Star Trek 11

by James Blish

  Chekov suddenly exploded into action. He charged Kang, sobbing with rage. "Swine! Filthy Klingon murderers!" Kirk made a grab for him, missed—and Kang's men beat him to the ground. But he still sought to get at Kang. "You killed my brother! Piotr!—the Arcanis Four Research Outpost . . . a hundred peaceful people massacred—just as you did here! My brother, Piotr . . ."

  Kang looked down at him. "So you volunteer to join him. That is loyalty." He gestured to one of his men. A sputtering device was pushed against Chekov's neck. He writhed with agony, doubled up. Kirk, wrenching forward, was immobilized by the Klingons. The device was readjusted—and Chekov screamed.

  "You win, Kang!" Kirk said. "Stop the torture!"

  "Jim!" McCoy cried. "You can't hand over the Enterprise!"

  "Help Chekov, Bones."

  Kang was eyeing Kirk. "Don't plan any tricks. I will kill a hundred hostages at the first sign of treachery!"

  "I'll beam you aboard the Enterprise. Once we're there—no tricks."

  "Your word?"

  Kirk nodded; and Chekov, still convulsed with pain, cried, "Captain!—we can't! . . . don't let these . . . animals . . . have the ship!"

  "Animals?" Kang said. "Your captain crawls like one. A Klingon would not have surrendered." He turned to Kirk. "Order everyone in this area to be transported up." He said something to his men, and Kirk, ringed by weapons, opened his communicator.

  "Kirk to Enterprise. Mr. Spock . . ."

  "Here, Captain."

  "We have guests," Kirk told him. "Adjust Transporter for wide-field and beam-up everyone in the target area." His finger pressed a tiny control on the communicator.

  "Yes, Captain."

  Everybody shimmered out, Kirk under the weapons, Chekov supported by McCoy, both glaring.

  In the Enterprise Transporter Room, only the landing party materialized. No Klingons stood on the platform.

  Kirk stepped off his pad. "Full Security on the double, Mr. Galloway! Good work, Spock!"

  As Galloway hit the intercom, the bewildered McCoy said, "What—happened?"

  "Landing party brought up intact," Spock told him.

  At the console, Scott spoke. "All others suspended in transit. Who are the guests, by the way, Captain?"

  "Klingons."

  Scott grinned happily, slapping the console. "They're in here—until we decide to rematerialize them."

  "Galloway?" Kirk said.

  "Security squads on the way, sir."

  Chekov's voice was thick with hate. "Captain! Leave them on the planet! Leave them where they are! In nonexistence. That's so many less Klingon monsters in the galaxy!"

  "And that's what they would do." Kirk said. As the Security detail rushed through the door, he spoke to the Transporter Chief. "Bring them in."

  The six Klingons sparkled into shape on the platform. They all stiffened, taking in the changed situation. Outnumbered by the Security men, they made no resistance as they were disarmed. The weaponless Kang looked at Kirk.

  "Liar!" He spat the word.

  "I said no tricks after we reached the ship." Kirk stepped forward, formal, terse. "You are prisoners of the United Federation of Planets against which you may or. may not have committed an act of war."

  "There are survivors still aboard my ship," Kang said.

  Kirk nodded to the Transporter chief and Scott said, "Captain, we haven't been able to get through to Starfleet Command. All subspace frequencies are blocked. And there's too much radiation from the Klingon ship—it's a hazard to the vicinity."

  "Prepare to destruct, Scotty."

  "Completing the job you started!"

  Kirk wheeled on Kang. "You wouldn't be standing there if I had."

  The surviving Klingons were shimmering into form. Of the six, several were women. One, queenly, graceful, her dark eyes gleaming under the epicanthic fold of their Mongol lids, left the platform to go at once to Kang. He took her arm. "This is Mara—my wife and my Science officer," he told Kirk.

  She ignored Kirk. "What has happened, Kang?"

  "More Federation treachery. We are prisoners."

  She was visibly terrified. The arm in Kang's hand trembled. "What will they do to us? I have heard of their atrocities . . . their death camps! They will torture us for our scientific and military information . . ."

  Kirk addressed her. "You have some things to learn about us, madam." He turned to Galloway. "Detain them in the crew lounge. Program a food-synthesizer to accommodate our . . . guests. You will be well treated, Commander Kang."

