Errand of Fury Book 1

by Kevin Ryan

  He felt the cold metal of the knife’s handle in his hand and grasped it firmly as he stood up. Before he could make another move his peripheral vision told him that something was wrong. There was a shout in Klingonese, then he saw a flash of metal and he felt something hard and fast strike the back of his head.

  The world started to go black as Fuller felt himself falling to the floor. Through force of will, he fought off unconsciousness and held his hands out to break his fall. He ended up on his hands and knees with the world swimming around him. As he shook off dizziness, something hit him hard in the ribs on one side.

  He immediately recognized it as a foot as he fell over sideways. Knowing that another blow was inevitable, Fuller tried to scramble back to his feet. To his surprise, the pain in his side helped clear his head. There was shouting he couldn’t understand and then he was on his feet, his vision clearing.

  The Klingon leader was shouting down one of the guards, who was gesturing at Fuller…and Andrews. With his vision finally clear, Fuller saw Andrews holding a gash in his right shoulder. For a moment, Fuller was too pleased to see his friend alive to worry about the fact that their ad hoc assault on the Klingon guards had failed so miserably.

  Then he saw one of the guards holding his right arm close to his body. The assault had not been a complete failure. Apparently, Andrews had gotten at least one good blow in. And by the looks of the guard, Fuller guessed that the arm was broken. There were still six other Klingons in the cargo area, and they still had disruptors, but Fuller was glad to see any advantage turn in their favor.

  The guards spoke quietly to one another, but Fuller didn’t need to hear them to understand what they were saying. The leader was telling the others not to kill him and Andrews because they needed the hostages to keep blowing them out the airlock, to keep the Yorkshire off balance and vulnerable.

  There were shouts, and Fuller turned to the airlock door and saw that another group of twenty was inside waiting to die. The leader shouted, “Now,” and the guard operating the airlock control panel hit the large button that turned off the force field—performing the task with all of the concern of someone hitting a waste disposal button.

  Rage and horror bubbled up in his chest simultaneously as twenty more of his crewmates were blown into the abyss. But this time, he clearly saw the telltale flash of transporter beams taking some of them immediately. Looking in the distance, he saw the Yorkshire executing high-speed impulse maneuvers. There was a blizzard of weapons fire from the Yorkshire and the Klingon ships, and Fuller thought he saw another flash of transporter energy.

  At the end of it all, Fuller was pleased to see that the Yorkshire was still intact, having given at least as good as it got. Fuller’s thoughts were cut short by hands grabbing him roughly and shoving him toward the inner airlock door. He turned to see that one of the guards had one hand around his upper arm while the Klingon’s other hand held a dagger over him.

  Another group was being put together, in a hurry, he noted. That gave him hope: perhaps the Yorkshire was doing well out there. Maybe the Klingons were sweating a little. Fuller decided right there that he would not die out in space. He would fight, right here and right now. He might not get to strike even a single blow, the way Andrews had, but at least he would keep himself from being used as a weapon against the Yorkshire.

  There was a beep that told Fuller that the airlock was now pressurized. Immediately, the door opened. The guards shoved him toward the open airlock. There wasn’t much time…

  “Wait!” Andrews’s voice boomed out.

  Fuller turned to see Andrews addressing the Klingon leader. “Let me take his place,” he said, pointing to Fuller.

  The leader looked at Andrews, then at Fuller. Then he nodded. “You have earned the right to choose your death, and to end the indignity of your captivity.” Fuller saw that Andrews’s blow against the guard had somehow won him the respect of the head Klingon. The leader pointed to Fuller and shouted to his guard, “That one stays here for now.”

  “No!” Fuller found himself shouting. But immediately there was another Klingon on his other arm. He struggled, but their grips were firm.

  One of the guards leaned into him and said, “Do not worry, Earther, your pathetic life will end soon enough.”

  Andrews walked past him and Fuller said, “Don’t do this.”

  But his friend only smiled grimly. He looked down at his wound, which was still bleeding freely, and said, “I can’t help much now, but you still can.” It made sense, Fuller knew. Andrews was stronger and a better fighter when he wasn’t injured. Now his left arm was useless, and Fuller could see by the pallor of his skin that blood loss was taking its toll on him.

  Still, Fuller shook his head. “No,” he said.

  Andrews leaned down and whispered to him, “Let them know they’ve been in a fight.”

  Then Andrews was standing with the group in the airlock. Two Klingons held disruptors on them. Every face in there was calm; like Andrews, they were facing their deaths with courage. Tears stung Fuller’s eyes. Too many members of the Endeavour’s crew had done that today.

  Now there would be less than forty of them.

  “Michael, you go home and see that baby of yours,” Andrews said.

  “What?”

  “Get out of here and see that baby,” Andrews said. “Promise me.”

  For a moment, Fuller was speechless. Then he said, “I promise,” nearly choking on the words.

  Andrews smiled and then the heavy inner airlock door slammed shut, the sound of it resonating through the room.

  Almost immediately, the Klingons holding him released his arms. Fuller rushed to the window of the door. Twenty pairs of eyes were looking at him. He found Andrews, who was standing closest to the window. His friend’s eyes met his.

