by Diane Duane
“I understand, Admiral. Did your office come up with any information on that smuggler’s destination?” the captain asked.
“We’ve got a copy ofBobino’ s official flight plan, Captain. They were scheduled to take a load of gourmet foodstuffs to Alpha Centauri A…but they’re overdue. Way overdue.”
“Any idea where they went instead?”
Burton nodded grimly. “They picked up a cargo of high-grade dilithium ore in Sector 51.34 two days ago.”
Sector 51.34 was only a parsec or so from the Klingon Neutral Zone. Kirk nodded, unsurprised.
“Captain, this clinches it. I want you to get to the bottom of this…and soon.”
“I will, sir,” Kirk replied.
“Mr. President,” Sarek said, to the image on his comm link. “Greetings.” Gravely, he saluted the chief executive.
“Ambassador Sarek,” Ra-ghoratrei said. “Allow me to offer my most sincere condolences on your bereavement. I very much…regret…having called you to duty at such a time.”
“I discussed my mission to Kidta before leaving, Mr. President,” Sarek said, uncomfortable at having to speak of this now. “My wife understood its importance. But I did not call you to discuss Kidta, Mr. President.”
“What is it, Ambassador?”
“Sir…I believe that I have discovered a threat to Federation security. I have discovered evidence—evidence that I will soon be able to share with you—that the Keep Earth Human League may be funded and supported by off-world interests.”
Ra-ghoratrei’s pale eyes widened. “What? The KEHL? But they are…” He hesitated. “They are more than they seem, apparently…. ”
“Yes, Mr. President. I suggest that you authorize a full-scale investigation into the group. I believe that such an investigation may turn up surprising information.”
“Can you be more specific, Ambassador?”
“No, Mr. President,” he said, “I cannot, at this time. But I will be contacting you within a few days with, I hope, conclusive proof. In the meantime, I ask that you authorize a full investigation—although I do not believe that it should be a public inquiry. I will explain my reasoning later.”
“Ambassador,” Ra-ghoratrei said thoughtfully, “your service to the Federation is legendary. I will do as you ask…but I do insist upon the explanation you promised.”
“You will receive one, Mr. President. Two days—three at the most—should prove sufficient.”
“Very well,” the president said. “Until we speak again, then, Ambassador Sarek.”
“Live long and prosper, Mr. President.” Sarek raised his hand in salute.
After cutting the connection, the Vulcan sat for several minutes composing a detailed message to Ra-ghoratrei, with additional copies to the head of Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton, and the chairman of the Security Council, Thoris of Andor. The message gave a complete summary of his suspicions and findings, plus the data he had collected so far.
Then the Vulcan placed each message under a time lock. If theEnterprise did not return from this mission, Ra-ghoratrei would receive the message in five days, with the others receiving theirs in six.
When he finally got off duty that evening, Kirk was weary to the bone. They were now en route for the Klingon Neutral Zone. A few hours ago, he’d received official orders from Starfleet affirming Vice-Admiral Burton’s verbal orders. He was to attempt to locate and rescue Peter Kirk; then he was directed to place himself and his vessel at the disposal of Ambassador Sarek, who was currently on a special fact-finding mission for the Federation president.
Unsealing his maroon uniform jacket, Kirk slumped into a chair. The captain had a hunch that the entire mess was only beginning—that it was only going to get worse before it got better.Assuming it doesget better, which is a big assumption, he reminded himself.
And besides,he thought,you’ve got it easy, compared to Peter. What might the Klingons be doing to the young man, while he sat here, safe aboard his orbiting fortress? Thoughts of Klingon torture, mind-sifters and beatings, raced through his mind, and the captain shuddered.
At least Qo’noS isn’t Rura Penthe,he thought, trying to find comfort in the fact—but he was tormented by images of Peter being brutalized by Klingons like Old One-Eye. Klingon jailers weren’t noted for their kindness and compassion, to put it mildly.
