Star Trek: TOS: Cast no Shadow

by James Swallow

  Valeris’s father chose that moment to question the credentials of K’Darg, the Klingon representative. The alien commander had been vague on that point from the very start; apparently, it was not unknown for officers of the Klingon military to act more in their own interests and claim it was for the good of their species after the fact.

  There were harsh words and more threats. Valeris watched the Klingon commander storm from the meeting hall. She learned later that the officer’s reaction was doubtless based on concerns for his own position and status. The captains of many Klingon ships were treated almost as privateers by their seniors, and the hierarchy among their crews was said to be similarly lawless. Returning home without a victory could be a death sentence.

  In retrospect, it placed what happened next in an understandable context.

  “Encryption is complete,” said the Klingon female. “They won’t be able to track the signal source.”

  “Be certain,” said the commander. “If you fail me, I’ll have your head.”

  The woman nodded grimly and he glared into the sensor unit. “Sepel!” he snarled. “This is Commander K’Darg! I know you are listening. Show yourself, Vulcan.”

  Valeris felt an odd flutter in her chest as her father’s neutral expression appeared on the monitor screen. “I am here. I have been informed that my party has gone missing. Can I assume that you are responsible?”

  My party. He did not mention Valeris or her mother by name.

  “The Klingon Empire does what it must to retain the sovereignty of its borders,” replied the commander. “You’ve promised these native fools the stars, but your promises are hollow. You can’t even protect your own family!” He grabbed the sensor and aimed it at Valeris and her mother. “Your kind are weak, Vulcan, and I will prove it. This world needs strong leadership, and it will have it!”

  “You mean mastery,” Sepel replied calmly. “All the Klingon Empire will bring to Nidrus is slavery. They made their choice. You must respect it. End this now.”

  “No.” K’Darg drew his d’k tahg. “I have five of your people here, including your wife and your child.” He made a show of flicking open the blade. “I will execute them one by one unless you agree to my terms.”

  Valeris’s mother spoke up: “I was of the understanding that Klingons had a code of honorable behavior. Tell me, is the murder of unarmed women and children something that you will be lauded for among your species?”

  In a flash, the commander spun and slapped T’Kio across the face with such force that she staggered backward a step. Valeris was unable to prevent a small gasp from escaping her lips. Her mother looked at her and shook her head.

  “Klingon honor is for Klingons,” said the female, glowering at them. “You insult us by suggesting you deserve such a privilege.”

  “Listen to me, Vulcan,” said the commander. “You will withdraw from these negotiations. You will withdraw your authority on behalf of the Federation to Nidrus. And you will agree to leave this planet for us to . . . supervise.”

  “What you ask for is impossible. Even if I were to agree, the letter of the agreement still stands. Starfleet would return to Nidrus to enforce the treaty.”

  “They would be welcome to try,” retorted K’Darg.

  Valeris knew that the Klingons would have the advantage if that scenario came to pass. Nidrus was out on the periphery here; by the time Starfleet managed to get starships deployed to this system, the Empire would have been able to reinforce their position. The locals certainly lacked the strength to stop them. And then she wondered if Starfleet Command would really be willing to go to war over a planet that was not even a member of the United Federation of Planets.

  Her father’s gaze did not waver. “If the Federation agrees to leave Nidrus, the Klingon Empire will launch an invasion to annex these worlds. I cannot allow that to happen.”

  “Perhaps the ambassador doesn’t believe you are serious, sir?” said the female.

  “That is a possibility,” offered K’Darg. He turned and stabbed his blade into the trembling driver. The Nidrusi was robbed of the chance to scream; his body tensed and then fell slack.

  Valeris went cold, as if she had been doused in icy water. She had never seen death so close at hand before. The brutal, horrific suddenness of it, the callous abandon of the act . . . It sickened her to her core. She turned and found the Klingon commander watching her, almost as if he were daring her to say something.

