Dwellers in the Crucible

by Margaret Wander Bonanno

  Nitpicker! McCoy thought, controlling himself for once. That's not the issue here! Jim's right. If the Warrantors aren't safe on Vulcan, nobody's safe anywhere!

  "Innocent people!" Kirk was fuming. "children or not. Non-politicals. Peaceful, useful citizens donating a part of their lives to keep the rest of us from each other's throats. We still don't know who did it or why. All of the Federation's resources can't come up with an answer. We could comb the entire galaxy without knowing what we're looking for."

  "Which is perhaps why we have been instructed to take no action," Spock suggested. He waited a moment. "I have a theory."

  "Well, that's refreshing!" Kirk sat down at last. He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Shoot!"

  Spock might have grimaced. He had never cared for that particular expression.

  "Based upon the limited data supplied us by Command, I would surmise that the actual abduction was conducted by Romulan infiltrators."

  Kirk shot forward in his chair, leaning across the table.

  "That would explain how they could move about the cities unnoticed. But how did they get onworld to begin with?"

  "For that I believe one must hold the mixed blessing of our common ancestry accountable."

  Uhura shifted in her chair.

  "I don't understand, Mr. Spock."

  Spock folded his hands on the briefing table in a manner which indicated his auditors were due for a long explanation.

  "No more than three or four armed Romulans would be needed to take six unarmed hostages. Such a small force would not require an entire Klin or Romulan vessel, which at any rate would be challenged and held by planetary defense screens. They could, however, assume the identities of Vulcans and infiltrate the crews of multi-special merchant vessels. A long-range scan of such a ship's crew complement would not distinguish between a Rihannsu body reading and that of a Vulcan."

  Uhura nodded.

  "Sounds plausible," Kirk said thoughtfully. "But wouldn't it be—logical—to anticipate something like this? Don't tell me it's never happened before?"

  "The Vulcan and the Rihannsu share an ancient code of honor, Admiral—" Spock began.

  "Meaning, it was humans who invented the polygraph test," McCoy chimed in. He'd been quiet for entirely too long. "Or to put it another way, them that don't lie don't expect to be lied to. Am I right, Spock?"

  "Overly simplistic, Doctor, but essentially correct," Spock said drily. He knew where McCoy was leading him and decided to get it over with. "And this may have constituted a flaw in our logic."

  "Pity the first admitted flaw in Vulcan logic had to be uncovered at the expense of six of the Warrantors of the Peace!" McCoy said.

  "Gentlemen!" Kirk said automatically. He had a faraway look in his eyes. "Romulan infiltrators," he said softly. "Romulan infiltrators. Plausible, Spock, but why? The settlement of Warrantors has been functional for nearly five years. Why make a move on it now?"

  Spock considered.

  "Impossible to be certain, Admiral. However, the Rihannsu alliance with the Klingons has brought with it certain pressures which may be difficult to reconcile with their own moral code. And they may consider the Vulcan alliance with humans a betrayal of our common ancestry, hence a justification for their action."

  "But humans and Vulcans have been allies for centuries, Mr. Spock," Uhura said. "Why would the Rihannsu wait so long to retaliate?"

  "There have been other forms of reprisal, Ms. Uhura."

  Spock's eyes rested on Saavik, who had been utterly, stonily silent throughout the briefing. The others assumed it was because she was a cadet and afraid to speak out of turn, or perhaps because she was a Vulcan and conditioned not to speak in the presence of her elders unless spoken to.

  Or perhaps this dispassionate discussion of Romulans struck too close to the bone.

  Spock continued, "And the Rihannsu have a long memory."

  It was Kirk who broke the electrified silence which ensued.

  "Romulans, then," he said. "Probably in cahoots with Klingons. But who's working for whom? And what would either empire hope to gain by kidnapping a handful of Warrantors?"

  "Simple terrorism," Spock suggested. "Though why there have as yet been no ransom demands is unknown. Or, the abductors may think to gain access to our formulae for planetary destruction, not realizing that any attempt to tamper with the peace capsules will result in immediate self-destruct."

