“Approaching Qo’noS, Captain,” Spock reported. “ETA to orbit, twelve point two minutes.”

Kirk, who was piloting the shuttlecraftKepler, nodded in acknowledgment of the Vulcan’s words. “Anything within sensor range?”

“I detect no military craft, just freighters.”

The captain checked his screens, wishing he had some idea of where on Qo’noS Kamarag’s ancestral home lay. Northern or southern hemisphere? Eastern or western continent?

“Spock,” he said, “what are our chances of tapping into the Klingon data banks and accessing some information?”

“I may be able to do so, Captain,” the Vulcan said, turning away from his sensor array. Like Kirk and McCoy, Spock wore a black jumpsuit designed for night raids. “What information do you wish me to access?”

“Kamarag’s home address,” Kirk said, dryly.

“I will attempt to access its location, Captain,” Spock said, turning back to his instruments.

“Y’know, Jim, this will be the first time we’ve actuallyseen Qo’noS,” McCoy pointed out. The doctor was sitting in the passenger seat behind the captain. “Last time we were there, we were shut up like mice in a shoebox, and shuttled around in closed vehicles.”

Kirk nodded. “We didn’t even see the planet from orbit.”

Spock regarded his console intently. “I have Qo’noS on-screen.”

Intently, Kirk watched as the tiny dot grew until, with magnification on maximum, they could see their destination. “Look at that,” Kirk whispered, after a moment. “I didn’t realize it had a ring!”

“That ring is much of what remains of Praxis,” Spock said. “There are several large chunks of the moon still orbiting Qo’noS, and corresponding gaps in the ring. This ring is…” He consulted his sensors. “…approximately two thousand kilometers across, and it orbits Qo’noS’s equator at a mean distance of eleven thousand, five hundred seventy-one kilometers.”

Kirk glanced at his own sensors. “There’s also a lot of asteroidal material in the system,” he said.

“Correct. A large number of asteroids will impact the planet in approximately fifty years.”

Kirk stared at the planet that was growing in their viewscreens. “Now all we have to do is avoid detection by the Klingons while we locate Peter.” He gave McCoy a lopsided grin. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind about coming, Bones?”

“Too late for that, Jim,” he pointed out, smiling back at his friend.

Spock cleared his throat. “Piloting the shuttlecraft across the plane of that ring will be difficult, Captain. TheKepler ’s shielding is limited.”

“Why go near the ring at all?” McCoy asked. “You can surely plot a course that will keep us away from it.”

Kirk glanced at the ringed world, watching it grow steadily in their viewscreen. “If we go in directly, bold as brass, the Klingon sensors will be bound to pick us up, and we’ll have unwelcome surface-to-air company in no time,” he explained. “I think what Spock is planning”—he slanted an inquiring look at the Vulcan—“is to use the ring as a cover.”

“Precisely,” said Spock. “As I mentioned before, sensors indicate that the ring has several gaps, caused by large chunks of Praxis acting as ring shepherds. Their gravitational force clears a small gap around them. I recommend that we traverse the ring plane through one of the larger gaps. Matching orbit with the ring, we can use it as a shield while we locate Peter.”

“How are you going to find him?” McCoy asked, staring mesmerized at the ringed planet. “It’s a big world.”

“I did manage to locate Kamarag’s ancestral compound in the Klingon data banks,” Spock said. “Thus we have an approximate idea of where to search. Mr. Scott and I modified the sensors to detect any human life readings. If Peter is the only human in that compound, we should be able to trace him.”

“It’s a good plan,” Kirk said, “but crossing the plane of the ring, even through the longest gap, will require some tricky piloting.”

“It is fortunate for us that the presence of the ring, and all the attendant meteor showers since the demise of Praxis, has evidently forced the Klingons to abandon whatever early-warning defense system their planet boasted,” Spock said, studying his instrument readouts.

“They probably still have a lot of meteor showers,” Kirk said, eyeing the ring. They were now close enough to it that, under the highest magnification, the ring was revealed to be made of millions of chunks of rock, ranging from pieces no bigger than a marble to huge boulders larger than theKepler.

Minutes later, the shuttlecraft was approaching the gap in the ring. Kirk sent the little vessel skimming along its edge, matching its speed; then he boosted theKepler ’s velocity slightly, aiming for the break, which was now clearly visible.

Qo’noS was an awesome sight: below them the planet turned, brown and greenish blue, its continents separated by shallow azure seas speckled with atolls. The three largest landmasses were edged by volcanic mountain chains, and it was evidently a far more seismically active planet than Earth.

From this distance, signs of civilization, at least on the daylight side, appeared minimal. Only a few angular blotches on the western side of the continent below them betrayed the presence of large cities.

But even the world turning below him could not hold the captain’s attention for long. As they sped along, Qo’noS’s ring dominated their view, spreading out before them like a golden plain studded with nuggets of all sizes. The ring was nearly two thousand kilometers wide at this point—and yet, it was far from solid. Glimpses of the surface beyond it came and went, depending on its density. Kirk’s eyes widened as he studied the vista.

“Shields at maximum, Captain,” Spock said. “Ready for crossover.”

“It’s a good thing we’ll be crossing over on the dayside of the planet,” Kirk said. “Otherwise, dust vaporizing against our shields would spotlight us from the surface, if we tried this on the nightside.”

“Will the shields hold?” McCoy asked tensely.

“Long enough to get us through,” Kirk said, hoping he wasn’t being overly optimistic. He kept his eyes glued to the last-minute course corrections flashing up at him. “Barring any major collisions, of course,” he added.

“Even though the gap is relatively free of large rocks, it still contains quantities of dust and small particles. The shuttlecraft’s shields were not designed for continuous bombardment, Captain,” Spock warned. “They may burn out.”

Moments later, the ring gap lay directly below them. Kirk’s fingers skipped nimbly across the controls as he delicately jockeyed the shuttlecraft into position. With a short blast of the maneuvering thrusters, the captain began the crossover.

Even here, in this relatively “clear” portion of the ring, they were buffeted by debris. The little craft bucked as the shields absorbed the impacts of direct hits from gravel-sized rocks—one, two, three…a dozen—Kirk lost count. All the while his hands moved, keeping them on course, heading them down and through the sparsest portion of the gap.

He was aware, peripherally, of Spock backing him from the copilot’s seat, making tiny adjustments that helped stabilize theKepler.

“Shields are weakening,” the Vulcan reported matter-of-factly. And then, a second later, he added, with a touch of excitement, “Captain, I am picking up Peter’s readings…. ”

“Where?” Kirk said. “Can you plot a course to bring us down near him?”

“Affirmative,” Spock replied, and, only a few seconds later, the heading the Vulcan had computed appeared on Kirk’s screen. Quickly, the captain laid it in.

“Shields are down by eighty percent,” Spock cautioned.

“We’re almost out of it,” Kirk said tightly, fighting the controls of the bucketingKepler. “Ten more seconds, and we’re home free!”

“Shields are weakening…weakening…” Spock said. Then the Vulcan added, matter-of-factly, “Shields are burned out, Captain.”

“We’re okay,” Kirk said, his throat raw with tension. “We’re out of it. Now all we have to do is—”

There was a sharp crack of sound as something struck theKepler, rocking the shuttle violently; then Kirk heard the high, thin shriek of escaping air pressure. “Bones, check the air pressure! Spock, take over!” he ordered, moving to locate the impact and exit points of the tiny rock that had struck them. Moments later, the captain saw with satisfaction thatKepler ’s automatic sealant system was working as it was designed to, covering the tiny holes. The whine of escaping air lessened, then stopped. Jim returned to his board.

