The Trellisane Confrontation

by David Dvorkin

  There was a crash from the next room, and a bellow in a voice McCoy recognized as Veedron's. "Animal!" Veedron shouted. "How dare you!"

  McCoy ran in to find the two Trellisanians facing each other, both red faced. The hypospray units littered the floor. "Animal yourself!" Spenreed shouted. "You think the world belongs to you, your kind! Watch your step next time."

  Veedron's eyes widened in disbelief. Then stern anger ruled his face. He pointed at the slave and closed his eyes, his expression becoming one of deep inner concentration.

  Spenreed sank back against a wall, collapsing to the floor, his hands over his face, and moaned. His impertinence had vanished, and he was white and trembling in terror.

  And nothing happened.

  Veedron opened his eyes and said smugly, "There!" Then he saw Spenreed rising to his feet again. Now it was the aristocrat's turn to pale with fear. "Oh, no!" Veedron muttered. He ran from the room.

  Spenreed's cockiness returned as quickly as it had left him. His voice, though, was still shaky when he said, "I think you've saved me three times now, Doctor! I've got to tell others about this." He skipped from the room.

  It can't be, McCoy said to himself. It just can't be what I think it is. My God, what kind of a world is this?

  The Klingon ship was huge, perhaps three times the size of the Enterprise. The bridge was considerably more than three times as big as the Enterprise's bridge, and thus seemingly out of all proportion to the size of the ship. During his long, weary hours there under guard, Kirk realized why this was so. The operation of this monster vessel was apparently divided into sections, just as a Federation starship, but the emphasis was different. The Klingons' Medical section was tiny: the Klingon Empire preferred not to expend its resources on the ill or wounded, with the inevitable exception of the upper-level officer cadre. Security, on the other hand, was enormous, representing, Kirk guessed, about half the ship's personnel. This was so, simply enough, because everyone was under almost constant surveillance—even the Security personnel themselves.

  The center for this operation was not in some distant, removed area of the ship, but rather right on the bridge. That way, the ship's captain could keep his own eye on the Security men. One whole side of the bridge, almost half the available area, was given over to these men, sitting patiently and quietly before their banks of miniature screens, watching ship's personnel throughout the vessel and listening to their conversations. Who was watching the captain? Kirk wondered. He remembered being told by the Klingon Commander Kor on Organia that every Klingon official was always under careful scrutiny, every action and word watched and weighed. Perhaps someone, somewhere, in some hidden cubicle, was watching the bridge, the captain, and Kirk at that very moment, ready to report instantly to his superiors on Sealon if he saw or heard anything smacking of treason or weakness.

  One thing at least was on a smaller scale than its equivalent on the Enterprise, and that was the main viewing screen on the bridge. Had this been the bridge of a Federation ship, with the main screen showing as bizarre a sight as this one, everyone on the bridge would have been watching it. Klingon crews were much more strictly disciplined; on this bridge, only Kirk and Karox, the Klingon captain, were watching the screen.

  Five points of light were displayed there, moving at sublight speed against the background of stars. Four of them were arranged in a square, with the fifth at its center. Karox called out, "Full magnification!" But even before his order was implemented, Kirk knew what he would see. The magnified picture verified his premonition and sent a chill through him. He scarcely heard Karox's next order, to kill the warp drive and maintain present distance from the action depicted on the screen.

  There in miniature was the Enterprise, under attack by four Romulan vessels. All five ships were surrounded by the haze of defensive screens. Even as they watched, twin photon torpedoes, visible as two brilliant points of light, streaked from the Enterprise toward one corner of the square. One torpedo missed, continuing off the screen, but the other hit, and the hazy glow of the Romulan's shield flickered and momentarily died. The Enterprise followed with a quick barrage of phaser fire. The defenseless Romulan ship flared up in a bright, explosive glow and then vanished.

  Karox pounded his fist on the arm of his command chair and shouted, "Good shot, Kirk! Well done! You're better fighters than I thought." He sat back in his chair and said, more calmly, "But the end is inevitable. The Romulans won't let that happen again. Your ship is doomed."

