THE COVENANT OF THE CROWN

by Howard Weinstein

  The crystals were clear. The dark haze had given way to a pearly azure and she could see through them. She sat up and gazed in wonder around the cave, at the moss and rock. Everything looked sky-blue through the crystalline lenses. Magically, her breathing became strong and regular. Her heart soared and she cried out triumphantly. She had won.

  * * *

  Orange and pink streaked the indigo sky as the first glimmerings of dawn tinted the Kinarr mountain range. Spock and McCoy hauled themselves up over the last ridge and stood wearily at the top of the world. The wind puffed occasionally, and footprints were still visible under the fresh cover of morning snow.

  Following the tracks, they found the opening into the mountain. From light back into darkness, the beam led the way, McCoy prayed they’d find Kailyn sleeping inside, but didn’t expect to.

  “Oh, my god,” he breathed when they entered the dead-end grotto. Kailyn lay motionless on the ground, curled up on her parka. McCoy stepped over and knelt uncertainly.

  “Kailyn . . .?” he whispered.

  She turned over, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and smiled. Then she took the Crown from its cover and ceremoniously set it upon her head. The crystals sparkled clear and blue.

  Wordlessly, McCoy hugged her harder than he’d ever hugged anyone in his life.

  “Your father would be proud,” said Spock.

  Kailyn’s dewy eyes beckoned him, and at last he was drawn into the embrace.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Shirn paced along the cobblestones beneath a cloud-powdered midmorning sky, his feet tracing the groove worn by years of sheep hooves walking to and from the pastures. A shout from a lookout came down the stone steps, and the old herdsman peered up, shading his eyes against the reflections off the snow. He could discern three people walking slowly down and he came to meet them at the bottom.

  “I should have you flogged,” he snorted, “but your faces tell me I would be flogging the next Queen of Shad if I did.”

  Kailyn skipped off the last step and threw her arms around Shirn. The careful climb from the mountaintop had done nothing to quench her euphoria.

  “You did a foolish thing going back there yourself,” he said reproachfully.

  “But is not the nature of leadership to occasionally do things others consider foolhardy?” said Spock.

  With a wry smile, Shirn had to nod. “Yes, yes, I suppose so. You must all be tired. You didn’t get much sleep last night. Come inside and rest. When you’ve caught up—we’ll tire you out all over again with a celebration all night tonight.”

  He spread his arms and led them toward the caves.

  “Two feasts in short order!” cried Shirn, his voice reverberating through the packed eating hall. He hoisted a silvery goblet and everyone did the same. “What a pleasure! Drink, my friends and kin!”

  Glasses and cups tipped bottoms up, and trays of freshly prepared food were brought in, dwarfing even the religious celebration of just a couple of nights before.

  “You folks sure know how to throw a party,” McCoy chuckled, digging in heartily. “I’ll miss this when we’re back on that dull starship.” He sighed. “Spock, do you think the Enterprise’ll find us up here?

  “Most likely.”

  “Too bad . . .”

  “Doctor, I have every expectation that by this time tomorrow, we shall be well on our way to Shad.”

  “And then you’ll finally be rid of me,” said Kailyn. “No more babysitting.”

  McCoy grinned like a farmboy playing hooky. “You don’t need a babysitter, young lady. You’ve proven that.”

  “Weren’t you afraid when the zanigret attacked?” asked Shirn seriously.

  “If I hadn’t been on the verge of a fainting spell I, would have been. It’s lucky I wasn’t thinking very straight.”

  “Yeah.” McCoy drawled, “but if that cat had jumped you two minutes later, you wouldn’t have been able to shoot straight.”

  “I don’t think I did shoot straight. How else could I have hit it?”

  “Look at this—at her age, and she’s already telling tall stories,” McCoy said with a laugh.

  Echoes of shouting intruded from the main cavern, and Shirn’s ears perked up. A moment later, Frin, the young mountain guide, rushed in with a fearful female companion clinging to his hand. He squatted next to the old chieftain and whispered in his ear.

