by Judy Klass
"The Klingons have put up their shields," Sulu reported.
"Uhura, open a channel to the Klingon ship. Let's make them think we feel strong enough to bargain."
"Aye, aye, Captain. Stand by for audio-visual contact."
Once more the smirking face of Commander Kreth appeared on the main screen.
"Well, Kirk. You do not seem to have activated your shields. You enjoy living dangerously?"
"You must enjoy living dangerously, Kreth. What are you doing in Federation star space? And our shields are down because we've got some transporting to do."
"Do you indeed. It was very obliging of you to outline the form of the renegade Federation ship, which entered Klingon space for its attacks, so that we may now claim it and the saboteurs on board. And we want to investigate this interesting way you seem to have thwarted your own new cloaking device."
"Cossack," Chekov muttered, under his breath.
Kreth crept across his bridge with the easy assurance of a tarantula in its lair. In a chair by the wall sat Iogan, the young boy minister from Boaco Six. His eyes followed Kreth's form, then flicked to a young Klingon who sat near him. On the young Klingon's face the skin in places appeared raised in bubbles. Kirk knew this meant that the crewman had been punished for some breach of regulations with an atom-air gun, a horribly painful Klingon device for maintaining discipline. It shot gas into the skin of the victim, causing cells to rupture, explode. Kirk hoped the young Boacan had been on hand when the punishment was administered. It would give him some insight into his Klingon "friends."
Kirk stared calmly at Kreth. "The Federation will take responsibility for this small ship. Your claims for justice will be heard in due course by the Council of the Federation of Planets," he said firmly.
Kreth snorted. "We prefer to procure justice for ourselves." He narrowed his eyes at Kirk. "Why did you fire a torpedo at us, just now, instead of using phasers?"
"To show you we mean business. That we're willing to fight if you are." Silently Kirk prayed that Kreth would not take him up on this. Without shields, without phasers, the Enterprise did not stand a chance. In his mind, Kirk pictured his majestic silver ship being ripped apart by Klingon phasers. He would be almost powerless to respond.
Finally, Kreth responded. "There is no need for us to fight, Captain. Why, we have no quarrel with you. Only with the pirates in that small ship. Do not interfere, and there will be no trouble. Kreth out." His image winked off the screen.
The crew on board the bridge of the Enterprise gave a collective sigh of relief. Kirk's bluff had apparently worked.
"A well-played hand, Captain," said Flint.
"Mr. Scott," Kirk yelled into the intercom, "we need those shields, and that phaser power!"
"We're going as fast as we can, Captain. But that one Klingon phaser blast was well placed. It sliced into one of our generator units. I'm going to have to redivert power around it. I'm switching life support, and other of the ship's functions, onto impulse power. But it'll take some time."
"Time is what we don't have, Scotty. Kirk out."
"Captain, look!" Chekov said, and Kirk looked up. A new horror was being acted out in space. A tractor beam reached out of the Klingon ship and clutched the Sparrow, drawing it inexorably toward the Klingon bird of prey.
"A tractor beam? They're crazy!" Kirk cried.
"A high-intensity tractor beam, Captain," Spock confirmed. "The Sparrow cannot possibly stand the strain."
"Lieutenant Uhura! Put me through to the Klingon ship again." Kirk rose. "Kreth, you bloody fool. You'll destroy the ship, and the cloaking device you want so badly. You'll kill the children. You'll accomplish nothing."
"The Klingons will not respond or acknowledge, Captain," Uhura said.
"Then tie me in with the Sparrow again." Kirk tightened and untightened his fists in frustration.
"They don't acknowledge, either."
"Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. Keep the channel open, Lieutenant." Kirk was sweating. He swallowed hard. What are the children's names? A good, calm, authoritative voice. "Pal. Jahn. Rhea. Listen to me. Your ship is about to be destroyed by a Klingon tractor beam. We offer you food and protection, clean air, comfort, safety, guidance. Please turn off your cloaking device, so that we can beam you aboard."
A Klingon phaser blast shot out and grazed the cylindrical smooth top decks of the Enterprise, not far from the bridge.
