Star Trek: TOS: Cast no Shadow

by James Swallow

  Barriers of denial walled off great swathes of Rein’s psyche, leaving only the well-trodden canyons of his mind, where baser emotions like hate and anger ran in crimson rivers.

  But even as she went deeper, Valeris sensed Rein flailing to catch on to some fragment of her persona as a way of striking back. The mind-meld was, after all, a technique of sharing, not one of pure incursion, and as much as she looked into him, he saw into her. But where Rein opened to Valeris like a book with scattered, jagged pages, to the Kriosian all the Vulcan showed were flashes, sporadic glimpses of herself.

  It was enough, though. Like knows like. In the communion of the meld, both of them uttered the words, but the mind that formed them was unclear. Rein reached out for something familiar in Valeris, and he found it, despite her attempts to hide it.

  Hate. His primitive psyche flocked to the familiar emotion, hidden in the cages of the Vulcan’s iron self-control. You hate them as much as I do. But you pretend you are so evolved, so in command. You deny the potency of your own anger. But you cannot make it go away.

  For a brief moment, they shared. Raw, fluid odium washed back and forth across the bridge between their minds, and the power of it was seductive. Valeris saw the trembling walls of refusal erected in her own thoughts and encountered a spike of panic. The horrible admission of the truth at the base of Rein’s words threatened to draw her away.

  You told me you never lied. But that’s all you’ve ever done.

  She marshaled her will and pushed away, forcing him back. His wild, flailing attack had worked, but only for a heartbeat. Now Valeris turned it against him and cut through. Dimly, she was aware of taking gasping, shuddering breaths, of heat and sweat thick on her flesh.

  The Vulcan passed through veils of memory, and flashes of Rein’s past flared brightly. She saw his life as a child, the brusque and boorish manner of a surly noble youth denied what he considered his entitlement. The first kindling of a hatred for the barbarian alien tyrants. Disgust at his kind who refused to oppose the Klingons, the commoner cattle who bent the knee no matter who ruled them. And then the raw potency of the acts of terror themselves: the first taking of a life, the planning and the execution of kill after kill, bombing after bombing. Valeris relived Rein’s callous delight at the deaths he had caused; she saw knives plunged into Klingon hearts and explosive devices detonating inside buildings.

  Another long-hidden emotion surged in her: disgust. Rein had been directly responsible for attacks that had taken the lives of his own kind—collaborators! he insisted—and Klingon civilians as well as their soldiery—all guilty! he cried, all deserving!—without remorse or sorrow.

  Rein tried once more to fight back, raking at her psyche like a wild beast. He pulled on skeins of memory and sensation that she had kept carefully ordered, dragging out her recollection of the meld with Spock and the exchange of emotion that moment had brought her. The disappointment. The confusion and misunderstanding. They had both failed, both been so wrong.

  You will fail now, said the meld-voice.

  The Kriosian’s last desperate defense finally collapsed, and she could sense her hands clasped about his face, pressing into his flesh. Rein gasped and shuddered and then his lips split in a grin.

  You want to see? I want you to see.

  Rein let the barriers fall and showed Valeris the truth. She saw the dream of his victory unfolding in his mind’s eye. A world, thick with population, rife with cities filled with Klingon souls—soldiers, civilians, countless millions of them—and all around, reaching to the sky, monuments to arrogance and warfare. Brutalist castles and temples to conflict. Gales of pennants and incarnadine flags bearing the black trefoil of the Empire. And high above, set in a darkened sky choked with acid rains and storm clouds, the shattered husk of a distant moon.

  We lay the knife here, Rein’s voice muttered, in the monster’s heart.

  Vaughn watched the strange transformation that passed over the faces of the Vulcan and the Kriosian as their minds came together in a forced, painful joining. Their lips moved in unison, half-spoken utterances mumbled at the edge of his hearing—until one word sounded clear and distinct, spoken in a chorus that made his blood run cold.

  “Qo’noS,” said Rein and Valeris.

  “The homeworld,” breathed Kaj, staggered by the import of the word. “The Thorn intend to strike at the Empire’s capital . . .” He heard the disbelief in her tone.

