"And none among Klingons, is that it?" said Kirk tightly. "Is that what's supposed to happen? We sit here and shout at each other while our ships spiral into the atmosphere and three of my men face God-knows-what? I refuse to accept it. You have no idea how difficult this is for me. You were responsible for the death of one of my men."
"Kbrex was," said Kral. "He threw that grenade."
"Kbrex," Kirk said slowly. "The one who ousted you."
"Yes. So tell me this, Captain," said Kral. "If it meant having to ally yourself with Kbrex in order to save your crew, would you do it?"
"To save my men, I'd ally myself with your Emperor."
Kral regarded him thoughtfully. "Kbrex would never ally with you."
"That," said Vladra, "is because he lacks your insight and wisdom, my lord."
"Yes, he lacks that, but he has my ship." He turned to look at Kirk. "If I do this thing—if I agree to help you, for what that is worth—will you help me regain my ship?"
"I could easily promise you that, Commander," said Kirk. "I could promise you many things. But that would be lying, and I don't want to do that. The bottom line is, I don't know if I can help you. I don't even know if I'm going to be able to get us down to the planet surface to face our captor. I believe this Weyland has his own game plan, and all we can do is guess at what the rules are. I don't like this business any better than you, Kral. But I have a gut feeling that if we don't agree to this … we go down in flames. It's up to you. I suggest you decide now."
Chapter Thirty-one
Stalingrad, 1942
"GERMAN AIRCRAFT Ju-52 to ground," Chekov repeated over and over again, through gritted teeth. "Don't shoot. We are Russians. We are coming in to land at the People's Hero airstrip. German aircraft Ju-52 to ground …"
Ivan was now standing next to Chekov, and his eyes widened. "You're hit," he told Chekov.
Chekov glanced down at the ugly splotch on his arm. He was feeling a bit giddy. "My mother told me … never to scratch insect bites. See what happens?"
"Hey, Ivan," Kirk said. "What's so all-fired interesting about this transport, that you risked your fool neck to get it?"
"Bigwig who needs a lift to Moscow," Ivan said. "We got it for him."
"How big is his wig?" asked Kirk.
Ivan grimaced. "We're talking Khrushchev big," he said.
Chekov's eyes opened wide. "Premier Khrushchev?"
Ivan laughed. "You think as big as he does. Comrade Commissar Khrushchev is more than enough for him."
Chekov nodded and winced, and scolded himself once more. Of course, of course. Khrushchev would not reach that level of power for years yet.
He shook his head. Every minute that he spent in this place—in the motherland—was another minute he risked screwing things up. He had blurted out his foreknowledge about Khrushchev totally by accident. What else might he accidentally say or do? He was a walking bomb, threatening to go off at any moment and disturb time. A time bomb, he thought, smiling weakly.
Ivan rested a hand on Chekov's left shoulder. "I just want you to know, I appreciate what you did for me back there. You saved my life."
Chekov glanced up and gave a brief smile. But inwardly he was in turmoil. Here was another thing. Ivan was right. He had indeed saved the man's life. And what did that mean? Was Ivan supposed to have died? What if Ivan, now unexpectedly alive, sired someone who turned out to be a mass murderer, a killer of dozens, hundreds, thousands? Or what if Ivan now, in the course of war, killed someone who was not supposed to have died?
Considering all the possibilities was giving Chekov a headache.
He looked back at the instruments and tried not to pass out. He kept repeating his message, hoping that the right people would hear and react in the right way.
Kirk was continuing to whistle that maddening tune, and Chekov was momentarily tempted to belt him.
"All right," said Kirk. "I see the strip below. Ivan, get to the back and get ready." Ivan nodded briefly and did as he was instructed.
Kirk leaned forward and tapped on the fuel gauge. The needle was perilously close to the empty mark, yet Kirk simply shrugged as if it were a minor inconvenience. "Could be a little rough," he said.
"How little?" asked Chekov.
He shrugged again. "Any landing you walk away from is a good one."
