The Trellisane Confrontation

by David Dvorkin

  Step by step, placing one foot carefully after the other, Morl forced himself into motion again. He passed behind Chekov's seat, but his eyes were fixed on the menacing ball of flesh; it had no visible eyes, but Morl could feel its gaze following his every movement. Chekov jumped from his chair and shoved Morl away from the consoles. Morl stumbled and fell heavily onto the floor, well away from the shelter of the consoles. He saw the Onctiliians rolling toward him; he slithered toward his phaser, lying nearby, but knew he wouldn't be able to reach it in time.

  A phaser beam sliced across the bridge and transfixed the Onctiliians. The Nactern warrior, satisfied that her comrade and lover was only unconscious and not harmed, had at last turned her attention to the excitement around her. Seeing Morl cringing back as the Onctiliians rushed toward him, she had drawn her phaser quickly and fired at her former ally. The Onctiliians glowed white and disappeared: the final, ultimate disruption of union and communion. Chapel screamed at the same instant and sank down nervelessly.

  Morl rose shakily to his feet, his face drained of all color, clutching his phaser. He pointed it at Chekov. "You tried to kill me!" he screamed. The gun was waving so wildly that he could not keep it aimed at the young Russian, and he had to grip it with both hands in order to point it properly. "You," he screamed again, but his throat constricted with fear and fury and he couldn't get any more words out.

  The Nactern warrior stepped forward in front of Chekov, shielding him. She held her arms out to either side. "No, Hander," she said simply.

  Morl, his hands still shaking, fired. The beam caught the Nactern full in the chest. For an instant, just before she vanished in the glow of disruption, Morl saw a look of surprise and accusation cross her face.

  Morl sat down heavily in the command chair. Because of its tilted base, the chair swiveled under him and dumped him on the floor. The horror and self-hatred on Morl's face made what might otherwise have been a bizarrely comic incident into tragedy. Sulu, Chekov, and the others on the bridge watched Morl's collapse into tears with something approaching pity. His follower, his subordinate, entrusted to him and trusting in him! She had not been a sacrifice to the cause, like the Onctiliian: she had been killed by a stupid accident, by his doing, through his own ineptitude and stupidity. That was the kind of leader he really was: inept to the point that he endangered his own people, or even killed them himself through sheer clumsiness. Kirk would not have done something like that, he admitted to himself; Kirk and these other Star Fleet personnel he'd been dealing with would never be guilty of this kind of failure. He knew that the pain of remorse was not enough to give him the punishment he felt he deserved.

  Four shapes twinkled into existence on the bridge. The Enterprise personnel, still rocked by all that had happened to them, were scarcely able to react to this latest shock. The twinkling lights resolved themselves into James Kirk and his Klingon guards. The Klingons had their guns already drawn, and they arranged themselves quickly along one side of the bridge, guns covering the Federation personnel.

  Kirk glanced around quickly, trying to size up the situation. "Mr. Scott?"

  "Sir. Enterprise secure internally but within Romulan space. Do you have orders?"

  Kirk turned to the Klingons behind him. "As you can see, gentlemen, the Enterprise is already under Federation control again. Thus by boarding you are risking war with the Federation as well as with the Romulans. I'd advise you to put away your weapons and accept the situation gracefully." He could almost feel the growing tension behind him, the instinctive reaction of the crew to the presence of Klingons, armed, aboard their ship. If the Klingons didn't back down, and soon, someone would make a move, breaking the tense restraint, and then the situation would be beyond his control.

  The Klingon squad leader hesitated, his instinctive hatred of humans warring with his prudence and sense of duty. He had the humans at a disadvantage, confident that three Klingons with weapons drawn were immeasurably superior to any number of soft and unarmed humans. And yet he was an ambitious young officer, and he suspected that Kirk was right about the legal situation. If he acted hostilely anyway and Kirk was right, then he would suffer both loss of rank and further, and probably painful, punishment. He decided the risk was probably too great. Another thought struck him suddenly. Success on Kirk's side could scarcely help Karox's career, and with Karox out of the way, the squad leader stood a good chance of moving up a step or two in rank. He holstered his phaser and motioned his men to do the same.