  Kirk knew he was right. The glow around the surviving Romulans brightened as they increased their shield power. They began a steady phaser attack on the Enterprise; even with their phasers' power reduced because of their increased screening, the total effect was still enormous. The glow of the Enterprise's own screens slowly faded as the ship's energy reserves dwindled. The Federation ship fired off her remaining photon torpedoes, but the increased screens of the Romulans protected them from serious damage, and the Enterprise didn't try any more phaser attacks, since to have taken any more power from her screens would only have hastened the inevitable.

  "Something must be wrong with her warp engines," Karox muttered, "or she'd get herself out of there." His interest was obvious, but he was detached. The scene that wrenched Kirk so was to the Klingon merely an impersonal tactical problem.

  Kirk was manacled to the arms of his chair, set firmly into the floor near Karox's. He ached to do something for his ship, but he was heavily guarded and could not have made a move even if he could somehow have removed the metal bands around his wrists. "Karox," he said hoarsely. "You've got to do something to stop it. You were ordered to keep the Enterprise and the Romulans apart. This is a powerful ship. Attack the Romulans!"

  Karox laughed at him, enjoying the distress Kirk could no longer hide. "We're not ready for that war quite yet, Captain Kirk. We're not going to fight the Federation's wars for it! We attack only when we feel prepared." He paused for a moment, thinking over his words. "My orders were only to catch up with the Enterprise and destroy it. It appears that the Romulans are going to do that job for me, so that my ship will remain unharmed. It occurs to me that we are not yet within the Romulan Neutral Zone. I'm not sure of the ramifications of the Romulans being out here, beyond the Neutral Zone, and attacking a Federation ship, but in any case we're too late to prevent that from happening. If the Romulans destroy the Enterprise without boarding her, as I think they're about to do, then they won't know where she came from, and there will be no Romulan threat to our operations on Sealon and Trellisane."

  "But their suspicions will be aroused," Kirk said desperately. "They might decide to investigate this whole region of space."

  "They're even more likely to do that if I attack them and they get word of it back before I can destroy all three of them." Karox leaned toward Kirk and said in a low voice, "Kirk, if Romulan suspicions are aroused, and if it's not my fault, then it will be clear that it's Kaged's fault. He will be removed in disgrace, and I will move up to his position." He sat back, smiling at the thought. "I should have been promoted into that in the first place. No, I think we'll just stay where we are, beyond the sensor range of those four, and watch to the end."

  Beyond sensor range, Kirk thought, his military training reasserting itself even in this moment of ultimate despair. That must mean that, in addition to the great ship's enormous speed, which he had already found frighteningly impressive, she could obtain clear visual images at a range that was greater than that of both Federation and Romulan sensors. He knew his higher duty: to survive himself, no matter if his ship was lost, so that he could get word back to Star Fleet of this double Klingon military advantage.

  "Now," Karox said, leaning forward toward the screen. The Enterprise's screens had gone down completely, and she was a helpless target. Kirk watched helplessly, wanting to look away but somehow unable to as he waited for the final Romulan attack that would disintegrate his ship.

  For what seemed an eternity, nothing happened. Then the Ro
mulan ships rearranged themselves to form an equilateral triangle, still with the Enterprise at the center of their formation, and faint yellow lines sprang into being, linking each Romulan ship to each of the other two and to the Enterprise. "What is that?" Karox demanded.

  One of the bridge personnel inspected the instruments before him and answered his captain. "Some sort of tractor beam, sir. Very unusual characteristics."

  Karox glared at the man, then returned his attention to the screen. Suddenly, all four ships vanished. Karox cursed loudly in Klingon. "Warp drive," he muttered. "How did they manage to pull something with the mass of a starship into warp with them? Worthy opponents, those Romulans."

  "Karox," Kirk said quickly, "don't you see what they're doing? They're taking my ship back into the Neutral Zone with them, and then they're going to board her and interrogate the crew. They'll find out about Sealon and send a force there. And it will be your fault, for letting them take the Enterprise!"

