Obsidian Alliances

by Peter David

  Maybe, Harry thought cheerfully as the doors slid shut, I’ll be able to kill a few more Klingons.

  Every time Neelix heard Kes scream, it was like someone tore out a piece of his heart. Given how much she’d been screaming, it was a wonder blood was still being pumped through his veins.

  More and more, Neelix was coming to the conclusion that he really didn’t like this part of the galaxy. The people here were vicious and depraved. True, the Kazon were often like that, but that was born out of desperation for resources that were hard to come by. But these people had water aplenty, they had the technology to teleport people from place to place, they had ships that were far faster than anything Neelix had seen in Talaxian or Kazon or even Malon territory—and yet they engaged in acts that could charitably be called venial.

  As bad as Captain Chakotay and his band of privateers were—and they could call themselves a rebellion all they wanted, Neelix knew pirates when he saw them—they, at least, had some decency. Indeed, the captain himself seemed a noble sort, even if his people were either unemotional automatons or lunatics like Seska.

  This Alliance they fought against, however, was beyond the pale. He had seen them strip down the captain and his people and throw them into cells—apart from Seska, who’d been taken elsewhere. Then Neelix himself had been taken to a laboratory where he had finally, for the first time since coming to this mad place, lain eyes on his beloved Kes—only to find her secured to a bed, sweat pouring off her face, her eyes bloodshot. She had been cured of whatever physical injuries the Kazon-Ogla had inflicted on her, thankfully, but from the looks of her, her position had hardly improved since Neelix rescued her.

  Rescued her, hah! As if I did anything except provide her with a ride off-planet. Still, he had taken on Kes’s life as his responsibility from the moment he had first met her, and so it frustrated him to be forced to watch that doctor torture her.

  However, his preferred option—leaving the room and taking Kes with him—wasn’t available. He’d been brought into this lab at gunpoint, the gun in question wielded by as scary a creature as any Neelix had ever seen. Based on the descriptions provided to him by Captain Chakotay and his people, this was a Klingon. He had always thought the Kazon to have a fearsome mien, but compared to these Klingons, the Kazon were downright cuddly.

  That same Klingon was now standing over Neelix as the latter sat in an uncomfortable chair about halfway across the lab from Kes’s bed. The Klingon loomed behind Neelix, announcing his presence with an occasional growl.

  The doctor—who was called Zimmerman—touched a control, and Kes’s screams, mercifully, stopped. Zimmerman had completely ignored the Klingon, and only paid occasional attention to Neelix.

  Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!

  Neelix’s eyes widened, but he forced himself not to react otherwise. Though she had stopped screaming shortly after Zimmerman switched the machine off, he still heard Kes’s voice in his head!

  “Interesting,” Zimmerman said. “Well, not that interesting, since it was a result I predicted. As expected, the higher the pain, the higher the psilosynine count. At least the inhibitor I gave myself appears to be working.” He turned to Neelix. “I assume you heard her thoughts just then?”

  Neelix shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about, Doctor.”

  Zimmerman rolled his eyes. “Save me from the noble lover, trying to defend his maiden fair. Mister Neelix, this entire process will go much faster if you just answer my questions simply and directly. Your eyes widened two seconds after I switched off the machine. There was no obvious external stimulus to prompt such a response, so it had to be an internal stimulus. While I suppose it’s possible that you suddenly, at that particular instant, figured out the secret of interdimensional travel or the solution to Selkor’s First Equation, it’s far more likely that you ‘heard’ Kes’s voice in your head. Am I correct?”

  Still Neelix said nothing. Zimmerman may have been correct in everything he said, but Neelix saw no good reason to help him.

  Letting out a very long sigh, Zimmerman said, “Very well. We’ll do it the hard way.” He walked over to the shelf behind the bed Kes was strapped to, removed a hypo, and started preparing it.

  Neelix, can you hear me?

  This time, Neelix was able to control his reaction more successfully. However, he had no idea how to respond to her.

  Just think the words, my love, and I’ll hear them.

  Neelix thought she made it sound easier than it was. I can hear you, yes.

