Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless (20 page)

“All right,
why?
” Krenn said.

“Specialist Antaan worked it out,” Akhil said. He seemed extremely pleased, and Krenn could hardly argue: they were bringing back a major piece of scientific intelligence, and they could hardly be accused of having pirated it.

“Antaan got a sensor lock on the corona leakage from the Feds’ ‘demonstration.’ ” Akhil pushed a key, and a multicolored trace appeared on the display of Akhil’s Bridge station. “Do you see this line?”

“You’re pointing to it, I see it,” Krenn said patiently. He was thinking that since they had this data,
Fencer
had indeed had sensors trained on them the whole time. Just like home.

“Antaan calls it a super-carrier wave, polarized in three dimensions plus warp-time. They’re overlaying it on the ordinary transporter signal. At reassembly, it superheterodynes with the main signal; the heterodyning produces a set of parasitic sound frequencies. Like the fact that a disruptor beam is blue, even though the disrupting wave itself is invisible.”

“So it’s noisy,” Krenn said, wondering if ’Khil might secretly be a Vulcan fusion. “Is it better?”

“I can’t see how,” Akhil said flatly. “The super-carrier repeats the main signal information, but the reduction in assembly error is trivial, maybe one percent. And the power cost is twenty percent higher, not to mention the cost of extra equipment.
Plus
being able to hear a boarding party a boom’s-length away.”

Krenn leaned against one of the main ceiling struts. He looked at the main display, just past his empty Chair, at the stars passing at Warp 4 and the Federation ships surrounding
Fencer.
They had only three escorts for the voyage from Earth, all of them the new-model cruisers with the saucer hulls and outriggered warp engines. There was
Glasgow,
that had led them in, and
Savannah,
and
Hokkaido.
Admiral van Diemen had said with quickly recovered pride that they were of the
Baton Rouge
–class, and they also were on Starfleet’s leading edge of technology. And all of them did have transporters, Krenn was told.

“One percent, you say?”

“One percent of the error rate, Captain, not the number of transports.”

“Yes…I’d thought that was what you meant.” Krenn looked at Kelly. She had been watching him; quickly she turned away. “Still,” Krenn said, “they seem to have a powerful desire for personal safety.”

“Humans?”
Akhil said, disbelieving. “Most of them weren’t even armed.”

“Maybe their idea of danger isn’t the same as ours.”

Amused, Akhil said, “How many things are there to fear?”

“I don’t know,” Krenn said. “That’s what scares me.”

Akhil took it as a joke, as Krenn had intended.

“The room is comfortable?” Maktai said.

“Very much so,” Dr. Tagore said, looking around, at the clearprints on the walls, the newly installed furniture, and his still-sealed baggage. “Much larger than I had expected. This isn’t normally a stateroom?”

“It’s my office,” Krenn said. “I’ll be using the Exec’s office down the corridor.”

“I hadn’t meant such an inconvenience.”

Krenn said, “An advantage of this cruise is that there isn’t much office work. Anyway, we had to put you somewhere; this has its own washroom, and an individual lock code. There aren’t any regular passenger facilities, and you can’t have expected us to give you Marine quarters.” Krenn noticed Maktai watching him; as casual as Mak was, he had not expected the informality between his superior officers and the alien.

Dr. Tagore said, “Starfleet has done just that, on occasion.” He turned to Maktai. “And I have had my bags examined by a number of Federation member worlds, including Earth. I’ll gladly assist your crew in a search, Commander Maktai.”

The Security chief scratched his forehead. Krenn was amused, and interested: if Mak’s style aboard were really only a mask, this cruise might put some wrinkles in it.

Maktai said, “We do not search others’ property without cause.”

“I hadn’t meant to suggest you would. Many cultures consider my profession itself not only sufficient cause, but necessary.”

“We…do not,” Maktai said. “You’re aware that you will be the only resident of this deck…besides this office, and the Executive’s, there are only the forward transporter rooms at the corridor ends. And the ship’s computers…but I must advise you not to enter those compartments.”

“The doors to the computer room are secured, I assume?”

“This…need not be said.”

“Then it need not be said that I shall not enter. The same for the transporter rooms; I find it a fascinating invention, much pleasanter than shuttlecraft rides, but I should not like to accidentally disassemble myself.”

“It is good that you understand.”

“Commander, that is the reason I am here.”

Krenn said, “Mak and Akhil and I are three decks below. You’re not alone in the pod.” He gestured at the wall. “We’ve disabled the priority call on your communicator, but it’ll call any open location. And we’ll have a computer screen in here in a day.”

Dr. Tagore said gently, “What you may have heard is true: my kind die if we are isolated. But you need not worry.” He pressed the seal on one of his cases, and it folded itself open. Within were books, more than a hundred of them, and a case of crystal slides with a reader. In the bottom of the case was a flat black plane, like a computer terminal, but with very different controls that Krenn recognized at once: he had played a thousand games of
klin zha
on just such an electronic game grid.

“You see,” Dr. Tagore said, selecting a book, “I am not isolated.”

Maktai said, “There is one Security matter…”

“Of course, Commander.”

“Your weapon.”

“Weapon?” Dr. Tagore said, sounding slightly distressed.

“Of course you may keep your personal arms. But I must know their type, for the record. So that if an incident occurs, yours may be…eliminated from consideration.”

“Commander…Captain…I have not carried a weapon in forty-four years. Since I would not use one, I would not tell the lie of wearing one.”

“On Earth,” Krenn said, startled, “I saw your people with dress arms—” He had assumed the Ambassador carried his weapon well concealed.

