by Dayton Ward
The reason for that was simple. Despite his harsh behavior toward the prisoners, Khulr was quite effective at keeping them productive, insuring that the regular quota for mined dilithium was continually met. His hatred of humans was all-encompassing, and his favorite targets for abuse were the Gagarin survivors, Elliot in particular.
Stealing a glance over his shoulder at Elliot, Garrovick whispered, “Syd. Khulr’s coming. Behave yourself.”
Elliot noticed the approaching guard as well, and Garrovick saw the slight tightening along her jawline. He knew that subtle display of emotion was the only sign of fear she would show to any of the Klingons. Despite years of imprisonment, Elliot had refused to allow her captors the satisfaction of seeing her give in to the situation. Though Garrovick and her other shipmates had helped to protect her from the worst of prison realities over the years, they had failed to convince her that adopting a less provocative nature would benefit her in the long run. Instead, Elliot had maintained an unrelenting air of irreverence, showing no fear toward the guards regardless of the consequences. Garrovick suspected that the former security officer had simply accepted the grim reality of her existence here, deciding that she alone would dictate her future. If she died here, then it would be on her terms, not a Klingon’s.
Garrovick watched as Khulr turned away from them, his attention drawn by something the Gagarin first officer couldn’t see. He exhaled audibly, relief evident in the look he shared with Elliot.
“Looks like he’s found somebody else’s morning to brighten,” she said. “Lucky me.” It had been nearly a week since her last run-in with Khulr, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the head guard found some excuse, real or imagined, to harass her.
A sharp cry of pain from behind them caused Garrovick’s head to snap around in time to see a female Bolian prisoner slump to the ground in a disjointed heap while clutching at her midsection. A Klingon stood over the fallen prisoner, stun baton in hand. Garrovick recognized him as one of the newer guards, probably fresh out of whatever school prison guards went to before taking their first assignment and not yet acclimated to the camp’s routine. Garrovick figured he was out to impress Khulr and the camp commander with his enthusiasm and ability to control helpless, unarmed prisoners.
“Move when you’re told, petaQ!” The guard’s foot lashed out, striking the hapless Bolian in the chest. More kicks followed and the prisoner tried to fend off the attack, howling in pain as she failed. Around them, other prisoners cowered in fear from the raving guard as his brutal assault intensified.
If his attention had not been so drawn by the altercation, Garrovick would have realized what was coming next. By the time he realized what was happening, Elliot had exploded from her place in line and was rushing toward the fallen Bolian and her tormentor.
“Syd!” Garrovick yelled even as he moved to follow.
Chapter Five
THE KLINGON’S FOOT was drawn back to deliver yet another vicious kick to the defenseless prisoner just as Elliot crashed into him. Though the massive Klingon outweighed her, she slammed into him with enough force to drive them both to the ground. As the guard fell, the stun baton dropped from his hand. Around them, other prisoners scattered away from the impromptu melee, a few of them pulling the fallen Bolian away from the scuffle as Elliot regained her feet.
“How’s it feel, Klingon?” she yelled as she struck a furious kick to the still-downed guard’s face. She was readying another attack when Garrovick caught up to her from behind, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her away from the guard.
“What the hell are you doing?” he screamed at her, turning her around to face him. From farther down the line of prisoners, he saw other guards closing on them.
Elliot ripped one arm from his grasp. “He would have killed her, Stephen!”
Garrovick’s next words were lost to an agonizing jolt from behind, every nerve ending in the small of his back exploding as his legs went numb. It was all he could do to throw his arms out as he tumbled forward to the ground. No sooner had he hit the dried dirt surface of the prison courtyard than he saw Elliot fall in a similar fashion, her face screwed up in agony.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Garrovick turned onto his side in time to see a gleaming pair of polished black boots step in front of him.
“Commander Garrovick,” Khulr said as he drew circles in the air before the prisoner’s face with the end of his baton, “have you forgotten the rules about prisoners staying in line?” The Klingon’s voice was calm, with no trace of anger or menace. He was a master at keeping his composure and bearing, and that was what made him so dangerous. One never knew when he might lash out in a violent fury.
Khulr turned to face Elliot, still lying prone in the dirt, though her eyes burned with hatred as she turned her head to look up at the Klingon. “And Ensign Elliot, I haven’t had the opportunity to chat with you for quite a while. Thank you for giving me reason to correct that oversight.”
“STOP!”
The voice from above them halted everyone in their tracks. Garrovick turned his head to search for the source of the voice, and found it on the second-floor balcony of the prison’s command center. Standing there in full military regalia was the camp commander. The morning sunlight glinted off the heavy gold sash he wore over his stark black uniform, the gray in his hair and beard giving him a more regal appearance than a prison commandant had any right to have.
“Bring them to me,” the commander said before turning sharply on his heel and retreating through the doorway into his office.
Garrovick didn’t let the sigh of relief escape too audibly as he was hauled from the ground by two of the guards. No sooner had he regained his feet than the dark, menacing face of Khulr filled his vision.