  What happened, Neelix? Where are we? Do you have any idea?

  Unsure how to convey a sigh, Neelix simply thought, It’s a very long story, Kes. I scarcely know where to begin.

  Simply think about it, Kes told him, and I’ll see.

  So Neelix thought back on the events that had led him here, from the destruction of his ship to his rescue by Captain Chakotay, to learning how far they had traveled and what the state of the universe was in this corner of the galaxy, to going to the rebellion base, to learning where Kes had been taken and mounting a rescue mission.

  All the while, Zimmerman was preparing his hypo and muttering to himself. “Too much of this will likely grant her an immunity to it. I hate having to rely on drugs so consistently. Certainly, the window of usefulness is shrinking with each passing dose.”

  Swallowing, Neelix watched as the doctor applied the hypo to Kes’s neck. Kes, what is that?

  It’s a drug of some kind. I hate it—it forces me to speak the truth, and it makes my mind all fuzzy…

  Those last words were barely “audible” to Neelix. Kes! Kes, can you hear me?

  But, though he could feel that Kes was still present in his mind, he could no longer hear any of her thoughts—nothing coherent, at least. Her eyes shut tighter as Zimmerman administered the shot, then her eyes opened wide. Once, Neelix would have counted that as one of his favorite sights, for Kes’s big, beautiful eyes were always probing, always questioning, always wondering. It was one of the many things he adored about her.

  Now, though, those eyes were filled with fear.

  Be strong, my sweet one, Neelix thought emphatically, hoping that Kes could gain some measure of strength from him.

  “All right then, Kes,” Zimmerman said in a deceptively gentle voice, “I’d like you to tell me what you’re sensing.”

  “I…I feel…feel Neelix.”

  That caused Neelix to wince. He could hear the struggle in her voice, feel that same struggle in her mind, knowing that she desperately didn’t want to answer Zimmerman’s questions.

  “He’s…he’s concerned about…about me. He thinks you’re going…going to k-kill me.”

  Zimmerman turned to face Neelix, carrying an expression of sincere insincerity that Neelix recognized all too well—he often saw it in the mirror—which served only to make him trust the doctor even less. “You can rest assured, Mister Neelix, that killing Kes is absolutely the last thing on my mind.”

  “And I feel—”

  At that, Zimmerman whirled toward Kes. He obviously hadn’t been expecting more. “Yes, you feel what?” His questioning was more eager now. Neelix assumed it was due to having encountered something outside the range of what he had been expecting.

  “Belq. He’s bored and…and wants a…a bowl of gagh to eat, and then wishes…wishes to have sex with Prayak, from the galley. He’s been—”

  The growl behind Neelix grew louder. Neelix looked up to see that the Klingon had unholstered his gun and was pointing it at Kes. “Be silent, woman!” Apparently, Belq was the name of Neelix’s minder.

  With a fleetness of foot Neelix hadn’t expected from him, Zimmerman dashed forward to stand between Belq’s muzzle and Kes. “Put that away, you big oaf! This woman is the most precious commodity on this base, and if you shoot her—”

  “You’ll what?” Belq asked with a sneer.

  “It’s not what I’ll do,” Zimmerman said tightly, “i
t’s what the supervisor will do. This woman is her prize. Do you really think she’d take kindly to you shooting her?”

  Belq’s sneer became a grin. “Do you really think I care a whit what that halfbreed petaQ thinks?”

  Neelix noticed that Belq’s attention seemed to be focused entirely on Zimmerman and Kes and somewhat less so on Neelix himself. Deciding that it behooved him to take advantage, he tried a wrist grab that a friend had taught him once, years ago, one that the friend had said would take a Kazon down with consummate ease.

  Of course, Neelix hadn’t had the chance to test that assertion on a Kazon, and Belq was quite a bit larger than most of the Kazon Neelix had met in his life. Also, Klingons wore gauntlets that made it somewhat more difficult to maintain a crushing grip on their forearms, as Neelix quickly learned the hard way.