Flint shook his head as the crew steadied itself from the shock. "They're warning you, Captain. They must be intercepting your message."
"Turn off the cloaking device, children," Kirk repeated evenly. "I'm here to help you. You have nothing to fear. We want to put things right, to protect you."
Within the alien tractor beam, the small ship seemed to twist and buckle and writhe like a small animal in a trap. How long before it gave?
Mr. Scott called up to the bridge. "Captain, we have shield capacity again. And phaser power, though there may be some of that fluorescent rubbish mixed in with it. Shall I put up the shields?"
"Negative, Scotty. Can you transport?"
"Aye, a few individual people from the Sparrow, I can, but not the whole beastie, not anymore."
"Very good, Mr. Scott. Stand by in the transporter room to bring the children on board, if they turn off their cloaking device. We've got to be quick—the Klingons may try to beam them aboard first. So we've got to make sure that our beam is the one to lock onto them."
"Aye, Captain. Standing by."
Spock approached Kirk's command chair. "The Flint device may fail on its own, from the strain of the tractor beam. But even if it does, or if the children turn it off …"
"Yes, Mr. Spock?"
"Transporting children out of a high-intensity Klingon tractor beam … they might not pull through."
"The risk is noted," Kirk said. "But there seems little choice. This is their one chance of survival. They'll die in the tractor beam. They'll die if the Klingons get them. If they turn off the cloaking device, we'll try to beam them aboard. It's up to the Onlies now."
Kirk had Uhura tie him in once more to the Sparrow, and recommended urging them with a steady stream of pleading and reason.
When the Klingon tractor beam reached the Sparrow, there was a jolt, and then the little ship seemed to come alive. Every panel, every pastel glowing wall, every fiber and circuit began to groan and whine and tremble, to shift uneasily. The cabin began to heat up.
"They've got us!" Jahn screamed. "Someone's got us, leggo, leggo, we're trapped, they know where we are."
The lights in the cabin flickered, warning alarms sounded, the machinery snapped and popped and short-circuited.
As Kirk's voice filled the cabin once again, Jahn began to laugh. He laughed and swore, and the walls began to creak and give; the hull of the Sparrow was cracking and folding in on itself. The main panel exploded in a fireworks display. There was a burst of smoke, a hiss, a sickening smell. And after the smoke cleared, there was Jahn, lying on the floor, his head askew, his face half scorched, his eyes rolled back. Now Jahn lay still-rock, his mouth contorted, as dead as a Grup or an Only gone bad.
Rhea screamed. And then rose. She approached the panel which was still smoldering, spitting energy. She would listen to reason, as the Grup's voice urged, and surrender the ship. But the panel was destroyed, the mechanisms jammed. Communications were inoperable. And the Flint device could not be deactivated. Kirk's pleading could no longer be heard.
"Pal," Rhea said cheerfully, "I'm going to open the door now." Jahn had sealed them all into the main cabin. Life supports in the sleeping chamber were shut down. But Rhea could tell from a chart by the door that they could make it the short distance down the corridor to the transporter booth. She could feel the cabin floor becoming warmer, hard to walk on, through the soles of her boots. The overhead light had failed, but she could still see by the light of the glowing fluorescent walls. She continued to draw comfort from this light; it warmed her in the same way as had th
e soft-spoken praise she sometimes got from Mrs. File, back at the Center. She could not go back there now, but she would do what this light, what this warm feeling inside, seemed to be telling her to do.
Rhea dug her fingernails into the space between the cabin's main doors, and pulled. The doors trembled, the mechanism buzzed. At last, with a groan, the doors slid open.
The giant Klingon ship was looming ever larger on the viewscreen, its hangar doors open like a hungry mouth. Rhea ran over to Pal, scooped up his limp form, and slung it over her shoulder. She carried him out the cabin door, down the corridor, to the transporter pad. By pressing against the wall of the corridor, she nimbly avoided a ceiling panel as it crashed down, clattering to the floor, as the ship continued to moan and shift. She lay Pal down on the transporter pad, activated the monitor, and frowned. Barely enough power left to transport one person. Well, it would have to do. More explosions, and the smell of smoke floated from the main cabin. "Hang on, Pal. Hang on."
