by Diane Duane
“Your disrespect to your uncle is disturbing, Valdyr,” he warned her. “Do not think I will tolerate such attitudes from my wife. Where are your loyalties? To yourfamily, or to that perverted female who has usurped the rightful role of a male?”
“I am a Klingon!” Valdyr snarled. “My respect and my loyalties are to my family, Karg—of which you are not a part!”
“That will be rectified soon enough,” Karg reminded her. “We will be wed as soon as James T. Kirk dies beneath your knife. Then you will be mine! And you will learn respect…. ” Hauling her up by the front of her armor, he backhanded her hard enough to snap her head back. She blinked, dazed.
Peter slammed against the viewing port before he even realized he’d moved forward. He pounded his fists against the glass. “Karg, you coward!” he heard himself shouting, barely remembering to speak English. “You want someone to fight, come in here and take me on. I’ll flatten you, you bastard, just like I did thelast time.”
His taunts had the effect he intended. Karg’s face suffused with rage and he released Valdyr and moved toward the viewing port. Kamarag stopped him with a gesture.
“Enough of this,” Kamarag said to Karg. “I must fetch James T. Kirk. Wait for my call, then bring Cadet Kirk to me at the head of my fleet. Once this business is done, you can enjoy your wedding night in Federation space, as we head for the nearest colony!”
Karg gave Valdyr a last, sneering glance; then the two males left.
Peter pressed against the port, straining to see down the hallway, trying to determine if Karg and Kamarag were out of earshot. He turned back to Valdyr, and was surprised to find her intense black eyes focused on his face, as if she were trying to look through him. “Valdyr!” he whispered. “Are you all right? Valdyr?”
She glanced down the hallway, then finally climbed to her feet and came over to face him. “You meant what you said to Karg, didn’t you?”
“What?” He shook his head, unsure he’d fully understood her.
“Do you understand what you said to him, how he interpreted it?” she asked again.
Peter just stared. “What was not to understand? If I could’ve gotten my hands on him, I’d’ve mopped the floors up with him, I’d’ve…”
She shook her head. “You challenged him as an equal. Warrior to warrior. You refused to let him view you as a helpless human prisoner. You challenged him—over his woman.”
Peter felt his barely suppressed rage bubble over. Clenching his fists, he pounded one hand hard against the viewing port. “You’renot his woman!”
“My uncle has arranged the mating. It will be done.”
“Like hell it will!” Peter raged, feeling jealousy overwhelm him. The thought of Karg “claiming” Valdyr on the much-referenced wedding night made him crazy. “He’ll touch you over my dead body! He can’t have you!” Hearing himself beginning to sputter incoherently, he wound down.
“I will ask you the same question you asked me so many days ago, Pityr,” Valdyr said softly, in a tone he had never heard her use. “Why do you care? What does it matter to you who touches me?”
He ground his teeth. Better to say nothing than to have her laugh in his face, or give her something to taunt him with when he had to endure her knife. But something in her eyes compelled truth. “It matters to me. It matters a lot. The man…who touches you…should do so with respect…. ”
She never took her eyes from his. “That will never happen, Pityr. My uncle is about to betray his government, a course of events that will eventually bring about either the destruction of our world, or, at the very least, of our family. And the man…who would touch me with…respect…will soon be dead…by my hand…. ”
What…what does she mean by that?Peter stood plastered against the window, as close to her as he could get, afraid to interpret her words too freely…afraid to hope.
“Pityr…” Her voice was hoarser than usual. “I cannot stay long. I—”
“Where were you?” he demanded. “You’ve been gone for three days!”
“I was here,” she said tonelessly, not looking at him. “I came down once, while you were asleep, to look at you. But I could not talk to you until I…” She trailed off.
“Until you what?” he asked softly.
“Until I knew my own mind,” she admitted.
“What does that mean?”
“After the other day…I sent a message to my uncle, asking him to release me from this duty. But he…he refused.”
“Why did you ask to be released?” Peter asked, wishing she’d look up at him.