Moments later, he knew they were in trouble. The shuttlecraft’s directional controls now responded sluggishly to his exploratory commands. “Damn it,” Kirk said, feeling theKepler yaw. “Piloting this thing down through atmosphere won’t be easy.”

“You goin’ to be able to land this crate, Jim?” McCoy asked, his voice carefully casual.

“We’re sure going to try,” Kirk said. Grimly, he fought the controls, struggling to keep the shuttlecraft on course. It wouldn’t help them to land safely in one of Qo’noS’s oceans, and he certainly didn’t want to find himself setting down thousands of kilometers from Peter.

It was a bumpy ride, nursing the crippled shuttle down through Qo’noS’s turbulent upper atmosphere, fighting to keep the little craft stable and on course.

Finally, they were approaching their destination. Red sunlight from Qo’noS’s setting sun splashed them as they headed down. Kirk wished for Sulu as he struggled to keep theKepler ’s landing skids parallel to the ground. It had been a long time since he’d landed anything in these conditions. Glancing at his course readouts, he realized that they were about six kilometers from his intended destination, and thought,Close enough. I don’t mind walking….

Glimpsing a gap in the tree cover below, the captain sent the craft down into it, and suddenly they were engulfed by huge trees with strange, feathery leaves and giant red seedpods.

“Come on,” he whispered to the little ship. “You can make it…almost there…” He made a last-minute adjustment, saw the ground rushing up toward them. Too fast!

“Brace for crash landing!” Kirk managed to shout, even asKepler ’s nose plunged downward.

The shuttlecraft hit, bounced wildly, struck again, bounced again, then, finally, stopped. Kirk pushed himself upright in his seat, looking around dazedly as he unsnapped his safety harness. “We made it,” he said, disbelievingly. He turned to regard his companions, who were both sitting up, their expressions somewhat dazed.

“Captain,” Spock said, “we should leave the vicinity quickly. Our erratic approach may have been sighted.”

“We obviously can’t escape in theKepler,” Kirk said, gazing ruefully at the damaged shuttle as they prepared to abandon ship. “Can you tell if there are any spaceports nearby?”

Spock held up his tricorder, nodded. “Fifteen and a half kilometers due west,” he said, “lies the port called TengchaH Jav.” He slung the instrument over his shoulder. Working quickly, the Vulcan opened the weapons locker, extracted three small phasers, checked their settings and power packs, then distributed one to each of them.

“I’m going to set the shuttle to self-destruct,” Kirk said, his fingers moving over the controls.

“Be sure you give us time to get out of range, Jim,” McCoy admonished, scrambling hastily out of the craft.

After setting up the self-destruct sequence, Kirk, with Spock and McCoy behind him, walked away from the doomedKepler. Jim gave the little craft a valedictory pat as he left, wishing there were some way to salvage the ship.

The three set off, walking quickly into the forest, picking their way over rocks and fallen logs, as the night gathered around them.

 

Once you step upon this path,Valdyr warned herself,your life as a Klingon will be over. There would be no place for her anywhere in Klingon society, not on Qo’noS, not on her colonies, not anywhere. She would be outcast, scorned and marked for death. She closed her eyes, struggling not to let the magnitude of her plan stay her hand.This is the path before you, she reminded herself.For you, it is the road of honor, whether any other Klingon anywhere in the universe ever realizes that.

For the final time, she checked her weapons. Under her sleeve, against her forearm sat her small, wicked, three-pronged dagger, where a sudden jerk of her wrist would release it. At her right hip hung the small, silent crossbow that had been her favorite weapon since childhood. While it was best used in close conditions, it did not have the hum and whine of modern weapons, and would not reveal a concealed shooter. Under her breastplate sat two hand disrupters, their battery packs fully charged. She touched the weapons one final time. Then she took the key to Peter’s cell. He was still her prisoner.

Straightening her armor and tunic, she left her room and headed for her uncle’s private quarters. Du’Hurgh, Kamarag’s ancient family estate, was a massive, old fortress, with dozens of rooms and numerous passageways and staircases. Taking an obscure route, she came to her uncle’s quarters stealthily, concerned that Karg might have guards posted, but there were none. And why should there be? After all, who would dare enter Kamarag’s private quarters in the ambassador’s own home? His simpleminded, weak niece? And even if she did, what could she do there?

Moving silently, Valdyr slipped into her uncle’s favorite study. Once inside, she stood perfectly still, waiting, listening, but there was no one, not even a serving woman.

Valdyr was nearly overcome by memories once she stood inside the cavernous chamber. Every kind of ancient armament hung from its walls, as well as paintings and tapestries of the finest warriors of their family’s lines. Her father had brought his children here every summer, and the compound and this place, in particular, called up vivid memories of him. Valdyr stared at the images of long-dead heroes and remembered her father’s thrilling tales of their exploits. How she’d longed to be like them! Her gaze fixed on the portrait of a woman, her many times great-grandmother who had fought at her husband’s side in so many decisive battles hundreds of years ago. That image had always been her favorite. She gazed upon it now, knowing she would never see it once she left here.

Then, so be it.

Moving to the computer that appeared so out of place in this ancient hall, she paused for one last moment before using the private code of her dead father to activate this link with the outside world. Then she sent a carefully composed message to Brigadier Kerla, consort to Chancellor Azetbur. Her father had served under Kerla many years ago, before he was promoted and sent to serve with Kruge. Her father and Kerla had been good friends, trusted allies.

Valdyr knew Azetbur trusted Kerla as well. She would have to take a chance with him. The message, at first, would seem like a normal piece of correspondence. She had to make sure that it would be sent through the relays, that no one would pay it any mind and stop it on its journey. The relays would slow it down, she knew, but she could think of no other way to insure that Brigadier Kerla would receive it. She was, after all, only the daughter of a dead hero, only the niece of an ambassador. Perhaps her father’s name would take her message to Kerla’s hands. If it did not, than Peter, his uncle, and Valdyr herself were all doomed.

 

Peter lay on the stone bench, reading and trying to keep his eyes from staring at the vacant glass portal. The waiting was becoming unbearable. Would Uncle Jim really just give himself up to Kamarag? He couldn’t! He would know kidnappers never live up to their promises, especially a kidnapper as crazed as Kamarag. Peter sighed, trying not to wear himself out worrying over a situation he could do nothing about.

He heard the slightest click, and his gaze snapped to the portal, but no one was there. Another click followed, and Peter was on his feet instantly. It was happening. They were coming to take him…to Valdyr. Uncle Jim had actually done it, given himself up. His mind raced wildly.

His door swung open, and Valdyr entered, pointing a wicked-looking Klingon hand disrupter at him. So, she’d had to come for him herself. Boy, these people did nothing to make things easier, did they?

“Are you ready?” she demanded.

He stood up straight. “Yes. I’m ready.”

With a quick flip of her wrist she tossed the disrupter at him. He snatched it clumsily, then stared at the weapon in his hand. He realized she was holding a small crossbow by her side. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

“Shhhh,” she warned him, then stuck her head out the door, looking both ways. “Be prepared to use that. We have a long, dangerous journey ahead of us. You must stay close to me, Pityr.”

He grinned. “Try and stop me.”

They moved quickly through endless, ancient stone corridors in stealthy silence, and the whole time he hadn’t a clue as to their destination.

