Starfleet's chief of security, appeared.
After the captain had outlined the problem of Peter's disappearance,
concluding with Uhura's finding that the ransom message had originated
on Qo'nos, the admiral, a beefy man with a shock of thick white hair,
frowned. "More terrorism," he concluded. "This is obviously not your
ordinary kidnapping for profit."
"I agree," Kirk said. "How do you want me to handle this, sir?"
"Investigate your nephew's disappearance without any public fanfare,"
Burton said. "And if there's any possibility that this is reprisal
against you personally, by the Klingons, you'd better abandon this
notion of going in alone. I'm officially authorizing you to use the
Enterprise for this mission. If the Klingons are involved, then it
becomes a matter of Federation security--and that makes it official.
But ... Kirk. I meant it about keeping this quiet. The KEHL is gaining
converts every day. Something like this would add fuel to the fire."
"I understand, Admiral. Did your office come up with any information on
that smuggler's destination?" the captain asked.
"We've got a copy of Bobino's official flight plan, Captain.
They were scheduled to take a load of gourmet foodstuffs to Alpha
Centauri A ... but they're overdue. Way overdue."
"Any idea where they went instead?"
Burton nodded grimly. "They picked up a cargo of high-grade dilithium
ore in Sector 51.34 two days ago."
Sector 51,34 was only a parsec or so from the Klingon Neutral Zone. Kirk
nodded, unsurprised.
"Captain, this clinches it. I want you to get to the bottom of this ...
and soon."
"I will, sir," Kirk replied.
"Mr. President," Sarek said, to the image on his comm link. "Greetings."
Gravely, he saluted the chief executive.
"Ambassador Sarek," Ra-ghoratrei said. "Allow me to offer my most
sincere condolences on your bereavement. I very much ... regret ...
having called you to duty at such a time."
"I discussed my mission to Kidta before leaving, Mr. President," Sarek
said, uncomfortable at having to speak of this now. "My wife understood
its importance. But I did not call you to discuss Kidta, Mr. President."
"What is it, Ambassador?"
"Sir ... I believe that I have discovered a threat to Federation
security. I have discovered evidence--evidence that I will soon be able
to share with youwthat the Keep Earth Human League may be funded and
supported by off-world interests."
Ra-ghoratrei's pale eyes widened. "What? The KEHL?
But they are ..." He hesitated. "They are more than they seem,
apparently ... "
"Yes, Mr. President. I suggest that you authorize a full-scale
investigation into the group. I believe that such an investigation may
turn up surprising information."
"Can you be more specific, Ambassador?"
"No, Mr. President," he said, "l cannot, at this time. But I will be
contacting you within a few days with, I hope, conclusive proof. In the
meantime, I ask that you authorize a full investigation--although I do
not believe that it should be a public inquiry. I will explain my
reasoning later."
"Ambassador," Ra-ghoratrei said thoughtfully, "your service to the
Federation is legendary. I will do as you ask but I do insist upon the
explanation you promised."
"You will receive one, Mr. President. Two days--three at the
most--should prove sufficient."
"Very well," the president said. "Until we speak again, then, Ambassador
Sarek."
"Live long and prosper, Mr. President." Sarek raised his hand in salute.
After cutting the connection, the Vulcan sat for several minutes
composing a detailed message to Ra-ghomtrei, with additional copies to
the head of Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton, and the chairman of
summary of his suspicions and findings, plus the data he had collected
so far.
Then the Vulcan placed each message under a time lock.
If the Enterprise did not return from this mission, Ra-ghoratrei would
receive the message in five days, with the others receiving theirs in
six.
When he finally got off duty that evening, Kirk was weary to the bone.
They were now enroute for the Klingon Neutral Zone. A few hours ago,
he'd received official orders from Starfleet affirming Vice-Admiral
Burton's verbal orders. He was to attempt to locate and rescue Peter
Kirk; then he was directed to place himself and his vessel at the
disposal of Ambassador Sarek, who was currently on a special factfinding
mission for the Federation president.
Unsealing his maroon uniform jacket, Kirk slumped into a chair. The
captain had a hunch that the entire mess was only beginning--that it was
only going to get worse before it got better. Assuming it does get
better, which is a big assumption, he reminded himself.
And besides, he thought, you've got it easy, compared to Peter. What
might the Klingons be doing to the young man, while he sat here, safe
aboard his orbiting fortress?
