Legacies

by Greg Cox

  “Any sign of the Shimizu?” Kirk asked.

  “Negative, Captain,” Chekov replied, after consulting the tactical displays at the nav station. “There are no other vessels in orbit around the planet.”

  Spock looked up from the science station.

  “Sensors detect the Shimizu on the planet’s surface,” he reported, “approximately six kilometers from . . . a particular habitation.”

  The Jatohr citadel, Kirk thought, that Una and April escaped from years ago.

  “Understood, Mister Spock.”

  It wasn’t hard to guess where Una was heading, or what her ultimate objective was. She was out to reactivate the transfer-field generator, by means of the Key, and rescue those lost castaways.

  But was that even possible? After all these years?

  He stabbed the comm switch again. “Kirk to engineering. Mister Scott, report to the bridge at once. I need you to take command while Mister Spock and I beam down to the planet’s surface.”

  Scotty replied at once. “Aye, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

  “Acknowledged. Kirk out.”

  He trusted the stolid engineer to take charge of the bridge in his absence and to get the Enterprise to safety if the Klingons showed up ahead of schedule. The Enterprise was formidable in its own right, but was unlikely to prevail over a trio of enemy battle cruisers, and then there were the diplomatic repercussions of a major battle on the brink of the peace talks. If worse came to worst, he and Spock were expendable.

  Yeoman Bates came forward. “Request permission to join the landing party.”

  “There will be no landing party.” Kirk still wanted to keep the secret of the Key contained if possible. “Just Mister Spock and myself.”

  “Now wait just one minute,” McCoy protested. “Not that I’m in any big hurry to beam down to a planet I’ve never heard of, to find some gadget you can’t talk about, but what if you need a doctor on this little expedition? Or Captain Una does?”

  Kirk considered it. Lord knew he trusted McCoy as much as he trusted Spock, but this wasn’t the doctor’s mess to clean up. He and Spock bore sole responsibility here, after keeping the existence of the Key hidden from Starfleet. It didn’t feel right to jeopardize McCoy—or anyone else—over a secret they never signed on to protect.

  “Sorry, Bones, but this is between me and Una, captain to captain.” He held up his hand to forestall any indignant objections. “And if we need you, you’re only a transporter beam away.”

  “I suppose,” McCoy conceded unhappily. “But how come he gets to go along,” he added, gesturing at Spock, “if this is just between you captains?”

  “Spock knows Una much better than I do,” Kirk said, “having served with her for over a decade. He may be able to get through to her where I might not. Plus, he has a better understanding of how she thinks and reacts.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” McCoy muttered. “But I still don’t like it.”

  “That comes as no surprise, Doctor.” Spock left his station to join them. “But the captain is correct. I have more experience dealing with my former superior than any other individual on this ship. That personal experience may prove valuable if we hope to achieve a peaceful resolution to this situation.”

  Kirk knew that despite his dispassionate tone, Spock had to be hoping for just such an outcome. He didn’t envy Spock having to treat an old friend and crewmate as a fugitive. Kirk had felt the same way when Spock had defied Starfleet to rescue Pike from a living hell, and when Gary Mitchell had been driven insane by cosmic forces. Accepting that Gary had become an enemy had been one of hardest trials of Kirk’s early captaincy; he still missed the friend he once would have trusted with his life.

  Let’s hope Una’s story ends less tragically.

  The turbolift door opened and Montgomery Scott strode onto the bridge. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  Kirk appreciated the speed with which Scotty had abandoned his precious engine room. “I commend your promptness, Mister Scott.” He turned his chair over to the engineer. “You have the bridge.”

  “Aye, sir.” Scott inspected the deceptively benign-­looking planet on the viewscreen. “Any special instructions, Captain?”

  “We have a fleet of Klingon battle cruisers heading our way,” Kirk said. “With any luck, Spock and I will be back with Captain Una before they get here, but if things go amiss, I don’t want you risking the Enterprise for our sakes. Get my ship to safety, Scotty.”

