Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless (14 page)

“He checked aboard this morning, all lights blue.”

Krenn thought about that. Imperial Intelligence could have just ordered the Security Commander replaced, and no one, least of all Mak, could have said anything. That they had not meant…

Nothing. Either Maktai belonged to II, or he did not, but they had someone else aboard. Someone unsuspected.

Someone in a good position to communicate his reports.

Krenn found himself staring at Akhil.

The Exec did not seem to notice. “I’ve got a hospital address for Kalitta, if you want to send her a tape.”

“Tape?” Krenn said absently.

“They said she’d be conscious in a few days.”

“G’dayt,”
Krenn spat. “Yes, let’s do that. Let’s do it from the Bridge, and get everyone’s face on it. And let’s do it now, before the gossip link figures out what happened to her.” The lift car slowed. “Besides, we can see our new Communications expert in action.”

The car doors opened on
Fencer
’s Bridge. All stations were occupied, as the crew checked the ship down for cruise. Akhil and Krenn went to the Communications board.

“Captain, presenting—”

Krenn looked up, and disbelieved.

“Lieutenant Kelly, Electronics, Communications,” Akhil said, and saw Krenn’s face, and took a step backward.

“Captain Krenn,” Gelly
Gensa
Swift said—though of course she was no longer any of those things—and rose from her chair, a smooth motion, and saluted. The movement of her arm was somehow wrong, and Krenn could see in his mind the steel Lance coming down, and the dark-colored blood.

“Welcome aboard
Fencer,
Lieutenant,” Krenn said. “It has been quite some time.”

Kelly nodded slightly. Krenn thought she relaxed, but he was not certain; he had never seen her when she was not dancing with energy—except for the one time, with the blood.

“You know each other?” Akhil said, more curious than surprised. All around the Bridge, work stopped, heads turned.

“Yes,” Krenn said, wondering if it was the truth.

“But Zharn was alive after they transported you off the grid?” Krenn said. He and Kelly were alone in the Officers’Mess, talking, over warm black ale and plain pastry with pale butter.

“Alive, yes,” she said. “His neck was broken, and of course he couldn’t move…they put him into a frame and took him away. I was wrapped all up in something…” She touched her arm. “I remember not liking being wrapped. But the care was really very good. It took two years.” She straightened her elbow, lifted her arm; her shoulder swiveled, stopped, swiveled.

“Metal implant?” Krenn said.

Kelly nodded. “There weren’t any grafts to match my fusion, so it had to be metal. You know, before that, I used to think I was half-Romulan. But they have lots of material for Klingon-Rom fusions, since they use so many on the border now.”

Krenn had heard of that development, though of course he had been nowhere near that space.

Kelly said, “And they took samples, but…I still don’t know what I am, really. I suppose I never will.”

She drank some ale. There was still an astonishing grace to all her movements—even of her rebuilt arm—and Krenn found himself wondering if the medical geneticists had matched her against an Orion template.

He pulled back from the thought. She had been sent here, he knew, and those who sent her might have planned on exactly that reaction from him.

She said, “And you? How did you come to have a line, and a ship?”

She said she had not returned to the House, after the hospital released her, but had gone straight to Naval Technical School. She knew nothing of what had happened to him. She said.

“I was adopted out,” Krenn said. “But I took another linename, to start new.”

“Oh. You have consorts, then.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

She stood up.
No,
Krenn thought,
she was not Swift any longer:
there was a deliberation that she had never shown before. It was not the calculated, mind-blinding stimulation of an Orion female, either.

Though Krenn could not deny that she affected him.

“Permission to retire, Captain?”

“Muros’s
nose,
Kelly….”

She nodded, trying either to force or restrain a smile. “Pleasant rest, Krenn.”

“Pleasant rest, Kelly.”

Early in the following dayshift, Akhil said to Krenn, “Do you think Imperial Intelligence sent her?”

