Catching his victim as he fell, the Vulcan took him under the armpits and dragged him into the dome. As he hoped, the doors slid aside at his approach.
"My God," someone gasped.
Looking over his shoulder, Spock saw the clot of frightened colonists. One of them pointed to him. He recognized the face.
"It's Spock," said Boudreau disbelievingly. He saw the unconscious Klingon and laughed. "How in blazes did you do that?"
"No time to explain," the Vulcan replied. Dropping the guard just to one side of the entrance, he slipped the Klingon's disruptor out of his belt. Then he straightened. "However, I would appreciate your help in attracting the other guard's attention. The more noise, the better."
Finding Carol Marcus among the uninjured, he tossed her the disruptor. She caught it, then looked at him.
"in case my methods prove unsuccessful," he told her. "Though I advise you to keep it out of sight for the time being."
"Mister Spock," Dr. Marcus said. She still looked as if she was in shock. "The children—"
"They are all fine," he said brusquely. "Now Doctor—the noise, if you please."
Marcus nodded. Then she and her fellow prisoners made a clamor that the remaining guard could not have helped but hear. A couple of seconds later, the doors slid away again and the Klingon took a step inside. His disruptor was in his hand, trained on the colonists ahead of him. Having already noticed his partner's absence, he was grim and alert.
He glimpsed Spock out of the corner of his eye in time to whirl and avoid the intended nerve pinch. However, he was too slow to press the trigger on his weapon before the Vulcan laid him low with a whip of a right hook.
I must remember to thank the captain for that maneuver, Spock mused.
This time, he handed the disruptor to Boudreau. Taking it, the scientist grunted. "Never thought I'd see the day I'd be carrying one of these."
"As I indicated earlier," Spock told him, "it is merely a precaution. Do you know where the rest of your colleagues are?"
Boudreau nodded. "One of the other domes. But I'm afraid I don't know which one."
"No need to worry," the Vulcan assured him. "I found this one. I will find the other."
"Don't you want some help?" asked Dr. Marcus.
Spock shook his head. I would prefer to see you escape while you can. Even without the disruptors, you should not have a problem in that regard."
The blond woman seemed to be on the verge of arguing with him, but in the end, she refrained. "Come on," she told the others. "Let's get out of here and let Mr. Spock do his job."
Something in the way she said that made the Vulcan think. And in the next instant, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. David … Marcus? Yes. David Marcus.
Spock waited until the last of the humans had filed out of the opening. Then he took off in the opposite direction, searching for the other prison dome and the remainder of the scientists.
Down below, the installation was just as quiet as before. Just as still, in fact, as if there were nobody there at all.
"It's taking too long," judged Pfeffer.
"It is not," said Medford. "He's only been down there a couple of minutes."
"At least there hasn't been any shooting," Garcia contributed. "I haven't seen any flashes, anyway."
That recalled for all of them their initial horror at observing the colony's takeover. For a moment, no one spoke. And Wan shivered—actually shivered.
Then David broke the silence. "He's doing fine. I know he is."
Mr. Spock just inspired confidence in him. Even when they were looking down the muzzle of a Klingon disruptor, David was certain that the Vulcan would get them out of it.
It made him want to be more like Mr. Spock despite his mother's warnings to steer clear of him. It made him want to be the kind of person that could maybe one day help the Vulcan out of trouble the way Spock had helped David and his friends out of theirs.
Not that he'd ever get the chance, of course. But that was the kind of feeling that the Vulcan aroused in him.
He still had no father. But if he needed someone to use as a standard, as a yardstick against which to measure himself—well, to David's way of thinking, he could do a lot worse than Mr. Spock.
"Wait a minute," said Garcia. "What's that?"
There was movement among the domes. A line of people—not Klingons but colonists. They were slinking toward the edge of the installation nearest the children.
"It's our parents," Wan breathed. "And the others. They're escaping!"
David nodded. He knew he could trust Spock He knew it.
Pfeffer started to get up, intending to go down and meet them. But Medford grabbed his arm, as she'd once grabbed Garcia's.
"What, are you crazy?" she asked. "What if they get caught? Then we'll be caught too."
She was right. Even now they had to be careful. Even now, when it seemed as if everything was on the verge of being all right, they had to hold themselves back—just in case.
With agonizing slowness, the colonists threaded their way out of the installation and up the hill. Spock was with them. David could see the blue of the Vulcan's shirt as he shepherded everyone else along, gesturing for them to move quickly. After a while, they were close enough for the children to make out their faces.
David saw Wan's parents up in front, and Pfeffer's, and Garcia's. But where was his mother? Scanning the incline, he swallowed.
Then, miraculously, he saw her. She was walking beside Dr. Boudreau in the back of the group. And of all things, she had a phaser in her hand!
One of the colonists caught sight of them and pointed them out to someone else, and suddenly a bunch of them came running up the hill, their arms outstretched, their eyes alight, and their mouths open, making sounds of joy.
There was no longer any reason to stay hidden. There was only a burst of warm feeling that made David's throat start to close up, and before he knew it he was running down the hill toward his mother, as crazy as the rest of them.