  "So I have seen," the Klingon said.

  Kirk bowed and left, followed by Spock, McCoy and the still blazing Chekov. Unseen, unheard, the floating crystal hummed over their heads as they passed into the corridor.

  "What did attack their ship, Jim?"

  Kirk didn't answer. "Mr. Spock, maintain Red Alert. Scan this sector for other ships. Run a full check on the colony. We've got to nail this down fast . . ."

  "We know what happened!" Chekov cried. "That distress call—"

  Spock, speaking to nobody in particular, said, "From their distant position, the Klingons could scarcely have attacked the colony at the time we received the call. Moreover, they were apparently attracted there themselves by a distress call."

  "Lies!" Chekov cried, "They want to start a war by pretending we attacked it!"

  Entering an elevator, Kirk glanced at his overwrought face. But McCoy was saying, "Chekov may be right. The Klingons claim to have honored the truce—but there have been incidents! . . . raids on our outposts . . ."

  "We've never proved the Klingons committed them, Bones."

  McCoy was flushed with unusual vehemence. "What proof do we need? We know what a Klingon is!"

  He stormed out of the elevator. Kirk frowned, puzzled by his belligerence; and Spock, noting his uneasiness, said, "Our Log-tapes will indicate our innocence in the present situation Captain."

  "Unfortunately, there is no guarantee they will be believed."

  At the bridge deck, Chekov stalked to his post, his back stiff and stubbornly unrelenting. Kirk eyed him again before he asked for Uhura's report.

  "Still unable to contact Starfleet Command, Captain. Outside communications blanketed."

  "Keep at it, Lieutenant. We've got a diplomatic tiger by the tail."

  He'd have liked authorization to take steps about the derelict Klingon ship. But at least he knew no lives were aboard it. He turned in his command chair. "Forward phasers locked and ready to fire, Mr. Sulu."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Fire phasers," Kirk said.

  On the screen, the crippled vessel flared into light—and vanished. So that was that. A diplomatic tiger, indeed.

  "Lieutenant Uhura?"

  "No contact with Starfleet yet, sir."

  Spock looked up from his mounded viewer. "Sensor sweeps reveal no other ships within range, Captain."

  Had the Klingons annihilated that colony after all? There was no telling. Not now. He swung to Uhura. "Keep trying, Lieutenant. Mr. Sulu, set course seventeen mark four. Warp speed three."

  "Warp three, sir."

  In the crew lounge, Security guards and the "guests" were facing each other, each group wary, watchful, suspicious. Above them, all the crystal drifted. Kang, Mara beside him, used an empty space for restless pacing. "When I take this ship," he said, "I will have Kirk's head stuffed and hung on his cabin wall."

  "They will kill us before we can act," she warned him.

  "No! They wish to question us—learn our strength, our plans. They never will."

  "We are forty," she protested. "Forty against four hundred."

  One of Kang's men stepped forward. "Four thousand throats may be cut in one night by a running man."

  "Patience," Kang said. "Vigilance. They will make their mistake. Capture of the Enterprise will give us knowledge to end this war quickly."

  The crystal's unheard throb moved out of the lounge and into the corridor. When it reached the bridge, its throbbing faded. Uhura, a
bruptly irritated, jabbed at her controls. "Still no outside contact, sir! Carriers normal. Channels open. I don't understand! Could the Klingons be doing something—?"

  The ship suddenly shuddered. Engine sound rose. Kirk whirled. "Mr. Sulu?"

  "Change of course, sir! Accelerating . . ." He struggled with switches. "Helm dead. Auxiliary navigation dead!"

  Kirk braced himself against another shudder. "Override."

  Sulu turned. "Nothing responds, Captain!"

  "New course?"

  "Nine-oh-two mark five . . ."

  It would head the Enterprise out of the galaxy. Kirk hit a button. "Scotty—stop engines!"

  The engine sound grew to a whining roar. On the intercom, Scott's voice was high with alarm. ". . . would if I could, sir! My controls have gone crazy! Something's—taken over . . ."

  The bridge trembled under the rising roar. Scott shouted, "The engines, Captain! They've gone to warp nine—by themselves!"

  Uhura's board was a dazzle of wildly flickering lights. Earphones fixed, she cried, "Captain! Reports from the lower decks! Emergency bulkheads closed! Almost four hundred crewmen trapped down there!"

