"No," Jim agreed. "And if we try to take out the crew and the

 

maintenance staff, even with three hand phasers and two disrupters

 

against all of them, we'd be spread awfully thin. It

 

 

would be hard to get close enough to stun them. These little jobs don't

 

have much range."

 

 

Valdyr lifted her head proudly as the captain casually included her.

 

 

Jim continued to eye the ship specula tively. "It'll be tough enough just

 

taking off, much less avoiding pursuit and setting a course that will

 

bypass that ring ... "

 

 

"What he's sayin', miss," McCoy translated for the Klingon woman, "is

 

that we're going' for it, soon as he finishes tellin' us how impossible

 

it is!"

 

 

Suddenly, an alarm began to whoop. The crew near the ship looked up, and

 

automatically the fugitives ducked so that they wouldn't be seen through

 

the guardhouse windows.

 

 

Valdyr pointed excitedly through the front windows, toward the automatic

 

gate she and Peter had entered with their coded disks.

 

 

Several vehicles had just arrived, and armed Klingons, small in the

 

distance, were aiming heavy disrupter rifles at the gate with its

 

blaring alarm. Suddenly, the gate blew apart, its metal structure

 

screaming, its beams and support hardware twisting and shattering. The

 

Klingons poured through the perimeter, over the blasted chunks of debris

 

that had been the entrance.

 

 

"Karg's men!" the Klingon woman said. "They have finally traced us."

 

 

"Karg must've decided that they couldn't capture us undetected, so

 

they're staging an all-out assault!" Peter agreed.

 

 

The warriors surrounding the small bird-of-prey had noticed the

 

invasion, too, and were pointing at the running figures.

 

 

"Stay down!" Valdyr ordered everyone. "Don't let them see you!" Tossing

 

her disrupter at Peter, she leapt out of the guardhouse, brandishing her

 

dagger. In Klingonese, she shouted at the men guarding the small

 

bird-of-prey. "Enemies have come to steal your vessel] Defend

 

yourselvesv' Waving her weapon at the ship, she beckoned the crew. With

 

a roar, the ship's crew members drew their own weapons and charged

 

forward to confront the invaders. With a

 

 

mighty yell, Valdyr raced toward Karg's troops, and the soldiers from

 

the ship followed her blindly.

 

 

"Valdyr, no!" Peter yelled, and lurched after her, but Jim grabbed him

 

roughly by the arm.

 

 

"She's bought us the time we need!" Jim told him. "We can't go up

 

against that firepower with three phasers! Now come on, we've got to get

 

that ship!"

 

 

"She'll be killed!" Peter argued. "I'm not leaving her!"

 

 

"Spock," the captain ordered.

 

 

"Peter, please," the Vulcan said quietly, taking the cadet's arm in a

 

formidable grip, "I would regret being forced to carry you to safety."

 

 

McCoy was peering out the doorway at the ensuing melee of soldiers

 

firing at each other. Disrupters whined and crackled. "Time, gentlemen!"

 

 

The captain stuck his head out the door to confirm McCoy's diagnosis.

 

"You've got Peter, Spock?"

 

 

"Yes, Captain."

 

 

Peter stared at the Vulcan, calculating his chances at pulling away from

 

the taciturn science officer without leaving his arm behind. Uncle Jim,

 

McCoy, and Spock left the guardhouse at a dead run, and Peter had to

 

either move his feet or be dragged. Pulling back as much as possible

 

against the Vulcan's immovable strength, he turned his head, straining

 

to see Valdyr, but it was impossible to pick her small frame out from

 

the mass of huge, fighting men. If he left her this way, he knew he'd

 

never see her again. He'd never be able to live with himself, either.

 

 

"Spock!" he implored. "They'll kill her!"

 

 

The Vulean's expression softened just slightly, but he didn't slow down.

 

"Once we're aboard the ship we may be able to effect her rescue."

 

 

Peter told himself that Vulcans never lie, and prayed that the old

 

saying was true.

 

 

He heard the disrupter fire cease, and looked back at the mob of

 

Klingons. He was shocked to see a number of bodies sprawled on the

 

ground, dead, and realized that the remaining soldiers, as a group, had

 

turned and were staring, and pointing, at them.

 

 

Spock saw it, too. "That is, if we get to the ship ..."

 

 

A loud voice Peter recognized as Karg's suddenly shouted, "HALT,

 

HUMANS!"

 

 

"We can make it!" Kirk insisted, as they drew closer to the ship.

 

 

"Halt, now!" shouted Karg again. "Or, we will kill this female maghwl?"

 

A jolt of disrupter fire charged the air, blasting the ground a few

 

meters in front of Peter and Spock.

 

 

The next blast nearly took off McCoy's leg.

 

 

Spock stopped running, and, even so, they nearly piled into McCoy, who

 

had skidded to an abrupt halt. "Jim!" the doctor bellowed. "Stop,

 

dammit! They've got our range!" The captain halted, and turned, his face

 

grim and set.

 

 

The combined group of soldiers closed the gap between them. As they did,

 

Peter shook his arm where Spock still gripped him. "Spock! Let me go!"

 

 

Spock stared at the cadet. "If I do, you will do nothing foolish?"

 

 

Peter hesitated.

 

 

Spock's eyebrow went up; then he sighed, loudly. "Never mind. It was a

 

poor choice of words. You are, after all, a Kirk." He released the

 

human's arm.

 

 

"They killed the ship's crew, her maintenance staff," McCoy murmured in

 

a shocked tone.

 

 

Peter's heart sank. And now Karg had them all, Valdyr, himself ... his

 

Uncle Jim. The cadet decided he must be some kind of bad-luck hex. After

 

all, Uncle Jim had gotten out of a million scrapes worse than this

 

before. As Karg drew near them, he could see he was towing Valdyr by the

 

hair.

 

 

She was unarmed. There was magenta blood splashed on her arm, and some

 

smeared on her face, but he didn't think any of it was hers.

 

 

"Won't Kamarag be pleased!" Karg gloated as the soldiers drew abreast of

 

them. "No doubt he's having some trouble finding his quarry in the

 

immensity of space. When he returns, won't he be impressed when we

 

present him with not only James T. Kirk and his wretched kin, but also

 

the gutless Vulcan computer and the butcher who calls himself a

 

physician! You will all pay for your crimes against Qo'nos!"

 

 

Peter heard McCoy murmur a bitter, "Oh, brother ... not again!"

 

 

"I have committed no crimes against Qo'nos," the captain said, coolly.

 

"I only came here to rescue my brothefts son, who is also innocent of

 

any crime. Besides," he added,

 

 

"Chancellor Azetbur invited me to visit her world anytime after I saved

 

her life at Khitomer."

 

 

The watching troops stirred when they heard their chancellor mentioned,

 

though Karg was undismayed by Kirk's reference. The captain glanced

 

around at the circle of armed Klingons. "Chancellor Azetbur knows

 

nothing of your betrayal ... yet," the officer reminded them boldly.

 

"If you abandon this scheme of Kamarag's now, you can still save ."

 

 

"Chancellor Azetbur is our enemy/" Karg bellowed furiously.

 

 

However, Peter noted that several of the soldiers shifted uneasily,

 

glancing at each other surreptitiously. Others glanced around,

 

uncomprehending, not understanding the captain because they didn't speak

 

English.

 

 

Peter studied them, an idea growing in the back of his mind. Perhaps not

 

all of these men were totally committed to betraying their government.

 

There came a time when even good soldiers had to question bad orders ...

 

 

The cadet recognized one of them, Malak, and saw that he, particularly,

 

seemed uncomfortable. In the harsh glow of the spotlighted landing

 

field, he saw two gleaming weapons on Malak's belt. One of the daggers

 

was small ... delicate.

 

 

He had Valdyr's blade Karg was still ranting. "That slut! Azetbur is a

 

pretender/ She is ..."

 

 

"Appointed by her father," Peter said loudly in Klingonese, raising his

 

voice to be heard over Karg's baritone, "and ratified by the Klingon

 

High Command. She is no pretender, but the legal head of your Empire. A

 

rightfully appointed head of state, who is working toward saving your

 

planet!"

 

 

All eyes turned to him as, dramatically, he swung his hand overhead,

 

pointing to the ring, the debris of Praxis that encircled Qo'nos. "It's

 

still there, isn't it? It hasn't gone away, has it? The symbol of your

 

world's inevitable demise.

 

 

You all know that, without the help of the Federation, Qo'nos is doomed.

 

Your military vessels are housed in underground shelters to keep them

 

safe from meteors that gouge your world. How many of you have lost loved

 

ones to the meteors? Is that the way warriors want to die? Being struck

 

by veq from the sky?"

 

 

Peter realized that his uncle, the doctor, and Spock were staring at

 

him. Even the captain and McCoy, who were probably hearing him over the

 

Universal Translators they carried, seemed impressed. Several of the

 

soldiers looked uncomfortable, glancing at Karg guiltily as if wondering

 

what they were all doing there in the first place.

 

 

"Azetbur is working with the Federation to guarantee you a future,"

 

Peter reminded the Klingons. "She's not dwelling on the past, like this

 

qoh"--he pointed at Kargm"who thinks that he can make the past into the

 

future, when anyone who raises his eyes can see that is impossible!

 

 

Azetbur, like yourselves, looks up at the sky and reads what is written

 

there--change. Change and continued life for Klingons and Qo'nos! Your

 

chancellor wants to make sure there is a future for all Klingonsmnot

 

just the wealthy ones who can hide in the fortresses, and not worry

 

about what falls from the sky. Your chancellor is loyal to the people of

 

Qo'nos--and she needs your loyalty in return. Do not betray her!"

 

 

It wasn't a bad speech, Peter realized. He suspected that he had more

 

than one convert in the crowd.

 

 

"Listen to him!" aldyr implored. "You heard from Treegor how he can

 

fight! He defeated two Klingon warriors at once! Peter Kirk is a

 

warrior, like yourselves. He speaks from his heart."

 

 

"Silence, you lain be7" Karg snarled, and swung a vicious blow at her

 

face.

 

 

Before Peter could react, Valdyr blocked the blow and slammed an elbow

 

into Karg's midsection, under his breastplate.

 

 

Then she punched him hard in the face with the back of her own fist,

 

making his nose spout blood.

 

 

Karg never released the grip on her hair. Enraged, he swore violently

 

and, in a blur, yanked his dagger out of his belt and stabbed the woman

 

viciously in the gut, twisting the knife and drawing it up as hard as he

 

could befor e yanking it out.

 

 

Valdyffs eyes widened, but she didn't cry out. Instead, she spat

 

directly in Karg's face. Blinded, he released her, and stepped back.

 

Valdyr's eyes rolled up and she crumpled to the ground, her hands folded

 

over the wound. Blood gushed through her fingers.

 

 

The Klingon soldiers seemed stunned by Karg's action, as though they

 

could not believe that their commander could be so foolish as to kill

 

Kamarag's own niece.

 

 

Peter screamed "NOW and bolted to Valdyr's side, barely realizing that

 

McCoy moved with him, some medical diagnostic tool already in his hand.

 

"Valdyr! Valdyr!" the cadet shouted as McCoy swung the tool around,

 

recalibrated it, swung it again, muttering wildly to himself.

 

 

She can't be dead.t he thought frantically.

 

 

The Klingon woman's eyes fluttered feebly, finally opened. The dark

 

light in her eyes was dim, barely focused.

 

 

"Pityr ..."

 

 

"Valdyr! Hold on! Fight like the warrior you are! Don't give in!"

 

 

"Pityr ... ? You must flee ... "

 

 

"Valdyr, listen. You'll be okay, just listen. Oh God, Doctor, do

 

something! Valdyr ... you've got to live. You've got to! I love you,

 

Valdyr. Do you hear me? I love you!"

 

 

A smile flickered across her face, revealing crooked teeth as McCoy

 

fumbled in his medical kit. He found a hypo, adjusted it, then pressed

 

it against her neck. "You love me?" she gasped. "This is true?"

