Eleven

JEAN AWOKE SCREAMING, the agony in her voice matched by that of her body. When they did let her sleep, the nightmares merely served to replay the torture they administered at other times, except Spock’s protection didn’t work when she dreamed. She knew that if somehow she survived, those nightmares would be with her for years.

They had abandoned the agonizer when it became apparent that Spock had made her bluff a reality. Application of the agonizer instantly caused her heart to stop. Progressively lowering the strength had no influence. Finally, the doctor had remonstrated that he could not cardiovert her indefinitely—sooner or later her heart wouldn’t start again.

When they resorted to cruder methods, Jean had played what she thought was her last card: she asked to be sent to Kang. She harbored few illusions as to his probable disposition of her but it might gain her a respite. Tirax, who had been present, merely laughed cruelly. “Don’t worry, human, the final disposition will he his, but in the meantime. Kang is otherwise occupied.” He pursued her torment with clinical detachment however, making no reference to past animosities, as if that incandescent hate had burned itself out somewhere. But Jean was allowed no interval of coherence to contemplate this anomaly.

It was only some unmeasured time later that she discovered Spock’s other trigger mechamism: any attempt to divulge information about Aethelnor also caused cardiac arrest. After she resorted to this several times the medic refused to take further responsibility for keeping her going. So they left her mainly to her nightmares.

Now she levered grating bone against raw flesh to rise and face whoever was coming, preferring her own carefully incremental self-administered agony to the brutal bath of pain that would rack her if someone else pulled her up. They must have done something to her eyes … She saw three Klingons and two of them were Tirax. She stared stuporously at the double Tirax while the I.S.G. doctor went through his grotesque parody of a healer’s function. “There are two of you,” she said at length with schoolchild simplicity. Somehow that bald elemental statement carried some immense significance but she couldn’t remember what it was …

The second Tirax smiled with evil satisfaction. “You’re very observant today. My brother tells me that he has never disabused you of your assumption and so you’ve never been introduced.” As he turned to the first Tirax, Jean noted he moved his left arm rather awkwardly and there was a fresh scar on his neck that she had not noted before. That also carried a significance that escaped her at the moment … “My elder, but twin, brother, Kahlex, I.S.G. commandant for the Ichidur spaceport complex. To whom I am indebted for his exertions in my behalf.”

Jean closed her eyes and the tears began without sound or effect. Each drop that bled free from her was replaced by an imaged Tirax marching at her from all points of the Klingon Empire—an unceasing cosmic joke. Somewhere she heard the faint echo of ironic laughter. The medic undid her carefully calculated maneuvers with one brusque stroke, laying her back on the bench. Her scream of response was almost perfunctory by now.

“Check her over thoroughly, Doctor. It would be most unfortunate if you overlooked anything.”

Jean was dimly aware that the practitioner was being more than usually meticulous in his exam. Finally he finished with, “No broken bones that need to be set, no irreversible internal damage. She can travel whenever you wish.”

“Now that is a pity,” Tirax said softly. “How regrettable that we can’t stay to enjoy your hospitality a bit longer, but Kang must not be kept waiting. Perhaps another time … Well, see to it. Come brother, a final drink before I leave.”

The trip back to Peneli brought exquisite torture of a third kind. Tirax stayed with her constantly, taunting, gloating—thirty hours a day. Though he never harmed her, neither did he grant her any respite, nor any pain medication. “Don’t harm her or let anyone else. Those were my orders. Period. And that is precisely all you’ll get from me.” He was simply watching her as the snake watches a caged mouse when it is not yet feeding time.

Having thus to cope with both Tirax and the painful recovery process on her own, Jean turned inward. She clung grimly to two facts: no one here had learned of Aethelnor; secondly, Spock and the others had made it clear of planetary orbit and were at least headed for Federation space. She had received that much from the “link” before it faded below her ability to detect it. Whether any link at all remained she could not say. Occasionally she had a fleeting impression of a brief cool pulse but it always passed quickly.

