Demands of Honor

by Kevin Ryan

  Parmet looked stricken and ready to say something, but Fuller raised his hand to silence the young man. Fuller didn’t expect or want blind obedience—at least not until the mission started. If there were questions, better to get them out in the open now.

  “You’ve been reading up on the Anti-Federation League, then?” Fuller said.

  “Yes, and I had some experience with them in San Francisco during one of their anti-Starfleet demonstrations.” Some of the others nodded, and Fuller could see that she was just saying what everyone was thinking. “They hate the Federation and everything it stands for. However, to be fair, they seem to hate Starfleet even more. And, according to the mission data we’ve seen, they are in Klingon space in violation of a number of laws and regulations. And their self-styled peace mission is foolish at best, and treasonous at worst. If I’m reading this situation correctly, we’ll be risking our lives to save people who hate our guts.”

  “You obviously have strong feelings about these people. Do you think that would compromise your ability to fulfill your duties?” Fuller asked.

  “Not at all, sir, but I simply wanted to make it clear that I think our friends in the Klingon’s hands … well, I don’t like them, sir,” McCalmon said.

  From the nods in the rest of the squad, Fuller could see that the others agreed with her.

  “Noted, Ensign. We have to respect the infinite diversity we encounter, but we are under no obligation to like everyone we meet. Consider this an opportunity to reach out to people who may just need to get to know Starfleet better.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I think the minds in the Anti-Federation League are pretty well made up with regard to Starfleet.”

  “You’re probably right, but I did say that we would be facing some pretty tough odds here,” Fuller replied.

  That done, they went over the mission again. When Fuller was finished, Jawer asked, “Sir, will you be flying the shuttle?”

  Fuller shook his head. “No, we have a more highly rated command pilot in the squad. Ensign Quatrocchi, you just volunteered.”

  The tall ensign nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “You are rated on this model shuttle, but understand that additions to the external configuration will change the mass distribution. I want you to log some time on a simulator—as soon as Lieutenant Sulu finishes working one up for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Until then, you can all join me in the armory. We’re going to pick up training phasers and get to work,” Fuller said.

  Chapter Nine

  ORION-BUILT MINING FACILITY

  SYSTEM 7348

  FEDERATION SPACE

  ADON HAD JUST FINISHED with a simulation when he heard a noise outside the computer center. The smile died on his face and he was immediately on his feet. A moment later, one of the clan came running in. It was his uncle, his father’s younger brother. The man’s face was twisted by … what? Fear? Grief?

  “There’s been an …,” his uncle said, faltering when his eyes found Adon’s. “It’s your father.”

  Moving before the words had fully registered, Adon asked, “Where?” as he headed for the door.

  “They will reach the village in a few moments.”

  Adon raced through the halls, with his people trailing behind him. He picked up a few details on the way: there had been an accident, his father had been hurt.

  What kind of accident could Father have had at a clan meeting? a voice in his head asked.

  An attack, he replied to himself. That is what Uncle was going to say. His father had been attacked, probably by an animal. There were predators on their world, but they rarely ventured close to the villages—having learned long ago that they would more likely find death than a meal in Adon’s people.

  But there is no more dangerous predator than Father, Adon thought.

  Something was wrong. Father must be badly hurt, he thought. Adon ran faster for the village. Even if he was hurt, Father was strong. And the green-skins had left more than weapons and mining machines. There was equipment for treating injury and illness. Father would recover.

  Unless he’s already …, the voice in his head began, but Adon silenced it before it could finish. Finally, he reached the outer residences and raced on to the center of the village where a small crowd was gathering. He recognized one of Gurn’s people there, which made him shudder. Before he could even make an inquiry, he saw movement ahead. Someone was coming. No, not someone—two someones—and they were carrying a third person.

  Father …, he thought, and raced for them.

  As he arrived, Gurn and one of his clan placed Adon’s father on the ground. They did it slowly, almost reverentially. Something was wrong with that. If father was hurt, he needed attention. They needed to move quickly. He might need the green-skins’ machines.

  “Father,” Adon gasped out loud as he got down on his knees.

  The wounds were terrible. There were bites on his hands and chest, as well as one on his throat.

  “Help me get him to the mine,” Adon said desperately as he pulled on his father’s arm. There was something wrong. Father felt too heavy, and the others weren’t moving. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Gurn looking down at him.

  “He is dead. I am sorry, young Adon.” For an irrational moment, Adon wanted to kill the clan leader for speaking such a deplorable lie about his father. Gorath couldn’t be dead. The clan needed him, especially now …

  … and Adon needed him.

  Adon felt his control start to crumble, but he forced himself to his feet and looked at Gurn. The man was wearing a crude bandage on his face. Looking around, Adon saw the clan leader’s other men had also been injured.

  “What happened?” he asked sharply.

  “After the clan meeting, we heard a struggle and ran to see your father battling three quoth. He fought bravely and we tried to help him. Together, we fought off the beasts, but it was too late for your father.” Gurn put his hand on Adon’s shoulder. “I am sorry, son.”