“If they did,” Krenn said, a rumble in his voice, “would we know it so soon?”

Krenn staggered out of his bed, almost falling over the loose restraint web. He felt his way to the washroom, turned on the sink, then ignored it, tumbled into the bath and hit the fill lever. Water flowed over him; his arms twitched at the stimulus, throwing water across the room.

“Is,” he said, “are, was, were, be, been, am. Excuse me, citizen, but where may currency be exchanged?
Pozhalasta prishl’yiti bagazh.
”

He started to sink, into the dreams that were mutually exclusive with dream-learning, into the hot water. Both felt good.

I am drowning,
he thought, in Federation Standard.
Please inform the UFP Consulate.

Eventually he noticed that the communicator was chiming, and managed to answer in
klingonaase
with only a slight Federation accent.

“Disputed Zone coming up, Captain.”

“Strategic,” Krenn said, using Battle Language automatically. The main display showed the area of space ahead in large scale, the Disputed Zone—what the Federation wanted to call a “border”—marked in white.

A set of yellow symbols appeared on the far side of the Zone: five ships in echelon.

“Kagga’s crown,
Roms,
” the Weapons officer said, and reached for his board; his hands hovered, shaking, above the sealed-off controls.

They were only off, not sealed, but the Gunner didn’t know that. “Not Roms,” Krenn said. “All but the
kuve
have five fingers. Akhil?”

Sensor schematics flashed on the display: four ships with flattened-sphere hulls, mounting Warp tubes directly aft; and one that was a saucer connected to an oblong block, the Warp engines in stand-off nacelles.

“Federation cruisers,” the Science officer said, watching his sensor telltales, calling recognition data to the displays. “Two types…four
Mann
-class, one unknown.”

“
Human
-class?” Krenn said.

“Different spelling, a Human proper name, probably. Imperial code-name
HOKOT
.” But Akhil was smiling; Krenn had not been the only one to give up many nights’ dreaming.

Nor just the two of them. “Signal from the lead ship, Captain, the unknown one,” Kelly said. “They’re asking our name and intentions.”

“Open the link.”

The display showed a Bridge of the circular Federation design. In the Command Chair at its center sat a broadly built Human, with red-brown skin and very black hair. His face seemed to be cut from rock.

Krenn said, “I am Krenn, Captain of
I.K.V. Fencer.
My intention is to enter your space, on a prearranged diplomatic mission.”

The Human’s eyes narrowed slightly; he looked for just a moment at an Andorian Krenn supposed was the Communications officer. Then the Human said, “This is Admiral Luther Whitetree, commanding Task Force K, aboard
U.S.S. Glasgow.
Do you have proof of your identity?”

“I have authorizations from the Klingon Imperial Council. Shall I transport them?”

“Launch anything and we’ll
burn
it,” said Admiral Luther—no, Krenn thought, Admiral Whitetree. Krenn wondered what in Keth’s hundred years the Human meant. Then the Admiral said, “Play your tapes.”

Krenn gestured to Kelly; she plugged the cassette into her board.

“Five
khest’n
cruisers,” Security Commander Maktai said. “Are they cowards of such
great
degree?”

On the display, Whitetree’s head snapped up; Kelly at once broke the Bridge-to-Bridge link. “Captain, I—”

“No fault, Lieutenant,” Krenn said. “I’m pleased they heard it.” He turned to Maktai, who stood rigid with embarrassment. Krenn did wonder at a Security officer who was so careless of who might be listening, but that was Mak’s way. “I don’t think they’re cowards, Mak. Cautious, yes, but…” He turned back to the display, where the Human Admiral was again watching the Council’s message. Krenn said, “I think that one would make a good Klingon, don’t you?”

Kelly warned them of the end of tape in time for the laughter to fade away.

“If you are ready, Captain Krenn,” Admiral Whitetree said, less challenging than before but no less hard, “we will escort you to Starbase 6.”

