The Trellisane Confrontation

by David Dvorkin

  We must correct this evil.

  We shall act.

  The woman stood up and moved slowly, almost dreamily, from Medical Section into the corridor beyond. The other three, no longer quite able to attain sphericity and thus moving more slowly than normally, followed. The four-part view of the hallway and the four-part body of sensations of smell, sound, and vibrations were a revelation to the member that still called itself "Chapel." It strolled along the corridor, absorbed, delighted, reveling in the profound complexity of the Enterprise.

  Hander Morl laughed with pleasure as the stars on the main screen dissolved into chaos and then reformed, but this time in evident motion. The Enterprise was once more under warp drive, and once again his race toward destiny was on schedule. He pushed himself from the command chair and stretched his cramped muscles, then turned around to grin at Scott, who stood calm and relaxed on the raised platform where Uhura's communications station was located. "Thank you, Chief Engineer. The ship feels good. We're going to make it."

  Scott inclined his head slightly but said nothing. Uhura, both puzzled and angry at Scott's complicity with their captors, said, "Thank you indeed, Mr. Scott. That was just what they needed."

  In a voice scarcely above a murmur, Scott said, "Don't thank me yet, lass. The best is yet to be."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The office in which they had spoken to the Klingon was in an underwater dome housing a series of such rooms. As they were led along a succession of corridors under guard, Kirk saw many other such rooms, and they were passed by many Klingons, both singly and in groups. The dome was surely not necessary for the aquatic Sealons. Clearly it had been built only for the sake of their Klingon "advisers," and just as clearly the number of those "advisers" must be very large. The air in the dome was heavy with moisture, and the temperature was too low for human comfort. Water beaded on the walls and dripped from the ceilings. In places, the prisoners and their guards walked through puddles. It was surely well within the abilities of the Klingons to build a more pleasant underwater habitat than this. Kirk assumed that they must see this as only temporary; before too long, they planned to be established on the land and to rule this world, through their Sealon allies, from the surface.

  At last they were led to an airlock. Beyond it, they found themselves in a long, pressurized, flexible tube laid on the sea bottom. The tube was well lighted and the walls were partially transparent. As they were marched along it, Kirk could see various sea creatures, shaped much like the fish and sea snakes of his native Earth, nuzzling the outside of the tube, drawn there by the smaller animals that clung to it because of the escaping light and warmth. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a fascinating place to spend some time sightseeing. As it was, he and Spock were hurried along to the end of the tube.

  The end was another airlock, on the other side of which they found themselves in a small shuttle craft. The cabin had only one window, small and reinforced to withstand more than normal atmospheric pressure. Kirk and Spock were seated away from the window and manacled to the arms of their acceleration couches. So the Klingons haven't given the Sealons transporters, Kirk thought. Insufficient trust, for true allies, or perhaps it's insufficient faith in their dependability in the future.

  Noises came from beyond the airlock, and then the shuttle was free and rising up through the sea. Startled shapes moved beyond the window, sea creatures disturbed by the sudden motion of their new habitat. Once, something large swam up and a face that looked like a cross between a man's and a frog's stared in at them. A Sealon, Kirk realized, either a curious one or a suspicious one, checking up on the latest movements of the Klingons. The Klingon guard seated by the window recoiled in open disgust and put his hand reflexively to his phaser. Then the Sealon face disappeared. Kirk glanced at Spock and saw that the Vulcan was watching the Klingon with the same interest he felt.

  The shuttle broke the surface and lay bobbing for a few minutes on the swells in bright sunlight. The window showed alternations of bright blue sky and green waters as the waves broke against the vessel's side. Then there was the rumble of engines and, sluggishly at first, the shuttle raised itself into the air. Gathering speed, it flashed upwards at a steep angle, the blue sky outside the window giving place to a deeper, darker color and then finally to the star-speckled black of space. This was a rare experience for Kirk, who was accustomed to using the Enterprise's transporter and could only rarely allow himself the luxury of traveling by shuttle. Time was usually so short for his many duties that he normally considered the shuttle as much an inconvenience as a luxury. Now, with no choice in the matter, he could revel in the sense of community the experience gave him with the first men to leave the Earth atop their chemical rockets and thrust into space. James Kirk had few heroes, but those men were among them. Then the craft turned slightly and beyond the window part of a Klingon-inspired Sealon ship came into view, and Kirk's fantasies evaporated.

  The manacles were unlocked, Kirk and Spock were transferred to the large ship quickly and efficiently and placed in a detention cell, and the ship left orbit for Sealon. Except for the Sealons who had captured them on the beach and the enigmatic face at the shuttle's window while it was still underwater, Kirk had seen only Klingons. He began to wonder if the Klingons had already followed their usual pattern of reducing their vassal peoples to slavery, without even waiting for the invasion of Trellisane to be completed. Were there even any Sealons aboard this apparently Sealon ship? He filed the anomaly away for future reference, along with the reaction of the Klingon guard to the face at the shuttle's window, not knowing yet what use any of this information might be but hoping that it would be of some use in the future. If I have a future, he reminded himself.