  Ignoring the panicked utterances of the other hostages, he glanced back into the sensor. “No deadlines,” he said. “No time to think it over. No stalling.” The Klingon aimed his d’k tahg lazily in the direction of Valeris and her mother. “Agree now, or your wife dies and your child will bear witness. I will let the girl live long enough to ask you why you allowed this to happen.”

  Sepel’s reply was immediate. “I will not agree.”

  “Father!” The word slipped from Valeris, and her hands tensed into fists. She could not believe what she was hearing.

  “I will not agree,” he repeated in the hectoring tone he so often used when he took it upon himself to criticize. “I do not doubt you will do as you say. But still, I refuse to accede to your demands. They are illogical.”

  K’Darg’s face twisted and he crossed to Valeris’s mother, resting the edge of his knife against her throat. “Are you so bloodless, petaQ? You will watch me end them, one after another? Your family and these mewling fools? You can save their lives with a single act!”

  “He . . . will not.” Her mother met her daughter’s gaze, and in it Valeris saw something she could not fully understand, deep within the stoic mask.

  “I cannot sacrifice the people of Nidrus . . . A handful of deaths cannot be measured against the thousands of lives that will be lost in an invasion. No matter what you do in an attempt to coerce me, in the Federation’s name I will never capitulate.”

  The Klingon grimaced and dragged T’Kio into the middle of the storeroom. “We’ll see if you still feel the same after this one dies in front of you. This time it won’t be quick. She’ll bleed out.”

  “Father, please!” Valeris shouted. “Do what he wants!”

  “No, daughter,” came the reply. “I am disappointed that you do not understand.”

  But she did. She understood that her father was willing to allow her and her mother to be executed in order to prove an abstract point. He would do nothing, in the name of alien beings who were too weak, too foolish, to defend themselves against vicious predators like the Klingons.

  For a moment Valeris felt herself cracking open as if she were a vessel made of clay. Her outer shell was crumbling, the years of unflinching, steady control imposed on her almost from birth, all of it on the verge of collapsing into nothing. She experienced shivers of response that were so foreign to her, she could barely comprehend them. Was this anger? Sadness? She couldn’t tell. A directionless hurricane of emotion was welling up inside her, and Valeris had nowhere to release it.

  She swept around the room. She saw the humans, fretting and self-obsessed, petrified that they were going to die next; her father’s unmoving aspect, passing judgment on them all, ignorant of the child who had so often tried to gain his approval; her mother, resigned to her fate, exhausted and ineffectual . . . and the Klingons, terrible and monstrous, hateful and brimming with violence, shattering everything she loved.

  Valeris looked down at her bound hands. They were trembling, and she was at once disgusted and horrified at her own emotional reaction. “Wh-what have you done?” she stuttered, digging deep to find a wellspring of defiance. She glared at the Klingon, ignoring the weapon in his hand. “What gives you the right to come here . . . and do these things?”

  K’Darg showed his teeth once again and turned his bloodstained blade from her mother to hold it before Valeris’s face. “This does,” he said, nodding at the weapon.

  In the next second there was a sound like the crackle of distant lightning, and all at once a series of new shaf
ts of light snapped into being, emerging from the walls of the storeroom. The rays were bright and actinic, and each found a mark in the chest of one of the Klingons, threading back and forth so fast, it was only Valeris’s acute Vulcan retinas that registered them.

  The commander and the female, the thug at the door, all of them fell to the ground with smoking pits cut in their torsos. K’Darg stumbled and collapsed on the communications gear, severing the connection to Valeris’s father. She rushed to her mother’s side. T’Kio stood rigid, her face frozen.

  “What . . . what happened?” said one of the others.

  “Phaser beams. Fired through the walls,” Valeris replied numbly.

  A ripple of weapons discharges sounded outside, and the door swung open. Sunlight flooded in, framing an Andorian in Starfleet security armor, a phaser rifle in his hand. He advanced into the room, panning around with his weapon. “Clear!” he called, checking the bodies of their abductors. “I have the hostages.” He waved a tricorder at them. “Negating dispersal field now.”

