Five

ALONE IN HER cubicle, Jean surveyed herself critically. The black undergarments of the Klingon uniform gave a leotard effect. She slipped on the tunic and tied it with a length of botanical twine at her waist. Maybe tomorrow she could find a way to mend her own clothes as an alternative. She took a long look at her room before calling the guard to take her to Kang. With rescue now more remote, this cubicle was at least a place of retreat where she was left alone. She was reluctant to leave it for whatever awaited her with the commander.

She was taken to the same wood-paneled council room where she had been before. Kang sat at the desk finishing some dispatches which he then handed to a waiting crewman. As the man left, Kang rose and crossed to Jean, taking in her new attire with an amused smile. Indicating the opposite door, he took her arm saying, “This time, let’s walk through, shall we?” His smile broadened as she stepped through the door and realized that this was the Commander’s personal quarters. “Yes, my dear, you were headed out of the frying pan into the fire.”

Jean made no reply. In spite of her apprehension she looked about curiously. A small spartan room by Enterprise standards, it contained a bed, a small table, two chairs, and a low hassock. The opposite wall contained a clothes locker and a door apparently leading to the head. Above the bed was a mounted case containing a collection of dueling swords. The third wall contained a built-in bookshelf and a niche which held a small stylized image of a ferocious, fanged beast. Below the niche the table was set for two. The fourth wall, opposite the bed, was a huge viewscreen. Kang locked his blaster in a small cubicle above the clothes locker, then sprawled across the bed and slid back a wall section below the display case. Behind it was an elaborate control panel. He touched two buttons. The viewscreen beside Jean suddenly lit up with a view of space.

“That’s the view dead ahead,” Kang informed her. “I like to keep track of things when I’m in here.”

She had remained standing where she came in. “Where are we headed?”

“The heart of the Klingon Empire.” A tap on the door behind her caused Jean to jump. Her nerves were taut to the snapping point. “Come,” Kang ordered. The door opened to admit a young crewman pushing a small servocart with covered dishes. He positioned it beside the table and started to transfer the dishes to the table. “She can do that. Dismissed.”

Jean considered a protest and thought the better of it. It gave her something to do besides stand there and try to keep from screaming. Kang watched her from the bed.

“How long had you been stationed on Sherman’s planet?” The question was quiet but Jean jumped as if he had shouted.

“About two planetary years.”

“And before that?”

“I served a short time on the Enterprise prior to assignment to Sherman’s planet.”

“And before that?”

“I … I was born and raised on Aldebaran Colony. After university I worked a while at Aldebaran Three research outpost.”

“Where’d you learn to throw like that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where did you learn to fight, to throw a dagger like that?”

“Oh, that. It’s not fighting really. I mean I didn’t learn it as a combat form. It’s a game I used to play as a child. The stiletto is smaller than your dagger, and thinner. We threw them at targets.” Jean glanced at him briefly, wondering if her nervousness showed or if he saw it and was playing on it. He stretched and came off the bed in one smooth roll.

“It’s an interesting style. I’ve never seen anything exactly like it. You will teach me how to do it after we eat.” He sat down at the table. Jean followed suit, grateful for the knowledge that after-dinner entertainment would be target practice and not her.

Her days settled into a routine: breakfast in her room, the entire day including lunch with Aernath in the lab, and dinner with Kang. After dinner was devoted to dagger throwing or trying to master the intricacies of a Klingon game, tsungu, that reminded her of the Chinese chess that her grandfather used to play. During the day she kept her mind occupied with the work on the quadrotriticale and her “Czerny strain”—as Aernath called it. Although stiff and withdrawn if anything happened to remind him of his bond-status, Aernath seemed comfortable enough working with her. Many of the experimental conditions he set up seemed to bear no relationship to conditions on Sherman’s planet but she could get no explanation from him.

One question she did get answered. “What’s the heart of the Klingon Empire?”

“Our star system, of course.”

However, each evening as she prepared to join Kang the sense of apprehension returned. She was walking in a fog, knowing neither destination nor terrain. Kang’s behavior remained bland and innocuous as if, having obtained her initial cooperation, he had declared a truce. A brief truce she was convinced as she watched him warily. These evening tete-a-tete were not merely for his amusement. He seemed to be observing her, measuring her, though for what purpose she could not fathom. His occasional questions and even more occasional comments yielded few clues. So she waited, afraid to disturb the calm.

Tonight she entered the council room just as Kang finished perusing the last dispatch. He sent the crewman off with orders for immediate transmission and hardly seemed aware of Jean as he got up and strode into his quarters. Stowing his gun, he pulled off his tunic and boots and sprawled on his bed. Tonight he called up section after section of the ship on the viewscreen snapping an occasional order to a startled crewman. Finally he put up the forward view and lay there staring morosely at the starscape.

After some moments she broke the silence. “Which star is our destination?”

Kang roused himself and rose in a single fluid movement. For a big man he was surprisingly quick and graceful. He padded over to the viewscreen. “That’s it.”

“When will we reach your planet?”

“Sometime tomorrow ni—” He whirled, demanding fiercely, “Who said it was my planet?”

“You did,” said Jean, suddenly frightened. “You told me we were going to the heart of the Klingon Empire.”

“And you deduced that was my planet?” Kang asked sharply.

“Isn’t it?” Jean responded, determined not to reveal any further knowledge. Kang did not reply. Striving for a lighter tone she asked, “Shall I ring for dinner?” At Kangs nod she leaned across the bed to push the call button. She straightened and turned to find Kang directly in front of her. Her stomach turned to ice and her legs to water. He seized her hair in both hands, pulled her around and sat down on the bed forcing her to her knees in front of him.

“‘Lieutenant’ Czerny, is it? I’ve checked your story by all the sources we have. It all tallies—but that. The unknown in the equation is the Enterprise. Why did Kirk call you that? What’s your game? Is your story straight or is this another of Kirk’s tricks? Because so help me, if it is, I’ll kill you with my own hands—slowly—by inches. You have my word on that.”

