by Star Trek
supreme here, and you... you are merely an inconvenience." Tromok
restrained himself from reaching for his dagger. "You are mad if
you think you could wrest my throne from me. And if you intend to
kill me to get it, you are welcome to try. My ships will destroy
you, and many more are on the way." He looked at the weapon now
aimed at him. "As hostage I am no good to you either. My men
will follow my orders and consider me dead. My brother will of
course, inherit my title. The end result will be the same for
you... death."
PAGE 55
"There are more ways to gain the Empire than you have named,
and that is my riddle. Nevertheless, even that is not my final
goal." He slowly raised himself from the chair, eyes and weapon
never wavering. "You still do not know with whom you are dealing."
"Not for lack of effort, though I am sure it is a strain for
one so boastful, to keep it a secret as long as you have."
The Host chuckled briefly at that. "I did not know the
Klingon Emperor had a sense of humor," he said with a smile.
"Do you also have a sense of irony?" he posed.
The Emperor said nothing. He wished to stall but never to
play the fool.
"No answer?" he asked, holstering his weapon and leaning
towards the Emperor with both hands on the table. "Then let me
explain myself with a brief tale." His smile faded.
"Years ago... no," he started again. "A lifetime ago, there
was a brave Starship Captain. The first Starship Captain." It
seemed painful for him to speak but he continued. "Long before
we had the Neutral Zone, Organian Peace Treaties or cloaking
devices to complicate life, this lone Captain and a hand-picked
crew set out in their new Starship on a brave mission: The
Exploration of Space. It was given to him to extend the hand of
friendship to other spacefaring races and invite them to take
their place of honor in a United Federation of Planets."
"With nothing but a faithful crew and the shining Prime
Directive, this Captain guided his noble vessel farther than any
ship in the Federation had ever ventured. After weeks of
exploration in this distant part of the galaxy, the Captain
encountered, for the first time since the Hundred Years War, a
race of beings who were as proficient in their technology as they
were in their ruthlessness." His eyes narrowed as they penetrated
the Emperor. "But now I am getting ahead of myself," he
interrupted, then continued the tale.
"The Starship first had made contact with intelligent life on
a planet not far from where we are now. The Captain spent weeks in
peaceful negotiations and in the exchange of cultural information
with the new-found alien friends who called themselves the Bak'i.
When it became time to depart from the planet, the Captain bid them
farewell and began his return to the Earth, with a promising new
addition to the Federation."
"However, while the Starship was leaving, they detected three
spacecraft approaching their new friend's solar system. Motivated
by curiosity, the Starship turned around, back to the world they
had just visited. Upon arrival, they found that the entire surface
of the planet had been laid waste. Not one Bak'i had survived
the terrible holocaust. Three armed warships had made short work
of their entire world."
"When the Captain of the Starship attempted to hail the three
PAGE 56
invading warships, in order to understand the action that had been
taken, the warships opened fire. They were Klingon warships."
The Emperor's face seemed to hint of recognition of the story,
from a memory long forgotten, or perhaps one he wished had been so.
"It was a time when our shields had been stronger than our
weapons. The battle raged for hours, particle-static beams and
focused radiation, inflicting more damage on men than on machinery.
The Captain was on the verge of hopelessness, when he managed to
destroy one of the Klingon warships." The Host erected himself. His
countenance became cold in remembrance of the lives lost afterward
by slow radiation poisoning, during the long dark voyage home.
"With one ship lost to the void, and no outward sign of damage
to the Federation Starship, the second Klingon vessel turned tail
and fled. The odds were then even.
"Yes," the Emperor whispered, transfixed by his own images of
the long ago battle. Though seeing it from another perspective
than that of his enemy.
"Again the ships clashed, until the Federation ship's weaponry
became useless, drained of energy and damaged beyond any hope of
repair. The Captain ordered all power to his foreword shields,
said a prayer, and began one final charge at his opponent. The
Starfleet Captain expected to die in the collision of the two
ships, but before the impact could be consummated, the ship from
the Empire gave her ground and took flight to parts unknown." He
folded his arms across his chest. "But not unknown to you,
Emperor Tromok," he spoke in anger. "Do you still remember the
words spoken from your own boastful lips, when the Starfleet
Captain attempted to explain his peaceful intentions?" He let his
guest search his memory for a moment. "Do you recall the vow I
made to you, as you ordered your ship's retreat?"
"You?" Tromok said in astonishment.