  Karox looked at him for a moment and then cursed again. "You're right, Kirk, damn you." He barked a string of orders at his helmsman, and the great Klingon warship shot into warp drive in pursuit of the Romulans and their captives.

  "Reduce it again," Hander Morl ordered, and Sulu complied reluctantly. With each fresh barrage of phaser fire from the Romulans, he had been ordered to reduce the Enterprise's shield strength. At first, this had seemed to him to be simply further madness. Suddenly he saw the point. The shield would give way eventually anyway, under the combined effect of fire from the three enemy ships. Keeping it at the fullest strength the ship could manage would only buy them a small amount of time. But by reducing the shields steadily, so that it looked to the Romulans as though the shields had already failed, the Enterprise would keep something in reserve for possible future action. Sulu's admiration was grudging but genuine.

  Sulu reduced the shield strength the last, small step, and the Enterprise was defenseless. Damage reports started flooding in, tinny voices in his earphones filled with fear and confusion. Sulu gritted his teeth and ignored them: he could see from the main screen that the phaser fire from the Romulans had already decreased; at last it stopped entirely.

  "They're giving us one last chance to surrender," Uhura said.

  Morl nodded. "Accept. Tell them we surrender."

  The main viewing screen showed the strange beams springing up, linking the Romulans and the starship. There was a small jerk as tractor contact was made.

  "Now what?" Chekov said.

  Sulu shook his head. "Never seen anything like that before," he muttered. "Tractor beams? What do they want to do that for?"

  The transition to warp drive was totally unexpected but unmistakable. "Engineer!" Morl shouted. "I thought it wasn't working!"

  Scott's jaw dropped. He stepped forward a few paces, away from the elevator doors, to get a better look at the viewing screen. "By God!" he said. "It's not ours! They've got some way to take us into warp drive with them!"

  Hander Morl relaxed, his face breaking into a broad grin. "This is better than I could have hoped. They're taking us into the Neutral Zone, at least, for interrogation, and we still have some shield capability and our phasers. We'll get the battle we came for, after all!"

  All attention was riveted on the strange sight on the main viewing screen. Unnoticed by anyone on the bridge, the elevator doors swished open.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Before the combined stresses of fear and isolation—held captive on a small island on a hostile world, seeing no one but Klingons—a human being might have given way before long. Not so a Vulcan. The Klingons had Spock's cell under constant surveillance, of course, but it was they who were giving way before Spock's imperturbability. Klingons are an excitable, impatient species under the best of conditions, and the sight of Spock sitting on his bunk, staring blankly into space for hour after hour, his face as impassive as always, drove the watchers to distraction.

  Spock's application of Vulcan mental disciplines was suddenly broken by a shout and crashing noises from down the corridor. Spock sprang to the door of his cell, leaning as close to the dangerous force field as he dared, to try to see into the hallway. But the archway of the cell's entrance extended outward too far because of the thickness of the walls, and he could see nothing. Now Spock was showing a hint of the impatience and worry the Klingon watchers had been waiting for; however, they were now otherwise occupied and could spare no glances for their spy screens.

  There was a succession of unidentifiable sounds—loud, harsh growls with a shrill overtone—followed by more crashes. And then the lights in the cell and the corridor went out and Spock found himself in utter blackness. Without even a moment's hesitation, Spock stepped forward. His estimate of the risk was justified by the results: the force field had vanished with the lights.

  He walked down the narrow corridor in the pitch black, carefully, his arms out to either side, fingertips trailing along the walls. His finely tuned Vulcan hearing was strained to the utmost, listening for what he could not see. Spock thought it more than likely that a Klingon or two might be walking down the same hallway in the same manner. But not even a Vulcan can calculate odds correctly when important data are missing, and there were factors involved of which Spock as yet knew nothing. He encountered no one.

