by Kevin Ryan
Both men were on their feet and made the ten meters to the next covered position quickly. Kell was surprised that there was no disrupter fire on their heels.
Kell and Fuller took their positions behind a large support pylon and waited, scanning the wrecked machine shop around them and straining their ears for any sign of their attackers.
They had a clean line of sight to the stairwell door, but there was no movement.
Then the silence was broken by a high-pitched whine. For a moment, Kell could not place the sound. Before the meaning of the sound registered in his mind, Sam Fuller was screaming, “Down!” Then Kell felt a weight on him.
The overloaded disrupter exploded loudly and with great force, but the real damage was done by the pile of raw polymers that was nearby.
[226] They were turned into a hundred projectiles and Kell felt them pierce his skin in a dozen places.
He took a moment to inventory his body and decided that none of the wounds were fatal.
“Jon, are you okay?” Fuller said.
“Yes, sir,” Jon said as he felt the chief’s weight disappear. Then Kell was on his knees. He tested the grip on his phaser to make certain that his hand still worked despite the wound on his forearm.
His hand functioned. He could still fight.
“Careful, they’re moving,” Fuller said.
Then Kell looked up and saw that Fuller had taken the brunt of the explosion. His right side was riddled with small punctures, yet none of them explained the growing pool of blood on the floor at the chief’s feet.
Then Kell saw the wound on the side of Fuller’s neck. It was not large, but Kell knew enough of human anatomy to know that it was enough.
The chief saw something in Kell’s eyes and raised his hand to the wound. Then Kell could see that the human understood.
Kell’s mind raced. The chief had minutes, or less. But if they could break the Klingon line, get to the corridor, there might be medical supplies ...
“Jon,” Fuller said. “Something’s different. Most of them are gone. They are coming from that direction.” Fuller pointed to the area thirty meters ahead and just to the left of the door.
“Chief, we can rush them, then we’ll get you—”
“No,” Fuller said. “This part of the fight is mine.”
“But—”
[227] “That’s an order,” Fuller said, and swayed slightly on his feet. Any further delay and Kell saw that the chief would not be able to stand. What was happening was impossible, Kell’s blood screamed.
The chief could not be felled by any mere wound.
Fuller swayed again and Kell knew that what was impossible was also true. And for the chief to die any way other than on his feet was intolerable.
“I will cover you,” he found himself saying.
Fuller did not wait; he sprinted at the Klingons’ position, emitting a battle cry that pierced the silence of the large facility.
Firing both phasers continuously, Fuller seemed to gain strength as he ran. He was twenty meters from the Klingons’ position, then ten.
Then Kell saw a flash of uniform and the gleam of a Klingon disrupter. A large Klingon with a patch bolted over one eye appeared and Kell wanted to take a shot but he did not have a line of fire with Fuller in front of him.
Fuller took the shot and he did not miss. The Klingon was thrown back, mortally wounded.
Then another stepped out and Fuller was slammed by a full-power disrupter bolt at close range. There was a bright flash and Sam Fuller disappeared.
Kell felt the death wail rising in his throat and chest. He called out his pain and grief. He called out to the next world and told them to beware because a great warrior and a great man was coming.
When he was finished, he felt a calm settle over him and a resolve. Whoever had taken Fuller’s life would soon take his last breath on this side of the River of Blood.
[228] Kell’s blood burned for revenge. It was not the human way, he knew, but it was his way, it was his people’s way.
It was the Klingon way.
He checked his phaser to make sure it was set on full and prepared to finish this battle.
“Earther,” he heard a voice say. “It is just you and I now.”
There was something in the voice, something that cut through the rage, the heat of battle, and the call for vengeance that burned in his blood.
Something familiar.
“Earther,” Karel said, using one of the few English words he knew. There was just one. The Earther was clever, but he had never faced a Klingon warrior before.
He had never tasted Klingon vengeance, but he would today.
Karel knew his opportunity for vengeance was slipping away. Once the D’k tahg left the system, the Klingon did not know when he might again make the Earthers pay for the crimes they had committed against his family and the Empire.
Now there was just one more Earther left in this complex. One last chance for his vengeance.
“Earther. It is just you and I now,” Karel said, straining to remember the English words.
He waited a moment to let the Earther’s fear work on him.
“Today you die,” he said.
Karel stepped out from behind his position behind a large console. Then he stepped forward, his disrupter out.
[229] Looking down, he took a brief second to adjust the weapon.
“Karel,” a voice called out from the Earther’s position.
For an instant, the sound of his name cut through the haze of his fury. Then he realized that his opponent was using some cowardly Earther trick. For that, Karel vowed to make the Earther die slowly.
“Brother, son of our father,” the Earther said, and stepped into the open.
The invoking of Karel’s father was the worst kind of cowardly Earther trick. Karel saw that the Earther had his weapons drawn.
... No, not drawn. The Earther’s hands were reaching out for him.
