by Jean Lorrah
“It is not an emergency,” he assured her.
“But eventually, if I refuse, you must take another. I do not wish you to take another, Sorel. That is why I say it is not logical. I … will bond with thee.”
It was so sudden, so unexpected that for a moment he did not realize that she had granted him his wish.
Then, not daring to say another clumsy word, he raised his hand, two fingers extended. T’Kar touched her fingers to his, and he felt her caring, warm with promise.
“When?” he asked.
“Soon,” she replied. “As soon as the emergency abates so that we can plan a time when you and I, T’Pina, T’Mir, and Daniel, can all be together without fear of interruption.”
“Yes,” he replied. “And, T’Kar—there is no need for me to rush back to Vulcan on the next available transport. We will stay on Nisus until you are satisfied that your daughter no longer needs your counsel.” He smiled, seeing her echoing smile set free, for him alone.
The cause was indeed sufficient.
Chapter Forty-three
Korsal was studying the writings of the human—Chaucer, he was called—when Captain Kirk appeared at the door. “There are some people here who would like to see you, if you’re feeling up to it,” Kirk said.
“I may as well,” he replied. “Please, ask them to come in.”
He recognized T’Pina, although they had never formally met, and he was acquainted with Beau Deaver, a mathematical genius who frustrated the engineer by not giving a care whether there was any practical application for his brilliant discoveries. They were the last people he expected.
T’Pina approached Korsal hesitantly. “Thought Master Korsal. I ask a favor.”
“Anything within my power, T’Pina,” he replied. “I know what you’ve been going through. And please, don’t be so formal. No titles here. What can I do for you?”
She looked toward Deaver, and said, “Beau—Mr. Deaver—said you might know how I can find out … how I can be Romulan. That Klingons have diplomatic relations with the Romulans, so—”
Captain Kirk turned sharply at that. “That’s classified information, Deaver. The Klingons aren’t supposed to know we know they’ve got an alliance with the Romulans. How do you come to know it?”
“From the Orions,” Deaver replied, “when I was a kid driftin’ around on the edges of the Federation. Ever’body knew it in the circles me family run in.”
“Do not be concerned, Captain,” said Korsal. “I am in no position to inform on you. T’Pina,” he added, “I’m afraid all channels to Klingon High Command are closed to me. However, I can tell you what Romulan custom could lead to an infant being abandoned on an enemy planet.”
“Please tell me.” The girl’s eyes widened, pleading, although otherwise she maintained Vulcan control.
“Both Klingons and Romulans care greatly about family lines,” Korsal told her, “but the Romulans have a tradition of avenging themselves in feuds between families by stealing an infant—an important infant, the heir to a great dynasty, or a child whose marriage could one day cement an alliance between powerful families. The crude method is to kill the child and send the body to the parents. But the child may be abandoned among criminals. If it grows up an outlaw, eventually it is identified to the family, to cause them shame.
“The least practiced but most devastating form of this practice is for your enemy to steal your child and place him somehow with an even greater and stronger enemy—where you cannot possibly steal him back again, but must watch him grow up among people you hate, being taught to hate you.
“T’Pina,” Korsal continued, “I believe you are a victim of that practice. We’ve heard all about your origins for the past few days, how you were discovered after the destruction of Vulcan Colony Five. That planet is well away from the Neutral Zone; the raid would not have been a warning to the Federation to stay out of disputed territory.
“I can only speculate, but that was a small colony. The raid could have been by members of a Romulan dynasty who had stolen you from their enemies. By killing all but the children, they guaranteed that those surviving children would all be taken to Vulcan, far inside the Federation. Knowing that Vulcans would adopt you, they thus placed you where your real parents would have no chance of getting you back. If they ever knew what happened to you.”
T’Pina sat in silence, as if trying to assimilate what he had told her. “Then I can never find out who my biological parents were.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Korsal. “This is not something the Klingons can investigate for you, even if they were willing. And to my knowledge the Federation has no dealings at all with the Romulans.”
Kirk was staring at him. “But the Klingons have had for a very long time, haven’t they? It’s not a new alliance.”
“New? Oh, no—Klingons met up with Romulans not long after they first perfected star travel!”
“Captain Kirk!” Korsal had come to recognize Communications Officer Uhura’s voice on the intercom.
“Kirk here,” the captain replied, punching up a view of the bridge on Kevin’s terminal. Uhura looked quite distressed.
“Captain, we are being hailed by Klingon imperial cruiser Star Blaster.”
“Put them through,” Kirk instructed, his own anxiety showing.
The screen wavered, and the bridge scene was replaced with a head-and-shoulders shot of a Klingon captain. “Kirk,” he said, “I am Kef, commander of the Star Blaster. We come seeking—” Suddenly the dark eyes on the screen looked past Kirk, to Korsal. “Ah—Korsal. It is you we seek. Are you ill? Why have we had no reports from you in so long?” Kef leaned closer. “Why must we learn of events on Nisus from the Orions?”
Chapter Forty-four
James T. Kirk stared at the Klingon captain on the viewscreen.