The hot floor beneath her feet was heaving, buckling. She used sensors to gauge the coordinates of the Enterprise transporter room. It was primed for beam-up. Well, she'd give it something to lock on to.
It was then that the roof fell in, bringing the icy emptiness of space in its wake. The Sparrow shuddered, collapsed inward.
With a loud cry of pain and terror mixed with triumph, Rhea moved the levers of the transporter console down, and Pal's small body dazzled and dissolved. Then the good ship Sparrow lost its cloaking capability. The illusion of asteroid rubble melted away. The ship imploded in a brilliant show of fluorescence, fire, and metal shards.
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Kirk shut his eyes. "Oh, God," he whispered.
"An admirable attempt, Captain," Flint said. The sound of his voice made Kirk feel sick.
A stiff hand rested awkwardly on Kirk's shoulder for a moment, then withdrew. "The end of many trials, Jim," Spock said softly.
The Vulcan's presence steadied Kirk as it had many times before.
"Yes, Mr. Spock. And the beginning of others, I expect. But at least it seems that the Klingons have overplayed their hand."
The Enterprise shifted from a state of red to yellow alert. And down in the transporter room, Mr. Scott was mightily surprised to find a small boy curled up on a transporter pad, staring up at nothing.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE DAMAGE TO THE Enterprise, it turned out, had been minimal. There were no fatal injuries. McCoy and his capable team soon had the casualties well in hand. There was no need to stop off at a space station or a starbase; complete repairs could be effected on board within the space of a day.
After the implosion of the Sparrow, the Klingon ship had turned off its tractor beam, scanned the shards and debris that floated aimlessly in the void, and then retreated rather sheepishly back into Klingon space. Kirk knew that this would finish Kreth's career. Such mistakes were not easily forgiven by the empire.
A late crisis report came in; the door of an auxiliary control room was jammed, and two crewmen were trapped inside the smoke-filled room. Kirk went down to observe as a security team blasted the doors open, phasers ripping into the high-density metal, slowly eating through. The team dove inside and pulled the choking men out to safety. They were run down to sickbay.
Once repairs were well under way, and Mr. Scott could be spared from engineering, Kirk left him in charge of the bridge. Then he headed down to sickbay himself, to join a serious and perplexed group that had gathered there.
"Bones, how's the boy?"
"Well," McCoy grumbled, "it's been hard to find time to attend to him, we've been so busy patching up the people who got too close to those two Klingon phaser blasts. Do me a favor, Jim. Next time our shields aren't working, don't thumb your nose at the Klingons. We don't need this much excitement down here in sickbay …"
"Bones, stop blithering and tell me. The boy, Pal. How is he? Was he seriously injured?"
They had moved into the room where Pal lay. The readings on the life-support monitor above his small body rose and fell as he breathed, and as they indicated different bodily organs and systems. Nurse Chapel, Dr. Ramsey, Spock, and Flint stood by the bed watching the readings.
McCoy sighed. "Well, physically he seems all right. He's inhaled some nasty fumes, but nothing noxious, nothing he won't work right out of his system. He's underfed and dehydrated, hasn't eaten or drunk for a few days. And he's exhausted, of course. But we're compensating for all that. And none of it accounts for his current state."
"Which is?"
"Near catatonia, Jim. I've had Ramsey here, and some of the other child specialists in to look at him, but they don't have a clue, can't get through to him. The boy could, of course, just be in a state of shock. Shell-shocked." McCoy shook his head, and lowered his voice to a near whisper, perhaps so that Dr. Ramsey could not hear. "I'd sure hate to return this kid to that program on his planet though, in his current condition. Especially with that guy Voltmer in charge. Nothing that I've read about the boy or was told while we were there shows that they had any understanding that he was this disturbed."
"He may not have been, Bones. We can't know what he's been through this last week or so. How the fight in the children's recreation room and being kidnapped affected him. Or what went on aboard the Sparrow."
"Yes, of course. I'm sure he was a much saner child before this all began. But my point is, he needs therapy, he needs sensitive, reliable care. And I'm not convinced that he's gonna get it back on Juram Five. Wish there was something we could do for him, here and now."