Then Karel saw something in the Earther’s eyes, something he recognized.
Too late. Driven by all the rage and grief in his blood, his traitor hand fired the disrupter, hitting the Earther ... his brother ... directly in the chest.
Kell felt time stop completely for a moment as he caught his brother’s eyes. At first he thought Karel’s voice was an illusion, a dream created by his fevered blood.
But when he saw his brother’s eyes, he knew that Karel was real and was just a few meters in front of him.
He saw something else in Karel’s eyes: recognition.
Then the disrupter came alive in Karel’s hand and Kell felt the blast catch him in the chest and throw him back with great force.
He was amazed a moment later when he opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of the manufacturing plant.
[230] “Kell!” a voice cut through the silence. He recognized the voice. It was the first Klingon voice to call his name; since he put on this human’s face. It was his brother’s voice.
Kell smiled as he felt a great peace descend on him. His blood began to quiet, its roar to dim.
“Kell!” the voice called out, from above him now. The voice was full of pain. His brother was in pain.
Realizing his eyes were shut, Kell forced them open and saw something he thought he would never see again on this side of the River of Blood. Kell looked into his brother’s eyes.
His brother was looking at him, his pain written on his face.
But Karel was not hurt, the pain was not for himself.
Taking his right hand, Kell reached for his chest. He felt the blood, the damage.
“It is all right,” Kell said, glad to be speaking his native tongue. “You are here.”
“How ... how is this possible, Kell?” Karel said. “The Earthers ... what did the Earthers do to you?”
Kell realized that his breath was not coming easily. By force of will, he made his chest move.
“Not the Earthers, my honored brother,” Kell said. “I was sent by the High Command, but the ch
oice was mine. I was sent to strike at the humans.”
“The Earthers, we will defeat them. They will pay ...” Karel said, his voice strained with pain.
“No,” Kell said. “They have honor, there are many lies.”
Kell felt darkness around him, closing in on him. Yet there was something he needed to do, something he could [231] do for his brother and for his human friends. He had a duty. He had to make a report. Honor demanded truth.
Reaching into his uniform, Kell pulled out the round data tape and lifted it toward his brother. “Here, Karel. Take this.”
Karel took it, uncomprehending.
“It contains truth,” Kell said. “It is good to see you again, my brother.”
Then Kell felt the darkness descend and his brother’s face receded from his sight.
Klingons did not, could not, cry, because they lacked the tear ducts that humans had.
But they could wail.
Kell heard his brother wail now. Karel’s death wail for his brother sounded through the space around them, seeming to shake the walls of the starbase. Because of his shame, his betrayal, and his dishonor, Kell knew the wail was wasted on him, yet its sound comforted him.
Kell hoped that if Kahless made a place for humans who lived, fought, and died with honor, then Benitez would be there. He found that that thought also comforted him.
He hoped that when he stood at the River of Blood he would catch a glimpse of his father and his human friend. Though he had no doubt that Sto-Vo-Kor would be denied him, he hoped that he would be granted that glimpse and a chance to call to them.
He had something he wanted say to them both. ...
Then he was beyond regret, beyond honor.
He heard the wail and its sound carried him.
Chapter Twenty-two
LESLIE PARRISH WOKE UP, her head swimming. She had to do something. There was something she had to do.
She tried to reach for her communicator and found her right arm would not obey her command.
Then she realized why: it was on fire.
Then memory slowly rose up in her mind. She had a phaser burn, which was why her arm no longer worked. But that was not important.
Ignoring the pain, she raised her left hand. There was something in it, a phaser. She tossed the weapon aside and reached behind her for her communicator.
She tried to flip it open.
A Starfleet security officer does not require assistance for such a simple task, a voice in her head said.
On the third try the device opened. By force of will [233] she found her voice and said, “Parrish to Anderson, come in Anderson.
“Parrish to Anderson, come in Anderson ...
“Parrish to Anderson ...”
She found herself fading ... her eyes closing.
“Parrish to ...”
Then she was aware of a sound. The turbolift doors were opening. Though she realized that it might be Klingons, she had to focus her energy on the simple task in front of her.
“Parrish ... to ... Anderson,” she whispered.
“It’s all right,” a voice said from above her. It was human, she realized. “You are all right now.”
“Parrish ... to ...”
Then a hand was removing the communicator from hers.
“It’s all right. It’s over now,” the voice said.
“Parrish ...” she whispered as darkness washed over her.
From his vantage point inside the small chamber, West could do little but look out at the ruined arboretum. The destruction was nearly total. Most of the smaller plants, the earth, and all of the equipment that was not attached to the floor had been sucked into space.
Even so, a few of the larger trees remained. And though they were no doubt dead or dying from lack of atmosphere, they looked serene and healthy as they presided over the destruction.
“We will have a lifetime to study our regrets,” the admiral had once said to him.
[234] Lieutenant West knew that would be very easy to do. He certainly had plenty of regrets. He had been a fool.