 

 

"It's true, I swear it before all Qo'nos. I love you."

 

 

She nodded. "We cannot weep. But we can love, Pityr.

 

 

You are my mate. With you I would take the vow. I love you, too." Then

 

her eyes closed again, and her head rolled to the side. McCoy cursed

 

vehemently and gave her something else.

 

 

"Bonest' the captain asked softly.

 

 

McCoy shook his head, but continued working feverishly.

 

 

Peter felt every emotion he'd suffered through and repressed well up in

 

him and explode in a blinding rage. He touched the blood still seeping

 

through her locked fingers, then enclosed it in his fist. Clenching his

 

teeth in fury and bitter sorrow, he slowly rose ... and turned toward

 

Karg.

 

 

"Son, wait," his uncle warned quietly, but Peter ignored him.

 

 

Taking a step toward the Klingon, he thrust out his fist, still dripping

 

with Valdyr's blood, and growled, in Klingonese, "One of you who still

 

possesses a warrior's honor, give me a dagger, so I may deal with this

 

traitor who has no pretense to honor left him--to attack an unarmed

 

fernale.t"

 

 

"You would challenge me?" Karg asked him incredulously, shifting the

 

dagger that still gleamed with Valdyr's blood.

 

 

"It is his right," Malak said, stepping forward. "Valdyr has named him

 

her mate." The soldier removed the woman's dagger from his belt and

 

tossed it to Peter, who caught it by the hilt.

 

 

"It is a good day to die," Peter announced, smiling wolfishly as he

 

advanced on the officer.

 

 

"Peter! No!" Jim shouted, lurching forward.

 

 

But Spock caught his captain by the arm before he could interfere,

 

saying quietly, "Jim. This is a cultural issue."

 

 

"Dammit, Spock," Kirk growled.

 

 

"It is Peter's choice," Spock reminded him.

 

 

Karg charged the young man, his dagger extended. Peter deflected it, and

 

punched the Klingon hard in the eye with the fist that held Valdyr's

 

knife. With a second swipe, he opened a shallow cut on the Klingon's

 

corrugated forehead.

 

 

It bled freely. Karg howled, and his eye began to swell and close, even

 

as the blood dripped down, further blinding him.

 

 

Peter spun around the warrior, the small blade licking out, caressing

 

him as delicately as a lover, nicking his ear.

 

 

Flick ... and Valdyr's dagger scored the back of Karg's gauntleted

 

hand. Flick ... now his cheek was laid open.

 

 

The small cuts humiliated the warrior, enraging him past all caution.

 

Karg lurched forward, stabbing blindly, as Peter

 

 

danced out of the way, leaving a razor-thin line of blood along the

 

Klingon's neck.

 

 

The officer recovered himself slightly, holding back, and when Peter

 

came in again, he sliced the cadet's arm. The human ignored the wound,

 

though it burned like fire, and, flick--this time the little dagger cut

 

the small leather strap that held the right side of Karg's armor close

 

to his body.

 

 

The armor flapped annoyingly now, distracting the warrior.

 

 

Roaring with rage, he charged the rapidly moving human, but Peter

 

stepped aside like a matador, and, as he did so, he chopped his fist

 

down on the Klingon's bull-like neck, deadening the nerves in his arm,

 

nearly causing Karg to drop his dagger. He aimed a powerful kick at the

 

soldier's midsection, but Karg was ready, and blocked, numbing his foot

 

and halfway up his leg.

 

 

Limping, Peter staggered out of range, then came back in, and landed a

 

ringing blow to Karg's chin, making his head snap back. The Klingon's

 

teeth clacked shut, and blood suddenly poured from his mouth. Before he

 

could recover, Peter grabbed the healthy mass of hair that was a Klingon

 

warrior's pride.

 

 

"We humans call this 'death by humiliation,'" he whispered in his

 

enemy's ear. "Think of it as return payment for the way you abused

 

Valdyr." With a swift flash of her wicked blade, he severed most of the

 

long hair from Karg's head.

 

 

Behind them, he could hear the other Klingons laugh uproariously.

 

 

Karg went wild, bellowing and swearing as he charged the human. Peter

 

sidestepped him, and clubbed him hard where his neck and back joined.

 

Karg's eyes rolled up, and he fell heavily, face forward, onto the

 

pavement, then lay unmoving, unconscious. Peter, his rage still unspent,

 

hovered over the body, sweating, heaving for air. He wanted Karg to get

 

up, again and again, so that he could beat him to a bloody pulp--then

 

slice him like a holiday roast.

 

 

"Kill him, young Kirk!" Malak urged. "It is your right. He will have no

 

honor left to him, if you let him live."

 

 

No one moved as Peter shifted Valdyr's blade and stared at the back of

 

the unconscious soldier.

 

 

Then a weak, tremulous voice cut the air. "Pityr ..." He blinked, looked

 

around, saw Valdyr lying on the pavement, with McCoy still working on

 

her. Her eyes were half-open, her bloody hand raised slightly, beckoning

 

him.

 

 

"Dammit, man!" McCoy snapped at him. "Will you get yourself over here

 

before she burns up the little reserves she has left tryin' to get your

 

attention!"

 

 

Peter glanced up at Malak. "Karg doesn't deserve any honor. He's a

 

traitor, a man who brutalizes those who are weaker than he is. Let him

 

live with the shame of his defeat." He left the unconscious Klingon and

 

moved to Valdyr's side.

 

 

He took her hand as she whispered in a thin voice, "You fought for me?"

 

 

"And won," he said slipping her dagger back in its place.

 

 

"With your knife."

 

 

"My warrior ..." she whispered, and lost consciousness again.

 

 

As the Klingon woman slipped back into unconsciousness, McCoy continued

 

to work on the hideous wound in her abdomen. He worked swiftly with the

 

tiny electronic microcautery, but she had lost so much blood already!

 

 

Jim and Spock drew near the fallen woman. "Bones, will she make it?"

 

 

The doctor never looked up, never lost his focus. But before he could

 

answer, a harsh, accented Klingon voice called out, "This is the man who

 

killed Chancellor Gorkon?" McCoy glanced up, saw one of the soldiers

 

pointing at him.

 

 

"Now he will kill Kamarag's niece!"

 

 

"Not bloody likely," McCoy swore. "I'm not going' to let her die."

 

 

The shame of that failure still burned within him. The fact that the

 

chancellor's death had caused him--and his best friend--to be sent to

 

that hellhole Rura Penthe was bad enough ... but really, it was the

 

death of Gorkon himself that upset McCoy. He had never before lost a

 

patient because of his own lack of knowledge. Working on the chancellor

 

for those few, futile moments had been the

 

 

blackest point in his entire career. To struggle to save a dying man ...

 

and know so little about his most rudimentary needs ... First, do no

 

harm, the law of healers said, the law that ruled McCoy's life. After

 

Rura Penthe, he'd sworn that would never happen to him again. Not ever.

 

Ignoring the soldier's insult, he focused on his patient.

 

 

"In the time since the chancellor's death," Spock suddenly said,

 

addressing the crowd, "Dr. McCoy has studied Klingon physiology

 

extensively. He is completely qualified to assist this woman."

 

 

The warriors did not seem mollified. Then Malak stepped forward. "It is

 

well known that Vulcans do not lie."

 

 

Does everyone still believe that load of horse-puckey?

 

 

McCoy wondered, sealing the wound, and packing it with a sterile,

 

inflatable foam from a small container in his kit.

 

 

The doctor noticed Spock's expression change, as if he suddenly realized

 

what an opening he'd just been given.

 

 

"Warriors, know this," the Vulcan intoned. "You serve Kamarag loyally,

 

yet even Kamarag does not know that the plans he has made have been

 

influenced by the mind of an alien. Kamarag's thoughts and plans are not

 

his own--he is little more than a puppet."

 

 

The Klingons all looked at one another, then at Malak, who seemed

 

stunned.

 

 

"Why else would Kamarag," Spock continued, pressing his advantage,

 

"after three years of silence, suddenly concoct this plan to kidnap

 

Peter Kirk and lure James Kirk to his death, when James Kirk himself was

 

responsible for saving Azetbur's life? Did none of you question

 

Kamarag's motives? Did none of you question his plans to commit treason?

 

Did none of you question the lack of honor in his scheme?"

 

 

Malak answered for the group. "We did have questions, the same questions

 

Valdyr had from the beginning. But we are loyal to Kamarag's house, as

 

our families have been for generations. Now I look at what it has

 

brought us, and I have no answers. We have lost some of our brothers,

 

and have been forced to kill warriors we had no feud with." He

 

 

gestured back at the dead soldiers that had been protecting their ship.

 

 

"If we can g et off Qo'nos, and meet with Kamarag," Spock explained, "we

 

hope to prove to him how he has been influenced, and sway him from his

 

course."

 

 

Malak nodded. "Vulcans do not lie, so I believe you." He looked down at

 

McCoy. "Do you believe you can save Valdyr?"

 

 

McCoy wiped the sweat beading on his brow. "I've got her stabilized ...

 

barely. If I could get her to the Enterprise, to our sickbay ..."

 

 

"Take her," Malak said, startling the doctor. These fierce-looking

 

warriors were actually going to let them go? Malak looked at Captain

 

Kirk and Spock. "Take the bird-of-prey.

 

 

If you can outrun those who will surely come after you, do so. Save

 

Valdyr. And, if you can, save Kamarag. Then I will have done my duty to

 

my lord." He turned to his men, as if waiting for a challenge, but none

 

came.

 

 

"Can we move her?" Peter asked McCoy. The boy's face was nearly white

 

with worry.

 

 

"Carefully," McCoy warned, worried that any sharp motion would reopen

 

some of those bleeders.

 

 

Spock leaned down and asked, "Shall IT' Gratefully, McCoy nodded,

 

watching protectively as the Vulcan gently lifted the unconscious woman

 

and stood up with her cradled in his arms.

 

 

McCoy trotted alongside Spock as they all headed for the small warbird.

 

 

"Spock," Peter said, "I can override the lock, but I'll need your

 

tricorder." At the Vulcan's nod, Peter unfastened the device from around

 

Spock's waist, then made himself busy with the lock that would extrude

 

the gangplank. His fingers flashed over the controls of his tricorder as

 

he searched for the proper sequence. Suddenly there was a soft thunk;

 

then, with a hiss of pressurized air, the ramp extended out and down.

 

Kirk was in the lead, already heading for the ship's bridge.

 

 

"Put her here, Spock," McCoy directed the Vulcan, and

 

 

the science officer lowered Valdyr onto a padded seat set back away from

 

the tiny bridge, then went forward. McCoy crouched beside the woman,

 

checking her wound and reading his diagnostic tool. Everything had held.

 

The wound was secure. McCoy glanced around the tiny cabin.

 

 

Wouldn't this ship have its own medikit, with Klingon-specific drugs and

 

equipment?

 

 

"How bad is it?" Peter asked, his eyes searching the older man's face.

 

 

McCoy hesitated. Finally, he admitted, "There's a lot of internal

 

damage, but, Peter, with her spirit ... if anyone can make it with this

 

much damage, I'd say she can." Peter nodded, and tried to smile wanly.

 

McCoy looked up to see Jim hovering over his nephew's shoulder.

 

 

"We're going to need you up front, Peter," the captain ordered.

 

 

"Aye, sir," the cadet responded and, with a final glance back at Valdyr

 

and McCoy, moved up to the bridge.

 

 

Good, thought the doctor, get him out of my hair so I can get some real

 

work done.

 

 

Peter watched his uncle Jim swing himself into the pilot's seat and

 

begin powering up the ship. Spock, to Peter's surprise, elected to take

 

the gunner's seat, leaving the navigation console to the cadet.

 

 

Moments later, the tiny shuttle lifted off and swooped upward. Peter

 

could see the change come over his uncle as Kirk gloried in the small

 

ship's skyward rush. The cadet called off a course, and Kirk fed it into

 

the ship's computer.