  Scott nodded grimly, absorbing the worrisome news and orders. “Understood, Captain, but I don’t mind saying that I’d just as soon it not come to that.”

  Kirk had no intention of putting his crew in that position.

  “You and me both, Mister Scott.”

  Nineteen

  Una rushed through the pitch-black forest, pursued by an unknown number of Usildar intent on recapturing her. Strident shouts and frantic rustling disturbed the nocturnal jungle, shaking the treetops behind her while leaving no doubt that her escape had been discovered. Had Gagre managed to evade any blame, as he’d insisted he could? Una fervently hoped so, but that was out of her hands. She had to focus on keeping herself out of the Usildar’s grasp, which meant striking the right balance between stealth and speed, while also coping with a notable lack of light to see by.

  Sweat dripped down her face and beneath her uniform. She’d lost track of how long she’d been fleeing through brush and brambles and shadows as black as the hungriest singularity. The stygian forest both hid and hindered her. Fallen logs and bulging roots lurked in the night, causing her to stumble over them. Cool water dripped from overhanging leaves and blossoms. Looming tree trunks formed an irregular maze that was even harder to navigate in the dark. At times, she regretted losing her palm beacon, even though she knew, intellectually, that she wouldn’t have dared use it for fear of the bright artificial light attracting unwanted attention and guiding her hunters straight to her. All things considered, she was better off creeping through the dark, even if that slowed her down to a worrying degree.

  Good thing she’d always had exceptional night vision.

  Phaser in hand, she pushed through a web of hanging lianas. The dense foliage brought back memories of her first arduous trek through these forests so long ago. She was nearly two decades older now, but she liked to think that she was still in better shape than green cadets half her age and could match her younger self in endurance and stamina.

  Not that I’d turn down an easier route, she thought, if one was available.

  Unfortunately, heading back to the Shimizu was not an option; that was surely the first place the Usildar had looked for her, which meant that she would have to do without certain supplies as well. Instead she made for the citadel on foot, relying on her tricorder to keep her on course. Pausing for a moment, she risked a glance at the device’s illuminated display. According to readings, the citadel was still approximately half a kilometer to the northwest. She sighed inwardly.

  Could be worse, she consoled herself. At least it’s not on the other side of the planet.

  She flinched as a twig snapped beneath her feet. The darkness definitely had its drawbacks when it came to keeping quiet, although she hoped the noise would be lost amidst the jungle’s customary nighttime symphony. Wildlife hooted and howled overhead. Random stirrings in the canopy and below kept her nerves on edge. Despite the lack of light, she kept one eye on the leafy branches high above her, watching out for any arboreal ambushers, half expecting a hostile hand or foot to grab her without warning. The commotion behind her continued unabated and sounded as though it was getting closer by the moment.

  Her finger hovered on the trigger of her phaser.

  Her stomach grumbled and she wished she could take the time to break into the Starfleet rations tucked away in her pack. Any late-night snacks would have to wait until she was safely i
nside the Jatohr’s empty citadel, provided she actually got that far.

  “Over here! I found her!”

  An armed Usildar dropped from the trees to land directly in front of her. The night masked his features, but Una could make out the raised spear clutched in his hands. A volatile mix of fear and anger roiled his voice.

  “Go no farther! You cannot escape our justice!”

  “Sorry,” she replied. “I have other plans.”

  She didn’t waste time arguing with him. A stun beam caught him by surprise, and it dawned on Una that, as far as she knew, the Usildar had never witnessed a phaser in action before. Her poleaxed victim had probably been more worried about the crude hatchet tucked into her belt.

  Let’s hear it for the element of surprise.

  She hopped over the downed hunter’s prone body, anxious to make tracks before his cries drew more hunters her way. The phaser improved her odds, but she was still outnumbered and out of her element. She couldn’t let herself get overconfident.

  Like last time . . .

  Out of nowhere, a noose tightened around her neck, choking her and yanking her off her feet so that her legs dangled in the air. Unseen arms or legs pulled her up with shocking strength and speed. Gasping for breath, Una tugged at the strangling vine with her free hand while firing blindly into the branches above. Phaser beams lit up the night, sizzling through the leafy understory.

