Demands of Honor (18 page)

“You did the right thing, Jim. I know I wasn't convinced when we diverted the ship for the rescue, but if we hadn't arrived when we did, they would have faced
much worse than they did, and then they would've died.”

“Thanks, Bones. Our team did the impossible. I'm sorry that I can't get your patients off the ship before we reach the system. There will be some danger, but we can't afford any delay to make a rendezvous with a transport.”

McCoy nodded. “When we do, we need to book a space for Lieutenant Parrish.”

“She's leaving the
Enterprise?
”

“Yes, she came to speak to me. She's gonna have her baby. And her best chance of success would be on Earth.”

“Understood. I'll alert Command. In the meantime, I'll try to keep your patients and the rest of the ship out of any unnecessary danger.” Kirk got up.

McCoy stopped him before he exited sickbay. “They're not up to very many questions, not a full debriefing anyway.”

Kirk nodded. That was fine with him. He had plenty to worry about in the short term. Giotto could debrief them later. Stepping through the sickbay door, Kirk was surprised to see Ensign Jawer in a chair next to one of the beds. Lying in the bed was a pretty, dark-haired young woman.

Jawer stood immediately. “Captain.”

“Ensign.”

“I'll leave you—”

“No,” the young woman said quickly, fear in her voice. “Please stay,” she said to Jawer. Then she turned her attention to Kirk and asked, “Can he stay?”

Kirk smiled. “Of course.” Then he looked at the others: two other young women and one man who had
braces on each arm. They already looked much better than they had coming out of the shuttle, except for their eyes, which still held too much of the lost look he had seen earlier. “I'm Captain James T. Kirk. Doctor McCoy tells me that you are all going to be fine.”

“If we survive your next piece of aggression,” the man in the arm braces murmured under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Kirk asked.

“Is it true that you are taking the ship into battle? Against Klingons?” he asked accusingly.

Kirk took a deep breath. He had dealt with the Anti-Federation League before. Most recently, there had been a mission in which the
Enterprise
had saved nearly sixty Anti-Federation League colonists, at the cost of too many members of his crew. Of course, in that case, the colonists had been grateful.

“The
Enterprise
is going to monitor a Klingon
diplomatic
mission in Federation space,” Kirk said.

“Since it is a diplomatic mission, will the
Enterprise
be carrying its usual arsenal of deadly weapons?”

“The sort of weapons used to rescue you? Yes, it will. And as a point of fact, the Klingons are less likely to attack if they believe the
Enterprise
poses a credible threat.”

“Typical Starfleet double-talk.”

“Alan, please shut up,” the dark-haired woman said. “Captain, please don't mind him. Alan forgets his manners when people risk their lives to save his.”

Kirk approached her bed and she smiled. “I'm Christine Alvarez. I want to thank you for what you and your crew have done for us.” Suddenly, she seemed near tears. “We thought we were going to die … and then,
we were afraid they were going to keep us alive only to …”

Kirk put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook off the fear herself. “I appreciate what you've done.
We
appreciate it,” she said, shooting the man with the broken arms a look. He didn't respond, and given the way she was looking at him, Kirk judged that wise.

“But, Captain, I have to ask. Will we be in any danger from the Klingons?” she said.

“This is purely a diplomatic mission, arranged by the Federation president himself, but I won't lie to you, there is some danger. The situation with the Klingon Empire is dire, but you are on a starship and we'll do our best to keep you safe.”

She nodded as if she understood both what he had said and what he had left unsaid.

“In the meantime, as soon as Doctor McCoy releases you, you will be escorted to your temporary quarters.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, and the thanks were echoed by the others except for the man, who simply scowled.

The Orion mine was a short walk from the meeting pit, which was not surprising to Karel. Obviously, the natives thought that the mine, its technology, and its mineral wealth were a source of great power. However, it had also almost destroyed them. Now, it was leading them into a partnership with Duras, a Klingon who never showed his true face—if he even had one.

