The Trellisane Confrontation, Page 3

  "The attack!" Veedron said. "That is our problem. We are under frequent attack, almost constant. We never know when it will come, or what they will bombard. The ship you destroyed was probably on its way to attack us. They noticed you, and you seemed a more tempting target."

  "'They'?" Kirk asked.

  "Sealons, of course."

  "But, sir," Spock objected, "according to our most recent information, the Sealons are still far too primitive to have achieved space flight. Even with Klingon help, it will take them a generation to reach that level, and we know the Klingons have not been interested in this system for that long."

  Veedron sighed. "It wasn't the Klingons who helped the Sealons along: it was we Trellisanians, to our infinite regret. One moment, gentlemen." They had been standing in the room from which Veedron had spoken during his earlier contact with Kirk; the landing party had beamed down to that spot. Except for the communicator on one wall and the handsome tapestries on the walls, the room was empty. The furniture Kirk had noticed in the background during his conversation with Veedron from the ship was missing. Now Veedron clapped his hands once, and servants entered from doorways concealed by the tapestries. They carried small tables, chairs, and trays with food and drink. The room was converted to a low-key banquet hall within minutes. Veedron seemed transformed at the same time—from the obsequious, frightened man who had greeted them upon their arrival to the dominant figure in the room. Kirk could more easily believe now that this was indeed the man who had sent the message he had heard on Trefolg; now the man more closely matched the impression the voice had given. "You see," Veedron said, smiling, "we can still be civilized and treat guests properly, no matter what the external problems might be. Let us put off discussion of Sealon, please, and eat and drink and talk of other things."

  The time seemed interminable to Kirk, but experience had taught him to put on a good front for diplomatic purposes. He chafed at it, though, and wanted to get right to the point of their visit. Should he show his impatience, no doubt Veedron would classify him and his companions as barbarians. Too much depended upon making the right impression, so Kirk schooled his face to an expression of polite enjoyment and waited.

  The food and drink were delicious, and the variety and quantity were both abundant. The cuts of meat, especially, were exotic and exquisite. Kirk could not detect on his companions' faces the same impatience he felt. At last, however, it was over, and, with a sigh of regret, Veedron assumed a more businesslike pose and returned to the main subject.

  "Well over a generation ago, Captain, our ships made the first voyage to Sealon. By Sealon standards, that would be two generations ago. As you probably know, they are a warlike people, killing or subjugating each other without compunction." He shuddered at the thought. "The first Trellisanian expedition was almost wiped out when it tried to make contact with the Sealons. The few who survived were able to return and tell us their horror story." He took a reflective sip of wine from an ornate goblet. "After a lengthy discussion between the leaders of the gemots, we decided that the Sealons needed to be helped along the path of civilization and peacefulness. It was clear to us that their belligerence was due to their undeveloped state. With our help, they could outgrow all of that." An expression of deep pain crossed his face. "We lost many more of our citizens before we could establish contact with them. Their hostility and cruelty were virtually mindless. Those we sent were killed before they could communicate our intentions. We persisted, though, seeing it as our duty to our lesser developed brothers, who are after all children of the same star." He paused, staring off into space.

  "Obviously, then, you managed to make contact with them eventually," Kirk prompted.

  "Oh, yes, of course. We persisted, trying different locations on their planet. In time, we came across one Sealon city state whose leader was a being of some vision, one who ordered his underlings to let our people live until they could learn his language and explain their mission. When they had done so, he welcomed them and all the help we wanted to give him. They're quick learners, the Sealons. They passed through the stages of civilization much faster than our own ancestors did." He said this with some bitterness. "Before long, this leader, Pongol, had extended his domination over much of his world. Sealon has few land masses, and those are small. Pongol chose one such land area as his technical center. Under his successor, Matabele, we led them to the stage of space flight and subspace radio. On the land mass chosen by Pongol, they now have an impressive technically and industrially oriented city, and their own space port. We had expected them to use both their radio and their ships to increase their cultural and commercial contacts with us, to our mutual benefit. Alas, that was not to be." Once again, he became lost in his thoughts.