After a good fifteen minutes of climbing dark, winding staircases, and tiptoeing down long unused hallways, Valdyr finally halted. Turning to him, she pressed her mouth against his ear and whispered, “Now it becomes difficult.”

Now?he thought, and stared at her.

“To leave the dungeons is easy if you take the back passageways,” she explained quietly. “They are no longer used. But to enter the secret tunnels, you must go through the heart of the compound. We will have to be even more cautious. And we must be ready to fight.”

“I’m ready,” he assured her. “Lead the way.”

She opened the antique door cautiously, indicating that he should wait behind in the stairwell. He watched her through a crack in the wood as she stepped into a spacious, well-lighted hallway. She had just begun to signal him to follow her when two burly Klingons rounded a corner. She froze, as he did.

“Valdyr!” one of them said to her congenially. “Karg has been looking for you. He wishes you to join him at the midday meal. You’d better hurry.”

She stiffened and frowned. “And because Karg wishes it, Malak, I am to obey? I am no trainedtarg, and I take no backhand summons from my uncle’s pet.” Her tone dripped contempt.

Peter rolled his eyes, unable to believe that she was going to get into a row with these two apes now. But the guard merely laughed, apparently enjoying her display of spirit.

“I told him you would not listen to me, Valdyr,” Malak agreed, “but I, too, must do as I am bid by my commander.”

Suddenly the soldier with him sniffed. “Do you smell something?”

Malak tested the air and looked thoughtful.

Damn it!Peter swore silently. He hadn’t had a real bath in over a week, and his sponge baths, no matter how thorough, were a poor substitute.Besides, you’re a human. You smell as different to them as they do to you.

Before Malak could answer, Valdyr sneered, “Who could smell anything while Karg walks these halls?”

Malak laughed again. “Oh, Valdyr, you were always a terror. I miss serving with your brother. If Karg were wise, he’d seek another wife. Make things easy for yourself and hurry along. You might still get a choice cut of meat. Come, Darj, we have work to do.”

The laughing soldiers moved on, but Peter could see Darj looking about the hall, as if trying to find the source of the odor he’d detected. Valdyr watched them for a few minutes, then yanked open the door.

“Hurry, there is no time! Karg will come looking for me if I do not answer his summons shortly.” Clutching his sleeve, she towed him through the hallway. Finally, she stood before a huge piece of furniture. She peered around behind it, then glanced at Peter, as if assessing his size. “The passageway is behind this closet. I think you are thin enough…. ”

“Iknew I smelled something foul!” an angry voice said behind them.

They spun, and Peter found himself facing Darj. He was alone, holding a weapon on both of them. He glanced at Valdyr, who was still half behind the closet, half exposed. There was no way they could pretend she was just “moving the prisoner.” Their attempt to escape was plain.

“Malak thinks little of his commander,” Darj said, moving carefully around them. “Fortunately for Karg, I am loyal! Malak will be demoted, but if he’s fortunate, he’ll be allowed to live. You two, however, will not have that privilege. Valdyr, move away from that closet, now.”

“Certainly, Darj,” she said demurely, surrendering. She stepped away from the massive wooden piece, revealing the crossbow held firmly in her right hand. She fired at the same instant, and the quarrel buried itself deep in the soldier’s throat.

Darj collapsed heavily, gurgling, then lay still. Before Peter could react, Valdyr snatched up the soldier’s weapon and pocketed it, then rifled through his uniform. She shoved several small items into the pouch she wore on her belt; then she began tugging the heavy body toward the closet. “Help me!” she gasped, and Peter, who’d been standing there, stunned—he’d never seen anyone killed before—jumped to obey.

“Into the closet,” she ordered, and the two of them wrestled the heavy body inside the massive wooden structure. “This way!” she snapped, and he followed her as she squeezed behind the heavy furniture.

In back of the old wooden object was a small door that opened inward. Valdyr pulled out an ornate iron key, and unlocked the secret door. It slid open easily. And then they were inside, the door shut securely behind them. Peter stood stock-still, in total darkness. If she abandoned him here…

A light flared and he winced at the sudden brightness. Valdyr was in front of him, holding a tiny but powerful lantern. “We will be safe for a while now. The only one who knows these passages is my uncle, and he is not here. Karg knows nothing of them…the fool can search the entire compound and never find us. And even if they find Darj’s body and discover this passageway, by that time we will be deeply into the hidden chambers.”

She started moving along the narrow tunnel, and Peter followed her. “But how long can we stay here?” he wondered.

“We only need to stay until dark,” she explained. “Then, we can follow the tunnels, and leave the compound.”

“You mean these passageways will actually take usoutside this fortress?”

“That’s correct. They were built hundreds of years ago, and have been used by entire armies during local conflicts and feuds. There are dozens of warrens and chambers, enough to hide an entire squadron of soldiers. We will be safe…until we leave. Once outside the compound we must try to reach the spaceport—but by then Darj will surely be missed, and your escape discovered. They will be searching for us.”

They moved swiftly through the tunnels, saying little, as Valdyr guided them to safety. Finally, she ushered him into a small, cozy chamber, then set about lighting battery-powered lamps that hung on the wall. “This place had always been special to my oldest brother and myself. We used to play war in these tunnels, and hide from our nurses down here.” She moved over to a narrow bed, her only furniture in the room, and sat down. “We spent hours down here, making up stories, planning our futures…. ”

Peter remembered her speaking of her brother’s death. “You must miss him.”

She nodded. “He was a lot like my father. He treated me more like a little brother than a sister.” She looked about the dimly lit chamber. “It is almost as if I can feel his spirit here…. ”

Peter watched as her eyes moved around the room. She had just killed one of her countrymen. She was giving up everything in her life to do this for him. He didn’t know what to say to her. “I…wish I could’ve known your brother. I would like to think…we could’ve found a common ground…. ”

She turned to him. “My brother and father would approve of what I’m doing. They would know I’m fighting for Qo’noS, for the future of all Klingon people.”

Peter nodded. “I’m sure they would. You’ve chosen a very difficult path, Valdyr—much more difficult than armed combat. You bring honor to their memory.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Finally, she said, “I have sent a message to Azetbur. Once she receives it…”

“When did you send it?” he asked, interested. “What did it say?”

She explained about sending the message to her father’s old friend, Brigadier Kerla, and how she had addressed and phrased it cautiously, so it would go through the channels without being intercepted. “However, I know that will slow it down. I cannot say how long it will take before Azetbur will even see it.”

Peter thought she was being optimistic. Realistically, it could be hours before the thing even got into the hands of this Kerla, assuming some well-meaning staff member didn’t misinterpret it and delay it even further. “When the chancellor finds out what you’ve done, she will surely reward you.”

Valdyr looked away, her expression grim. “I have betrayed my family. She may personally be grateful, but…family honor is very important to our people. There will be no rewards for what I’ve done. I expect to be outcast…you would say, homeless, shunned…when this is over. But I will have my own personal honor. No one can take that from me. Not Karg. Not Kamarag. No one.”

He admired her obstinate courage. “Valdyr…I want to thank you for helping me. And as long as I live, you will always have a place inmy family…for whatever that’s worth.”

She looked at him, her expression shocked. “You would accept me in your family? And how would your people feel about that, a Klingon woman coming to them? What of your uncle—he hates us. How will he feel about this?”

“My uncle is fair,” Peter insisted. “The tragedy of Gorkon’s death changed the way he regards your people. He is as close to me as you were to your father. I assure you, my uncle would welcome any warrior as brave as you into our family.”