Thinking of Spock, she went back to that encounter seeking one particular item: the Vulcan discipline of blocking pain and promoting healing. She went over and over her impressions, the insights she had gained. It was not enough. She had insufficient understanding to make it work, but the exercise itself proved useful: it did at least distract her from her agony.

They beamed directly aboard Kang’s cruiser and Tirax walked her to sick bay. Eknaar did a quick scan and promptly put her in a berth. “Gath’s teeth! Someone sure did a professional job on you!” He cast an appraising eye at the door where Tirax had just exited. “Tirax?” he inquired laconically.

Jean shook her head. “No, his double.”

“What?”

“His twin brother, Kahlex.”

“I see. And along comes Tax and rescues you in the nick of time?”

“You might say that.”

“You know, it’s the strangest thing,” he said as he twirled dials and selected medications. “Kang’s been going over this planet with a fine-tuned phaser—nothing. No hints. He even thought you might’ve been taken to Tahrn, to throw him off, so he sent out a net there, too. And that’s where the message came. Scuttlebut is it was some double agent. Try Tsorn, he said. Then Tirax up and says he’s just been in touch with his brother.” He shook his head. “Tough luck for you, but it was a good run you made. Hold still now, this’ll just sting a bit.”

“Another professional job?” Jean rejoined drily.

“Of course,” he said, then looked at her sharply. “What? Oh, I see what you mean … no, nothing like that. I’m just going to give you a good thirty hours sleep. That’s all.” It didn’t sting much. Jean was half inclined to believe him. He slid the blanket down and looked at her chest. “You must have arrested at least a dozen times. What did they use on you anyway?”

“The agonizer.”

Eknaar whistled. “And Kang was sure you were bluffing.”

Whatever he had given her was beginning to work. She could feel it lapping around the edges. On an impulse she reached out and touched his wrist. “Dr. Eknaar, I arrested without the agonizer too, and I know how to do it again. If I do will you do me a favor? Don’t bring me back. Let me go.”

He paused in the act of putting away his instruments and looked at her for a long moment, then said gruffly, “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”

The smell came back first—of sick bay, and then she was looking up again at the black webbing. Eknaar had been as good as his word: painless, dreamless sleep. Eknaar also let her dress and eat before he called the guard but he wouldn’t say a thing. Jean wondered if she’d eaten her last meal.

She knew this cruiser and its occupants well enough now to know as she was escorted along its corridors that something was disturbing the routine. Something besides her, although she could not determine what it was. Also, Eknaar must have slipped her something before she woke up. The block of ice in her stomach wasn’t nearly as big or cold as it ought to be. She was taken not to detention or Security as she had expected, but to Kang’s quarters. The council room was empty. Evidently her fate was not to be a public affair. The guard knocked on the door to Kang’s room, then motioned her through with his phaser.

“Excellent. Dismissed.” The voice was not Kang’s.

“Mara!” Jean forgot her own plight in a moment of genuine dismay over Mara’s. “Oh, no! So he got you, too!”

The room was rather dimly lit. Mara, dressed in her blue and silver uniform, was sitting on a chair near the bed. She seemed quite at ease as she beckoned Jean to her. “On the contrary. The coup was successful. I’m here on my own terms.”

“The coup?”

“Yes, my forces now control the military and civilian administration alike. Peneli will move as I direct.”

“And your brother?”

“Is still regent, of course. But tell me, what happened with you?”

Jean glanced around. “You want me to talk here?”

Mara laughed throatily. “My dear, this is the one place on an imperial cruiser where you can talk freely.” Her voice snapped taut. “What happened?”

“The contact didn’t show when we arrived on Tsorn. He had an ‘accident’ on the way to the port so we had to wait for a second contact to be set up. We managed that and all got to the port all right, then I got picked up. A fluke, I think. But the others got away, at least out of planetary orbit and headed for Federation space—that much I know. I have good reason to hope that your son is with Starfleet by now; he was in good hands.”

Mara’s smile was pure triumph. “Thank you, my dear. That is most reassuring. You will no doubt be interested in this message I received yesterday shortly before I came aboard.” She handed Jean a paper.