When she saw him, she ran too, until they came together and hugged. They hadn't hugged that way in years, since he was a little kid, but they hugged that way now. And try as he might, David couldn't keep back the tears, not completely.
"Are you all right?" his mother asked, wiping tears from her own eyes with the back of the hand that held the phaser. She leaned back and looked at him, at his face. "My God, you look so skinny. What have you been eating?"
He shrugged. "Not much, I guess."
And then he became aware of all the other reunions that were taking place around him. He couldn't hear much more than snatches of conversation, but they sounded good. They sounded right.
"—and we hid in the caves, and it was cold but we huddled together—"
"—so we knocked him over the head, and then Mr. Spock—"
"—trapped the Klingons? What do you mean you—"
Everyone was crowding together and excited. And there were more of the colonists moving up the slope to join them all the time. Dr. Riordan was among them, with his wife and son not far behind.
For a second or two, David's eyes met Timothy's and held them. David was reminded of the story his mom used to tell him, of the Pied Piper and the little boy who was left behind when all the other children followed the piper into the mountain.
That's the kind of look Riordan had on his face. As if he'd been left behind and deprived of something valuable. Except in the story, it hadn't been the little boy's fault he'd been left out; he was lame, and he couldn't help it. As Riordan flushed and turned away from him, it occurred to David that not every handicap was something you could see from the outside.
Then he forgot about Riordan and looked at the others trudging up the hill to the playground. Though he couldn't actually be sure unless he counted, it looked to him as if they'd all made it.
All of them.
As Kruge approached the nearer of the two lab domes in which the colonists were imprisoned, he was quickly changi
ng his mind. He would still take hostages, of course. But someone would have to pay for this humiliating state of affairs and pay dearly.
He had a couple of individuals in mind. One was Boudreau. The other was Timothy Riordan.
After all, the homeworld scientists wouldn't need all the humans to piece together the terraforming technology. One or two, even someone of Boudreau's stature, would hardly be missed, and before he actually pressed the trigger, maybe he would see them all grovel. Yes. He would enjoy that.
He was so intent on his revenge, he didn't even notice that the doors to the dome were unguarded. Oghir, on the other hand, was more alert.
"Captain," he rasped, "The sentinels. Where are they?"
Kruge slowed down and looked around warily. Indeed, where were they?
Then he spied the pair of boots that protruded just beyond the curve of the dome and, advancing on them, found the guards stretched out on the red dirt, unconscious.
With a roar of rage and frustration, he lunged for the doors. Just before he would have banged into them, they slid aside, revealing to the Kad'nra's new captain the incredibly empty interior of the dome.
Lurching outside again, he headed for the other dome. Anger was building inside him like a disruptor charge as he anticipated the worst … and found it. The second dome was just like the first—empty as a tomb.
The prisoners were gone. Where? He removed his communicator from his belt, opened it in order to contact what few men he had left at the installation, and was surprised to receive a communication from the Kad'nra.
It was Haastra. "We have a problem, Second Officer. There's—"
"Captain, Haastra. I am now captain. Both Vheled and Gidris are dead."
There was silence for a moment on the other end, as the security chief absorbed the information. Nor was Kruge surprised. Vheled's death represented a personal failure on Haastra's part, though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. Security chiefs were always held responsible for their captains' welfare. Nor did new captains generally retain old security officers, and Kruge had no intention of being an exception in that regard.
Finally, Haastra said with obvious distaste and disappointment, "Captain, then. As I was saying, we have a problem."
"Then we have a number of them," Kruge retorted. "What is wrong now?"
The security chief was calm—as calm as any man could be who'd just learned his fate was sealed. In fact, he almost seemed to gloat as he replied, "There is a Federation vessel bearing down on us. It will be here in a matter of minutes."
Kruge felt himself shaking, not with fear but with fury. How could everything be going wrong all at once?
"Beam us up," he spat into the communicator. "Every Klingon who still lives is to be brought back to the ship immediately. And be prepared to break orbit as soon as we're aboard."
"As you wish," said Haastra.
He stared at the central dome, the one with all the computers in it, and bit his lip. If only he'd still had the prisoners. Then his return to the homeworld might not have seemed like such a defeat.
As an idea came to him, he grunted. The humans had beaten them—beaten him. But before he left, he would show them that Klingons do not take such losses lightly.
"Captain," said Oghir, "what—?"
Kruge cut him short with a quick, chopping gesture. Pulling out his disruptor, he pointed it at the central dome and opened fire.
Blue-white light snaked out at his massive target, spraying over its surface, enveloping it, consuming it. After a moment, Kruge could see inside through a burning, gaping hole, to the computer work stations within. After another moment, the computers themselves began to spark and smoke, and finally to explode into individual balls of flame.
Grinning at the carnage, the Klingon continued to fire. With the explosions continuing, the flames began to blend into a single conflagration. Above the string of blazing work stations, the latticework of white, plastic tubing started to melt and come apart.