“Then I hope we all live long enough to meet, Pityr. I have heard much of this James Kirk. It would be interesting to face him and see if the man and legend are the same.”

Peter started to smile when a mark on her neck caught his eye. He squinted. It was a terrible-looking bruise. He touched it gently. “What happened, Valdyr? How did you get this?”

She flinched and moved away, so he pulled his hand back, fearing he’d been too familiar. She looked away, and he thought he could see her color darkening in the chamber’s muted light. “It is just…” she began hesitantly. “It is nothing…. ”

Then he realized. “Karg did this to you.” His voice was low as he tried to suppress the outrage he felt. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? This is from Karg.”

She turned, met his gaze defiantly. “It is Karg’s mark. He marked me so everyone would know to whom I belonged. I fought him, but he’s…too strong for me…. ”

Peter’s fury flared. “I’d love to have about ten minutes alone with that guy in a locked room,” he grumbled.

She watched him curiously. “This bothers you, Pityr, this mark from Karg?”

“Of course it bothers me!” he blurted. “He touched you against your will. No one should be allowed to do that.”

She actually laughed then, and the lightness of that sound startled him. “Oh, Pityr, you humans are unusually funny! If I were strong enough, I could keep Karg in his place—it might be a good marriage then—but because I am small, he has all the advantage.”

“It shouldn’t have anything to do with strength, Valdyr,” he argued. “You should only be touched when you choose to be, and by whom you choose to be.”

“I see. And because Karg forced his touch on me, you are angry with me about this?” she asked.

“Of course I’m not angry withyou! I’m furious atKarg.”

“Furious enough…to fight for me?” She asked the question so quietly, Peter instantly understood that the question meant more to her than its simplicity indicated.

He stared into her deep, dark eyes, realizing that this was the first interaction they’d been able to enjoy without having the viewing port between them since she’d first dumped him into his cell. They were together, here in this small room, with no one around, just the two of them. He swallowed, wanting to make sure he said just the right thing. “My people believe that fighting is the last resort, that there are always alternatives to violent confrontation…but…I must confess…that guy…Yes, Valdyr. If I had the chance, I would fight Karg for you.”

Her eyes widened as if she could not believe he’d actually said that. She looked as if she might say something, then hesitated, and finally murmured, “Pityr. What are…apricots?”

He blinked, momentarily confused. Then he remembered telling her that was how she smelled to him. He smiled. “They’re a delicious fruit from Earth. They’re only available a short time each year, so they’re highly prized. They have a wonderful perfume, and a bowl of them in the warm summer air will scent a whole room. My grandmother grew them and we couldn’t wait every year until they were ready to be eaten.”

“And…I have this same scent?”

“Yes…. ” He leaned closer and deliberately inhaled her odor. Moving slowly, for fear of shattering the mood between them, he touched her face, turning it to him, as he allowed his lips to graze her cheek lightly.

“What…are you doing?” she whispered, holding perfectly still.

“Kissing you,” he explained, pressing his mouth to the edge of her jaw, then the corner of her mouth. “Do Klingons kiss?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

He met her gaze unflinchingly. “What do you want? Do you want me to touch you?”

“I want only one male on Qo’noS to touch me,” she admitted. He started to pull back slightly, afraid he’d misinterpreted her interest. “I want Pityr Kirk…ahuman! …and a warrior…to touch me!” She said it as if it amazed her.

Then, as if her confession suddenly granted Peter total freedom, he took the woman in his arms, armor and all, and pressed his mouth against hers.

The kiss began tenderly, but almost immediately it ignited all the stored-up emotion of his long days of captivity. Peter pulled Valdyr fiercely against him, and was aware of her arms coming up to encircle him with a strength he found exhilarating.“Hlja’!” she whispered, between kisses. “MevQo’,Pityr…”

There was no way in hell hecould stop.

Finally, when they pulled away, she laughed and bit his chin hard. He yelped and bit her back. And in the next instant they fell upon the bunk, wrestling, yanking at each other’s clothing, rolling over and over in strenuous love-play that sent them crashing to the floor, laughing, biting, tussling. Finally, he landed on his back, Valdyr straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the ground.

“I like this way of kissing. You will teach me this human kissing, Pityr Kirk!” she demanded before dissolving in laughter again.

He heaved her up and tossed her off him, rolling over to pin her down this time. “I will teach you this human kissing, Valdyr-oy. And you will teach me…?” He had no idea what to ask for.

She touched his cheek, her eyes glimmering. “Everything, Pityr-oy. I will teach you everything.”

He leaned down and began their lessons….

 

“Ambassador Sarek?” Commander Uhura’s voice was as cool and professional as usual, but there was an underlying note of tension in it that made the Vulcan raise an eyebrow as he activated the intercom in his cabin.

“Sarek here, Commander,” he replied.

“I have a message coming in for you, Ambassador,” she said. “The codes accompanying it identify it as being from Freelan…. ” The way she trailed off alerted the ambassador.

“Is it originating there?”

“All the codes are correct, and the directional frequency is right…but I don’t believe it’s actually coming from there. My guess is that the transmission is being relayed via Freelan from some other location.”

Sarek nodded. “That does not surprise me, Commander Uhura. Please patch the message through to me here…and, if you can do so without arousing suspicion, trace the actual origination coordinates of the message.”

“Understood, Ambassador,” she replied. Almost immediately the comm screen in Sarek’s cabin flickered, and, a moment later, he found himself facing a Freelan. Despite the fact that Freelans appeared virtually identical in their shrouding robes, the Vulcan was certain that his caller was Taryn. “Greetings,” Sarek said, cautiously. “This is Ambassador Sarek. Whom do I have the honor of addressing, please?”

“This is Liaison Taryn,” the image’s mechanical tones responded, without preamble. “Ambassador…I must ask you to meet with me on a matter of some urgency.”

“Where would you like to meet?” Sarek said. “As you have already discovered, I am not on Vulcan.”

Taryn’s shrouded figure moved slightly, and the Vulcan thought he detected tension in the dark form. “Why…I had hoped you could come here, as is our custom,” the Freelan liaison said.

“When would you prefer to meet?”

“As soon as possible.”

Sarek shook his head. “I fear that will be difficult, Liaison. The ship that is my transport has been diverted to patrol the Neutral Zone. I will be unable to meet with you until theEnterprise has completed its current mission. Why do you need to meet with me, Liaison?”

Taryn did not reply for a long moment. “That trade agreement we negotiated last month concerningkivas shipments,” he said, finally. “My government has overridden some of the provisions I agreed to. I have no choice but to ask you to reconvene the negotiations.”

Sarek raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. “Overridden?” he asked. “Liaison, when we met, I trusted that I was dealing with someone with sufficient authority to negotiate in good faith. I am…disappointed…to discover that you no longer have the backing of your government.”

When the liaison replied, the Vulcan could hear the anger lacing his voice, even through the mechanical tones. “I assure you, Ambassador, that this is simply a temporary setback. I have not lost the backing of my government. I do have the power to negotiate in good faith for my world.”

For the first time, Sarek permitted a touch of sarcasm to tinge his own voice. “Your world? Which world is that?”

“What do you mean?” Taryn demanded angrily.

“My apologies,” Sarek said, smoothly. “My mind must be…confused. Age catches up with all of us, as the human aphorism would have it. For just a moment I thought I was speaking with someone else…a diplomat from another world altogether, by the name of…Nanclus. You never met him, of course. He was executed for treason last month.”

