Star Trek®: Excelsior: Forged in Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  He probed the front of his skull with both hands, felt the texture for himself. This was no optical illusion. And it was no artificial, surgically installed prosthetic device; he could feel his own warm, living flesh beneath his hands. His chest and shoulders likewise had changed, bulging with the characteristic ridges that were the birthright of all Klingons.

  Joy warred with terror. What has happened to me?

  “Captain Koloth?” said a voice, startling him out of his reverie.

  He turned toward the room’s force field–protected entrance. Just on its other side stood a pair of Klingon men, both several decades Koloth’s senior. They wore nondescript civilian work clothes rather than military uniforms, and both lacked the commanding bearing of a blooded warrior. But both men possessed the alert eyes of a hunting targ, prompting Koloth to tag them immediately as academics of some sort, probably physicians or research scientists.

  But although the two men clearly shared similar occupations and social standing, they also possessed another superficial but instantly noticeable characteristic that contrasted them sharply with one another: the man on the right had a highly ridged forehead like Koloth’s own, which marked him as the product of a family line that had escaped exposure to both the First Qu’Vat Plague of the previous century, and to the unhappy genetic side effects associated with its cure. The other, slightly taller man was a QuchHa’, whose forehead was as baby-smooth as Koloth’s own had been prior to his exposure to the yIH illness.

  “Captain Koloth?” repeated the academic who stood on the right, the proud-browed man who had first called his name.

  Deciding that this man had to be the one in charge, Koloth said, “I am Koloth. And I would know who has asked.”

  The ridge-headed HemQuch man nodded and said, “Of course. I am Doctor Nej. This is my associate, Doctor Hurghom.”

  Koloth approached the energy field–protected entrance, coming to a stop just short of it. “NuqneH. I have heard those names before.”

  Koloth noted with interest that both men seemed a bit discomfited to hear that.

  “That is no doubt because of our past association with the House of Ngoj,” said the taller, smooth-headed scientist, the man Dr. Nej had identified as Dr. Hurghom.

  “No doubt,” Koloth said, nodding. Of course. Though it had occurred decades ago, the fall of the House of Ngoj, whose smooth-headed members had falsely passed themselves off as HemQuch in order to hang onto the perquisites of power in the High Council, had been publicized far and wide. Even now, despite the many social gains the less favored QuchHa’ had made during recent years, the Ngoj scandal still served as a cautionary tale explicating the dangers of trying to function above one’s station.

  “It is also not at all relevant,” Dr. Nej said, sounding nettled.

  “I agree,” Koloth said. “Allow me to raise some far more relevant topics, such as the reason I am being imprisoned behind a force field. And just where I am.”

  “You mistake us, Captain,” Hurghom said. “You are not in detention.”

  Koloth raised his palm. He placed it just inside the doorway’s threshold, thereby producing a momentary but spectacular flash of amber light that made his hand feel as though it was suddenly teeming with Talarian hookspider larvae. Both scientists jumped backward slightly in startled response, forcing Koloth to suppress a smile. It was always good to be able to maintain both unpredictability and inscrutability, especially with one’s captors.

  “The presence of this force field would seem to argue otherwise,” Koloth said as he began massaging the feeling back into his left hand with his right.

  “This is only a medical quarantine field, Captain,” Hurghom said. “You are recuperating from your illness at a Klingon military facility.”

  “This facility obviously serves other functions as well,” Koloth said. “Which is no doubt why it retains the services of the former physicians to the disgraced House of Ngoj.” His eyes rolled up toward his altered brow. “Did you use the same techniques on me that you used to disguise the…hereditary handicap of that once-great House?”

  “Not precisely, Captain,” said Nej, shaking his head. His scowl made it clear that he did not enjoy rehashing this particular chapter of his past. “The House of Ngoj hid its shortcomings”—he cast a fleeting glare at Hurghom, who quailed slightly—“using cosmetic surgery, for the most part. You, Captain, are the beneficiary of a far more permanent treatment.”