  Kirk released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Lieutenant Uhura, contact the commander of the Romulan fleet that has us under tractor beam." While Uhura moved to comply, Kirk said to the Klingon squad leader, "And I want you to contact Karox and explain to him what the situation is here."

  The Klingon uttered an exclamation of surprise.

  Kirk grinned at him. "That's right. Tell him. And also tell him that he'll have to beam over here himself immediately to settle this situation once and for all."

  The Klingon officer looked openly doubtful, but he drew his small communicator from his belt nonetheless and spoke into it quietly. The voice that replied was far from quiet: Kirk could hear Karox's miniaturized bellows from across the bridge. But the Klingon captain had little choice, Kirk knew, except to give up entirely on ever getting the Enterprise under his control. Sooner than giving up so readily what Karox had hoped would be his greatest victory, Kirk hoped, he would risk coming aboard the Enterprise in person, even though she was now under Federation control onboard and under Romulan control from the outside.

  The Romulans had at first refused to respond to Uhura, fearing that another betrayal like the first one was on tap. Eventually, however, she received a grudging reply, and then Kirk took over. "This is James T. Kirk, commanding the U.S.S. Enterprise," he rapped out, glorying in the words, in being able to say them again. "I must speak to your fleet commander immediately."

  After a pause, a new voice boomed out over the bridge, calm, unperturbed, strong—Romulan. "This is Tal, fleet commander. You have much to answer for, James T. Kirk. You tricked us twice before, but you will not do so again. You misled the brave woman who was my commander, leading her to weakness, dishonor, and death. And you murdered my warriors most cowardly and unfairly. You must be taken where you and your crew can be punished properly."

  Tal: Kirk had dealt with him before, during the incident Tal had referred to, but then Tal had been only a subcommander. He must have distinguished himself to have risen, in the relatively short time that had passed, to command of a fleet of ships entrusted with this sensitive mission. Despite all the differences between the Federation and the Romulan Empire, Kirk knew that such a rise must require the sort of professional competence and dedication a similar advancement would require in Star Fleet. This was a man much like him, one he could respect and admire; an equal. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that there was a kind of professional community building between the stars; he and his crew had more in common with the commanders and crews of the Romulan ships, and even with Karox and the Klingons under him, than they did with the teeming millions confined to the surfaces of the many planets that made up the Federation. Kirk smiled slightly. "Fleet Commander Tal, congratulations on your promotion. Considering your high rank, I'm sure you have been told something about the activity in the Trellisane-Sealon system. You'll agree that that situation is more important to your empire's well-being than taking revenge on me and my crew."

  "We have monitored your communications recently," Tal said reluctantly. "And those of the Klingons in this area. We know you are both heavily involved in some sort of local war there. However, that scarcely affects us. You are no threat to us at this moment, and the Klingons have assured us they have no ambitions in our space."

  Kirk laughed. "And you believed them, of course?"

  There was a long pause before Tal answered. "What do you want to discuss with me?" he said cautiously.

  Kirk relaxed, aware only now that he
had been holding himself tensely until this moment. "Not only with you, Tal, but with the Klingon commander of a ship you can't even see as well."

  "Can't even see? What are you talking about, Kirk?"

  "They can detect your ships from beyond your sensor range. Chew that over for a while. While you're digesting that fact, arrange to have yourself beamed over here for a three-way, face-to-face conference. We have something important to arrange, and I think it can be done more quickly and satisfactorily by three commanders like us than by distant governments."

  "I will be there," Tal said simply.