 

 

Suddenly, a harsh Klingon voice came over the intercom, demanding to

 

know the ship's flight plan, its registration number, and a half a dozen

 

other required things ships had to have before leaving the spaceport.

 

Peter found it ironic that even Klingons had bureaucracy.

 

 

"Any way we can bluff our way out of this?" the captain asked his crew.

 

 

"I can speak enough Klingon, Uncle Jim," Peter told him,

 

 

"but I just don't have the answers to their questions."

 

 

"Nor do I, Captain," Spock told him.

 

 

"Fine," the captain said casually, and slapped the inter-corn into

 

silence, cutting the speaker off in mid-tirade.

 

 

"That's enough of that."

 

 

"Company coming," Peter reported tersely, as he watched his instruments.

 

"Two cruisers."

 

 

"Where's the damned cloaking device?" Kirk grumbled, peering at controls

 

covered by Klingon symbols. "On the Bounty, Scotty labeled everything in

 

English!" Peter craned his neck to see around his uncle. "It's on your

 

left, that third switch, with the red telltale beside it."

 

 

"It is possible, Captain," Spock warned, "that other Klingon vessels may

 

well have technology to identify this ship's energy signature, and thus

 

allow them to track us, even if we activate it."

 

 

"Well, it won't hurt to try," Kirk said. He quickly flipped the

 

appropriate switch. "There it is, Spock ... " Peter felt a subtle hum

 

course through the shuttle, and the viewscreen changed abruptly,

 

revealing a view of the planet below that was wavy and distorted, as

 

though seen through a haze.

 

 

The shuttle was almost out of the atmosphere, almost into space, when

 

one of the ships nearly caught them. "Cruiser at oh-four-three mark

 

six," Peter announced. "They've powered up their weapons and they're

 

tracking us!" Spock was setting up the gunher's targeting screen, all

 

his attention fixed on their opponent. The other ship fired, and the

 

shuttle shuddered violently.

 

 

"Direct hit!" Peter shouted. "Our amidships shield is down by eighty

 

percent. Another hit there, and we won't have to worry about confronting

 

Kamarag,"

 

 

"What the hell's going on up there?" McCoy shouted.

 

 

Quickly, he examined Valdyr. Puce swirls colored the white packing foam

 

in her wound. Oh no, she sprung a bleeder.t He had no time to check the

 

Klingon kit, and grabbed his microcautery. The ship suddenly veered

 

sharply before he could engage the instrument. If that had happened

 

while he was working in the wound, he could have caused irreparable

 

damage! He had to have a steady working field.

 

 

"Another jolt like that and I may as well throw this patient out the

 

airlock for all the good I'm doin' her!" he yelled.

 

 

He saw Peter turn to look at Valdyr, then heard Jim's "captain" voice

 

order sharply, "Focus on your job, mister!

 

 

Let the doctor handle his patient." The cadet's face flamed as he turned

 

back around.

 

 

Let the doctor handle his patient[ McCoy mentally mocked Kirk's order.

 

The ship lurched again, then zagged hard right. Bones had to grab

 

Valdyr's unconscious form to keep her secure in the chair. Handle,

 

indeed[ he fumed. I'm a doctor, not a damned juggled

 

 

"Spock?" Jim Kirk asked, not turning his head to see his officer. "I'm

 

coaxing every bit of speed out of this ship that I can--"

 

 

"Understood, Captain," the Vulcan said, his voice preternaturally calm.

 

"Targeting locking on ... and firing." The little bird-of-prey shivered

 

with the force of the blast. S im spared a glance for the viewscreen, in

 

time to see the disrupter blast score a direct hit on their opponent.

 

 

"That's got them!" the captain said exultantly. "Nice shooting, Spock!

 

No loss of life, but they'll have to break off' pursuit and make a

 

manual landing. Peter, let's up the stakes on this pursuit. Locate one

 

of the ring shepherds and plot us a course past it. Find us a way

 

through that ring." Peter worked at his controls feverishly. "Course

 

computed and laid in, sir," he reported, moments later, his voice

 

professionally confident.

 

 

"Looks good," Jim responded, standing by to make minute course

 

corrections. Then the ship shot toward the ring field at maximum speed.

 

 

"Cruiser approaching, dead astern! Six-four-three mark nine!" the

 

captain heard his nephew shout. "They're going to follow us--weapons

 

targeting!"

 

 

"Spock," Kirk said, "remember what happened to the Kepler?"

 

 

"I do indeed, Captain," the Vulcan said, targeting his weapons.

 

 

The shuttle hurtled into the gap. On their right side, close enough

 

almost to touch, loomed the huge granite ring shepherd. They were beside

 

it--they were past itm "Now, Spock!"

 

 

"Firing aft weapons," Spock announced, and the little warbird trembled

 

with the force of the blasts.

 

 

The powerful beams shot into the ring shepherd, blowing it apart in a

 

shower of debris, spreading directly into the path of the oncoming

 

cruiser.

 

 

Shards and chunks of rocks spun wildly, in eerie silence; then Peter's

 

voice reached Kirk, suddenly exultant. "Captain, the debris has

 

overloaded their shielding! They're breaking off`?" The Vulcan nodded.

 

"Even Klingons can understand diminishing returns. Pursuing us at the

 

cost of their own vessel was not worth the effort. Eminently logical."

 

 

"Have you all finished turnin' this blasted shoebox upside down?" McCoy

 

bellowed from the rear.

 

 

The three men glanced at one another in exasperation.

 

 

"Yes, Doctor," Jim assured him. Then Kirk turned to look at his nephew.

 

"Go on back if you want to, Peter. Spock and I can handle this now."

 

Peter nodded his gratitude and slipped out of the seat to join McCoy.

 

"How is she?" He still found it hard to believe they'd survived that

 

flight through the ring gap!

 

 

"A little the worse for wear, I'm afraid," McCoy admitted grumpily. He

 

had an odd-looking kit opened up beside him.

 

 

"Fortunately, I found this ship's medical kit. But I'm havin' a little

 

trouble with the diagnostic tool--language barrier, you know? Maybe you

 

can help." Peter smiled wanly. He desperately wanted to do something for

 

Valdyr, anything ... McCoy waved the device over the pale, comatose

 

woman. Peter translated what he could, giving McCoy the terms

 

phonetically, since none of them meant much to him, but the doctor kept

 

nodding and saying, "Uh-huh," as if he at least understood it. McCoy dug

 

around in the kit, found something and slapped it in his hypo. "This'll

 

be a big help," he mumbled, as he pressed it to aldyr's neck. "Though,

 

heaven knows she's got a damned pharmacy in there now."

 

 

Suddenly, the woman's eyes fluttered open. "Pityr ..." she gasped.

 

 

"He's right here, miss," McCoy told her. "Don't move now. Talk to her,

 

son, before she starts thrashin'."

 

 

"Valdyr." The cadet took her hand, squeezed it ently.

 

 

Her retu rning grip was weak, and that shocked him more than even her

 

appearance.

 

 

"My warrior," she whispered, "you cannot only fight ... you can speak

 

... so well ... like a diplomat ... as well as Azetbur ..."

 

 

Peter flushed with pride, knowing the high opinion aldyr had of the

 

female chancellor.

 

 

"I'd say he's every bit as eloquent as his uncle, young miss," McCoy

 

agreed, checking her signs, and examinin her wound for fresh blood.

 

 

Valdyr frowned, blinking drowsily. "Pityr, what am I missing?"

 

 

The cadet shook his head, not following her.

 

 

"This McCoy, he keeps saying to me, 'miss," 'miss'--what is this I am

 

missing? I do not want to be missing anything!"

 

 

MCOY heard her, and raised his eyebrows. Peter nodded, trying to assure

 

the doctor it was all right. "It's okay, Valdyr.

 

 

You're not missing anything. "Miss' is an archaic title, what humans

 

sometimes call young, unmated females. It's old-fashioned, but it's a

 

sign of respect."

 

 

Her gaze drifted to McCoy. "Thank you for that respect, Doctor. I did

 

not think that would be such an easy thing to get from humans."

 

 

"You earned that, miss," McCoy assured her. "Now, please, just lie

 

still."

 

 

Suddenly, she turned back to the young Kirk, her eyes widening. "Pityr,

 

do not forget to tell your uncle ... about Kamarag ... "

 

 

"He knows all about Kamarag, Valdyr," the cadet tried to reassure her.

 

 

"No," she insisted, "he does not! You must tell him about Kamarag's

 

fleet. I do not know how many ships, but he had

 

 

many officers that he spoke to! Do not let Kirk fly right into his

 

ambush ... "

 

 

"I'll tell him, Valdyr, I'll tell him. You've got to take it easy."

 

 

"Pityr, please, kiss me," she demanded, her voice hoarse and breathless.

 

"If I am to die, I want to take the memory of your kiss with me,

 

Pityr-oy."

 

 

"You're not going to die, Valdyr," Peter told her. "I'll fight death for

 

you, just like I fought Karg. And I'll win." Gently, he touched her

 

mouth with his.

 

 

She laughed lightly as he did. "Hlja'!" she whispered.

 

 

"Mevqo', Pityr "Then she slid back into unconsciousness.

 

 

glanced at McCoy, alarmed, but for once the doctor seemed unconcerned.

 

"It's okay," the older man assured him.

 

 

"Her body's shutting down its less important functions, to preserve its

 

energy. She's holding on."

 

 

cadet sighed, relieved. "Call me if she comes to," he asked, and McCoy

 

nodded as Peter returned to his station.

 

 

uncle and Spock acknowledged his arrival as Peter relayed the message

 

from Valdyr to Jim Kirk about Kamarag's forces.

 

 

"Don't worry, Peter. We can still beat him back to the point. We'll warn

 

Enterprise in time."

 

 

"And then what?" Peter demanded, bleakly.

 

 

shrugged. "Maybe there will be another ship or two around.

 

 

I'll contact Scotty, and have him call for help."

 

 

"The nearest starbase is two days' journey away," Peter pointed out

 

darkly.

 

 

"Take it easy for the moment, Peter," Kirk tried to reassure him. "We'll

 

find a way to handle Kamarag. And, by way, you were pretty damned

 

eloquent, cadet."

 

 

"Thanks, Uncle Jim."

 

 

elder Kirk patted the helm and changed the subject. "This is one sweet

 

little ship, isn't she?" he said to the other two men. "So ..." he

 

patted the console again, "what'll we name her?"

 

 

"Actually, Klingon ships are called 'he,'" Peter said, tightly.

 

 

"And he has a name. It's painted on his bow. I

 

 

spotted it as we boarded him." His face was as expressionless as

 

Spock's, belying the turmoil of emotions inside him.

 

 

"He's called the Taj."

 

 

Spock looked pensive. "Ironic ..." he muttered.

 

 

"What does it mean?" Jim asked.

 

 

"Dagger," Peter said, a shadow crossing his face.

 

 

No one said anything more as Taj flew on, swift and alone in the

 

blackness.

 

 

Hours later, a weary James T. Kirk piloted the Taj into the Enterpriseg

 

docking bay. Waiting for him in the docking bay was a welcoming

 

committee consisting of a medical team, a grim-faced Mr. Scott,

 

Commander Uhura, and Ambassador Sarek.

 

 

Within moments a medical team spirited Valdyr away, with McCoy and Peter

 

in tow. Kirk stood at the top of the gangplank and watched the two of

 

them, his heart aching a little for his nephew. Peter in love with a

 

Klingon? But it had happened, there was no denying it. It was obvious

 

that this was no casual affair; Peter had fallen, and fallen hard. Was

 

there any possibility of a future for the two of them together? Any hope

 

of happiness? He didn't know ...

 

 

Ten minutes later, once more in uniform, the captain hurried down the

 

corridor, fastening the flap of his maroon jacket.