Thoughts of Klingon torture, mind-sifters and beatings, raced through
his mind, and the captain shuddered.
It least Qo'nos isn't Rura Penthe, he thought, trying to find comfort in
the fact--but he was tormented by images of Peter being brutalized by
Klingons like Old One-Eye.
Klingon jailers weren't noted for their kindness and compassion, to put
it mildly.
He and Peter had grown close, over the years; Kirk knew his nephew
better than the cadet suspected. He was aware of Peter's feeling that he
had to live up to his illustrious uncle's example, and regretted
inadvertently placing his nephew under that kind of pressure. But Peter
was a Kirk, and he was bound to pressure himself to achieve, no matter
what anyone said to him.
An image of the young man's features drifted before his eyes, and Kirk
shook his head wearily. Would he ever see him again ... alive? Where
was Peter? Was he even now being tortured?
With a muffled groan, Jim Kirk leaned his head in his hands Hang on,
Peter, he thought. Just hang on a little longer ...
Savel stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her thick, shining
hair. Today she was wearing a long blue dress instead of her usual
silvery padded tunic and snug trousers, and she felt more feminine than
she had in a long time.
For a moment, she indulged herself by imagining what Soran might think
if he could see her in this garb. He had been so courteous, so quietly
attentive ... i*. had been very flattering. Sayel knew that most
Vulcans were bonded by the time they were adults ... was Ambassador
Sarek's young aide betrothed?
Surely not; if he'd been promised to another, he wouldn't have stared at
her quite so intensely. His eyes had been very dark, very earnest ...
Savel suddenly wondered what would happen to Soran if her adopted
uncle's most cherished dream was realized, and war erupted between the
Federation and the Klingons--followed swiftly by a full-scale Romu
lan
invasion. Everyone knew that Vulcans were pacifists ... but that word
was not at all synonymous with "cowards." If pushed to defend their
homeworld, Savel was quite sure that the Vulcans would fight, and fight
well.
And what if Soran was hurt ... even killed?
Savel's throat tightened, and she told herself she was
being ridiculous. She'd only met the young Vulcan for a few hours;
thinking about him now was senseless ... illogical!
She stared at her reflection, wondering where Soran was, what he was
doing at the moment. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever find
happening were great--and not simply because she was so drawn to Soran.
The young Vulcans residing on Freelan were technically free to
intermarry with the Romulans ... but few did.
To put it bluntly, the majority of the transplanted Vul-cans on Freelan
were regarded with suspicion and disapproval ... though there were
exceptions. Savel knew of several Vulcans-by-blood who had risen to
high-ranking positions in the Romulan military--some had intermarried.
One or two had even received vital political appointments.
But generally the transplanted Vulcans tended to seek each other's
society, rather than looking to the Roraulans for mates or
companionship. Was this because they had all grown up with the knowledge
that they were a captive people? Or did their telepathic abilities set
them apart?
Some Romulans were willing to accept and welcome the new additions into
their society ... but many more were like Taryn's wife Jolana. Why? Was
Jolana cold and withdrawn because she suspected Savel's loyalty? Since
many Vulcans-by-blood served in the military, and served well, that
attitude was illogical. Or was their distrust and aversion due to
jealousy or fear of the Vulcan telepathic abilities?
There was no way to be sure without a deep mind-meld, and Savel had no
desire for such intimacy with her adopted "aunt" ... so she would never
know.
With a sigh, she smoothed down the skirt of the blue dress, and headed
for the door of her room. Tonight she and Taryn would be leaving aboard
his ship. The commander would take command of the invasionary force that
was being assembled and supplied near Remus. Savel held no military
rank, but her telepathic skills made her invaluable in espionage
efforts.
As she stepped through the door, Savel thought for a moment more about
Soran, but she forced the image of the handsome young aide's face from
her mind. She would never see him again ... thinking about him was
illogical.
Squaring her slender shoulders, head high, Savel resolutely went to find
her uncle, so they could plan what their strategy would be during the
upcoming war.
Peter Kirk paced restlessly, turning again and again to stare through
the observation port at the front of his cell. It had been three days
since Valdyr had fled from him. Three days.
He was still fed regularly, his meals brought now by different Klingon
guards, but she had not returned. The guards had come and gone as
quickly as possible, sparing him barely a glance.
The cadet discovered that, for the first time since this whole thing had
started, he was afraid--gut-wrenchingly, genuinely afraid--but not for
himself.