Warm, red terror washed over Jean. She didn’t know what Kirk meant either—it was as if she’d forgotten something … “Please believe me, Kang. I’m telling the truth. No games. My problem is that I don’t undersand what’s going on. Why have you brought me here? What do you expect me to do? What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do?” Kang repeated softly. “Play some pawns and preserve an empire. I hope. And you, my dear, will do exactly as I tell you to do with no tricks. You’re the unknown symbol in the equation all right and I don’t like nasty surprises. If you do exactly as you’re told, and we succeed, then afterwards you can name your price. You have my word on that, too.” He released his grip abruptly and Jean collapsed forward until her forehead rested against the edge of the bed between his knees.

She struggled for calm, fought to make her body still, her thoughts rational. She had seen the Klingon commander angry before but this was different. He was like coiled steel ready to snap at any instant, wound taut by some urgency, some crisis she still didn’t grasp. Gradually her breathing slowed, her trembling diminished. Still she knelt, staring at her knees, not daring to move. She felt Kang’s hand on her back, lifting a lock of her hair, coiling it in his fingers. She glanced up. He was staring abstractedly at the viewscreen oblivious to her presence.

The tap on the door broke his reverie. “Come.” The crewman entered, positioned the cart and left. With a sigh Kang rose, pulled her up and went to the table. They ate in silence. Finally he spoke. “We should attain orbital position around Tahrn sometime tomorrow night. We will beam down he following morning. There will be a ceremonial procession and an audience with the emperor. That will be conducted in ancient Court Klingonese. No translation will be necessary—simply follow my direction. After the audience you’ll be assigned to the Royal Agricultural Station near the capital where you will work. If asked, you will declare your vow of unserving loyalty to me. You will not mention or discuss the Federation with anyone.”

He seemed at an end. “And Aernath?” Jean ventured.

“He will work with you, of course. Also I’ve detailed Tirax to accompany you as my personal envoy. He will ensure that things go according to plan.”

Jean shivered. She had only encountered Tirax once since the duel and she did not relish the thought of extended contact with him.

When they finished eating, Kang dismissed her. On her way back to her room, she considered asking the guard to take her to Aernath’s quarters instead. She needed the reassurance of talking things over with him. However, it could wait until morning, she decided. She valued the free and open working relationship Aernath had established with her, but it was still fragile. He became stiff and distant whenever anything reminded him of his bond status. Intruding on him now might precipitate that again.

She spent a restless night going over and over Kang’s words trying to see how she and Sherman’s planet fit into the picture. At last she fell asleep.

The next morning, still apprehensive, she ate little breakfast. Summoning the guard, she said, “I’ll carry the dishes. We can drop them off on the way to the lab.”

“No lab today, Czerny. You’re confined, to quarters.”

“What!” Jean fairly shrieked in dismay. “But, why?”

“Kang’s orders.” He picked up her tray to go.

She seized his arm. “No, wait. Please go get Aernath then. I have to talk to him.”

The Klingon looked annoyed. “My orders are to stand guard not run errands. I can tell you I’m not about to get decked just before planetfall. Now let go of me.” He left, locking the door behind him. Jean went to the lavatory, buried her face in a towel and screamed. Then she cursed the guard and Kang, methodically consigning them to the nine consecutive rings of Aldebaranian hell. She settled down to wait. Perhaps Aernath would come on his own. Lunch appeared, then dinner, but not Aernath. She spent another sleepless night.

She did have a caller the following morning: a young woman carrying several bundles. The two women stared at each other curiously. “Who are you?” Jean asked.

“I’m from Court Protocol and I’ve been assigned to help you get ready for the audience.” She proceeded to unpack her bundles on the table while stealing sidelong glances at Jean. Suddenly she blurted, “Are you really a human?”

“Yes,” Jean answered. “Why?”

“Well, I … I’ve never met a human before.”

“I suspect none ever got this close to Tahrn before,” Jean commented drily.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” the woman answered hastily. She walked nervously around Jean, surveying her from various angles. “I’ll do your hair first.”

Jean sat quietly feeling strangely calm. Perhaps two sleepless nights and little food had something to do with it but the proceedings took on an unreal dreamlike quality. The woman fussed over her hair for a long while, combing, parting, braiding and pinning. “Do all humans have such pasty white skin?” she asked as she finished.

Being Eurasian, Jean had never considered her skin as pasty white. “Oh, no,” she assured the woman solemnly. “We come in all colors—black, white, red, yellow, green and orange as well as your usual brown.” The woman looked suitably impressed.

Her dress was of scratchy silver material which clung from shoulder to ankle. The short sleeves and cowled neck stood out stiffly. Jean insisted on retaining her leotards but the top undergarment had to go. With a flash of foresight, she gathered up her meager belongings into a bundle and took them along.

Though she had undoubtedly been transported aboard, Jean had no memory of the transporter room. She looked about curiously. Her attention was drawn to a pile of objects in one corner. She recognized Aernath’s equipment, apparently awaiting transhipment. This confirmation of Kang’s promise lifted her spirits. Aernath was going planetside, too. She stuffed her bundle in among the data sheets. At a slight sound she turned to meet the insolent appraisal of Kang. He had exchanged the somber uniform of the Imperial Fleet for an elaborate costume replete with jeweled dagger, dress sword, and shoulder cape.

“Excellent. You’ll make a passable Klingon, yet,” he said.

Although his tone was light and bantering, she read grim warning in his eyes. Their performance had begun and she was expected to play her role well. With just the merest hint of defiance in the lift of her chin she replied evenly, “At your service, Commander.”

He was flanked by Tirax and three other officers wearing black and silver uniforms, also new to Jean. In addition to swords they wore their phasers. Kang took the foremost transporter position and motioned the others into position behind him.

They materialized in what proved to be the Imperial Capital Spaceport. After reception formalities they moved by glidecar to the periphery of the port. The considerable traffic between Tahrn and her sister planet occupied much of the central spaceport. In addition, loading docks for interstellar freighters, berths for the occasional itinerant space trader, and various shuttlecraft from interstellar cruisers were scattered throughout other sections of the port.

The black and scarlet uniforms of Imperial Security were conspicuous among the ground personnel. Catching their arrogant stance and hostile glances, Jean began to see Tirax’s presence in a new light. If she was important to Kang, he would protect her, and well she might need that protection in this hostile world! She shrank lower in the seat to be as inconspicuous as possible.

