by Diane Carey
He stopped, halting the whole line of us, and I
squirmed past the others into the lead.
"Stay behindme," I told him. Leading with my
shoulder and a good dose of nerve, I peeked into the
lab. Nearly stripped bare, the lab held only a few
engineering consoles, a computer outlet, and a few
empty metal crates. There weren't even any chairs
left, if there had ever been any in the first place. I
motioned the others inside. Scanner nudged the door
shut.
There was only a little more lighting in here than in
the corridor, though these lights were electrical rather
than the diogen filament torches that ran through the
hallways for function rather than for close work. Evi-
l86
denfly Captain Kirk's handiwork with the electrical
system had depleted the power leading to the labs. But
that didn't matter any more. There wasn't anyone left
but ourselves. The work done in these labs was omi-
nously complete.
Sarda appeared beside me. "The communications
board should be near the mainframe outlet. They
would have no reason to take it with them." As he
spoke, he hunted through the piles of discarded equip-
ment and storage crates. "Yes, here it is. Partially
dismantled."
The two of us lifted the portable console up onto a
nearby cabinet. It looked like a computer board with a
hangover.
"Can you fix it?" I asked, grimacing in empathy
with the mangled board.
"They likely did not intentionally dismantle it,"
Sarda said, "but merely cannibalized some parts. We
may be able to bypass those and create enough signal
to trigger your ship's transporter." "Scanner, what do you think?"
He moved in between us and thoughtfully twisted
his mouth. "Doesn't look too bad. You want me to
try?"
My shoulders drooped. I gave him a deadly glare.
"Okay, I'll try," he said, and put his hands on the
console.
The doctors and I spent several minutes gathering
the bits and pieces that fit Scanner and Sarda's
descriptions of what they needed, and the communica-
tions console quickly began looking more like its own
kind. Scanner pulled up a crate and sat down before
the tilted mechanism, and began attempting to contact
the automatic pilot aboard Rex. "He's up there, I
know he is," he muttered self-consciously.
"Can you boost your gain?" I asked.
"Rex'11 answer, don't worry."
I couldn't help it. I still had trouble trusting a ship
187
that looked like the remains of a brewery explosion. I
leaned over his shoulder, trying to make sense of the
red blips on the tiny screen as they ran through white
cross hairs, seeking matched waves. "Maybe you
need more power. There's got to be a--"
Nonregulation bulldozers hit us from behind. We
never even heard them coming. Only their vicious
warning growls preceded the impact, and only by a
fraction of a second. I was struck hard in the middle of
my back with just enough balance of force and re-
straint that I was momentarily stunned but still quite
conscious. The room spun, a whirl of pain and faces.
My legs withered under me as the pain in my back took
hold and my nervous system responded. Something
gripped my arms and pulled me up and around, then
crushed me back against a pile of crates, and a gnarly
hand cupped my throat. For an instant I almost tried to
strike back. Mercenaries were only human, after
all--
But these weren't Mornay's hired guards. These
faces hated us well beyond the value of a credit
payment.
A Klingon disruptor brushed my cheek. Stale breath
wreathed my face.
His head at a menacing tilt, Gelt snarled his satisfac-
tion. "Dance with me."
With great effort I pulled my eyes from his and
confirmed the nightmare four Klingons at attack
stance held disruptors cleanly on Sarda and the others.
"Where is it?" Gelt demanded. "The science you're
making here."
"We're not the scientists," I choked past his grip. I
tried to keep the pain out of my voice for the sakes of
my friends. "As you can see, they took their equip-
ment and left. We're not even sure what they were
doing."
Nary a flicker of belief damaged his anathema.
188
"Transwarp," he whispered. Well, so much for that
bluff. "Where is it?"
All right, if he wanted answers; I'd give him an-
swers. "About 35,000 kilometers away from here by
now, I'd say."
His grip at my throat tightened, clawing inward
under my ear. My carotid artery pounded, and I had to
drag in what little breath he let me have. Starved for
oxygen, my lungs began to ache and the pain in my
back throbbed enough to make me dizzy. "Straight up, I'll wager," Gelt said.
His smugness enraged me, as it had once before. I
bumped my arms against his hard chestplate just to
show him how I felt, and forced my voice to rasp past
his grip. "That's right, fossil face, and there's nothing
you can do against a starship."
There was something intensely satisfying about be-
ing despised by a Klingon. Not particularly pleasant,
but satisfying anyway. If my mouth hadn't been rock
dry, I'd have spat at him. Past his ugly face, McCoy
and Scanner were refining the art of astonishment.
