STAR TREK: TOS #87 - My Brother's Keeper, Book Three - Enterprise

by Michael Jan Friedman

  A moment later, the helmsman’s eyes fluttered open. It took a bit longer for them to focus and find the captain.

  “Sir?” he said haltingly, wondering at the wind, which was diminishing with each passing moment.

  [238] Kirk rocked back on his heels, relieved. “You gave me quite a scare there, Lieutenant. I thought you were dead.”

  With an effort, Kelso raised himself off the deck. “Don’t worry,” he breathed, his attention drawn to the closing doors. “It takes more than a superman to kill me, sir.”

  The captain smiled. “It certainly seems that way.”

  Then, as the doors finally met and the stormwind stopped, Kirk helped the lieutenant up, explained what had happened and guided him in the direction of the nearest turbolift.

  Chapter Nineteen

  AS KIRK HELPED KELSO inside the lift, he had every intention of taking him down to the computer room. Then he checked the chronometer on his handheld sensor and changed his mind.

  “Damn,” he said.

  “What, sir?” asked Kelso.

  The captain frowned. “We’re not going to the computer room, Lieutenant. There’s no time.”

  Kelso nodded. “If you say so, sir.”

  As the doors closed behind them with a hiss of air, Kirk punched in their destination. “You know what this means?” he asked, as the lift motors began to skirl with increasing intensity.

  “I think I do,” said the helmsman. “It’ll just be the two of us.”

  “That’s right,” the captain told him. “And we don’t know how many of the M’tachtar we’ll be [240] facing up there. But if we can’t take back the bridge, we can’t contact Kang.”

  Kelso took in the information, though it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Then he did something unexpected. He smiled.

  “Piece of cake,” he said.

  Kirk had to smile, too. “Piece of cake,” he replied.

  But just in case, he set his disrupter pistol on a kill setting, and made sure his lieutenant did the same. The captain hated the idea of spilling blood—but there were Federation lives at stake here, not to mention the survival of his ship. As one of his professors back at the Academy would have said, it was “crunch time.”

  In a matter of seconds, the lift slowed and the motor cycled down. Kirk raised his disrupter and glanced at Kelso. The helmsman lifted his own weapon and glanced back.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said.

  The captain grunted. “That’s as good a battle cry as any, Lieutenant.”

  Then the doors slid apart and a Klingon came flying at him.

  Staggering backward under the weight of the M’tachtar, Kirk pulled his weapon free and started to bring it down on his adversary’s head. But before he could do so, the Klingon slumped to the floor of the lift.

  The captain looked at him, more than a little surprised. Then he gazed out at his bridge. Spock, Phelana, Alden, and Kyle gazed back at him, their disrupters pointed in his direction.

  “I am pleased to see you are unharmed,” said the [241] Vulcan, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

  “Likewise,” Kirk responded.

  He paused to make sure Kelso was placing an incapacitor behind the M’tachtar’s ear. Then he moved out of the turbolift and surveyed the area. He didn’t have to go far to see another strapping Klingon sprawled at the base of his center seat.

  Spock, meanwhile, had slid over to his science station and was working diligently. The captain glanced at the chronometer on his sensor device and joined him.

  “We haven’t got much time,” said Kirk. In fact, they had less than thirty seconds before they missed Kang’s deadline.

  “I am aware of that,” the Vulcan replied, concentrating on his monitors.

  The captain expected to see Spock tapping in the ship’s command codes. But he was doing something else instead.

  “Commander,” said Kirk, “you’ll need to—”

  “There is no time to input the command codes,” the first officer explained, refusing to become distracted. “As an alternative, I am routing emergency power to the communications system.” He tapped in a final set of instructions, then looked up. “There.”

  The captain didn’t ask how Spock had routed emergency power to the communications system—he had a feeling the explanation would have taken more time than they possessed. Instead, he hurried over to the communications station, where Alden was already opening a channel to Kang’s vessel.