  Valeris heard the tinny reply over his helmet communicator. “Good work, Lieutenant. Stand back, we’re locking on to them.”

  “Copy that, Ark Royal.” The blue-skinned officer gave them all a nod. “We’ll secure the site down here, look for any stragglers.”

  Valeris blinked into the bright light streaming in from outside; then she felt a prickling sensation wash over her skin, and the storeroom vanished into the haze of a transporter beam.

  U.S.S. Ark Royal NCC-1791

  Nidrus System

  Federation-Klingon Border Zone

  A human nurse in a beige tunic examined each of them, and after ensuring that Valeris was well, she escorted her to a small waiting area. The woman left her with a nervous smile and the girl found herself alone.

  They had separated her mother from the rest of the recovered hostages within moments of rematerialization on board the starship. The nurse told her not to be concerned, but the human’s body language made it clear she was attempting to mollify her.

  Valeris got up from her seat and moved to the edge of the alcove so she could observe the corridor beyond. This was the medical section of the vessel: she recognized the uniform insignia colors of the crew moving back and forth. She took in her surroundings, uncertain of what she should do next. Waiting patiently felt like the wrong thing. Valeris was unsettled; her life had been within seconds of ending, and even though the danger was past, the energy of the moment had not dissipated. The calming mantras did not alleviate the problem.

  The ship was of an older Starfleet design, judging by the construction and the systems visible to her. A cruiser, she guessed, perhaps one of the bigger Constitution-class vessels. The deck gave off a subtle vibration, and Valeris had some vague sense that the ship was in motion.

  A door hissed open, and two officers in mid-conversation exited a room across the way. “ . . . The fact is, if we hadn’t been here, I hate to think how this would have turned out.” The speaker was a human male, and Valeris estimated his age was in the midforties. Dark-skinned, with a weather-beaten face, he wore a blue-grey tunic and sported captain’s insignia around his wrists. He was talking to the Andorian who had discovered them on the farmstead.

  The security officer nodded, his antennae twitching. “Not well, sir. But the fates were on our side.”

  “Never believed in that sort of thing, Lieutenant,” said the captain. “Luck is a fallacy. You get things done right by showing up and putting your shoulder to the grindstone.” He frowned. “Has the ambassador been informed of the situation?”

  Valeris stiffened at the mention of her father. The Andorian was nodding again.

  “Aye, sir. He’s, ah, chosen to remain down on the planet for the time being.”

  The human’s frown deepened. “His wife has a severe concussion. Was that made clear to him?”

  “It was,” said the lieutenant. “Ambassador Sepel said he was quite certain that Starfleet’s medical staff would be able to address her injuries.”

  Once again Valeris found her hands tightening into fists. With effort, she relaxed her fingers and continued to listen. The three-tone bosun’s whistle over the intraship broke the line of the conversation.

  “Bridge to Captain Cartwright,” said a disembodied voice.

  “Cartwright here, go ahead.”

  “Sir, the Klingon ship has just gone to warp. They’re hightailing out of here, on a speed course straight back to their side of the border. What are your orders?”

  “We could catch them before they get out of range,” noted the Andorian. “A frigate-class ship like that would be no match for us.”

  “It is tempting to go for a little payback,” admitted Cartwright, “but we have other concerns for now. Bridge?”

  “Sir?”

  “Let them go. Collate all the data we have on the vessel’s identity and inform Starfleet Command. In the meantime, take us back to Nidrus Gamma. I’ll be up there in a few moments. Cartwright out.” He turned away from the intercom. “Even if we took them alive, the Klingon Empire would declare that ship and all of K’Darg’s crew as renegades and claim they were acting alone.”

  “The ones on the ground fought us to the death,” said the Andorian. “They wouldn’t have let themselves be captured. It’s not their way.”