But she kept her eyes downcast. “Qo’noS…is not a good place to live, since Praxis exploded. Half of the moon was blown into a very long elliptical orbit that in fifty years will finally intersect with this world…which will mean the end for life on this planet. So many meteors will impact that it will destroy our atmosphere, crush our homes and land. Even now, Qo’noS is encircled by a ring of debris that reminds us night and day that our time is limited.
“Meteor showers are now common. One of your human months ago, my mother was at home in HatlhHurgh with my oldest brother. A shower fell, and our home was destroyed, my mother and brother killed. My father had died three years ago, when your uncle destroyed his own vessel to trap Kruge’s crew. So my three living brothers and I had no one. Kamarag took us all in. He is now the head of my family, Pityr!” Her voice was tight and brittle, and she shook her head so hard her thick braid slid across her breastplate. “Honor demands that I serve him, and do as he wishes!”
“Well, you are doing that,” Peter said, feeling his throat tighten as he glimpsed her expression.
“But to serve him, I have to be prepared to betray the leader of the Empire, Chancellor Azetbur. I have to share the responsibility for the death of our homeworld. Without the Federation to help us, everyone on Qo’noS will eventually die! And…worst of all…I must personally bring about your death!” She moved closer to the window, until she was pressed against the glass, even as he was. “Pityr…Pityr-oy…” She closed her eyes, but the anguish in her voice was unmistakable.
The cadet froze as he took in what she had just said, feeling a surge of incredulous joy. The suffix “oy” was used as an endearment. “Valdyr…” he whispered. “Valdyr, look at me…”
Finally, she looked up. Carefully, Peter stuck his hand through the slot, until his fingertips brushed hers. He stroked the tips of her fingers, his heart pounding. “Valdyr-oy…” he whispered, his blue eyes holding her dark ones.
She gazed at him incredulously; then he felt her fingertips slide over his, and suddenly she was touching his palm gently, rubbing her fingertips against the crescent wounds there. He in turn felt the small scabs from his own nails that were sheltered in her palm. “How can this be?” she whispered, her voice a mixture of anguish and joy. “It is not possible. We are not the same people. We are alien to one another. Enemies by blood…”
“Not anymore,” he protested softly, “not enemies. Not by blood. We have shared blood. We are part of each other.”
“Impossible,” she repeated, as if trying to convince herself. “Humans are weak and cowardly. They have no heart, no endurance. They cannot fight, they have no will to do it. They stink of fear. Human males have no stamina, no passion. All they can do in bed is talk. A Klingon woman would kill any human male foolish enough to bed her.”
“Is that what they say?” Peter murmured, losing himself in her dark eyes. “Well, on my world they say things, too. Klingons never bathe, so they smell. They are stupid, ignorant savages who live on base emotions, allowing their passions to rule their lives. They rut like animals. Klingons cannot weep…because they cannot love.”
She looked shocked to hear that Terrans had prejudices that equaled those on her own world. “Do they say that?” she murmured, and he nodded, silently. “But Pityr…I am learning that what they say is not true. I have seen you fight like the finest warrior, against odds so great, there was no way to win. You fought�
��and almost won. I had never seen such heart, such will to win…such stamina…”
He clasped her hand in his tightly. “I am learning, too. You’re always clean, and your fragrance reminds me of apricots. You’re so smart, you’re the only one here who has the sense to see what the future holds. And I’ve heard anguish in your voice…a sorrow too noble for tears. I know you don’t want to hurt me. I understand you are just doing what you must.”
She shook her head. “You believe it is true, then?”
It was his turn to be confused.
“That, because we cannot weep,” she explained, “we cannot love.”
“No, I don’t believe that.”
“But you believe that I could still bring about your death? Even now?”
“I thought…when you explained about your uncle…”
“The days I stayed away…I did so…because no matter how I felt about my family loyalty, I realized…that I could not live with the betrayal of Azetbur, and the destruction of my planet…and more than that…I could not live with your death.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
She released his hand, glanced up and down the hallway. “I do not know yet. You will have to trust me.”