  [242] Kirk accepted the headset from the communications officer and held it to his mouth. “This is Captain Kirk,” he said quickly, “on the bridge of the Enterprise. We’ve done it, Kang. We’ve taken the ship back.”

  There was no response. The captain looked at Alden.

  “The channel’s open,” the lieutenant assured him, running a frantic diagnostic to confirm it. Then, again, he said, “Yes, sir, it’s open.”

  Kirk glanced at the chronometer on his sensor. It gave them ten seconds, no more than that.

  “This is Captain Kirk,” he said again.

  Eight seconds.

  “We’ve taken the ship back,” he barked.

  Six seconds.

  “Dammit, Kang, answer me!”

  Four seconds. Three.

  “Kang!” he bellowed.

  Two. One ...

  The captain braced himself for the Klingon vessel’s barrage ... but to his surprise, nothing happened. Then a deep, by then familiar voice rang out imperiously across the bridge.

  “You don’t have to shout,” said Kang. “I heard you.”

  Kirk cursed under his breath. “Then why didn’t you answer?”

  “I don’t suppose I felt the same urgency you did,” the Klingon replied casually. “Besides, having given the matter some thought, I’d decided I wasn’t so eager to destroy your vessel after all.”

  [243] The captain shared a skeptical look with Alden. “Oh no?” he responded. “And why would that be?”

  “It is a matter of honor,” said Kang. “No matter what the M’tachtar have done, they are Klingons—and formidable Klingons at that. A warrior hates to destroy a worthy opponent without first looking into his eyes.”

  Kirk frowned. “I see.”

  “As for you,” the Klingon went on, “I’ve already looked into your eyes. As a result, your death would not have pained me in the least.”

  “It warms my heart to know that,” said the captain. “In fact, life would be complete if you told me you’d received those of my crewmen the M’tachtar were holding in my cargo bays.”

  “I have,” Kang confirmed. “Every last one of them, I’m told. And now, they are being held in my cargo bays.”

  At least they were safe, Kirk told himself. “It seems we have a few logistical details to work out.”

  “So it does,” the Klingon agreed.

  He spent a minute coordinating those details with Kang—the rounding up of the M’tachtar they had incapacitated, the recovery of Gary and the crewmen who had escaped with him and, finally, the rescue of those they had left behind on the prison planet.

  “I think that about covers it,” Kirk said.

  “So it does,” said the Klingon. And he signed off.

  The captain took a breath, then turned to Spock. “You know, we missed you in the computer room, Commander.”

  [244] The Vulcan’s brow creased in response. “It did not seem prudent to remain in that location with time running out on our deadline, sir. However,” he said, “if you feel I disobeyed your orders without cause, I will not resist an inquiry as to the—”

  Kirk held up his hand. “Easy, man. That was a joke, Spock. A joke.”

  The first officer regarded him for a moment. Then he said in a flat, noncommittal voice, “I will take your word for it, sir.”

  Captain’s log, supplemental.

  Once again, the Enterprise is operational. What’s more, I have recovered all the crewmen Commander Mitchell beamed over to the Klingon vessel—including the commander
himself—and dispatched the worst injured among them to sickbay. Dr. Piper tells me they will all recover—making crewmen Corbet and Swift the only fatalities of the M’tachtar occupation. My next concern is the half of my crew that was stranded on the prison planet. But before I can retrieve them as well, there’s another matter that needs to be taken care of—and that’s the fate of the surviving M’tachtar.

  Kirk, his chief engineer, and his security personnel didn’t have to wait long before Kang joined them in the Enterprise’s briefing room—accompanied by four security officers of his own.

  Looking around, the Klingon made a derisive sound. “So much wasted space,” he said. “If I had [245] this much room at my disposal, I would have filled it with additional armaments.”

  The captain smiled politely. “Have a seat, Commander. We can discuss the layout of the place some other time.”

  Kang’s eyes narrowed, but he sat. His men didn’t, however. They stood at the corners of the room, their hands on their blades—since they had been forced to beam over without their disrupters.