At Port Control they left the glidecar and walked a gauntlet of Imperial Security Guards. While Kang acknowledged their salutes casually, Jean kept her eyes on his heels, thankful for the flanking escort that surrounded her.

Awaiting them outside was a high-wheeled, canopied conveyance drawn by two beasts that at first glance she took to be the reality of the symbolic beast she had seen in Kang’s quarters. A second glance revealed that they were not but produced the firm conviction that she desired no closer acquaintance. Kang entered the carriage and motioned. Awkwardly, she clambered up. He took a seat and indicated a small pillow at the heel of his left foot. “Kneel there and keep your head bowed.” The four lieutenants stood on a platform at the back of the carriage.

The air was chill and the canopy blocked the faint sunshine. There seemed to be nothing warm about this world for Jean. Even with her head down she could see the crowds thronging the roadway, dressed mainly in browns, blacks, and maroons. Everywhere there was the scarlet flash of the grim-faced Security. Nonetheless, there was an air of festivity, of anticipation, and an enthusiastic reception of Kang. Whatever she might think of him, clearly he was popular here.

As she watched the passing crowds, something subliminal tugged at her awareness. Something wrong. Beneath her personal forboding and the cheers of the Klingons there was something else. She redoubled her attention, searching the faces as they went by. What was she missing? Then she saw a woman holding a small child:—pot belly, stick legs, pinched listless face. Her memory supplied the high-pitched cry—Marasmus! Now she scanned the crowd intently, picking it out everywhere: thin arms, pinched faces, clothes too voluminous for their wasted occupants. Widespread evidence of malnutrition and near starvation! Forgetting her instructions, Jean looked up at Kang. His face was grim. “Kang!” she whispered. “Your people! What’s wrong?”

“Famine!” One word through clenched teeth.

“Famine! But how? Why?”

“Blight. The fools! I told them that viral warfare was foolhardy. They wouldn’t listen. Some escaped, mutated. Now both our major grains are affected. You see the results.”

Suddenly Jean held the missing pieces of the puzzle. “The quadrotriticale—”

“Is resistant. Especially your strain.”

“Why in the name of space didn’t you tell me all this in the first place?”

He turned full face to her and demanded fiercely, “Would you have believed me?”

Her intended affirmation died under his glare. “I … no, I probably wouldn’t have.” Then she exclaimed, “Sherman’s planet! That was just a feint to divert the Enterprise, wasn’t it? Oh, Kang! Why didn’t you just ask for the help?” Then she saw that strange look of his once again. This time she understood it for what it was: urgent need, pain, and indomitable pride.

Kang turned his face away. His voice was low and harsh. “A Klingon commander does not beg!”

Jean bowed her head, rested her cheek against his knee and shut out the faces of famine. “Kang,” she said softly, “you don’t need to worry. Given the situation I am truly at your service.” This would be no disloyalty to the Federaion.

The only reply was a single finger coursing down the back of her neck.

As they entered the city, she began to look about again. Massive was perhaps the most appropriate word for Klingon architecture. Buildings were almost all of stone or orange-colored bricks. Roofs were flat or dome-shaped. Not much precipitation here, she deduced. The city was laid out along broad avenues with heavy muscular statues of military heroes at intersections. She caught glimpses of crowded alleyways which formed a network of busy commerce between the broad avenues. Grand transport consisted mainly of small three-wheeled rigs pedaled by their occupants. She also saw large two-wheeled carts drawn by goatlike creatures. The only powered vehicles in evidence were the sleek black glidecars of I.S.G. patrol.

The procession ended in front of an imposing building whose dusky pink facade was decorated with silver and white tiles. Above the massive wooden doors was the same image Jean had seen in the niche of Kang’s quarters. They left the carriage and climbed the steps between two rows of honor guards in the same black and silver uniforms as Kang’s lieutenants. Music piped thinly as they walked the hall to the audience room. Spaced along the corridor were more members of the I.S.G. at stiff attention, their faces as hard as the stone at their backs. The audience room was filled with Klingons—the men in uniform, the women in more elaborate versions of the dress she wore. The far wall was a huge tile mosaic depicting the now familiar fanged beast rampant against a field of stars. In front of this was a raised dais with a single seat.

Jean gave an involuntary start as she caught sight of its spare-framed occupant. Also wearing silver and white, this gray-haired Klingon bore a startling resemblance to Kang! Kang halted and raised his arm in formal Klingon salute. The emperor acknowledged his greeting. Unclasping his sword, Kang advanced to the dais, placed it across the emperor’s knees and knelt, head bowed. The emperor extended his right hand for a ritual kiss. There was a brief exchange, then Kang rose and received his sword back. Another formal interchange and Jean caught a sharp glance in her direction from the dais. Further exchange. Then Kang beckoned her forward. She repeated Kang’s obeisance. The emperor’s hand was cold on her lips. She returned to her place as the ceremonial exchanges continued. At length the emperor rose and all the Klingons responded with a formal salute. After his exit the others followed, Kang in the lead.

In the hallway, Tirax pulled her to one side and took her along a side corridor accompanied by an armed member of the I.S.G. After several turns and a descent of steep narrow steps, they emerged outside. The waiting glidecar was gunmetal gray. The three of them got in. Jean had a brief glimpse of the driver’s black and scarlet uniform before their escort opaqued the rear compartment windows.

Being wedged between the two Klingons in the small compartment gave Jean a claustrophobic feeling. The two men carried on a desultory conversation in that strange dialect she could not understand. She fought the sense of entrapment and isolation by reviewing her impressions of the Klingon capital. Most intriguing was the question of Kang’s resemblance to the emperor. Were they related? She would have to ask Aernath. Aernath! How she longed to see a friendly face. She desperately needed to talk to him—the one person she could trust and rely on in this nightmare. She would never survive without the anchor of that relationship.