He and Peter had grown close, over the years; Kirk knew his nephew better than the cadet suspected. He was aware of Peter’s feeling that he had to live up to his illustrious uncle’s example, and regretted inadvertently placing his nephew under that kind of pressure. But Peter was a Kirk, and he was bound to pressure himself to achieve, no matter what anyone said to him.
An image of the young man’s features drifted before his eyes, and Kirk shook his head wearily. Would he ever see him again…alive? Where was Peter? Was he even now being tortured?
With a muffled groan, Jim Kirk leaned his head in his hands.Hang on, Peter, he thought.Just hang on a little longer….
Seven
Savel stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her thick, shining hair. Today she was wearing a long blue dress instead of her usual silvery padded tunic and snug trousers, and she felt more feminine than she had in a long time.
For a moment, she indulged herself by imagining what Soran might think if he could see her in this garb. He had been so courteous, so quietly attentive…it had been very flattering. Savel knew that most Vulcans were bonded by the time they were adults…was Ambassador Sarek’s young aide betrothed?
Surely not; if he’d been promised to another, he wouldn’t have stared at her quite so intensely. His eyes had been very dark, very earnest….
Savel suddenly wondered what would happen to Soran if her adopted uncle’s most cherished dream was realized, and war erupted between the Federation and the Klingons—followed swiftly by a full-scale Romulan invasion. Everyone knew that Vulcans were pacifists…but that word was not at all synonymous with “cowards.” If pushed to defend their homeworld, Savel was quite sure that the Vulcans would fight, and fight well.
And what if Soran was hurt…even killed?
Savel’s throat tightened, and she told herself she was being ridiculous. She’d only met the young Vulcan for a few hours; thinking about him now was senseless…illogical!
She stared at her reflection, wondering where Soran was, what he was doing at the moment. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever find someone on Freelan that she found as attractive? The odds against that happening were great—and not simply because she was so drawn to Soran. The young Vulcans residing on Freelan were technically free to intermarry with the Romulans…but few did.
To put it bluntly, the majority of the transplanted Vulcans on Freelan were regarded with suspicion and disapproval…though there were exceptions. Savel knew of several Vulcans-by-blood who had risen to high-ranking positions in the Romulan military—some had intermarried. One or two had even received vital political appointments.
But generally the transplanted Vulcans tended to seek each other’s society, rather than looking to the Romulans for mates or companionship. Was this because they had all grown up with the knowledge that they were a captive people? Or did their telepathic abilities set them apart?
Some Romulans were willing to accept and welcome the new additions into their society…but many more were like Taryn’s wife Jolana. Why? Was Jolana cold and withdrawn because she suspected Savel’s loyalty? Since many Vulcans-by-blood served in the military, and served well, that attitude was illogical. Or was their distrust and aversion due to jealousy or fear of the Vulcan telepathic abilities? There was no way to be sure without a deep mind-meld, and Savel had no desire for such intimacy with her adopted “aunt”…so she would never know.
With a sigh, she smoothed down the skirt of the blue dress, and headed for the door of her room. Tonight she and Taryn would be leaving aboard his ship. The commander would take command of the invasionary force that was being assembled and supplied n
ear Remus. Savel held no military rank, but her telepathic skills made her invaluable in espionage efforts.
As she stepped through the door, Savel thought for a moment more about Soran, but she forced the image of the handsome young aide’s face from her mind. She would never see him again…thinking about him was illogical.
Squaring her slender shoulders, head high, Savel resolutely went to find her uncle, so they could plan what their strategy would be during the upcoming war.
Peter Kirk paced restlessly, turning again and again to stare through the observation port at the front of his cell. It had been three days since Valdyr had fled from him. Three days.
He was still fed regularly, his meals brought now by different Klingon guards, but she had not returned. The guards had come and gone as quickly as possible, sparing him barely a glance.
The cadet discovered that, for the first time since this whole thing had started, he was afraid—gut-wrenchingly, genuinely afraid—but not for himself.