  Pieces of the puzzle into which he had awakened were assembling themselves right before Koloth’s eyes. “You have found a means of removing the ‘Earther’ taint from the genes of QuchHa’ people.”

  Koloth had always found it ironic that some of the Earther DNA that now tainted so many Klingon bloodlines originated from genetically augmented humans, and therefore imparted to its bearers a certain strength, tenacity, and ruthlessness that even the magnificent Kahless himself may have lacked. Koloth had always been sufficiently prudent not to air such opinions aloud in the presence of the wrong company; he had learned very early in his career to rely on the tangible gifts his “bad blood” granted him, and to use those gifts to advance through the military ranks as quickly as possible. He exulted in the thought that the injustices he had faced all his life might soon become a thing of the past.

  “We still need to conduct more tests to determine whether the changes you have undergone are of a permanent nature,” Hurghom said. “But the initial signs are very encouraging. The retrovirus in your system seems to be working as planned.”

  Though the idea of being anybody’s experimental subject angered and revolted him, Koloth chose to regard this revelation as a hopeful sign; it meant that he might not have lost his entire crew after all. Still, he couldn’t deny feeling reticent about broaching that question directly with these academics, whom he assumed were unlikely to tell him anything they didn’t want him to know. And he knew there was precious little he could do for his men from behind a quarantine force field—assuming they weren’t already beyond all help anyway.

  “There had to be a delivery mechanism for this…treatment to which my crew and myself were evidently subjected,” he said. “It was the yIH, wasn’t it? Or perhaps the yIH-devouring glo’meH prototype we recovered from the Earthers brought your virus into our midst.”

  Nej and Hurghom looked at one another somewhat uncomfortably, confirming for Koloth that he had indeed struck his target, though he couldn’t be sure how close to the center he had come. He could see, however, how unsure both men seemed to be about how much more they ought to say.

  “Do I need to point out that my security clearance is probably a good deal higher than either of yours?” Koloth prodded, gently but with tempered bat’leth steel in his voice.

  “You have surmised correctly, for the most part, Captain,” Nej said at length. “Both the yIH and the glo’meH prototype were carrying a new variant strain of the Levodian flu. We developed it in secret for the High Council.”

  Koloth knew he was anything but an expert on the Levodian flu, but he knew enough for this revelation to raise any number of warning flags inside the back of his skull. “That virus was the source of both of the Great Qu’Vat Plagues,” he said.

  “It was,” Hurghom said. “Of course, that fact ought to surprise no one. After all, the Levodian flu virus has been used in virtually every genetic engineering project conducted within the Klingon Empire for the past century.”

  “But why were the yIH and the glo’meH carrying this particular virus?” Koloth wanted to know. “There had to be a specific purpose.”

  “There was, Captain,” Nej said again, almost guiltily. “We developed it as a means of restoring the Klingon people’s genotypic and phenotypic characteristics to the way they were before the First Qu’Vat Plague occurred. But before we risked deploying the new viral variant generally throughout the Empire, we had to start somewhere. Our first secret full-up test was to be done on the small Klingon population that has been living on SermanyuQ for the pa
st few years, side by side with the Earthers.”

  Nej’s mention of the name of that long-contested world, which the Earthers persisted in calling “Sherman’s Planet,” made Koloth bristle. Since the disgraced spy Arne Darvin’s plot to poison the Earther grain stocks bound for that world two years earlier had been foiled—by those miserable, screaming yIH, no less—the ’orghen rojmab, the so-called Organian Peace Treaty, had forced the Empire to all but cede SermanyuQ outright to the Earthers who even now grubbed in the ground there.

  “The new virus is actually a carefully tailored retrovirus, a bioagent designed to rewrite the DNA of the test population,” Hurghom said. “We were using the internal metabolic processes of both the glo’meH prototype and the yIH to incubate the virus.”