 

 

When he reached the conference chamber, he found his officers, plus

 

Sarek, already assembled. Spock, also, was back in uniform. In contrast

 

to his own weary dishevelment, the Vulcan was, of course, impeccably

 

groomed and seemed as fresh as if he hadn't played hide-and-seek on

 

Qo'nos for the past fifteen hours.

 

 

Kirk lowered himself into a seat and addressed his chief engineer.

 

"Status, Mr. Scott?"

 

 

"Well, Captain ... I dinna know exactly what's going' on, but something

 

worrisome is happening. Half an hour ago, we picked up a blip for about

 

five seconds on our sensors--and then it was gone. Three minutes later,

 

another ... not far away. Just ... blip, then gone. Over and over,

 

sir. Never in the same space twice ... but stayin' just barely within

 

the boundary of the Neutral Zone--th' Romulan Neutral "What do the

 

sensors indicate?" Kirk asked. "Could it be Kamarag's fleet?"

 

 

"Noo, sir, it's not large enough for that. We canna get a full readin',

 

Captain, because it comes and goes so quickly.

 

 

Just bits and pieces. It isna small, that's for sure. I'd say

 

ship-sized."

 

 

"No possibility of it being a natural phenomenon?"

 

 

"Noo, Captain. My guess is that it's a ship. A cloaked ship. It decloaks

 

just long enough to register on our sensors as a blip, then it recloaks

 

and moves. But never very far away."

 

 

"A bird-of-prey," Kirk said, and Scott nodded. "Kling-on?"

 

 

"Possibly," Spock said, studying the limited sensor data Scott displayed

 

for their benefit. "But I think not. The ion traces are different from

 

those we detected from cloaked Klingon vessels."

 

 

"And, Captain," Uhura spoke up, "there's something else that's

 

suspicious about it. The instant we first picked it up, something began

 

jamming our long-range communications.

 

 

We can't send subspace messages, sir."

 

 

"Hmmmm ..." Kirk sipped coffee, thinking hard.

 

 

"Show me the blips," he said, and Scott obediently called up a

 

three-dimensional schematic on the conference table's screen. Kirk

 

studied the pattern as he finished his coffee.

 

 

"What do you make of this, Spock?"

 

 

"I would like the opportunity to study it further," the Vulcan said,

 

gazing intently at the screen. Sarek also stared at the screen, barely

 

blinking. Kirk could almost hear the Vulcan wheels turning.

 

 

"What would happen," the ambassador said quietly, "if we were to move

 

closer to it?"

 

 

"We can try," Kirk said. "Mr. Scott, Commander Uhura, please report to

 

the bridge to oversee maneuvers. Scotty, see how much of an ion trail

 

our visitor is leaving. Uhura, try and determine the range their jamming

 

signal has."

 

 

"Yes, Captain."

 

 

"Aye, sir."

 

 

Minutes later, with the two senior officers standing by, Kirk instructed

 

the helm to head for the last recorded blip at one-eighth impulse power.

 

 

"Look!" Uhura exclaimed over the intercom as another blip abruptly

 

flashed on, then off. This one was deeper into the Neutral Zone by

 

several hundred kilometers.

 

 

"It's like a game," Kirk said, staring hard at the screen.

 

 

"They want to lure us into the Neutral Zone."

 

 

"A game," Sarek repeated softly, an undercurrent of excitement in his

 

voice. "Yes indeed ... a game! But not follow-the-leader ... watch

 

closely ..." The Vulcan's long-fingered hands flashed swiftly over the

 

computer controls.

 

 

As Kirk watched, the three-dimensional schematic was replaced by a

 

three-level grid pattern--a familiar pattern.

 

 

He turned to Sarek incredulously. "A chessboard, Ambassador?"

 

 

"Yes," the Vulcan said, his dark eyes shining with pleasure from solving

 

the puzzle. "And I recognize the game.

 

 

Taryn is in command of that vessel. And those moves, those

 

coordinates--they are identical to the moves Taryn made in one of our

 

recent games." He shook his head, adding, mostly to himself, "A Vulcan

 

gambit ... of course he would employ one. A Vulcan gambit ... it makes

 

perfect sense. I should have realized it before."

 

 

"But assuming that is Taryn, why would he come here?" Kirk said.

 

 

"Because he wants me. He knows that I have uncovered the Freelan plan. I

 

spoke to him while you were gone, and I deliberately baited him, trying

 

to lure him into some reckless action ... as I have done many times

 

during our

 

 

chess games. Now he is responding to my implicit challenge.

 

 

He is moving his ship in the pattern of the last game we played that he

 

won. He employed T'Nedara's gambit, and there"--Sarek swiftly outlined a

 

series of moves in red--"it is. The exact pattern of his moves in the

 

game we played."

 

 

"How many moves did he make during the entire game?" Spock asked,

 

obviously fascinated. As they had been speaking, several more blips had

 

appeared on the schematic.

 

 

"It was a long, hard-fought game. Each of us made hundreds of moves."

 

 

"Are you sure, Ambassador?" Kirk asked, wonderingly.

 

 

"Do you have any other evidence that this is Taryn? When he contacted

 

you, what did he want?"

 

 

"He demanded a meeting between us in the Freelan system. I told him I

 

would be unable to attend. As I said, I baited him. I could tell that he

 

was angry, though of course I could not see his features. Now he does

 

this," he gestured at the screen, "as his next move."

 

 

"But if he was on Freelan only hours ago--"

 

 

Sarek shook his head. "No. He merely said he was on Freelan. Commander

 

Uhura confirmed that the message from Taryn was only rout ed through

 

Freelan communications systems. The actual transmission originated

 

inside the Romulan Neutral Zone."

 

 

On Kirk's order, Enterprise moved again, and again the unseen vessel

 

responded with a series of moves. "The pattern is exact," Sarek said.

 

Catching Kirk's still-skeptical glance, he marked a new location on the

 

screen in purple.

 

 

"The next move," he said.

 

 

As the Vulcan had predicted, when Enterprise moved again, the blip

 

materialized for a second in those exact coordinates. Kirk shook his

 

head. "Okay, let's assume you're right, for argument's sake. But why the

 

game? What does he want?"

 

 

"The game grid for his ship's maneuvering coordinates is not the main

 

point, Captain. Taryn would probably be surprised to realize that I have

 

identified the pattern. He is simply amusing himself while he seeks to

 

draw us closer to his ship ... and away from the rendezvous point."

 

 

Kirk turned to the monitor that showed Uhura and Scotty, who were

 

listening in from the bridge, as ordered.

 

 

"Commander, have you discovered the range of their jamming capability?"

 

 

"Yes, sir," she replied promptly. "It extends for nearly a light-year in

 

all directions. We'll definitely have to move to get any kind of message

 

out."

 

 

"Great ..." Kirk said, grimly. "Starbase Eight is two full days away,

 

and that's the closest help we can expect. And now we can't even get a

 

message out."

 

 

"Captain," Scotty put in, "what I dinna understand is why the devil the

 

Romulans try to lure you away now, if they're the ones who forced you to

 

come out here in the first place? It doesna make sense!"

 

 

"It does if the Romulans wish to begin a war," Sarek said,

 

 

"between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Iftaryn has gone to this

 

trouble to initiate hostilities, he undoubtedly wishes Kamarag and his

 

fleet to cross into Federation space unimpeded."

 

 

"Good point," Kirk said. "So, really, Peter's kidnapping was almost

 

extraneous to the rest of this situation. The Romulans inflamed

 

Kamarag--and this is the form his revenge took. In addition to attacking

 

the Federation, he decided he had to get back at me, personally."

 

 

"That would seem the logical deduction, Captain," Spock said.

 

 

Sarek was staring at the growing schematic as if mesmerized.

 

 

"We cannot continue to allow them to jam Enterprise's subspace

 

communications. We must be able to send a message to Starfleet Command

 

... and the president."

 

 

"Why?" Kirk demanded. "I mean ... to request reinforcements, yes, that

 

I know. But why the president?"

 

 

"Taryn must realize now that I know about their plans.

 

 

He is trying to prevent me from revealing what I know to Ra-ghoratrei or

 

your Starfleet Admiral Burton."

 

 

"It is fortunate," Spock observed quietly, "that you sent that

 

time-locked message."

 

 

"At your suggestion," Sarek reminded the first officer.

 

 

"However, that message may not activate in time to prevent both a

 

Romulan and a Klingon invasion."

 

 

"So ... what's next?" the captain asked, rubbing his forehead.

 

 

"What do you mean, Captain?" Sarek asked.

 

 

"I mean that you've convinced me that that's a Romulan ship, and that

 

Taryn is commanding it. But as long as he doesn't cross the Neutral

 

Zone, I have no authority to go after him. And I can't go far ...

 

Kamarag is on his way, remember, with that fleet. So what do I do now?"

 

 

"Our original goal remains unchanged, Kirk. We must obtain indisputable

 

proof of the true nature of Freelan, and of the Romulan plot to

 

instigate war ... and to do that, I must transport over to Taryn's ship

 

and speak with him personally."

 

 

Kirk regarded Sarek, his eyes narrowing. "Slow down, Ambassador. Why

 

would you want to transport aboard that Romulan ship? Assuming I'd allow

 

it ... which I won't.

 

 

Beaming aboard a cloaked vessel? Something we can't even get a reliable

 

transporter lock on? That could be suicide.

 

 

And even if you survived the beaming, don't forget your destination."

 

 

"I am willing to take the risks, Captain," Sarek said gravely. "In fact,

 

I insist upon it."

 

 

"What could you hope to gain from dropping in on Taryn?" Kirk heard the

 

exasperation in his own voice.

 

 

"Two things, Kirk," Sarek said. "First, if I can catch Taryn without

 

warning, he will not have time to assume his disguise. If I beamed over

 

and recorded our interview on some type of scanning device, that would

 

constitute the proof we seek. And, secondly, if Taryn knows that their

 

plot is known to the Federation, he might be willing to negotiate for

 

the lives of the Vulcans on Freelan ... allow us to rescue those who

 

wish to leave that world."

 

 

"Why do you think he'd do that?" Kirk asked.

 

 

"Because of something I only now realized about the esteemed liaison ...

 

something I should have deduced long ago. Taryn has a vested interest in

 

saving those Vulcans."

 

 

Kirk gave Spock a "what the hell is going on?" look. The

 

 

captain sighed. "All right, I grant you your point about getting your

 

proof. But why should the Romulans care whether the Federation knows

 

about their plan? Won't they simply proceed with it anyway?"

 

 

Spock shook his head. "Unlikely, Captain. The entire Freelan plan was

 

dependent on secrecy and surprise ... and on the Klingons attacking the

 

Federation, thus diverting troops and resources, forcing Starfleet to

 

spread its defenses too thinly. If the fleet were warned, and war with

 

the Klingons averted, the Romulans would stand no chance against the

 

Federation."

 

 

"Precisely," Sarek said.

 

 

"Okay, I see what you're getting at ... but, Ambassador, I can't allow

 

you to beam over to that vessel, proof or no proof, kidnapped Vulcans or

 

no kidnapped Vulcans.

 

 

Starfleet would bust me down to yeoman duty for risking a person of your

 

reputation on such a stunt."

 

 

"I am willing to take the risk, Kirk," Sarek replied. "Just as you have

 

your duty, I have mine ... and it is to do everything in my power to

 

prevent a war ... or the probable slaughter of transplanted Vulcan

 

citizens."

 

 

Kirk's eyes met Sarek's and held for a long moment.

 

 

Slowly, Jim shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, Ambassador Sarek,

 

but the answer is no. It's too risky. We can't pinpoint the location of

 

the ship closely enough."

 

 

"Yes, we can," Spock said, suddenly. "If the ambassador can predict its

 

next location, then I can program the transporter to lock on to the

 

bridge before it even appears."

 

 

Kirk stared dubiously at the Vulcan officer. "Do you think he can

 

accomplish anything over there, Spock?"

 

 

"I do not know," Spock said, quietly. "It depends upon his plan."

