by Kevin Ryan
Then Adon cut deeply into Gurn’s right hand—his sword hand—and Gurn cried out again, dropping his weapon. Gurn looked up at him in stunned surprise, searching for mercy in Adon’s eyes—mercy that he would not find if he had three lifetimes to look.
Hesitating not at all, Adon reared back and punched the tip of his father’s blade into the chest of the coward who had murdered Gorath. Gurn grunted once, looking into Adon’s eyes with a look of surprise. With a sharp movement, Adon twisted the mek’leth in the clan leader’s chest, and Gurn fell to the floor in a heap.
Though he had lived far too long, his father’s killer died quickly, his chest rising only once and then going still. It was done. Adon found that his throat was catching. There was nothing left that he could do for his father. His last task for a great man was finished.
Adon heard Bethe behind him, then felt her touch on his shoulder. The touch changed and Adon could once again feel her impatience. True, he could do nothing more for his father, but he could still do something for his father’s people.
Forcing down his grief, Adon saw that Gurn’s people were looking to him. One of them stepped forward and said, “I deserve no better. I followed Gurn. I took the side of those who would destroy our people.”
Adon shook his head. “Perhaps, but now there is something you can do to save them. There will be time enough for judgment later.”
“What would you have us do?” another of Gurn’s clan asked.
“Come with me and we will destroy our enemies,” Adon said.
The Klingons from the D’k Tahg did a good job of drawing Duras’s warriors out of the mine. Koloth’s men pulled back and the councillor’s troops, smelling victory, pursued.
There was no way to know for sure if the way was safe, so Fuller trusted his instincts. When he judged the time right, he said, “Let’s move,” and brought his people close to the entrance. Hugging the outer wall of the facility, he said, “I need two volunteers.”
All the hands of the officers around him went up, but Parmet and Jawer were first. To the others he said, “We’re going to dart in front of the entrance. Wait for whoever is inside to fire and then hit them.”
There were nods all around, and then he took his two people several meters back and away from the entrance. “Strap your phaser rifles on. Hand phasers only for now. Fire on the run, but don’t worry about hitting anything. We’re just showing them that we’re serious. Okay, let’s move.”
He took the lead and raced in front of the mine doors, perhaps fifteen meters from the entrance. The defenders would be at least a few meters inside, which meant they would have a relatively narrow line of sight. Even so, Fuller and his people would be vulnerable to their weapons fire for several seconds. However, given the limited time they had, there was no helping it.
As soon as he had a shot, he fired into the open doors, as the others did behind him. For a moment, he thought the Klingons had left the door completely unguarded, but then he saw the first disruptor bolt—felt the first bolt as it warmed the air above his head. There were more bolts, and then the sound of phaser fire, but Fuller concentrated on moving quickly.
A few long seconds later, they were out of the range of the Klingons’ disruptors and heading for the outer wall near the door. As soon as his back was against the wall, Fuller could see that everyone was safe. He also saw that Greenberger was leading the rest of the security team inside. Fuller didn’t hesitate, he followed them.
He could see Klingons lying on the ground around them. They still had a way to go, however. The ground floor of the complex was mostly administrative offices. His destination was deeper in the mine, and Fuller had no doubt that there would be surprises waiting for them inside.
They met their first bit of resistance outside the large ramp that led down to the lower levels. There were stairs and access ladders—and lifts for that matter, but they were too dangerous. Defenders could simply wait at the bottom and pick them off when the lift doors opened.
The ramp itself was ten meters across, and Fuller split his forces on either side. Wide supports gave them good cover, but the Klingons on the lower level of the ramp were equally well protected. Each side occasionally traded shots, but it would be nearly impossible to hit anyone under the circumstances.
In this case, the advantage definitely went to the defenders, particularly in the short term. And in this case, the short term was all they had. Damn, Fuller thought.
“Sir, if you need volunteers for a direct assault …” Parmet offered.
Every instinct screamed against it. A direct assault on the Klingons would be costly. They would be charging an enemy in a fortified position. Even if every member of their party charged at once, there was a better than even chance that they would all be killed before reaching the lower level.
And yet the clock kept ticking, Fuller could feel it. The team was looking to him for answers, for word on what they should do. Fuller knew what that was, but still he resisted. His squad had survived the rescue operation on the Klingon freighter and the heavy fighting today. They were good people, and well trained, but Fuller wouldn’t kid himself. They had all been lucky. He had known plenty of good people in his career. Too many of them were now memorialized on a wall at Starfleet Command.
Fuller and his squad had somehow cheated fate up until now, but a price would have to be paid. He could see in his people’s eyes that they were willing to pay it. He was mildly surprised that he was upset at what was about to happen. He felt regret for these people’s young lives that would likely soon be lost. He had thought that the last of those feelings had been burned out of him when his son had died.
“Sir, what should we do?” a voice inquired. He turned his head to see his son staring him in the face.
“Sam,” he said weakly, his throat catching.
“Sir,” the voice said, and then Sam disappeared, replaced by the concerned face of Ensign Jawer.