He shrugged, smiling. “My fate has been in your hands since I first arrived here, Valdyr.”
A look of pleasure washed across her face, and then she was gone, leaving him with nothing but the memory of her touch.
Commander Taryn sat in his quarters aboard the Romulan bird-of-preyShardarr, reviewing intelligence communiqués from Romulus. Savel, who sat opposite him, watched alertly as the commander’s expression darkened. “What is it?” she asked, when he finally looked up.
“Matters may be moving more precipitously than we anticipated,” he replied, the lines in his craggy, raptor-beaked countenance deepening. “Kamarag has gathered a squadron of renegade captains around him by offering them Federation plunder and amnesty from the new government he claims he will head. He is clearly planning some kind of coup to coincide with his raid into Federation space. His squadron is currently assembling in space, not far from Qo’noS.”
Savel digested this news in silence. Itis really going to happen, she thought. The war…the war that Taryn had planned for his whole life. Andshe had been the one to bring it about. Vividly, she remembered touching Kamarag’s mind, inflaming his hatred for Kirk. It hadn’t been difficult…the Klingon’s hatred had already been like magma beneath a planet’s crust…. “But this is what you wanted, what we planned for,” she said, finally.
“But the speed with which this is happening is a problem for us.” Taryn rose from his antique carved desk and paced restlessly across the small office, stopping for a moment to regard the extensive collection of ancient weapons hanging on the wall. Some of them were so old that they predated the Romulan exodus from Vulcan, following the Surak reformation. The commander stood for a moment, ostensibly studying a traininglirpa —one with a hollow bludgeon and a dulled blade.
Savel had a good knowledge of the tactical situation they now faced. But she had no idea of what information Taryn had gained from those communiqués. “What problem?” she asked.
Taryn handed her the communiqués, inviting her to scan them for herself. “Kamarag is doing far more than we expected. He plans to topple Azetbur’s government—not simply to lead a renegade raid. We did not anticipate this.”
Savel scanned the messages quickly, then nodded agreement. “He has gone too far to simply go home after his raid. There is no way that Kamarag can keep his actions secret, now…not with this many people involved. The ambassador has evidently decided that the time has come to make his break with Chancellor Azetbur’s government. How do you think he will proceed,Vadi?”
“I believe that, once Kirk is dead, the ambassador will initiate hostilities by leading his squadron across the Neutral Zone in an all-out attack on the nearest Federation world. He will use the publicity from that to declare himself a war leader, and thus sway the public to his side. Staging a military coup will then be easy.”
Savel raised an eyebrow as that notion sank in. “If Kamarag does that…such an action would indeed precipitate all-out war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.” Silently, the young Vulcan woman considered, as she had been considering for the past several days, the ramifications of interstellar war.
Memories surfaced in her mind, from the days before she’d come to live with Taryn and his family. There had been eleven Vulcan children in the creche, many of them orphans whose parents had suicided rather than be forced to engender more children to live on Romulus, Remus, or Freelan. And in the very early days…there had been an old one, an ancient Vulcan who had been brought in to teach them their native language. Sakorn had been his name, and he was blind.
Savel vividly remembered the afternoons she and the other children had spent with Sakorn during those language lessons. The ancient Vulcan had also, whenever he could avoid the watchful eye of the other teachers, attempted to imbue his charges with Vulcan ethics and values.
“War is an unconscionable waste of resources, and the most illogical of tactics,” she remembered him saying quietly, one summer afternoon, as they’d all sat in the school courtyard together. “There are no winners in war…only losers. The innocent pay, and the guilty grow ever richer and ever greedier. Violence breeds violence, and the cycle of avarice and corruption is nearly impossible to break. There is no excuse for a civilized being to resort to war…there are always alternatives to bloodshed.”
Savel didn’t know whether she completely agreed with Sakorn’s pronouncements—but her memories of the old one were still vivid enough to make her breath catch in her throat as she imagined what he’d say if he knew what she’d done.
