STAR TREK: The Original Series - The Last Roundup

by Christie Golden

  The door hissed open. Chancellor Azetbur quickly stepped inside. The door closed behind her.

  “Chancellor,” Spock said pleasantly. “What may I do for you?”

  “I have a favor to ask,” Azetbur said, “and perhaps an even greater one to offer.”

  “Indeed? Please continue.” With a wave of his hand, he indicated a chair. She moved toward it, then apparently decided not to sit and began to pace. Spock sat patiently, letting her take her time. She knew he was supposedly out of contact at this hour; there must be a pressing need for her to have sought him out.

  Finally she stopped, planted her feet squarely, and regarded him with an intense gaze. “I have reason to believe your friend James Kirk is in danger,” she said.

  “I am curious as to what makes you come to that conclusion.”

  “A few weeks ago, I took the oath of the DIS jaj je.”

  “The Year and the Day,” Spock translated. “Klingons have many rituals to appease the honor code. This one stipulates that the one who swears the oath will protect the other for an entire Klingon year and a day.”

  “You have indeed familiarized yourself with our customs,” she said, and there was a note of approval in her voice.

  Spock inclined his head. “It seemed the logical thing to do. What does not seem logical to me, knowing the [156] captain as I do, is that he would accept such a commitment.”

  “He did not,” said Azetbur. “Not knowingly, at least. But I took the oath and I would not be forsworn, so I have sent one of my most trusted men to guard Kirk without his knowing.”

  “This way, honor would be satisfied, and Kirk’s pride would not be affronted,” Spock said. “Brilliant, Chancellor. You are a better diplomat than you think. I take it then that this trusted man of yours deems that the hour has come for you to assist Captain Kirk?”

  “He does. Kirk and a few others are on a planet called Sanctuary. My ship has been monitoring the situation.” Briefly, Azetbur told Spock of the blocked communications, the increased presence of the Orion Syndicate, and the destroyed vessel.

  Spock digested this in silence, doing everything he could to brush aside the distracting, illogical thought: Jim never told me he was leaving. He endeavored not to show his surprise, and apparently was successful.

  “I have no wish to cause an incident by sending my own ships to Sanctuary,” Azetbur said. “The colonists are members of the Federation, if not Starfleet. It is my thought that perhaps it would best be handled by the Federation.”

  “Thank you for your information, Chancellor. I will contact Starfleet immediately.”

  “You will let me know what transpires?” She struggled not to appear too anxious, too eager to fulfill her honor debt.

  “Of course.”

  [157] “I thank you.” She nodded once, then left. Spock sat for a moment, his fingers steepled, thinking hard. Then, before he did what he had promised Azetbur he would do, he tapped the computer. “Dr. McCoy, Commander Uhura ... please report to my quarters immediately. I may require your assistance.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I UNDERSTAND how you must be feeling, Captain, but there’s really nothing I can do.” Admiral Standing Crane looked terribly apologetic, and Spock knew that much of her concern stemmed from genuine caring. She had known Jim Kirk almost as long as Spock had. “All you’ve given me thus far are unverified rumors and suppositions. I can’t possibly get authorization to get a starship out there on just that.”

  “I understand your predicament, Admiral.”

  Standing Crane didn’t seem content to just let it lie there, and continued, “You of all people know about the dozens of little fires we’re putting out right now. Every single ship is spoken for. If we’re to pull them off their already established duties, we’ll have to have a lot more proof than what you’ve given me.”

  “As I said, I do understand.”

  Standing Crane sighed. “Listen, Spock. You know I trust your judgment and I believe everything you’re telling me is true. But that’s not enough. What I can do [159] is give you my personal authorization to go and check it out for yourself, if you can find a way to get there. You give me proof that Jim and those colonists are in real danger, and I’ll get you starships so fast it will make your head spin.”