  A stunned gasp rewarded her desperate blasts. The noose around her neck slackened, allowing her to breathe again, even as she plummeted toward the forest floor many meters below, bouncing painfully off an unyielding branch on the way down. A prickly thicket helped cushion her landing, but the jarring impact still knocked the wind out of her and caused her to lose her grip on the phaser. She landed face-first, mercifully sparing the gear in her backpack, but making it rougher on her. Lying dazed atop a heap of flattened underbrush, Una thought she heard another body thud to the ground nearby.

  She was civilized enough to wish the Usildar a soft landing.

  But not too soft.

  Bruised and battered, she was tempted to take an extra moment to recover, but she didn’t have a second to spare. Brambles scratched her and tugged at her uniform as, wincing, she climbed to her knees and groped in the dark for her lost phaser, which had ended up somewhere in the endless brush.

  “This way!” another voice cried out from the canopy, much too close for comfort. Branches shook beneath the weight of running and swinging bodies. “I saw a spear of red light blazing from below!”

  Una sprang to her feet, reluctantly giving up on the phaser. There was no time to rummage through the brush searching blindly for the weapon. More Usildar were closing in on her. She had to keep moving if she wanted to stay ahead of her hunters.

  She drew the “borrowed” hatchet from her belt.

  This will have to do, she thought.

  Wielding the hatchet like a machete, she hacked her way through the brush ahead of her. Speed trumped subtlety now. She was racing for her life—and the future of those she had left behind years ago.

  You had better appreciate this, Tim.

  Adrenaline, first-rate Illyrian physical conditioning, and eighteen years of survivor’s guilt kept her going, despite the scrapes and scratches and fatigue that were beginning to wear on her. Her ribs felt like a mugato had pounded on them. How long had she been running anyway? Was it just her imagination, or was the sky lightening high above the forest? The thick canopy still filtered out most of the available light, but it seemed to her that the sun was finally rising.

  She wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not.

  A thick stand of ferns blocked the gap between two immovable tree trunks. Una hacked at the fronds to clear a path and was suddenly confronted by a shadowy figure looming ominously before her. Startled, she spied the unmistakable outline of an enormous gastropod posed atop a single large foot. A sextet of tentacles rose like horns from the figure’s inhuman head. Two forelimbs reached toward her.

  A Jatohr?

  Instinct got the better of her and she swung the hatchet at the figure. To her surprise, the edged weapon dug into what felt like solid wood instead of flesh or armor. She tugged the hatchet free and stared at the still, silent figure in confusion.

  What in this world?

  A closer inspection revealed that what she had mistaken for a Jatohr was in fact a life-sized wooden effigy of the same, carved from a once-living tree rooted deeply in the ground. She wondered at its purpose, intrigued despite the urgency of her situation, until she looked past the effigy, where the rising sun allowed her to see that she had arrived at some sort of boundary marking the edge of the forest. Beyond the trees lay a swath of scorched, blackened soil at least a hundred meters across. Nothing grew or lived in that barren zone, not even the ubiquitous alien fungi, which she could glimpse sprouting in abundance on the opposite side of the dead zone, where, even farther in the distance, the citadel could be seen rising up from the gray lake, its high walls and tower reflecting the dawn’s ruddy light. A familiar rumbling, which Una recognized even after so many years, indeed emanated from the distant fortress, stirring unpleasant memories and sensations. She knew she should be pleased to be within sight of her goal at last, but a chill ran down her spine in a way that was quite uncharacteristic for her. Una was not one to let her emotions overrule her training and professionalism, and yet her throat tightened at the sight of the citadel. Goosebumps erupted beneath her soiled, sweaty uniform.

  I’m back for you, Tim. Or almost.

  The dead zone stretched between her and a hilly landscape that appeared totally overrun with the invasive gray fungi. A row of wooden effigies, identical to the one she had just stumbled upon, marked the opposite end of the zone.