“When can you meet with me?” Taryn asked, and the mechanical tones could not disguise the cold fury in his voice.

“I do not know,” Sarek said, honestly. “I will have to consult with the ship’s officers to discover that. I will speak with you again by the end of today, Liaison.”

“I may be away…at a government conference,” Taryn said. “My aide will take your message, Ambassador.”

“Very well.” Sarek inclined his head and raised his hand in the Vulcan salute. “I wish you peace…and long life, Taryn.”

Without replying, the Freelan broke the connection.

Sarek sat staring at the screen for a moment, until Uhura’s face flickered into view. “Ambassador Sarek…I was correct, sir. That call was patched through Freelan channels, but its actual point of origin was in a sector of the Romulan Neutral Zone. The exact coordinates are a few hours’ journey from our present location.”

Sarek inclined his head graciously. “I thank you for your diligence, Commander,” he said. “I find that information unsurprising…but…” His mouth curved slightly as he thought about his son’s reaction. “…fascinating.”

 

In his office aboardShardarr, Commander Taryn pulled off his muffling Freelan cowl and inhaled a deep breath of “fresh” air before turning to face Savel, who was sitting across the desk from him. “He knows.” The commander’s deep voice was grim. “He knows everything. Now he mocks me with his knowledge. There is no question anymore. Ambassador Sarek must die…and as quickly as possible.”

Quickly, the commander contacted Poldar over the intercom and ordered him to plot a course that would take them within subspace jamming range of theEnterprise.

“Our foremost ships are still half a day’s journey away from our present location, Commander,” the centurion reported, when asked.

“What will you do now?” Savel inquired softly.

The commander gave her an enigmatic glance. “Delay, Savel. MakeEnterprise notice me, then hunt me, then chase me…until it is my pleasure to turn the tables, and hunther.”

Savel gazed at him, her eyes wide and haunted, full of silent apprehension and sadness.Where is Soran? If he dies…I will be the cause of it…of all of this…

 

“Pityr,” Valdyr whispered against the cadet’s ear, “we have to leave now.”

Peter Kirk groaned, not certain whether he’d actually slept, or simply lain, half-drugged with exhaustion and satisfaction. The room appeared the same as it had when they’d entered it, the lantern still illuminating the dimness, and he had no sense of time.

“Pityr,” she whispered, “it is time. We must go.”

“Not yet,” he argued. “Just a few more minutes…”

She sighed, then relaxed against him. “One more minute,” she said. “Perhaps two. But no more,’Iwoy…”

The human stroked her back, feeling the contours of flesh over bone that weren’t quite human. He realized that he ached.I must be covered with bruises, he thought, remembering what had passed between them and marveling at it.Not to mention toothmarks… A faint taste lingered in his mouth, sweet and somewhat smoky. Peter ran his tongue over his raw, bruised lips. The faint saltiness of his own blood now mingled with the alien taste of hers.

He tightened his arms around her, then kissed her again. He didn’t want to leave now. He didn’t even want to move, though the floor they were lying on was so cold and hard that he was shivering.

Finally he raised his head, resisting the urge to kiss her again, to savor the taste and texture andfeel of her strange mouth again…and again. “What time is it?”

“It is the middle of our night,” she explained, as she picked up her small lantern.

“The few soldiers my uncle left here with Karg should be weary from searching for us since the midday meal. Karg would’ve come looking for me shortly after I failed to heed his summons. I don’t know how long it would be before they missed Darj. Eventually, someone would’ve thought to check your cell.” He was surprised to see her grin.

She stood, and began pulling her clothing into place, then redonned her armor. “They will search the road to TengchaH Jav—the closest spaceport. Even if Karg were bright enough to figure out that we hid on the premises—which he’s not—he will have to search very discreetly. Kamarag gave orders that nothing should arouse suspicion from any official agency of the Klingon government.”

“So, what’s our plan?” he asked, as he slipped on his boots.

“We will take the tunnels to the farthest exit, and come out in the woods near the south road. We can stay in the forest and follow the road to the spaceport. It will be perhaps nine of your kilometers to the port.”

“Can’t they scan for me while we’re under here?” he asked. “After all, Iam the only human in the nearby vicinity.”

She patted a wall. “There is so much selonite in these walls that scanning rays cannot penetrate. That is why they cannot follow us here—to the scanners, this does not exist.”

“And once we’re out of the tunnels?”

“I have a small tracer for you. It will give off a false registration—make the scanners think you are another Klingon. Soldiers carry them so they can be found where they fall in battle, so they might receive their warrior’s ritual. It will mask your readings.”

“Suppose we’re seen?” Peter asked. He tapped his forehead. “Don’t you think someone might notice?”

“I have a hooded cloak for you,” she said. “I cached one here yesterday.” She opened a recessed drawer under the stone sleeping shelf and pulled it out.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Peter said, “I think. What happens when we get to the spaceport?”

“We will have to get past the security gates, and keep a close eye out for Karg’s troops. Then, I will help you find a ship.” She hesitated, glancing at him sideways. “You will escape Qo’noS…. ”

“You meanwe will. Right?” he demanded, taking her by the shoulders. “You’re coming with me, back to Earth. Aren’t you?”

Valdyr gazed up at him, smiling sadly. “That is what I thought too, at first. But…I’ve reconsidered. Pityr…be realistic. A Klingon, on Earth? How could I live? I would be an exile, an outcast, living among a species that hates my people—even as my people hate yours…. ”

“We don’t have to stay on Earth,” Peter insisted. “There are colonies where evenwe wouldn’t be noticed.”

“And your career in Starfleet?”

“Listen, all that time alone in that cell made me think, too, and one of the things I’ve realized is that I’mnot James T. Kirk—and I never will be. I want to bemyself. I’m not cut out to be a legend, Valdyr. I’m just not cut out for command.” He regarded her worriedly. “Valdyr-oy…think what will happen if you stay behind! Your uncle…when he catches up with you…”

Her exotic alien beauty almost glowed as she responded assuredly, “Do not worry, Pityr-oy. He will not catch me. I will die by theHeghba’, with my honor intact.”

It took the human a second to realize that she meant ritual suicide, and when he did, his hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. “No!” he cried. “Don’t even think it!”

“I have betrayed my family by helping you,” she pointed out reasonably. “There is no other path left to regain my honor.”

“Don’ttalk like that,” he said fiercely, his heart pounding with fear for her. “You’renot doing that! I won’t let you! You’ll have to fight me, Valdyr…!” He stopped, realizing how frantic he sounded.

Her face was very close to his in the confines of the dusty, stone-walled chamber. Peter felt her breath touch his face as she said, softly, “The last time I fought you, I won. But you were exhausted, at the end of your stamina. I do not think it will be so easy for me the next time.”

He pressed his cheek against hers and held her to him. If that was the best she could do for capitulation, he’d take it. But at least she knew if she attempted to stay behind at the spaceport, he wouldn’t give in without a struggle.

“Now, wemust go,” she whispered and, taking his hand, led him out of the room.

She led Peter along dark, dusty corridors that twisted and turned without rhyme or reason. They traveled a surprisingly long time, saying nothing, with no light but Valdyr’s small hand-held lantern.

Finally, the corridor they were in ended in a tunnel that ran straightup, with an ancient-looking, battered wooden ladder traveling up into the darkness. Without a word, Valdyr began climbing, and Peter followed without hesitation. Finally, she halted, and Peter could see an opening in the stone before her.