“It is permitted,” the Human said, “though many of us hope it ceases to be the fashion.”

“I may,” Maktai said slowly, “be forced to search your bags, to confirm this…”

“My offer to assist you still stands.”

“I think that’s all for now,” Krenn said. “I would be pleased if you would join me for dinner, Dr. Tagore.”

“Honored of course, Captain.”

In the lift, Krenn said to Maktai, “As strange as it sounds, Mak…I don’t think he has a weapon.”

Maktai shook his head, plucked at his hair. “I
know
he doesn’t. We scanned his equipment for weapons, routine, you know the drill.
Nothing. G’dayt,
I’d been thinking he had something that our scanners couldn’t pick up.”

Krenn could see how Mak felt: he felt
silly.

“So tell me, Captain,
why
doesn’t he have a weapon?” Maktai spread his hands. “He’s not
kuve
…Kagga’s crown, he’s not
kuve.
So what
is
he, Captain?”

It was the late watch, and
Fencer
was quiet; quieter now than in a long time. The ship was ten days across the Zone, in Klingon space again.

Krenn moved a pawn upward one space. “Do all Humans play chess?”

“No,” Dr. Tagore said. “Actually very few play, though everyone knows the pieces, and most have an idea of the moves. There is a common belief that truly exceptional chessplayers, grandmasters, must also be…” He touched a rook, moved it downward. “…insane.”

Krenn took a bite from a gel pastry, washed it back with
kafei.
“Is this belief true?”

“I don’t know. At least partially, I suppose. Certainly some grandmasters were mad, or went mad. But so have any number of people who never touched a pawn…. The other factor is that computers playchess. In solitaire mode, this unit—” he tapped the game grid—“plays so well I cannot beat it. And one of the new duotronic computers cannot be beaten at all, not even by a Vulcan.”

“What difference does that make?” Krenn said. “What honor is there in playing a machine whose only function is to win?” Krenn shifted a sub-board, the projected pieces descending through his fingers.

Dr. Tagore looked up, pleased. Krenn stared at the position again.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m mated in two or so,” the Human said. “I’m just delighted to hear you say that. Not even Vulcans seem to be able to see that it is not the game, but the player.”

The checkmate actually took five moves.
At least the Ambassador never tried to resign,
Krenn thought.

Dr. Tagore blanked the board. “Another? Or would you like to give me another lesson in
klin zha?
”

“I would like to have another lesson in
pokher.
”

“Gladly.” Dr. Tagore went to his library, returned with two decks of cards and a rack of tokens. “You realize that I’ve still got nothing of value to play for, and I doubt that Strip would be of more than academic interest.”

“It is important that the stakes be real,” Krenn said. He had been waiting for this, trying to perfect his strategy for the moment when it came.

“As I’ve said, Chess and Poker between them sum up the Human psyche. And Chess is the supreme game for itself, just as Poker is the supreme game for stakes.”

Krenn stood up, went to the library shelves, pulled out one of the thin, plastic-covered books. “There are these,” he said.

Dr. Tagore laughed. “Krenn, if I’ve ever grudged the loan of a book, may the spirit of Ben Franklin choke me with a kitestring. You’re welcome to any of those.”

“No,” Krenn said, and walked to the services wall. He tapped the book against the spring doors of the disposal slot.

Dr. Tagore said, “One of the hardest parts of xenoculture is understanding humor…. Are you joking, Krenn?”

Krenn started to put the book through the slot. It would have taken only a snap of the wrist, but he looked down, and read the title on the cover, and his hand did not move. After a moment he said, “No, Emanuel. I am not joking.”

Dr. Tagore nodded. He said, “And what will be your stake, Krenn?”

“The books are my stake,” Krenn said. “I already hold them; you may win them back.”

“Despite that they have no value to you?” The Human’s calm was like an unexpected cold wind.

“It was you, was it not, who told me one might trade for hostages, that also have no value.”

“Very well. Cut for first deal, Krenn.”

Krenn said, “If you were armed, you could fight me for this.”

Dr. Tagore paused in his shuffling; then he resumed. “But I am not.” He split the deck. “Jack of spades. Your cut.”

“Perhaps I have selected one that means nothing to you. I shall destroy it and select another.” The book seemed to twist in Krenn’s hand, and would not enter the slot. Krenn resisted looking at the title again.

“That one is as precious as the rest, as I imagine you know. Take your cut, so we may begin.”

Krenn went to the table. He put the book facedown, picked up a block of cards, turned them.

“Nine of diamonds,” Dr. Tagore said. “Dealer chooses five-card draw, nothing wild.”

“Is
that
what you will say to the Imperial Council?” Krenn said. “When they ask you why you go unarmed like a
kuve,
when they ask you what the Federation can be worth to you, since you will not fight for it—” He had not meant to shout, but he was shouting. “When they ask why they should deal with you, will you tell them it is because you have drawn a higher card?”

“If that is the game we are playing.”

Perhaps this one was insane, Krenn thought. Perhaps he went into the Empire like a Romulan, to find his death close to the enemy’s heart. “The game they play is the
komerex zha,
” Krenn said, “and if you lose, it will not be your books that burn, but yourself.”

Dr. Tagore reached for the book.

(Kethas reached for the dead green hand.)

The Human said, “There is no difference.” He picked up the book, held it out to Krenn. “Here. It’s yours. Read it or destroy it; but if you destroy it, you will never know what it had to say to you.”

Krenn took it. He did not even look at the disposal slot. He knew he had been beaten, by one unarmed. He read the book’s title:
Space Cadet,
it said. The book could say nothing to him; how could it? He was no longer a Cadet.