“War…” she repeated, hearing the doubt in her own voice. “What you have been working to achieve for all these many years…”
“Indeed,” the commander replied, taking down an ancient Vulcansenapa and examining the scythelike obsidian blade, careful to touch only the handle, for the cutting edge was dipped in the traditional poison. He frowned down at the weapon, seemingly studying the flowing streaks of red amid the black stone. “This development will, in all likelihood, benefit us in the end. The more fragmented the Klingon Empire is, the easier it will be to conquer. But Kamarag is moving so much faster than I had anticipated…he is proceeding too swiftly. Our forces are days away from being able to take full tactical advantage. And if Kamarag kills Kirk tomorrow, and then proceeds full-scale into Federation space…the Federation and the Klingons could be engaged in all-out war within a handful of days. The praetor has ordered full mobilization of all forces, under my direct command…but I do not know whether we can be ready to invade in time.”
Savel glanced at the small viewscreen that showed the vista of stars as seen fromShardarr ’s bridge. Events, like the stars, seemed to be moving toward them too fast. “Is there anything we can do to slow the ambassador?”
“I cannot think of anything,” Taryn said.
At the sound of the intercom, both turned toward the comm link. “Taryn here,” the commander snapped as he activated it.
“Commander, I have that tactical analysis prepared that you requested,” came the voice of Taryn’s second-in-command.
“Excellent,” Taryn said. “Call a meeting of all senior officers in my conference chamber. We will be there directly.”
Motioning to Savel to join him, the commander strode out of his office and down the narrow, utilitarian corridor.
Once they reached the sparsely furnished conference chamber, with its huge comm link that dominated the bulkhead, the young Vulcan woman sat in her accustomed place on the commander’s left. One by one, his senior officers filed into the room. They were all young, handpicked by Taryn to serve aboard his ship and intensely loyal to him.
Taryn began the meeting by having his second-in-command, Poldar, give a briefing on the current tactical situation. Savel watched as he pinpointed
the location of Kamarag’s renegade squadron, then pointed out the locations of their own vessels. Several would reach the area within two days, but others would not arrive for another five or six.
The fleet was massing…the largest fleet ever assembled in Romulan history. AndShardarr would spearhead the attack, if all went according to plan.
“What about Federation vessels?” Taryn asked.
“There are a number in Sector 53.16,” Poldar said, “but none close enough to trouble us until we are well across the Neutral Zone. With the exception of one vessel, Commander.”
Taryn raised one slanting eyebrow, inviting the centurion silently to continue. “Commander, I speak of theEnterprise. Kirk’s ship lies directly in the course Kamarag’s squadron will take across the Neutral Zone.”
“Enterpriselies in the path of Kamarag’s invasionary force?” Taryn repeated slowly, plainly taken aback.
“Yes, Commander,” Poldar said. “We received a new batch of intelligence reports just as I was leaving the bridge for this meeting. We have a positive identification on the ship…it is definitely Kirk’s.”
“That is not good,” Tonik, the senior helm officer, said flatly. “If Kamarag’s squadron encounters theEnterprise, they may be decimated.”
“Not evenEnterprise can defeat half a score of ships,” Taryn pointed out, the faintest touch of scorn in his voice. “And Kirk…Kirk is not with the ship. He is keeping a rendezvous elsewhere.” Despite the commander’s confident air, Savel noted the lines of strain deepen between his brows.
“Even if Kirk is not there, he will have left one of his senior officers in command of his vessel,” Tonik pointed out, mildly. “And even if Kirk is not with his vessel, that by no means makesEnterprise easy prey.”
“Yes,” one of the junior officers chimed in, “and with only five or six Klingon ships remaining, Kamarag’s force might not be threatening enough to bring out the Federation fleet in force. And the fewer Starfleet ships assembling to defend the Neutral Zone, the fewer captains we can induce to cross into Klingon space…should that tactic prove necessary to gain our ends.”