  Kirk glanced at Scotty, who was the only senior officer Piper hadn’t demanded to see in sickbay. “I think we’re ready to begin,” he said.

  “Indeed,” the engineer responded.

  The captain gestured to one of his security officers, who left the room for a moment. When he came back, his phaser drawn, he was accompanied by a M’tachtar female with high, bony cheekbones and a long, thick braid running down her back.

  Her name, Kirk knew, was Molta. And according to what she had told him earlier, she spoke for all the enhanced Klingons.

  As she took up a position at one end of the room, Molta didn’t look at anyone. She stared straight ahead, her eyes dark and dangerous looking under her distinctive brow ridge.

  “You wanted to speak with us?” Kirk asked.

  “I did,” she confirmed, her voice echoing in the confined space of the briefing room. “I wish to present you with a request.”

  Kang made a sound of disgust. “You are the vanquished. You dare to make requests of your conquerors?”

  [246] The M’tachtar’s eyes slid in Kang’s direction and fixed on him. “I am a Klingon,” she snapped. “I dare anything.”

  The remark seemed to catch Kang off-guard. He leaned back in his chair, new respect showing in his expression. “Go ahead,” he told Molta in a more reasonable voice. “We are listening.”

  The M’tachtar frowned. “As you say, Commander, we are the vanquished. But among warriors, even the vanquished have rights. For instance, the right to choose the manner in which they may die.”

  Kirk shook his head. “No one said you were going to die.”

  Molta turned to him, her lip curled with restrained anger. “We have already died—and not just once, but many times. Every morning when we woke between your forcefields, caged like animals ... every night, when we went to sleep hoping to dream of a quick end in battle ... those were deaths, human. You may not understand the Klingon heart, but those were deaths.”

  The captain looked at her. “I understand that you don’t want to return to the prison world. But the alternative—”

  “Is to return to Qo’noS,” the M’tachtar said, finishing his thought for him. “We are aware of that. What’s more, we welcome it.”

  Kang stroked his bearded chin. “Do you understand what will happen to you on Qo’noS? Do you appreciate what the emperor’s position must be?”

  Molta nodded. “He will have us executed as an example to all who might consider defying him. We will die for who we are and what we have done. And [247] in the end, we will join Kahless the Unforgettable and the heroes who attend him in Sto-Vo-Kor.”

  Kirk sighed. He didn’t like the idea of letting the M’tachtar return to the Empire. But then, it wasn’t his place as a Starfleet officer to steer the destinies of other beings—only to make sure that they saw clearly where they were going.

  “This is what you want?” he asked Molta. “To perish at the hands of your fellow Klingons?”

  The M’tachtar nodded, steadfast. “This is what we want.”

  Kang grunted approvingly and leaned forward. “Then that is what you shall have, Molta of the M’tachtar.”

  For a moment, the captain thought the woman was going to smile—but she didn’t. Instead, she headed for the door. When it slid open for her, Molta left the briefing room without another word, a security guard falling in quickly behind her.

  Then the door whispered closed again. Kirk looked at Kang. “Do you think there’s any hope for them?”

  The Klingon frowned. “You mean in Sto-Vo-Kor?”

  “I mean in this world,” the captain told him.

  Kang considered the question for a moment. “No,” he replied at last. “They will die. It is a certainty. And yet ...”

  Kirk looked at him. “And yet what?”

  The Klingon shrugged. “There is much in them that can be admired. Perhaps someday the technology that made them can be modulated. And then ...” His eyes seemed to glaze over.

  [248] “And then?” the captain prodded.

  Roused from his reverie, Kang shook his head. “Never mind.”

  But Kirk had an idea where the commander’s thoughts were wending. In his next report, he would tell Starfleet Command not to be too surprised if it encountered a stronger, more aggressive breed of Klingon somewhere in the not so distant future.

  “Then that’s it,” said the captain, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll gather the surviving M’tachtar and transport them to your vessel as soon as you’re ready for them.”