“Good,” Valdyr whispered. “They have not discovered this exit. Quickly, now!” She was out of the opening in seconds, and Peter clambered out after her. And then for the first time he stood on Qo’noS’s soil, conscious and aware. Despite Valdyr’s urgency, he paused to glance around.

In the darkness, the forest looked like any forest at night—heavy tree trunks crowding in on one another, with tangled, shapeless underbrush at their roots. In the daylight, the colors and textures that would make this forest unique—alien—would be revealed, but for now, all that was lost.

Then Peter glanced skyward—and stood transfixed. Overhead, washed in gold by the reflected light of the sun on the planet’s other side, Qo’noS’s ring arched like a bridge—a broken bridge. The shadow of Qo’noS bisected the middle of the ring, leaving it in darkness.

Valdyr threw the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the tracers. “Pull your hood up,” she commanded him. “We must hurry.”

 

James T. Kirk picked his way cautiously down a narrow animal trail, squinting in the darkness. From the look of Qo’noS’s ring, it was nearly midnight. His night vision was excellent, almost as good as Spock’s. (Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his regular eyesight—and he’d now gone through so many pairs of spectacles for reading that Bones McCoy claimed to have exhausted the supply in all the antique shops in San Francisco.)

The rescue party had had to detour around several large, private estates, which had nearly doubled their hike through the dark forest. Now, finally, the trees were thinning ahead of them. “How far are we from Kamarag’s compound?” Jim whispered ahead to Spock. “My sense of direction has been off ever since we made that last detour.”

“We are almost—” The Vulcan broke off, and halted. “Correction. We are here.”

Kirk pushed his way through the last screen of undergrowth, McCoy following him. Together, the little party looked down from a high ridge, seeing the huge, fortresslike house down in the hollow, surrounded by both high stone walls and modern security fields.

“There seems to be a lot of activity going on,” Kirk said, noting the brilliant security lights and the presence of many armed figures racing to and fro.

Spock regarded his tricorder intently. “Peter is no longer within the compound,” Spock said.

“Not there? Then where is he? Did they take him off-world?” Kirk demanded, startled. Had Kamarag decided not to meet at the rendezvous? Had the Klingon ambassador somehow discovered that Kirk had no intention of obeying his instructions, and had returned to execute his nephew in revenge?

“Peter has vanished,” Spock said. “He is not in the compound at the present moment. However,” the Vulcan added, fiddling with his tricorder, taking readings, “that does not necessarily mean that he is now off-world. The rock formations in this area contain traces of selonite…the same material that forms the basis for the cloaking device. It makes readings impossible. If some of that selonite-impregnated rock is between us and Peter, that would make it impossible to scan him.”

Kirk groaned aloud. “Just what we need!”

“I believe I should continue scanning,” Spock said. “I may be able to pick him up again…if he is in the area.”

Leonard McCoy plopped himself down on the ground with a groan. “Haven’t hiked this much since Yellowstone,” he grumbled, digging into his belt pouch and taking out a small flask and container of ration pellets.

The three officers silently shared the skimpy provisions as Spock continued to study the screen of his tricorder. “Fascinating,” the Vulcan murmured, after a few minutes. “I am picking up something…confusing. For a moment I thought I had detected Peter, but now the human readings are blending and merging…becoming intermixed with Klingon readings.”

“Where? What location?” Kirk demanded, jumping up.

“Due north,” Spock said, pointing. “On the other side of the compound.”

“Is it possible that it might be Peter, somehow masking his readings?” McCoy asked, peering at the tricorder’s tiny screen.

“I believe it may be,” Spock muttered.

“Well, it’s the best lead we’ve got,” Kirk said.

“Captain…these readings are moving toward the spaceport,” Spock said. “Slowly…at a walking pace.” Spock glanced up at his friend. “I believe, Jim, that your nephew has not waited for rescue. He has, instead, effected his own escape.”

Kirk felt a slow grin spread across his features. “Well, that was damned inconsiderate of him, wasn’t it?”

“Now what?” McCoy wondered aloud.

“Guess our next stop will be the spaceport, too,” Kirk said, glancing at his wrist chrono. “See that ground vehicle that just pulled up there, outside the security gate?” He pointed down into the hollow.

“Yes, Captain,” Spock replied.

“Think you could hot-wire that thing?”

“I believe I can, Captain,” Spock said.

“Good. Let’s make our way down there…slowly. Keep low. Take no chances. We’ve got plenty of time; we’re going to hijack that car in just about…forty-five minutes.”

The three officers cautiously made their way down the little ridge, crawling commando-style where they was no ground cover. Finally, they huddled crouched in a thicket about thirty meters from the guard station. The driver and the guard were standing outside, talking desultorily. The fugitive trio waited in silence, until, finally, Kirk glanced at his chrono again. “Ready, Spock?”

“Ready, Captain.”

Kirk counted seconds in his head, and then, right on schedule, came the moment he’d been waiting for. A dull boom erupted from the forest they’d left behind, and a gout of distant yellow and red flame brightened the night. Half a second later, the ground beneath their feet shuddered.

“That’s it!” Kirk said, grabbing McCoy and propelling him out of their hiding place. “Go!”

Spock was already racing forward. The guard was still outside his security station, his gaze fixed on the fire in the foothills. He never saw the Vulcan’s dark figure, never realized that anyone was there—until a hand clamped onto the juncture of neck and shoulder, and he sagged, limp.

The driver turned toward his fallen comrade, then launched himself at Spock’s dimly seen shape with a loud war cry. Kirk darted up behind him, chopped him hard on the neck, then kicked his feet out from under him. When the Klingon, dazed but still game, tried to get up, the captain stunned him with his phaser.

The captain caught his breath, then turned toward the car. “Want me to drive?” he asked, heading for the open door.

“With all due respect…no,”Spock said, firmly, heading him off. “I have analyzed the controls with my tricorder, andI would prefer to drive. Your efforts at chauffeuring during our sojourn on Iotia are still vivid in my memory.”

Kirk chuckled as the three would-be rescuers piled into the ground vehicle. It was a matter of moments to activate the engine and turn the car. Kirk crouched beside Spock and felt adrenaline course through his body. He glanced back at McCoy, who was gripping the edge of the backseat with both hands, holding on as Spock sent their stolen transportation barreling down the road.

“Jim, how the hell did you know that would happen?” the doctor demanded, pointing in the direction of the explosion.

“That was theKepler,” Kirk said. “You told me to give us plenty of time to get away…and it came in handy as a diversion.”

With a sharp cry, the doctor grabbed the seat again and held on for dear life as the car slewed around a sharp curve. “Dammit, Spock, watch it! You’re a Starfleet officer, not a chauffeur!”

“Spock, how long till we reach the spaceport?”

“ETA is…fifteen point seven minutes, Captain,” Spock said, intent on driving. He sent the vehicle skidding into another tight turn, frowning slightly in the lights of the controls. “This road, unfortunately, winds about rather than going directly through the woods. I apologize for the…instability…of the ride.”

Kirk grinned, feeling the car surge forward. “Just as long as it gets us there before Peter gets off-world, Spock. That way we’ll only have to stealone ship.”

“I shall endeavor to avoid that eventuality,” Spock promised gravely, and increased speed until the groundcar seemed ready to take flight.

 

Peter and Valdyr had alternately walked and jogged for over an hour before they reached the edge of the forest, which ran almost up against the spaceport. The two paused for a moment, staring down at TengchaH Jav’s perimeter security gate—the first of several hurdles they had to surmount in their quest to get off Qo’noS.