  Veedron had heard enough. He leaped from his chair and stalked to the door of McCoy's office. He paused there, turned his head, and said to the doctor, "I had no idea your Federation had such stupid laws. We'll certainly have to reconsider any idea of joining it. You'd expect us to share political power with the yegemot—creatures whose ancestors weren't even human!" Head high with anger, he started to leave the room.

  McCoy stared speechlessly at him for a moment, then called him back before he was out of earshot. "Veedron! Wait just a minute. What was that last thing you said?"

  Veedron came back into the office reluctantly and seated himself again. "The yegemot, those with no gemot. That's what we call them, the ones you call our servants. I haven't explained this to you before because we don't talk about it to outsiders when they come here to trade. We try to spare the yegemot the embarrassment. After all, even they have some feelings, almost as we do."

  "Oh, I'm sure that's true," McCoy said, but his irony was apparently lost on Veedron.

  "Yes," Veedron said, "they do, although not everyone seems to realize that. You see, McCoy, the yegemot are actually descended from domestic animals that our ancestors bred to human shape ages ago. Unfortunately, that sort of biological skill has been long lost to us, but fortunately the yegemot breed true. I'd be the first to admit that our economy depends upon continuing their breed. There's never a shortage of them." He sniffed in contempt. "I suppose that's one advantage of their lack of a moral code. Now, I know that you have various animals as pets and for some work on Earth. Would you ever consider letting them vote or share in the running of your world? Of course not! And yet that is just what you expect us to do here on Trellisane."

  "Then a … yegemot may achieve as high a level of competence in some field or profession as possible and still not be accepted as one of you?"

  "Of course not. Anyway, they are not mentally capable of reaching a very high level of competence in anything."

  "Because they're really animals in human guise?"

  "Precisely!" Veedron was triumphant. "There, McCoy, now you begin to understand. Now perhaps you can sympathize with our point of view."

  "Veedron, I'm probably better equipped to understand your attitude than anyone else on the Enterprise. T
ell me, though. Has it ever happened that a yegemot has, um, mated with a human and produced young?"

  Veedron stiffened in anger. As McCoy had anticipated, this was a question that struck a bit too deep for comfort. Then the Trellisanian relaxed again and said, slowly, as if each word were being dragged from him painfully, "Yes. It has happened. Our deepest shame. Such children are considered to be yegemot themselves."

  McCoy put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Your ancestors must have been smarter than you realize. They've made biological history here."

  Veedron smiled, his anger forgotten. "I'm so glad that you, at least, understand our position."

  "Oh, I do indeed," McCoy said. "This does change matters in some respects."

  Veedron left the office again, but this time not in anger. There was a bounce in his step. McCoy watched him go thoughtfully, then got up and followed him.

  They were brought down from orbit by shuttle craft again. The vessel landed on a strip on a small land mass that Kirk, searching his memory for the few details Veedron had told them when they arrived on Trellisane, guessed must be the land capital built by Pongol, the great leader who had united Sealon. The land was covered with huge buildings, topped by tall chimneys from which black smoke belched. Land and air traffic moved about busily. Nature had forced the Sealons to build all of this on land, no matter how much their own biology might make them prefer the sea.

  A Klingon guard—again, no sign of Sealons—marched them from the shuttle to a small surface craft. In that they were taken to a large office building, much like an administrative center on any planet. The grounds and the corridors of this building bustled with Klingons, striding about with evident purpose.

  They were taken to a large, grand office in the building. A Klingon officer, his high rank indicated by the braid on his uniform, waited behind a large desk for them. As their guard ushered them in, he rose and greeted them in a surprising display of politeness. He was tall, broad, heavily muscled—huge for a Klingon, and gigantic by Earth standards. He wore the short, well-trimmed beard common among Klingon officers; his skin color was even darker than most. He radiated power, confidence, and an unstoppable will. His voice matched that impression—deep, resonant, powerful. He spoke quietly, almost gently, for a Klingon. "Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. I am Fleet Leader Kaged, commandant of all Klingon forces in this system. I am quite pleased to meet both of you after all these years."

  "Quite pleased to have us captive, you mean," Kirk said.

  Kaged inclined his head slightly. "Of course that. But in addition, I'm pleased to meet you in person. I've followed your career with interest and admiration, Captain. There is surely no other officer in Star Fleet who has performed so well against us. Therefore, I am pleased to have you captive and no longer able to act against us; but I am also glad to have the chance to speak to you."

  This reception threw Kirk momentarily off balance. To keep that from showing, he said, "You know the situation with my ship. There won't be any time for talk if the Romulans arrive here and attack your installation. You don't know them as we do, Kaged. They're capable of just such a response."

  Kaged laughed suddenly, a loud, booming laugh with an undertone of cruelty and threat—the true Klingon in him peeping out from behind the mask of politeness. "We don't fear the Romulans, Kirk, any more than we fear the Federation. They worry more about fighting honorably than about winning. Fortunately, we aren't hampered that way." He pursed his lips in momentary thought. "Still, it would be inconvenient to have to deal with them now, before we're ready. They're on our schedule, you know," he said, suddenly conversational and polite again, "but the Federation comes first."