  “We’ve concluded from your most recent log entries, Captain,” Nej said, interrupting, “that your encounter with Jones, the Earther thief who briefly stole the glo’meH, and the Federation starship on which he took refuge, must have resulted in the premature deployment of the variant Levodian flu retrovirus.”

  “And, ah, accidentally made you part of our test population,” said Hurghom. “Along with your entire crew.”

  Though he willed his face into expressionlessness, Koloth took a single quick step toward the force field barrier. He was pleased to watch both scientists instinctively back up a step, even though they must have known that they were in no danger so long as the field remained in place.

  “And did my crew share in my good fortune?” he asked, focusing his bottled anger into a hard glare aimed at them both.

  Hurghom’s face fell, and Koloth suspected that he wasn’t going to like whatever either of them was going to say next.

  “Unfortunately, only those possessed of a particular genetic profile regained their cranial ridges,” said the smooth-headed scientist. “The virus left others unchanged as it ran its course. And, unfortunately, it killed many others outright. We will furnish a list of the casualties and survivors as soon as possible.”

  Despite his own personal good fortune, Koloth could only hope that Gherud, the man he held responsible for alerting the High Command of the disease outbreak aboard the ’OghwI’—and who had also cheated him out of a chance to wreak bloody vengeance against Kirk—numbered among the dead.

  A disquieting thought suddenly occurred to him: these scientists might have been a little too forthcoming in providing answers to his many questions. Of course, that might have been because he’d managed to intimidate them into cooperating with him. Or perhaps it was because their retrovirus research had placed them at odds with the High Council, thereby forcing them to confide in him in order to cultivate an unofficial ally who might help them survive whatever consequences were certain to follow in the wake of their admitted failure. It was also possible that they expected him to join the ranks of the dead soon, becoming yet another victim of their botched retrovirus test.

  He decided that the only way to resolve the matter was to continue asking questions. “What will become of the survivors now?”

  “What the High Council does next will depend greatly upon the contents of our report,” Nej said. “And that will depend on the behavior of the virus.”

  “And that, in turn, will depend upon what new mutations may have arisen in the retrovirus’s genome because of its metabolic interactions with both the yIH and the glo’meH,” said Hurghom.

  “We can be thankful for at least a partial success,” said Nej, gesturing toward Koloth’s newly terraced brow.

  Hurghom adopted an emotional tone that Koloth could only interpret as sincerity. “Regardless of what happens to anyone else who’s been exposed to the virus, Captain, your transformation represents a fundamental breakthrough in the research that we’ve both been pursuing for decades.”

  “You must also look forward to…correcting your own condition,” Koloth said, his eyes squarely upon those of the smooth-headed scientist.

  “Of course I do,” Hurghom said, nodding. “But honor is more at stake here than vanity.”

  Koloth found it passing strange that a non-warrior should be overly concerned with matters of honor. “What are you talking about?”

  “Antaak, the man responsible for the Earther taint in the genes of us QuchHa’, was my grandfather,” Hurghom said. “I have inherited far more than his forehead, Captain—I am also heir to his enduring shame.”

  Antaak. Koloth recognized the name. Antaak had not only been responsible for curing the first outbreak of the lethally mutated Levodian flu on Qu’Vat during the last century—an act that had spawned every smooth-headed QuchHa’ alive today—but he had also inadvertently slain himself and millions of others on the very same world during a subsequent botched attempt to restore what the QuchHa’ had lost, using techniques not unlike those that Hurghom and Nej were employing now.

  “I have devoted my life to restoring Antaak’s lost honor,” Hurghom said. “Because therein lies my own.”

  “You and the survivors of your crew represent the final hope of our decades of research, Captain,” Nej said. “The High Council has grown impatient with our slow progress.”

  Hurghom nodded somberly. “And not only with us, Captain. Because of the Council’s unwillingness to risk the outbreak of another great plague, the Defense Force has already scuttled the ’OghwI’.”