 

 

"Kirk," Sarek said, earnestly, "I have known Taryn for more than sixty

 

years. I believe I can predict his actions and reactions accurately

 

enough to be able to choose the best technique for approaching him."

 

 

"They'll shoot you on sight, Ambassador!" Kirk replied.

 

 

"Not ifi am beamed onto the bridge, where Taryn can see me. He will not

 

summarily execute me. He may decide at

 

 

some point that that is what he must do, but he will let me speak,

 

first. And if I can speak with him ... I can negotiate.

 

 

If he will not listen, and chooses to kill me ... I am willing to take

 

that chance."

 

 

"The ambassador does not have to go alone, Captain," Spock said,

 

stiffly. "I am volunteering to accompany him."

 

 

You wouldn't even know they're father and son if you saw them like this,

 

Kirk thought, inwardly shaking his head.

 

 

Vulcans!

 

 

"Captain," Spock said, "as soon as you beam us aboard, you must use the

 

diversion to warp far enough away to be out of jamming range. Then you

 

must transmit the data we will relay."

 

 

Kirk hesitated, wavering. Finally, hearing an invisible clock ticking in

 

his head, knowing that Kamarag's fleet was on the way, he nodded curtly.

 

"All right."

 

 

The next minutes flew by in a blur as Sarek and Spock prepared the

 

transporter coordinates that would place them aboard the Romulan vessel.

 

Beaming would indeed be tricky the transporter chief would have barely

 

a second to fine-tune the location in order to make sure they arrived on

 

the shipmand not in an area of space beside her, or beneath her.

 

 

"This recording device will function automatically," Spock told his

 

father in the transporter room, fastening a small instrument into place

 

between two of the large cabo-chon gems on the ambassador's formal robe.

 

"It will transmit, and the Enterprise will record what it sends. If

 

Taryn is indeed aboard, and you can induce him to identify himself,

 

while showing his true features, that should constitute the proof we

 

need."

 

 

"All right. I pick up your transmission, warp out of here, and then

 

message Starfleet and the president," Kirk said.

 

 

"Then what? I've got to come back here and intercept Kamarag. What do

 

you want me to do about you two? Try to lock on and beam you back?"

 

 

"As soon as the message is sent, return to the rendezvous point," Sarek

 

said. "If my talk with Taryn has been successfully concluded, I will

 

contact you to arrange for us to

 

 

return. If not ... there is not much chance that we will be alive to be

 

retrieved," he added, matter-of-factly.

 

 

Kirk sighed and nodded. I hope to hell this works ... Spock and Sarek

 

stepped up onto the transporter pads.

 

 

The captain nodded at the transporter chief. "Energize."

 

 

Sarek heard the distinctive whine, felt the Enterprise's transporter

 

chamber begin to dissolve around him ...

 

 

And then he was materializing again. He saw, with a moment of brief,

 

intense relief that he was again surrounded by bulkheads. At his side,

 

Spock was re-forming. They had made it. He was aboard Taryn's ship.

 

 

As he had requested, Spock had programmed their coordinates to place

 

them on the bridgema logical choice, since it was one of the largest,

 

relatively open areas.

 

 

The ambassador heard gasps of shock, startled exclamations as the

 

Romulans recognized both of them. Then, all around them, hands drew

 

disrupters. In less than a second after they had finished beaming, Sarek

 

found himself facing seven drawn weapons.

 

 

If I am wrong, the ambassador thought, and Taryn is not here--or is not

 

the man I believe him to be--neither Spock nor I will live another

 

minute.

 

 

But no blast of energy tore through him. Slowly, the ambassador pivoted,

 

studying his surroundings. The bridge of a bird-of-prey was considerably

 

more cramped than that of a Federation starship. All around him,

 

uniformed Romulans sat before instrument consoles, their seats swiveled

 

to face the intruders, the disrupters in their hands leveled

 

unwaveringly.

 

 

Uniformed Romulans? The Ambassador stared around him in surprise. No ...

 

not Romulans. At least ... not most of them.

 

 

Sarek was astonished to realize that the individuals surrounding him at

 

the various command posts were not Romulans--they were Vulcans. He'd

 

been expecting to find at least one Vulcan aboard Taryn's ship--but not

 

nine of them!

 

 

But these officers were, indisputably, Vulcans.

 

 

He could tell by the faint mental vibrations they exuded.

 

 

On his own world, Sarek was used to that, and, like most of his species,

 

had learned to ignore it, overlook it, tune it out.

 

 

But to encounter it here?

 

 

"What is this?" a voice barked harshly in Romulan.

 

 

Despite the millennia separating their peoples, the languages of Vulcans

 

and Romulans still held some of the same cadence and flow, though their

 

vocabularies and syntax had mutated greatly over the years. Swiftly, the

 

voice changed to English. "What is going on? Who are you?"

 

 

Sarek turned to regard the speaker. "You know who I am, Commander."

 

 

The individual facing him, one of the two present who was not holding a

 

drawn weapon, had to be Taryn. Sarek studied him unblinkingly. Yes, this

 

was Taryn ... even without the insignia on his uniform, he would have

 

known him. Everything fit. The arrogance he'd come to know so well shone

 

in this individual's eyes. Those eyes were dark and hooded amid his

 

craggy, hawklike features. He wore the uniform of a high-ranking Romulan

 

officer--a wing commander.

 

 

And from him, as from many of the other officers, Sarek sensed now

 

unshielded mental activity. It also emanated from the young woman

 

standing beside him, her eyes wide and startled. She, alone of the

 

bridge crew, was unarmed.

 

 

Sarek nodded at both of them. "Commander Taryn," he said. "And Savel? My

 

aide, Soran, has spoken of how much he enjoyed playing chess with you.

 

Allow me to present my ... associate, Captain Spock."

 

 

The ambassador had seen something flare in the girl's eyes when he'd

 

spoken of Soran. Recalling Soran's expressed interest in her, Sarek

 

noted her reaction and silently filed that information away for further

 

consideration. It could prove useful ...

 

 

"What are you two doing here?" Taryn demanded, his voice harsh and

 

rasping with surprise and anger he did not trouble to conceal. "How dare

 

you," he almost sputtered,

 

 

"invade my ship in this manner?"

 

 

"I recognized your game strategy, Taryn," Sarek said, attempting to make

 

it clear that the commander was responding to that name. He only hoped

 

that Kirk was picking up everything from the tiny recorder. "T'Nedara's

 

gambit.

 

 

A Vulcan gambit. I took it for a tacit invitation to call upon you." The

 

ambassador smiled faintly. "A Vulcan gambit, Taryn ... how appropriate,

 

under the circumstances."

 

 

Taryn bolted up out of his seat, and for a moment Sarek knew that his

 

life hung in the balance. The commander's hand dropped to the grip of

 

the hand disrupter he wore.

 

 

Then he took a deep breath ... another. Forced a faint, wry smile.

 

"Perhaps I was too clever, Sarek. I did not think you would recognize

 

the coordinates as being the same pattern as the moves in our chess

 

game."

 

 

"How could I not recognize them, Taryn?" Sarek asked simply. "That was

 

one of the few that you won. Naturally, I would remember." Exultation

 

surged inside him. Taryn had responded to Sarek's use of his name, and

 

he'd made reference to their games on Freelan--which were chronicled in

 

Sarek's diplomatic records of his negotiations with the Freelans. At

 

last, he had the proof he had risked his life to achieve.

 

 

Leave, Kirk, the Vulcan urged, silently. Take your starship and transmit

 

the message ...

 

 

"Why have you come here, Sarek?" Taryn asked, almost pleasantly. "You

 

know that I cannot permit either of you to return."

 

 

"I came to negotiate for the release of the Vulcans who reside on

 

Freelan," the ambassador replied. "The Federation has been warned. The

 

war you attempted to instigate will not come to pass. Starfleet will be

 

standing ready, should your forces attempt to initiate hostilities. We

 

both. know that the Romulan Empire is not prepared to take on a

 

battle-ready Federation ... a strong Federation that is still allied

 

with the Vulcans." Sarek took a deep breath and glanced slowly around

 

the bridge, at all the faces of the officers.

 

 

"And, finally," he concluded, "there will be no war with

 

 

the Klingons." He spoke decisively, not allowing any of his inner doubts

 

to show. There could still be war, and he knew it--but Taryn and his

 

officers must not.

 

 

"Why not?" Sayel blurted. Taryn glared at her, and she subsided

 

immediately, but not before Sarek glimpsed relief in her eyes.

 

 

"Because Captain Kirk managed to safely rescue his nephew," Spock said,

 

speaking for the first time since their beam-over. "And, even if

 

Kamarag's fleet manages to destroy the Enterprise, Starfleet has been

 

warned. The renegade ambassador will not get far into Federation space

 

before he is stopped. Azetbur has proved she will not support the

 

renegades ... your plan has failed."

 

 

"Enough of this!" the commander snapped, his temper obviously fraying.

 

"Why are you here, Sarek? Surely you know your life is forfeit, should I

 

give the word. What did you hope to gain?"

 

 

"The lives of the Vulcans on Freelan," Sarek said steadily.

 

 

"As I told you before. You are the wing commander for the Freelan

 

operation. Only the praetor can countermand your orders. If you give the

 

word, the Vulcans will be permitted to leave--those that choose to do

 

so. The Enterprise will take them away from Freelan before bloodshed can

 

occur."

 

 

"Bloodshed?" Savel glanced at the wing commander, and this time his

 

quelling glance only made her stiffen her spine and repeat her question.

 

"What do you mean, Ambassador?"

 

 

"Consider, Savel ..." Spock said. "What will the praetor do with Freelan

 

once the Federation president and Security Council know the truth about

 

your world?"

 

 

"If he follows precedent," Sarek pointed out, "he will, as the humans

 

put it, 'cut his losses." Possibly abandon the colony. And certainly

 

destroy all evidence of the plot. And the most tangible evidence of what

 

Romulus planned are the individuals such as yourself."

 

 

"In a way, miss," Spock added, "the Vulcans on Freelan can be considered

 

prisoners of war. The fact that you were born and grew up on that world

 

does not change the fact that you reside there due to acts of terrorism

 

and piracy commit ted by the Romulan military. Have you studied

 

history?" She nodded slowly.

 

 

"Then perhaps you can tell me ... how often are prisoners of war

 

actually returned to their native soil after such a long passage of

 

time?"

 

 

"I cannot think of a single instance," Sarek said, in answer to his

 

son's rhetorical question. The Vulcan ambassador gazed around him at the

 

closed, hard young faces of the bridge officers. "It is far safer--and

 

politically sounder to kill them or allow them to die."

 

 

Savel turned to the wing commander, her dark eyes full of distress.

 

"Would they do that, Vadi?" she demanded.

 

 

"Would you allow that?"

 

 

"If he does nothing, that is very likely what will happen," Spock said.

 

 

"Taryn," Sarek said, his voice deepening, "if we do not take your people

 

off Freelan, the chances are excellent that they will be considered a

 

failed experiment--or prisoners of war--and eliminated. Will you risk a

 

pogrom, Taryn? Will you allow your own people to be slaughtered?"

 

 

"My own people ..." the commander repeated toneless-ly.

 

 

His face was expressionless, but Sarek did not miss the tension in his

 

jaw muscles. "I do not understand what you mean."

 

 

"Certainly you do," Sarek said, holding the commandefts eyes with his

 

own. "You are as Vulcan as I ... and as Vulcan as they are," he said,

 

his eyes flicking from one to another of the bridge officers. He pointed

 

to Savel. "As Vulcan as she is."

 

 

Silence fell on the bridge. Sarek glimpsed the surprise in Spock's eyes,

 

quickly masked. One by one, the young bridge officers turned to regard

 

their commander. Only Savel did not betray any amazement. She knew,

 

Sarek thought.

 

 

Taryn shook his head, unable to summon words. The commander was pale

 

beneath the weathering of his features.