"Then, you were merely the eldest 'son' of the Emperor of
Klinzhai, now the Empire is yours, and I will finally make good
on my vow." A cold smile slowly crept upon his lips, from the
corners of his mouth. "Do you remember me now, Emperor of
Klinzhai?"
"I remember," he rumbled and slowly rose to his feet. "I had
not known defeat but for you." His voice became a growl, his
muscles tensed, "You are the secret shame I have kept hidden, even
from myself, for these many years."
The man reproduced his weapon, leisurely but with purpose. He
slowly aimed it at the Klingon. "Then my name still has meaning in
the Klingon Empire?" Strangely, the man lowered the weapon and
placed it on the long table before him, as if to challenge the
Klingon. "I told you that you would fear the day when next our
swords would cross, that you would ever fear the name of Garth of
Izar!"
PAGE 57
With a roar from the depths of his soul, the Emperor toppled
the long heavy table on to its side, sending Garth's phaser
clattering across the floor. Deciding in an instant that the
weapon was too far to reach, the Emperor threw himself the distance
between his enemy and himself. He hit Garth in his midsection,
like a projectile, taking him to the floor.
Garth was at the ready when the Emperor lunged at him and
rolled with the momentum and mass thrust upon him, tossing the
Klingon off and into the wall behind him. Garth was to his feet
first but allowed his guest to also rise, savoring the
confrontation he had long awaited, not desiring too soon an end to
it.
"It is good to see the
Emperor is still a warrior," Garth
said, paying tribute to his foe.
"To the death," Tromok said as he lifted his bulk off the
polished deck.
"Not so, your Majesty," he said mockingly. "I do not intend
to kill you, and I am certain that you shall not kill me." Garth
squared himself off from his opponent, now ready to continue the
battle.
The Emperor feigned left, then right and jabbed quickly with
his left fist, connecting only with air. Garth dodged the second
blow as well, and responded with a hard chop to the Emperor's neck,
bringing him to his knees. The Klingon, partly dazed by the chop
that would have knocked an ordinary man out, looked up at Garth in
rage. Tromok pondered to himself for a moment why his enemy took
no advantage at a downed foe. He lifted himself again, growling
like an animal gone mad.
Garth moved first, with a punch to the Emperor's heavy jaw,
then one to his stomach, when, with remarkable speed, the Emperor
caught Garth's wrist and placed a strong hand to his throat. The
Emperor slowly, powerfully, squeezed his enemy's neck with a
wolfish grin, and drew Garth close. "Now, you are mine!" he
whispered.
Garth grabbed the hand at his throat and centimeter by
centimeter, pulled it away, his muscles straining against Emperor
Tromok's for control. Both with feet firmly planted on the deck,
the struggle became one of brute force. 'Victory to the strong',
as a Klingon would say.
They stood face to face. Both red with the exertion of their
strength, neither giving in. One force irresistible, the other
immovable and both committed to the defeat of the other.
"You will lose!" said the Klingon Emperor through clenched
teeth.
"Not at your hand," promised Garth.
PAGE 58
The seconds that they spent in battle were years of desired
revenge nearing fulfillment. Neither would admit the thought of
defeat into their minds, though clearly, only one would stand when
they were done.
"Now," Garth strained, "the tide turns." And with his final
effort, he forced Emperor Mocdar Jek Tromok to his physical limit,
then pulled him with all that was in him. The might of the Klingon
was used against himself as Garth yanked backwards with all his
strength, fairly throwing the Emperor against the bulkhead, a full
fifteen feet behind him.
The Klingonese monarch sank to the floor unconscious, as Garth
slowly walked towards his downed enemy, gulping breaths as he came.
He kneeled beside this fallen warrior, and pressed two fingers
against the Emperor's pulmonary artery to be sure he still lived.
Satisfied, he rose, gathered his phaser and depressed a button on
his belt.
The only doors to the room parted and the Andorian, carrying a
medical bag, entered through them.
"Revive him," commanded Garth, "And place the stasis cuffs on
him or he may accidentally kill you as he regains his wits."
"Yes, lord Garth," the blue man replied. He reached into his
medical bag and produced a Doctor's spray hypo. He placed a small
yellow canister into the instrument, set the dosage to 20
milliliters, and injected the substance into the Klingon's neck.
Grasping both wrists, the acting physician placed the energy bonds
around them as the Emperor's eyes began to flutter.
