Star Trek #97: In the Name of Honor

by Dayton Ward

  “Believe what you want,” Garrovick said. “Maybe I should have just let them kill him, or maybe I should have joined in on their escape attempt.” He indicated the fallen body of Robert Kawaguchi behind him.

  “But they killed one of my people, and the simple fact is that Moqlah has been more humane toward us than we had any right to expect from a Klingon. I helped him out of regard for that. Besides, if I’m going to die as part of a prison revolt, I prefer it to be one I’m leading.”

  Korax smiled, his respect for the human having just been raised a notch. “Perhaps there is hope for your species, human, if more of them think as you do.”

  Garrovick remembered the conversation between himself, Sydney Elliot and Moqlah. The Klingon had seemed sincere in his belief that the notions of honor and valor were beginning to reassert themselves within the Empire after having been ignored for so long. For such a crusade to be victorious, it would need people such as Moqlah leading the way.

  Garrovick’s eyes locked with Korax’s. “If more Klingons think the way Moqlah does, there might be hope for you, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  IT WAS A RARE OCCASION that allowed Spock to view the Enterprise as she hung in space, and the observation ports in Starbase 49’s officer’s lounge afforded him an unfettered view of the starship. Without benefit of computer imaging, parts of the vessel were cloaked in shadow, with only portions of her hull exposed by her running lights or from illumination cast off by the starbase itself. Gazing through the thick plexisteel windows at the ship, he was able to appreciate the efficient blend of form and function that she represented. Though he had served aboard the Enterprise- A and her predecessor for most of the past thirty-five years, the vessels themselves had never been more than the sum of their respective parts to him. Logically, there was no other way to view the starships.

  Nevertheless, his human traits combined with decades spent living and working with humans had given him a different perspective. He had observed over the years that traveling in space, as commonplace as it was in this day and age, still held a romantic allure for many humans, and the vessel they traveled aboard became their home. More than a simple mode of transportation, the ship was where they felt comfortable, protected, alive. It was where they worked, lived, loved, and, on those unfortunate occasions, it was where they died.

  For others, the connection to a ship seemed to exist on a different level, a bond that rivaled even the most passionate of relationships. Spock had observed this odd behavior in a handful of humans, and one in particular.

  Though he would never admit it to Dr. McCoy, Spock could understand the emotional attachment that seemed to connect James Kirk to the vessel drifting in space before him. Even if logic could allow for such a bond to an object, it would balk at the idea that Kirk had fostered such affection for this Enterprise, which was in fact nothing more than a replacement. Its predecessor, the starship Kirk had commanded into history and perhaps legend, was but a memory now.

  The atoms of the original Enterprise had been scattered across space along with those of the now-destroyed Genesis planet. Kirk had ordered the scuttling of the ship that had served him faithfully for so many years rather than allow it to fall into enemy hands. Logic told Spock that such an action was the correct thing to have done, given the circumstances. After all, Kirk had prevented sensitive Starfleet technology from being captured and exploited by the Klingons. Federation officials had no choice but to agree.

  But because of his relationship with James Kirk, Spock knew that the decision had been painful for his friend. For Kirk, the Enterprise had always been more than a simple space vessel. Instead, it was the embodiment of everything he had wanted in life. Freedom and adventure, not power and prestige, Spock knew, though Kirk’s detractors would think otherwise.

  That ship was gone now, however, and all that remained of her was the history she had helped create. That legacy had been left to the starship Spock now scrutinized. While rationale told Spock that it was an entirely new vessel, he knew that Kirk thought of it as much more. If it gave Kirk comfort to believe that some part of the original Enterprise lived on in this new incarnation, then Spock would defy all logic and be content to quietly support his friend.

  “A magnificent view.”

  Hearing Toladal’s voice made Spock realize just how engrossed he had been in his observations of the Enterprise. It was unlike him to become so focused on something that he could be oblivious of someone’s approach, especially a Klingon as large as Ambassador Kaljagh’s aide. For a brief moment he thought he might indeed understand the drawing power of the starship, and made a mental note to discuss the odd attraction with Captain Kirk at some point.

  Out of earshot of Dr. McCoy, of course.

  He turned to see Toladal dressed in dark robes accented with a thick leather belt and sash. Even though the clothing was intended to identify its wearer as part of a diplomatic caste, the military nature of the Klingon Empire could still be seen in its design.

  Taking note of the evident fatigue in the ambassadorial aide’s face, Spock said, “I trust the negotiations are going well.”

  Toladal shrugged. “We are in recess for the moment. There is some good, there is some bad. Though we have toiled here for more than a week, there are times I feel we are starting from the beginning.”

  “There are many obstacles to overcome,” Spock agreed. “The Federation and the Empire have been at odds far too long for trust to come easily. Prejudice and misconceptions will continue to cloud judgments until both sides have had sufficient opportunity to see what each might offer the other. That it has not happened after only a week is not surprising. It will take far longer than that, I suspect.”