  Furious, Kirk exploded from his seat, racing for the elevator. The crystal followed him into the crew lounge. Kang was pleased with his information. "The bulk of your crew trapped? Your ship racing from the galaxy at wild speeds? Delightful! But how did I perform this sabotage, Kirk? My men are here."

  Frigid with rage, Kirk spoke to Galloway. "Double security. Some Klingons may have beamed aboard, undetected. Mr. Spock, get down to Engineering. Help Scott hammer things back to normal and release those crewmen!"

  He eyed Kang. "Before I throw you in the brig, I owe you something!" He landed a clenched fist on Kang's jaw. The Klingon stumbled back into a console, his hand falling on a lever. It came loose, grew red—and changed into a sword. Kang, amazed, stared at it in unbelief. Then he hefted it. At the same moment, all the lounge's objects—ashtrays, vases, lamps, magazines, game equipment—went into glow, transforming into swords, shields, javelins, battle-axes. The Klingons rushed for the weapons.

  Kirk's people reached for their phasers. But the phasers, too, went into glow. Then they turned into swords and maces.

  Kang took a swordsman's stance. "You killed four hundred of my men, Captain Kirk. It is time that that debt be repaid . . ."

  Kirk looked at the sword that had been a console lever. Molecular revolution. But explanation did nothing to solve the deadly mystery. His own phaser was a sword.

  The Klingons attacked—and the fight was on. Out-numbered, the Security guards were forced to retreat. Kirk fenced expertly, and was deflecting a slash by Kang when he saw that Galloway was wounded. He battled his way to the lieutenant, got an arm around him and shoved him into an elevator. The doors whooshed shut in the faces of Kang and his men. They rang with the sound of beating, frustrated swords.

  Kirk beeped Engineering on his intercom. "The Klingons are free, Scotty. And armed. They'll try to take the ship. How many men do we have?"

  "I don't know, sir, but three hundred and ninety-two are trapped below decks."

  "Deploy forces to protect your section and Auxiliary Control Center. Check the Armory—and try to free those trapped men."

  "Doors and bulkheads won't budge, sir. We'll have to cut through—"

  "Blow out bulkheads if you have to—we need numbers! Any luck regaining control of speed?"

  "No, sir. She's a projectile—at warp nine. Don't ask me what's holding her together."

  "Five-minute reports. Kirk out."

  He went to Spock's station. "Full sensor scans of the ship, Mr. Spock. Report any movements on the part of the Klingons. The Klingon Empire has maintained a dueling tradition. They think they can beat us with swords!"

  Spock coolly examined the sword that had once been his phaser. "Neither the Klingon technology nor ours is capable of this, Captain. Instantaneous transmutation of matter. I doubt that they are responsible . . ."

  "Other logical candidates?" Kirk demanded impatiently.

  "None, Captain. But if they had such power, wouldn't they have created more effective weapons—and only for themselves?"

  Kirk turned away. "Get below, Mr. Sulu. Take command of forces protecting Engineering and Auxiliary Control."

  Sulu rose and Chekov rose with him.

  "As you were, Mr. Chekov," Kirk said.

  "No, sir! Let me go, too! I've got a personal score to settle with Klingons!"

  "Maintain your post. This is no time for vendettas."

  "Captain, I . . ."

  "Sit down, Mister."

  Chekov made a break for the elevator. As he reached it, Kirk grabbed his shoulder. Chekov wrenched away; and Spock, at Kirk's side, reached out an arm. Ducking under it, Chekov drew his sword. As he lifted it, Kirk and Spock paused, unwilling to risk a tangle that might hurt him.

  "Don't try to stop me, Captain! I saw what they left of Piotr! I swore on his grave I would avenge his murder . . ." He backed into the elevator and its doors closed.

  Sulu was staring. "What's Chekov's grudge against the Klingons? Who's—Piotr?"

  "His brother," Kirk said. "Killed in a Klingon raid."

  "His brother?" Sulu echoed blankly. "Chekov never had a brother! He's an only child."

  It was Kirk's turn to stare. After a long moment, he said, "You are mistaken."

  "I'm not, sir!" Sulu was very earnest. "I know he's an only child. It's why he requests his shore leaves on Earth—a good only son of his parents should visit them!"

  "On your way to Engineering, Mr. Sulu."