The disc-and-block starship,
Glasgow,
came about, flashing formation lights; the four spheroid ships moved apart, to surround
Fencer.

Whitetree said, “Can you cruise at Warp Factor Four, Captain?”

“Quite comfortably, Admiral,” Krenn said, thinking,
Of course you knew that, just as my computers are filled with data on your ships. But we will play the game as if it were Blind, instead of only Clouded.

Thermal sinks on the
Mann
-class cruisers glowed dull red, and the convoy moved toward the space the Federation claimed as its own.

Fencer
held station ten thousand meters off Federation Starbase 6. The Klingons had an excellent view of the Starbase, a dished circular hull some five hundred meters across, mounting an antenna-and-sensor cluster at its center. The web forms of work docks floated beyond the hull, marker lights flashing. The docks all seemed to be empty. Kelly had reported no subspace traffic in or out, even encrypted.

There was a squadron of small, hunter-type ships, all built for speed and firepower; Krenn supposed they could be frontier patrol on normal station leave. But there were those empty docks: ships could not need so little maintenance, else why build so many docks? And there were the five cruisers still englobing
Fencer.

“You say, Captain Krenn, that your total ship’s complement is less than three hundred?” Admiral Whitetree said. The disbelief in his voice was not open, but it was there.

“Your recognition data are correct, Admiral. Our normal complement is larger. But this ship is carrying only a few Marines as honor guards for the officers. It did not seem necessary to bring more…. I believe your sensor systems can verify the number of living organisms aboard?”

The Admiral said, “In that case, permission granted to deboard your crew. We’ll give you approach routes for your shuttlecraft.”

“From which we will not deviate. Until we meet face to face, Admiral. Krenn out.”

Kelly broke the link.

Maktai said, “Shuttlecraft?”

“The Admiral’s suggestion,” Krenn said, thinking hard.

“It’ll take eight trips with all shuttles running, if we don’t have a
kherx
on the staging floor. Are they afraid we’ll use the troop transporters and overrun them?” He pointed at the Starbase. “There must be thousands of troops on that thing. If the whole hold was full of
frozen
Marines, we—”

Akhil said, “They may just not want to drop shields, even a crack. Or there’s another possibility.” He looked at Krenn. “Are you thinking what I am, Captain?”

Maktai caught on in a moment. “They don’t
have
particle transporters.”

Akhil said, “We haven’t had them for so very long.”

Maktai said, “If that’s true—”

Krenn said, “If it’s true, they still have shields. And there’s another possibility: they have transporters, but they don’t know that
we
do…. I think we ought to avoid mentioning transporter systems while we’re on this leave. Mak, you’ll let the crew know—and tell them that they might, without attracting any notice, be looking for anything that might be a Federation transporter?”

The Security Commander grunted agreement.

Krenn’s shuttle entered a landing deck that could have held thirty such craft; tractors pulled it to a lighted square on the dark surface, and an elevator carried it down to a pressurized staging room larger than
Fencer
’s entire shuttle deck.

The ship’s doors opened. Two honor guards preceded Krenn out.

A small, slim Human and a Vulcan were waiting. Behind them were six beings of assorted races, all carrying sidearms. All wore dress uniforms of glossy fabric, with bright gold trim; the Human and Vulcan showed a large number of award pins on their tunics.

“Welcome aboard Starbase 6, Captain,” the slender Human said, in rather good
klingonaase,
not machine-translation. “I am Takashi Onoda, senior Diplomatic representative to this station. May I introduce Captain Sinon, the Starfleet attaché.” The Vulcan bowed slightly.

Onoda said, “The rest of your officers are coming? We’re of course pleased to accommodate your crew; if Admiral Whitetree expressed himself badly—”

“My officers are coming. My Executive, the Security Commander, and I do not ride in the same shuttlecraft.”

“Of course. A sensible precaution. And this is your…” Onoda paused. “…Consort?”