  Toladal smiled at the words, a large toothy grin that Spock easily saw reflected in the plexisteel window. “It is a pity that you do not speak on behalf of the Federation,” he said. “You possess a wisdom that belies the uniform you wear. If I did not know better, I would think I was addressing Sarek himself.” After a pause, the Klingon added, “In fact, it surprises me that your father is not present at these negotiations. Ambassador Kaljagh has spoken highly of him on a number of occasions. I suspect the ambassador fancies the idea of pitting his own political prowess against your father’s.”

  Eyebrow arching, Spock allowed himself a mild expression of amusement. “I believe Ambassador Kaljagh would find Sarek to be a formidable opponent. In any case, my father regrets not being available for this summit, as he is currently holding negotiations with the Legarans.”

  “Ah, the Legarans,” Toladal replied. “Let us hope the Empire and the Federation do not take so long to reconcile our differences.”

  Spock could not disagree. The Federation had sought a treaty with the Legarans since Starfleet’s accidental first contact with the reclusive race fifteen years ago. Initial attempts at negotiations had failed miserably, mostly due to Federation diplomatic representatives committing various political and social gaffes. Perhaps dismissed as minor and understandable transgressions by other races, the Legarans had instead taken these actions as serious affronts against them, their utter devotion to protocol and rigid convention allowing them no other quarter. It was only when Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan undertook the challenge of bringing the Legarans to the negotiating table that the treaty was given any chance of success.

  That was fourteen years ago.

  The progress Sarek had made during the on-again, mostly off-again negotiations had been small yet significant. Still, the Legarans were a long way from accepting any sort of long-term relationship with the Federation. Spock, however, was certain that if anyone could create a solution that would benefit both the Federation and the Legarans, it was Sarek.

  After a few moments spent looking through the observation ports, Toladal turned to Spock. “So, Captain, how does it feel to be in command of a vessel such as the Enterprise, no matter how briefly? Does it stir notions and desires of one day commanding a ship of your own?”

&
nbsp; As he considered the Klingon’s question, Spock allowed his gaze to fall on the Enterprise once more. He partly suspected that Toladal, while perhaps genuinely interested in the Vulcan’s career aspirations, was more likely fishing for information regarding the whereabouts of Captain Kirk.

  “I have never sought a command of my own, though I did captain the Enterprise for a short time. It is a position that requires much of the individual charged with the responsibility.”

  An expression mixed of equal parts mild shock and amusement washed over Toladal’s features. “Why, Captain, surely you’re not suggesting you are unqualified to hold such a position?”

  Shaking his head slightly, Spock replied, “While the technical and administrative duties are well within my scope of abilities, I have found that commanding a starship requires mastery of other intangible skills, subtle nuances and character traits that I confess to finding more difficult in grasping. Though I have improved in these areas as the years have passed, it has been my observation that select individuals display these talents as if possessing an inherent gift for them. Logic dictates that such persons be groomed for the arduous responsibility engendered in starship command.”

  “You mean people like Captain Kirk,” Toladal said. “Speaking of whom, I regret that I was unable to spend any time talking with him. I am most interested in meeting the man behind the stories we hear within the Empire.”

  Spock nodded, pleased that his initial suspicions about this thread of conversation appeared to have been correct. However, he could not find fault with Toladal for attempting to glean information that could be relayed to his superiors. Were the situation reversed, he was certain he would do the same.

  Prior to his departure aboard the Gal’tagh, Kirk had surmised that a cover story of him being bedridden in sickbay would not hold up under close scrutiny. Therefore, according to orders sent by Admiral Bennett to Starbase 49, Kirk and Sulu were supposed to have departed with all due haste for Earth to take part in a sensitive mission requiring their expertise. With the help of McCoy to make him look sufficiently haggard from his supposed bout with Klingon food poisoning, Kirk had addressed both the Federation and Klingon delegations about his impending departure and Spock’s becoming their liaison aboard the Enterprise. Kirk knew it was a weak cover story, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances.

  Admiral LeGere had contributed to the illusion by dispatching a long-distance transport shuttle to Earth, which had departed the starbase in a spectacular and very visible demonstration of its warp engines. The two ensigns manning the transport knew only that they had orders to travel to Earth for a classified mission, and would arrive to find that they had been granted two weeks’ worth of shore leave, courtesy of the admiral himself.

  “Captain Kirk regrets having to leave the conference,” Spock said, “but his presence was required elsewhere, and he is first and foremost a man of duty.” It was a plotted skirting of the truth, Spock knew, but far enough from an actual lie that he felt comfortable saying it.

  Toladal nodded in understanding. “Devotion to duty is a concept Klingons appreciate, as well. Perhaps therein lies a possible bridge between our two peoples.”

  Spock’s reply was interrupted as he felt the floor beneath his feet tremble and heard the plexisteel window ports vibrate in their frames. Beyond the wall to his right he heard what he could only identify as a muffled explosion.

  “What was that?” Toladal asked, confusion etched on his face, only to say it to Spock’s back. The Vulcan had already moved for the exit.

  Spock plunged into the corridor to find it full of members from both the Federation and Klingon delegations as well as Starfleet personnel and soldiers from the Klingon ship. The passageway was also beginning to fill with smoke that Spock could see was coming from the conference hall where the mediated proceedings were taking place.