  Sulu left—and a newly troubled Kirk hit his intercom. "Captain Kirk to Security. Find Mr. Chekov and return him to the bridge."

  Uhura swung around. "Captain—what could have made Chekov believe he had a brother?"

  "I don't know, Lieutenant. But he does believe it—and now he wants revenge for a nonexistent loss."

  On the Enterprise bridge, mystery was compounding itself, but in its crew lounge, clarification was in order.

  A Klingon had projected the Starship's plan and arrangements on the viewer. "Layout and specifications of the ship, Commander Kang."

  "Enemy numbers are the same as ours," Mara said. "We have a fighting balance."

  "Then we will take this ship!" Kang spoke with a ferocious determination.

  "A vessel that is racing toward the edge of the galaxy is weakening," his man said. "If the humans can't control it . . ."

  Kang jabbed at the diagrams on the viewer. "These points we must capture! First, their Engineering section . . ."

  McCoy was working feverishly to complete his treatment of Galloway's wound. As he worked, he could hear the moans of other slashed men waiting their turn at the table.

  "Those—filthy butchers!" he muttered. "There are rules—even in war . . . you don't keep on hacking at a man after he's down!" He felt sick with impotent rage. He looked at an orderly who was wiping blood from a shoulder gash. "Where's that Numanol capsule?"

  Haggard and worn by Sickbay's harrowing activity, the orderly turned, only to be confronted by wheeled stretchers bearing two more injured men. McCoy went to them. A glance told him their wounds were serious. As he bent over one of them, he spoke to the orderly. "I'm convinced now the only good Klingon is a dead one," he said.

  Scott was inclined to agree with him. All attempts to release the cut-off crewmen had failed. Phaser beams couldn't cut through the bulkheads. Their metal's structure had changed. He hit an intercom button to make his report

  "What about the Armory?" Kirk said.

  "I'm there now, Captain. You never saw such a collection of antiques in your life . . ."

  The Armory had turned into a medieval weapons' Wonderland. Crossbows, hatchets, knives, broadswords . . .

  "Get back to Engineering," Kirk said. "Keep trying to reestablish engine control. And make some phasers—fast."

  "Aye, sir."

  He was about to leave when he spotted a sharply two-edge
d weapon in the rack. He removed it, fondling it. "A claymore!" Exchanging it for the sword at his waist, he murmured, "Ah, you're a beauty, aren't you?"

  As he strutted out of the Armory, reinforced by Scotland's history of claymore triumphs, Spock was computing the opposing forces at an exact thirty-eight. He lifted his head from his computer. "The Klingons occupy Deck Six and starboard Deck Seven, Captain. We control all sections above." He bent to his viewer again, becoming suddenly intent. "Most curious," he said.

  "What?" Kirk said.

  "There appear to be more energy units aboard than can be accounted for by the presence of the Enterprise crew plus the Klingons. A considerable discrepancy."

  "Could some more of Kang's crew have beamed aboard?"

  "Their ship was thoroughly vacated, Captain." He flipped a switch. "I shall compensate for the human and Klingon readings."

  The crystal had found Engineering. It hovered high in the air, as unseen as it was unheard.

  Scotty, descending a ladder, stepped down into the lower level of his section. "Any signs of those treacherous devils, Mr. Sulu?"

  "All clear, Mr. Scott."

  Klingons, moving into the upper level, leaped down to the attack. The surprised humans fell back. But Scott was inspired by his claymore's tradition. He felled a Klingon with its haft; and then realizing that his species was hopelessly outnumbered, darted through a door into the corridor. Sulu joined him, downing the two Klingons who followed him.

  Scott was breathless. "I don't know how many of these creatures are around. We'll split up here. Maybe . . . one of us . . . can make it back to the bridge."

  Inside Engineering, the rest of the crew were being shoved against a wall. As they were disarmed, a jubilant Kang strode in, Mara at his side.

  It was hard going, trying to get back to the bridge. Klingons seemed to be everywhere. The canny Scott finally reconciled national glory with common sense. He hid in a lavatory. So he was in no position to see Spock zero in on an unusual but steady beeping.

  "An alien life force, Captain. A single entity. I am unable to ascertain its location." He flicked a switch. "Readings diverted to the library computer for analysis . . ."

  Kirk, beside him, said, "We have to make contact . . . find out what it wants!"