  “Uncle, you’d better come out.”

  “What’s going on?”

  ‘Traders from the lowlands have arrived—”

  “So deal with them—”

  “But they have a slave to trade, Uncle.”

  “We don’t need slaves. We—”

  “She’s making much noise. They refuse to take her back with them. If we don’t trade for her, they threaten to slash her throat right here.”

  Shirn made a disgusted face and Frin helped him to his feet. “Excuse me, my friends. These lowland tribesmen have a way of arriving at just the wrong time to sell us just the wrong thing. Enjoy yourselves and I’ll return as soon as I send them on their way, or at least shut them up for the night.”

  As Shirn and Frin left the dining cave, Spock got up to follow. McCoy grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

  “To satisfy my curiosity.”

  McCoy shrugged, and he and Kailyn wandered after Spock. Out in the large central chamber, the chaotic shouting partly resolved into a growling alien tongue that made McCoy shiver. He gripped Spock’s shoulder.

  “They’re the ones who captured us.” He drew back into the shadows and tried to pull Spock and Kailyn with him, but the Vulcan pressed forward. Several Kinarri were on the fringes of the free-for-all, trying to make peace. And in the center, a hoarse female voice roared over all of them.

  “You filthy swine! You’ll pay for this brutality! You animals . . . putrid scum!”

  As Spock ventured closer, he could only see that she was kicking and biting anyone who tried to subdue her.

  “My people will come back and burn you to the ground, all of you! We’ll torture every last one—you’ll dread the day you were born! You can’t treat a Klingon this way!”

  “A Klingon?” exclaimed McCoy.

  “Fascinating.”

  At last, four of the huge hunters, with the help of several Kinarri hands, caught Kera’s feet in a rope. They trussed her like a wild boar and threw her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her and forcing her into momentary silence. The old hunter with the wild silver hair stood over her, shaking his head in a mixture of anger and rueful cynicism. It appeared his luck with live merchandise had gotten no better.

  A crowd had begun to gather as people poked out of the feast to see what the commotion was. Spock found Shirn off to one side. The chieftain was not happy.

  “Why do they bring things like this to our domain?” he lamented. “We’ve told them time and time again we have no use for—”

  “Purchase this slave,” said Spock quietly.

  Shirn did a double-take. “Why?”

  “She can be of use to us.”

  “As a slave?” Shirn’s countenance revealed his astonishment.

  “No. As a source of information. She is a Klingon, and undoubtedly part of a larger force sent to sabotage our mission, perhaps to kill us and Kailyn and steal the Crown.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Spock.”

  Shirn waded back into the crowd to authorize the trade, and Spock, McCoy, and Kailyn slipped back to the feast, avoiding the silver-haired hunter.

  “Good,” said McCoy. “I’d hate to see a custody fight over us.”

  For the first time in days, the silver-haired hunter was happy. Not only had he gotten rid of that shrieking, wild-animal female, but he’d finally gotten his shiny-tipped spear. He could hunt better for simple animal animals now, and he hoped bad fortune would follow another hunter for some time, keeping slaves as far away from him as the sun was from the moons. . . .

  “Your suspicions were right,” Shirn said as he took his
place on the dinner rug again.

  “The hunters were willing to talk to you? asked Spock.

  “Oh, yes, yes. The leader was so happy to get a steel-pointed spear, he would’ve gladly stayed and talked all night. But their language makes my brain hurt.”

  “You deal with these people often?” said McCoy.

  “They come up now and again, to trade furs and roots and wooden handiwork. We don’t have much wood up here, so the trade is useful. We give them sheep wool and meat, and some modern tools we get from interstellar traders that come by.”

  “What of the Klingon?” said Spock. “How did they capture her?”

  “They were out on a morning foray, much like when they found you. She was lost in the forest, dazed. She was so easy to capture, they were all the more shocked when she regained her strength and fought like a cornered zanigret.”

  “An apt description.”

  “She was so beaten and bruised,” said McCoy. “Did they do that to her?”

