Assassination Game

by Alan Gratz

  “I think that may qualify as more of a game than a piece of furniture,” Leslie said.

  “Yeah. Just to be safe then, I’ll be a lamp instead.”

  Leslie chuckled, and they settled in for what promised to be a long haul. At least Leslie wasn’t in the Assassination Game, so Kirk didn’t have to worry about him sticking a spork in him while no one was watching. With nothing better to do, Kirk put a hand in his pants pocket and fingered the two Academy badges there: Bones’s and the one he’d taken off of Bones when he “killed” him. It belonged to the big Orion, Ard Jarikar. That was going to be a challenge. Then again, Orions were known for their arrogance, and Ard Jarikar was no exception. He probably wouldn’t be as careful as some of the other players. And it wasn’t like Kirk was going to actually have to fight him. Maybe he could catch him on the way back to the dorm after a Parrises Square match, when Ard Jarikar was tired and distracted….

  The door opened, and Kirk and Leslie snapped to attention. It proved to be just a Starfleet science team entering the room, but they wheeled in a desk-sized computer console with them, which was promising. What was even more promising was the arrival of one of Kirk’s favorite cadets.

  “Uhura! Hey.”

  Cadet Uhura, looking amazing and meticulously put together as usual, didn’t bother looking up from her PADD.

  “Come on, Uhura,” Kirk said. “I know you’re busy, but you can at least say hello.”

  Uhura continued to ignore Kirk, like she couldn’t hear him, which he knew was impossible. As the Academy’s foremost xenolinguistics student, she had the best ears on campus. And those ears were connected to a face that wasn’t too bad to look at, in Kirk’s opinion.

  “I can’t even get a ‘Hey, Jim’?” he pleaded.

  One of the noncadet scientists with Uhura, an Andorian man, glanced back and forth between Kirk and Uhura, clearly wondering why the cadet wasn’t responding, but afraid to ask.

  “All right,” Kirk said. “If you don’t talk to me, I’m just going to tell embarrassing stories about you in front of all your scientist friends. Like that one time at that bar called the Delta Quadrant when you drank six—”

  Uhura was in his face in seconds. “I’m working, Kirk,” she whispered. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  Kirk smiled. “I’m working too,” he told her.

  “Doing what?”

  “I’m being a lamp.”

  The conference room door opened again, and this time three Varkolak came in, surrounded by Starfleet Security officers. Kirk and Uhura turned and stared. It was the first time Kirk had seen Varkolak up close, and they were just as ugly as promised. And as malodorous. Kirk could smell them from across the room—a musty, animal smell like … well, like dogs, which is what they most resembled. Or perhaps, with their long snouts, pointed ears, long and bushy tails, and sharp teeth, they were best described as bipedal wolves. Werewolves, Kirk thought with an inward shudder.

  The important one of the three, the one who stopped when he entered the room and licked his jagged teeth like a hungry sehlat, was tall and broad-shouldered. Most of his fur was a blend of black, brown, gray, and white, but unlike the others, he had a patch of white fur, like a collar around his neck. He sniffed the air as he came in, and his animal-like eyes swept the room.

  What big eyes you have, Grandmother, Kirk thought.

  Those wolf eyes found Kirk and Uhura staring at him, and Uhura hurried back to her place with the rest of the scientists while Kirk came to attention again.

  “Dr. Lartal,” said one of the Federation scientists, “thank you for joining us. Won’t you sit down?”

  The Varkolak snarled at the greeting for some reason, and Kirk could already tell he was going to dislike this man. Lartal sat with an arrogant casualness while the other two Varkolak stood behind him.

  “We know you’re here for the medical conference,” the scientist said, “but those of us in the linguistics department couldn’t resist the opportunity to enhance the Varkolak database in our universal translator.” She nodded to the console they had wheeled in, operated by the Andorian scientist. “Varkolak has proven particularly difficult for our linguistics algorithms.”

  “Of course,” Lartal told her. His voice was a low growl. “Varkolak is an incredibly complex language using a combination of words, smells, and body movements. Many adult Varkolak have only a rudimentary knowledge of it themselves. The idea that some bRuah grrRok could learn it is ludicrous.” As he spoke the Varkolak words, he rolled his head and squirmed in his seat.