The ride stretched interminably. When the vehicle finally slowed, the guardsman cleared the windows. They were stopped at a checkpoint. On either side of the road as far as the eye could see stretched a four-meter metalmesh fence topped with flash rods. Any contact with that would be instant electrocution. The I.S.G. sentry checked their papers, scanned the occupants, and waved them through. A few meters down the road they were passed through a second barrier. The glidecar moved more leisurely now and Jean watched the countryside. This must be the agricultural station Kang had spoken of. Neat plots on both sides of the road contained dozens of kinds of plants. A few she recognized as species that she had seen in Aernath’s collection. When she made it back to Federation territory she would have a wealth of new information to add to the botanical archives. But when would that be? She firmly refused to admit the “if” that hovered darkly in the back of her mind. Somehow, she promised herself grimly, she would get back.

The soil was sandy yellow. The experiment station blended neatly into the background as they approached. Only the bamboo-like windows surrounding the building made it noticeable. She had seen no true trees on this planet, only a scrubby growth reminiscent of the Aldebaranian lesquit bush. The glidecar stopped at one of the sand-colored one-story buildings. The ubiquitous I.S.G. sentry appeared and saluted stiffly as they emerged from the vehicle. Space! They’re everywhere, Jean thought. Nowhere in the Federation had she been so oppressively aware of military structure as on this Klingon planet, not even at Starfleet Command!

The station administrator was a nervous little man in a brown uniform. He greeted Tirax effusively and eyed Jean apprehensively. “Is this the human who is going to work with Ag Tech Aernath?”

“That’s her,” Tirax affirmed.

“She has all the proper clearances?”

“For this project she does,” Tirax growled.

“I see. Uh … is she clean?”

“She’s housebroken.” Tirax sneered, then added maliciously, “But don’t let her scratch you. She might give you aitchnit fever.”

The administrator looked flustered. “No, no, Lieutenant. I mean, are you sure she’s not carrying any Tseni virus?”

Jean had suspected that Tirax nursed a grudge against her but he seemed equally bent on affronting this man. “Don’t know how in space she could unless she’s …” He made a crude reference to her anatomy. “Ask Aernath.”

And may the Aldebaranian snilfpox consume your genitals, Jean thought viciously. She detested this Klingon as much as he seemed to despise her.

“Yes, of course, Lieutenant. I’ll have you shown to your quarters now.” The administrator, eager to be rid of them, turned them over to an aide and rabbited back into his office.

Tirax held her elbow all the way to her room. It would be bruised for a week. He insisted on inspecting her room in maddening detail before he finally left—simply to harass her, she was convinced. Tirax gone, she went to the bathroom. As she was washing her face she heard her door open. Thinking Tirax had returned, she emerged braced for a confrontation.

Aernath stood in the doorway holding her bundle. “Hullo. Welcome to you …” He stopped short at the sight of her. “By the teeth and claws of Durgath! For a moment there I thought you were a Klingon!”

That blow breached her shield; Jean’s defenses shattered. Aernath shut the door and dropped the bundle as she threw herself into his embrace. “Oh, Aernath!” The rest was incoherent sobs. She had not cried since that first night in detention on Kang’s cruiser. All the accumulated terror, confusion, loneliness and need came pouring forth.

Aernath held her for a moment, then awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “Siee … what happened? Did I insult you? Cheerny! Jean! Are you hurt?” He tried to disengage himself.

She clung to him even more tightly. “No, hold me.”

Aernath’s confusion turned to alarm. “What in space has happened to you? Cymele help me, is this normal human behavior? Are you all right?”

Jean nodded, then shook her head, then simply continued sobbing. Finally Aernath stood still, woodenly enduring her sodden embrace. Eventually, her tension spent, she became aware of his stance and released him. She smiled wanly. “Really, Aernath, it wasn’t anything you did. Calling me a Klingon was just the final blow. I reached my breaking point. From now on—don’t ever go a day without checking with me as long as I’m stuck in this damned Klingon Empire! I’ve been frantic the last two days to talk to someone I could trust.”

“Understood. I shall do so,” he said stolidly.

She looked at him. Damn! She’d pushed that button again. There he was: “No-excuse-Commander-Sir” bondperson. What had done it this time? “Blast it, Aernath. I need a friend, not a puppet. You’ve gone all rigid and distant again. Of all the times—please, not now. What did I do wrong?”

He relaxed a trifle. “Well … first, let me ask. Is this … uh … typical human female behavior?”

“Women who make it to Starfleet aren’t given to hysterics, but under the circumstances … yes, I would call it a normal response.”

“Check. And what would a human male, a colleague of yours, do and feel under the circumstances?”

Jean wasn’t sure what he was driving at so she chose her words carefully. “Pretty much the way you did at first. He’d try to comfort her, find out what was wrong, apologize if it was something he did. Some would feel awkward, some protective. Why do you ask?”

“No offense to you but a Klingon woman would never cry before a man. To do so implies either she is crazy, or he has humiliated her beyond endurance, or … she considers him less than a man. You’re obviously not crazy. You knew I meant no insult when I called you a Klingon. That leaves—”

“Omigawd!” Jean groaned, “Aernath, look—”

He ploughed determinedly ahead. “You have that right. But you requested an explanation and I’m trying to give it. I told you once that bond-right is seldom invoked with an enemy. Klingons usually kill. This situation is especially bizarre. You’re a human and a female … well, it’s hard to know where one stands.”

“Aernath,” she said quietly, “I consider you as a man who is my friend and …” This was getting sticky. Aernath was the most compassionate, non-aggressive Klingon she had met. The last thing in all space she wanted to do was insult him. Yet how could she handle this without triggering in him some need to prove his Klingon masculine dominance? It was corny but she tried the old cliche, “… and like a brother to me.”

The effect was astonishing. “Well, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” The embarrassed stiffness disappeared.

Obviously she had said just the right thing but she didn’t know why. “I didn’t know that would mean so much to you.”

Aernath chuckled. “Only one problem—you’re older than I am.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“These days Klingons don’t usually have more than two children,” he replied as if that explained it all.

Jean was puzzled. “I don’t see what that has to do with your being my brother.”

Now Aernath was puzzled. “To be your brother, I’d have to be the third born.”

She gasped, “Do you mean to tell me the firstborn is always male?”

