Star Trek - Sarek

by A. C. Crispin

  Peter refused to show fear. "Any male would," he said, honestly.

  "Good, good! I like your spirit ... it will add immeasurably to the

  be/oy'! No doubt you have longed in the past days to find yourself ...

  close ... to her, hungered for her touch? Even human males are not

  immune to a lovely female's charms, that is obvious. Well ... I am

  happy to tell you that you will soon have your wish granted. Soon, you

  will be very close to Valdyr indeed--while she separates your skin into

  its many fragile layers inch by bloody inch! By the time she is finished

  with you, she will know you ... intimately. Outside ... and inside."

  Kamarag guffawed, and Karg did, too. Good grief, Peter thought, refusing

  to feel the fear that wanted to claw its way out of him with a shriek.

  Where did this guy learn English?

  Reading Edgar Rice Burroughs? He sounds like he comes from Barsoom ...

  Kamarag was still grinning. "No doubt your uncle will enjoy the

  spectacle; he will, after all, be the next to succumb to it!"

  Peter said nothing. He would not let himself be baited ... besides,

  Kamarag was, finally, saying something of real interest.

  "And as soon as the bejoy' is finished, my fleet will speed into

  Federation territory--and all the riches that await us there."

  Peter was stunned. He had thought that Kamarag's only interest lay in

  torturing him and his uncle. He'd had no idea the ambassador had a

  "fleet" of his own and was planning to start a war!

  "Your fleet?" he dared to ask, hoping Kamarag would keep talking, keep

  boasting. He must mean the renegades who were causing so much trouble

  ...

  "Yes indeed. I have a sizable force accumulated of captains who are

  ready to take back their honor as Klingon warriors! Together, we will

  reduce your Starfleet to scrap metal."

  Dream on, Peter thought. The ambassador had lost his

  mind if he seriously thought he and his "fleet" could conquer the

  Federation. Starfleet would wipe them out, there was no doubt.

  But--Peter repressed a shiver--he also had no doubt that Kamarag and his

  cohorts would wreak terrible destruction on the worlds closest to the

  Neutral Zone before they were stopped.

  The ambassador turned so that his niece would be sure to hear him. "By

  the time Chancellor Azetbur learns of our action, it will be too late.

  At last, we will all regain our honor!" He faced Peter again, noted how

  the young man was eyeing the walls of his cell. "It is a terrible thing

  to be held prisoner while events of such magnitude unfold around you, is

  it not, young Kirk?"

  Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

  Valdyr's face never changed expression, yet she seemed to be struggling

  with emotion. "My uncle," she said softly, pitching her words for

  Kamarag's hearing alone, turning her back on Karg, "I ask that you

  reconsider what you are about to do. Attacking the Starfleet is

  Hoh'egh."

  Of course Valdyr realizes it's suicide, Peter thought, his spirits

  rising slightly. Kamarag may be crazy, but she's not ...

  The ambassador stared down at her. "You are worried for me, niece?"

  Valdyr nodded. "Not only for you, Uncle. For all of our people. Our

  world is dying, my uncle," she insisted, still speaking softly, but

  passion now tinged her voice. "We have neither the technology nor the

  means to save our people.

  By working with the Federation, Chancellor Azetbur hopes ..."

  "Enough of this!" Kamarag growled, losing his patience.

  "I will not hear another word about that depraved female and how she

  will save the Klingon Empire! Mention that name again, aldyr, and you

  will have more to fear from Karg than your wedding mgnt.

  Valdyr flushed deeply, and she set her jaw. She drew herself up as tall

  as she could, and this time she addressed both males. "Is this how you

  would control me, Uncle, by threatening me with a husband? Is this how a

  Klingon male

  earns his female's loyalty--through fear? Where is your honor? You--"

  Karg's fist shot out faster than Peter's eyes could follow, smashing

  brutally into her jaw. She hit the ground hard, but never uttered a

  sound.

  Valdyr's face was swelling, and her lip was split and bleeding, but he

  knew from personal experience she could handle that. Her hand went for

  her dagger automatically, but Karg anticipated it and grabbed her wrist,

  twisting it painfully. She endured it without flinching, as the powerful

  warrior leaned down close to her face.

  "Your disrespect to your uncle is distur bing, Valdyr," he warned her.

  "Do not think I will tolerate such attitudes from my wife. Where are

  your loyalties? To your family, or to that perverted female who has

  usurped the rightful role of a male?"

  "I am a Klingon!" Valdyr snarled. "My respect and my loyalties are to my

  family, Karg--of which you are not a part!"

  "That will be rectified soon enough," Karg reminded her.