  Once again, time slowed to a crawl, but too soon he heard the Klingon leader shout something. There was the sound of a click, then a flash as the force field holding the atmosphere inside the airlock shut off. Like before, Andrews and the others were instantly plucked from the deck and shot out into space.

  Fuller prayed that the Yorkshire’s transporters were ready, but he didn’t stay an instant to watch what happened. Instead, he turned and strode across the deck to the Klingon leader, who watched him approach with amused contempt. He stopped less than a meter from the larger alien and said, “You!”

  Then he reached out with both hands and shoved the Klingon backward.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I.K.S. D’K TAHG

  2267

  THE PROBLEMS HAD BEGUN even before Duras and his Klingons had arrived on board. First, there was the cargo. Duras had ordered large numbers of containers be stowed on the ship. They all had security seals and were impervious to scans, which made Karel even more suspicious. In addition, they were of sufficient size and number to force Karel to have other cargo removed.

  The first category to go was food. It was the easiest to cut, but that would have ramifications for the crew. The ship now had less than a week’s supply of food on board. That meant they would have to acquire additional food from appropriate planets on the way. It was a simple enough matter but bad for morale. The fact was that warriors fought better with decent gagh and rokeg blood pie in their stomachs.

  Karel had also had to sacrifice some spare parts for nonessential systems—nothing that would compromise the vessel’s battle readiness in the short term, but as first officer he had a duty to think in the long term as well.

  Finally, he had had a terrible time accommodating the council member’s staff and security people. Originally, Duras was going to contribute only the Klingons necessary to bring the D’k Tahg up to full fighting strength, but the soldiers he was bringing actually exceeded the number of replacements they had needed. Worse, their number meant that nearly half the crew and fully half the battle-ready forces were now Klingons loyal to Duras. Karel’s blood had called out a warning when Koloth had first told him about Duras; now his blood w
as screaming its message.

  Yet Karel’s hands were tied, and so were Koloth’s. They had their orders and their duty to the empire.

  Karel was now cramming the crew even tighter to make room for Duras’s staff. In his final message, Kell had told him that the humans had only two junior crew members to a single room that was spacious by any standard. Now, Karel was placing eight Klingons to a room. That meant more fighting among the crew and a waste of energy and focus that wreaked havoc with efficiency.

  Karel had just finished his last reassignment of crew quarters and found Gash waiting at the transporter room. “Commander Karel,” the large Klingon said.

  “Gash, Duras’s troops will be arriving first. See that they get to their assigned quarters and that they understand the rules of the ship,” Karel said. As ground security forces stationed at High Command these Klingons had probably never served on a Klingon Defense Force vessel. “And keep a close eye on them at all times.”

  Gash simply nodded, completely missing the irony of the remark, given the fact that he had only one eye. He was an excellent warrior and even a good leader in battle situations, but Gash was completely humorless. That was fine with Karel. What he and Koloth needed now were Klingons they could trust. Karel was glad he had put Gash in charge of the surveillance of Duras’s soldiers.

  Karel headed for the bridge, where Koloth and the rest of the bridge crew were assembled. A few minutes later the communications officer announced, “The last of Councillor Duras’s troops are here.” He waited a moment and said, “The councillor is now also on board.”

  Koloth acknowledged the information with a nod. The rest of the crew looked at their commander, waiting to see what he would do now. After waiting a moment, Koloth smiled and said, “Tell the transporter officer to give Councillor Duras directions to the bridge.”

  The bridge crew did not respond overtly, but Karel could feel the tension in the room increase to battle levels.

  Honored guests were usually greeted on arrival by the commander or at least a member of the senior crew. At worst, they would be escorted to the bridge. What Koloth was doing would send a clear message to Duras about how he regarded this secret mission. Showing such disrespect to a councillor was a dangerous business and the action of a Klingon who was either foolish or fearless.

  Karel decided that he was glad to have Koloth for a captain.

  A short time later, the bridge doors opened and a large Klingon entered. Klingons in the Defense Force had a familiar saying: There are no fat warriors.

  The councillor was no warrior.

  Of course, Karel immediately recognized the cassock of the High Council that Duras wore over his portly form, but he had never met this Klingon before. Yet, there was something familiar about the Klingon, and Karel’s blood called out a fresh warning. The councillor was taller than Karel himself, with a more rounded shape than any warrior in active service would maintain.

  “Councillor Duras,” Koloth said as he stood and the bridge crew followed suit.

  “Captain Koloth,” Duras said, putting a subtle emphasis on Koloth’s rank.

  “The D’k Tahg is ready to serve the empire,” Koloth said.

  “Excellent,” Duras said. “Take us out of orbit, Captain.”

  Koloth nodded to Karel, who leaned down to his own command console, hit the intercom button, and said, “Clear all moorings.” There were audible clicks as the mooring and supply lines that connected the D’k Tahg to the docking structure were released.

  Karel watched his screen for confirmation and then said, “All moorings clear.”

  “Pilot, take us out of dock and orbit,” Koloth said. Thrusters moved them slowly out of the docking structure, and then there was a subtle shift in the hum of the ship as impulse engines were engaged to take them out of orbit. “Heading, Councillor?”