“We will finish this conversation later, human.” Garrovick knew there was no mistaking the Klingon’s tone. He was none too happy about having his plans derailed by the prison commander, and he would find some means of restitution, most likely before the day was out.
As he returned to the relative comfort of his small yet functional office, Korax shook his head in disgust and a vile oath slipped from his lips. While he craved any opportunity to disrupt the mundane daily routine that so characterized the operation of this prison, dealing with a handful of disruptive prisoners wasn’t what he had in mind.
How long had it been since the last time a prisoner had caused a disturbance? A week? Two? He supposed he should be thankful for the diversion. Any break from the unending stream of mind-numbing tasks he was used to overseeing would normally be welcome. He took in his surroundings, not for the first time cursing the cruel fate bestowed upon him.
Korax was certain that not all of the Klingon gods had been slain by noble warriors all those centuries ago, but that one had survived and was now taking out a millennium’s worth of divine anger by sentencing him to this life of mediocrity and humiliation.
And to make it worse, it had to be the Earthers.
He hated humans and always had. Despite his many meetings with them, however, the memory of one particular encounter never failed to generate a bitter taste in his mouth.
Stardate 4524.2, Earth Year 2268
Even with his hands covering his ears, Korax could still hear them. The shrieks were deafening, penetrating the meager protection his hands provided and driving straight through into his skull. Tribbles.
Beyond the doors leading to the engineering section of the IKS Gr’oth, Korax could see almost nothing but an ocean of the cursed furry animals. White ones, brown ones, tan ones, they had overtaken the enormous compartment. He also saw three engineers trying to wade through the screaming, shivering mass of hair. Near the door, dozens of the tribbles were falling into the corridor, where they immediately sensed the Klingons’ presence and began squealing and scurrying in every direction.
Kicking out at one tribble that dared to venture too close, Korax yelled at a junior officer near the door. “Seal the room! Don’t let any m
ore of those cursed vermin escape!” The subordinate moved to comply and in a moment only the shrieks of the few dozen tribbles that had made it to the corridor could be heard.
“Korax!”
The booming voice echoed in the passageway behind him, and Korax turned to see Captain Koloth stalking toward him. He had seen his captain angry enough times in the past to know that this was a level of fury that was rarely displayed.
“What in the name of Kahless is this?” he asked, seeing the tribbles fleeing away at his approach. “How did these things get aboard my ship?”
“Our sensor logs show that the Enterprise activated her transporter just before we engaged our warp engines,” Korax replied.
As Koloth cursed at the report, Korax glanced about the corridor. Tribbles were scattered across the floor, attached to the walls, and a few had even managed to work themselves into the overhead support beams. How fast did the damnable things move?
“It isn’t enough that I’ve failed in my mission to sabotage the Federation’s plans for developing Sherman’s Planet,” Koloth roared, waving at the tiny, writhing masses of purring fur littering the corridor. “Nor is it sufficient that these disgusting things had anything to do with my failure. Now you’re telling me that I am the victim of a petty deceit no more refined than one executed by a child?”
“It had to have been that Earther, Kirk,” Korax said. He had heard of the human captain’s penchant for unorthodox tactics.
Koloth shook his head. “No. With no battle being fought, I doubt that Kirk would take such underhanded action when there was nothing to gain from it.”
But someone else certainly had, Korax knew. Even as the Gr’oth accelerated away from Federation Deep Space Station K-7 toward Klingon space, someone aboard the Enterprise had foisted these evil cretins upon them. If the reports on the tribbles’ reproductive capabilities were accurate, the ship would soon be overflowing with the damned things.
Koloth slammed his fist into a nearby wall communications panel, an action which sent the closest tribbles scurrying and squealing away in apparent terror. The Klingon captain scowled, but otherwise ignored the creatures.
“Bridge, order the transporter operators to their stations. I want these godless creatures off my ship. Beam them into space.”
“It was the engineer,” Korax said suddenly.
Looking to his first officer, Koloth replied, “What?”
Korax nodded now, not looking at his captain as he pieced the puzzle together. “That wretched Earther. This is his revenge for losing our fight in the station bar.”
“From the report I received,” Koloth said, “it was the Earther who was victorious. He succeeded in attacking first, did he not?”
His face burning with anger and embarrassment, Korax nodded. “His attack was cowardly, striking out when my attention was elsewhere.”
“You mean while you were drunk and unaware of your surroundings,” Koloth corrected. “Because of your idiocy, my ship is being overrun by these filthy maggots.” He indicated the tribbles scattered across the deck of the corridor with the wave of his hand. Korax frowned as he took in the scene once more. Was it his imagination, or were there more of them than there had been just a few moments ago?
The purrs and squeaks of the tribbles almost drowned out the sound of a beep from the ship’s intercom system, followed by a filtered voice. “Captain Koloth, this is the bridge. I have a report from the transporter officer.”
Crossing the corridor to the communications panel set into the far wall, Koloth thumbed the switch to open the connection. “What is it?”
“We are able to lock on to the tribbles occupying the engineering section. However, others have moved into the ventilation systems. Many of these pass through shielded areas of the ship, preventing a transporter lock.”