Could Kamarag have observed Valdyr's behavior toward her prisoner and
considered it disloyal or treacherous?
Could she have been punished for their conversations, for ... touching
him? He ran his thumb over the healing wounds on his palms, as if trying
to reassure himself that that passionate handclasp had actually
happened, that he hadn't imagined the entire thing. No, it had happened.
He glanced at his hand. Oh yes, it had happened.
But where was Valdyr? What if she never returned?
At the thought of never seeing the young Klingon woman again, Peter
swallowed painfully. Valdyr ...
Peter opened his fist and stared down at the marks of her nails. What
had happened between them?
Or, at least ... what had happened to him? He scowled, fighting the
reality, struggling against the truth ... Peter groaned inwardly and
struck the wall of his cell with his fist so hard that he winced from
the pain. But even that couldn't distract him. The 'truth was still
there, immutable, unmistakable ... How long was he going to go on lying
to himself?.
All right, dammir! Peter finally admitted. I love her. I'm a fool!
It was inconceivable that he should love her--a Klingon!
When had it happened? How could it have happened? Were Klingons and
humans even biologically compatible? Who even knew? And yet ... trying
to deny how he felt would be like denying that he had two hands, or two
eyes ... or one heart.
Very little was known about the complexities of Klingon society, though
there was plenty of speculation. Some of the things he'd heard about the
sexual capacity of Klingon women would've made an Orion slaver blush. It
was probably nothing but sleazy speculation, he knew--the same kinds of
things had been said about other groups at other times. Peter had paid
such gossip little mind ... until now.
But now thinking of those things brought images to his mind ... images
... Did Klingons love like humans? Were they even capable of similar
emotions? More importantly, was there any hope at all that Valdyr might
ever have the same feelings for him, or would she just find the whole
thing one more dishonorable complication in a situation that was causing
her considerable soul-searching and anguish?
There had been women in Peter's life, and some of them he'd loved--or,
at least, he'd thought so at the time. Yet the most intimate moments
with them had not moved him the way that touching Valdyr's hand had.
Peter tried telling himself this was just a greater manifestation of
Stockholm Syndrome, but neither his emotions nor his hormones were
listening.
Love? Yeah, let's get really kinky, here, Peter. You'll probably never
see her again until they haul you out to that platform, where she'll be
waiting to perform the be'joy' on you, with Uncle Jim as a witness.
You'll really enjoy that, won't you? You'll love that, right?
Suppose ... suppose ... she'd refued to perform the bejoy'. Maybe that
was why she hadn't returned. Suppose one of the guards who'd been
delivering his meals got the job because she'd refused and her uncle was
furious. What if
he died without ever seeing her again, at the hands of a stranger?
The cadet sank onto his bunk, cradling his head in his hands, feeling
despair ready to overwhelm him.
Something made him glance back at the observation portal, and suddenly,
as if his desire had conjured her up, Valdyr stood there, staring at him
expressionlessly. She said nothing, standing at attention like the good
Klingon warrior she yearned to be.
Slowly, he got up and walked toward the portal, trying to frame words.
Valdyr's eyes widened a
lmost imperceptibly and he stopped dead in his
tracks, suddenly wary. Something was wrong ...
She wasn't alone. Without warning, Kamarag stepped into view. With him
was another soldier, one Peter dimly remembered seeing before. Hadn't
this guy been one of the goons who had come to get him out of his cell
aboard the transport vessel?
Valdyr no longer met his eyes. Was it time for the bejoy?
Peter swallowed, but stood tall, head high. He would not shame himself
... "Ah, the young Kirk," the ambassador murmured approvingly,
addressing Valdyr in Klingonese. "He looks fine, niece. Strong. Healthy.
You have done well." Kamarag eyed Peter through the portal as if sizing
up a side of beef. "Cadet Kirk!" he said in English. "Do you know what
day it is?"
"No, Ambassador," Peter replied, in the same tongue, "I do not."
"It is the day I will have my revenge!" Kamarag informed him. For a
Klingon, his demeanor was positively jovial.
"Even now your uncle speeds to our rendezvous, where I will take him
prisoner. As soon as I have him, Karg here will bring you and Valdyr to
join us." He indicated the other male. Peter stared at the warrior. So
this was Karg ... no wonder Valdyr hated him.
"Aboard my flagship, Hohwi; we shall all enjoy an old Klingon ritual.
Tell me ... do you find my niece attractive, young Kirk?"