  Like scarecrows, she guessed, guarding a no-man’s-land between the forest and a forbidden region surrounding the citadel. The Usildar had presumably scorched the earth between the markers to create a buffer between themselves and the “haunted” vicinity of the Jatohr, not unlike, say, the Neutral Zone between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire. And the grotesque wooden Jatohr were posted in warning, reminding the unwary to keep to their side of the zone, for beyond slept monsters.

  Una peered cautiously past the effigy she had instinctively attacked, worried that there might also be sentries guarding the dead zone, but saw nothing resembling watchtowers or patrols. Thinking it over, she reasoned that such measures were surely unnecessary, since what Usildar in their right mind would want to get that close to the citadel anyway?

  Only a Starfleet captain—and an obsessed one, at that—could be so crazy.

  Una contemplated the barren wasteland ahead, which offered little in the way of cover or concealment. Breaking from the forest risked exposing herself to the tireless lynch mob pursuing her, but what alternative was there? The citadel—and its long-forgotten secrets—awaited her. And she no longer needed a tricorder to tell her which way to go.

  No time like the present, she thought. Why wait for the Usildar to catch up with me?

  Hurrying out from beneath the shadow of the forest canopy, she sprinted past the scarecrow into the dead zone. Almost immediately, a hue and cry erupted from the jungle behind her as treetop observers spotted her exiting the woods. Amidst the frenzied shouting, Banev’s voice rang out commandingly:

  “She goes to disturb the Despoilers! Stop her at all costs!”

  That was by no means her intention, but explaining that was a lost cause. Not looking back, Una dashed across the charred earth, hoping that that the Usildar wouldn’t follow her into the zone. Now that she was out from beneath the canopy, the morning sun made it easier to see. Her boot bumped against a soft, round object that bounced off her heel; to her dismay, she saw that the dead zone was littered with dark purple melons, of the same variety used to glue her to the stump earlier. The melons were strewn across the
no-man’s-land like land mines, no doubt intended to slow anyone attempting to come or go from the citadel. She came close to stepping on a second melon before veering to avoid it at the last minute. Getting sticky sap all over her boots was not on her agenda either.

  Her life, and the lives of others, depended on not letting anything slow her down.

  The treacherous melons turned the zone into an obstacle course, forcing her to zigzag around them when she wasn’t leaping over them altogether to avoid slowing down. Una flashed back to her basic training at Starfleet, which had been child’s play compared to the rigorous courses she’d run on Illyria in her youth, where she had always taken first place.

  They’ll have to do better than this to stop me.

  The ground gave way beneath her and she realized instantly that she’d stumbled onto an old-fashioned pitfall, like a Piklite tiger trap. Razor-sharp reflexes came to her rescue, and she grabbed onto the edge of the pit before it was too late. Her body slammed into the side of the trap, but her free hand dug into the rocky soil, fighting gravity. Glancing down, she spied an ash-covered mat, woven from strips of bark, impaled on sharpened wooden spikes waiting to skewer her as well. The mat must have been stretched over the pit, hidden beneath a coating of dirt and ash.

  It seemed the Usildar really didn’t want anyone getting too close to the citadel.

  Holding on with one hand, she placed the hatchet between her teeth to free her other hand. Grunting, she pulled herself up and out of the pit and back onto the solid ground, where she took the axe in hand again. She scrambled to her feet, slightly shaken by the close call. Her quest to save her old comrades had almost come to a grisly end.

  A spear thudded into the ground beside her.

  “After her!” Banev ordered. “Bring her down before she gets any farther!”

  Glancing back, Una saw that her hunters had reached the edge of the forest. In the forefront of the pack, Banev was urging his people on, but the other Usildar appeared hesitant to venture into the dead zone. Entering the deserted labor camp had been worrisome enough, Una guessed, but to draw nearer to the rumbling citadel, from which no forest dweller had ever returned? Una wasn’t surprised that other hunters were balking at their leader’s commands.