  “Oh, this is good, this is good,” the scientist said, motioning to the Andorian. “Make sure you have it running.” She turned back to Lartal. “Could you count to twenty for us?”

  Lartal growled, then lazily recited, “Raat, ri, hiRu, gau, bRost, zei, zapzi, gRol, uRezni, rezni, rezni Raat, rezni ri, rezni hiRu—Bah! This is a waste of time.”

  “Oh, no, no!” the scientist told him. “Perhaps if you could give us some common Varkolak phrases.”

  “Gizon bRat nabaRmentza guten aRte haize Bere harrRapariak harrRapari bihuRtza da,” Lartal said, moving in his chair. The other two Varkolak chuckled.

  “‘Wind above … with a man who stands out from its prey … becomes predator’?” the Andorian read off the computer screen.

  “No, no, no,” Lartal growled. “‘The man who stands upwind from his prey becomes the prey.’ You see? This is pointless.”

  “If you would just bear with us a little longer,” the lead scientist said. “Just say anything that comes to mind.”

  Lartal scowled at her. “ZuRe sugurrR hezea ga,” he said. “‘Your nose is wet.’” The two Varkolak goons behind him laughed again, but the scientist didn’t seem to mind. She was more interested in the words. Leslie was looking angry, though, and Kirk shook his head at him to remind him they weren’t supposed to get involved.

  “ZuRe ama katu gat izan zan, aR zuRe aita baRa txarrRak ArdoaRen usaina!” Lartal said, and his companions roared with laughter again.

  “‘Your mother, she was a kitten, and your father, he smelled of berry wine?’” the Andorian read off the screen to more howls from the Varkolak. Lartal banged a paw on the table, tears in his eyes.

  Across the room, Leslie balled his fists and took a step away from the wall.

  “Don’t do it, Leslie,” Kirk called. “They’re not worth it.”

  Lartal looked up at Kirk, then behind him at Leslie, who was standing his ground. Lartal’s eyes got wider, if that was possible, and he smiled a great fanged smile.

  “ZakuR ona!” he said, rising from his seat. “So perhaps not all of you are simpering kumea. Are there men of teeth among you, then?” He stepped up close to Leslie. “Or are they all like your admiral Barnett? Soft and shapeless, like a Regulan blood worm?”

  Leslie rocked forward, and Kirk could tell he was itching to fight. “Take it easy, Leslie,” Kirk told him. “Everyone’s entitled to an opinion.”

  “That’s right,” Lartal said, still face-to-face with Leslie. “And if I think that Barnett is a Denebian slime devil, well, that’s my opinion too, isn’t it?”

  Leslie swelled up, trying to match the Varkolak’s size, and the Starfleet Security officers in the room put their hands to their phasers. The two Varkolak with Lartal did too.

  “Don’t do it, Leslie,” Kirk called. “We have our orders.” Leslie had his back with the chief, and Kirk was ready to return the favor, but he wasn’t anxious to do it going toe-to-toe with some of the galaxy’s most notorious fighters. “Just forget it. It’s not worth fighting for. We’re big enough to take a few insults.”

  Leslie nodded and relaxed, focusing his eyes at the wall across the room again.

  “Bah! Are there no men here whose blood boils with the spirit of the hunt? The call of the wild?” Lartal asked.

  “Not today, Lartal,” Kirk said, more for Leslie’s benefit than the Varkolak’s. The Varkolak came around to him and stood so close that Kirk could smell what he’d had
for lunch—and still see some of it in his teeth.

  “And has nobody ever told you, Cadet, that prey never chooses its day to die?”

  “Who says I’m going to roll over and play dead?” Kirk said.

  Another ugly smile opened like a gash on the Varkolak’s face.

  “And how, Dr., would you translate ‘Bat histari ona ga hobia hamar in gaina ga’?” the lead scientist asked, oblivious to the challenge on Kirk’s and Lartal’s faces.

  The Varkolak closed his eyes in exasperation.

  “Bat ehiztarrRi ona ga hobea hamaR engaina ga,” he said, barking the syllables. “You cannot speak Varkolak because you do not speak with gRina … momarrRa. What is the word?”