The Emperor, not feeling at all well, opened his eyes for a
moment, then realizing that they were not focusing, blinked several
times to clear them. Immediately he became aware of his
surroundings and of the fact that he was temporarily immobilized.
He looked up to see the man standing across the room from him, to
his astonishment. Tromok closed his eyes again at the man he saw.
'Surely,' he thought, 'my mind plays tricks!' He opened them once
again and saw that the vision had not changed. Directly across
from him, standing majestically in royal robes, was the Emperor
of all Klinzhai.
The vision smiled. "You see," Garth said in the voice of the
Klingon monarch, "I never had the need to strike any bargain, never
needed anything from you, but 'you'."
"You can not do this!" spoke the Emperor, almost breaking before
his enemy, as his heart sank, for he knew that if there was anyone in
the universe who could wrest the Empire from him, it was this man.
The man that wore his face.
"It is already done!" boasted Garth. "But be of good cheer,
for I am not finished with you nor the galaxy yet!" He strode over
to his double. "You see," he spoke, kneeling beside the former
Emperor, "there is something I know about the Organian Peace Treaty
PAGE 59
that neither you nor my Federation seem to be aware of." He smiled
a dangerous smile. "But that is another riddle," he said. Rising
from Tromok and turning towards the exit, he began to laugh. He
left the room, his laughter echoing down the corridors, silenced
only when the doors shut behind him.
PAGE 60
*** TEN ***
The white streak that was Enterprise blazed like a stray bolt
of lightning through the vacuum of space. She was on a heading
that would bring her into a still-disputed area of the galaxy. The
Federation claimed it. The Klingon Empire claimed it, but the
Organians controlled it and named it the Neutral Zone. Hence,
ownership of any tract of space or any planet within that region
must be acquired by peaceful, productive occupation. This was in
accordance with the treaty signed by both claimants. Violent
aggression by either party was forbidden, and would, by the self-
appointed arbitrators / enforcers, be stopped.
Since the initiation of the treaty, both camps had made
attempts to stretch the limits of the contract, to no effect. The
Treaty was ironclad. Adherence to it was not an option. In
addition, it was agreed that Organia, as a planet and a people, was
to be left alone... until now.
James T. Kirk occupied the center seat. He waited for the
inevitable. The weight of the Captaincy was never heavier on his
shoulders than at this moment. His orders to approach the planet
in the solar-system ahead of him was a violation of Treaty. His
orders to set his ship for self-destruct was a violation of his
conscience. And yet he still waited for the inevitable.
The meeting Jim had called in sickbay with McCoy and Spock
was an exercise in futility. The danger still roamed his ship. To
attempt to incapacitate the Grensk android would be difficult even
if it was not conducive to exploding. The android had far superior
strength to that of even a Vulcan. Every plan that they discussed
or formulated put all aboard in jeopardy. To leave Grensk to his
own devices placed the ship in no less a perilous position, but it
did give them a timeframe within which to work. They used to call
his predicament a 'catch twenty-two, Jim recalled.
Jim looked at the chronometer in the arm of his chair. "Mr.
Sulu, shouldn't we be reaching the system perimet
er soon?"
"Aye, Sir, coming up on it in about eight minutes." Sulu spoke
calmly.
"Prepare to power down to impulse, point 9, in about eight
min..." Jim shut his mouth and grabbed both sides of his chair. He
could feel something vibrating subtly for just a moment. It
stopped. He sat still to see if it would happen again. Then the
whole ship began to shudder violently.
Jim hit his comm button. "Kirk to Engineering, Scotty,
what's the problem?" he asked urgently. The shudder became more
pronounced. "Mr. Scott!" No answer. Spock quickly moved over to
the engineer's console.
"Captain," Spock announced, "the port nacelle is beginning to
PAGE 61
buckle, all readings are peaking in the red."
"Sulu!" Jim started, but before he could finish his sentence,
the ship pitched to port, and the Enterprise began to maneuver in
an irregular, large spiral, her inertia dampeners and starboard
engine began to whine.
Holding onto the corner of the console, the helmsman tried to
reach for the controls, fighting like the rest of the crew against
the powerful centrifugal force. Straining, he managed to get a
finger on the correct button, and pressed the emergency shut-off
switch. The starboard engine went silent and Sulu was able to
engage braking thrusters.
"All stop, Sulu." Perspiration beaded on the Captain's
forehead.
"Slowing, Sir," spoke Sulu, equally sweaty.
Uhura turned from her station. "Captain, damage control is
reporting a fire in engineering, and something about an explosion!"