 

 

"No," he said, forcing the word out. "No!"

 

 

"Come now," Sarek said, gently. "It is illogical to deny

 

 

the truth. Will you continue to deny your heritage, knowing that you

 

risk death for the other Vulcans on Freelan?"

 

 

The young officers were recovering from the shock of Sarek's revelation.

 

They stirred and murmured among themselves.

 

 

"Even if what you say is true, what could possibly induce me to

 

relinquish the Vulcans on Freelan?" Taryn demanded, his expression

 

darkening. "If I did that, I would be committing treason!"

 

 

"If you do not, you will be committing murder," Spock said quietly.

 

"And, in a manner of speaking, genocide. Is that what you wish for them?

 

Imprisonment and eventual death?" He indicated the officers.

 

 

"And for her?" Sarek nodded at Savel. The ambassador was impressed at

 

how well Spock was handling his part in this--obviously, he had

 

underestimated his sows abilities in the field of diplomacy.

 

 

"No!" Taryn cried, in what was almost a howl of pain. He smashed a fist

 

down on the arm of his command seat, bending it visibly. "I will not

 

betray my adopted people. I am Romulan, NOT Vulcan. I have dedicated my

 

life to the service of the praetor! My Vulcan blood is nothing but an

 

accident of birth--it means nothing to me!"

 

 

"Does Savel mean nothing to you?" Sarek asked, quietly.

 

 

He was thinking quickly, wondering what other inducement he could offer.

 

There was one possibility Taryn, he knew, would not allow himself to

 

lose face before his crew. "We have known each other for a long time,"

 

he said. "I know you, Taryn. I am willin to offer you what you want

 

most, in exchange for the lives of the Vulcans."

 

 

"What--what do you mean?" Taryn demanded. Whatever the commander had

 

expected, it obviously wasn't this.

 

 

"The chance to defeat me. Does that tempt you? You have wanted to win in

 

a contest between us for decades, Taryn."

 

 

The ambassador knew he was treading a very delicate line. "One final

 

contest, Taryn. One last chance to beat me." Sarek fixed the commander

 

with an intent gaze. "I will wager with you for their lives. A ame,

 

Taryn. If I win, you allow them to go free, you aree to help me in any

 

way

 

 

necessary to free the Vulcan captives. If I lose ..." The ambassador

 

drew a deep breath. "If I lose, you will get the battle you desire. I

 

suspect your fleet is on the way. Time, at the moment, is my enemy ...

 

but it is your friend. A game will take several hours. Will you gamble

 

that your fleet will reach here before endgame?"

 

 

"A game?" Taryn actually laughed. "A game, Vulcan? Are you insane? We

 

play for far higher stakes than simply a mere game! We play for lives

 

here. Are you willing to play the game as it should be played?"

 

 

Sarek suddenly realized what Taryn was talking about, even as Spock did.

 

His son gave him a warning glance. But the ambassador squared his

 

shoulders. "I am willing to do whatever is necessary to gain the lives

 

and the freedom of your captives, Taryn. I have the courage to do what I

 

must." He paused for a long, significant second. "Do you?"

 

 

Taryn was clearly taken aback. The officer glanced around at the faces

 

of his officers, seeing their waiting expressions.

 

 

"Old man, you surprise me," Taryn said, and then he smiled ... a

 

predatory, dangerous smile. "No one has ever before dared to question my

 

courage."

 

 

Slowly, the wing commander got to his feet. Standing, he was taller and

 

heavier-built than Sarek--and probably at least thirty years younger.

 

"Very well, then, Ambassador. I challenge you!" His voice rang out so

 

loudly that Savel jumped.

 

 

"I challenge you by the ancient laws and rite of the Toriatal.

 

T'kevaidors a sketitus dunt'ryala aikriian paselitan ... Toriatal," he

 

intoned solemnly. Sarek recognized the language as Old High Vulcan.

 

Taryn faced him, head high. "So ... you want their lives, Sarek--then

 

fight for them! Win their lives, or your life--and that of your

 

son's--are forfeit!"

 

 

Sarek recognized the words. This was a challenge so old that it was

 

still common to both the Vulcan and Romulan cultures. The Toriatal dated

 

back to the days before Surak had brought his message of logic and peace

 

to their mutual homeworld.

 

 

In the ancient days of the Toriatal, two warring Vulcan

 

 

nations would, in a land already devastated by conflict, choose

 

champions to represent them in battle, and agree to victory or defeat on

 

the basis of that single-combat-to-the-death outcome. At least now the

 

Enterprise would be safe from any Romulan ship in Taryn's fleet, Sarek

 

thought.

 

 

Under the terms of the Toriatal, a truce remained in effect until the

 

champions had completed their fight. No Romulan vessel would initiate

 

hostilities once he agreed to the Toriatal--until the battle was

 

concluded, and either he or Taryn lay dead.

 

 

"State the terms of the challenge," Sarek said, buying time while he

 

thought. Was this the only way? In any kind of physical contest, Taryn

 

would be the undisputed favorite.

 

 

He was a full-blooded Vulcan, younger, stronger than the ambassador--and

 

a soldier, in fighting condition. The odds were not good.

 

 

"Very well. If you win, Ambassador, I agree that I will release any of

 

the Vulcans residing on Fredan should they wish to go. I will help you

 

in whatever way is necessary to allow you to offer them that choice. I

 

will break off the planned attack, and not initiate hostilities with the

 

Enterprise. Acceptable?" Sarek nodded. "I understand."

 

 

"And, if I win, Ambassador, you agree that your life--in the unlikely

 

event you survive the challenge itself--and the life of your son are

 

mine to do with as I please. The ship you call Enterprise and its crew

 

will be fair game for my fleet, when it arrives." The ambassador turned

 

to look at Spock. "I am willing to wager my own life in this challenge,"

 

he said. "But I cannot ethically stake the life of my son."

 

 

"What I am staking is far greater than what you are willing to wager, as

 

it is, Ambassador," Taryn pointed out, truthfully. "A challenge is a

 

challenge. Do you accept, or not?" The Romulan exuded confidence as he

 

stood there.

 

 

Sarek drew a deep breath. The needs of the many ... he thought, but he

 

could not do it. Not with the life of his son at stake. Slowly, he shook

 

his head, and opened his mouth-- "Do it," Spock said in an undertone,

 

without turning his head. "Accept his terms. If you do not, our lives

 

are forfeit in any case." Sarek glanced at the first officer, then

 

straightened his shoulders. "Very well, Commander. I accept your

 

challenge.

 

 

I will fight you in the Toriatal."

 

 

"As challenger, the choice of type of combat is mine," Taryn said, a

 

gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

 

 

"Yes." All around him he heard murmurs of anticipation from the young

 

officers. Only Savel seemed distressed by what was happening. Out of the

 

corner of his eye Sarek saw her shaking her head as she whispered, "No,

 

Vadi!" Sarek wondered what kind of duel Taryn would choose.

 

 

He hoped Taryn's arrogance would lead him to choose unarmed combat. The

 

ambassador was an expert at several Vulcan martial arts, including

 

tal-shaya. In unarmed hand-to-hand, he might stand a chance. Although

 

Sarek had trained with traditional Vulcan weapons in his youth, and had

 

become proficient with them, he had not done any sparring with weapons

 

for years.

 

 

Also ... if they fought without weapons, there was a good chance that

 

neither of them would die. Sarek did not want to die--nor did he want to

 

kill Taryn.

 

 

"I choose weapons, Ambassador," Taryn said, and paused for a beat.

 

"Specifically, the senapa." The commander sat back with a faint, cold

 

triumphant smile.

 

 

Sarek took a deep breath. The senapa ... the deadliest, most painful of

 

weapons in the ancient Vulcan arsenal. A combatant could survive one

 

cut, or perhaps two--if he was strong and received an immediate blood

 

filtering and transfusion--but three was almost always a death sentence.

 

 

"I will prepare myself," the ambassador said.

 

 

"You will need a second," Spock said. "I offer myself, Ambassador."

 

Sarek turned to look at his son, and, finally nodded. "I accept."

 

Turning back to face Taryn, Sarek gave him the ancient, ceremonial

 

salute. "As soon as you are ready, Commander."

 

 

Taryn nodded. "Fifteen minutes, Ambassador. Savel will guide you to the

 

gymnasium."

 

 

In one corner of Shardarr's gymnasium, Spock quickly prepared Sarek for

 

the coming combat. Swiftly, efficiently, he stripped off the heavy,

 

formal robe and hung it on the wall, carefully arranging the folds so

 

the jeweled borders faced the combat square Poldar and Tonik were

 

marking off.

 

 

When his son leaned close to unfasten the ambassador's undertunic, Sarek

 

whispered quietly, "How long will it take Kirk to send the message and

 

return?"

 

 

"Approximately an hour, from the time we left," Spock reported, sotto

 

voce. Then he added, "You are not in any condition to attempt this."

 

 

"I am well aware of my limitations," Sarek agreed, bleakly. "If I can

 

hold out long enough, perhaps Kirk will return. If I am only wounded,

 

the estimable Dr. McCoy might be able to save me?"

 

 

"The closest supply of senapa poison antidote is on Vulcan," Spock

 

whispered grimly. "It is hardly standard provisioning for starships. I

 

do not like this. A duel with senapas ... Taryn will have a definite

 

advantage. He is younger, taller, and doubtless far quicker than you."

 

 

"Do not think that knowledge has escaped me," Sarek admitted, with a

 

flare of mordant humor. "But, as the challenger, it was his right to

 

choose the contest and the weapon to be used."

 

 

"When was the last time you trained?"

 

 

"It has been several months," Sarek admitted. "Since before ... before

 

your mother's illness was diagnosed." Sarek heard his son's indrawn

 

breath, sensed his apprehension.

 

 

It echoed his own. All the commander had to do was stay out of range,

 

and use his greater reach and faster reflexes to cut Sarek several times

 

... and it would be all over. Even one cut, the ambassador reflected,

 

would eventually slow him down ... and, as the minutes went by, and the

 

poison permeated his system, Sarek would grow dizzy and drop his guard,

 

thus becoming an easy target.

 

 

When he saw Taryn walking toward the improvised challenge square, Sarek

 

quickly rose to his feet. As was traditional, both combatants were clad

 

only in short, loose trousers, so that most of their bodies would be

 

bare--and thus more vulnerable to the poisoned blades.

 

 

Accompanied by Spock, Sarek walked to meet his opponent.

 

 

The centurion Taryn had addressed as Poldar--another of the transplanted

 

Vulcans--stood impassively awaiting them in the center of the combat

 

square. In his arms rested a carved display case, and within it, in

 

recessed niches, the two senapas. When he reached the middle of the

 

square, Taryn, with a mocking salute, indicated that the ambassador

 

should take the first choice of weapons.

 

 

Sarek studied the two senapas. They appeared identical; a cur ved,

 

half-moon blade, wickedly sharp, with a handgrip and a padded rest for

 

the knuckles, so they would not touch the blade. Sarek selected the

 

weapon nearest him, grasped it, then stepped back, waiting while Taryn

 

took the other. He hefted the senapa ... it had been a long time since

 

he'd practiced with one. It was, of course, a slashing weapon rather

 

than a stabbing one.

 

 

Poldar motioned the two seconds, Spock and Savel, to back away from the

 

square. Sarek took a deep breath, trying to loosen his muscles. He

 

rolled his weight onto the balls of his feet, and assumed a balanced

 

stance, right foot slightly ahead of the left.

 

 

"Begin," said Poldar, and Sarek was surprised to hear the centurion say

 

the word in Vulcan. He glanced at the young Vulcan--and that nearly

 

proved his undoing, for Taryn, moving with the silent deadliness of a

 

le-matya, sprang forward. Only his son's reflexive gasp made the Vulcan

 

leap backward, and he avoided Taryn's blade by centimeters.