  “That’s not possible,” Vaughn replied. “It’s one of the most heavily defended planets in the whole quadrant; they can’t just waltz in through the security perimeter!”

  “They can,” Kaj said grimly. “The Chon’m can. These terrorists have Fek’lhr’s luck . . . It’s possible the ship could approach to near orbit before the planetary sensor grid detected any anomaly.” The major fell silent for a moment. “Billions of lives. It would be mass murder on a colossal scale!”

  “Yes.” Valeris’s voice was weak with effort.

  Vaughn turned back as the Vulcan disengaged herself from the telepathic connection. “Are you . . . all right?”

  “The experience was discomforting,” she managed. “But I am unharmed.”

  Kaj pointed her gun at Rein. “And him?” He drooped in the chair, his head hung forward, his breathing fast and ragged. He was muttering under his breath.

  “He will recover. But he has been forced to see the reality of certain truths.”

  “That’s not nearly justice enough,” growled the Klingon. “He has a price to pay.” She grabbed a surgical blade, and for a second Vaughn thought Kaj was going to do what Rein had threatened and slit the Kriosian’s throat. But instead she cut through the bonds that held him and dragged the man to his feet. “He will forfeit what he owes before the eyes of the Klingon people,” she concluded.

  Vaughn cast around the room, thinking out loud. “You’re certain of this? The target?” he asked Valeris.

  She gave a jerky nod: clearly the mind-meld had affected her more than she wanted to admit. “He could not lie to me. In the end, he did not wish to. Rein wanted me to know what he was planning.” She glanced at the Kriosian. “He is proud of what he has done. He was tired of hiding it.”

  Rein managed a weak snigger. He seemed semiconscious, almost as if he were feverish. Whatever had happened between them in the meld, Vaughn concluded, the Thorn’s leader had come off the worst.

  “Then we have a very big problem.” The lieutenant folded his arms across his chest. “Gattin has the bird-of-prey and the means to reach Qo’noS in, what? Six hours at high warp?”

  “Ten,” corrected Kaj, thinking it through. “They would have to operate under the holographic veil, most likely using the identity of a nonmilitary vessel to move without drawing any attention. At anything other than cruise speeds, they would be noticed.”

  “Of course. A fast ship would raise an alarm.” He nodded.

  Kaj frowned. “The Chon’m was built to be a deep-penetration vessel, Vaughn. With it, the Thorn will be able to reach any one of a number of targets of opportunity on or around Qo’noS—orbital shipyards, military platforms, settlements on the surface, even the First City—and they would never know it until the moment the Thorn detonate their isolytic device.” Her expression darkened. “And I gave them the means.”

  “We have to break our silence, then,” said Vaughn. “Contact Starfleet Command, let them know the situation.”

  “Given his previous behavior, General Igdar will not allow a Starfleet vessel to cross back over the border, no matter what the circumstances,” noted Valeris. “And I doubt he will be receptive to calls from the Federation on matters of imperial security.”

  “Then you contact him,” Vaughn said to Kaj. “Tell him the truth. Tell him we have evidence of a credible threat to the Klingon homeworld. Even Igdar’s not a big enough ass to ignore something like that.”

  “Perhaps,” the major admitted, “but my word would not be enough. Do not forget, we engaged his ships in open combat, killed
his men in battle. In the general’s eyes, we are all fugitives, wanted criminals little better than this vermin . . .” She gave Rein a shove. “Even if he believed me, Igdar would want to see the truth for himself, to be certain. We would lose vital time convincing him . . . if he did not simply execute us all on sight.” Kaj shook her head. “No. We are alone in this. You are cut off from your Starfleet, just as I have been isolated from Imperial Intelligence.”

  Vaughn gave a nod. “All right, then. Just so we’re all completely clear about how totally screwed we are.” He sighed. “We have to stop the Chon’m ourselves.” When none of them responded, he glanced around. “I’m open to any suggestions either of you might have.”

  “We need a ship,” Kaj replied.

  “Useful suggestions,” Vaughn corrected.