Koloth glared at Korax as he spoke into the comm panel. “Are you saying that we can’t get rid of them all?”
“That is correct, Captain.”
Without bothering to end the conversation, Koloth severed the connection and turned on Korax. Waving his arms to indicate the tribbles, he said, “These Ha’DlbaH will continue to breed until they replace the very air. By the time we reach our nearest base, they will be the only thing left manning this ship!”
Korax stared at the floor and the tribbles covering it, some of which would resume their hateful squealing whenever one of the other officers came too close to them. He shook his head in disbelief. It seemed ridiculous that such a pathetic-looking animal as a tribble could pose so great a threat. Of course, it wasn’t the single tribble that gave cause for concern.
Rather, it was the hundreds of thousands of siblings it brought along for company.
He had no doubt that their superiors would be less than pleased when the Gr’oth returned to base. Korax wouldn’t be surprised if Koloth simply didn’t have the ship destroyed, tribbles and all.
Chapter Six
IN THE AFTERMATH of the embarrassing incident over Sherman’s Planet, Koloth was able to regain favor with the High Council, due in no small part to his having many loyal supporters in the Klingon government. Korax, however, possessed no such luxury. With no one willing to speak on his behalf, not even Koloth, he knew that his chances for redemption were small and that they dwindled with each passing year. As Koloth continued to advance through the ranks and was given more responsibility, Korax soon found himself shuttling from one mediocre assignment to another. Though he served faithfully, ever the loyal soldier, he remained unnoticed or worse yet, ignored by those in power. All because of humans, and the cursed tribbles.
Since that incident, Korax’s encounters with humans had been rare and fleeting. Even here, very few Earthers had been brought to him. Humans or members of other Federation races were taken prisoner only rarely, as the engagements between Starfleet and Klingon ships either yielded minor damage to the involved vessels or else resulted in complete destruction of one of the combatants.
Korax looked on as order was reestablished in the courtyard below. He could hear guards directing the prisoners back into line, loud commands carrying over the collected murmuring of inmates still trying to determine what had caused the disruption in their morning routine. Within moments their attentions would be focused on the workday ahead, leaving him to deal with the two humans currently being escorted to his office.
Ordinarily, he would relish the opportunity to deal with a human prisoner, but as soon as he had seen which inmates were involved, he knew that resolving the situation would be anything but simple. It had been that way since he had arrived at the prison and been briefed about the Gagarin survivors and the circumstances surrounding their captivity. Once more he cursed the politicians who, from their lofty perch hundreds of light-years away on the homeworld, dared to interfere with how he ran his prison.
The door chime sounded, rousing Korax from his reverie.
“Enter.” The office door opened to admit the two prisoners, Garrovick and Elliot, escorted by Khulr and another guard, Moqlah.
Korax studied the two humans in silence for several seconds. Substandard nutrition and occasional bouts with disease had aided in the deterioration of their bodies that was the normal result of years spent in conditions such as they had endured. Still, the camp commander detected a residual fire in the eyes of the humans standing before him that had refused to be quelled by their long captivity.
“So,” he said almost casually, “what is the problem here?”
Indicating Elliot with the tip of his unpowered baton, Khulr said, “This one attacked a guard who was administering punishment to another prisoner.” Korax knew that Khulr despised the humans, with a special emphasis on Elliot.
Khulr brought with him his own unique set of concerns, though. The senior guard had made well known his dissatisfaction with many of Korax’s policies since the camp commander’s arrival. Korax had disciplined him for disobedience in the past, and if he hadn’t been so effective at keeping the prisoners in line, Korax
would have already killed him. However, with manpower concerns the way they were, executing Khulr or even transferring him from the prison wasn’t a viable option.
Moving around the corner of his desk, Korax eyed Elliot thoughtfully. In response, the prisoner glared back at him, defiance gleaming in her eyes.
“Interfering with a guard in the performance of his duty is a serious offense,” he said. “Attacking a guard is grounds for execution.”
“Duty?” Elliot spat the word. “He was beating on that woman.”
“She did not move quickly enough when ordered by the guard,” Khulr offered.
“How fast was she going to move after you finished beating her?” Garrovick snapped. Turning his attention back to Korax, he added, “He damned near killed her. She couldn’t defend herself from the attack, and this thug was enjoying the whole thing. You could see the smile on his face.”
Korax nodded, not saying anything. The human’s story was accurate, at least as far as he was concerned. After all, he had observed the entire incident from the balcony outside his office. He turned his attention to Khulr.
“Why did this happen?”
“The guard is new, Commander,” Khulr replied. “ Replacement officers are almost always too enthusiastic. I will correct his behavior.”
“Are you saying he was improperly trained upon his arrival here?” Korax asked, knowing full well the response the question would generate. Khulr himself was in charge of training new arrivals to the guard detachment.
“No,” the head guard said, and Korax heard the anger enveloping the single word. Khulr was bristling at the direct challenge of his ability to indoctrinate the men in his charge.