 

 

Backing away cautiously, keeping one eye out for the boundary lines of

 

the combat square (for to step over one was to lose automatically and

 

face execution), Sarek was careful to stay near the middle of the

 

marked-off enclosure.

 

 

A square enclosure was far more dangerous than a circular one--a

 

combatant could be trapped in a corner, and it was a rare fighter indeed

 

who could fight his way out of that situation and remain unscathed.

 

 

The Vulcan tried a few experimental swipes with his senapa, getting the

 

feel of the weapon. At one time, Sarek had been able to flip the senapa

 

in the air and catch it by the handle with either hand--but that was

 

over a hundred years ago.

 

 

Taryn had evidently been sizing his opponent up, for he came in again,

 

low and fast, feinting to the right, then slashing quickly left. Again

 

Sarek managed to dodge and twist, avoiding the blade by a hairbreadth.

 

But the effort left him short of breath ... and Taryn, seeing that,

 

smiled.

 

 

The ambassador continued his slow circle in the center of the enclosure,

 

watching for an opening. "Step over the line, old one," Taryn said,

 

mockingly. "Make it easy on yourself."

 

 

"Did no one ever teach you that insulting your opponent is the mark of a

 

coward and a bully?" Sarek asked, keeping his voice maddeningly calm.

 

 

Taryn's face twisted with anger, and he lunged again at Sarek. The

 

ambassador sidestepped, his foot lashing out, tripping Taryn, even as he

 

brought his unweaponed fist down on the back of his opponent's neck.

 

With a grunt, Taryn fell forward, but he had been well trained--the

 

commander turned the fall into a roll, and was back on his feet before

 

Sarek could take advantage. Taryn eyed his opponent warily, and the

 

smug, overconfident expression in his eyes had now altered to a look of

 

respect.

 

 

Sarek began planning his next strategy--until he saw Taryn's eyes widen,

 

and then gleam excitedly. At the same moment, he felt a faint, stinging

 

burn along his left side, over his ribs. Looking down, he saw the thin

 

line of green. A tiny slash--but, over time, it would be enough. The

 

ambassador's breath hissed between his teeth. Deliberately he began

 

circling again, hoping that Taryn would be content not to close with him

 

for the moment.

 

 

Centering himself, the Vulcan reached inward with his sense of his

 

physical self. Like all Vulcans, he'd been trained in bioeontrol and

 

biofeedback. The poison ... yes, it was spreading outward from the

 

little wound. Just a tiny

 

 

amount, but it would make him sluggish, and, eventually, disable him.

 

Concentrating fiercely, the ambassador managed to slow down his

 

circulation, stemming the spread of the poison. It was all he could do

 

...

 

 

Tired of waiting for Sarek to succumb to the poison, Taryn attacked

 

again, lashing out in a hard, flat arc that would have slashed the

 

Vulcan's throat had he not ducked under it. Sarek came in close, his

 

elbow up and out, and it struck the commander hard, not in the throat as

 

he'd planned, but on the side of his jaw. Taryn grunted and staggered

 

back, but when Sarek attempted to follow his advantage, the commander

 

kicked him hard in the left patella.

 

 

Pain seared through Sarek's leg, and it nearly buckled beneath him.

 

Somehow, the Vulcan managed to stay on his feet, but he was gasping

 

painfully. Fire shot through his veins, and for a moment he couldn't

 

decide whether it was from the poison, or lack of air. Blackness hovered

 

at the edge of his vision, but several deep, gasping breaths forced it

 

to retreat.

 

 

"You are better than I expected, Ambassador," Taryn said. Sarek was too

 

winded to be gratified by the sweat that shone on the commander's face

 

and chest. "But you are in no condition for this and you know it. Step

 

out, and I guarantee you a quick, clean death with honor. Why prolong

 

this?"

 

 

I must end this soon, Sarek thought. Then a possible strategy occurred

 

to him, and he began shuffling toward the commander, feigning (he did

 

not have to playact much, actually) weakness along his entire left side.

 

 

Right-handed as usual, Sarek aimed an awkward, underhand slash at

 

Taryn's shoulder. The commander, as he'd planned, leaped to Sarek's

 

left, closing in for the kill. Sarek pivoted away from the other's

 

blade, and then with every ounce of control he could muster, the

 

ambassador flipped the senapa into the air--

 

 

and caught it left-handed.

 

 

Taryn was still leaning into his swing, unaware that his

 

 

entire side was now a target. With a flick of his left wrist, Sarek

 

slashed him lightly, along the ribs, once ... and then again.

 

 

Two slashes. Enough poison to disable even a strong opponent in a matter

 

of minutes. Dimly, Sarek heard Savel's anguished gasp. Quickly, he

 

disengaged, stepping back, still careful not to step into one of the

 

comers.

 

 

Feeling the sting along his ribs, Taryn checked, then stared down at

 

himself incredulously. Slowly, he looked back up at the weapon Sarek

 

still held left-handed. The commander chuckled faintly, hollowly.

 

"Better and ... better ... old one." He was beginning to gasp. "Very

 

well, then ... finish me. Go ... ahead."

 

 

"I have no desire to kill an old friend," Sarek said. "Let us declare

 

the challenge at an end. All I want are the Vulcan youths."

 

 

"You think ... I wish ... them harm?" Taryn's breath came hard, now,

 

and it was painful to hear. "No ... I never ...

 

 

"I did not think you wished them harm," Sarek was quick to say. "Let us

 

stop this now, Taryn. With a doctor's help, it is possible we both can

 

survive. I ask you ... as a friend ..."

 

 

"Please, Vadi!" Savel cried out, unable to restrain herself.

 

 

"No!" Taryn roared, and lunged forward, slashing wildly.

 

 

Sarek parried with his own senapa, and the brittle blades rang against

 

each other--and shattered. Taryn gasped, his eyes rolled up in his head,

 

and he fell.

 

 

Sarek stood staring at him, his eyes widening in distress as he saw the

 

small streak of green crawl across the commander's knuckle. Three

 

slashes ... fatal, in all likelihood.

 

 

"Where is your physician?" the ambassador demanded, dropping down beside

 

the commander's still form. "Bring the physician immediately!"

 

 

"No ... forbid it ..." Taryn mumbled, his eyes closed.

 

 

"Poldar ... take command ... do whatever you must to honor the outcome

 

... of the challenge ..."

 

 

"I will, Commander," the young centurion promised, bending over his

 

dying officer.

 

 

"He might be saved!" Sarek insisted, touching Taryn's forehead, feeling

 

the life throbbing within his body and his mind--though it was ebbing

 

fast. "Bring the doctor!"

 

 

Poldar steadfastly shook his head. Even when Savel added her voice to

 

the ambassador's, the young centurion stood firm, obviously determined

 

to honor Taryn's last orders.

 

 

In a final effort to save the commander, Sarek slid both hands around

 

Taryn's head, instinctively finding the correct points. "Make them bring

 

a doctor," he ordered Savel and Spock, who was crouched beside him, and

 

then he sent his mind into the commander's, melding with him, lending

 

him strength, keeping him alive--at the risk of his own life.

 

 

The meld deepened as Sarek poured more mental energy into the dying

 

commander. He and Taryn shared each other's minds, each other's lives.

 

In vivid flashes, the ambassador relived events from Taryn's past. The

 

births of his children. His wedding. His promotions. Their chess games.

 

Political allies, and deadly enemies ...

 

 

But all the while the other Vulcan's mind was growing weaker, weaker,

 

forcing the ambassador to pour more and more of his own strength into

 

this last, desperate effort.

 

 

Sarek deepened the meld, and felt himself going back, back in time, to

 

Taryn's youth ... then his childhood. Back all the way to his earliest

 

memory--one that, even in his dying, weakened condition, filled the

 

commander's mind with horror and revulsion ... Taryn remembered ...

 

and Sarek shared that memory, for they were One.

 

 

Sarek was Taryn, only his name was different--Sarenw and he was four

 

years old, aboard his parents' small trading vessel. All the Vulcans in

 

that sector knew that ships were disappearing ... piracy and hijackings

 

were assumed to be the cause. Orion slavers roamed the spaceways, and

 

the tales of rape, pillage, murder, and enslavement were rampant--and

 

horrifying.

 

 

So when their small freighter was suddenly seized in a tractor beam, and

 

a huge, unknown ship loomed over them, seemingly materializing out of

 

nowhere, Taryn's parents had made a decision that seemed right to them.

 

 

In whispers, his father and mother had decided that they would fight, to

 

the death if necessary, rather than allow themselves to be taken captive

 

and probably enslaved. If they were not killed in the fight, they

 

resolved to link their minds, and use their training in biocontrol to

 

stop each other's hearts. After long minutes of discussion, they decided

 

that they must include Taryn in their link ... they did not want their

 

son to suffer, and growing up as a slave seemed to them worse than not

 

living to grow up at all.

 

 

"Saren ..." said Mother, holding out her hand to her child, who stood

 

wide-eyed and trembling in the doorway to the tiny control room. "Come

 

here. Give me your hand."

 

 

"Yes, Saren," echoed Father, reaching out for his son.

 

 

"Come here. Take our hands." Instinctively, Taryn knew that if he did as

 

they bade, he would come to harm. Trembling, he shook his head

 

word-lessly.

 

 

"Come now, Saren," said Father impatiently. "You are letting your

 

emotions rule. We are Vulcans ... fear has no part in our lives. Do you

 

wish to be a coward?"

 

 

"No ..." little Taryn whimpered, tears beginning to trickle down his

 

face. He hadn't cried since he was a baby, and he was profoundly ashamed

 

of himself. He was a Vulcan, and Vulcans didn't cry! Or let themselves

 

be afraid.

 

 

But he couldn't help it.

 

 

"Saren, my son." Father's voice was stern. "Come here-- now!" The little

 

ship shuddered as something clamped on to their airlock. Mother cried

 

out that they must hurry--hurry!

 

 

Both Vulcans removed weapons from a locker.

 

 

Old-style stunners ... little defense against phasers or dis-rupters.

 

 

"Saren!" Father commanded, coming toward him. "Give me your hand!" The

 

child's remaining control snapped, and he shrieked aloud, "No! I'm

 

afraid!" Sobbing with terror, Taryn turned and bolted out of the control

 

room. It was only after he'd reached the airlock door, and it had begun

 

its ominous turn the moment he'd touched it, that the child's terror of

 

the unknown had overcome his fear of his parents, and what they'd

 

decided they must do.

 

 

As the invaders pushed their way into the ship, weapons drawn, Taryn had

 

bolted back up the corridor. He'd flung himself inside, and was

 

immediately struck by the stun beam. Helpless, he'd lain there,

 

unmoving' forced to watch as the invaders in their uniforms had burned

 

down the door, shot his father with a disrupter, vaporizing him

 

immediately, and then turned their attentions to his mother. As they'd

 

reached for her, she'd stiffened suddenly, her eyes glazing, then

 

crumpled in their arms, dead.

 

 

Sarek understood so much now about the commander why he'd issued the

 

challenge, why he could not abide the charge of cowardice or fear.

 

 

The ambassador knew that the commander had locked those memories away,

 

repressed them until they haunted him only in dreams. You were only a

 

child, he told the stricken commander. ,,l small child. You are not

 

responsible for what happened. You could not have changed it. Know this,

 

and let the pain go ... let it go ... Sarek sensed Taryn's

 

understanding, sensed that the commander was finally released from the

 

terror and guilt of that time--but his new understanding would do him

 

little good, because, despite his best efforts, the Freelan was slipping

 

away. Sarek clung to the meld with stubborn, dangerous persistence,

 

clung even when he felt the change, the dissolving sensation seize his

 

body.

 

 

Death? he wondered, dimly. Is this death?

 

 

But moments later, he recognized the sensation for what it was--he was

 

caught in a transporter beam.

 

 

James T. Kirk stood in the transporter room, watching Dr. McCoy and his

 

medical team struggle to stabilize the dying Romulan. "Tri-ox!" the

 

doctor shouted, and a nurse slapped a hypo into his hand.