  “Wildness,” Uhura said. “Ferocity.”

  “Yes,” Lartal said.

  “Hortza aR atzaparrR ziren Varkolak graio zan,” Uhura said, in what Kirk thought was a perfect imitation of the Varkolak growling and squirming. Lartal must have thought so too, for his eyes lit up. Even Lartal’s bodyguards looked impressed.

  “‘From tooth and claw were the Varkolak born,’” Uhura translated for the rest of them.

  “Yes,” Lartal said. He strode over to Uhura, leering at her. “Now here is an Earth woman worthy of a Varkolak warrior. A bit less … ample than a Varkolak woman, perhaps. Hairless and thin, like a shaven katu, but that would just make her easier to mount.”

  The other Varkolak laughed, and Uhura flushed and stared at her PADD.

  Kirk cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d like to rephrase that, Dr.? I think something might have been lost in the translation.”

  Lartal grinned again and crossed to Kirk. “You’re right. I should. I didn’t mean to say she would be easy to mount. What I meant to say was, I would take this Earth woman into my bed and make her my bitch.”

  “That’s what I thought you meant,” Kirk said, and he reared back and slugged the Varkolak.

  CH.03.30

  The Invitation

  “I want to know who started it.”

  Admiral Barnett stared down the line of Starfleet Security officers and cadets, all of whom were battered and bruised—including Uhura, who had jumped into the fray as soon as the conference room turned into a bar fight. Kirk had seen her deliver a kick to Lartal that was going to leave him limping for a week.

  “I’m waiting,” Barnett said, but no one spoke up.

  The admiral stopped in front of one of the Starfleet Security officers. “Lieutenant Freeman, who started the fight?”

  Kirk knew what was coming. The officers would sell him out, blame it on the cadets.

  “I don’t know, sir,” the lieutenant said.

  Kirk breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Lartal was right after all. Maybe there were men of “teeth” in Starfleet. Or at least men ready to defend a woman’s honor.

  Barnett gave Freeman a look that told him just how much he believed him, and moved on.

  “Cadet Uhura,” he said. “You’re one of the Academy’s finest students. I can’t believe you would let yourself get dragged into this. Tell me who started it.”

  Uhura stood rigid. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “‘I don’t know, sir,’” Barnett repeated. “I want to know who threw the first punch, people.” No one spoke up. His eyes shifted to Kirk and lingered there for a moment, and Kirk was afraid the admiral was going to ask him point-blank if he’d thrown the first punch. Would he be able to lie to him?

  “All right,” Barnett said at last. “Officers will receive an official reprimand and cadets will be restricted to their dormitories when not in class until I find out who started it. Dismissed.”

  The cadets and officers turned and hurried out of Barnett’s office, but the admiral held back Kirk.

  “Not you, Kirk.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw Uhura turn and give him a look that was a cross between frustration and sympathy before the door to Barnett’s office slid closed.

  The admiral left Kirk standing where he was and picked up a PADD from his desk.

  “James Tiberius Kirk,” Admiral Barnett read. “Disciplinary record.”

  Kirk’s heart sank.

  “I see here, Mr. Kirk, that you have been involved in no less than nine fights in your short time at the Academy.”

  “That’s nine including … this one … sir,” Kirk said, trailing off as Barnett’s face told him that he was not helping his cause. The admiral laid the PADD on his desk and folded his arms.

  “Mr. Kirk, I absolutely refuse to believe you were just in the right room at the wrong time. Are you really going to let all those good men and women take a phaser for you on this one?”

  Kirk looked at his boots. Admitting what he’d done might be his proverbial last straw at the Academy and see him sent packing, and the others had made it clear they were willing to take an official reprimand to protect him. But keeping quiet wasn’t right, and he knew it.

  “No, sir.”

  “Who threw the first punch?”

  “I did, Admiral.”

  “Cadet Kirk, what in the name of Zefram Cochrane possessed you to start a fistfight with a group of Varkolak doctors in the middle of one of the most difficult and tenuous periods in the history of Varkolak–Federation relations?”

  “About that, sir. I don’t think Lartal is really a doctor. He just—”

  “Cadet Kirk! I asked you a question.”