  Koloth felt every muscle in his body stiffen involuntarily, though he kept his face free of any emotion. Losing a ship was something he doubted he would ever get used to, no matter how many times it happened. His previous command, the I.K.S. Gr’oth, had suffered a like fate after being overrun by yIH two years ago, in the very same sector of space where this latest encounter had occurred. Now, as then, every one of the horrific little shrieking furballs aboard his vessel had been vaporized. Along with every particle of virus they carried in their misbegotten bodies.

  “Unfortunately, the glo’meH prototype appears to have been destroyed as well,” Nej added.

  “Which is truly unfortunate,” Hurghom said. “The glo’meH could have been bred into an effective biological means of containing the yIH.”

  Nej shrugged. “There are other ways to deal with those pests, as I am sure the captain is aware. I have it on good authority that the Defense Force is diligently searching for the yIH homeworld to employ some of those alternate methods. They want to obliterate the planet’s surface, to make certain that the creatures can neither continue to endanger the ecologies of Klingon worlds, nor act as potential disease carriers.”

  Koloth found the thought of such a fate befalling the noisome fuzzballs immensely satisfying—as long as the yIH home planet was the only thing that was obliterated.

  “What about my crew?” Koloth asked. “Are they also to be summarily dispatched because of the virus they’re carrying?”

  Nej stood and studied Koloth impassively. Hurghom coughed and averted his gaze, having acquired a sudden keen interest in the toes of his boots.

  “We cannot lie to you, Captain,” the smooth-headed scientist said after a lengthy pause. “Initially, the Defense Force wanted to kill everyone aboard your vessel outright, Captain. Yourself included.”

  “Particularly you, Captain,” Nej said. “Although the High Command might conceivably take your illness at the time into account, your decision to open fire on your fellow officers did not win you any friends within the ranks of the fleet.”

  Koloth could certainly understand that; he had to admit that he himself would find such an offense rather difficult to forgive had he been on the other side of the transaction.

  “But obviously they were somehow talked out of having us all vaporized, or spaced,” he said. At least so far.

  Nej nodded. “They have stayed their hand, pending full batteries of medical tests.”

  “Which will be performed under the strictest of quarantines, of course,” Hurghom added. “We have to make certain that the virus all of you are carrying can indeed be rendered harmless and noncontagious before any of you can be release
d from this facility.”

  As reasonable as that sounded, something still wasn’t quite adding up precisely to Koloth’s satisfaction. Casting a hard, appraising stare first at Hurghom, and then at Nej, he said, “Surely the High Command would never have made this decision merely at the behest of the former servants of a disgraced House. And certainly not for men with whom the High Council has already grown as impatient as you claim.”

  Nej said nothing, though he continued to meet Koloth’s stare with an admirably inscrutable equanimity. Koloth could only wonder whether the senior scientist was contemplating the possibility that the High Council might soon turn him and his associate out of their jobs—or perhaps execute a far more precipitous and final decision.

  “It is as you say, Captain,” Hurghom said, once again minutely studying his boots.

  “Then who has intervened on my behalf?”

  As if they had been waiting for Koloth to articulate that very question, a pair of shadows abruptly crossed the floor of the vestibule a short distance beyond the doorway where Nej and Hurghom stood.

  “We did, Koloth,” intoned a deep, familiar voice. The same voice that had spoken to Koloth through his feverish delirium aboard the ’OghwI’. It sounded both imperious and slightly…happy?

  A moment later, the owners of the shadows stepped into full view immediately behind the scientists, both of whom stepped obligingly aside to allow the two baldric-draped, uniformed figures to approach the plane of the quarantine field.

  Koloth registered some mild surprise at the sudden entrance of Captain Kang and Captain Kor. But his surprise was supplanted somewhat by his enjoyment of the nonplussed striations that suddenly rippled across their normally smooth QuchHa’ foreheads. They stared at Koloth in silence, gaping like a pair of landed fish at his transformed but obviously still recognizable countenance.

  “My old friends,” Koloth said. “Did you rescue me out of loyalty?” Then he gestured toward his new forehead. “Or were you simply looking for a way to get one of these?”