  Uhura gasped. Most starfleet personnel had a vague idea of how the peace capsules worked, but few understood all of their ramifications.

  "You mean if someone tried to remove one of the capsules it would kill the Warrantor?" she asked incredulously. "How awful!"

  Spock's delicate fingers flew over his console as he accessed as much medium-classified data as was available on the peace capsules. A complex chart appeared on the small screen, which he turned in Uhura's direction. Saavik, her curiosity overcoming whatever else she was thinking, leaned closer as well. Only Sulu seemed lost in some private funk.

  "Each capsule contains the key sequential formula to inaugurate a global-scale attack," Spock began in his best lecturer's voice. Even Kirk and McCoy, who knew most of this already, found themselves listening intently. "It is surgically implanted in the left ventricle or, in the case, for example, of the multi-chambered Sulamid heart, the lower fifth ventricle, of the Warrantor's heart. Once the capsule is in place, the only way one Federation member can implement an aggression against another is for that world's leader to personally take the life of his Warrantor, thereby matching the code only he possesses with the code contained in the capsule. The capsule is encoded to deactivate once the Warrantor's term has expired, when it may safely be removed. Any attempt to remove or deactivate the capsule before that time results in self-destruct. The Warrantor's heart is literally destroyed, exploded from within. The system is tamper-proof. Without exception."

  "Then those six people are walking time bombs," McCoy said after a sober silence.

  No one else said anything. Spock's viewscreen returned to the holos of the six missing Warrantors, whose faces seemed to accuse.

  "There may be yet another reason for the abduction," Spock said after a long thoughtful moment, still contemplating the holo of T'Shael on the screen.

  Kirk held out his hands in a kind of plea. His anger had dissipated; the seriousness of the situation was weighing on him.

  "We're listening," he said.

  "The perpetrators may believe that, with four of our worlds bereft of Warrantors we would have no 'safety valve,' so to speak, and would fall to quarreling among ourselves. Both Empires know of the controversies which divide our worlds; it would be naive to believe otherwise. If the Warrantors were held incommunicado indefinitely, their worlds might begin to accuse others within the Federation, since the idea of Romulan infiltrators does on the surface seem outrageous. At least the abductors might reason that our diversity of cultures would lead us to destroy each other from within."

  "Well, we certainly give them reason to hope," McCoy growled. "The kind of thing we tolerate in the interests of diversity must seem ridiculous to absolute dictatorships like the Empires. This nonsense between Elaas and Troyius that's been going on for decades. The renewal of hostilities between Vendikar and Eminiar VII. Tellarites gnashing their teeth at their immediate neighbors, Orions mixing it up with everybody. It isn't too far-fetched."

  And Vulcans and humans sniping at each other out of pure cussedness, he thought but did not add. Next thing he knew he'd be agreeing with Spock entirely.

  Kirk cleared his throat.

  "So much for the facts," he said. "And the theories. Now—recommendations. Hikaru? You haven't said a word."

  Sulu blinked, shook off some private reverie.

  "I was just thinking. Command wants us informed, but inactive. They know us better than to think we're going to sit still. I think they want us to keep an eye out. An ear to the ground, so to speak. As kind of an unofficial espionage
network, on the assumption that the official network's also out fishing."

  Kirk sipped his tepid coffee.

  "I assume they've got Special Section working on it," he said, deadpan. He shared Heihachiro Nogura's assessment of the civilian Intelligence branch.

  "Due respect, sir," Sulu said. "I've worked with Special Section—"

  None of the others seemed surprised. Sulu had enough energy for three ordinary humans; they knew he often disappeared during their little training cruises when he wasn't needed at the helm, turning up weeks later somewhere between exhaustion and exhilaration alluding to "one helluva shore leave." Now they knew for sure.

  "I've worked with Special Section," he said. "They're going to need some hand-holding."

  "What did you have in mind?" Kirk asked. The thought had also occurred to him.

  "We could put in a request for a more active role," Sulu said, mapping his plans out on the tabletop as he spoke. "Maybe a little cruise along one of the Neutral Zones. See if we can pick up any border violators, ask them some questions. Find out what's going on in either Empire that might have precipitated this."