Gelt's lips peeled back in hatred as he fanned his gun
arm outward and barked at his nearest fellow taran-
tula, "Hlch Qorch.t Toogh!"
As soon as his hand was free, Gelt ripped open his
belt guard and pulled out the kind of dagger that's so
mean looking it draws blood with appearance alone.
And it was still in a sheath! Gelt wanted to see the
blade, though. With a snapping motion, the sheath
struck the floor and bright silver glinted between his
face and mine. "Your friends are corpses," he said.
"But you... you are what we call bortas choQ. Do
you know the words?" His hand pressed tighter on my
throat. His teeth were gritted, his whisper one of
hunger. Only his lips moved. "Revenge meat."
The blade rasped wide. Now there were claws on it.
Never let it be said that Klingons had no sense of
drama.
189
I tensed, waiting for the impact. Die with a Klingon
blade between my fibs?
The room erupted into flaming lances. From a hid-
den alcove came a burst of phaser fire. First one
Klingon, then another were blasted across the room
into heaps. Not really understanding, I reacted first
and thought about it later. I jammed my knuckles hard
into Gelt's right eye as he turned to look. He howled,
and lost his grip on my throat.
Two more Klingons were sighting down at that
alcove, exchanging disruptor fire for phaser bolts
while trying to ta
ke cover behind a table and a lighting
stand. Sarda dropped back onto a counter and brought
his legs up, and nailed one of the Klingons in the side
of the head with both heels. The Klingon went down,
but roBBed over and staggered up again, to be caught by
a phaser shot. He skidded into Gelt's legs, and both
went down.
Free now, I fought to stay up on thready legs. Gelt
was trying to get up from an awkward position, tan-
gled with his unconscious cohort, and I knew I had
only seconds. I reached upward, grasped a heavy air-
conditioning unit from a newly carved wall outlet,
braced my feet on the wall, and heaved. It stuck. With
an inelegant shift of my weight, the unit jolted loose
and I pulled it down on Geit's head, adding what
strength I had left to the already weighty object. Gelt
convulsed once, and went limp.
I slumped against the waft, gasping. My vision dis-
solved into a black tunnel before I could assimilate
what was happening with the last Klingon. My ears
roared, then whined, then began to accept the gift of
blood and air again. I hung a hand on the open collar of
my flight suit, glad it wasn't a turtleneck.
I hadn't realized I was slipping down the wall until
Dr. McCoy's voice beside me was accompanied by
firm support from both sides. "Are you all right?"
Scanner was there too. "Did he cut you, Piper?"
790
I shook my head and blinked down at the fuzzy
shape of a Klingon disruptor, still clenched in its
owner's hand. "How come," I rasped, "we're the
only ones obeying... Argelian law?"
A sigh of relief fell from Scanner. He looked first at
the inert form of Gelt, then at me. He shook his head,
struck by my raw invertebrate-level hatred of
Klingons. "You know, I think you must have some
tribble in you," he observed.
My vision was starting to return now that I could
breathe. I coughed once, mostly to make sure I
wouldn't make a fool of myself when I answered them.
With an indelicate shove, I straightened up. "Scanner,
get back to work."
"You all fight, though?"
"Sure . . . go on." I pushed him back toward the
communications console. Not very convincing; I was
still leaning on Dr. McCoy, surprised at the strength in
his slender form.
What had happened? Had I been imagining it when I
saw Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock being beamed away?
Were they here? Had the cavalry come in again?
I blinked and took deep breaths, willing my vision to
clear.
But the form in the alcove was neither Kirk nor
Speck.
Perren moved somberly from the archway. The
phaser was still held upward, but he was looking down
at the last of the Klingons, now a quivering lump at his
feet. He was carrying a nondescript metal case by the
handle, which left his right hand free for the phaser.
Now he looked up and made a fleeting eye contact first
with Sarda, then me. Clutching the metal case tightly,
he moved out of the alcove, keeping his back to the
wall and the phaser firmly raised.
I moved away from McCoy. Walking was an effort.
My back throbbed where Gelt had bludgeoned it. I
didn't stop until my own crew were all behind me.
797
Sarda came up at my side, though, and I knew there
was nothing that would wave him back. "Thank you," I said.
Perren nodded a single, simple nod. "You're quite
welcome."
Disturbing moments shuttled past as we wondered
if we were captive again. Five of us against one Vulcan
and a phaser... incalculable odds indeed.
Perren, perhaps sensing that, provided the answer.
"I have no intent of challenging you," he said, not
quite able to mitigate the edge of warning in his tone.