  "We will be wed as soon as James T. Kirk dies beneath your knife. Then

  you will be mine! And you will learn respect ... "Hauling her up by

  the front of her armor, he backhanded her hard enough to snap her head

  back. She blinked, dazed.

  Peter slammed against the viewing port before he even realized he'd

  moved forward. He pounded his fists against the glass. "Karg, you

  coward!" he heard himself shouting, barely remembering to speak English.

  "You want someone to fight, come in here and take me on. I'll flatten

  you, you bastard, just like I did the last time."

  His taunts had the effect he intended. Karg's face suffused with rage

  and he released Valdyr and moved toward the viewing port. Kamarag

  stopped him with a gesture.

  "Enough of this," Kamarag said to Karg. "I must fetch James T. Kirk.

  Wait for my call, then bring Cadet Kirk to me at the head of my fleet.

  Once this business is done, you can enjoy your wedding night in

  Federation space, as we head for the nearest colony!"

  Karg gave Valdyr a last, sneering glance; then the two males left.

  Peter pressed against the port, straining to see down the hallway,

  trying to determine if Karg and Kamarag were out of earshot. He turned

  back to Valdyr, and was surprised to lind her intense black eyes focused

  on his face, as if she were trying to look through him. "Valdyr!" he

  whispered. "Are you all right? Valdyr?"

  She glanced down the hallway, then finally climbed to her feet and came

  over to face him. "You meant what you said to Karg, didn't you?"

  "What?" He shook his head, unsure he'd fully understood her.

  "Do you understand what you said to him, how he interpreted it?" she

  asked again.

  Peter just stared. "What was not to understand? If I could've gotten my

  hands on him, I'd've mopped the floors up with him, I'd've ..."

  She shook her head. "You challenged him as an equal.

  Warrior to warrior. You refused to let him view you as a helpless human

  prisoner. You challenged him--over his woman."

  Peter felt his barely suppressed rage bubble over. Clenching his fists,

  he pounded one hand hard against the viewing port. "You're not his
>
  woman!"

  "My uncle has arranged the mating. It will be done."

  "Like hell it will!" Peter raged, feeling jealousy overwhelm him. The

  thought of Karg "claiming" aldyr on the much-referenced wedding night

  made him crazy. "He'll touch you over my dead body! He can't have you!"

  Hearing himself beginning to sputter incoherently, he wound down.

  "I will ask you the same question you asked me so many days ago, Pityr,"

  Valdyr said softly, in a tone he had never heard her use. "Why do you

  care? What does it matter to you who touches me?"

  He ground his teeth. Better to say nothing than to have her laugh in his

  face, or give her something to taunt him with when he had to endure her

  knife. But something in her eyes compelled truth. "It matters to me. It

  matters a

  lot. The man ... who touches you ... should do so with respect ... "

  She never took her eyes from his. "That will never happen, Pityr. My

  uncle is about to betray his government, a course of events that will

  eventually bring about either the destruction of our world, or, at the

  very least, of our family. And the man ... who would touch me with ...

  respect ... will soon be dead ... by my hand ... "

  What ... what does she mean by that? Peter stood plastered against the

  window, as close to her as he could get, afraid to interpret her words

  too freely ... afraid to hope.

  "Pityr ..." Her voice was hoarser than usual. "I cannot stay long. I--"

  "Where were you?" he demanded. "You've been gone for three days!"

  "I was here," she said tonelessly, not looking at him. "I came down

  once, while you were asleep, to look at you. But I could not talk to you

  until I ..." She trailed off.

  "Until you what?" he asked softly.

  "Until I knew my own mind," she admitted.

  "What does that mean?"

  "After the other day ... I sent a message to my uncle, asking him to

  release me from this duty. But he ... he refused."

  "Why did you ask to be released?" Peter asked, wishing she'd look up at

  him.

  But she kept her eyes downcast. "Qo'nos ... is not a good place to

  live, since Praxis exploded. Half of the moon was blown into a very long

  elliptical orbit that in fifty years will finally intersect with this

  world ... which will mean the end for life on this planet. So many

  meteors will impact that it will destroy our atmosphere, crush our homes

  and land.

  Even now, Qo'nos is encircled by a ring of debris that reminds us night

  and day that our time is limited.

  "Meteor showers are now common. One of your human months ago, my mother

  was at home in Hatlhhurgh with my oldest brother. A shower fell, and our

  home was destroyed, my mother and brother killed. My father had

  died three years ago, when your uncle destroyed his own vessel to trap

  Kruge's crew. So my three living brothers and I had no one. Kamarag took

  us all in. He is now the head of my family, Pityr!" Her voice was tight

  and brittle, and she shook her head so hard her thick braid slid across

  her breastplate. "Honor demands that I serve him, and do as he wishes!"