Valdyr glanced over her shoulder, then fished in her pocket, as they approached the gate. “This gate is programmed to admit any valid identification,” she told him.

He gazed at the security device that would scan the number of people approaching and only admit those with the proper ID. “That’s great,” Peter remarked, watching her take out a small ID disk. “I don’t have one.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “I took Darj’s.” Handing him a disk, she fed hers into the scanner. “Before I killed him, I’d wondered how I would get you past this point.”

Peter followed suit, and the gate swung open. Quickly, the two headed for the nonmilitary side of the port. If they were in luck, they would find a small, private vessel that was unsupervised while its crew was on shore leave. “Maybe we can find a trader or a smuggler’s ship,” Peter told Valdyr, “with a Federation registry. Federation vessels have standarized controls. I know I can pilot one of those. What other checkpoints do we have to cross?” he asked in a low voice, as they hurried along, watching keenly for any sign of Karg or his troops.

“There is an inside gate that leads to the civilian landing fields, but it is not always guarded,” she whispered. “If there is a guard…” She patted her crossbow.

Peter swallowed hard. “Valdyr, there’s got to be another way. If there’s a guard…distract him somehow—act helpless, or something.”

She spun, glaring at him.

“Just for asecond!” he argued. “While he’s helping you, I’ll come up behind him and knock him cold.”

“Are you sure you can?” she asked pointedly. “You’ll only get one chance. Perhapsyou should act helpless!”

“Let’s not argue technique, okay?”

She nodded, if reluctantly. “Once we’re inside that gate, we’ll have to choose a ship. Of course, they are all locked…. ”

“I should be able to break the codes,” Peter assured her. “I learned the basics for breaking computer codes back when I was in my teens, and most freighters—especially the older models—don’t have the most up-to-date security systems.”

“That would be—” Valdyr began; then she glanced back over her shoulder again, only to halt in her tracks. “Lights! A ground vehicle!” she whispered, shoving the human toward a stack of vacuum-proof packing crates. “Hide!”

Peter leaped for cover and Valdyr joined him. They crouched, rigidly still, scarcely daring to breathe. After a moment, he peered around the nearest container, making sure he was in shadow. He watched the vehicle as it skidded to a stop. “Someone’s in a big hurry,” he whispered, with a sinking feeling in his midsection.

“It is one of Kamarag’s vehicles,” Valdyr said, with despair in her voice. “They have tracked us, somehow.”

Without discussing it, the two fugitives both took out their disrupters and prepared for battle. They watched anxiously as the vehicle’s doors opened, and three black-clad shapes emerged. Two were tall and lean, the other shorter and stocky. They moved furtively, and one kept glancing at some device in his hand—probably a scanner or tricorder. Peter groaned inwardly. Valdyr took his hand, gripping it so hard she made the bones grind.

Then his eyes narrowed as he stared at the three shapes. The stockier man was obviously in charge…both of the others turned to report to him as they searched. There was something about the way that one moved. Something familiar…. They wore no traditional Klingon garb that he had ever seen. And none of these figures looked big enough to be any of Karg’s men. The shapes of their heads in the shadows seemed…

“We must kill them with the first shot,” Valdyr murmured softly in his ear, “or we will never escape.”

He nodded distractedly, even as the three searching figures drew closer to their hiding place. “Wait,” he whispered, “let them get closer first. We can’t afford to miss.”

She aimed her weapon, even as he did. But then he lowered the disrupter. He was too busy staring at the tallest of the three figures. There were too many things all wrong about this. The tall searcher suddenly moved through a beam of light, and his face was illuminated. Peter saw a flash of a familiar arching eyebrow, and the unmistakable curve of a pointed ear.

Valdyr took deadly aim at the stocky male who was now almost on top of them. Peter lurched, grabbed her firing hand, and called, “Valdyr, no!”

She turned to him, her face twisted in confusion. The three stealthy figures turned in unison toward the sound. Peter surged to his feet, distantly hearing the Klingon woman’s shocked growl. She clutched at him, attempting to pull him down, but he yanked free and bolted away, trying to get clear of the crates. “Uncle Jim!” he called softly. “It’s me! Peter!”

“Peter?” Kirk halted on the pavement, staring wildly around until he spotted his nephew. “Peter!”

The young Kirk launched himself at his relative, and Jim seized his nephew in a bear hug, nearly lifting the taller man off the ground. They pounded each other’s backs until they wheezed, grinning wildly.

“Gentlemen, I hate to intrude.” Spock’s cool tones cut across their emotional give-and-take. “However, if we are to effect our escape, we must not lose any time.”

“I’m with Spock on that, Jim,” Leonard McCoy agreed, glancing furtively around. “We can’t afford to get caught now.”

“Right,” Kirk said, stepping back and regarding Peter fondly. Then the cadet watched his uncle’s expression change to surprise, then alarm.

Peter turned to see Valdyr cautiously emerging from behind the stacks of crates. She was still clutching the disrupter. All three men wheeled in her direction, even as Jim Kirk’s hand dropped to his phaser.

“No, Jim! Wait! She’s with me! That is…” He paused, collected his wits as all three men glanced between him and the Klingon woman. He walked over to the crates and took Valdyr by the arm. He murmured to her, “Time to holster the weapon.” Then, leading her somewhat reluctantly to the small group, he introduced her. “Captain James T. Kirk, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Captain Spock…this is Valdyr. I wouldn’t be here without her. She helped me escape. She’s…on our side.” Peter trailed off, his face growing hot. The captain stared at his nephew, as if wanting to be sure he meant what he said.

“So,” Valdyr said, eyeing the senior Kirk up and down, “this is the famous legend?”

The captain looked slightly abashed. “Well…Iam out of uniform…. ”

“I presume she provided you with the Klingon robe,” Spock asked, reaching over to pull an object from it, “and the tracer?”

Peter nodded.

The Vulcan examined the device. “Yes. Here is the cause of those confusing tricorder readings. It very nearly kept us from locating you.”

“It kept Kamarag’s men from finding us, as well,” Peter explained while Valdyr glowered.

“I can well imagine,” Spock agreed dryly. “It is fortunate that Federation technology is more advanced than…”

McCoy elbowed Spock, and the Vulcan abruptly fell silent. The doctor stepped smoothly into the breach, all his Southern courtliness in evidence. “Well, if you’ve been helpin’ Peter out, miss, we’re all mighty grateful. Aren’t we, Jim?”

Kirk paused for a second, then finally said quietly, “Of course we are. Thank you for helping Peter. For…” He glanced quizzically at his nephew. “…everything…. ”

“Not to belabor Spock’s point,” McCoy added, “but it’s time we got ourselves out of here.”

Peter gave him a sharp glance. “Valdyr’s coming with us. Where’s your ship?”

Before Jim could say anything, Spock cleared his throat. “We…are currently without one.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “So westill have to steal a ship? That’s where we were at before you showed up!”

“Miss…Valdyr,” McCoy said, still exuding polite charm, “do you know the layout of this spaceport?”

“The commercial freighters and off-world vessels are on that side,” she said, pointing southwest, “and the military vessels are in a shielded underground hangar—to protect them from meteor showers—over there.” She pointed in the opposite direction.

“I was hoping to find a freighter,” Peter said.

“Forget that,” Kirk told him. “We’re going to need something with a cloaking device if we hope to get out of here in one piece. A bird-of-prey should do the job nicely.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open.Is he crazy? But Valdyr nodded in agreement. “My uncle’s men will not expect us to go for a ship that would be impossible for two people to pilot.”

