by Peter David
“Not all of us do,” Kate said in a serious tone. “One of them tried to kill the supervisor.”
Kohlar winced. “Tall? Dark skin? Beard? Mole on his cheek?”
Kate hadn’t noticed a mole, but the rest of it fit. She nodded.
He shook his head. “I warned the supervisor about that one. He used to be one of Gowron’s slaves, and you know how he feels about crossbreeding.”
That, at least, explained to Kate why that Terran didn’t seem familiar. She knew most of the rebellion agents working in sensitive areas, and she hadn’t known of any here on Ardana. But a prominent Klingon who had gone on the record as being against interspecies breeding, as Gowron had, would be just the type to insert a slave into the heart of B’Elanna’s command for the express purpose of plunging a d’k tahg into it.
Indicating the monitor screens in front of Kohlar, Kate asked, “How are my ‘esteemed allies’ doing?” There were a total of ten monitors in front of Kohlar, each of which could show up to five cells at a time, thus providing the security office with a full-time view of all fifty cells on level six. At the moment, that wasn’t necessary, as the facility had only three prisoners, so only three monitors were lit. Each showed the entirety of the prisoner’s cell. The cells had a metal bunk, a hole without a drain for waste, and no windows. Air came through microscopic vents located throughout the walls, none of them wide enough to do a prisoner any good. A secure slot provided gruel once a day, which contained enough nutrients and water to keep a prisoner from starving or dehydrating, though not much beyond that.
These were the only spaces in all of Monor Base that had been completely rebuilt by the Alliance, as the colorful walls had been either covered or replaced by duranium. Kate wondered idly what the rooms’ original purposes were.
The prisoners were also stripped naked. Kate supposed that made sense from a security standpoint, but she’d seen enough of Chakotay naked to last her a lifetime and didn’t really need to be confronted by the sight again. Harry and Tuvok weren’t much of an improvement.
Kohlar snorted. “The Vulcan’s spent the entire time meditating.”
“Typical,” Kate muttered. She had even less use for Vulcans than her fellow Terrans. It had taken all her willpower not to strangle Tuvok in his sleep the entire time she was with the rebellion. Sure enough, as Kohlar had indicated, Tuvok was seated on the metal bunk in a butterfly position, his hands dropped to his sides, his eyes shut, his breathing slow. Kate had encountered many Vulcans in her life, most of them servants, but she’d never seen one who clung to arcane Vulcan ritual the way Tuvok did.
“The one with the tattoo’s the only one who’s been at all entertaining. The other Terran inspected the entire cell, for all the good it did him, then lay down to sleep. He’s been like that all day.”
“What has—has the one with the tattoo been doing?” Now that they were on an Alliance base, Chakotay no longer deserved the privilege of having his name spoken aloud. Were he to live long enough, he’d get a designation—possibly the same one he’d had on Drema IV, possibly a new one, it hardly mattered—but he’d be dead soon. At my hands, no less, which is as it should be. She’d been rehearsing Chaktoay’s murder for months now. First strangle him, then set fire to his corpse so it looks like he died in a plasma fire.
“He is pacing like a caged lIngta’. He also inspected the cell, but was nowhere as thorough as his comrade, nor as skilled.” Kohlar chuckled throatily. “His frustration is all but palpable. It is a joy to watch.”
“I bet it is,” Kate said, returning the chuckle, though with somewhat less bombast. Something was nagging at her. “The other one, you said he’s been lying still all day?”
Nodding, Kohlar said, “Yes. Typical Terran—they’d sleep all day if they could.”
“Not this one.” Kate didn’t like it. Harry Kim checking over the entire cell was in character, but giving up and lying down all day most certainly was not. “He may be the most dangerous person on this base right now,” she said gravely.
Kohlar laughed. “A Terran?”
“Don’t underestimate him. He’s one of the reasons the rebellion has succeeded.” Kate shuddered at the memory of what Harry did at Cestus III to those Klingons who’d come after them. She hadn’t been able to eat meat for a week after that. Harry’s parents had been tortured and killed by a Klingon interrogator working for then-Intendant B’Elanna, and Harry had made it his personal mission to take it out on every Klingon he met.