“Of course. Firstborn male, second-born female. Isn’t it that way with humans?”

Jean giggled. “No, by and large we take potluck—at least the first time around. Say, speaking of families, is the emperor Kang’s father?”

Aernath looked startled. “No, his uncle. What made you think he was his father? Succession is always through the sister’s son.”

“Well, he looks so much like Kang that … what did you say?”

But Aernath exclaimed simultaneously, “You saw him?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “I accompanied Kang for an audience today. Now what did you say about succession?”

He whistled softly. “The emperor is Kang’s maternal uncle. In the normal course of events, Kang will be the next Klingon emperor. I thought you knew that.”

They stared at each other soberly for a long moment. Then she said slowly, “Let me fill you in on what’s happened to me in the past two days and then I think it’s time you gave me a crash course in Klingon sociology and politics.”

“Agreed. But we can’t do it sitting here. Why don’t you change into work clothes and I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

While Aernath waited outside, Jean retrieved the black pullover and her own now mended tunic. Hastily she undid Protocol’s two hours of work on the hair and tied it loosely at the nape of her neck. Then she joined Aernath.

He looked at her curiously. “That was a drastic change. Does it really bother you to look like a Klingon?”

“If all Klingons were like you, Aernath, it wouldn’t bother me a bit. Unfortunately, you seem to be the exception that proves the rule.”

“I guess you couldn’t have a balanced and objective view of us growing up under Federation propaganda. Anyway, tell me what has happened to you for the past two days while I’ve been getting us transferred here.”

Aernath gave her an extensive tour of the rolling fields around the experiment station. Ostensibly they were seeking suitable sites for growing quadrotriticale. As they walked, she retold her experiences beginning with dinner in Kang’s quarters two nights earlier and finishing with Tirax’s behavior on arrival at the station. “Now you can see why I was so upset by the time I saw you today. In spite of my bluffing with Kang, I know very little about your Empire. I was frantic to talk to you—get some information. And Tirax terrifies me. Is there any way we can keep him away from me?”

“Siee. You have had a full sixty hours, haven’t you? Forget about Tirax. He can be handled. What about Kang? How do you feel about him after today?”

The question seemed casual but it touched the Gordian knot at the center of Jean’s tangled emotions—a knot she was reluctant to cut open and examine. Hence, she avoided those penetrating blue eyes and did not notice the intense scrutiny Aernath gave her as she struggled with her answer.

“I honestly don’t know, Aernath. Until today I would have called him a ruthless, unprincipled, but forthright scoundrel. But that was before I knew he was emperor-elect of the Klingon Empire. Space! You’d have to be tough as duralloy rivets to run this show!” She did not note his quick nod of assent. “The other thing I didn’t see … that he didn’t let me see until today … is how much he really cares about his own people. He talks of pawns and tactical sacrifices and he doesn’t hesitate to use them, but underneath he feels the pain. Your culture has made the individual more expendable than ours. Kang accepts that, but in an odd way I think he cares, even about me. He showed restraint. Eknaar tried to tell me that, but I couldn’t hear it. From what I’ve seen, that kind of restraint is a rare commodity among Klingons.” She touched his arm lightly. “Don’t be offended. I find him fascinating, but I don’t share your loyalty.”

“Nonetheless, you assess him accurately. The Commander and his crew are different from the average battle cruiser’s. Kang can be a diplomat as well as a battle commander and he carries the soul of his people in his heart. He has the potential to make a great emperor.”

“What makes it so tragic is that indomitable pride of his. He guards so carefully against any appearance of weakness that he can’t even acknowledge his feelings. Does he ever unbend to anyone?”

“He used to—to one.”

“Mara?”

Aernath nodded. “Yes. That first crew of his was even more remarkable than this one. It was a terrible tragedy when he lost that ship. I don’t think he’ll ever fully recover from that blow. And then, when Mara left him—”

“Yes, Mara. There’s another piece of the puzzle I don’t have. How does she fit into the picture?”

“The Klingon emperor doesn’t really rule the entire empire autarchically. He is the chief Prince among equals. The second in rank is the regent of my planet, Peneli. Mara’s brother occupies that throne at the moment—”

“Her brother!” Jean exclaimed. “Then that means—”

“That if Mara had a son by Kang he would occupy the throne of Peneli. Such a close alliance of the two premier planets of the Empire has not existed for generations. As you might imagine, there are some who would welcome this and some who would not.”

“Well, that’s all theoretical now. With Mara in exile there’s no chance—”

“She’s not in exile; she’s underground. Her brother has never theld-barred her. As long as he doesn’t, nobody dares touch her personally. And I don’t think he will. After all, that would kick off a tremendous struggle over succession. As it is now, things may change and then it would be convenient to return Mara—”

“You mean her brother would turn her over to Kang, force her to bear his child?”

“Of course.”

“That’s barbaric! If Mara is pro-Federation and Kang is determined to destroy us, then—why, he’d kill her!”

Aernath looked at her curiously. “Whatever gave you the idea that Kang wants to destroy the Federation? I never said that.”

“You don’t have to,” Jean sputtered. “Just listen to him talk. He hates Kirk’s guts for a start. Of course, he won’t start anything right now because of this crisis with the grain but after that—”

“That’s a strange thing for you to say if you’re going to work to solve that crisis.”

“Aernath! I can’t stand by and let people die, even Klingons. Besides, the Federation is strong. It can take care of itself.”

“That is just Kang’s point,” he answered. “He never said he wanted to destroy the Federation. He just doesn’t trust you. We must negotiate from a position of strength, but he was willing to negotiate—eventually. His mission with that first ship was to assess the Federation’s strength. He and Mara came away from that Enterprise encounter holding very different positions. Kang was badly shaken by the experience of losing his ship and most of his crew, being outwitted by Kirk, then having to accept Kirk’s magnanimity in delivering him to a safe port of transfer. Now he’s doubly sure he can negotiate only from a position of overwhelming strength. Mara, on the other hand, felt immediate negotiation was the best approach.”

Jean shook her head. “Its so incredibly complicated. And now the food crisis. How bad is that? Kang didn’t tell me much. Is it only on Tahrn?”