  Valeris’s gaze turned inward for a moment; then she crossed to Rein and pulled a thick bracelet from his wrist, ignoring his weakened, mumbling protests. She showed it to them: a communicator. “We have a ship,” Valeris said. “The Kaitaama’s Daughter.”

  “That cutter?” snorted Kaj. “The elderly, half-dismantled wreck in the landing bay? An escape pod would be more impressive.”

  “It’s not like we have a lot of options,” said Vaughn. “Or, come to think of it, any other options.”

  “The Thorn’s original plan was to use the Daughter to carry the third isolytic weapon to its target. The ship is equipped with a sensor countermeasures system that broadcasts a false transponder code. Any Klingon ships scanning it would read the vessel as an ore carrier of Kriosian origin under Klingon patronage.”

  Kaj considered this. “It might have worked. Krios Prime is an annexed world, so their cargo ships have some freedom of movement within Imperial space.” She glanced at Valeris. “What patronage?”

  “A shell company linked to the House of Q’unat.”

  “More blinds and subterfuge,” said the major. “But the point is moot. That cutter would never be able to race a B’rel-class scout to the homeworld, even if it could get past perimeter security!”

  “I disagree,” Valeris replied. “The Daughter’s warp engines are salvaged Klingon technology from a K-6 gunboat. There is a substantial risk, but I believe it may be possible to modify the engines to exceed their safety limits and reach higher warp velocities.”

  Kaj’s jaw set. “And you could kill us all in the attempt.”

  “As Lieutenant Vaughn said, there are no other options.”

  The infirmary fell silent as the reality of their predicament settled in. Finally, Vaughn spoke up. “So I guess we fight our way to the landing bay, get the force field back up, repressurize the bay, and then take the cutter. That’s going to be a walk in the park for just the three of us.”

  Valeris worked the miniature keypad on the surface of the comm-bracelet. “A less hazardous approach would be preferable.”

  “What are you doing with that?” Kaj asked.

  In the next second the humming glow of a transporter beam enveloped them, and the walls of the infirmary melted away.

  In the aftermath of the Chon’m’s departure and the firefight in the landing bay, the remnants of the Thorn left behind were scattered through the asteroid base. Rein did not answer his communicator, and with their leader silent and Gattin gone, the chain of command was broken. In the time it took the other men to gather themselves into some semblance of order, Valeris and the others were already making their escape.

  The Daughter had been left in hibernation mode, the ship sealed and empty of all crew; and when the power coils and running lights activated, at first no one noticed. By the time one of the Thorn soldiers called out a warning, it was too late to do anything to stop the cutter. The force field barrier was down, the landing bay still open to space. Above the debris-strewn deck, the ship’s impulse engines flashed yellow-orange as they activated, and with a shudder the Kriosian vessel strained against the repair gantries clustered around it. Ion jets spat from maneuvering thrusters, and metal groaned, the noise echoing through the hull plates.

  The dart-like ship trembled, pulling at the scaffolds like a corralled animal girding itself to break free of confinement. The thruster exhaust brightened as more power went to the jets, burning through steel grates and support stanchions, but it was not enough.

  The throbbing impulse grids grew sun-bright and pushed the Daughter forward, breaking through the gantries with sudden, violent force. Metal spars spiraled away across the landing bay, and sparking cables were torn from sockets along the curved flanks of the cutter’s fuselage. Like the loosed arrow it resembled, the Kriosian ship shot away across the open chamber, blasting hard flares of exhaust at the deck. The maneuver was risky and the vessel did not escape unscathed, trailing streamers of discharged plasma and fragments of hull metal; but it left the landing bay in disarray and powered out into the Ikalian Belt, vectoring up and away as the craft climbed rapidly toward one-quarter light velocity.

  As a parting gift, a pulse of coherent light left the Daughter’s single aft cannon and obliterated the subspace communications antenna on the surface of the asteroid, silencing Rein’s people before they could raise any alarm.

