t our clan’s personal property. It means we are responsible for the whole of our world, not just of Kotah.” The prince paced forward
until he towered over the chamberlain. “Whether we like it or not, Kotah is part of Angira. And Angira is part of an even larger community—a union of sentient beings. We can’t turn our backs on suffering.”

  The chamberlain, however, remained unimpressed. “That sounds all very nice on a plaque for a monument, but it won’t put food on a table.”

  “But we can help one another.” The prince slid his fingers together. “And that gives us even greater strength in times of trouble.”

  [219] The chamberlain reared back on the bench and placed his hands on his knees. “Well, perhaps that all may be true, young man.” He was careful to use that term. “At any rate, I don’t disbelieve you. If you’re an impostor, you’re a very good one.”

  The prince turned to Sulu. “Here’s irony for you, isn’t it, Sulu? After deciding that I want the throne after all, I can’t convince people of my identity.”

  “I didn’t say that, young man,” the chamberlain said quickly. “But we mustn’t act impetuously. Doubts must be dealt with systematically to prove your identity absolutely.”

  The prince took several even breaths, as if he were trying to control his temper. “All right,” he said quietly. “I will submit to your inquiries; but you must do one thing: You must instruct Colonel Gelu to send a flying column for one of the offworlders. He’s being held a prisoner.”

  The chamberlain chuckled and looked at the others. “Young people are so impetuous.” He faced the prince again. “Under no circumstances can they march. We mustn’t give Rahu any provocation that will make him decide to neutralize Kotah first. We are to stay hidden so that his attention will be drawn to others.”

  “I gave my oath,” the prince said.

  “That,” the chamberlain observed, “is hardly our problem.” He flicked an index finger toward the subaltern. “Perhaps you should relieve the prince of his weapons.” He clicked his tongue. “They are a heavy and unnecessary burden.”

  “Then I’m a prisoner?”

  “Let’s call it protective custody,” the chamberlain said, “so that you don’t do anything rash.”

  [220] “If I am the true heir,” the prince warned, “you are playing a dangerous game.”

  “If you are the true heir,” the chamberlain responded with icy politeness, “you should thank me for my caution.”

  But at that moment they could hear a commotion outside the door. The prince’s hand went to his hilt. The subaltern and his men threw themselves at the door, and for a moment it creaked and groaned on its hinges before it finally burst open under the weight of all the people shoving against it. Guards, servants and valley people all toppled onto the floor.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the chamberlain spluttered indignantly.

  Megra, with Urmi’s help, had managed to keep her feet. “We want our prince.” Her voice, though thin, carried loudly enough. The crowd outside the room roared its agreement.

  The chamberlain was in such a hurry to scramble to his feet that he knocked over the bench. “My dear people, everything is being well taken care of. We have an authentication process all worked out.”

  “I’ve got eyes. I’m satisfied it’s Prince Vikram,” Megra’s brother declared.

  The chamberlain stared at the sharp points of the pitchforks and the edges of the hoes. He licked his lips. “Even so, we must move forward, at deliberate speed.”

  “You’d argue for a month about whether you really had a nose at the front of your face.” Megra rapped her cane disgustedly against the floor. “If you want to leave this valley alive, you’ll do what you should have done the very first moment you heard the news.”

  Prince Vikram found himself surrounded by several [221] young farmers while others sat upon the helpless soldiers. “No,” the prince said urgently, “don’t harm them.”

  “Our chief concern is the people of Kotah.” The chamberlain carefully edged behind several of the other Elders.

  Megra managed to lift her cane long enough to jab at the chamberlain. “And what are we, gaya?”

  The chamberlain anxiously leaned forward and held a hurried conference with the other Elders. Occasionally, one of them would dart a frightened glance toward the indignant matriarch of the valley and her kin. Megra seemed quite capable of carrying out her threat.

  Finally, the chamberlain straightened up and tried to give a dignified tuck to his soropa. “If you are satisfied that this is the prince,” he declared in a shaky voice, “then we are satisfied.”

  Any further words were drowned out in the cheering that followed. The prince was quite literally swept off his feet as he was lifted to the shoulders of several burly farmers, and the crowd surged back through the door. Fortunately, the prince ducked in time or he might have been decapitated prematurely by the doorway.

  Urmi, however, still clinging to Megra, had stayed behind. Sulu stepped over to her. “What happened to the guard who was with you?”

  “Don’t tell the prince this”—she winked—“but I discovered that his soldiers are susceptible to a left hook. It was a simple thing to find Megra and explain my worries to her.” She gave Megra a kiss. “My sweetheart here just took over.”