  Kirk was nodding. He and Sulu had been working together for so long their tactical minds had begun to merge.

  "And you don't think Command's going to refuse us?"

  "Of course they will, sir. They're not going to divert a red flag like Enterprise for that kind of assignment. Too conspicuous." Sulu grinned his best grin; the samurai blood was up. "But at least we can say we tried. That's when I brush up my Rihan, kiss you all good-bye and go undercover again."

  "Now hold on a minute, bucko," McCoy objected. "Since when did this become a democracy? If you think you're going to go swashbuckling off saving the galaxy single-handed while we diddle around in the shallows. . . .Either we're in this together or—"

  "All for one and one for all, huh, Doc?"

  "Well, why not?" Uhura chimed in.

  Jim Kirk said nothing, watching the wildfire spread. Sometimes that was the wisest thing for a commander to do. When he thought McCoy for one had gone on long enough he interrupted.

  "Thought you liked the country club atmosphere, Bones."

  "Well, I do. But when I think of those innocent kids out there … like you said, this is the kind of thing to get anybody riled. Are we going to leave this to the diplomats and the Special Section spooks or are we going to get involved?"

  Uhura agreed. Saavik deferred to Spock, who merely nodded. As the word spread throughout the ship, several other department heads called in with their support. Scotty reported that he and his crew were ready for anything.

  It was unanimous. Enterprise wanted in. Kirk put in a call to Starbase XI.

  "I'm putting Enterprise on Standby alert, Jim," Jose Mendez told him. It wasn't what Kirk wanted to hear. "You'll be in the vanguard if there's any action to be taken. That's all I can do at this end."

  Kirk leaned into the screen for emphasis.

  "You can't leave me with that, Jose. I've got a ship full of people raring for action, individually or as a crew—"

  "I'm not listening to you, Jim."

  "Spock says it could be Romulans—"

  "Spock's probably right!" Mendez blazed. He, too, was leaning closer to the screen, his cold blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "But it's not going to do you any good at this time. Do you read me, Jim?"

  "Dammit, Jose, don't do this to me! Or to my people. We need this, and you need us. You may be Commandant of this sector, but I technically by God outrank you and I'll go over your head if I have to."

  "Be my guest!"

  Kirk stopped his next retort on the tip of his tongue, swallowed it, nearly choked on it. What was Mendez telegraphing? Was he daring him to go to Nogura? Regulation 46A. . . .

  Jim Kirk took a deep breath.

  "Message received, Jose. I'd thank you, if you weren't such a hardassed son-of-a—"

  "My mother used to tell me the same thing. Warp speed, Jim. Mendez out."

  Jose Iglesias de Mendez cleared the screen, counted to ten in all his languages, logged in his personal Priority One code, pressed the Scramble switch and waited for retinascan clearance. He paused only long enough to calculate what time it would be in Old San Francisco, Sol III right now.

  Four a.m. Oh, well, they say the Ice Man never sleeps. Sorry to do this to you, Heihachiro, but you said to let you know.

  He accessed Nogura's Personal Code, the one even his wife didn't know.

  "Mendez," was all he said. "Kirk's coming in."

  | Go Table of Contents |

  Four

  THE DOOR BURST open.

  There were four this time: two guards who immediately flanked either side of the doorway, weapons drawn, a leader of some high military rank, and his second.

  Four pairs of piercing eyes raked the assembled prisoners. Heavy bifurcated eyebrows, vestigial vertebrae arching over gnarled skulls to the juncture of those eyebrows, prognathous jaws and a tendency to breathe through their mouths lent these hard faces menace no matter what the mood behind them. If a Klingon could smile, if a Klingon could soften into mercy, none of the prisoners knew it.

  "Well! And what do we have here?" the leader inquired rhetorically. His Standard was good and almost unaccented, though one suspected it was limited. There was a swagger to his voice as well as to his walk. He was small for a Klingon, which meant only one thing. This one had learned to survive by his wits.