Kirk could see that Spock was glancing over at them. Were his Vulcan ears picking up the doctor's whispered remarks?
"No change, Doctor," Nurse Chapel said. "He simply stares off into space … shall I give him a rest injection?"
"Yes, Christine. I think that would be best. Sleep may do that child a world of good."
Pal did not move as Nurse Chapel lifted the hypo to his arm, or when it hissed the soothing liquid into his bloodstream. After a few moments, his pallid eyelids closed.
The adults adjourned to the next room, to continue their discussion.
"Tragic, Captain," Ramsey said. "Simply tragic. Heaven knows what went on aboard that ship, what abuse that boy was exposed to. Dr. Voltmer has wired me about how dangerous those two older Onlies were. Degenerate and violent."
"Yes, well. At least one of those violent degenerates was apparently sane and considerate enough to sacrifice self and beam Pal onto the Enterprise," Kirk said.
"We may never know the full story unless Pal snaps out of it," McCoy remarked. "Surely it's important that we find out."
"Keep me updated, Bones," Kirk said, heading out the door, anxious to return to the bridge and relieve Mr. Scott. Spock followed him.
Kirk and Spock returned to sickbay the following afternoon, at McCoy's request. The captain visited with the crewmen who had been injured during the Klingon attack, and then headed into the room where Pal lay. Flint was there also, and it irritated Kirk—why was the man always hovering, always underfoot? But the famed recluse had been tasting again, for the first time in many decades, what total immersion in the society of other people felt like.
He had been frequenting all decks, and Spock, by special request, had taken him on a tour of every recreational, cultural, and social facility on board the Enterprise. Libraries and workshop classes, gymnasiums and concerts, the chapel and the dance center … And Flint had expressed a wish to visit Juram Five, to see the Onlies' Center, see how the children were being raised. So the Enterprise was under orders to return Flint to his planet only after Pal had been returned to his.
"Good afternoon, Captain."
Kirk smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Flint."
"I trust I am not making a nuisance of myself. The boy's case interests me."
"Not at all, sir. Dr. McCoy, how is your patient at the moment? Any improvement?"
"Perhaps you'd better see for yourself, Jim." McCoy led the way back in
to Pal's room. The boy lay on the bed, still immobile, with his eyes now open, an indication that the rest injection had worn off. He rarely blinked. Kirk knew that McCoy wanted to impress on him how helpless, how pathetic the boy was, how disastrous it would be to return him to the care of incompetents.
Nurse Chapel stood at Pal's bedside and sponged his forehead with a cool compress.
"You see, Jim?" McCoy said. "Same as last night. We're not sure when he woke up, if you could call it that, but he's just been lying there … I'd like more time to look into this."
"I'm sorry, Bones, but there isn't much time. We're in no particular hurry, but after we drop off Pal and Mr. Flint I have orders to head back to the Boacan system, to try to iron things out and pick up where we left off. I don't think we can be too leisurely about it. And even traveling at just warp three, we'll reach the Onlies' planet sometime tomorrow."
"Damn," said McCoy. "I just don't feel good about leaving the boy there, and sailing on. I wish we could get some answers. But there's just no way to reach him."
Spock stepped forward and cleared his throat. "There is a way, of course, Doctor. And I am willing to volunteer my services in this effort."
Nurse Chapel dropped her compress, then nervously set it on the bedside tray. Everyone, with the exception of the motionless patient, turned to look at Spock.
"I wasn't hinting at that, Spock," McCoy protested. "Or suggesting it in any way."
"I am sure you were not, Doctor. But it does seem the logical course for us to follow. Even if you had a few more days at your disposal, it is doubtful whether you could learn anything of significance, or break through to the boy."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," McCoy muttered.
"I merely point out that there is a quicker, more efficient method at our disposal."
Kirk wavered. "We can't ask you to do this, Spock. There are specialists trained to deal with this kind of thing …"
"Who could not get through to Pal's mind as directly or as easily as I can. Please, Captain. I considered this at great length last night. I, too, am curious to know more about this problem."