"Here's hoping for a good landing," said Chekov.
The plane came in at dizzying speed, the strip stretched out before them. Chekov squinted in the darkness of the night, manning the controls that were simplistic next to the far more complex workings of a starship. He could barely make out their target, but Kirk operated with a smoothness and sureness that indicated either he knew exactly what he was doing or he was one of the world's greatest bluffers.
The transport came down, faster and faster, and Chekov could see soldiers scattered about the field, as small as ants and scurrying around. For a moment he entertained the notion that Germans had taken over the strip and, as soon as the plane landed, everyone on board would be shot. Well, that would certainly solve all of his problems, wouldn't it? Chekov mused.
"By the way, Chekov," Kirk said, "what was that all about, that thing about my having brothers?"
"Er, well," Chekov stalled, thinking furiously for another lie. "I was thinking of, er, your mother, and if you were the only son how sad it would be …" he rattled on lamely.
"A man has to take risks for what he believes in," John Kirk said. "What are you going to do after the war, Chekov?"
"I don't know. I guess I'd better survive the war first. You?" He fought to keep his mind on the topic.
"Stay in the Army Air Corps, if they'll have me. Go back to school and be an engineer if not. Get married, have kids."
"That sounds nice." Even the small talk was making Chekov's stomach knot. He almost felt guilty about getting to know his captain's ancestor, sort of like peeking in a private window. And the prospect that this Kirk was all the link he would ever have with his captain was making him feel shaky.
The world began to slip out of focus around him, Kirk's brisk chatter blending together into a constant, faint buzzing. Oddly, he started thinking about his childhood, and enrolling in the Academy, and the first girl he had kissed, under the shadow of the great statue commemorating glasnost that was located in Red Square.
He heard his name shouted once, twice, and a pleasant warmth that had been building within him finally became overwhelming. And it was calling to him. He nodded and smiled and surrendered himself to it.
He felt a screaming of air, and suddenly the world was jolted around him. He noticed the jolt as if from a distance, a shaking and pounding and trembling, the screeching of metal and the stench of burned rubber and fear. Everyone was shouting, and the world was nothing but roaring and burning.
And then there was nothing. Nothing at all.
Chapter Thirty-two
"SIR, WE STILL CAN'T get the shuttle bay doors to open."
Kirk was seated at the controls of the shuttlecraft Columbus, receiving word over the craft's communicator that was less than heartening. "Keep working on it, Mr. Two Feathers," he said briskly.
At the controls next to him was his copilot, Commander Kral, formerly of the Ghargh. It was an odd sensation for Kirk. He couldn't recall having been next to a Klingon for such an extended period of time in such close quarters.
"Now what?" said Kral brusquely. "We stood on the transporter waiting for it to be activated, because you believed that this alliance is what that cretinous Weyland wanted. We stood there and nothing happened. Your communications to him went unanswered. So if you are so good at second guessing him, what does he expect now?"
Kirk stared at the great closed doors of the bay. "Maybe he wants to see just how much we want this alliance."
"Meaning what?"
Kirk looked at him. "Meaning, just how far do you trust me?"
Kral stared back. "I have no choice. I gave my word of honor. I will not renege on that. Whatever happ
ens, happens. We see this business through together."
"Fine. Hold on."
The Klingon blinked in surprise as the shuttlecraft lifted off abruptly. Over the comm unit came the alarmed voice of Two Feathers, saying, "Captain! We still haven't got the doors functioning!"
Kirk ignored it, guiding the shuttle through the air toward the farthest end of the bay. He brought it around and hovered there for a moment. He glanced at Kral. "Still trust me?"
"Have I a choice?"
"None."
Kral shrugged. "Today is a good day to die."
Kirk gunned the shuttlecraft toward the closed bay door.
"Captain!" came Two Feathers's alarmed shout.
Kirk ignored it, speeding up. The doors remained serenely shut.
"Let's see how much honor you've got, Weyland," muttered Kirk, passing the point of no return. Kral closed his eyes and muttered the name of one of his gods.