“Are you alright, sir?” Parmet asked, wearing the same look of concern.
“We’ll have to charge them. We’ll do it in two waves,” Fuller said as the people around him nodded.
The first wave would be a total loss, but some of the second wave might get through, might be able to complete the mission—not Fuller’s personal mission, but the one the captain had sent them to do.
“I volunteer to lead the first wave,” Greenberger offered. Fuller could see that the man knew exactly what he was offering to do.
Before Fuller could take volunteers to join the section chief, there was a new sound below. Turning his head, he heard whoops that he recognized as Klingon war cries and then saw flashes of red, the signature of Orion particle-beam weapons.
Suddenly the disruptor fire on their position stopped and Fuller realized why. “Adon and his people must be at their rear. There’s a new plan: we charge together.” The team was ready in seconds and Fuller said, “Now,” as he headed down the ramp.
He had a hand phaser in each hand and fired on the run as the people around him did the same, forming a line that moved down the ramp together. He saw at least five Klingons on the ground with about twice that number still on their feet. His peripheral vision told him that Adon was close, but he didn’t bother looking for the young man.
Instead he concentrated on finding targets. He fired on Klingon after Klingon, watching them fall. The warriors were in a terrible position, with enemies on both sides. It was amazing they were able to fire back at all, but some of them got off a few shots before they fell.
In less than a minute, however, it was all over. The Klingons were all down and the entire team was safe. A moment later, Fuller saw Adon. The young woman was with him and he was surrounded by a number of other natives that he must have picked up along the way.
“Gurn is dead,” Adon said. “What now?” The haunted look on the boy’s face belonged on a much older man, Fuller thought.
“Duras is still here somewhere,” Fuller said.
“We will find him,” Ad
on replied.
That was good. Fuller didn’t want Adon nearby for the next part of the mission. The young man had helped them considerably, but there was more to do. Fuller realized that they had cheated fate once more. He knew that was only temporary. A price would have to be paid—and soon—but if things went according to Fuller’s plan, he would pay that price alone.
Chapter Twenty-seven
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
SYSTEM 7348
“FULLER HERE, CAPTAIN.”
“Status?” Kirk asked.
“Duras is missing and there are still some pockets of his men in the mine, but we are at the main shaft.”
“Mister Spock’s revised estimate is that we have thirty-seven minutes until the kinetic explosive goes critical. You should be able to get down in an ore hauler, set the charge, and get back up in fifteen minutes.”
“Understood. I’ll handle this and send the rest of the team outside for beam out.”
“No, Michael, I want at least three of you going down there. There may be some instability as the kinetic device approaches full power. We can’t afford any mistakes or any surprises.”
“Understood, Captain.”
“Michael, good work down there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now finish the job and I’ll speak to you shortly.”
“Yes, James—Captain. Fuller out.”
Once again, Kirk had a feeling that he couldn’t put away. Something was still wrong down there. The team had done well and been lucky so far, but another surprise was coming, Kirk could feel it.
Fuller closed his communicator and explained the captain’s instructions, at least most of them, “We have thirty-seven minutes until the kinetic device explodes. I want all of you at the beam-out point in ten minutes. I’ll set the charge and then be right behind you.”
“I volunteer to go with you, sir,” Parmet said as a number of the others stepped forward.
“I can pilot the hauler for you, Chief,” Quatrocchi said.
Fuller shook his head. “No, captain’s orders. I’ll handle this alone. You’ve all done very well here today. Now it’s time to get yourselves back to the ship.”
Fuller could see the resistance in their eyes, especially Parmet’s. He felt a moment of shame at lying to them and hoped they didn’t see it. He also realized that for the first time in his career of more than twenty-five years, he was disobeying a direct order from his captain.
“Now get moving. That’s an order. I have work to do,” Fuller said.
The squad turned to go as Fuller climbed into an ore hauler. He locked his feet into the floor and studied the controls. They were simple enough. He didn’t have to be Quatrocchi to take the craft down a few thousand feet.
Hitting the power, he felt the hauler come to life. He raised it from the ground and piloted it carefully into the abyss.
Karel was ashamed that he shared DNA with Duras’s foolish fighters—warriors was far too grand a term for them. They had gleefully pursued the crew of the D’k Tahg until they’d found themselves surrounded by the native warriors.
Koloth had then turned his force, and Duras’s men had fallen in twos and threes. To their credit, they fought to the last man and even inflicted some losses on the natives and the crew of the D’k Tahg, but the matter was decided quickly and the end had never been in doubt.
When the battle was done, Karel turned to Koloth and said, “Captain, request permission to begin searching the mine for Councillor Duras.”
Koloth looked at Karel. The captain understood that what Karel was really asking for was permission to take his final revenge.
Koloth nodded. “Go.”
That made things easier, though Karel knew that he would have had to find a way to take his revenge no matter what the captain had said.
“Take some warriors with you,” Koloth added.