  Kirk, growing increasingly impatient at Veedron's circuitous, drawn-out style of storytelling, prompted him again. "I suppose their warlike nature remained."

  "Yes." As if he wanted to get through the next part of his explanation as quickly as possible, Veedron spoke much more briskly than before. "Yes, they hadn't changed, after all. Once they had learned what they could from us, they killed all the Trellisanians within their territory and cut off contact with us. Unknown to us, they had already used their subspace radio to speak to the Klingons, and now they invited the Klingons in. Under Klingon tutelage, they learned to arm their space ships, and then they undertook a war against us."

  "They also modified their ships along Klingon lines," Spock remarked.

  "Yes. In general, they found the Klingons far more to their taste than they did us."

  Kirk snorted. "They might change their minds when they learn the Klingons' true intentions."

  Veedron's hand fluttered, dismissing that argument. "I doubt if they have any delusions about that, even now. The Sealons, and Matabele in particular, are a supremely confident species, possibly with some justification. I'm sure they plan to absorb all they can from the Klingons, just as they did earlier from us, and then turn against them. No doubt the Klingons will react more vigorously to that than we did."

  "How did you react?" Kirk asked the question, but he thought he could anticipate the answer.

  "We retreated. Quite simply, we turned inward completely. We were filled with guilt as much as with fear. There was an extraordinary council of all the gemots at which the decision was made to abandon all space flight and concentrate on our remaining domestic problems. We had done evil on Sealon; we had also put ourselves in danger from them. We hoped that, with our space ships gone, they would choose to ignore us and go their own way."

  Kirk shook his head. "Of course that didn't happen. That path never works."

  Veedron said, "I was one of the few who opposed that path of action. Fortunately, I was able to gain a compromise: we retained our subspace radio installations. The Sealons did not ignore us. They soon began to attack us here, on our own world. At first, we couldn't decide what to do. We still feared going back into space ourselves, and we were afraid we would antagonize them even more if we tried to. Then the Klingons approached us with an offer. If we would join their empire willingly, they would protect us from the Sealons."

  McCoy blurted out, "Don't trust them, for God's sake!"

  "Calmly, Bones," Kirk said. "He's right, of course. You can't trust them. They would never try to take over by open force. They know that would bring us in in a hurry. However, if they can honestly say that you invited them, as the Sealons already have, then we have no excuse to intervene. That was when you tried to contact us?"

  Veedron nodded. "We agreed we had no choice but to reopen contact with the outside. As you have already noticed, we have no defenses. We no longer have any detection devices beyond orbital sensors. Trellisane also has a large ratio of water to land area—about two to one—with very large continental shelves. The Klingons implied they would gladly equip the Sealons to make landings on those shelves so that they could begin to colonize Trellisane. We would be left with nothing when it was all over, not even our lives."

/>   "If we agree to defend you, I hope you realize fully what sort of Galactic politics you'll be getting involved in."

  Veedron was about to answer when Kirk's communicator bleeped. He took it from his belt quickly and flipped it open. "Kirk here."

  Sulu's voice. "Captain, we're under attack again. This time, there're three of them." His voice was interrupted by loud noises and the gabble of voices in the background.

  "Sulu! What's happening up there?" The men from the Enterprise sat tensely, mentally projecting themselves back onto the ship and trying to imagine what was happening onboard. "Sulu!"

  "Sorry, Captain. It was a bit worse this time than last. They have screens, so we couldn't get at them so easily. We've taken one of them out of action, but the other two are still making passes. There's been some damage. We can't beam you up while this is going on. I'll get back to you as soon—" There was a loud crash, followed by silence. Kirk looked around the room helplessly, imagining the worst.

  Endless minutes passed. Veedron went quietly to the wall communicator and spoke in low tones to the central office which coordinated the orbital sensors, but they could add nothing significant to what Sulu had already said.