From the outside, the facility looked innocuous enough. It was three or four levels high, built in a generic industrial style. But this was a deep-core mine, which
meant that the reactor and most of the important equipment would be underground. The doors were guarded by natives armed with Orion pistols. Again, Karel wondered what they were defending themselves against. Gurn seemed to trust Duras completely.

Gurn took them a few levels down and showed them the heavy equipment, the control rooms, and finally the reactor. Interestingly, Gurn seemed to know almost nothing about the equipment his people had inherited, and the natives tending the machines looked unsure of themselves. Yet, somehow, they had kept the power on, and even—according to Gurn—restarted the warp reactor.

Duras looked on politely and assigned technicians to work with the natives at each station. As they moved through the complex, Karel saw that Duras was impatient and seemed eager to move on.

They reached the mine's central shaft, where there was a short fence and a seemingly bottomless abyss. “And finally, let me show you our storage facility, which I think will be of particular interest,” Gurn said.

Duras nodded and Gurn showed them onto a flying platform that Karel recognized as an ore hauler. With his technicians dispersed throughout the mine, Duras's party was down to five, the same number as in Karel's group and Gurn's. Three groups of five—the number in ancient Klingon hunting and war parties. Yet, there the similarity between the three groups ended. Karel felt uncomfortable around Duras and his Klingons, and Gurn made him feel the same way.

All fifteen Klingons fit easily in the ore hauler. One of Gurn's people took the controls. He seemed nervous and didn't inspire confidence. Yet he managed to get
them down several levels in one piece. It was a short walk to a large open chamber where about a dozen cargo containers stood waiting.

“Let this be the first of many exchanges between our two peoples,” Gurn said as he strode up to the first container and flung its lid open dramatically.

The box was completely empty.

No, not completely empty. A note was written on the underside of the lid. It mentioned Gurn by name and had a suggestion for the Klingon that was creative in its way but clearly biologically impossible.

Karel and his Klingons laughed out loud, while Duras said indignantly, “What is this?”

“Check the others,” Gurn ordered his people, and they immediately began tearing open containers. They were all empty, except for the notes they held, which all carried messages for Gurn and interesting uses of language.

“Gurn, what is going on here? You gave me assurances,” Duras said, menace in his voice.

“The dissenting clan we spoke of, this is their work. Adon is their leader,” Gurn said, nearly choking in his fury. Looking at Duras's displeasure, he said, “We will destroy them immediately and get you your crystals.”

“No more of this incompetence. Show us where they are and
we
will do it,” Duras said.

“No,” Gurn said, surprising Duras. “This is
our
world and
our
fight.”

Karel smiled. Gurn obviously had
some
pride.

Duras nodded, keeping his anger in check. “Then we shall accompany you to observe and provide assistance if you need it.” His voice was back to its overpolite tones.

A few moments later they were back on the surface, and Gurn sent messengers off to collect his people. It took several minutes and tried Duras's patience. Obviously, some of the natives had a limited mastery of the Orion weapons and technology. They still did not use communicators, instead relying on direct contact. Yet here Gurn was, trying to lead them into the middle of a brewing interstellar conflict.

Finally, Gurn had a dozen armed Klingons and four of the Orion weapons platforms, and the group moved out. For the natives, that must have represented an overwhelming force. He doubted that this Adon would be able to stand against it. That was a shame. Karel had already decided he liked him.

The combined group marched to the outskirts of a small village, and Karel had the feeling that he was stepping into his own people's past. “Destroy them, kill every last one of them!” Gurn said.

“Wait!” Karel said reflexively.

“Is there a problem, First Officer Karel?” Duras said, putting an emphasis on his rank.

“This is not a very honorable fight.”

“This is
our
fight,” Gurn said to Karel. Then he turned to his soldiers and the pilots hovering nearby. “Leave no one standing.”