  Spock turned an inquiring eyebrow toward him. “Why are you suddenly concerned with the welfare of a Klingon intelligence agent?”

  “It’s just that those hunters didn’t seem brutal when they had us.”

  “They don’t usually beat their prisoners,” said Shirn. “They said they found her that way, and they found the body of a male of her kind, too, along the river.”

  “Must’ve gotten caught in one of those killer storms,” McCoy mused.

  “Along the river,” Spock repeated, frowning.

  “Is that significant?” asked Shirn.

  “That’s where we came down,” said McCoy. “Do you think they found the shuttle wreck?”

  “It is probable, since we left the automated emergency beacon on.”

  McCoy squinted quizzically. “How in blazes did they wind up here in the first place?”

  “The only logical conclusion is that we were followed almost from the start.”

  “You mean since we left the Enterprise?” said Kailyn with a shiver. “How could they? This was a secret mission.”

  “Not so secret as we figured,” said McCoy. “We aren’t out of the hole yet, are we, Spock?”

  “I would assume not. We must consider these possibilities. One, that the Klingons knew about the entire mission somehow, perhaps from an informant close to the King. Two, that this unfortunate Klingon spy team was not operating in a vacuum, that other Klingon support forces must be in the vicinity. Three, that the Enterprise is likely to run into further interference when it approaches this planet.”

  “And four, we can’t count on Jim finding us here anymore,” McCoy said grimly.

  “It is imperative that we remove ourselves from Sigma and attempt to rendezvous with the Enterprise in space.”

  “But how?” asked Kailyn. “We don’t have a ship.”

  “But the Klingons might have,” said McCoy quickly.

  “That,” said Spock, “is our only reasonable opportunity. And if such a ship exists, it would be fairly close to the shuttlecraft.”

  Kailyn tugged at McCoy’s sleeve. “But what if the Klingons were just dropped here by a large ship? What if they didn’t land in one?”

  “Then we could be in a lot of trouble.”

  “Shirn,” Spock said, “can you guide us back to the lowlands to search for this Klingon vessel?”

  “Of course. We can leave first thing in the morning. But what do I do with this slave, this Klingon wild woman?”

  “I would like to question her,” Spock offered.

  “I mean after that. I don’t want her here, and I don’t want to kill her . . .”

  “Ship her back to the hunters.” McCoy suggested wryly.

  Shirn gave him a sour look.

  “I believe the good doctor was joking, though I have never quite understood his sense of humor” Spock said. “If you can hold her here for now, when and if we meet the Enterprise, we will take her aboard as an espionage prisoner.”

  “I liked my idea better,” McCoy pouted. “You have no sense of poetic justice, Spock.”

  “I suggest we get plenty of rest tonight,” Shirn said, clasping his hands and yawning.

  “But what about the celebration?” Kailyn asked, a bit disappointed.

  “When we get back to Shad,” said McCoy, “there’ll be more celebrating than you’ll know what to do with.”

  If we get back to Shad, said the ever-worried voice in his head.

  Shirn and a party of ten led Spock, McCoy, and Kailyn down to the base slopes of the Kinarr Mountains. It was far easier than their original journey up to the herders’ valley two days earlier, since the natives knew the shortest, least arduous route to the lowlands.

  In a way, McCoy hated to go. He paused when they reached the level where Sigma’s pervasive skirt of clouds swallowed up the sun and all its brightness.

  “Y’know, I’d never be able to live on a world where I couldn’t see the sun,” he said wistfully to Shirn.

  “Perhaps that’s why our ancestors climbed the mountains—they sensed that holy lands should be golden, not gray.”

  The caravan moved rapidly through the foothills, swinging wide of the valley clans and their hunting grounds. The raging white-water current that had nearly killed Spock now trickled gently within the hollow, wearing its placid prestorm disguise. Spock stopped to consult the maps.

  “Our landing point is about one-half mile in that direction,” he said, pointing east.