  Megra gave a snort. “I wasn’t going to let them keep the prince from what’s rightfully his.”

  [222] In the meantime, the subaltern and his men were rising from the floor and dusting themselves off in a rather embarrassed way. Urmi indicated the Elders to them. “These gentlemen must be feeling fatigued after all this excitement. Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to escort them to their rooms and see that they have a good long rest.”

  “But we have things to do ourselves,” the chamberlain protested.

  “Yes, like escaping from the valley and stirring up trouble,” Urmi said. She jerked her head toward the subaltern. “Take them.”

  Still, the subaltern hesitated, glancing between Urmi and the fat man. The chamberlain set his shoulders back pompously. “By the authority of the Council of Elders—”

  Urmi’s voice cut loudly through his. “You can march with the prince,” she said to the subaltern, “or you can listen to the politicians all day. But if you dillydally in this room any longer, you’ll feel like a fool.”

  “There was talk at the fort that you’re Bibil’s niece,” the subaltern said.

  “I am,” Urmi said. “Did you know him?”

  “Only briefly. He saved my hide during a tavern brawl.”

  “He gave his life for the prince,” Urmi said.

  “Then that’s good enough for me.” The subaltern gestured to his men. He added with a sly smile, “Let’s place these elder statesmen under a ‘protective custody’ of their own.”

  Mr. Spock was awake long before he opened his eyes. A faint smell of smoke still clung to the blanket [223] that covered him. And there was the musky scent of Angirans sweating as they carried him on the makeshift stretcher.

  Suddenly there was a scuffling sound off to his right—as if someone had fallen. A sharp whack was followed by a cry of pain. And Mr. Spock’s own stretcher jerked to an abrupt halt.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Puga wheezed.

  “And who will make me?” a younger Angiran demanded.

  “I will if you continue,” Lord Bhima growled.

  “My people have long memories,” Puga warned. “They won’t forget how you burned the village and killed people. No, don’t touch me. I can get up on my own.”

  Mr. Spock raised his eyelids slightly, glancing to the side. They were among the mesas once again; but where the prince had once fantasized with Sulu, Lord Bhima now stood, watching as Puga struggled to his feet once more. Blood from a small cut on Puga’s forehead had matted some of his fur.

  “We did what we had to,” Lord Bhima said in the patient tone of a parent explaining something to a stubborn child. “You can see how few we are. We needed the distraction.”

  “Lord.” One of the bearers frowned. “You do not have to explain your actions to a peasant.”

  Lord B
hima rounded on his heel to address the speaker. “If the situations were reversed and he had burned your house and killed a good number of your kin, I think you might want an explanation too.”

  Puga flexed up and down on his knees as if they were stiff from all the walking they had done. “You seem like [224] a man of honor. How can you support scum like Rahu?”

  Lord Bhima signed for the others to begin walking once again. “I won’t have our world become a toy for the Federation.” He pressed his lips together in a grim, sad smile. “And I am willing to sacrifice my honor and many of our people as long as I can safeguard Angira.”

  However misguided his methods, Lord Bhima’s intentions were good ones. If Mr. Spock could end his fears, there might be some hope yet. He opened his eyes to their fullest. “You shouldn’t be afraid, Lord Bhima.” He paused as he tried to find his voice, but his throat was dry. “The Federation can tailor a program of modernization for your world that will respect your cultural integrity—as we have done on many other worlds. The emperor lacked experienced advisers who know how to guide worlds through such unsettling times. They could have helped avoid the famines and riots.” He added with a trace of irony, “People would have been far more content.”

  Lord Bhima gave a grunt. “Do you think I care about contentment?”

  Mr. Spock stared up at the Angiran who was echoing his own words. He couldn’t help speculating just how close this deadly, uncompromising lord was to himself. Was he seeing a similar version of himself who had picked a different path? Or had Lord Bhima chosen those words simply by accident. “Then what do you want?”

  “Something you won’t find in all of your Federation,” Lord Bhima declared with firm conviction. “I want truth. And that is possible only within the Code of the Warrior.”

  [225] Lord Bhima waited for Mr. Spock’s answer, but it took a moment for Mr. Spock to recover from a fit of coughing. In a way he felt like a fool for trying to keep on talking when his throat was so dry; but it was urgent to try and reason with this one Angiran lord—for Mr. Spock’s sake as well as Lord Bhima’s. “Why do you think you have an exclusive hold upon the truth? Perhaps you’ll be able to expand upon what you know.”