He also doesn’t take kindly to traitors. When they’d discovered that a woman he’d taken a fancy to—her name was something Webber—was working for the Alliance, Harry had taken her into the cell on the base in the Badlands and spent hours with her before she died. Her screams seemed to echo throughout the caverns for days.
No, she would not make the mistake of underestimating Harry Kim. Everyone who’d done that was dead now, and none of them went quietly.
“Flood his cell with anesthezine.”
“Why?” Kohlar was looking at her as if she’d sprouted wings.
“Just trust me, I know the man. He’s not to be trusted.”
Shrugging, Kohlar said, “Very well.”
Kate watched the monitor, but nothing was happening. “Something’s wrong. There’s no gas.”
Kohlar was furiously operating his console. “The computer says it’s flooding the cell. Sensors indicate ten parts per million of the gas.” He looked at her. “What madness is this?”
“Dammit, get a team to meet me down there, now.”
Nodding, Kohlar slammed a hand on the intercom. Kate didn’t hear what he said because she was already running out the door toward the turbolift that would take her down to level six. B’Elanna had claimed the bottom three levels; the cells were on the next level up.
The lift stopped at level three, and four Klingons entered. Like Kate, they were armed; unlike Kate, they had disruptor rifles, which had much more firepower than her simple hand disruptor.
Against Harry, they’re gonna need it.
“Be careful—we don’t know what this Terran’s done yet. But do not underestimate him.”
One Klingon barked a derisive laugh. “He’s just an Earther. What could he possibly do?”
Kate shook her head. “Listen to me, I know what I’m—”
She cut herself off when the lift doors opened. The four Klingons all had their weapons pointed down the wide hallway before the doors slid apart, but there was nothing there. The Ardanans had built their cloud city with wide-open spaces in mind, and even what qualified as a “narrow” corridor here on the cell level was still wide enough for all four Klingons to walk abreast. The random sculpture that was so common throughout the base was absent here, which Kate rather regretted. She found it to be soothing, and she’d miss it when she went back to the Badlands with Chakotay’s corpse.
Chakotay, Tuvok, and Harry had been placed in the three cells of the fifty closest to the lift on this level. One of the Klingons walked up to the wall unit in front of the security field and looked into its retinal scanner.
Recognizing his pattern, the wall unit beeped. “Five,” the Klingon said simply, and then the security field dropped. Kate knew that once the field registered five bodies walking through, it would reactivate, and only those five people would be allowed to walk through the field in the other direction.
“Our orders were to check cell three,” the lead Klingon said. “Kal, Ch’dak, check cells one and two just in case. Krolk, the Terran, and I will take cell three. Move!”
The two whom Kate assumed to be Kal and Ch’dak activated the doors to the first two cells. Their lack of reaction indicated that they saw exactly what Kohlar was seeing upstairs: Chakotay pacing back and forth and Tuvok meditating.
Kate stood behind the lead Klingon and next to Krolk as the leader opened the door.
The miasma of the anesthezine was still in the air, so the gas had worked. Kate couldn’t see the whole cell, but what she could see showed n
o sign of Harry Kim. Sitting on the slab was a device that she recognized as an image confuser, one that could project a particular image to a security camera. The device was quite small, and also covered in some kind of viscous substance that Kate decided she didn’t want to examine too closely. Certainly, Harry wasn’t above smuggling such a device in whatever body cavity might present itself, especially for a mission where capture was a likely possibility; the discomfort would be of no consequence to him.
Suddenly, the squad leader fell backward, and half a second later, Kate realized why: Harry had leapt down from the wall and kicked the Klingon in the stomach. He had been standing balanced on one foot on what looked like one of the bolts that held the slab to the wall. Said bolt was jammed into the food slot to provide Harry with somewhere out of the way to stand so he could surprise his attackers.