  "Well, you are doing that," Peter said, feeling his throat tighten as he

  glimpsed her expression.

  "But to serve him, I have to be prepared to betray the leader of the

  Empire, Chancellor Azetbur. I have to share the responsibility for the

  death of our homeworld. Without the Federation to help us, everyone on

  Qo'nos will eventually die! And ... worst of all ... I must personally

  bring about your death!" She moved closer to the window, until she was

  pressed against the glass, even as he was.

  "Pityr ... Pityr-oy ..." She closed her eyes, but the anguish in her

  voice was unmistakable.

  The cadet froze as he took in what she had just said, feeling a surge of

  incredulous joy. The suffix "oy" was used as an endearment. "Valdyr ..."

  he whispered. "Valdyr, look at me ..."

  Finally, she looked up. Carefully, Peter stuck his hand through the

  slot, until his fingertips brushed hers. He stroked the tips of her

  fingers, his heart pounding.

  "Valdyr-oy ..." he whispered, his blue eyes holding her dark ones.

  She gazed at him incredulously; then he felt her fingertips slide over

  his, and suddenly she was touching his palm gently, rubbing her

  fingertips against the crescent wounds there. He in turn felt the small

  scabs from his own nails that were sheltered in her palm. "How can this

  be?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of anguish and joy. "It is not

  possible. We are not the same people. We are alien to one another.

  Enemies by blood ..."

  "Not anymore," he protested softly, "not enemies. Not by blood. We have

  shared blood. We are part of each other."

  "Impossible," she repeated, as if trying to convince

  herself. "Humans are weak and cowardly. They have no heart, no

  endurance. They cannot fight, they have no will to do it. They stink of

  fear. Human males have no stamina, no passion. All they can do in bed is

  talk. A Klingon woman would kill any human male foolish enough to bed

  her."

  "Is that what they say?" Peter murmured, losing himself in her dark

  eyes. "Well, on my world they say things, too.

  Klingons never bathe, so they smell. They are stupid, ignorant savages

  who live on base emotions, allowing their passions to rule their lives.

  They rut like animals. Klingons cannot weep ... because they cannot

  love."

  She looked shocked to hear that Terrans had prejudices that equaled

  those on her own world. "Do they say that?" she murmured, and he nodded,

  silently. "But Pityr ... I am learning that what they say is not true.

  I have seen you fight like the finest warrior, against odds so great,

  there was no way to win. You fought ... and almost won. I had never

  seen such heart, such will to win ... such stamina ..."

  He clasped her hand in his tightly. "I am learning, too.

  You're always clean, and your fragrance reminds me of apricots. You're

  so smart, you're the only one here who has the sense to see what the

  future holds. And I've heard anguish in your voice ... a sorrow too

  noble for tears. I know you don't want to hurt me. I understand you are

  just doing what you must."

  She shook her head. "You believe it is true, then?"

  It was his turn to be confused.

  "That, because we cannot weep," she explained, "we cannot love."

  "No, I don't believe that."

  "But you believe that I could still bring about your death?

  Even now?"

  "I thought ... when you explained about your uncle ..."

  "The days I stayed away ... I did so ... because no matter how I felt

  about my family loyalty, I realized ... that I could not live with the

  betrayal of Azetbur, and the destruction of my planet ... and more than

  that ... I could not live with your death."

  "What are you going to do, then?"

  She released his hand, glanced up and down the hallway.

  "I do not know yet. You will have to trust me."

  He shrugged, smiling. "My fate has been in your hands since I first

  arrived here, Valdyr."

  A look of pleasure w
ashed across her face, and then she was gone,

  leaving him with nothing but the memory of her touch.

  Commander Taryn sat in his quarters aboard the Romulan bird-of-prey

  Shardarr, reviewing intelligence communiqu6s from Romulus. Savel, who

  sat opposite him, watched alertly as the commander's expression

  darkened.

  "What is it?" she asked, when he finally looked up.

  "Matters may be moving more precipitously than we an ticipated," he

  replied, the lines in his craggy, raptor-beaked countenance deepening.

  "Kamarag has gathered a squadron of renegade captains around him by

  offering them Federation plunder and amnesty from the new government he

  claims he will head. He is clearly planning some kind of coup to

  coincide with his raid into Federation space. His squadron is currently

  assembling in space, not far from Qo'nos."

  Savel digested this news in silence. It was really going to happen, she

  thought. The war ... the war that Taryn had planned for his whole life.

  And she had been the one to bring it about. Vividly, she remembered

  touching Kamarag's mind, inflaming his hatred for Kirk. It hadn't been

  difficult ... the Klingon's hatred had already been like magma beneath