  After you dispatch a message to your home base to tell them what's happened and about the Klingons' new superiority, you mean, Kirk added mentally. That was something that Romulans seemed to lack, compared to both humans and Klingons: the willingness to break out of their rigid adherence to duty and obedience and display some independence, some autonomy. It was their strength as an empire, but their weakness as individuals. If the war between the Romulans and the Federation ever started up again, that might provide Kirk and his fellow officers with the edge they needed.

  Kirk turned to find himself face to face with a grinning chief engineer. "Captain," Scott said, his burr returning for a moment, "we've been busy. Look." He pointed at the command chair, which a crew of two technicians from Engineering were just finishing with, having replaced its base with a spare and reconnected the communications leads.

  Kirk grinned back at him and sat down gratefully in his command chair. "Fits perfectly, Mr. Scott. Thank you."

  Scott looked faintly sheepish. "Och. Welcome back, sir."

  A growl from the direction of the squad of Klingons drew Kirk's attention. Karox had arrived and was standing in the midst of his men, being briefed on recent events by the squad leader. He pushed the squad leader away angrily and stalked over to face Kirk. "Kirk!" he snarled. "Why did you tell them about our new long-range sensors? What treason are you up to?"

  Kirk smiled at him, knowing it would only increase the Klingon's fury. "You're stretching the meaning of that word quite a bit, Karox. It's not treason for me to neutralize your advantage a bit. Relax and enjoy our hospitality. The Romulan commander will be beaming over here shortly, and then the three of us will have a few things to discuss."

  Karox howled his anger. "Kirk, it won't work! I know what you're up to, but Trellisane and Sealon are ours now, and you're not going to deprive us of the system."

  "I think events have overtaken you, Karox. Surpassed you, perhaps. There are situations that Klingon bluster and aggression cannot master. You will have to realize that you face such a situation here. You know Klingon forces cannot face an alliance of Federation and Romulan ships, and that's just what you'll have to contend with if you don't cooperate."

  Karox drew back, his face relaxing. "Yes," he nodded, speaking calmly. "Neither of you has the courage to face us alone. I believe you would combine to defeat us, because you each fear us so."

  Kirk shrugged. "Put it in those terms, if it preserves your self-respect. The results are what matter to me. Consider this, too, Karox." Kirk sat forward in his chair. "You could be the one who pulls a stalemate, at worst, out of what is otherwise shaping up as a disaster for Klingon. You won't retain the Trellisane-Sealon system for long if you alarm the Romulans as much as you've already alarmed the Federation. I'm offering you the chance—you, personally—to retain some promising options for Klingon, instead of losing the system unequivocally."

  Karox grew thoughtful. "Yes," he nodded, a smile growing on his dark face. "Yes, Kirk, you're right. I would be a hero, and … certain others … would be villains. Yes," he laughed loudly, "yes, it grows more appealing by the second."

  Kirk disguised his scorn. "Good, Karox. I think we have our third negotiator now." The preliminary signs of a transporter beam transference had appeared on the bridge not far from him and Karox. The lean form of Tal, so startlingly like Spock's, began to take shape. The pointed ears, the sharp features, remnants of the Romulans' Vulcan ancestry—Kirk knew he'd have to guard himself carefully during the upcoming negotiations, lest those Romulan features mislead him unconsciously into being overly trusting. This was no Vulcan; this was a Romulan, a deadly enemy, as deadly in his way as Karox and the other Klingons. Kirk rose to his feet and uttered some formal words of welcome, meanwhile thinking that what was to come might be harder than any physical battle he had ever fought. "Tal, Karox, please follow me. Mr. Sulu, you have the con. I will be in the conference room with our two guests, and I do not want to be disturbed."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sealons are not given to psychological warfare. Direct, physical, frontal attack has always been their favorite method of making war, the attacks launched as soon as the warring parties feel adequately prepared—or even before, if the blood lust and desire for conquest are stronger than their rudimentary feelings of caution. Even Pongol and Matabele, the greatest leaders and organizers in Sealon history, greater rulers than any of the heroes in Sealon's many sagas, were never able to change this basic nature. Pongol and Matabele led their nation to triumph over its neighbors, not by using the gentle arts of persuasion on their subjects, but rather by having greater strength of will, more dominating personalities, than those among their advisers and subchiefs who opposed their plans. They simply imposed their own ideas of strategy upon their followers, brooking no opposition. Thus the long quiescence of the Sealons in the seas of Trellisane was highly uncharacteristic.