  Kaitaama’s Daughter

  Ty’Gokor Sector

  Klingon Empire

  The bridge of the cutter was a cramped, narrow affair, and by Elias Vaughn’s lights it was more a cockpit than a command center, with a ring of operator couches set below a raised saddle that had to be the equivalent of a captain’s chair. None of them had taken the seat, however. Without waiting for permission, Valeris went straight to the helm the moment they entered the compartment, and Vaughn found the panel that served as both an engineering and weapons control station. Kaj hadn’t accompanied them up from the Daughter’s tiny transporter room: the major insisted on securing their prisoner over all else.

  The Kriosian technology was comparatively easy to read, but where Starfleet hardware was largely made up of touch-panel multifunction displays, the cutter’s controls were like articulated gloves cabled to the consoles, each responding to hand motions and gestural strings. Still, a phaser cannon was a phaser cannon, and Vaughn had managed to take the shot that blasted the base’s comm array without missing the chance.

  “We will be clear of the belt in ninety seconds,” noted Valeris, her attention focused on a pull-down monitor screen hanging from a support above her head. “Sensors are operating at reduced function, but currently no other vessels are within detection range.”

  Vaughn felt the motion of the Daughter in the pit of his stomach, the sluggish gravity compensators too slow to anticipate the quick, darting movements the Vulcan applied to the control yoke. She navigated through the asteroids with consummate skill, the same proficiency she’d shown days ago on board the Excelsior.

  “You took a big chance, blasting us out of the bay on impulse engines,” he told her. He nodded at the dagger-tips at the cutter’s prow. “You could have pinned this thing to the deck like a lawn dart.”

  “I have done it before,” she said offhandedly. “What is the status of the warp core?”

  “Checking.” He worked the clicking gloves to bring up a semicircle of sensor indicators. Dots of brilliant emerald and indigo icons made an arc across his board. “Looks good,” he reported, glancing over his shoulder as the bridge hatch opened to admit Major Kaj. “We got green lights on almost everything.”

  Kaj frowned and leaned close over his shoulder, crowding him. “In Kriosian society, green is traditionally an indicator for danger.” She tapped an auxiliary keypad and the icons switched to a more familiar color scheme: suddenly Vaughn’s panel was swamped with hazard red.

  “Ah, hell.” He grimaced. “Well, at least we have impulse engines. I half expected us to find this scow gutted from the inside out.”

  Kaj moved to one of the other operations consoles. “You are not too far from the truth, Vaughn,” she said. “There are several sections now sealed off where parts of the hull frame are open to space. We’re
lucky the transporter was even connected to the power train.”

  “It seemed like the most expedient method of boarding,” Valeris explained. “We are now clear of the Ikalian Belt and entering open space. Setting course for the Klingon homeworld—”

  “Wait.” Kaj crossed to the pilot’s station. “Let me. A direct route will send us right into the teeth of the Defense Force’s patrol fleets. We’ll stand a better chance of approaching undetected if we follow the freight routes past the Gorath system.” Valeris held up her hands and let the major input the data.

  Elias studied the navigational plot as it snaked across a star map on one of the tertiary displays. “So,” he went on, “are you going to tell us what you did with Rein?”

  Kaj didn’t look up from her task. “This ship has been used for missions of piracy, so there are secured compartments on the lower decks. I found something that resembled a cell and locked him in.”

  “How can you be certain that he won’t be able to escape?” Vaughn asked. “If I had a brig on my ship, I’d make sure I knew where the skeleton key was.”

  “I considered that,” allowed the Klingon, “which is why I took a proximity detonator from the supply locker and placed it on the hatch. I made it clear that if Rein opens the door from the inside, he’ll be blown apart.”

  “Thorough as ever,” Vaughn remarked. Once again he could see what it was about Kaj that had earned her Commander Miller’s professional respect.

  “It’s what keeps me alive,” she replied. “There. Course set. You may proceed.”

  Valeris set the controls and the Daughter banked to port, accelerating across the void. “I estimate that in order to reach Qo’noS within the probable ten-hour deployment window, we will need to sustain a warp velocity of factor six-point-three.”

  “The drives from a K-6 can manage that, can’t they?” Vaughn asked.

  Kaj and Valeris both shook their heads. “Not on this spaceframe,” said the Klingon. “They’re designed for a ship half the mass of this one. If we push the engines, the warp field will collapse.”