  The communicator bleeped again. "Captain Kirk?" A smooth voice, well modulated, unhurried.

  "Yes! Who is this? Where's Sulu?"

  "Sulu is well, Captain, for now. This is Hander Morl. I am now in command of your ship, and I have some unfinished business to attend to, business your treasonous friends on Trefolg interrupted. I thought I would do you the courtesy of informing you before the ship departed from orbit. One commander to another. Console yourself with this thought: your ship will be sacrificed to the good of the Federation, and you will survive its destruction. You may lose your commission because of this, but once the war with the Romulans gets well underway, there should be ample opportunity for an able man like you to work your way back up the command ladder again. Good-bye, Captain." The communicator clicked off, and there was no further response, despite Kirk's repeated attempts at contact.

  "My ship," Kirk muttered disbelievingly. "They've got my ship." Beside that fact, Trellisane and all its troubles faded into insignificance.

  Chapter Five

  Sulu had been overconfident. When the three attackers were first detected, he ordered only half power to the ship's defensive screens, convinced that this enemy's weapons would be no more potent than the first attacker's. These three came in with their own screens up and they were therefore not as vulnerable to the Enterprise's phasers as Sulu expected them to be. Nonetheless, the Enterprise's first shot put one of them out of action, even though it didn't destroy it.

  The remaining two fired simultaneously and at the same point on the Enterprise. The Enterprise's defense computer responded quickly, decreasing screen power elsewhere in order to reinforce the point under fire, doing the best it could under the constraint Sulu's order of half power had placed upon it. It was not quite quick enough. During the picosecond delay before the computer issued its command and the few nanoseconds following that before the command was implemented and screen power could build up, the Sealons' beams sliced through the weak screens. What struck the hull was much diminished in strength by its passage through the screen, but it was strong enough.

  The beam hit the main hull and ruptured several layers of the metallic outer skin. This was where the Security section was located. The impact sent Security personnel reeling against furniture and walls. Kinitz, the section's chief, was off duty and was resting in his quarters; the concussion threw him from his bunk. He landed on the floor in a half-crouch, snapping awake and reacting instinctively at the first shock. For a few moments, the lights in his cabin went off. The Sealons' phaser beams had cut through the main power supply to the Security section; by an almost impossible coincidence, the shock waves from the exploding outer skin had so degraded the section's self-contained emergency power unit that seconds passed before the lights in Kinitz's cabin came flickeringly and weakly to life again. In that dim half-light, Kinitz waited impatiently for the door of his cabin to open slowly. As soon as he could squeeze through the opening, he ran down the hallway. His worry approached frenzy: uppermost in his imagination was the image of the guardian beams of the detention cell doorways cutting off for those few vital seconds. Uncharacteristically, Kinitz made a mistake. He neglected to use the communication module in his cabin to alert his men to the possibility of an escape.

  Kinitz's worst fears were justified. The beams had cut off for a few seconds, and one of Hander Morl's bodyguards leaped instantly through the doorway and into the corridor beyond. The other Assassin, in an adjacent cell and not quite as quick-witted as his colleague, didn't move until he saw the other man already in the hallway. By then, the beams had come back on, although weakly, and the second Assassin was flung back against his cell's far wall, unconscious from the blast to his nervous system.

  Hander Morl himself and the two Nactern women watched all of this with no reaction. But the Onctiliian group-creature, estimating the weakness of the beams from the dimness of the flash they made when the second Assassin hit them, gauged its own chances differently. It rolled back to the far wall of its cell and then threw itself forward at the doorway. There was a flash and the smell of burned flesh, but the creature's momentum carried it through. It rolled to a stop in the corridor, weak and exhausted. One of its four components, the one most exposed to the beams, had been knocked unconscious. The other three Onctiliians quickly reorganized their mental union, reassigning life functions so that the unconscious member was properly cared for; the resulting intelligence, reduced though it was, was still greater than a man's.