The bay doors leaped open, as if jet propelled, and the shuttlecraft sprang into space.
Kral turned and looked behind them in surprise at the starship. "Those doors are massive," said Kral. "I'd never have thought they could open so quickly."
"They can't," replied Kirk.
Kral nodded slowly. "It seems the game has rules after all."
"Yes. But there's nothing to say they can't change at any time."
Chapter Thirty-three
Japan, 1600
SULU BROKE SURFACE, coughing up water through his nose and mouth. The water roared around him, and at first he wasn't certain why he wasn't being carried along. Then he realized that he was clutching onto a boulder jutting up out of the river. He looked around madly, trying to catch sight of Oneko.
He saw her just off to the left, a few yards away, the weight of her robes dragging her down. She was fighting furiously against the current, not crying out, but instead swimming with all her strength. It simply wasn't enough.
He launched toward her, shoving forward with the full strength of his powerful legs. He flailed outward with one hand blindly, praying, and snagged her by the wrist.
His legs churned, trying to fight against the water. But the current was too strong.
He heard voices crying out from the shore, receding quickly. He had no idea what was ahead of them, but he didn't want to stay in the water to find out.
She tried to cry out his name but swallowed water instead. Her robes billowed around her, her hair sopping.
Off to their right, several small trees clung to the shore. Sulu searched desperately to spot a branch or root protruding into the water, but none was evident.
They were approaching rapidly, and Sulu felt his strength waning.
He had one chance, an incredible long shot that was worth taking because it seemed to beat the hell out of drowning.
He grasped at the hilt of his shortsword and withdrew it, holding it with one hand while grasping Oneko with the other. The trees were coming up fast, and for one brief moment Sulu's feet hit an uprise on the river bed. He knew that the current would pull him forward in an instant, but for the seconds that he had purchase, he acted.
He drew his arm above water and let fly, desperately, praying to whatever gods would hear him.
The blade flashed through the air like a propeller and whirled into the lowest hanging branches. It hacked partway through one and then fell to the ground, useless.
And then the branch sagged forward, partially severed from the tree, and began drooping toward the river.
Sulu reached upward, grasping, approaching at full speed while the branch moved with maddening slowness, drooping lower.
As they passed under it, the branch dropped low enough for Sulu to ensnare it with his fingers.
"Hold on!" he gasped, and shifted Oneko around so that both her arms were encircling his chest. He pulled himself forward, slowly and agonizingly, and just as they reached the shore, the branch snapped off with a loud crack. Sulu lunged forward and pulled them to safety as the branch quickly floated downriver.
He turned himself around to look at Oneko, gasping.
She tried to get words out, and then crawled forward and kissed him firmly on the mouth. He felt the heat of her breath in him and it blew the chill out of him.
They separated and she gasped out, "Thank you."
He tried to find the words to express everything that was tumbling through his mind—the confusion, his word of honor, his feelings for her. All of it.
"Don't mention it," he said. And he added silently, To anyone.
They reached the inn with no further mishaps. Sulu was relieved about this—any more incidents like the scene at the river and he would have been a basket case.
A small gaggle of bowing servants had already descended upon them from the inn, wrapping the gentlefolk in dry quilts and leading them up the path to the large house. A gentleman sat sunning himself in the courtyard.
Mochizuki had been a samurai until his master had lost his lands and life in one of the endless wars. Although the old man had been forced to put aside his swords and turn his house into an inn, he was not without honor in the little fishing village.
"Mochizuki-sama," Sulu began with careful courtesy, "if it would not be too much trouble, if out of your generosity you could lodge this noble lady for this night, and perhaps a few days …"
The old man nodded, touched by the deference the young samurai showed him, despite his fallen estate. "It would be my honor to offer my unworthy house to so fine a lady and her escort," he said, his voice slurred slightly by age and missing teeth. "If you would take the rooms of myself and my wife, and my worthless son," he offered, although the family had long given up their own rooms to the endless number of lodgers who had made this place a stop on the way down the mountain. "And you must take the time to go down to the ocean shore to Miho beach. There lies the finest view of the sacred Mount Fuji to be seen in all the land," the man said proudly.