  The Klingon laughed heartily at the sight of Neelix trying to grab his arm, and then waved that arm to one side, a motion that made Neelix nauseous even as he lost what grip he had on the arm in question and went flying across the room. Whatever minor pain was in his arms from his attempted grab was quickly forgotten in light of the impact of the back of his head with a shelf on the far wall, not to mention the shards of glass. The latter was, he quickly realized, what remained of the jars on that shelf, which his collision had knocked off.

  “You clumsy idiot, I need those!” That was Zimmerman.

  Neelix’s vision was swimming, and he set his hand down to steady himself, only to find it hitting something wet and squishy. Looking down, he saw that he had placed his hand right into what looked like a brain covered in a green fluid.

  Yanking his hand out of the cranial matter, Neelix screamed and tried to get up, despite the swimming of his head.

  Belq’s disruptor was now aimed right at Zimmerman. “I’ve wanted to do this for months, Terran.”

  “If you shoot me—” Zimmerman started.

  “Spare me,” Belq said with another sneer.

  Looking around—and regretting moving his head that much—Neelix grabbed one of the jars that hadn’t broken upon impact with the floor and threw it at Belq.

  The jar collided with the Klingon’s wrist, sending the gun flying across the lab.

  Neelix was disappointed initially—he’d been aiming for Belq’s head—but he’d take what he could get. Snarling, Belq turned on Neelix while removing a large dagger from his belt. With a click, two smaller blades unfurled near the dagger’s hilt.

  Oh dear, Neelix thought. He now saw two daggers, but also two Belqs, which meant the head trauma he suffered was getting worse. How do I dodge when I don’t know which one is real?

  Then two Zimmermans sneaked up behind the two Belqs, and they each simultaneously jabbed a hypo into the Belqs’ necks.

  The Belqs reached around and backhanded the Zimmermans so they went flying across the lab.

  “I’ll kill you all!” the two Belqs roared with only one voice. “I’ll—aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!”

  Both Belqs’ bodies started to convulse. Steam, of all things, came trickling out of their noses and ears, along with drops of blood. The scream became louder, then even louder as the Belqs collapsed to the floor, convulsing like mad, arms clawing at an opponent who wasn’t there, legs kicking in all directions, with more steam coming out of every orifice.

  Neelix closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see this, but found himself compelled to open them when the scream became more strangled.

  There was only one Belq now, but that was enough. His screams were more of a hkkk noise now, and his eyes—

  His eyes were boiling!

  Now Neelix again closed his eyes, and also turned his head away, unable to watch any longer. Kes, he knew, was doing the same. Even as Neelix’s head started to clear, he noticed that Kes’s seemed to be clearing, as well. Zimmerman’s concern about her developing resistance to the drug was apparently warranted, a thought that might have cheered Neelix under different circumstances.

  Kes was also trying desperately not to see what was happening. Sadly, that did her little good, as she could still feel it all, and Neelix felt it through her: the pain, the anguish, as if one had been lit on fire from the inside, lava coursing through one’s veins instead of blood.

  After Belq’s wails of agony finally stopped, leaving only a sound very much like steam escaping a leaky pipe, Neelix heard Zimmerman say, “Well, that was irritating.”

  “What did you do to him?” Kes asked.

  Neelix finally opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet, looking everywhere except at the Klingon on the floor.

  Zimmerman was applying some kind of device to his cheek where Belq had struck him as he answered Kes’s query. “A compound of my own devising. It excites the red blood cells to the point where the blood reaches boiling temperature within seconds. This was my first time trying it on a Klingon. I wasn’t sure it would work, as their blood has a different boiling point from that of Terrans and Cardassians, but it seems to have worked even faster—lucky for us.”

  Neelix stared angrily at the doctor. “I’d hardly consider that kind of murder ‘lucky,’ Doctor.”

  Zimmerman regarded Neelix with an arched eyebrow. “I would think you’d be grateful, Mister Neelix. Had I not intervened, he surely would have killed you, and Kes, and me.”

  “Grateful? What kind of monster are you?”