“No, it’s worst here but it has spread to Peneli also and at least one other planet that I know of. Kang would know if there are more.”

“How about you, Aernath? Where do you stand in all this?”

“Where do you think I ought to stand?” he countered.

“Well, obviously I think Mara is right but I guess that would be a dangerous position to hold as a crew member on Kang’s ship.”

He grinned. “Obviously. Each crew member must tender and pass Vow to his commander. He may never be my emperor but he is my commander. Besides, you’ve ordered me to keep my skin whole too.”

Tahrn was a hot planet with a slightly higher gravity than Aldebaran Colony. Jean soon adjusted to her surroundings, but the obverse was not true. Meals were served in the station mess hall. Hostile silence would descend with her entry and persist until she left. Klingons avoided her table or any near it—all except for Aernath who did join her until she insisted he stop. It was clear that he enjoyed the camaraderie of his colleagues and she feared if he persisted it would jeopardize his acceptance by them. “After all, we work together all day,” she pointed out. “I can stand an hour of isolation.” Nonetheless, she found she preferred to take her tray out to the shade of the seyilt, the bamboo-like plants, in the courtyard. That was how she met Tsuyen.

Tsuyen’s family was one of several who lived on the station and served as laborers. She worked as a general kitchen maid and also helped in one of the livestock barns. She customarily ate in the courtyard and after a few days her curiosity overcame her cultural reservations. Through her Jean began to gain insight into some of the more mundane aspects of Klingon life that Aernath neglected in his complicated disquisitions on interplanetary politics and intrigue. In return, Jean provided an endless source of fascination and amusement to Tsuyen.

This evening after third mess Jean lingered in the courtyard. Tsuyen had promised to demonstrate the use of a Klingon lap loom to her. The women of this region were apparently famous for their weaving and on several occasions Jean had noticed them at work by their doorsteps. Her kitchen duties done, Tsuyen appeared with her loom. Settling her back against the low stone wall of the courtyard, she bunched her skirt above her knees. With one sturdy foot planted in the dirt, she held the loom taut between toes and waist. With the other foot she worked the two wands attached to the warp. Jean watched as she worked rhythmically. “Let me try it,” she coaxed, as she pulled off her boots and sat on the ground beside the Klingon woman. Tsuyen helped her attach the loom to her waist and showed her how to hold it. Jean worked with clumsy concentration until suddenly her toes slipped.

With a peal of laughter, Tsuyen pushed her over into the basket of weft threads. The loom was a tangled mess. “You’re as clumsy as a boy-child with that. Here, give it to me.” She retrieved the loom and skillfully untangled it. Then she set to work again. “Is it true Commander Kang captured you and spared your life?”

“He pulled me out of the wreckage of my lab after an earthquake. I’d have died if someone hadn’t come along about then,” Jean replied.

“So to repay your bond-debt you’re working on a new food grain to feed his people. That’s good.” She nodded her vigorous approval. “It’s a fitting tribute to that commander. You’re fortunate it was Kang. From him it may even win you your freedom if you succeed.”

“It better,” Jean said drily. Then she asked, “What would you say if I told you it was a gesture of goodwill from the Federation, that they would have given help anyway if you had asked?”

Tsuyen spat derisively at her feet. “That’s a very bad joke. Just the sort of sneaky trick your Federation would try though, to spot our weak points. But you’re not like that. You’ll work out your bond-debt like a true Klingon.” As far as the woman was concerned that settled the issue.

Jean glanced at the lengthening seyilt shadows across the courtyard and realized with a start that Tirax was lounging in a doorway watchig her. She wondered if he had caught any of their conversation. Kang had been explicit about not discussing the Federation and she felt sure Tirax would delight in reporting anything that would compromise her position. Seeing he was noticed, Tirax sauntered past the two women and left the courtyard. Jean suppressed a shiver. At Tsuyen’s glance, she explained, “I think that man really hates me.”

“Then stay clear of him,” Tsuyen responded promptly. “He’s about as safe as a cornered slean.” The slean was a furred predator of the Tahrnian grasslands. Jean had seen one that had been bagged on the station perimeter by Security. She found the comparison apt.

They had arrived in early spring. In addition to regular test plots, she and Aernath were testing both kinds of quadrotriticale under various special conditions. The work was going well. Spending her days in the fields or lab with Aernath and the field hands, Jean could almost forget she was deep in hostile territory, half a galaxy away from her own planet.

This morning the illusion was almost complete. She had risen early and left the compound before first mess. Now, seated in the grove Tsuyen had showed her a few days before, she reveled in the tranquil scene below her. The sun had just risen. A light dawn breeze rippled the surface of the pond in the hollow. The normal sounds of birds and insects rose around her. A graceful orange-furred animal was feeding at the edge of the pond. It fished here and there in the shallows with quick movements of its forepaws. Suddently it reared, alert, and faced in her direction. Could the breeze have carried her scent? Jean wondered. The sudden crack of a branch behind her brought her to her feet.

Tirax stood a short distance away holding the snapped stick in his hands. He continued his ominous appraisal of her. At length, in a tone of quiet menace he demanded, “Do you have a dagger with you, human?”

Jean’s heart was pounding and her throat went paper dry. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Why should I need one here?”

He tossed aside the sticks. “You are a fool. Do you know what I can do to you?” Panic rooted Jean to the spot. Tirax watched her, somehow cognizant of her terror, deliberately savoring it. Then he sprang, seizing her wrist and twisting it cruelly behind her. He pulled her roughly against him, glaring pure venom. “Any—thing—I—want—to … So could anyone else on these grounds. If anything happens to you, Kang will personally claim my life by slow torture. Now you get back to the compound and don’t go wandering off by yourself.” He released her abruptly and turned on his heel without a backward glance.

Frightened, Jean started to follow automatically. Then she rebelled. Running. forward, she confronted the startled Klingon. “No!” she screamed furiously, “I’m not going to let you take away what little bit of peace and beauty I can find here. Kang ordered me to work on this station. He ordered you to protect me. I’m doing my job. Now you do yours!” With her last bit of fury she added viciously, “And stay out of my sight while you’re doing it. You proved this morning you can do that!”