  Reflexively, Adon shook off the hand and looked up at Gurn suspiciously. His blood was calling out a warning. Then he saw something, a line of blood under the bandage on Gurn’s face. A straight line of blood—from a straight wound, the kind made by a blade not a bite.

  His eyes automatically searched out his father’s mek’leth, which was lying on his chest. Kneeling down, Adon saw blood there. Of course there was no way to tell if the blood was from the beasts.

  Or was there?

  Yet the sight of his father’s bloody and torn body soon pushed all other thoughts aside, and Adon felt his control disappear. Sobs racked his body as he clutched his father.

  Adon finally agreed to allow his father’s body to be moved from the clearing. Along with Uncle and three of his father’s closest companions, Adon carried his father to their home. Two of Adon’s own companions joined them there.

  He fought down his grief and worked with his uncle to prepare his father’s body. Cleaning his father, he saw that the wounds were terrible. Yet, dressed in his departing robes, Gorath looked as if he might simply be asleep. That thought brought a fresh well of grief that threatened Adon’s scant control. In truth, he was simply a boy who desperately needed his father to tell him what to do. He needed his father to get up from the table and tell him that it had all been a terrible mistake. Then he needed his father to set this great wrong to right.

  Yet his father was still as he lay on the table in the center of their home. Uncle and those who were closest to Adon and Gorath performed the departing ritual. When it was done, his uncle put a hand on Adon’s shoulder as they sat. Adon was tempted to fall into his uncle’s embrace and wait through the night with them.

  When one of their people died, those closest to the family had the duty of keeping vigil to see the departed off during the first night. The next day, there would be visitors to receive and then a burial. Of course, that was under normal circumstances, and what had happened here was far from no
rmal.

  And the danger that had claimed his father was far from passed and might well swallow the entire clan, if not their entire world. If Adon had his father’s strength, he would be on his feet immediately setting the wrong right and getting his revenge.

  He said a quick prayer to the man that had been his father and clan leader. No great wisdom came to him, but he found that he was able to stand—on what could only have been strength borrowed from his father. He looked at Gorath’s still form and realized that the great man was gone. He might not have his father’s strength, but he would have to make do with what he had.

  The others looked at him expectantly, as if they had seen something on his face. Finally Uncle said, “What is it, Adon?”

  “My father has been murdered.” Adon was surprised at the calm in his voice. He chalked that up to a parting gift from Gorath.

  “The quoth are beasts,” Uncle said.

  “It was not beasts that murdered Gorath.” Then Adon told the others what he had seen and what he now suspected.

  “Gurn is capable of this, I am certain,” Uncle said finally. “But to move against him the way things are now, we need to be sure.”

  “The green-skins’ machines can tell us if the blood on my father’s sword is a beast’s or a man’s,” Adon said. “I will go alone to the mine and find the truth.”

  “You will go nowhere alone,” Uncle said as the six men around him rose.

  “It will not go unnoticed. There will be talk if we all leave during the ritual,” Adon said.

  “There has been much worse than talk here today, and there will be much worse yet,” Uncle said.

  The men went quickly to their homes and retrieved their own mek’leths, and returned to Adon.

  “We served your father. We will serve you,” Uncle said seriously.

  There were nods of assent from the other men. It was absurd, of course. Gorath was a great man. Adon was simply his son and the one who happened to be left alive. Yet, the others were looking at him as if they were seeing some of his father in him. Well, Adon knew the truth, but he simply nodded his thanks.

  “Adon!” a voice called out as a figure came running across the center of the village. It was Bethe who came to a stop in front of them, eyeing them seriously. She took particular interest in the swords they wore. “What are you doing?”

  “For the moment, nothing,” Adon said.

  Bethe raised her eyebrows at that but said only, “Gurn has called an emergency meeting of the clan leaders.”

  “Not of all the clan leaders,” Uncle said. Technically, of course, Adon was the new clan leader, but that was simply too much to comprehend.

  “He said he did not want to bother you in your time of grief,” Bethe said.

  “Well, these are dangerous times. I will have to go to this emergency meeting,” Adon said, keeping his voice as even as he could.

  “Adon, what are you really doing? What is really going on here?” Bethe wasn’t the only one who had noticed Adon and his group outside. Villagers were peeking out from their homes. They all knew something was happening.

  “Tell everyone to wait until I get back. I will explain then,” Adon said.

  Bethe nodded and seemed to accept that, for which Adon was grateful. If they were lucky, Adon and his small circle would take care of Gurn and his men quickly and quietly. Then, when the crisis had passed, he could reveal all.

  Heading for the meeting place, Adon felt his blood burning. Before the night was over, he would know the truth and he would have his revenge. But before they were halfway there, Adon heard someone approaching from behind. It was Bethe. When she was close enough, she said, “The villagers await your return and your news. You must know, they will follow the son of Gorath wherever his path leads.”

  Looking down, Adon saw that Bethe was wearing a mek’leth of her own. He shook his head. “What are you doing?”

  “I am following the son of Gorath wherever—”

  He shook his head. “Return to the village.”