  "I am Krazz," he announced, his eyes roaming over all of them in turn. "Lord Krazz, to you. I am to be your caretaker. For however long it takes.

  "You wonder why you've been brought here," he went on when they did not respond, thumbs tucked into his weapon belt, booted feet planted firmly in the yellow dust swirling in from the quadrangle. "The Roms, being devious, told you nothing. As a Klingon I will tell you something, though it may not be what you want to know. I will tell you that you, and we, if I understand your Federation's way of doing things, will probably be here for a very long time. If you are cooperative, you will not be harmed.

  "You will find no luxuries here. If my officers and I must subsist without servitors, you cannot expect to live better than we. You will be provided with whatever is necessary for your survival. You will tell your Federation that the Klingon Empire treated you well, if and when you are returned to it. That is not my concern. My orders are only to see to it that you are fed, sheltered and held in place. And I always obey orders."

  None of the prisoners made a sound. They were a bedraggled lot—their clothes slept in for an unknown number of days, their efforts to wash frustrated by a mere trickle of cold water and a lack of soap or towels. Fingers could not replace combs, and human and Vulcan were equally disheveled, their hair tangled about their ears so that to the inexperienced eye they looked more alike than ever.

  Nevertheless, all possessed a certain dignity. They stood motionless and separate. Even the Deltans, strengthened at least temporarily by their psionic link, were determined to show no fear. This seemed to disappoint the Klingon commander; he swaggered a little closer, studying them under his eyebrows.

  "Talkative lot, aren't they?" he said over his shoulder to his second, who did not reply. He was taller than the commander, and seemed less menacing. There was a listening quality to him. "And three females! Quite a catch!"

  Krazz drew even closer, and little Krn twitched nervously, but the Klingon did not deign to notice him. His eyes were for the females.

  "Outside," he said softly, and that much more menacing. There was an ancient taboo against sexual assault within the confines of a dwelling. "The females only. The males remain."

  "My Lord," his second began. His voice was deep, his manner properly self-effacing. "I respectfully remind you that these are political prisoners, not servitors—"

  Krazz rounded on him sharply.

  "You have an objection? There will be enough for the rest of you when I am through."

  The two guards moved for the first time, exchanging glances in appre
ciation of their lord's subtle wit. His second hastened to explain himself.

  "I only meant that our orders were to preserve the prisoners," he said in rapid, guttural Klingonaase. T'Shael, who knew only a few phrases, caught only the word "preserve." Nevertheless, the voices told her the content of their conversation. "In view of the mishap with the antennaed one, our superiors—"

  "—have no say in how we choose to relieve our boredom in this godforsaken backwater!" Krazz cut him off harshly. He turned to the prisoners again, calculatedly reverting to Standard. "We will do nothing that can be proven later. There will be no—permanent—damage. Now, the females, outside!"

  Cleante found herself watching the scene as if from outside. Was this what the Vulcan meant by Mastery of the Unavoidable, or was she numb beyond fear?

  It is only my body, she told herself. They cannot touch my soul. Allah knows, most times even I cannot find my soul. I have had an insensitive lover or two in my time; if they're not too brutal I can survive it. Look at Jali—

  She stole a glance at the Deltan, who walked with a kind of spring to her step, as if to say it was only sex they wanted. Was it possible for a Deltan to be sanguine even at the prospect of rape?

  Rape. Just letting the word penetrate one's conscious mind …

  T'Shael! Cleante thought, almost choking. Her insides churned; she thought she might be sick. T'Shael was a virgin; she couldn't, they mustn't!

  The Vulcan's face was calmest of all. The burning eyes were hooded, the long hands relaxed at her sides. Her entire being breathed Control.

  I'll try! Cleante thought, though her knees felt like water. I don't care what they do to me, but they mustn't touch you.

  "I can't pronounce it," Cleante had said, chagrined.

  "A difficult word for a difficult concept," T'Shael acknowledged. "It translates in Standard as 'Mastery of the Unavoidable.'"

  "'Mastery of the Unavoidable,'" Cleante repeated, puzzling over it. Her face seemed to brighten from within. "I think I understand."