  “Out of the system will be fine for now,” Duras replied.

  The ship was under way, there was no reason to deny Koloth information about their heading. Duras was withholding it merely because he could. Karel watched Koloth’s face for some reaction, but there was none.

  “Use your discretion, pilot,” Koloth said calmly, though Karel knew that his commander must be seething inside. A few minutes later, the ship cleared the system. Turning to Duras, Koloth merely looked at him.

  Duras walked to the front of the bridge and stood in front of the viewscreen. Karel suddenly remembered where he had seen that posture before; it looked like the councillor was about to make a speech. “Klingon warriors, you are now called upon by your empire. This is a dangerous time for our people. Even now, cowardly Earthers are plotting the end of the great empire that Kahless himself forged just as surely as he forged the first bat’leth. We will now enter Federation space for what may be the first strike in a conflict that has been inevitable since the Earthers’ treachery at Donatu V, where they denied us our rightful victory. We will soon see the beginning of the final stage of that conflict that began twenty-five years ago. We shall reclaim the honor lost that day, and we will soon see the day when the Earthers and their cowardly Federation of weaklings fall to the might of the Klingon people.”

  Duras paused to let the importance of his words sink in. Karel, of course, knew the history of Donatu V. It was often mentioned as a stain on the empire, and the treachery of the humans was usually given as the reason that the empire had been forced to accept the cessation of hostilities without a clear victor.

  For much of his life, Karel had accepted what he had been told about that battle, partly because his own father had died in that fight and could not tell his sons what had really transpired. But since he had heard Kell’s final tale, he questioned much about what he had been told about humans.

  The Klingons on the bridge, however, did not have the benefit of his secret knowledge and pounded on their consoles in reaction to Duras’s words. Smiling, the councillor continued. “We head for Federation space to a system the Earthers call 7348. There we will begin our work and there we will strike the first blow.”

  The rest of the bridge crew responded to the fact that the ship would be once again heading into Federation space. Many of the Klingons on board had lost comrades on Starbase 42 and were eager for revenge.

  Karel felt none of that. He knew the attack on the starbase was part of an honorless plot within the empire. And he knew something about the planet that they were heading to—something that no one else in the crew did, not even Captain Koloth. According to Kell’s final message, that was the planet full of Klingons living a primitive existence. Someone in the empire had used Orions to mine the world of precious dilithium. If it had continued, the mining process would have destroyed the planet. Then when the human vessel on which Kell had served showed up to put a stop to the operation, the Klingons in command of the operation tried to destroy the world and every Klingon living on the surface.

  That was the true stain on the honor of the empire.

  Koloth stepped forward and said, “Pilot, plot a course, then give us best speed to Federation space.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  EARTH

  2267

  LIEUTENANT WEST’S COMPUTER BEEPED, telling him that a priority one security message was incoming. He nearly dropped his coffee in his effort to race across his office and get to his terminal quickly. The message was from Starfleet Intelligence, and West checked it twice. Then, as a triple check, he called up the raw sensor data used to make the conclusion.

  There was no doubt. Without hesitating, he jumped to his feet and headed out the door at a run, even as he heard Admiral Solow calling for him over the intercom. West didn’t stop to answer the call and instead headed to the admiral’s office. He was there in a few seconds.

  Though the admiral looked composed, West had served with him long enough to know that he was very concerned. “Lieutenant, you’ve seen the report.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come here.”

  The li
eutenant took a position in front of Solow’s viewscreen. His heart was pounding in his chest, and a sick feeling formed in his stomach. He knew what was coming next and had his thought confirmed when Solow’s assistant said over the intercom, “Admiral, I have President Wescott.”

  The Federation seal appeared briefly on the viewscreen, then it flickered and West saw the president. It was not the same man whom he had met for the first time a week ago. Gone was his easy smile, and he looked more worn than he had just those few days before. West could have sworn that there were more lines on the man’s face and that his hair had more gray.

  There was, however, no doubt that the dark rings around those powerful blue eyes were new, as were the bags under them.

  “Mister President,” the admiral said. Then he gestured to West and said, “You remember my aide, Lieutenant West.”

  The president gave them a grim smile. “I don’t mind saying that I had hoped not to speak to you again so soon.”

  Solow returned the smile. “I understand perfectly, sir.”

  Then West saw it: the president’s genuine smile. The smile was something to see, even on a viewscreen and under dire circumstances. Then the president was all business again. “You’re convinced that the intelligence is accurate?”

  “There’s no doubt, sir. A Klingon warship has entered Federation space,” Solow said.

  The president nodded. “We’re trying to reach Ambassador Fox now.”

  West felt the seconds ticking by and wanted to scream that they needed to act immediately, that nothing Fox had to say would make a difference. However, he took one look at Solow’s face and held his tongue. If the admiral was content to wait, he could too.

  Finally, the image on the viewscreen shifted, splitting in half, the president’s face on the left and Ambassador Fox’s on the right. The slight flickering of the ambassador’s image told West that Fox was talking to them via subspace, no doubt from wherever he was conducting negotiations.