 

 

Sarek was crouched beside the Romulan, both hands

 

 

pressed to his head, clearly melding with him--but, even as Kirk

 

watched, the ambassador, who was clad only in his undergarments,

 

suddenly slumped over onto the pad.

 

 

"They are suffering from senapa poisoning, Doctor," Spock said, his

 

voice incongruously calm in the organized melee of the medical team. "It

 

may be possible to reproduce the antidote." Grabbing a stylus from a

 

technician, he scribbled a chemical formula and diagram. "This is it."

 

 

McCoy quickly pushed the formula at a tech, and the man hurried out to

 

get it replicated. "What else do you know about how to treat this?" he

 

grunted, giving Sarek a tri-ox hypo also. "It sure as hell messes up the

 

blood's ability to carry oxygen!"

 

 

"The ancient text mentioned treating it by blood filtration and

 

transfusions."

 

 

"Okay," McCoy said. "Set up sickbay for filtration and transfusions.

 

Check our supply of Vulcan Q-positive blood.

 

 

That's a common type, we should have some on hand."

 

 

"But ... he's a Romulan," Kirk said. "Or do they have the same blood

 

types?"

 

 

"I have no idea," McCoy said. "But this one's a Vulcan, Jim."

 

 

Spock looked over at the captain and nodded confirmation.

 

 

"All right, Spock, you're going to have to play donor for your father

 

again," the doctor snapped. "Get ready."

 

 

"I am prepared, Doctor," the Vulcan said, removing his jacket and

 

rolling up the sleeve of his shirt.

 

 

"Okay, I think they're stable enough to move! Get those antigrav

 

stretchers over here, Nurse!" the doctor ordered.

 

 

The captain. turned to McCoy. "Will he make it?"

 

 

"Don't know yet, Jim," McCoy grunted, his fingers flying as he injected

 

the Romulan with a hypo. "Maybe. These Vulcans are tough ... as well as

 

stubborn," he added, giving Spock a sidelong glance.

 

 

Kirk watched as they loaded both unconscious Vulcans onto the stretchers

 

and followed them into the hall. He was halfway to sickbay when Uhura's

 

page reached him. "Cap tain Kirk ... Captain Kirk, please report to the

 

bridge immediately."

 

 

A quick slap on the nearest intercom panel brought him into contact.

 

"This is the captain. What's going on, Commander?"

 

 

Chekov's voice responded, sounding breathless and a little scared. "Sir,

 

I am picking up ships on our long-range sensors. Ten of them. Coming out

 

of the Neutral Zone, and heading straight for us."

 

 

"On my way," Kirk said, and began running for the turbolift. It never

 

rains but it pours, he thought grimly. What a time for Kamarag to show

 

up ...

 

 

"Right on time," Kirk muttered to himself as he reached the bridge and

 

glanced at the chrono. "I suppose punctuality is a must for a diplomat

 

... "

 

 

Chekov turned to regard him questioningly. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"

 

 

Kirk shook his head as he headed for his command seat.

 

 

"Nothing, Mr. Chekov. Status?"

 

 

"We have picked up ten ships coming out of the Klingon Neutral Zone."

 

 

"ETA, Commander?"

 

 

"Three point six minutes, sir."

 

 

"What type?"

 

 

"I am scanning four cruisers and six birds-of-prey, sir." Kirk's heart

 

sank even further. Klingon cruisers were almost a match for the

 

Enterprise, unlike the smaller war-birds.

 

 

The captain turned over plans in his mind ... run for it, try to stay

 

ahead of them until reinforcements could arrive? No ... because as soon

 

as they crossed the Neutral Zone, they'd probably split up, in order to

 

do the most possible damage to the maximum number of planets.

 

 

"Commander Uhura, try to hail Kamarag's ship."

 

 

"Yes, sir."

 

 

Kirk was surprised when the Klingon's ship, the Hohwi;

 

 

accepted the contact. Moments later, the ambassador's heavy features

 

coalesced on the screen. The moment his eyes fixed on the captain, he

 

scowled, and his glare would have drilled neutronlure. "Kirk ..." he

 

growled. "How dare you contact me? We have nothing to say to each

 

other--unless you want to beg me for your life, and that of your crew. I

 

would enjoy that sufficiently to allow you several minutes for that ...

 

"At the thought, he smiled, but it was anything but a pleasant

 

expression.

 

 

"Ambassador," the captain said, forcing himself to use his most

 

reasonable voice, when the very sight of the Klingon made him furious,

 

remembering how he'd agonized over Peter's disappearance, "we need to

 

talk. There are some things I have to tell you. Break off your attack,

 

because you're doing this as a result of alien mind influence.

 

 

Ambassador Sarek is aboard, and he has proof of what I'm telling

 

you--proof I'd be happy to let you see for yourself.

 

 

I'm sure that, under the circumstances, if I explain everything to

 

Chancellor Azetbur, she'll--"

 

 

Kamarag interrupted with a sound that was halfway between a growl and a

 

snarl. "Kirk, you lying, cheating murderer! I know you have kidnapped my

 

niece and are holding her prisoner. Your thrice-cursed nephew has

 

attacked my finest officer, Kargl For this you will die in writhing

 

agony. When I free my niece, she will perform the be/oy' on both Kirks,

 

and I and my troops will wager as to which of you shrieks the loudest

 

and longest!"

 

 

Turning his head, he addressed one of his officers. "This is an order.

 

Target Kirk's ship to cripple only--do you understand?

 

 

I want him alive! He is mine!"

 

 

Kirk, watching, would have found the ambassador's blustering amusing,

 

under different circumstances. He sounds like one of the villains in a

 

dime novel, he thought, sardonically.

 

 

"Ambassador Kamarag," he began, only to have the Klingon's image

 

abruptly disappear.

 

 

"He broke contact, Captain," Uhura said, unnecessarily.

 

 

"Just as well," Kirk muttered.

 

 

"Veil," Chekov said, dourly, "I guess that is that. Ve are

 

 

the only ship between them and the Federation colonies so I guess've

 

stay put."

 

 

"We'll give them a fight," Kirk said.

 

 

Then something occurred to the captain, and he turned to Uhura.

 

"Commander, open a wide-beam frequency to all those ships. I'm going to

 

see if some of those other commanders aren't a little more open to

 

reason."

 

 

"Frequency open, Captain."

 

 

Kirk took a deep breath. "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the

 

Federation starship Enterprise. I believe most of you know memas an

 

opponent, in the past, and as a friend to your Empire in recent days. I

 

swear to you on my honor as a Starfleet officer that you are following a

 

man who is under the influence of alien mind control. Kamarag is no

 

longer thinking independently. If you will break off the attack, and not

 

intrude into Federation space, I will personally speak to Chance llor

 

Azetbur on your behalf. Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan is aboard this vessel

 

and he will speak for you. It is my belief, under the circumstances,

 

that the chancellor will agree to grant clemency for any commander who

 

breaks off the attack. I ask you to consider what you are

 

doing--betraying your own government, to follow a madman. Kirk out."

 

 

The ships were almost within firing range. Kirk waited tensely, but none

 

of them broke formation--the warbirds clustered together in groups of

 

threes, with the cruisers between them and to either side

 

 

"Well," he said, to no one in particular, "it was worth a try ... guess

 

we go it alone ..."

 

 

"Captain," Uhura said, plainly startled by what she was hearing, "we're

 

being hailed."

 

 

"By the Klingons?"

 

 

"No, sir ... by the Romulan vessel!"

 

 

"On-screen."

 

 

The bridge crew watched as the screen flickered; then the oncoming

 

Klingon vessels were replaced by the features of an officer in Romulan

 

uniform. "I am Centurion Poldar," he said.

 

 

"I am Captain Kirk."

 

 

"Yes, I know. Captain, my commander's orders were to honor his word to

 

Ambassador Sarek. I hereby place my ship at your disposal. I am prepared

 

to fight alongside you as long as necessary." Kirk glanced at the

 

tactical schematic, and saw that Shardarr had drifted over until she was

 

behind the Federation vessel, clearly preparing to defend her from the

 

rear.

 

 

"I appreciate your assistance, Centurion," Kirk said.

 

 

"Too bad the odds aren't more even."

 

 

Poldar drew himself up. "I stand by my orders, Captain Kirk," the young

 

officer said expressionlessly. "You will find Shardarr prepared for

 

battle." He cut the connection.

 

 

"Well," Kirk muttered, "that's one for the history books ... "

 

 

"Stand by phasers and photon torpedoes," Kirk said.

 

 

"Target the Hohwiand fire on my order."

 

 

"Aye, Captain!"

 

 

As the Klingon vessels came closer, they slowed, and spread out until

 

they encircled the Federation and the Romulan vessel. Hohwi' was still

 

the closest. There wasn't much Kirk coutd do about tactics; surrounded

 

as he was, evasive action would be limited to only a few hundred

 

thousand square kilometers of space.

 

 

His eyes fixed on the tactical screen, Kirk watched the blips, then

 

snapped, "Fire, Mr. Chekov!"

 

 

Two deadly phaser blasts shot out, striking the Klingon vessel's

 

shields.

 

 

"Slight damage to their forward shield, Captain," Chekov reported.

 

 

The flagship returned fire, and the Enterprise shuddered violently as

 

she was struck amidships. "Port shield down twenty percent, Captain."

 

 

Oh hell, this is it, Kirk thought.

 

 

Just what I need, with a full sickbay, Leonard McCoy thought grumpily,

 

another damned space battle.t The Enterprise shuddered violently as she

 

was hit. Beside

 

 

the doctor, on the couch where he was lying for the transfusion to his

 

father, Spock struggled to sit up. The Vulcan had already given more

 

blood than was good for himmhe was pale and unsteady, but still

 

determined to gain his feet.

 

 

"And where in hell do you think you're going, Spock?" McCoy snapped.

 

 

"The ship is obviously engaged in battle, Doctor." Spock was halfway up

 

now, swaying like a ship in a gale. "I must report to the bridge." McCoy

 

gave him an evil grin and reached in his pocket for a hypo he'd prepared

 

specially and been saving, knowing he'd probably need it. "I told you

 

twenty-six years ago that my patients don't walk out on me during

 

medical procedures," he said, jamming the hypospray against the Vulcan's

 

arm. Spock sagged back onto the couch, unconscious.

 

 

The ship shuddered again. Leonard McCoy ignored the motion. He was a

 

doctor, and he had lots of work to do ... "Target Hohwi' with a photon

 

torpedo and fire, Mr. Chekov!"

 

 

"Firing, Captain!" The Enterprise gave a different, more internal

 

shudder as the weapon was launched. Kirk held his breath, then pounded

 

his fist on the arm of his chair in disappointment.

 

 

At the last possible second, the Klingon vessel managed to evade the

 

torpedo. Chekov was crestfallen. "A clean miss, Captain." Behind them,

 

Shardarr fired, catching a warbird and shearing off half a wing. "Good

 

going, Centurion!" Kirk whispered, just as Enterprise shuddered again.

 

"Forward shield down to fifty percent, Captain!" Chekov reported.

 

 

Kirk groaned inwardly. We're going down this time.

 

 

There's no way around it. "Lieutenant, evasive--five-oh-six mark four!"

 

Enterprise heeled over, but the disrupter blast caught her glancingly on

 

the saucer. The entire bridge lurched violently.

 

 

"One of the birds-of-prey is preparing to fire, Captain!" Chekov

 

exclaimed.

 

 

But, to everyone's utter astonishment, the Klingon vessel wheeled around

 

like a nervous horse and loosed a blast at Kamarag's ship!

 

 

"What the hell?" Kirk demanded.

 

 

"Captain, we're being hailed!"

 

 

"Captain Kirk? Ambassador Sarek?" A strongly accented voice came over

 

the ship-to-ship, audio only. "This is Commander Keraz aboard Bahwil'. I

 

request that you and Ambassador Sarek speak for me and my crew ...