  “Your hyperbole is exaggerated, but I appreciate the confidence you are displaying in my discernment, Admiral. I will do what I can. Spock out.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked McCoy. He and Uhura stood behind the console. They had agreed it would be wisest if Standing Crane hadn’t known they were all involved. “We can’t leave Jim and the others there!”

  “Indeed we cannot,” said Spock. “The Klingons prize honor above all things. I trust Azetbur to tell me the truth as she knows it. The DIS jaj je is an ancient and revered tradition; she would not feign it if she had not actually sworn it. But Admiral Standing Crane is correct. It would be unwise to authorize a Starfleet vessel to depart without further proof.”

  “Like the doctor said, what do we do now? We don’t have a ship of our own anymore,” Uhura said.

  Spock raised an eyebrow and looked at each of them in turn.

  “Of course,” said Azetbur. “My only regret is that I cannot accompany you myself.”

  “To the best of my admittedly limited knowledge,” said Spock, “there is nothing that says that the DIS jaj je must personally be carried out by the invoker, as long as she is at least indirectly responsible for its completion.”

  [160] Azetbur smiled faintly. “Your knowledge is not as limited as you think, Captain. I have a duty to see it carried out, yes, but I have an equally important duty to my people to be here, on our homeworld, to see that peace is achieved.”

  “Agreed.”

  “The Kol’Targh, a K’t’inga-class battle cruiser, is under your command, Captain,” Azetbur said. “Her crew is to obey you as they would obey my own word. You should encounter no resistance. Do not hesitate to contact me if you require anything further. Azetbur out.” Her image disappeared from the viewscreen.

  “I’m getting mighty tired of spending time on Klingon ships,” McCoy muttered.

  “We do seem to be doing an awful lot of it,” Uhura said. “I hope we’re not gone too long. I can’t stomach food that looks back at me while I eat it.”

  “Then you should be about setting in what you can eat, Commander,” Spock said. “I fear that this trip might be longer and more dangerous than we might desire.”

  “What did they get away with?” The green face of the Orion on the screen revealed no emotion, but Lissan shrank inwardly from 858’s image nonetheless. “And do not think to lie,” 858 added. “We know more than you think.”

  Which was, mused Lissan, either a very good bluff or the truth. “You know they broke in and you know what they must have seen,” Lissan said. “Whether they understand what they witnessed or not, I do not know.”

  [161] “Then what do you think they learned?” 858 said in a voice of exaggerated patience, as if talking to a child.

  “They downloaded some information, but they have no cryptographer. It is highly unlikely they will be able to break the code at all, let alone do so before we are ready to begin the operation.”

  “You are right about that,” 858 said, “because the operation will begin in three days.”

  “Three—” Lissan almost choked. “That is simply impossible.”

  “What a shame. Because if we’re not ready to go within three days, you know what will happen.”

  Lissan did. Bitterly, he recalled the dozens of times 858 had made that threat: We will descend upon your facility and take everything, then blast it, and you, out of existence.

  They had the ability to do it. Not for the first time, Lissan wished he had never set eyes upon the human known as Julius Kirk. Young Kirk had brought in the Syndicate, and they had wooed Lissan like he was a shy little girl. He closed his eyes briefly.

  “We will be ready,” he said, and in a fit of
spite terminated the conversation.

  He leaned back in his chair, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him. Things were getting very bad very quickly.

  There was no way they were going to be ready in three days. His mind went over the various options. There was, of course, the obvious: move in and take the colonists, especially the very high profile and highly vexing James Kirk, hostage. It would buy them time, [162] granted, but it could also alert the Federation that something was amiss.

  He could show 858 how very close they were to being ready at the end of the three-day timetable. The Syndicate had been patient for years; surely they would not risk all so close to achieving their goal.

  Or at least, thinking they were going to achieve their goal.

  The third option was the one that Lissan personally liked best. It involved destroying a Syndicate ship and having a dead Orion pilot at the helm.