  He's talking too much, Kirk realized suddenly. He wouldn't say all of this to us if he expected to ever let us go. Somehow, Kirk had always thought he'd die in battle, as a warrior, not that he'd be coldbloodedly executed while a prisoner of the Klingons. "The more you talk, the closer the Enterprise gets to the Neutral Zone."

  Kaged nodded. "Preparations are already underway. After this problem is solved, I must extract from you the story of your loss of the Enterprise. Captain Kirk, of all men—our great nemesis. You've destroyed so many Klingon vessels, you and your ship. To have you lose your own to an attack from the inside—why, it astonishes me!"

  Kirk gritted his teeth but said nothing. Kaged watched him carefully for signs of some response, but Kirk's control of his expression was firm enough that the Klingon looked away finally, disappointed. "Yes," Kaged said. After a pause, he continued, "I'm going to give you something you've probably long desired, Kirk: a ride on a first-line Klingon battleship. I'm sure you'd prefer to be in command of her, having captured her in battle, but you'll have to settle for being a prisoner."

  "What do you have in mind, Kaged?"

  "Unfortunately, I have only a small fleet here at my command, and I'm reluctant to divide it. I've decided to send the largest ship off after the Enterprise. Its speed is greater than anything the Federation has, so it should be able to catch the Enterprise before it reaches Romulan territory. The new higher speed we've been able to attain is something I wouldn't normally want you to know about until you met us in battle, but," he shrugged his shoulders and smirked, "in your case it hardly matters what you find out. You'll be on the ship as an expert adviser to its captain. After all, who knows more about the Enterprise and its crew and capabilities—and how to find, fight, and destroy her—than the great Captain James T. Kirk?"

  "You expect me to help you destroy my own ship?" Kirk was as amazed as he was angry.

  Kaged looked at him shrewdly. "I don't think your Federation is any readier to fight the Romulans than we are, Kirk. We watched you carefully when the Romulans first attacked you. You gave back, nearly collapsed. You just barely managed to hold your own against them. Had we only been ready at the time to take advantage of it, we could have mopped you up afterwards in no time. Since then, we believe, the Federation has grown even more pacifist and weaker, while the Romulans, hidden behind their Neutral Zone—well, who knows what time and resentment might have done for them? Kirk, I respect you personally, even admire you, as many Klingon military commanders do. If you were typical of Star Fleet ship's captains, it would be a different situation. As it is, your Federation is doomed as soon as we Klingons can find some way around the Organians and attack you. That might take generations, however; certainly, the Federation should survive during your lifetime and mine. Unless you go to war with the Romulans, of course, in which case they will probably wipe you out before we have the chance to do so. It's your ship, your Enterprise, against the survival of the Federation. I'm offering you the chance to save the Federation by helping us."

  In the meantime weakening the Federation by the loss of the finest ship and crew in the fleet, Kirk thought bitterly.

  Spock said, "On the face of it, Captain, a logical argument."

  "On the face of it!" Kaged exclaimed. "Logical all the way through, Vulcan. Moreover, you will stay behind with me. Kirk, to ensure that you won't try one of your famous stratagems, Spock remains here as a hostage. I think we could manage to make even a Vulcan feel a great deal of pain before he died, despite their mental disciplines."

  "An interesting challenge, sir," Spock said thoughtfully. "I shall be most curious to see whether your methods of torture are indeed so efficacious as you seem to think."

  Kirk shuddered involuntarily at the thought and at Spock's coldblooded discussion of his own fate. "It won't come to that, Mr. Spock," he said quietly, wearily. "I agree, Kaged." He came closer in that moment to admitting total defeat than he had ever done in his career.

  The quiet, small sounds of utensils against plates, the gentle tinkling of glasses being filled with exquisite wines, the low murmur of civilized conversation. Half a dozen men were present at the banquet, besides Leonard McCoy; they were the ones who had happened to be on this continent when the Sealons cut off transoceanic travel. Still,
they were the leaders of most of this world's most powerful and important gemots, and thus, sitting in council, they were what government Trellisane had. McCoy was an honored guest, and in fact he was being treated by these powerful leaders as one of them.

  The food was exclusively vegetarian. This puzzled McCoy and annoyed him somewhat. The fish he had had before was missing. Well, of course, no fisherman in his right mind would go out on the sea, with the current conditions, and on this world, fresh-water fish weren't considered sufficient delicacies to be served in such elevated company. The marine plants the Trellisanians ate—and which McCoy was already learning to detest, after eating them three times a day every day—had previously been harvested on the high seas but were now being grown on shallow bays and inland salt pools. But what he particularly missed was the meat he had been fed upon arrival. He longed to sink his teeth into a juicy, medium-rare steak. That stuff was raised on land, of course, so what was the problem? Or have they, he wondered, killed off all the herds already in panic over coming shortages? He turned to his neighbor on his right, a distinguished, elderly, grey-bearded gentleman wearing the subdued robes of the Building Erectors gemot. "You know," McCoy said to him in a low voice, "I wouldn't mind some food with a lot less crunch and a lot more blood in it."

  His neighbor nodded and murmured, "Indeed. I'm quite shocked that, with a guest such as you present, proper food was not provided. I must have a word with Geldop about this."