Could Kamarag have observed Valdyr’s behavior toward her prisoner and considered it disloyal or treacherous? Could she have been punished for their conversations, for…touching him? He ran his thumb over the healing wounds on his palms, as if trying to reassure himself that that passionate handclasp had actually happened, that he hadn’t imagined the entire thing. No, it had happened. He glanced at his hand. Oh yes, it had happened.
But where was Valdyr? What if she never returned?
At the thought of never seeing the young Klingon woman again, Peter swallowed painfully.Valdyr…
Peter opened his fist and stared down at the marks of her nails. What had happened between them?
Or, at least…what had happened tohim? He scowled, fighting the reality, struggling against the truth…. Peter groaned inwardly and struck the wall of his cell with his fist so hard that he winced from the pain. But even that couldn’t distract him. The truth was still there, immutable, unmistakable….
How long was he going to go on lying to himself?
All right, dammit!Peter finally admitted.I love her. I’m a fool!
It was inconceivable that he should love her—a Klingon! When had it happened? How could it have happened? Were Klingons and humans even biologically compatible? Who even knew? And yet…trying to deny how he felt would be like denying that he had two hands, or two eyes…or one heart.
Very little was known about the complexities of Klingon society, though there was plenty of speculation. Some of the things he’d heard about the sexual capacity of Klingon women would’ve made an Orion slaver blush. It was probably nothing but sleazy speculation, he knew—the same kinds of things had been said about other groups at other times. Peter had paid such gossip little mind…until now. But now thinking of those things brought images to his mind…images….
Did Klingons love like humans? Were they even capable of similar emotions? More importantly, was there any hope at all that Valdyr might ever have the same feelings for him, or would she just find the whole thing one more dishonorable complication in a situation that was causing her considerable soul-searching and anguish?
There had been women in Peter’s life, and some of them he’d loved—or, at least, he’d thought so at the time. Yet the most intimate moments with them had not moved him the way that touching Valdyr’s hand had. Peter tried telling himself this was just a greater manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome, but neither his emotions nor his hormones were listening.
Love? Yeah, let’s get really kinky, here, Peter. You’ll probably never see her again until they haul you out to that platform, where she’ll be waiting to perform thebe’joy’on you, with Uncle Jim as a witness. You’ll really enjoythat,won’t you? You’ll lovethat, right?
Suppose…suppose…she’d refused to perform thebe’joy’. Maybe that was why she hadn’t returned. Suppose one of the guards who’d been delivering his meals got the job because she’d refused and her uncle was furious. What if he died without ever seeing her again, at the hands of a stranger?
The cadet sank onto his bunk, cradling his head in his hands, feeling despair ready to overwhelm him.
Something made him glance back at the observation portal, and suddenly, as if his desire had conjured her up, Valdyr stood there, staring at him expressionlessly. She said nothing, standing at attention like the good Klingon warrior she yearned to be.
Slowly, he got up and walked toward the portal, trying to frame words. Valdyr’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly wary. Something was wrong….
She wasn’t alone. Without warning, Kamarag stepped into view. With him was another soldier, one Peter dimly remembered seeing before. Hadn’t this guy been one of the goons who had come to get him out of his cell aboard the transport vessel?
Valdyr no longer met his eyes. Was it time for thebe’joy’? Peter swallowed, but stood tall, head high. He would not shame himself….
“Ah, the young Kirk,” the ambassador murmured approvingly, addressing Valdyr in Klingonese. “He looks fine, niece. Strong. Healthy. You have done well.” Kamarag eyed Peter through the portal as if sizing up a side of beef. “Cadet Kirk!” he said in English. “Do you know what day it is?”
“No, Ambassador,” Peter replied, in the same tongue, “I do not.”
“It is the day I will have my revenge!” Kamarag informed him. For a Klingon, his demeanor was positively jovial. “Even now your uncle speeds to our rendezvous, where I will take him prisoner. As soon as I have him, Karg here will bring you and Valdyr to join us.” He indicated the other male. Peter stared at the warrior. So this was Karg…no wonder Valdyr hated him.