  He smiled contentedly at the little fantasy, and then the smile faded. This was not what his heritage had bred him for. He was descended from a long line of proud people, who disliked violence and used it only as a last resort. Murder was the Orion’s passion, not his. Lissan’s was only to help his people get what they should have been given a long, long time ago.

  He rose and went to an ancient wooden box, shoved with seeming carelessness into a corner of the room. It was scratched and dented, completely unassuming. To look at it, one would have no idea of the value of its contents. It had come here hidden, and to all but a few, it remained so.

  Gently, reverently, Lissan lifted the lid. He reached a respectful hand to touch the gleaming stone’s rough surface, caressing it, connecting with the past that it represented now and the future it would embody.

  Somehow, his ancestors had known the true value of the yellow-hued Great Stone. As time went by and the Falorians began to interact with other worlds, they [163] learned exactly how precious this stone was. It was valued beyond measure in other worlds, and could have bought the Falorians freedom long ago. But now, it was going to bring Lissan and his people more than that. It was going to bring them justice.

  With great affection, Lissan stroked the largest, most perfectly formed dilithium crystal in the known universe.

  After Scott had thoroughly swept the conference room for any bugs, Kirk ordered that everyone assemble there within an hour of his confrontation of Julius. They came, annoyed at having their research interrupted, and sat down none too graciously.

  Alex addressed them first. “My friends,” he began, “what my uncle and I have to tell you is devastating. There is no other word for it. I ask for your patience in hearing Captain Kirk out. What he has to say will sound unbelievable, but it’s true. I also ask that everyone remain calm, as what he has to say is ... unsettling, to say the least.”

  He stepped back and indicated that Kirk proceed. Kirk quickly glanced at Julius, who was seated in the back of the room. Kirk had recommended that, for now, Julius’s role in their present situation not be mentioned. It was not out of a desire to shield his nephew, but rather an overriding need to maintain calm. If these people knew what Julius had done, there could be a riot. Right now, he needed their cool heads, concentration, and unquestioned genius.

  He spoke briefly, telling of his, Scott’s and Chekov’s [164] trip to the facility. There were murmurs of indignation at first from the crowd, then a stunned silence as he proceeded to inform them of what he had seen. Kirk played on their sympathy, asking Chekov to rise and show his still-unhealed hands.

  “I am now asking ... begging ... for your help,” he finished. “We obtained this information at a great personal cost. It’s up to you to help us determine what the Falorian plot really is.” He looked at the assembled crowd and smiled at them. “We’ve got something going for us that the Falorians don’t have—some of the best minds in the quadrant are seated in this room today. I don’t think I can overstate this: not only do our lives depend on you right now, but possibly the lives of untold millions, perhaps even billions, of innocent people. The Falorians could descend at any moment. We have to use what precious time we have to the best of our ability.”

  He paused to take a breath in order to continue speaking, but the crowd of scientists and doctors began to pummel him with so many questions he couldn’t even distinguish between them.

  “When will the Falorians come for us?” Leah Cohen cried, her dark eyes large and frightened.

  “What kind of plan should we put into action?” Of course Kate Gallagher would ask that. She was always ready to act.

  “Should I prepare the hospital wing for casualties?” Dr. Sherman’s voice was high and frightened, though he tried to look calm.

  “Please!” Kirk cried. “We’ve got to do this in an [165] orderly manner! You’re disciplined scholars and researchers, start behaving like it!”

  Alex shot him a look but Kirk ignored it. There was no time to coddle these people. He was painfully aware of every second that ticked past.

  “We’ve already instructed the computer to translate the data we obtained,” he continued. “But it’s encrypted so deep that we haven’t been able to break the code. Is anyone here trained in encryption?”

  Not a single hand went up. Kirk felt his heart sinking. “Anyone have any experience at all?” Still no hands.

  The silence was palpable. Then, shyly, Skalli raised her hand.

  “Captain Kirk? Would you let me try?”