  Cries of fear surrounded him, but Spock saw that Enterprise security personnel were working to reassure others that the situation was under control. For the security detachment to have responded so rapidly could only mean . . .

  “Captain Spock!”

  He heard Chekov’s voice and recognized it as coming from the conference hall, the entrance to which had been cordoned off by two security guards. No one was being allowed into the room and the few remaining people still inside were being escorted into the corridor.

  As the guards stepped aside for him to enter the chamber, Spock noticed that the podium at the front of the room as well as the large viewing screen built into the forward wall had been obliterated. Nothing remained but the podium’s base, which bore silent testament to the explosion that had occurred here just moments before.

  To his left, Spock saw a female security officer tending to one of the Federation diplomats who had suffered a minor injury in the blast. The man was unconscious, but a quick visual inspection told him that the laceration across the wounded man’s head was not life threatening.

  “Ensign,” he said to the security officer, “how many people have sustained injuries?”

  Looking up, the ensign replied, “Just this gentleman, sir. I can only find the one cut across his head, but I’ve already called for a beam-up. Dr. McCoy is standing by to give him the once-over.” After glancing back at the slumped form of the diplomat, she said, “We were very lucky, Captain. The room was nearly empty when the bomb went off.”

  Moving toward the front of the room, Spock was able to examine what remained of the podium’s base more closely. The entire top surface of the metal pedestal had been scorched black and was covered with pits and holes where shrapnel from the rest of the podium had been driven downward.

  “Mr. Chekov,” Spock said as the Russian security chief moved to join him. “My compliments on your team’s prompt response to this emergency. What has happened here?”

  Chekov indicated the decimated remains of the podium with the tricorder he held. “An explosive was planted here. Whatever it was, it was crudely built, for one thing. There’s enough of it here to run a detailed analysis, though, so we should have some answers soon.”

  He waved his free hand and pointed out where shrapnel from the podium had been blown across the conference chamber, embedding itself into the walls, tables, and chairs. “We were lucky that a recess had been called, otherwise the chairperson or whoever was standing at the podium would have been vaporized, to say nothing of injuries to others in the room.”

  “Captain Spock?” the distinctive voice of Ambassador Joquel carried across the room from the doorway. Spock turned and, seeing both her and the Klingon ambassador being blocked from entering the conference hall by the security guards, motioned for them to be allowed in.

  “Ambassadors,” he began, clasping his hands behind his back and adopting his customary relaxed yet alert posture, “it would appear that a terrorist act has been perpetrated on these premises.”

  Barely contained rage was evident on Kaljagh’s face. “Given what I am to understand about the security precautions put in place by both Klingon and Starfleet personnel, how is this possible?”

  “It shouldn’t be,” replied another voice from the other side of the room. Spock recognized its owner as Lorta, the security officer of the Terthos. The Klingon’s uniform had been tailored to accentuate the musculature of her arms, augmenting the woman’s already imposing figure. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun that made her facial features all the more prominent. She stood taller than Spock and was of course broader across the shoulders and chest. Even with the impressive strength his own Vulcan physique provided him, Spock calculated that she could best him in physical combat.

  “Both Commander Chekov and I conduct security sweeps of the chamber prior to the commencement of each session.” The tone of Lorta’s voice was forceful, crisp, and confident. “No one is allowed entry into the room while a session is under way. Nothing was found in the room before the last session began.” Spock had no doubts that the security officer was confident with the report
she was giving, having already received the results of the sensor sweep from Chekov when it had first been completed.

  “We are therefore left with two possibilities,” he said. “Either the explosive was transported into the room after the completion of the security inspection, or one of the individuals in attendance brought the device into the room on their person.”

  “Surely not,” Joquel said, aghast. “Everyone in this room is committed to making this summit succeed.”

  “Apparently, someone does not share your viewpoint,” Lorta said.

  Joquel nodded grudgingly. “We were lucky no one was injured,” she said as she looked around the room and surveyed the damage. “I wonder if whoever put it in there had a specific target in mind.”

  “The ambassador has a point,” Chekov said. “The morning session proceeded ahead of schedule. None of the issues discussed raised any drawn-out debates or disagreements.”

  “It was the most productive of the meetings we’ve had so far,” Kaljagh said, the optimism still evident in his voice despite the statement’s harsh, gruff delivery.

  Nodding in agreement, Chekov continued, “Because of that, things moved along more rapidly, and the midday recess was called early. Ordinarily, they’d probably still be in there for another hour or so.”

  “Commander Chekov is correct,” Lorta said. “The triumph of the morning’s discussions may actually have thwarted whatever plan was in motion.”

  Taking another look at the destroyed podium, Spock said, “It also lends credence to a hypothesis that the explosive operated on a timed delay and was not triggered by a remote signal. That still leaves us with the possibilities of the device having been planted either by means of a transporter or a courier.”

  “I’ll have the Enterprise sensor logs reviewed for signs of unauthorized transporter activity,” Chekov said.

  Lorta added, “As will I with the sensor records of the Terthos. Meanwhile, should we not begin interrogating the delegates?”