Kate shot at Harry, as did Krolk, but the Terran was using the dazed squad leader as a shield. Without missing a beat, Harry ripped the disruptor rifle from the leader’s hands and fired it full blast into the leader’s chest. Guessing that he might try that, Kate fell to the floor on her stomach. Krolk had less foresight, and the leader’s body went flying into him, sending both of them careening across the corridor.
Even as Kate got to her feet, Harry came out into the corridor and shot Kal and Ch’dak in quick succession, then dove to avoid Kate’s own disruptor fire. Kate noticed that Harry’s hands were bloody and raw, probably from removing the bolt from the metal slab by hand.
Krolk threw the body of his leader off himself and fired his disruptor rifle again, but now Harry had retreated back into the cell. “No, don’t—” Kate started, but Krolk followed him in.
Seconds later, Krolk screamed a noise that she’d never heard a Klingon throat make before—and hoped she would never hear again.
Unwilling to subject herself to the same fate, and seeing that the other three Klingons had gaping, smoking holes in their chests—Harry’s shots were all right at the heart—Kate turned and ran through the security field, into the turbolift, and back to the upper levels. Only after the door closed, and she knew she was safe, did she sound the alarm.
10
Harry Kim removed the gore-covered d’k tahg from the spine of the Klingon who’d been foolish enough to come in after him. Janeway should’ve warned him, he thought. Then again, maybe she did. It’s not like a Klingon would listen to anyone, least of all a Terran.
Getting up from his kneeling position, Harry padded out to the corridor just in time to see the lift doors close on Janeway. The only smart one of the bunch, he thought, though that was hardly saying much when the rest of the bunch were Klingons. Harry took a few deep breaths to keep his blood oxygenated and to expel the excess carbon dioxide he’d built up from holding his breath for so long against the anesthezine.
An alarm sounded. Dammit.
Janeway meant nothing to Harry. Sure, she had betrayed them and killed Annika, but she was obviously an Alliance agent. She was just doing her job. Chakotay, he knew, might have a different opinion on the subject, but that was his problem. As for Annika, she was just someone Harry slept with.
It wasn’t as if she was Libby.
Harry had enjoyed flensing Libby when she betrayed them. Her screams were wonderful, though a little too high-pitched.
As far as Harry was concerned, it was all a means to an end. Specifically, the Klingons’ end.
The truth was, Harry didn’t give a damn about the rebellion or the liberation of the Terran people or any of the rest of it. Although he wouldn’t object if the Alliance fell, he didn’t much care about it, one way or the other.
All Harry wanted to do was eliminate the entire Klingon species, preferably by killing every one of them himself.
Of course, the chances of his actually accomplishing this goal were minuscule—Harry knew that full well. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make the effort, and try to take down as many of those filthy despicable smelly arrogant animals as he could before they finally killed him.
He was also happy to kill Cardassians—or maim them, as he had Seska—but only because they were foolish enough to ally with the Klingons.
Every time Harry Kim closed his eyes, he saw his parents, strapped into one of the Klingons’ mind-rippers while he watched, screaming in agonizing pain, screaming until their throats were raw, then screaming some more. The sound of their wails felt like it would shatter Harry’s spine, and he’d spent the years since trying to recreate that sound in the throats of each of the Klingons he killed.
The one in the cell had come very close, but the pitch was wrong. Certainly closer than Libby had gotten when he peeled the flesh off her left leg.
Reaching down, Harry threw one of the Klingons’ corpses over his shoulder and walked it over to the security field. Stopping about a meter in front of it, he tossed the body to the floor—right in the path of the security field. The field dropped, of course, having registered the Klingon’s DNA pattern, and would stay down until he passed all the way through.
Figuring that even the Klingons wouldn’t be stupid enough to allow someone to block the field indefinitely before some failsafe protocol kicked in, Harry grabbed the Klingon’s rifle and ran back toward the cells. He grabbed the wrist of one of the other Klingon corpses and waved the hand over the sensor next to the cell opposite his. (The Klingons weren’t completely stupid. The two who had checked Chakotay and Tuvok had had the wherewithal to close the cell doors before they tried to take Harry down.)