  “He insulted us, sir.”

  “It must have been some insult!”

  “It was, sir. Cadet Leslie wanted to have a go at him, but I told him not to.”

  “You … told Leslie not to start a fight. And why did Mr. Leslie want to start a fight with the Varkolak?”

  “Is this off the record, sir?”

  “No, it’s not off the record!”

  Kirk swallowed. “Because … the Varkolak called you soft and shapeless … like a Regulan blood worm.”

  “Ah,” Admiral Barnett said. Clearly he hadn’t expected the insults to be about him. “Is that all?”

  “No, sir. They also compared you to a Denebian slime devil.”

  “I get the picture,” the admiral said, cutting him off. “So after they said all this, that’s when you hit the Varkolak?”

  “Oh no, sir.”

  Admiral Barnett blanched. “No?”

  “No, sir. The chief, he told us not to make trouble, and I didn’t see that it was worth fighting about. After all, we’re big enough to take a few insults, aren’t we?”

  Admiral Barnett cleared his throat. “And what exactly was it they said that started the fight, then?”

  “Lartal made some indecent remarks to Cadet Uhura.”

  “Cadet … Uhura,” the admiral said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You started a fight with the Federation’s most notorious enemies because they insulted Cadet Uhura, not because they—”

  “I couldn’t just let them insult a woman like that, Admiral!”

  The admiral sighed. “No. Of course not.” Barnett went behind his desk to sit down, and Kirk waited for the other shoe to drop. Whatever comes, comes, he thought. I can always get a job as a freighter captain. Or a bouncer.

  “That little stunt of yours has had repercussions, Mr. Kirk. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t think you do. For the duration of the Varkolak’s stay, Mr. Kirk, you are hereby assigned to be the personal liaison for Dr. Lartal when you’re not in class or otherwise engaged in required Academy activities.”

  “I—What?” Kirk stammered, hastily adding a “sir.”

  “It seems you’ve won an admirer,” Admiral Barnett told him. “Dr. Lartal came to me and asked for you specifically. He also asked that you not be disciplined for your behavior. He told me two weeks in space is too long for a Varkolak to go without a good fight, and you were … just what the doctor ordered.”

  Kirk couldn’t believe his good luck, and he smiled.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea here
, Cadet,” the admiral told him. “This is a highly charged situation. Do I need to remind you of the lives the Federation lost to the Varkolak at the battle of Vega V? The slightest misstep while these Varkolak are here could touch off a war between the Varkolak Assembly and the Federation, and no one wants that. Which means I had better not find out there’s been a fight number ten, Mr. Kirk. Dismissed.”

  Uhura read the strange message on her PADD again: CADET NYOTA UHURA, PLEASE COME ALONE TO ROOM 1033, SHRAN HALL, TONIGHT AT 2300 HOURS. The invitation was signed only with a tiny logo of an atom. She checked the time and the number on the door again and then stepped inside. It was dark in the classroom, and the lights didn’t come on automatically as they were supposed to when she walked in. Uhura stayed close to the door, so it would remain open while she found the manual light switch on the wall, but a voice in the darkness made her jump.

  “It’s all right, Cadet Uhura. We prefer the lights stay off.” In the darkness, first one, then another, and then a host of flashlights clicked on, illuminating an empty area in the middle of the room. Uhura stepped toward the light, and the door slid shut behind her.

  “Who are you? What is this?” Uhura asked.

  “We are the Graviton Society,” the same male voice told her. He swept his flashlight beam up at his face, but everything above his mouth was shrouded by the cowl of a dark cloak. The others did the same, and Uhura saw she was in a room full of cloaked people.

  The Graviton Society. Uhura had heard whispers about it since she was a first-year cadet. Everybody talked about it, but no one knew exactly what it was—or if it really existed.

  “What is this, some kind of secret club?” she asked.

  “We certainly do wish to remain … out of sensor range,” the voice said. The pitch, the tone, the modulation—she could almost place whose voice it was….

  “You’re trying to figure out who I am from the sound of my voice,” the speaker said. “And no, I’m not a telepath. We were told you would do that. I’m using a voice modulator to disguise who I am.”