“I … am not ill,” Korsal was saying to Kef.
“Then why are you in the sickbay of a Federation starship?”
Korsal remained silent.
Kef asked, “Why do you refuse to speak, Korsal?”
“I cannot,” Korsal replied.
The Klingon captain frowned. His eyes went to Kirk, then back to Korsal. “Speak. I command you.”
“I cannot,” Korsal repeated. He squared his shoulders. “To do so might embroil the Federation and the Klingon Empire in a war of such dishonor and desperation that when our children’s children meet us in the Black Fleet, they will not fight our enemies but seek revenge on us.”
Kef searched Korsal’s face. When it was obvious Korsal was not going to talk, Kef exclaimed, “You fool! You and that khesting Orion think you have some new, unknown disease on Nisus. We know what it is, and that we are immune to it.”
“Do you also know,” Korsal asked flatly, “that Klingon blood can be used to immunize members of other races?”
Kef studied him. “You were … protecting us? Is that it, Korsal?”
“Yes. We have controlled the epidemic on Nisus. No one who has been exposed will leave Nisus without being immunized. There will not be a Federation-wide epidemic. There will be no … demand for Klingon blood.”
Kirk cut in, “Kef, how do you know so much about the plague? If Borth wanted to sell it to you, he would not have given you enough information to locate his source.”
The Klingon smiled, showing just the tips of his teeth. “That is why I wanted Korsal to tell me. Now you know we have broken Starfleet’s latest code, and since you will report the fact to Starfleet Command, we will have the nuisance of breaking a new one.”
Kirk had to smile in response. “Point counterpoint.” Then he sobered. “Since you know about this disease, may we ask for your help? As Korsal said, the epidemic is controlled. It is not over. We can treat only critical cases with the supply of serum we have. And before anyone can leave Nisus, they must be immunized.”
To Kirk’s surprise, Kef replied at once, “Yes, my crew will donate the blood you need.”
“Why?” asked Kirk, suspicious
of too easy a victory.
“Perhaps we would rather give our blood than have you take it,” Kef replied.
“We wouldn’t—”
“Captain,” said Kef, “to save Federation lives? If our situation were reversed, if you would not help us, would you not expect me to take your blood to save Klingon lives? You would volunteer, would you not?”
“I hope,” Kirk replied, “that my reasons would be less cynical. I believe, Captain, that yours are, as well.”
“The donations are already being taken,” Kef said, ignoring Kirk’s attempt at amity. “We also have the formula for synthesizing the immunity factor, but the process takes twenty days. In the meantime you can stop the plague with serum. The first blood is ready to transport.”
Kirk let Uhura transfer the communications link to McCoy while Kef put his chief medical officer on to the Federation doctor.
While that was going on, Kirk turned to Korsal. “What do you think?”
Korsal smiled, no teeth showing. “I think perhaps Klingons and Humans are not so different.”
“Then why were you afraid to report the disease?”
“Because we are not so different. Among both our peoples are those who would use even this disease as a weapon. If I had known that my people already had the means to defuse it, I would have sent for help immediately.”
But Kirk was still unsatisfied. When Kef came back on screen, he asked, “Did you come to Nisus now because of the message Borth sent you?”
“No. If we had known about the plague, we would have come sooner, and brought a supply of synthetic serum. We are here because Korsal’s transmissions stopped abruptly thirty days ago. The technological advances made on Nisus, even though nonmilitary, have been invaluable to the Klingon Empire. We do not want scientific cooperation between the Federation and the empire to cease.
“When the empire could not raise Korsal, we were sent to find out why. On the way, we received Borth’s communication—but when we came in subspace radio range we decoded your transmissions and discovered that your plague was what we suspected.”
“And you just happened to have in your computer the formula for synthesizing the serum?” Kirk asked.
“Our chief medical officer knew it, of course.”
“Of course?” asked Kirk. “Why of course? Kef, you are immune to this thing! Why would your CMO know the formula for the cure?”
“Captain—” Korsal protested.
Kef was grinning. “You deserve your reputation, Kirk. You’re right; this mutating virus is well known in the Klingon Empire, even though most of us are immune to it. Ask Korsal. He might not recognize its genetic structure, but every Klingon knows about the Imperial plague.” The screen blanked.
Kirk turned to Korsal. “All right—talk. What’s this Imperial plague?”
To his annoyance, Korsal was laughing. But it was the painful laughter of irony. “If that’s what our Nisus plague really is, the Klingon Empire certainly cannot use it as a weapon!”
“Why not?” Kirk asked.
“Because the Klingon Imperial race not only is not immune to it, but rejects antibodies from other Klingon blood. Everyone entering the Klingon Empire must be immunized against Imperial plague, lest our leaders be exposed. To them, it is deadly. You have seen how fast the worst strains kill—in the twenty days it takes to synthesize the only cure they can use, most would be dead.”
The Imperial race. Kirk knew that the real leadership of the Klingon Empire were never seen in the neutral territories bordering the Federation, although they had been seen back in the days of First Contact. He had seen old tapes of men with gnarled foreheads, who wore their hair longer than the Klingons he was familiar with.