“This is Lieutenant Kelly, my Communications Officer,” Krenn said. He stepped aside, so that Kelly’s uniform and sash were clearly visible, and thought,
This is one of their
diplomats?

Onoda paled slightly. “A moment, please, Captain.” He turned to the attaché, said something in the Vulcan language. Krenn wondered if Sinon were
tharavul.

Onoda said, “If you and your company will follow me, please? We have a reception planned. I hope it’s to your liking.”

“Diplomat Onoda,” Krenn said, “are you the Ambassador we are to take to Klinzhai?”

“Oh, no,” Onoda said, “oh, no.” He gestured, and the group started out of the room. As they funneled toward the door, Onoda turned to Sinon and said, in Federation, “Whitetree’s going to
explode.
”

Then they have not contacted him,
Krenn thought.
Which means he is coming by shuttle as well.

Perhaps we should not have used their language so soon.

One of the Federation guards was speaking to one of his companions. He was discussing Kelly, and clearly he did not know she could understand him.

Krenn said to her, in Battle Language, “Subspace silence. Hold fire.”

“It doesn’t bother me to tell you,” Admiral Whitetree said to Captain Krenn, “I wanted you quarantined here. Give you the Ambassador and send you home again. But the Diplomatic Corps overruled Starfleet.”

Krenn said, “I have no disagreement with your caution.”

They were sitting in a private lounge on the rim of the Starbase; the lights within were dim, and a panoramic window showed a solid wall of naked stars.

The Admiral got up from his chair. “Another?” he said, pointing at Krenn’s glass.

“Please,” Krenn said. He had had a hard time getting used to the word. But after a day on the Starbase, Krenn had realized that the Humans used it continually, across all levels of authority, for requests of any or no importance: the word simply had no meaning.

“Apple or orange?” Whitetree said. “We’ve got pineapple and grape, too…and prune, but the Medical Corps would have my ass for antimatter if I gave you that.”

“Apple juice is fine.”

Whitetree came back from the wall unit with two glasses. “I understand the climate here’s a little out of range for you.”

“It is acceptable.”

“Onoda wanted to reset temp and humidity for the whole damned base. We just couldn’t do it; you know the size of this place, you can imagine the inertia in the enviro system. It’d take a week and a half to even try, with a good chance of making it uncomfortable for everyone.”

“This is understood.” And, Krenn thought, Starfleet was not always overruled by the Diplomatic Corps.

“I’m glad. I’ve stayed in enough alien cabins to know what it’s like…. I suppose your homeworld’s star is a spectral class…F-something? Or is the orbit very tight?”

“I am not an astronomer. My Science officer would know. But I am not certain that he could tell you.”

After a pause, the Admiral said, “Yup. I can think of a dozen different things I’d usually talk about, with a Captain just off a cruise like yours, but most of them would violate military security. And I’m not sure I want to go near the others.”

“I have killed a few who insulted me,” Krenn said, “but I do not think you mean any insults. Please speak.”

Whitetree said, “Well, there’s your Communications person…I never knew your Empire used female officers.”

“Your Empire does. Why would we waste an intelligent one with talent?”

“You have women…females in command, then?”

“Lieutenant Kelly’s orders are obeyed.”

“I mean, in command of ships. Independent command.” There was a set to Whitetree’s creased, dark face, a light in his eyes.

Krenn said, “No.”

Whitetree said, “My daughter commands a survey ship. The
Ave-bury.
”

Krenn said nothing.

Whitetree said, as if pressing the same point, “How does a Klingon Captain get chosen for duty like this? Was it a reward? Or punishment? Or did you just draw the short straw?”

Krenn’s taped learning did not include the last idiom, but he supposed it meant bad luck. “The Empire ordered me here; I came. The mission is not dishonorable.”

“So you were just following orders?”

“Do officers of the Federation not follow orders?”

Whitetree leaned forward, about to say something; then he sat back slowly. His expression had changed wholly, though the shifts of flesh were small. “I’m…sorry, Captain.”