“Aboard my flagship,HoHwi’, we shall all enjoy an old Klingon ritual. Tell me…do you find my niece attractive, young Kirk?”
Peter refused to show fear. “Any male would,” he said, honestly.
“Good, good! I like your spirit…it will add immeasurably to thebe’joy’! No doubt you have longed in the past days to find yourself…close…to her, hungered for her touch? Even human males are not immune to a lovely female’s charms, that is obvious. Well…I am happy to tell you that you will soon have your wish granted. Soon, you will be very close to Valdyr indeed—while she separates your skin into its many fragile layers inch by bloody inch! By the time she is finished with you, she will know you…intimately. Outside…and inside.”
Kamarag guffawed, and Karg did, too.Good grief, Peter thought, refusing to feel the fear that wanted to claw its way out of him with a shriek.Where did this guy learn English? Reading Edgar Rice Burroughs? He sounds like he comes from Barsoom….
Kamarag was still grinning. “No doubt your uncle will enjoy the spectacle; he will, after all, be the next to succumb to it!”
Peter said nothing. He would not let himself be baited…besides, Kamarag was, finally, saying something of real interest.
“And as soon as thebe’joy’ is finished, my fleet will speed into Federation territory—and all the riches that await us there.”
Peter was stunned. He had thought that Kamarag’s only interest lay in torturing him and his uncle. He’d had no idea the ambassador had a “fleet” of his own and was planning to start a war!
“Your fleet?” he dared to ask, hoping Kamarag would keep talking, keep boasting.He must mean the renegades who were causing so much trouble….
“Yes indeed. I have a sizable force accumulated of captains who are ready to take back their honor as Klingon warriors! Together, we will reduce your Starfleet to scrap metal.”
Dream on,Peter thought. The ambassador had lost his mind if he seriously thought he and his “fleet” could conquer the Federation. Starfleet would wipe them out, there was no doubt. But—Peter repressed a shiver—he also had no doubt that Kamarag and his cohorts would wreak terrible destruction on the worlds closest to the Neutral Zone before they were stopped.
The ambassador turned so that his niece would be sure to hear him. “By the timeChancellor Azetbur learns of our action, it will be too late. At
last, we will all regain our honor!” He faced Peter again, noted how the young man was eyeing the walls of his cell. “It is a terrible thing to be held prisoner while events of such magnitude unfold around you, is it not, young Kirk?”
Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply.
Valdyr’s face never changed expression, yet she seemed to be struggling with emotion. “My uncle,” she said softly, pitching her words for Kamarag’s hearing alone, turning her back on Karg, “I ask that you reconsider what you are about to do. Attacking the Starfleet isHoh’egh.”
Of course Valdyr realizes it’s suicide,Peter thought, his spirits rising slightly.Kamarag may be crazy, but she’s not….
The ambassador stared down at her. “You are worried for me, niece?”
Valdyr nodded. “Not only for you, Uncle. For all of our people. Our world isdying, my uncle,” she insisted, still speaking softly, but passion now tinged her voice. “We have neither the technology nor the means to save our people. By working with the Federation, Chancellor Azetbur hopes…”
“Enough of this!” Kamarag growled, losing his patience. “I will not hear another word about that depraved female and how she will save the Klingon Empire! Mention that name again, Valdyr, and you will have more to fear from Karg than your wedding night!”
Valdyr flushed deeply, and she set her jaw. She drew herself up as tall as she could, and this time she addressed both males. “Is this how you would control me, Uncle, bythreatening me with a husband? Is this how a Klingon male earns his female’s loyalty—through fear? Where is your honor? You—”
Karg’s fist shot out faster than Peter’s eyes could follow, smashing brutally into her jaw. She hit the ground hard, but never uttered a sound.
Valdyr’s face was swelling, and her lip was split and bleeding, but he knew from personal experience she could handle that. Her hand went for her dagger automatically, but Karg anticipated it and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. She endured it without flinching, as the powerful warrior leaned down close to her face.