And then, in one unexpected paroxysm of destruction, the entire dome erupted like an awakened volcano. The heat seared Kruge's face, but he didn't back off. It felt good.
Better yet, it was spreading to other domes in the area. They too were beginning to go up in flames.
It was just an inkling of what the Federation could expect from Kruge, Captain of the Kad'nra. Just a taste of the revenge he would work on them some day.
As he savored the prospect, he realized he was beginning to dematerialize. His last sight was of the raging inferno that would slowly but surely claim the entire installation. In the greater scheme of things, it was pitifully small consolation; but for the time being, it would have to suffice.
David had never seen the kind of celebration that took place on the hill below the playground. Adults and children were hugging and kissing and laughing all at once. Only Spock didn't participate. He kept a wary eye on the installation at the base of the slope, where the Klingons were still a threat.
Pulling his mom behind him, David went over to the Vulcan. Spock noticed and cocked an eyebrow, glancing first at the boy and then at his mother.
"You need any help?" David asked.
The Vulcan shook his head. "No. Not at the moment." And then, to David's mother, he said: "Your son is a very brave young man." The observation came without any obvious signs of emotion.
She nodded. "Yes. I know."
Something passed between them, an exchange that David didn't quite understand. Nor did he get much of a chance, because in the next instant, there was the boom of some sort of explosion. And another. And then a whole series of them, one right after the other.
Open-mouthed, David looked down at the installation and saw flames—big red tongues of it, rising from the lab dome.
"My God," someone said. "They're burning the place down!"
Dr. Boudreau stepped forward. He too had a disruptor in his hand, and he looked as if he would have liked to use it.
As David looked on, the flames spread to the other domes. To the rec dome, where they had their parties and their holiday celebrations. To the supply dome, where he'd met Dr. McCoy … To the dome where he and his mother had lived—where he'd eaten and done his homework and dreamed his dreams of a lusty, green Earth.
He felt as if his whole life was going up in smoke. And then he looked at his mother, and he realized that her garden was burning, too, and the plants into which she'd put so much loving care.
All of it was burning. And there was nothing they could do except watch and feel helpless.
"The Klingons are breaking orbit, sair!" called Chekov.
The image on the viewscreen bore him out. With the magnification all the way up now, Kirk could easily make out the Klingon vessel as it veered off from the angry, red sweep of Beta Canzandia Three.
The captain was surprised. It wasn't like the Klingons to cut and run, particularly when the odds were more or less even.
"Scan them, Mr. Sulu. Tell me why they're so eager to retreat."
The helmsman's answer seemed to take a long time, though it was probably only a matter of seconds.
"They're partially disabled, sir. Energy readings correspond with impulse power only."
Kirk leaned forward. Impulse power, eh? Interesting.
"Any humans aboard her?" he asked Sulu.
Again a wait—one the captain didn't have patience for. If the Klingons had taken hostages, he would have to move quickly.
Finally, the answer: "No, sir. No humans aboard."
Kirk leaned back in his chair, momentarily relieved, and watched the Klingon ship continue to put distance between them.
Chekov turned in his seat. "Shell I plot a pursuit?" he asked.
The captain was tempted, but he shook his head. "No, ensign. Plot an orbit." No matter what kinds of atrocities the invaders might have been guilty of, his first priority had to be the colonists. They might be hurt, dying . . .
He clenched his teeth at the thought and swore that if the Klin
gons had hurt his friends, they would yet have an opportunity to regret it.
Rising from his seat, Kirk turned and headed for the turbolift. "Take the conn," he told Scotty, who was sitting at his bridge station. "I'm beaming down with the landing party."
"Aye, sir," the engineer responded.
Before Scotty could move to the captain's chair, however, the lift doors closed and Kirk was on his way to the transporter room, a prayer on his lips.
Chapter Twenty-one
KIRK, LESLIE, AND THEIR security team beamed down into an inferno. Everywhere they looked, there was a colony dome ablaze.
Carol, he thought.
The captain turned to Leslie, shielding his eyes from the terrible heat. "Where are they?"
If the colonists were still down here, in one of these domes, he had to get them out. He wasn't sure how, but he had to try.
Leslie took out his tricorder and scanned the area in a full circle from where they were standing. Sweating profusely, he wiped his forehead on his sleeve.
"They're not here," hereported. "Not anywhere in the installation."
Kirk knew full well that that could be good news … or bad. The tricorder only responded to living beings. If the scientists were dead already …
Whipping out his communicator, he barked, "Mr. Sulu. I want a sensor scan of this place—a radius of two kilometers from my position." He frowned. "With particular attention to human and Vulcan life-forms."
"Coming right up, sir." There was a pause, during which the captain could hear the helmsman relaying his command. Then Sulu came back to him. "There's a group of humans just west of the installation, and one Vulcan. Do you need more detailed data?"
Breathing deeply, Kirk shook his head, even though he knew Sulu couldn't see it. "No. No, thank you, Lieutenant. Kirk out."
Leslie smiled. "They got out."
"Apparently," the captain replied. He looked around at the fiery domes. "Come on. Let's see if there's anything around here we can still salvage."
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