Tirax stared at her in astonishment. The hatred in his eyes was joined by a grudging respect. “Siee! Kang is right. You’d defy Durgath himself in his lair. Fortunately for you, human, I follow orders. But someday your usefulness to Kang will be at an end. Then we shall see how tough you are.” He strode off in the direction of the station.

Amazed at her own audacity now that the fury had passed, Jean contemplated the receding back of her foe, knowing that nothing but Kang’s word stood as shield between her and that implacable hatred. She had best take what precautions she could. That afternoon she persuaded Aernath to give her a dagger. Although she persisted in her solitary walks she never again ventured out without it in her boot, Klingon-style. Whether Tirax trailed her, she never knew. If he did, he took her advice and stayed out of sight.

Carefully worded questioning of Aernath yielded the information that Tirax also was not of Tahrn but from Tsorn, one of the rim planets of the Klingon Empire. While apparently completely loyal to Kang as his commander, he made no attempt to conceal his hostility to humans and the Federation. He was of the faction most opposed to any negotiation. “And therefore, he would also be opposed to any reconciliation of Mara with Kang,” Aernath concluded. “Though, of course, he would never say that openly.”

Jean drew her cloak tightly around her shoulders, shivering slightly in the early morning chill as she and Aernath watched the ploughman. Both the Czerny strain and the regular one had done well. Some of the early stands were near maturity. The Klingon laborer was preparing a fall-planting test plot, using the traditional animal drawn plough still in common use in much of the countryside. They watched the ancient double plough lay down neat dead-furrows. The moist smell of fresh turned soil permeated the air. She filled her lungs appreciatively.

“Let’s go check plot K-Thirty-six and see if any heads look ready yet,” Aernath suggested.

Jean toed a clod of dirt pensively. “Aernath, how long will we be left here? Do you know?”

He shot her a quick penetrating glance. “Hard to say. My orders were ‘detachment for temporary duty assignment’. That is usually less than a year, but it could be longer.”

“How will you know? What will happen next? And what about me?”

“I’ll get my orders sent from Kang. The next step—for you or me—that’s up to him. We’ll just have to wait.” He put a cloaked arm around her shoulder drawing her closer to his side. “Meanwhile, you couldn’t ask for a better place to work than here. Let’s look at K-Thirty-six.”

“You mean you couldn’t ask for a better place,” Jean said. “I could—any place in Federation space would do.”

Aernath stopped and drew her into a gentle embrace. “Heeey! You’re really upset this morning. Has Tirax been after you again?”

She shook her head, then simply stood a moment savoring the physical pleasure of cloak and body warmth and the mental comfort of a friendly touch. Such a fragile thing against the weight of hostility and the vast stretches of space that separated her from home. She tried to put her despair into words. “No, but Tirax symbolizes the whole Klingon Empire that stands between me and home. You make it possible for me to endure it but there’s no way you can change the outcome. That leaves Kang. He frightens me, but he is my only line back to the Federation. What if he simply leaves me here—abandons me—to Tirax? There’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“We are all prey for Durgath’s palate,” Aernath responded soberly. “But don’t go looking for his lair. His claws haven’t closed on you yet. Tell you what, after we get this plot planted let’s take the rest of the day off and hike up to your pond. Maybe we’ll even see your mystery animal.”

Obviously he meant to cheer her up. She smiled and changed the subject. “I keep hearing references to Durgath. Who or what is he anyway?”

“The giver and taker of life, also the Klingon god of war. You must have seen his image in the emperor’s reception hall?”

“The beast on the mural?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! And the image in Kang’s quarters on the cruiser.”

“Right. All cruisers are dedicated to Durgath. On most worlds the ruler is accepted as his temporal representative. He also plays a prominent role in the m—Siee! Look at that! I told you this plot would be ready today.”

In the cool morning sunlight the heads of grain gleamed coppery gold. Other things forgotten for the moment, Jean watched as Aernath plucked and threshed one on the palm of his hand. Blowing away the chaff, he held out his palm to her. She took a few kernels and chewed them experimentally. Aernath popped the rest in his mouth. “Yeah. It’s ready. Let’s get some samples for analysis. They can cut the rest this afternoon.”

This first plot had been planted under standard conditions. Some of the later experimental-condition plots were nearly ready, too. They completed their tour of the plots with satisfaction. Aernath handed her the harvested samples. “Here, take these back to the lab and thresh them out. They’ll be dry enough for analysis tomorrow. Then why don’t you see if you can talk Tsuyen out of a food parcel for this afternoon? I’ll go supervise the fall planting.”

Back in the lab she spread the newly harvested kernels carefully on a shallow rack, then gave some brief instructions to Kuri, the young ag-tech apprentice who had been working with them for the past few weeks. She found Tsuyen in the kitchen and wheedled a promise of a food basket out of her. Then she rejoined Aernath.

The point of this planting was to duplicate conditions as they existed in much of the planet’s rural areas. Thus, much of the work was being done by hand. After ploughing, the land was worked with a heavy double-headed implement, a sort of cross between a mattock and a rake. She tried her hand at it but that caused so much general merriment and distraction among the field hands that she gave it up. One old farmer patted her arm consolingly. “Don’t be discouraged, daughter. It takes long years of practice to swing it smoothly. You’ll get it in time.”

Jean was both warmed and saddened by this. She encountered little personal hostility among the farm laborers though their prejudices against humans in general were intact and vigorous. But was she in fact condemned to spend the rest of her life here?

By mid-afternoon, the planting nearly done, they directed their attention to crews cutting plots K-36 and K-43. Aernath had decided the second one was ready as well. The autumn sun was at its warmest. Satisfied that all was going according to schedule, Aernath turned to Jean. “Well, shall we pick up the basket and head for the pond?”

They had a pleasant hike to the pond. Seated on a flat rock at the water’s edge watching small pond creatures skim below the surface, Aernath returned to her gloomy forboding of the morning. “There’s no love lost between Klingons and humans as you well know. Your Federation now lies athwart our natural path of expansion. The hostility is natural. So are your fears I guess, but I don’t think you understand the importance of what you and I are doing here. It’s vital. Because of that no one is going to harm you. We have the finest resources of the Empire at our disposal. Surely that says something to you.”