“But why didn’t you recognize the plague?” Kirk asked.
“I told you: every non-Klingon entering the empire is routinely immunized. The disease has not been seen in the Klingon Empire for generations, and as Kef said, my field is not medicine. One of your physicians might recognize a case of, say, smallpox —but would you, a starship captain?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Kirk admitted. He began to relax. “At least we don’t have to worry about Borth now; he has nothing to sell. Korsal, I trust you. And I suppose I can trust Kef’s enlightened self-interest.”
As he was saying it, Mr. Scott arrived with Kevin and Karl. The two boys were bubbling over with excitement, but they sat on Kevin’s bed as Scott asked, “Who’s Kef?”
“Captain of the Klingon ship whose crew is right now donating blood to stop the plague,” Kirk informed him, enjoying seeing his chief engineer flabbergasted.
Scott looked from Korsal to his two sons, then to T’Pina and Beau Deaver by the door. “Saved by Klingons and Romulans. Klingons in Starfleet Academy. Captain, we’ve not gone through some strange space anomaly, have we?”
“No, Scotty,” Kirk assured him, and explained the latest situation. Then he turned to Kevin, who was listening avidly. “You, young man, appear to have a choice again.”
“I still want to go to Starfleet Academy,” the boy replied. Then, looking at his father, “At least I want to try it.”
“Maybe,” said Kirk, “by the time you are ready to graduate we’ll have a real alliance instead of just an armed truce with your father’s people. What’s going on on Nisus is certainly contributing to that.”
“I hope so, sir,” Kevin replied.
Kirk turned to T’Pina and Deaver. “If we do get better relations with the Klingons,” he suggested to the girl, “you may be able to find out more about your ancestry.”
“Perhaps,” she said, but despite her Vulcan control he heard the poignancy in her tone. Beau Deaver put a hand on her shoulder. She did not shrug him off, but turned to look up into his eyes. “Please, Beau, do not do that.”
“T’Pina, you have a family,” the man said. “Who cares about your ancestry? You are complete in yourself—someone I want to know better, if you’ll let me.”
This time she did reach to remove the offending hand. “I am honored to call you friend, Beau, but with my mother remarrying, I must begin to make my own decisions.”
“Have you decided to return to Vulcan?” he asked.
“No. I will stay on Nisus.”
“Well, then,” said Deaver with a disarming smile, “that will give me time and opportunity.”
Dr. McCoy arrived just as T’Pina and Deaver left, saying, “Korsal, you’re free to go as soon as you feel fit—same for you boys.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Korsal, getting out of bed. “I will be glad to return to my work. Kevin, those plans we were working on for better safeties for the dam—”
“If we’re right, there’ll never be another flood like this one,” the boy replied, taking his disk from the computer.
Kirk went to McCoy’s office, for he had news for thedoctor after he completed checking the Klingons out of sickbay. He found Spock there, studying a diagram on the medical computer. “The cure?”
Spock nodded. “The cure, Captain. It’s hemoglobin-neutral; it can be synthesized for either iron-based or copper-based blood.” He looked up. “Provided by the Klingons.”
“So the IDIC Epidemic spreads,” Kirk observed.
One of Spock’s eyebrows rose for a moment, and then he realized what Kirk meant. “Yes, infinite diversity may have provided a breeding ground for the disease, but it also provided cures. Not just this one. T’Pina. Korsal. All the people who came to help.”
McCoy joined them, hearing what Spock was saying. “It’s too bad we won’t be staying on Nisus much longer. The additional blood serum will cure all the critical patients left. In twenty days we’ll have the synthetic serum, and we can immunize everyone left among the crew and passengers, and get on with our mission.”
“I’ll be glad to,” said Kirk. “I’m ready to dump Sendet and the rest of that crew and get back to our job. Which reminds me—I pulled some strings with Starfleet, Bones, and got Geoff M’Benga assigned to the Enterprise.
When we leave, he comes with us.”
Spock’s eyebrows shot up. “You have acquired a physician who has actually studied Vulcan physiology?”
“Vulcan physiology, maybe,” McCoy retorted. “I’m still the resident expert on yours.”
“I shall endeavor,” Spock said solemnly, “to avoid requiring that expertise.”
“An endeavor you’ve never been very successful with in the past,” McCoy pointed out. “Well, maybe I’ll let Geoff practice on you. He says you’re a classic, Spock.”
“Indeed?” The eyebrows rose again.
“A classic case of procrastination, that’s what you two are!” said Kirk, actually only too happy to see Spock and McCoy relaxed enough to snipe at one another again. “I’m tired of orbiting Nisus.”
He went to the intercom. “Engineering.”
“Scott here.” Already. Of course.
“Get those engines ready, Scotty. We break orbit in twenty days. Kirk out.” Then he turned to his two closest friends. “Well, what are you standing around for? You’ve got a serum to synthesize, and I’ve got a ship to run. Twenty days, gentlemen; twenty days and not one minute more!”
Table of Contents
Chapter Ten