  A vague, prickly feeling on his chest and a sensation of pressure against his face alerted Spock that something solid lay ahead. He reached forward cautiously. His hands encountered a smooth metal surface, and his exploring fingertips told him it was a door. The surface was warm, warmer than the walls of the corridor. Spock hesitated, then leaned forward and placed his ear against the door. Faint noises, a groan cut short, then other noises which slowly receded into silence. All he could hear was a crackling sound that seemed naggingly familiar. Suddenly it struck him: fire.

  Spock could afford to wait no longer in the interests of caution. The power failure that had freed him had also killed the sensors and motor that would have opened the door at his approach. He thrust his fingers into the narrow emergency slot, set his feet firmly, and heaved at the door with all his Vulcan strength. It slid open reluctantly on warped slots, the mechanism squealing in protest.

  Now there was light—the flickering glow of a fire in the guardroom beyond the door. The blaze snapped and crackled at one corner of the otherwise dark room, a small fire but spreading rapidly, leaping to the wall hangings the Klingons affected even while Spock watched and rolling across the floor, feeding on the piles of smashed furniture. Spock headed quickly for the door at the far side of the room, holding his breath. The wreckage of what had been the room's electronic equipment crunched beneath his boots.

  Spock was intent on getting out of the room in safety and then out of the building, but by the increasing glow of the fire, he noticed a Klingon lying on the floor, blood pooling beneath his head. The Vulcan stepped over to the prostrate guard quickly and knelt beside him. The Klingon was dead, or soon would be: from this close, Spock could see the multitude of bloody rips in the clothing, evidence of gashes and stab wounds beneath, and the misshapen head that surely meant a crushed skull. A fight of some sort? Spock asked himself. A mutiny of Klingon forces was unthinkable, but perhaps some sort of private grudge. But then, why hadn't the other Klingon simply used his phaser? Spock bent closer and examined the Klingon's head carefully. His analytical Vulcan mind was drawn by the mystery, and he knew he could hold his breath for some time yet, if necessary, so that the gases the fire must be producing were as yet no danger to him.

  However, closer examination yielded nothing. The Klingon's head was covered with clotted blood, masking the true nature of the injury, and Spock finally decided that this was not the time or the place for an autopsy. Regretfully, he rose to his feet and left the room.

  The hallway beyond was not utterly dark, for to one side lay another room with yet another fire burning in it. Spock quickly revised his estimate of his danger. He remembered enough of his trip through the building to the
detention cell, he was sure, to be able to find his way out now. But the dark, punctuated only by the wavering, uncertain light from so many—surprisingly many—fires degraded even his orientation, and he found himself forced to exhale and draw another breath before he could find the exit. The gases he drew in affected him less than they would a human, but they did affect him, and Spock's quick analysis of his senses told him that he would not be able to carry on for much longer.

  It was the shouting that led Spock to the exit. A multitude of voices, crying out in rhythmic unison; through the chant, despite the unintelligible alien sounds, ran an unmistakable exultation. He would have been drawn by the sound of voices in any case, as promising safety, but he was especially drawn by these, for they were the same fluid, whistling cries he had heard once before, on the beach with Kirk—the voices of Sealons.

  Spock staggered through a smashed doorway into nighttime lit by the burning building behind him. He drew deep breaths gratefully, then turned to find that flames were now flaring out of every window and doorway of the huge office building. He turned away again, facing toward the darkness, and deliberately accelerated his eyes' dark adaptation. It took longer than it would otherwise have, because of the aftereffects of the glaring light of the fire at which he had just been looking, but after a moment a silent crowd of figures took shape out of the darkness. They were ranged in a rough line, parallel to the building's front, and just beyond the immediate glow of the fire. Their chanting had stopped, and they were gazing indecisively at the Vulcan.

  Sealons, as Spock had anticipated. Not a Klingon was in sight: all dead within the building, Spock guessed, or else in hiding. Moments before, he had suddenly wondered whether the situation inside the building might be due to a Sealon uprising against their Klingon masters. Clearly that was the case. His main concern now was whether the Sealons would be able to distinguish him from the Klingons, or whether they would see no difference. He strode purposefully toward them.