  Recovered thus far, the Onctiliian took note of its surroundings again. It saw the Assassin vanish around the curve of the corridor, and it saw nothing by the doors of the detention cells that would enable it to turn off the beams and release the others, so it rolled down the corridor in the direction opposite to that taken by the Assassin.

  The Assassin found the control panel only a short distance further on. A young Security guard had been seated at a small desk before it, reading a book while keeping a desultory watch on the corridor, but the impact seconds earlier had thrown him from his chair. He had hit his head on the floor and was only now climbing groggily to his feet. He never quite made it. The Assassin reached him before he could get his feet under him or his hand on his weapon or the alarm button. With the guard lying dead next to his desk, the Assassin studied the labels on the control panels briefly, then pushed a series of buttons. He picked up the dead guard's phaser, looked at it for a moment in contempt, then shrugged, put the weapon in his belt, and headed back toward the cells.

  Meanwhile, the Onctiliian, still feeling somewhat disoriented, came across three Security men in the corridor and stopped in momentary confusion. The men were rubbing their bruised shoulders and elbows and discussing their shaking-up in loud voices. Although a Condition Red had been announced and the men knew the Enterprise was under attack, they had no specific defensive duties, and they were griping loudly to dispel their feelings of tension and helplessness. One of them happened to glance down the corridor and noticed the Onctiliian sitting quietly in the middle of it, as if it were listening to their complaints. "Look," the Security man said softly, nudging his neighbor, "what's that?"

  The other man looked over his shoulder, then shouted, "Jesus, it's one of the prisoners!" He grabbed his phaser from his belt and fired at the alien.

  Without conscious thought, the Onctiliian had stopped with its nonfunctioning component facing the humans. The phaser was set on "stun," always the standard setting for men under Kirk's command, but the comatose Onctiliian caught the full force of the blast. Because of the smaller size of the individual Onctiliian body and the greater complexity of its nervous system, what would stun a man could be a dangerous shock even to a healthy Onctiliian; weakened as it already was, the unconscious component died.

  The shock of its death tore throug
h the three surviving Onctiliians. A high-pitched, three-voice scream echoed down the corridor—an astonishingly sweet sound, a Siren song. The cry momentarily paralyzed the three security men. The Onctiliian, enraged and bewildered, flashed down the hallway, a blur the men could scarcely see. It left two of the men as long red smears along the walls and the third one with a crushed side. Deranged, the Onctiliian rolled down the corridor, randomly killing or crippling some of those it encountered and ignoring others.

  Spock had been somewhat mistaken in his information about Onctiliians. In this, he could be excused, since little was known about them in the Galaxy at large. While it was true that the death of one of the four physically bonded individuals had doomed the group-creature as a whole to death, that death would not come as rapidly as Spock had implied. The first effect had been madness: physically powerful and mentally potent as the three-part creature still was, its sanity could not survive the sudden loss of one-fourth of what had been itself. It was not that which doomed it, however, but rather the poisons from the dead member even now spreading through the bodies of the other three. Even if it had stayed sane, it could not have divested itself of the corpse. The attachment between the four was profound, thorough, and eternal. The dissolution of a dead Onctiliian was rapid, and its effect on the others—the effect of the proteins, digestive acids, and other biochemicals its death had released into their bloodstreams—was inevitable and irreversible, but it could take hours or even days to finally kill them.

  Kinitz appeared before it. He fell into a crouch, his phaser pointing at the Onctiliian, but it suddenly swerved to one side and through an open archway. Kinitz hurried forward. The archway was the entrance to a cargo and service ramp that led downwards in a spiral path to lower levels, and by the time Kinitz got to the opening, the Onctiliian had disappeared. He hesitated for a moment, afraid of the damage the creature might cause below, but he knew the greater danger lay ahead of him: it was far more important that he find Hander Morl, the leader of the prisoners, and take him captive again if he had escaped.