  And so it was. They found the scattered remains of the little shuttlecraft, and McCoy felt a lump in his throat. “I don’t usually get sentimental over machines, but I feel sorry for the poor thing.”

  “It reminds me how lucky we are to be alive,” said Kailyn.

  “There but for the grace of God go I,” McCoy said.

  “How far can you search with your little box?” asked Shirn, pointing to the tricorder.

  “Several miles, depending on what it is we are searching for,” Spock said. He activated it, and slowly rotated to cover all directions. As he did, McCoy watched over his shoulder.

  “Ahh, yes, today must be our lucky day,” McCoy finally said with a broad grin.

  The first officer was less certain. “It would seem to be a vessel.”

  “Where?” said Kailyn.

  “One mile due north.”

  At Shirn’s wave, the Kinarri took the lead again. After a while, they reached a humpbacked hill—from the crest, they saw the Klingon scout ship, resting in a forest clearing not far from the stream. McCoy shook his head in amazement.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be happy to lay eyes on a Klingon ship.”

  “We live in strange times, Doctor,” said Spock, walking down the hill.

  “Was that a joke, Spock?” he called after him. From a Vulcan? Couldn’t be . . .

  The Kinarri were eager to explore the newfound oddity, but Spock advised caution. “We do not know definitively that there are no other Klingons awaiting the return of their comrades. Dr. McCoy and I will approach first, with our phasers. I do not want to endanger your people, Shirn. Wait until we signal that the situation is secure.”

  McCoy swallowed nervously, hefting the phase and testing his aim with one eye squinting. “Don’t shoot until I see the whites of their eyes?”

  “Shoot if you see any part of them. On stun. Ready?”

  The doctor nodded and they gingerly closed on the quiet ship. It was about the size of a shuttlecraft, though with a smaller passenger compartment. Spock and McCoy crouched behind a low clump of bushes.

  “Do we knock?” whispered McCoy.

  “A direct though cautious approach seems correct.”

  With that, Spock slid silently alongside the vessel and flattened himself amidships, next to the closed hatch. McCoy did the same and took a mirror position across the hatch. Spock lifted his eyebrows as a signal, then swiftly reached for the door switch and twisted it. There was a vacuum whoosh and the hatch cover retracted. Trigger fingers tensed, th
ey waited.

  Then, with a powerful step, Spock vaulted into the scout ship and McCoy followed—but there was nothing to be found, except darkness and ghostly quiet.

  “How very thoughtful of the Klingons,” Spock said with obvious satisfaction.

  “Should we check for a parking ticket?”

  “A parking ticket”

  “It’s an old Earth joke, Spock. Forget it.”

  “Please . . . expand my horizons.”

  McCoy sighed. In all the years he’d known Spock, he’d never gotten over a dread of having to explain colloquialisms. “See, back in the old days when everybody had private motor vehicles, they used to park them wherever they could find a space, including places they weren’t allowed. So—”

  “Why did they manufacture and sell more vehicles than they had room for?”

  “The free-market system—stuff yourself till you choke.”

  “Highly illogical. But I still fail to understand your reference to—”

  “You didn’t let me finish. The police gave summonses to violators. They had to pay a fine, or appear in court if they wanted to fight the ticket. When the old Apollo missions went to the moon, they brought these little lunar rover cars with them, and they left them there. When we finally went back to the moon to settle down and build permanent stations, somebody went out and put parking tickets on the rovers.”

  “Why?”

  McCoy rolled his eyes. “Because they’d been parked there for about thirty years.”

  Spock pursed his lips and McCoy wondered why he always went through with these explanations. “Spock, your a lousy audience.”

  The first officer jumped out and waved to Shirn’s group on the hilltop.

  The Klingon vessel proved to be in good working order, with a considerable amount of fuel left. After a cursory run-through of the control systems, Spock announced that he would have no trouble piloting the ship away from Sigma. The time had come to depart.

  “We really appreciate everything you’ve done to help us,” McCoy said to the old herdsman.

  Shirn bowed his head. “I was only fulfilling a promise made a long time ago to an honorable man.”