Again the senior travelers were lodged indoors while the soldiers and carriers were bivouacked on the surrounding land. But unlike the intimacy of the farmhouse, this place was as formal and public as any daimyo's court, and the ladies took their carefully prepared meals in their rooms.
But Sulu took the opportunity to take his meal in the common room at the invitation of the ancient innkeeper.
It gave him time to ponder what had happened, and reflect on his situation.
The thoughts that he was having about Oneko—he could never act on them. Would never act on them, because they were dishonorable.
Yet he was not intending to return to the castle and fight beside Mototada. That too was dishonorable.
How was one more acceptable than the other? In this land that was governed by honor, how could a hypocrite be abided?
How could he?
The next day Oneko pleaded illness until midmorning, and then called for Sulu.
"Lady," he said, bowing as he entered her rooms.
"I would feel so much better if I could make a pilgrimage to the Seikenji monastery nearby. My lord's daimyo, the great Tokugawa, studied there as a boy with Abbot Sessai. It is very famous."
Her tone was about one part request and nine parts demand. Sulu gave a brief thought to protesting, on the grounds that, first of all, this was not a sightseeing tour, and secondly, she had been complaining of pains, and any extra effort was putting more danger on her pregnancy. But he merely bowed in acquiescence and set out to make arrangements to suit her will.
She presented herself for the trip dressed elegantly but simply, with a string of prayer beads wound around her hands, the very image of piety. Sulu followed her, a second shadow, as she made the slow walk up the mountain to the main temple building. While she prayed, he made his own private devotions, facing for a quiet moment his torturous longing to understand why he was here at all, and how he could make this displaced life meaningful.
The surrounding gardens were complex in their simplicity, seemingly natural but actually the result of art and artifice.
Upon her return, she seemed to have come to a decision. "Heihachiro-domo, I would speak with you plainly," she finally said. "I—" She faltered. "You are in great danger. I do not wish to see you die."
Sulu reached out to her, taking her hands in his. She pulled them back to her side, but he insisted, and when he took her tiny, soft hands in his this time, she did not protest.
I'm going to be safe. I'm going to run away, he told himself. Say to her what will sound noble. But only you will know the truth.
"I am samurai. I do not fear honorable death," he said with quiet strength, but as much to assure her as himself. "I know that when I return to Fushimi, the chances that any of us will survive the battle are small. But that is my duty. Oneko-sama, I … feel strongly for you," he said carefully. "But I have a duty to our lord. I would give anything to live with you in peace like that farm family back there. But I can't. It is my duty to deliver you to the lord's family in Edo, and then I must return to Fushimi Castle. If I am to die there, as I most surely am, then I must accept that as the will of the gods. Let us enjoy each moment of this journey."
Her eyes misted over, and she pulled her hand free, dabbing at her tears with her silken sleeve.
He realized and understood the truth of what he was saying, and heard the conviction in his own voice. My God, I'm really starting to believe, he thought.
"Perhaps the Buddhist monks are right," she sighed, looking deeply into his eyes. "Perhaps it is all illusion, and the only peace for man is to withdraw from the world and seek Nirvana. If I live long enough, perhaps I will seek the serene life of a nun in such a place as this, and pray for the pain in the world; for mine and for yours."
He drew her to him, holding her tightly, but they both pulled back in embarrassment. Sulu was almost shaking with repressed emotion. He stared at the gravel path that strayed through the carefully planted mossy garden. An ornamental stone caught his eye. It was about knee high, flat on one side, with a natural knob on the top. It looked like a memorial stone in a graveyard. He rolled it over, exposing the damp earth, sending a family of bugs scurrying for the dark damp earth. He drew his short sword, the wakizashi. With swift sure strokes he scratched the character for her name, and next to it his. Then he rolled it back over to hide their secret.
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