  Kirk opened his mouth to form a polite refusal but the words seemed to stick in his throat. The Huanni were shockingly quick and intelligent, and retained everything they learned. And unlike a computer, Skalli had hunches and guesses. Who knew but that her ancient link to the Falorians might serve them well now?

  “All right,” Kirk said, and he could see by the way her ears stood up that he had surprised her. “Give it the old Academy try, Skalli. Impress me.”

  She did.

  At her own request, she sequestered herself in a room with a computer, a stack of sandwiches, and a pot of Vulcan spice tea (“I love this stuff!” she had gushed when Kirk himself brought her a full pot). The rest of the colony puttered about, waiting, looking at the chronometers, ready to spring into intellectual action the [166] minute Kirk gave them the signal. Kirk himself paced in front of the door. No one was foolish enough to try to gain admittance.

  After fourteen hours and twenty-two minutes, the door hissed open and Skalli emerged. She was trembling and looked exhausted, but there was a smile on her weary face. She extended a padd to him.

  “I did it,” she said, her voice tired. “It was pretty hard too. They had triple-encryption sequences that relied on a familiarity with their regional dialects and slang terms, which is why it took me so long. I had to go back through the database and cross-reference with everything we knew about the Falorian language and customs. I got a break in that their Taskirakti region has fourteen different terms in common with Huan’s Urhark province, or I’d never have been able to do it.”

  “That’s ... very fortunate indeed,” Kirk said.

  “You’re telling me! Glad I don’t have to do that every day!” She grinned, and her normal cheery self emerged for a moment despite her obvious exhaustion.

  “Skalli. ...” Kirk began. He gestured with the padd. “This is amazing. I’m in awe of you, and I’m very, very proud. Well done, Cadet.”

  Skalli blushed and bounced up and down. They made multiple copies of the decrypted information and handed them out to several different groups. The way the scholars greedily snatched at the information and hastened off to study it made Kirk think of handing off the baton in a relay race. Gallagher, Veta, and Talbot were the first in line. For the moment, until these little clusters of scientists reported back with their [167] findings, there was little he could do. His part of the race was over, for the moment.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and went outside, suddenly craving the feel of real sun and air on his face. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly in an azure sky, and soft
white clouds drifted slowly by. The warm breeze was filled with the scent of flowers, and stirred his hair gently. The only thing that marred the vista was the blackened hulk of what had once been a proud ship. Kirk’s hazel eyes lingered on the wreckage and he sipped his coffee slowly, thoughtfully.

  The colony was on what would be called red alert if it were a Starfleet venture. Those who were not involved in analyzing the Falorian data were constantly monitoring the skies as best they could. Kirk knew, though, that even that would be little enough defense if—no, when—Lissan and his buddies decided to swoop down and make their hostage situation a formality. Alex’s insistence that this be a peaceful colony with no weapons, not even for defense, would prove to be their downfall. He, Chekov, and Scott had discussed this briefly earlier today. The only weapons in the entire colony were their three handheld phasers, which Kirk had ordered that they wear at all times from here on in.

  “Uncle Jim?” The voice was soft, hesitant—uncharacteristic for its owner.

  “What is it, Julius?” Kirk took another sip of coffee and kept his eyes on the horizon. He heard Julius move toward him and stand next to him.

  “I, uh ... I can’t get Alex to talk to me.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  [168] Julius took a shaky breath. “I guess I’m not, either. Which is why I never wanted him to find out. Why’d you have to tell him, Uncle Jim? Why couldn’t you just have confronted me in private?”

  Now Kirk did turn, slowly, and regarded his nephew with a mixture of pity and contempt. “With all that’s going on right now, with the Federation itself possibly at stake, that’s all you can say?”

  “Frankly, I don’t give a damn about the Federation,” Julius said, sounding more like his old, sullen, hostile self. “Let the Federation rot. What I care about is the only person I’ve cared about since the day I was born.” His voice caught. “I know what I did was wrong, but I did it all for him. I can’t—if he hates me for this, I don’t know what—”