Karel's blood boiled at the thought of the uneven massacre to come. Apparently, even Gurn's men were unsure. They hesitated and looked at their leader. “Do it now!” Gurn screamed, and two of the weapons platforms moved forward, trained their energy weapons on one of the simple, wood dwellings, and fired. The home went up in a burst of flame and exploding wood.

There should have been screams, movement from the destroyed home or one of the others nearby. But there was only silence. The platforms moved forward again and struck another home. Another explosion and more silence. Karel realized that the village was empty.

When they'd arrived, no one was about, and Karel had assumed that the natives were hiding in their homes. Now he realized the entire clan had disappeared. The ground fighters moved forward and started checking the houses. Each was empty. Karel smiled and realized that he would like to meet this Adon.

Duras was furious. “You promised me the crystals!” he said, both anger and a warning in his voice.

Gurn's bravado disappeared. “We will find these crystals. And we can double our efforts in the mine—”

“We are about to fight a war. We need them now!” Then Duras stopped to collect himself. He smiled and forced a pleasant expression on his face. Karel thought it made him look even more menacing. “We shall do this together. The first step in our new partnership.”

SYSTEM 7348

FEDERATION SPACE

F
ULLER ENTERED SICKBAY
with the rest of the squad, except for Jawer, who was already there, sitting at the bedside of the young woman named Cyndy. The ensign looked embarrassed and stood up to greet them.

“Hello, Mister Fuller,” Christine said.

Fuller nodded. “Just came by to see how you were all making out.”

Suddenly, the man with braces on his arms—Alan—was on his feet. “We're all fine, thanks to your
rescue.
”

“Alan, don't,” Christine said.

He ignored her and took a step toward Fuller. “You killed them, you know.”

The rest of sickbay drew a collective breath.

“Excuse me?” Fuller said.

“Tomas and Ronald,
you
killed them.”

“If you are referring to the two deceased members of your group, the fact is that the Klingons killed them. According to your own story, they killed Tomas in the initial attack on your ship and Ronald later.”

“You created this situation,” Alan said, contempt in his voice. “Your Starfleet with your weapons, your tools of Federation expansionism. You chew up and spit out new systems, pillaging them and leaving them dead husks.”

Fuller knew better than to get into an argument with an irrational, angry civilian, but he could not resist saying, “Odd that you should say that when each system that joins the Federation enjoys unprecedented trade, peace, and prosperity. Stubborn facts, I'm afraid.” He turned to the others. “I'm glad you are all doing well, but we have duties.”

“More murder,” Alan said, and Fuller felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Fuller decided to let it go and turned away, but Parmet stepped forward. “As a matter of fact, this man has saved more lives than you will ever infect with your stupidity, and his son just a few months ago led a mission to rescue fifty-nine of your Anti-Federation friends,” Parmet said, his face reddening.

“So your son is a murderer too,” Alan said to Fuller.

Something threatened to tear loose inside Fuller, and for a moment it took every bit of control he had to keep him from hitting the man in the face.

Alan went on, “It's a family business. You take your weapons into space, seek out new races to subjugate, and then call yourselves heroes for killing them when
they finally stand up to you. Did you teach your son how to kill, Mister Fuller, or was he a natural?”

Something snapped inside Fuller. He knew the man in front of him wasn't worth it, but he felt his fist balling itself on its own. He raised his hands, and the only thing that stopped him was that someone else acted first. Another fist came flying through the air and caught Alan right on the chin.

The strong blow sent the man backward into the bed. Fuller turned to see that it had been Parmet, who was nearly choking on his own fury and still had his hand raised as if ready to strike again. Fuller said, “Enough.” And Parmet froze where he was, his chest heaving, staring daggers at Alan, who was looking up at them dumbly.

When the man could finally speak, he pointed to Parmet. “He tried to kill me. This man tried to kill me.”

Fuller shook his head. “That's impossible, if he had tried to kill you, you would be dead now.”