Karel nodded and took four Klingons with him, including Gash. He imagined they were like a hunting party, or a war party from the days of his people’s past. They reached the mine quickly and entered as a group of humans were leaving. There were ten of them, wearing the uniform of the Enterprise, and Karel wondered if any of them had served with his brother. Perhaps some had, possibly even on Kell’s second-to-last mission, which had been on this very planet.
He wished he could speak to these humans, but that was impossible. Even if time would allow it, the divide between their two peoples would not. The humans eyed them warily and one of Karel’s warriors hissed, “Earthers.”
“Enough,” Karel said, and moved his Klingons along.
Inside the mine he headed for a computer terminal and asked it where Duras was inside the complex. “Insufficient security clearance.”
That did not surprise Karel. He remembered his brother’s final message, which spoke of how the Orion’s Klingon masters had escaped the mine the last time.
“He could be anywhere,” Gash said.
“I know where he is. Duras is hiding in the deepest hole he could find,” Karel said. Then he turned back to the computer and said, “Computer, show me all transporters in the complex.”
A moment later, a schematic appeared on the viewscreen showing him two locations. One was on the level just below ground level, and one was many levels below that under the complex itself, buried in the rock. A conduit allowed the transporter signal to reach that depth. It was Duras’s hiding place, Karel was sure of it.
“Come with me,” Karel said. He led the group one level down and found the transporter. At the controls, he used the transporter’s sensors to confirm that six Klingons were waiting in the lower transporter room.
In his arrogance, it had not occurred to Duras that whomever he had left in command of the D’k Tahg might lose to the Enterprise. He had hidden in his hole, waiting for the battle on the planet and the battle in space to be decided. But his people had lost both engagements. And now there was nowhere for him to go. When the planet tore itself apart, even his deep hole would not protect him.
Using the transporter sensors, Karel identified each of the Klingons by their communicators. “Be ready, Gash,” he said, then energized. Five surprised figures appeared on the transporter pad. Gash waited until they had drawn their weapons before he gave the order to fire.
The Klingons fell instantly and Gash had his warriors clear them off the transporter platform. “Duras remains?” Gash asked.
“Yes, but not for long.” Karel energized again, and Duras’s disruptor appeared on the transporter pad. Now, Duras would have only a blade.
Karel put down his own disruptor and stepped onto a transporter pad. Gash seemed to understand what Karel was doing and took the controls. “They are set. Energize on my command and wait for word from me.” Gash nodded. Karel drew his father’s d’k tahg and said, “Now.”
Almost instantly, Karel felt the transporter beam take him. The time had come for him to face the Klingon who had sent his brother down a path of dishonor and death. It was time to enter the killing box.
The transporter deposited him in a large single room. Though it looked like a bunker with sleeping and eating areas for five Klingons, Karel immediately saw it for what it was: a hiding place. A wave of revulsion flowed over Karel—revulsion that a Klingon who would build and use this place would have an important position in the empire and any power over spirits as great as his brother’s.
“First Officer Karel,” Duras said, surprise on his face. “Is Koloth dead? Have you come to talk? Perhaps you and I can reach an agreement.”
Karel watched the lies and treachery forming on the Klingon’s face. He thought it a particularly ugly sight. “You offered me a ship; what would you offer now?”
“There are greater opportunities than a single ship. You were loyal to Koloth, and loyalty has its place, but if you help me now, there is no limit to what you can have. A ship? A battle group? A seat on the High Council? In time, anything is possible. But there are forces at work here that you do not understand. I must
find a way out of here to complete my work. The empire itself is at stake.”
At last, Karel thought, a piece of the truth.
Karel eyed the councillor coldly. “I don’t want your lies or your favors. Today, I will settle for just killing you.”
Duras studied Karel in silence for a moment, then said, “Have I harmed you?”
That made Karel smile. “You had your men try to kill me. You took my ship. And you tried to kill a planet full of my brothers. You have dishonored the whole empire. But it is not for any of these things that I will kill you.”
“What is it you want?” Duras asked, his voice high and fearful.
“I want my brother back, you bloodless and treacherous coward.” There was no understanding on the councillor’s face.
“My brother was Kell of the House of Gorkon. He was betleH ’etlh, Blade of the Bat’leth. You changed his face, altered his very blood, and sent him on a mission of deceit.”
There it was, understanding. “He was betleH ’etlh?” Karel nodded. Duras said quickly, “I remember him. He served on the Enterprise. His mission was to kill Kirk … he failed, obviously. And I saw him on this world, in this mine. Your brother had joined the enemy. He may have been your brother, but he had lost his honor.”
“Honor? The word should burn the tongue out of your mouth. My brother took the only honorable path in a course you set him down.” Karel saw then that Duras would never understand, not if he lived another hundred years—not that Karel would ever allow such a travesty. There had been enough words, and he had suffered the existence of this coward long enough.
Lifting his father’s blade, he advanced on Duras, who was not so big a fool that he couldn’t see murder in a warrior’s eyes. He reached for his own knife. Karel allowed him to hold it out in front of him, then struck, feinting once to the left and then plunging the knife into the center of Duras’s chest.