“Weighed against that is what Tirax says,” she replied grimly. “That when my usefulness to Kang is at an end then he will be waiting to get me. I don’t flatter myself that I’ll get a chance to defend myself then. By our success it would seem I am signing my own death warrant. What’s to stop him?”

Perhaps she had cut close indeed. Aernath’s response was angry. “Kang’s word and mine, that you are indispensable to the project. After all these months you still really don’t give Klingons any credit for honor or integrity, do you? The Commander has given you his word! Or does that count for nothing among your Starfleet officers?” His blue eyes flashed.

Jean swallowed an angry retort. “Aernath, I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel so vulnerable when Tirax—”

“Tirax!” Disgustedly he flung the straw he had been chewing into the pond creating a microcosm of watery pandemonium. “Yes! He would cheerfully cut your throat and sometimes I think I understand why. By the claws of Durgath, he is a Klingon Imperial Fleet officer! He lives by his vow. He will not contravene his commander’s orders.”

In his agitation he stood and strode to the bank. “Jean, your ‘Czerny strain’ is the more promising of the two. You’re the originator of that grain. If we encounter any problems, your knowledge and experience with it will be irreplaceable. Kang understands that—I’ve told him more than once. Controlling access to you as well as seed supplies gives him tremendous power in the cultivation and use of this grain. And, Cymele help us, we need that grain!” He dropped to her side again with a groan. “The death rate on Tahrn this year is approaching two percent. Infant mortality is soaring. The harvest is very poor this year and the emperor has just announced more stringent rationing for the winter. There have been riots, including a small one in the capital itself. And I heard this morning that the virus has spread even more rapidly on Peneli and Klairos than here.”

This was news to Jean. With a jolt she realized how isolated they were in the cocoon of the experiment station. Here, there was no evidence of famine and starvation. Hearing no news from beyond the gate, she had gradually banished the images of suffering from her mind. Now she saw them again in Aernath’s face. “Aernath, forgive me. I didn’t know.” Impulsively she reached out to cradle his head against her shoulder. It was the wrong move. She felt him stiffen and withdraw.

“I shouldn’t have spoken of it. However, you can take comfort in knowing there are that many fewer Klingons waiting to cut your throat.”

“Now thats really not fair! I didn’t ask to be brought here. But I would have volunteered to come and help stave off this famine if you could have swallowed that damned Klingon pride long enough to admit the disaster and ask for help. I want to save those lives as much as you do. But for God’s sake, don’t ask me to pretend the hostility isn’t there or that some days it doesn’t half terrify me to death.” She was shaking with indignation.

Aernath took this in with some consternation. “All right. All right. Truce. Siee! I intended this afternoon to cheer you up and now I’m only making it worse. I hope I have at least convinced you that we are not about to toss you bound into the teeth of Durgath?”

She was not entirely convinced that her position was so secure as he painted. Despite what he chose to tell Kang—for whatever reasons of his own—she knew Aernath now knew almost as much as she did about her grain. Nonetheless she managed a smile. “Well, you have convinced me that you won’t and that you firmly believe Kang won’t either. For the moment, I’ll have to be content with that.”

“Let’s eat.” He opened the basket, poured and handed her a cup of Tahrnian ale, “To our success and survival.”

“I’ll drink to that!” she responded fervently.

Their picnic was cut short by dark masses of clouds rolling in from the northwest. It had also grown markedly colder. The storm struck before they reached the station compound and both of them were soaked to the skin by the time they reached their quarters.

The storm lasted much of the night and in the morning Jean found a light dusting of snow on the ground as she stepped outside. She immediately turned in the direction of their test plots. Aernath had beat her there. They stared in dismay at the wind and snow damage. A couple of plots were completely ruined. The others would recover or could be salvaged by immediate harvest.

“At least it didn’t lodge badly. We can save most of it.”

“Yes. I’ll get the hands on it right after breakfast. It’s good we got the first two plots done yesterday. We can run those analyses this morning. Come on, let’s go eat.” He set off for the mess hall. They ate together and shortly were joined by Kuri who had also been out to survey the damage. Aernath gave him the responsibility of supervising the salvage harvesting.

Heads together, Jean and Aernath bent over the analyzer watching the results emerge with mounting elation. “And protein … twenty-six point nine percent!” Cheerny! We did it!” In his exultation he seized her in a hug and swung her around. “Now that will feed an empire …” Abruptly his voice trailed off and he stiffened, looking over her shoulder toward the lab door. Jean turned in his grasp to see what had startled him.

An eminence grise, Kang stood in the doorway regarding them somberly. One could not tell whether he had just arrived or had been observing them for some time.

“Commander Kang! I … uh … we … were not expecting you,” Aernath stammered.

“So it would appear,” Kang responded drily. “You seem inordinately exuberant this morning. I trust you have results to report that are commensurate with your emotional display?”

Jean moved quietly to one side of the lab as Kang took a seat and Aernath launched into an enthusiastic and detailed report of their summer’s work. Kang’s appearance had produced a strange melange of feelings and Jean welcomed a few moments to sort them out. Much as she had wanted him to appear, now that he was here the old fear was back—and the fascination—in the sense that Spock would use the word. The Klingon commander was a complex and intriguing person and it was fascinating to watch him in action. Fascinating, that is, as long as she was the observer and not the recipient of his actions. She also felt relief and even genuine pleasure, which surprised her.

They had done a good job and she knew it. Aernath was giving her due credit in his report. Kang had promised her her own price if they succeeded. In her optimistic moments she convinced herself that he would indeed keep his word and release her. His presence now seemed to confirm this. That could certainly account for the pleasure at seeing him she decided.

Kang interrupted Aernath’s report. “Czerny, report to the administration building.”

On her way, she stopped in her room. She was not surprised to find it empty of her belongings. The only items remaining were two weavings on the wall. She retrieved them quickly. One was her own and the other a gift from Tsuyen. She made a detour to the kitchen and left hers as a parting gift to Tsuyen. The woman seemed geniunely sorry to see her go. “Goodbye, Cheerny. Clear space and good landings.”