  Kang turned to him. “And, no doubt, you’ll breathe easier when you’ve gotten rid of them.”

  “Maybe a little,” Kirk replied.

  “Honesty, from a human?” asked his guest.

  “Always,” he said. “Whether you choose to believe it or not.”

  The Klingon regarded him. “If any other Starfleet captain told me that, I would laugh in his face.”

  “And in my case?” asked Kirk.

  Kang bared his teeth. “I will laugh later, when I speak of it with my comrades over a goblet of bloodwine.”

  The captain took that as a sign of respect, if not friendship. “You know,” he said, “the possibility exists that we’ll meet again someday. And if we do, we’ll no longer be allies.”

  “I did not expect that we would be,” the Klingon replied. “My people and yours will never be allies.”

  Kirk shrugged. “Not for more than a day, at any rate.”

  Kang made a sound of assent. Then he signaled to [249] his guards, got up, and departed from the briefing room. Like Molta, he received an escort of armed security officers.

  The captain watched the Klingon go, then glanced at Scotty. “Nicest coldhearted conqueror I ever met.”

  The engineer scowled. “Aye, sir. Ye can say that again.”

  Chapter Twenty

  CAPTAIN KIRK looked down at Admiral Mangione, who was resting comfortably on her biobed, not far from the beds of her friends Tarsch, Brown, and Rodianos. “Then you’ve got everything you need, ma’am?”

  “For the moment,” Mangione told him, her voice a good deal stronger than Kirk might have expected. “You picked up the rest of your crew, I see.”

  “Yes,” he said. “And none too soon, Admiral. They were beginning to get a bit too comfortable with all that downtime.”

  Mangione chuckled softly. Then her expression turned thoughtful. “So, Captain. Now you know.”

  Kirk nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “At long last, Admiral.”

  “You know,” she said, “you’re still under orders [251] not to speak of this to anyone until Starfleet tells you otherwise.”

  “I understand,” the captain told her.

  Funny thing, he reflected. Now that I know the truth, I almost wish I didn’t—considering it cost me the lives of two of my crewmen. And the thought of sending the M’tachtar off to their deaths ... that’ll haunt me for a l
ong time to come.

  “I guess I’ll leave you to your rest now,” said Kirk.

  Mangione grunted. “In other words, you’ve got some other patients you want to visit.” She smiled. “Go ahead, Captain. I’ll keep.”

  Kirk smiled as well. “See you later,” he told the admiral.

  Then he went to check up on Spock, whose bed was on the other side of sickbay. As he approached, he glanced at his first officer’s vital signs, which were displayed on the monitor hanging over Spock’s head.

  I’m impressed, the captain thought. He had never been to medical school, but he was certain no human could have endured what the Vulcan had endured and remained in that kind of shape.

  Spock, who had been studying a monograph on a tensor arm, discontinued library access and pushed away the screen when he saw Kirk coming. “Captain,” said the first officer, acknowledging his superior.

  Kirk looked at him. “How do you feel, Mr. Spock?”

  The Vulcan didn’t hesitate. “I am fine, sir. As far as I can tell, there is no reason for me not to report for duty.”

  [252] The captain admired Spock’s eagerness, but Piper had insisted on examining everyone—even Kirk, eventually. “Unfortunately, Commander, that’s not our decision to make. It’s the chief medical officer’s.”

  The Vulcan showed just a hint of disappointment—which for someone like him was an emotional outburst. “Of course,” he responded.

  Kirk forged ahead with the reason for his visit. “Mr. Spock, I have an apology to make.”

  The first officer cocked an eyebrow. “An apology, sir?”

  The captain nodded. “For the last several months, I haven’t made you feel at home here. I haven’t treated you with the respect due an executive officer. But you can be certain that’s not going to continue.”

  Spock regarded him with equanimity. “I see,” he said.

  “Clearly,” Kirk continued, “you’re a valuable resource and a hell of an officer, and I’d be crazy not to take advantage of those qualities at every opportunity.” He paused. “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”