He moved sideways, toward the door, the rich green
quilt of his tunic making a shock of color against the
gray stone. "I am sorry our goals cannot harmonize.';
"Neither do yours and Professor Mornay's," I told
him, also moving slowly toward the door, hoping he
wouldn't feel threatened yet. "Mornay intends to use
Enterprise as a test ship for transwarp. She doesn't
care about the safety systems or the lives of the crew."
"The crew will be beamed down when we reach our
destination," Perren said. "They will live."
"They may already be dead," Dr. McCoy spoke up
forcefully, a distinct blade of professional experience
giving credence to his statement. "Mornay's either
lying or fooling herself about how easy it is to provide
an antidote. Narcotic gases shouldn't be played with,
and to her it's all a game." He nailed the words to
Perren's chest with a hammering truthfulness.
"She's finished with safety, Perren," I carried on.
"If transwarp fails, she'll take over 500 people with
her into interdimensional hell, and if it doesn't fail, the
crew of Enterprise is already forfeited. She's fooling
you. Don't let her."
Doubt flickered on his fine Vulcan features, but only
a flicker, and soon controlled. He swallowed stiffly.
"Ursula has planned carefully. The narcotic is not
lethal."
192
"She's a theorist," Merete interrupted in the tough-
est tone I'd ever heard from her. "She's not a medical
specialist. No one can learn how to handle hypnoge-
neticides overnight. It takes months just to isolate
correct dosages. Are you going to believe her or Dr.
McCoy?"
Perren wrapped his arm around the metal case, and
I was stricken with the undeniable image of a child
clutching a stuffed toy. For many seconds he never
moved, nor even blinked. The inner battle slimmed his
eyes and drew his blade-sharp brows together. Beside
me, Sarda tensed with a kind of empathy only Vuicans
could understand, a remote kind of blending in which
the integrity of personal privacy was constantly at
risk.
The wild, impossible victory against a sister ship
recurred in my mind, and Captain Kirk fed me one of
his favorite tactics from the reaches of my memory.
Push, push, push till it explodes in your face.
"You're being used," I insisted. "She'll turn on
you. Hundreds of lives will be the cost."
"Piper is right, Perren," Sarda said. "I entreat you,
believe her."
He hadn't used the word "correct." He had said
"right." A subtle difference; a moral difference.
Perren stepped.over one of the unconscious Kling-
ons and reached the doorway, then hesitated. He
seemed unwilling to leave us until he had made his
conclusions and then explained them to us. That alone
showed me his unsureness. His need to explain proved
to me that we were breaking through.
'I must tread a center course," he said finally, and
not without some diffidence. "I must stand by my
calculations and my har
dware. I am willing to do so
for the sake of my goals. This---" He waved his phaser
once over the fallen Klingons. "--is the sort of event
I am trying to stop." The twitching bodies of our ene-
193
mies, still caressing their weapons, illustrated his point
neatly. "Ursula underestimates Vulcans. It is a perfect
cloak for me to wear."
Sarda stepped toward him, now standing slightly to
one side between me and Perten. "It is illogical to
sacrifice the lives of an entire starship crew," he said,
reverting to simple didactics.
"It is illogical to sacrifice all I have worked toward
on the basis of a danger that is only theoretical."
Perren's voice jumped a shade toward that irritation
I'd heard before. "If the starship crew is already dead,
then they are no longer a factor. You are free now. I
shall neither help nor hinder you. There is nothing
your ship can do against a starship." He looked from
me to Sarda, the change evidenced by only the barest
tightening of his mouth. "I regret that we must
part."
Sarda remained absolutely still. Only I, standing so
near to him, perceived the advance of his tension and
his efforts to hold himself back. "We need not part,"
he said.
Older and fully trained in his Vulcan controls, Per-
ren had less trouble subjugating his regret. Having
been caught up in the rare experience of human-
Vulcan friendship, I'd wondered for a long time now
what friendship would be like between two Vulcans, if
indeed this was friendship and not merely that strange
training bond necessary between mentor and pupil. As
Spock had pointed out to me, Perren and Sarda had
much in common from the beginning--mostly the fact
that each had had trouble fitting in to current Vulcan
conformity. It must have been comforting for Sarda to
find another Vulcan who understood his awkward
place, someone of his own race that he wasn't obli-
gated to explain himself to. I wished I had thought of
these things earlier. I'd have been more prepared for
what was coming.
Perren nodded, but not in agreement. It was some-
194
thing different entirely. "Then I regret that we part
before our objectives can be shared. It remains only