  “I’m a scientist, Mister Neelix, and one who still has plenty of that compound left. I’ve already tested your blood, and its boiling point is within the range of the compound’s effectiveness, rest assured.” Zimmerman walked over to one of the consoles and hit a control. “This is Doctor Zimmerman—can someone please send security down here? I need a new guard for the prisoner, and someone to dispose of a body.”

  When Zimmerman looked over at the floor next to Neelix, he grimaced. “Oh, no! Those were my only samples!” He strode over toward Neelix, but stopped short of actually stepping in the spreading green fluid. “Ruined! Absolutely ruined!”

  Three Klingons came in through the wide archway. “What happened?”

  “Take that idiot to a cell,” Zimmerman snapped, “he’s a menace!”

  One Klingon moved toward Neelix. The others stood still; one asked, “What happened to Belq?”

  “An accident. It’s none of your concern,” Zimmerman said dismissively as he turned his back on the Klingon and prepared another hypo.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, Terran—Belq was my cousin!” The Klingon stomped over to Zimmerman, grabbed his shoulder, and violently yanked him around with his left hand, unsheathing his dagger—which looked just like Belq’s; they were obviously issued to all soldiers—with his right.

  Before this tableau could continue, an alarm went off. “General quarters,” said a disembodied, mechanical voice that Neelix figured belonged to the base’s computer. “All personnel to duty stations. Prisoners escaped. Code nine. Repeat, code nine.”

  The Klingon who had been threatening Zimmerman sheathed his dagger and stared at the other two. “You two, stay here, guard the prisoners.” He sneered at Zimmerman. “This one, though, can go to the dogs.”

  The other two Klingons chuckled as the first one left.

  Zimmerman shook his head. “Barbarians…”

  Neelix, however, was hopeful. Perhaps the prisoners who’ve escaped are Captain Chakotay and his crew. Of course, Neelix had no way of knowing if the captain and his people were even still alive, but this base didn’t strike him as the kind of place that had a lot of prisoners.

  Still, hope was all he had left.

  11

  Chakotay was beginning to understand why Terrans had taken to wearing footwear. Few things were more painful than having to walk—or run—on unyielding surfaces in one’s bare feet. Dirt and grass were one thing—they changed shape to conform to one’s footfalls—but running on the metal floors of Monor Base was getting progressively more agonizing.

  He felt horribly exposed, and not just because he had no clothing
. Three disruptor rifles—one in each hand and the other strapped over his shoulder—would, he thought, be inadequate protection once Supervisor B’Elanna got her act together and sent a real security force after them. Having control of the turbolifts bought them a little time, but the only way this was going to succeed was if they got out of there as fast as they could.

  He’d ordered the turbolift to take him to the level with the guest quarters, figuring that was his best bet for finding Kate. Now he was walking down the wide corridor where the turbolift had left him, pain shooting through his shins, going through archways and doorways, and hoping for the best. He stayed close to the wall, but it was difficult to remain stealthy in this damned building with its wide-open spaces.

  The first door he saw wouldn’t open at his approach, so Chakotay decided to try it later if he needed to. He wasn’t sure how he’d go about that—he didn’t have Harry’s skills for getting doors open—but he’d cross that bridge if he needed to.

  Now he was approaching another of those ridiculous open archways. Chakotay knew that neither Klingon nor Cardassian featured this open style—both species had a preference for dark, winding corridors—and right now he rather wished that the Alliance had gone to the trouble of rebuilding Monor Base instead of simply keeping the Ardanan facility intact.

  From around the corner of the archway, Chakotay could hear voices that sounded Klingon. He backed against the wall next to a tall abstract sculpture, the plastiform warm on his backside. At least they didn’t make their hallways all metal, Chakotay thought with some relief.

  He aimed one disruptor high and the other low and, without looking (and thereby exposing himself more) fired, waving the rifles back and forth to maximize the range of the shots. To his relief, he heard screams, then nothing.

  Risking a look around the corner through the archway, he saw two Klingons lying on the floor, scorch marks on their armor and, in one case, half his face missing.

  There wasn’t much of this corridor left, so he entered the archway, stepped over the corpses, and continued down the way they had come.