He had spent his time at Starfleet Academy mocking the legacy of men like Admiral Robert Justman, men like Captain Garth, men like his father.
They were men who had fought for a set of principles they believed in. Those principles had names—they were called the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet Command.
They had seen things and made sacrifices for those beliefs that West could have never imagined before, but now he could see all too well.
West had thought that he had known better than they had. He thought he could have avoided the fights that they had fought and won. He had questioned their motives, their means, and their ends.
Now he saw that there were some fights that came to you whether you sought them or not, whether you were ready or not.
And no matter how much you wished to understand other people, some of those people did not want to understand you. Sometimes they just wanted you to die.
All you could do then was to fight your best fight and make whatever sacrifices you needed to make.
And hope that was enough.
The admiral had known that. He had never had any doubts about what he was fighting for, and had not flinched when it came time to make his own sacrifice.
And his sacrifice had been enough. West had seen enough of the battle in space to know that. Admiral Justman had bought them time and a second chance to [235] finish a battle that had begun twenty-five years ago when a young, untried lieutenant had done the impossible.
West would do everything he could to make certain that he helped to make the most of the chance the admiral had given them. He had a proposal for Admiral Solow on how to use understanding and a thorough knowledge of their history and culture to avoid conflict with other races. Failing that, the same knowledge could be used strategically to defeat them.
His work on the Klingons had begun, and he was certain that the fight was not over—and would not be over until the Federation defeated the Klingons absolutely and certainly. It was the only way to guarantee the future of the Federation and the principles it represented.
Thanks to the admiral, he had time to help with that task. And time for some other tasks as well.
When he returned to Earth, he would make two stops. The first would be to Admiral Solow to request a transfer to his strategic command. The second stop would be home.
He had no illusions that his father would be happy to see him. Yet they had to speak. West found that he had things he needed to say, things he needed his father to understand.
A simple apology would not do it, West knew. He knew his father and he knew he was in for a fight.
But West found that he was ready.
Suddenly a figure wearing an environmental suit appeared at the other side of the clear door.
A gloved hand rapped on the window and West stood [236] up. His rescuer made a motion that suggested opening a communicator.
The lieutenant checked for his and found that it was not there. Like many other things, it had been lost in the fighting.
He gestured with empty hands, and the head encased by the glass and silver suit nodded. A moment later, the rescuer produced a small transmitter and fixed it to the center of the door.
The rescuer gave West a thumbs-up and moved on.
Seconds later, Lieutenant West felt the transporter beam take him.
The door buzzed and Captain Kirk automatically checked the security monitor. Then he punched in a command code, and the large blast door near the entrance to auxiliary control opened.
“Mr. Spock, it’s good to see you,” Kirk said.
The Vulcan nodded. “You are well?”
“Yes,” the captain replied. “Good work with the warp core.”
“Thank you, sir, but much of the credit must go to Ensign Jawer,” the Vulcan said.
Jawer had been involved in the System 1324 incident. He had turned a badly damaged Starfleet surplus shuttle into a formidable wea
pon against the Orions. The ensign had received a citation for his efforts. Perhaps another one was in order.
“Where is the ensign now?” he asked.
“Sickbay,” the Vulcan said. “Dr. McCoy expects him to live.”
[237] Kirk was glad to hear that. “I look forward to reading your report, Mr. Spock,” the captain said. Then he turned his attention to the four young starbase officers who had arrived with Spock.
To Kirk’s surprise, he recognized them. They were the four officers who had been in the station control room during the siege.
“I’m glad to see you all made it,” Kirk said, taking a step toward the science officer. “Lieutenant?”
“Akioshi, sir,” she said.
“I presume you are here to relieve me,” he said.
The young woman looked uncomfortable, and Kirk knew why. Technically he had been in command of the starbase for the last half hour or so.
“Ah ... yes, sir,” she said.
Kirk smiled, “I am pleased to transfer command to you. The station is yours, Lieutenant Akioshi.”
She said, “Thank you, sir,” but her face told a different story. She was not long out of the Academy and this was probably her first year in her first post. Now she was in command of a battle zone. She needed a boost. They all did.
“You all did very well today,” Kirk said. “Thanks to your efforts and the efforts of this station’s crew, the Klingons were stopped here and did not acquire a single dilithium crystal to fuel their war effort. And they have one Klingon cruiser which I expect will be some time in drydock somewhere. You gave the Klingons some surprises here today, quite a few of them. Besides the damage to their ship, the Klingons suffered heavy losses to their attack force due to strong resistance from station personnel.”
[238] That was true. Kirk had spent the last half hour coordinating search-and-rescue efforts and talking with survivors. Nearly half of the station’s almost two-hundred-person crew had survived. And from what he could gather studying sensor logs and anecdotal data from the survivors, the Klingons’ losses had been much heavier.
“The Klingons will no doubt think twice before taking on a Federation installation again. Well done,” Kirk said.