  “ ‘Their way’?” Cartwright repeated irritably. “Seems to me the Klingon way is preying on unarmed civilians and victims who can’t fight back.” He snorted as he walked away. “More fools, them, for thinking we’d send a diplomatic mission out here without fleet backup. K’Darg never would have shown his face if he knew Ark Royal was on the way.”

  “It’s only a pity Sepel didn’t summon us sooner,” added the lieutenant.

  Valeris processed what she was hearing: her father had called in the Starfleet vessel, doubtless after it became clear that the Klingons did not intend to allow Nidrus to choose the Federation. But why had he waited so long? Why had he insisted they come to Nidrus in an unarmed vessel in the first place? If Cartwright’s ship had been there all along, none of this would have happened . . . and the Klingons would have been kept at bay.

  They are like animals, she thought. The Klingons have to be penned in, prevented from harming outsiders. Valeris retreated into the alcove and took a hesitant step back toward the chair.

  She looked down at her hands, at the darkened striations around her thin child’s wrists where the restraint tapes had held them tightly. They were trembling as if she were cold.

  The unfinished, ill-formed sensation that had come to her when K’Darg held his blade before Valeris returned like the surge of a tidal wave. Nameless emotion, potent and strong, shuddered through the Vulcan girl’s body. She glanced around, but there was no one within sight, nobody to witness the sudden failure of her self-control.

  Anger rose in Valeris, a flood-head that threatened to engulf her. It was more powerful than she had imagined it might be, and with it came fragments of terror, of sorrow, of razor-edged hate and raw animal panic. These things were anathema to her; never in her life had she allowed herself to feel like this. Valeris had never experienced something so traumatic that it could open her so readily and spill out all these deeply buried sensations. It became a torrent that threatened to drown her.

  She collapsed into the chair and her hands knitted together. Then, taking a lungful of air, Valeris took command of herself once more, and step by step the young girl isolated and excised the emotions spinning through her thoughts. She killed them off one at a time through a single-minded application of concentration. Anger at her father for a cold disregard for their lives, terror and panic as the echo of near death faded from her thoughts, and the empathy of sorrow for the man who had perished.

  Finally, there was only the hatred. She rolled it back and forth in her mind as if it were a seething ember thrown from a fire, too hot to grasp. The emotion made her think of the Klingons, of all they were and the danger they represented. It gave her foc
us.

  I will keep this one, she thought. To remind myself. With a final exercise of her resolve, Valeris pushed the ember away, hiding it in the darkness.

  “Are you all right, child?” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and her head snapped up. The Andorian lieutenant stood in the doorway; she had been so consumed by her own inner turmoil that she had not heard him approaching. His expression was one of kindness and concern.

  Valeris kept her aspect and voice neutral. “I was not injured.”

  He watched her carefully. “Some wounds don’t appear all at once.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I do not follow the logic of your statement.” The moment of disconnect Valeris had experienced seconds earlier was fading now, as if it had never occurred. She felt her equilibrium returning.

  “I mean, there’s no shame in being afraid.”

  “Shame and fear are unproductive emotional states,” Valeris said with finality. “I do not experience them.”

  18

  Object JDEK-3246553-AKV

  Ikalian Asteroid Belt

  Ty’Gokor Sector, Klingon Empire

  Kaj’s escape plan survived less than ten seconds. The Kriosians were not fools: they had spent their adult lives crossing swords with the Klingons, and they were still alive because they knew how to deal with them. They left Vaughn in his cell, ignoring his shouts, and six of them went into the compartment next to his, every one of them carrying shock-prods. Elias had seen the devices before: his uncle had a ranch on Berengaria VII that bred a local stripe of bison-like cattle, and the farmhands used them to keep the animals in check.

  He didn’t see what happened—he only heard the grunts and shouts from Kaj as she took on her assailants. Bones cracked and men screamed, but in the end the sparking of the prods drowned it all out.