  It was also completely destructive of what little morale remained among the Trellisanians. Had the Sealons been intending to conduct psychological warfare, and had they known enough about the working of Trellisanians' minds to do so, they could not have done better than to wait beneath the calm sea surface as they did. Even the yegemot, whose defiance had already diminished as their numbers dwindled at Sealon hands, became quiet, waiting uncertainly for the next move from the deadly invader hidden beneath the seas.

  Veedron's reservoir of courtliness had deserted him. "How can we get more organized?" he screamed at McCoy. "We don't know what to organize for!"

  McCoy shrugged and pressed his palms against his eyes. He felt enormous fatigue, and he seemed to be incapable of feeling anything else. It was as if the long, hard, thankless hours of dealing with Trellisane's increasingly uncooperative leaders and the nausea resulting from his latest discovery had drained him of even the ability to experience anything but weariness. He let his hands fall to the table. "I don't know what to tell you, Veedron. Perhaps it's not worth doing anything, after all. We're all doomed. Give up and face the inevitable. I know I don't care any more."

  This was enough to at last reduce Veedron to silence. He stared at McCoy, realizing for perhaps the first time just how much of himself this alien had given to Trellisane, how unselfishly he had given it—and how little thanks he had received for his sacrifice. Veedron searched for the words to apologize to McCoy and to thank him: if they must all perish, then Veedron wished all the more to restore Trellisane's honor before it was too late. Before he could formulate the long, elaborate circumlocution he intended to deliver, however, a yegemot entered the room and hurried over to him.

  "A ship, Your Honor," the man said breathlessly. "A ship of the Sealons has arrived."

  Veedron glared at him. "You interrupted me for that, creature?" he snapped. "More invasion forces, that's all."

  "Sir, this one has come down on the ground near here, not in the sea."

  Veedron exchanged a glance of surprise with McCoy. "Either they're overwhelmed with confidence," McCoy said, "or they want to talk to us."

  Veedron shook his head. "They could have done that earlier. A special ship from Sealon wasn't necessary."

  "Then maybe there's someone special onboard, someone the Sealons here have been waiting for."

  "Matabele," Veedron muttered. He turned to the yegemot messenger. "Take me to the landing site," he ordered. He turned back to McCoy, his tone of voice respectful. "Do you wish to come
with me, Doctor?"

  "I wouldn't miss this for the world!" He had noticed Veedron's changed manner. It was almost back to the politeness of earlier days, before Veedron's revelation concerning the slaves. Wonder how he'd act if he knew I've been taking those damned capsules out of every slave I can get my hands on. . . .

  The landing site was near the Sealon-blasted subspace transceiver Veedron had shown Kirk and Spock some days earlier. McCoy had never seen this place before, and now his attention was drawn to the huge vessel resting in the midst of what had once been parkland, rather than to what was left of the recreation ground. There was no activity around the great vessel; a crowd of Trellisanians watched nervously from a distance, waiting for someone in a position of sufficient authority, such as Veedron, to show up and take over.

  As he and McCoy approached, one of the watching Trellisanians broke away and hurried up to them. It was one of the doctors working under McCoy, and he addressed himself to the Federation doctor rather than to Veedron. If Veedron had been an Earthman, he might have resented this, but as a Trellisanian, and especially as the chief of the Protocol Binders, he gave way to McCoy's position of authority almost instinctively.

  "There is no sign of life at all, Doctor. I happened to see the ship coming down, and I came here immediately in case I was needed, but no one has been injured. This crowd gathered fairly quickly; however, the Sealons have not attacked it. The ship could be automatically operated, for all I've seen."