Krenn had heard that word too: it seemed to have more of its meaning left than
please
did. And, watching the Human, Krenn thought he intended that it should have meaning now.

“I am not insulted, Admiral.”

“Maybe you should be. I was—” Whitetree shook his head. “My son was killed by Klingons.”

“Did the one fight well?” Krenn said.

“He was on a ship called the
Flying Fortress,
” the Admiral said.

“You may have heard of the incident. The ship was one of our
Rickenbacker
-class, what we used to call Maximum Security Transports. Only one of them was ever hijacked…pirates broadcast a fake distress message from a fake Federation scout. When
Flying Fort
answered, the pirates put a shot straight into her crew compartment.

“There was an automatic subspace alarm aboard, though, that the pirates didn’t know about. A patrol was scrambled, and when it showed up, the pirates dropped the loot and ran.”

“I have indeed heard of this incident,” Krenn said. “Those who fled were executed, for cowardice.”

Whitetree said, “I didn’t know that. I suppose…it ought to please me, or at least satisfy me, but…”

In a low voice, the Admiral said, “You see, Captain, Starfleet sent me out here because they thought I’d really show you the hot end of the lasers. And I really thought I would.

“So what happens? I show up with a task force that could level half a planet, to meet one cruiser with a light crew and sealed guns. You don’t drip spittle from your bloodied fangs, you don’t keep your women in chains—Spirit, you speak the language better than some of my crew, and you’re a damn sight politer.”

He stood up, went to look out the window. No ships were visible. Krenn wondered if Humans believed in the power of the naked stars. Whitetree said, “So everyone involved with the hijack is dead?”

“The one who planned it was named Kethas. He also is dead.”

Whitetree turned. “Kethas? We’ve heard of him. The Klingon Yamamoto. Dead too…damnation.”

“My family,” Krenn said, “was killed by Romulans. It was also an ambush of a ship not at war.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Captain,” Whitetree said, his voice hardened again. “I still hate you, and all Klingons. I don’t think I’d stop hating you if I found out Jesus Christ was a Klingon. But you’ve…made me think. It’s as if…dead things were alive again.”

The only truth about death,
Krenn thought but did not consider to say,
is that it is death, and the end.

The wall communicator chimed, and the Admiral went to it. “Whitetree…Yes, I see. The Captain’s with me; we’ll be there shortly.”

Whitetree turned to Krenn. “Some of your crew are in a brawl with some of mine. We’d better go and untangle them.”

Krenn said, “Was the combat started by Klingons?”

“They didn’t say.” Whitetree swallowed the last of his juice. “And I really don’t think it’s going to matter a damn. Do you?”

Krenn, Akhil, and Maktai had Lieutenant Kalim in a three-way fire: Krenn was aware it was probably harder on the young officer than time in the cube, but they could not afford even the usual leave tolerances just now. The Klingons had left the Starbase under the tubes of guns and eyes hardly less threatening, and
Fencer
’s authorization to proceed to Earth had come none too soon.

“We were just talking,” Kalim said, “with some of those fringe-patrol Feds. Some of them had fought Roms, you see, Captain, and they knew good Rom stories, like ‘How many Roms does it take to change a translator?’ ”

“Don’t digress,”
Maktai said. His usual easy manner made his growl all the more effective.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Krenn said calmly, “you were talking with the Starfleet beings. Did the fight start over old Rom stories?”

“No, Captain, it wasn’t that. One of the Feds mentioned Lieutenant Kelly—”

Not
that
again, Krenn thought, surprised at the strength of his feeling.

“—he didn’t know her name, not then, but he talked about her, and that translator-pipe of theirs isn’t very subtle,
if
you know what I mean, Captain, and it was clear who he was talking about. And I said, ‘That’s our Lieutenant Kelly, and you be careful how you talk.’ ”

“
You
said that?” Akhil said.