  “No,” she said evenly.

  “I thought you would follow me,” Adon said, frustration in his voice.

  “I serve your interests, not your will,” Bethe said pleasantly.

  “There is a difference?”

  “Of course.”

  “A small one I think.” Adon looked at the path ahead and realized that he had no time to argue with Bethe. In fact, he had a much larger battle to fight. And while he would have preferred to have her out of danger, he did need the help. He shrugged and continued toward the clan meeting place.

  His blood began to call out a warning, and Adon walked faster, then trotted, then ran. The group burst into the meeting pit to see the surprised faces of clan leaders and their seconds. Most surprised was Gurn, who had a dozen men around him—all of them, Adon noted, armed with Orion pistols and swords.

  “Young Adon, what are you doing here?” Gurn’s voice was even, almost pleasant, and it took every bit of strength Adon possessed not to race forward and strike down his father’s murderer. The guards would not allow it. It was not fear for himself that stopped him, but fear that he would fail. Adon vowed that he would have his revenge, even if it could not be at this moment.

  “Why are you calling a meeting of the clans?” Adon asked, ignoring Gurn’s question. Then Adon noticed that at four points surrounding the pit green-skin flying craft were hovering in the air. Father had taught Adon to pilot those craft, which were flying platforms with room for a single standing pilot with a large cannon mounted in the front. Gorath and Uncle had taken some of the craft from the Orions and used them in the battle to save the planet.

  Now, four of Gurn’s clan were standing on the vehicles that watched the skies, pointing out toward the surrounding woods. Adon noted with distaste that the pilots were wearing the Orion armored suits and helmets that covered their faces completely.

  “You wear pistols and bring those green-skin weapons to our meeting place?” Adon did not bother to try to hide the challenge in his voice.

  “I have just told the great leaders of our people that we are in grave danger. I would have summoned you, but I knew you were standing vigil with your father,” Gurn said, his voice and face losing none of their false pleasantness.

  “I serve my father’s clan, and if there is a grave danger, I will help deal with it,” Adon said.

  “Very well. Before your father died, we were discussing an offer by the Klingons to talk with them and seek their further help and protection.”

  “You would talk to the ones who tried to destroy us and the world beneath our feet?” Adon said.

  “You are young and will learn that things are not always as they first appear. The Klingons have provided us with new information to prove that the humans are the ones who sent the green-skins here,” Gurn said. Before Adon could protest, Gurn continued, “Before your father died, we voted to turn the Klingons away, which we were content to do with Gorath’s wisdom and strength to guide us. However, with Gorath dead, we must look to new places for security. So we will meet with the Klingons tomorrow and hear what they have to say.”

  “No, my father has made his wishes clear,” Adon said.

  “And he was very persuasive earlier, but things have changed and the clan leaders now speak with one voice.”

  “Interesting that they all speak with your voice, Gurn.”

  To that open challenge, Gurn only smiled. “Go home, young Adon. You have lost your father tonight and we have all lost a great friend and a great leader. If you would take your father’s place at our council, you will have to accept the will of the majority—as your father did.”

  Adon cursed himself. He had come for revenge and found that, for Gurn, murdering Gorath was just the beginning. He was bringing back the people who’d tried to leave their world a dead pile of rocks—all for a few worthless crystals.

  And for this confrontation, Adon had brought only a few clansmen with swords. He should have seen the danger and brou
ght the green-skin pistols his father kept in the house. Then he could have killed Gurn before anyone could stop him. It was a mistake his father would not have made. Of course, Adon reminded himself, he was not his father. And now their whole people would pay for his error.

  Still, there was hope. He could still redeem himself and put a stop to this madness. First he would have to get to the mine and use the green-skins’ equipment to show his clan that it was Gurn’s blood on his father’s mek’leth. Then he could convince the other clans of Gurn’s treachery. Yet he would have to work fast. The Klingons were coming tomorrow and he knew in his blood that all of the clans would have to be united to face them.

  In disgust, Adon turned to his people and said, “Come, we have much to do.” Gurn said something as they left, but Adon was past hearing it. Soon they were racing to the mine. There, he knew, was the means to reveal the truth about Gurn as well as the means to defend their people.

  When they arrived at the mine entrance, Adon was surprised to see that the small group of his clansmen who were supposed to be keeping watch inside the mine were outside. “What is it?” he called out.

  “Gurn’s people came and … forced us out,” one of the women said. She had a wound on her forehead. In fact, most of them had minor wounds. She shrugged apologetically. “We fought, but they had pistols. They have told us that we will not be allowed back inside until it is safe. They spoke about a coming crisis.”

  “There is, but it is one of Gurn’s own making. I believe Gurn killed my father to bring the Klingons here.”

  “What do you want of us?” the woman asked.

  “For now, just stand with me. Let’s see if Gurn’s men have the courage to stand against Gorath’s will.” Adon led the now larger group to the mine’s heavy doors. A dozen of Gurn’s clansmen were standing by, all of them wearing swords and about half of them carrying pistols.

  “Stand aside for the son of Gorath,” Adon said.