The door slid open to reveal an agitated Chakotay. “Harry! Good work.”
“We don’t have much time,” he said. He dragged the corpse over to Tuvok’s cell door. “Janeway sounded the alarm.”
“She was with them?” Chakotay’s agitation became outright anger. “And you didn’t kill her?”
Harry tossed the disruptor rifle to him. “Tried. She got away.” Then he grabbed another rifle and tossed it to Tuvok, who exited his cell much more calmly than Chakotay had his. Finally, Harry picked up the one he’d used to shoot three of the Klingons.
The lift doors opened. Harry whirled around and fired his rifle several times. By the time the doors parted completely, Chakotay was doing the same.
Six Klingon corpses fell to the lift floor. Harry fired several more times for good measure.
Tuvok finally spoke. “I believe our wisest strategy would be to split up.”
“I agree,” Chakotay said with a nod. “We need to retrieve Kes and Neelix, we need to find out where Geronimo’s being stored.” He held up his rifle. “And I need to deal with Kate.”
“B’Elanna’s mine,” Harry said. “I’ve wanted to hear that halfbreed bitch scream since Cestus III.”
“We do not have the luxury of indulging in vendettas,” Tuvok said. “Our paramount goal should be to liberate Kes and escape this base.”
“And the best way to do that is to secure a hostage.” Chakotay looked at Kim. “That’s your job. Find B’Elanna and take her with you to wherever Geronimo is located.”
Harry grinned at the prospect of what he would do to B’Elanna, though he suspected her screams would be all wrong.
“Don’t kill her,” Chakotay said emphatically, “yet. Once we get her back to the Badlands, you can take your time with her, but we need her as a hostage to get back to Geronimo.”
“All right,” Harry muttered. He understood the logic, intellectually, and Chakotay was the captain. But he didn’t have to like it.
“Tuvok, you find Kes and Neelix and free them. Kate’s mine.”
“I repeat,” Tuvok said, “we do not have time—”
Shaking his head, Chakotay said, “This isn’t a vendetta, Tuvok. If Kate’s been working for them, she has intelligence on us—intelligence we can’t afford to let the Alliance have. I need to capture her or kill her, and honestly, I think killing her is the safer option.”
Tuvok stared at Chakotay for two seconds, then nodded. “Agreed. But what of Seska? She does not appear to be i
n this cell block.”
Chakotay considered. “She has intelligence we can’t afford to let the Alliance have, either, and I don’t trust her to be able to resist torture forever. If she’s willing to come with us, then she can, but if not, she dies, too.”
Harry jogged over to the wall next to the turbolift, stepping over the Klingon corpse he’d left to keep the security field down. First he kicked the arms and legs of two Klingons whose bodies had fallen across the lift’s threshold. As soon as he did that, the doors closed.
“I can rig the turbolift so it will only respond to our voice commands,” he said as he ripped the covering off the wall control. He immediately started reprogramming the duotronic circuitry. Harry had always been good with computers. His parents had encouraged this proclivity on the theory that he might attain a better position in the slave class if he had a useful skill. Unfortunately, the plan backfired rather spectacularly when Harry had been summoned to fix a faulty transporter console, only to discover that it wasn’t faulty, it had simply been misprogrammed. The Klingon who had done the programming took umbrage at the accusation—never mind that it was true—and ordered Harry’s parents killed for their son’s effrontery. Harry was spared because he did have useful skills, and the assumption was that the object lesson would make him more tractable.
That plan also backfired rather spectacularly.
Harry looked up at Tuvok and Chakotay, who were now standing over him. “Say something,” he said, those words providing his own voice for the computer’s benefit.
“Like what?” Chakotay asked.
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “I believe that will suffice.”
Nodding, Harry got to his feet. “This will affect all the turbolifts—at least until B’Elanna or one of her security people fix it.”
Chakotay seemed to grimace, but said, “Good job.”
All three of them entered the lift.