“Youruncle…?” Jim Kirk said.

Peter sighed and nodded. “Her uncle is Kamarag.”

None of the three Federation officers said anything for another long moment while Valdyr drew herself up stiffly. Peter wondered if any human male in history ever had such an uncomfortable family introduction.

The entire group climbed back into the crowded vehicle and turned toward the manned gate half a kilometer away that was the entrance to the military side of the spaceport. They drove toward a cluster of outbuildings until Valdyr directed them into a convenient alley. They were able to position the vehicle so that the gate was within sight, while keeping the groundcar in darkness. The group huddled inside began to confer.

“There are two guards,” Valdyr told them.

“We can handle that,” Kirk said, touching his pocket. “We’re armed. Phasers on stun.” Spock, McCoy, and Kirk drew their weapons. “Spock and I will move along the fence line…. ”

“Jim,” McCoy interrupted, “you’ll be out in the open. Don’t you think they’ll see you?”

Kirk gazed out of the vehicle, mulling over options.

“The chances of our approaching the guards without being seen,” Spock informed him, “are approximately…”

“Spare me,” McCoy groaned.

The Vulcan raised a surprised eyebrow.

“There is a simpler way,” Valdyr said suddenly, with a sigh. “If your weapon can stun, then give one to me. I can approach the guards as if I were—how do you say it?—ahelpless woman.” She glowered at Peter, who only smiled back at her. “They will not be expecting trouble from one as small as myself. When I am close to them they will be easy to stun, and there will be no chance of them sounding an alarm.”

Kirk nodded and Spock handed his weapon over to the Klingon female. When she was out of the vehicle, Kirk regarded his nephew. “Youdo trust her, Peter?”

Peter nodded. “Valdyr has not only given up everything—including herheritage —to save my life, but, I…I’m in love with her!” He took a deep breath.

The sudden silence in the car was shocking. McCoy’s eyebrows had climbed to his hairline, while Spock began an intense examination of the vehicle’s interior. Kirk gaped at his nephew. Peter swallowed. He had wanted to find the perfect moment to discuss this with Jim; he hadn’t meant to just blurt it out in front ofeveryone.

“Does she know that?” the captain finally asked quietly.

Peter shook his head. “She knows…I care for her. I know she cares for me. We really haven’t had the time or opportunity to have the kind of meaningful discussions people like to have in a developing relationship.”

There was another uncomfortable pause, and then Spock interrupted: “She is at the gate.”

The four men watched the Klingon woman as she sauntered up to the two guards, twitching portions of her compact form provocatively. One of them started grinning as soon as he saw her. Peter found himself wondering how one actedsexy while wearing armor…but, in a flash of insight, he realized that the armor itself was exciting for Klingon males! Whatever Valdyr was saying to the two guards made both of them focus on her, and lose all interest in their post. This small spaceport must not see many problems, he imagined. No doubt these two men spent most of their time bored and restless.

Suddenly, Valdyr arched her back, stared up at the closest guard, and bared her teeth. He grabbed her by the hair and tried to yank her over to him, even as the other one grabbed her, pressed himself against her, and bent his head to her neck. Peter’s temper flared and his hand had grabbed the handle of the car door when Spock’s reasonable voice intruded. “Wait,” the Vulcan cautioned. “One moment…”

No sooner did he say that than the two Klingon guards suddenly looked amazed, then crumpled to the ground. Valdyr grimaced, spat on the one who had clutched her, and then matter-of-factly grabbed the closest by the heels and began struggling to wrestle him into the guard station.

“That’s our cue!” Jim announced, and opened the vehicle’s doors.

At the gate, Spock lifted one of the unconscious Klingons effortlessly and arranged him at his station inside the small building, while the captain and McCoy struggled with the other one.

Peter grabbed Valdyr by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Uuughh!” she grunted. “I had to let thoseveQ-nuj handle me. I’m sorry now I didn’t just kill them!”

“Valdyr…” Peter said warningly. She gave him a knowing look, then handed Spock back his phaser.

Suddenly, a mechanical whine intruded, and the entire party turned to look out the windows at the source of the sound. Feeling a rumble beneath his feet, Peter glanced over at a portion of the pavement that was rising into the air, like a huge trapdoor. Distant figures surrounded a small vessel that was on the platform rising up level with the landing field.

“Looks like a miniature bird-of-prey,” Kirk said.

“That is essentially what it is,” Valdyr confirmed. “A small, armed shuttle, very fast and maneuverable, it usually has a crew of three to six.”

“I’d say that’s exactly what the doctor ordered,” McCoy said, “if only we could get to it.”

Peter shook his head. “Forget it. I can see at least three crew members out there, as well as four maintenance staff. We wouldn’t have a prayer of swiping that ship.”

Kirk sighed. “Probably not,” he admitted. But the expression on his uncle’s face said otherwise.

“Ahelpless woman will not get you that ship,” Valdyr warned.

“No,” Jim agreed. “And if we try to take out the crewand 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 speculatively. “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 goin’ 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 yourselves!” 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’llkill her!”

The Vulcan’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 femalemaghwl’!” 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 thisbefore. 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 brother’s 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…”

“ChancellorAzetbur is ourenemy!” 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 apretender! She is…”

“Appointedby her father,” Peter said loudly in Klingonese, raising his voice to be heard over Karg’s baritone, “andratified by the Klingon High Command. She is nopretender, but the legal head of your Empire. Arightfully 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 inunderground 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 byveQ 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 afuture,” Peter reminded the Klingons. “She’s not dwelling on the past, like thisqoH” —he pointed at Karg—“who thinks that he can make the past into the future, when anyone who raises his eyes cansee 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 forall Klingons—not 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!” Valdyr implored. “You heard from Treegor how he can fight! He defeated two Klingon warriors at once! Peter Kirkis a warrior, like yourselves. He speaks from his heart.”

“Silence, youlam be’!” 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 before yanking it out.

Valdyr’s 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 ownniece.

Peter screamed “NO!” 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!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.

“Bones?” 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 unarmedfemale!”

“Youwould challengeme?” Karg asked him incredulously, shifting the dagger that still gleamed with Valdyr’s blood.

“It is hisright,” 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 todie,” 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 isPeter’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 goin’ 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 ownlack 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 stillbelievethat 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 ofhonor 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 get 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 theEnterprise, to our sickbay…”

“Take her,” Malak said, startling the doctor. These fierce-looking warriors were actually going to let themgo? 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 I?” 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 intercom 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 theBounty, 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 gunner’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’s sprung a bleeder! 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 juggler!

 

“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. Jim 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 theKepler?”

“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 it—

“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 ifhe 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 Valdyr’s neck. “Though, heaven knows she’s got a damnedpharmacy 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 gently. Her returning 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 Valdyr 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 examining 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!”

McCoy 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.”

“Youearned 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.

Peter 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.”

The cadet sighed, relieved. “Call me if she comes to,” he asked, and McCoy nodded as Peter returned to his station.

His 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 rendezvous point. We’ll warnEnterprise in time.”

“And then what?” Peter demanded, bleakly.

Kirk 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 the way, youwere pretty damned eloquent, cadet.”

“Thanks, Uncle Jim.”

The 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 an expressionless as Spock’s, belying the turmoil of emotions inside him. “He’s called theTaj.”

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 asTaj flew on, swift and alone in the blackness.