Chapter Eleven

     “Captain?”
     Sulu sucked in a startled breath, his eyes fluttering open.  Mr. Spock
was bent over him, shaking his shoulder gently.  Hikaru had not intended to
fall asleep, and had no idea how long he’d been dozing.  Long enough to get
a stiff neck and mild headache from sleeping sitting up, he observed.  “Yes,
what is it?” he inquired, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
     Spock straightened.  “We’ve received news of the chancellor.”
     “Oh?” Sulu stood, stretching his back.  They had been waiting for some
word of the Klingon chancellor forever, it seemed, and had spent the time
hiding in the empty offices of a small shipping warehouse.  Hikaru consulted
his wrist chrono.  They’d been waiting almost six hours.
     “She should be arriving now,” Spock told him.
     “What about our emissary?”
     “No word,” Spock replied.  He folded his hands into his robe, his brow
furrowing thoughtfully.  “The odds of successfully retrieving our emissary
are growing very slim, captain.  Unfortunately, we may be unable to prevent
the Federation from launching a military intervention.”
     “We’re running out of time.”  Sulu sighed.
     Officer Makkon stepped into the room, ending the discussion.  “The
chancellor has arrived,” he told them.  With a sharp gesture for them to
follow, he whirled and headed quickly out of the room.  They hurried down a
narrow hallway, then turned into a dark room where crates and boxes were
piled in uneven stacks against the walls.  Surrounded by several heavily
armed warriors, the chancellor turned at their approach.
     “Captain Sulu,” she said.
     Hikaru’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise.  “Chancellor. “
     “You were at Camp Kittomer,” she stated matter-of-factly.
     “Only briefly,” Sulu replied.  “I didn’t think that you’d remember me.”
     “And the Vulcan ambassador, Mr. Spock,” she said.
     “Chancellor,” said Spock, nodding his head slightly in greeting.  “I
wish that our meeting was under better circumstances.”
     “As do I,” she replied, a shadow crossing her stern features.  “Makkon
has informed me that the Federation is prepared to move against us.”
     “We think so, yes,” Sulu told her.
     “I believe the Federation underestimated the magnitude of public outcry
against the Kittomer Accord,” Spock intoned gravely.  “The attack on
Federation representatives provides the perfect incentive for the Federation
to take military action, and end the conflict once and for all.”
     “There seems little we can do to break this chain of events,” Sulu
added.
     “It would seem so,” the chancellor agreed morosely.
     “Perhaps we can still prevent an escalation,” Spock said.  “Chancellor,
do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of the Federation emissaries?”
     “Only one,” she replied.  “I attempted to remove all of the emissaries
from the command center when we learned of the impending attack.  Only one
made it out, the emissary from Basedea.  She was taken to my family fortress
at Talima’ch, where we met briefly.  When the fortress was attacked, she was
to be taken to the next pre-arranged rendezvous, at the Gher’dao shipyards.
She never arrived.”
     “Perhaps they were captured, or killed,” Spock observed.
     “Our sources say there is no news of either,” Makkon put in.  “If that
were the case, we surely would have heard about it by now.”
     “Then, they may still be in hiding,” said Sulu hopefully.
     The chancellor nodded.  “Brigadier Kerla is a most capable soldier.  He
will get her to the rendezvous if he can, that’s what he was ordered to do.”
     “Can we safely return to the shipyards?” Sulu wanted to know.
     “No!” Makkon protested vehemently.  “We must get the chancellor to
Excelsior!”
     “I agree,” said Mr. Spock, causing Sulu to look at him angrily.  “It is
imperative that the chancellor leave Kronos.  Captain Sulu, I suggest that
you and the chancellor take the shuttle and return to Excelsior.  I will
accompany Officer Makkon to the Gher’dao shipyards and await word of the
Basedean emissary.”
     Sulu grinned.  “Thank you, Mr. Spock, but you’re a Federation
ambassador, not a soldier.  I’ll go with Officer Makkon.”
     For a brief instant, Spock made as if to argue the point, then thought
better of it.  “As you wish, captain,” he said.  “Remember, we have only two
more days to submit our report to Admiral Ellison.”
     “Two days,” Sulu muttered, rubbing his stiff neck.  Two days, he
thought inwardly, and instead of a rescue mission, Excelsior will be leading
an invasion of Kronos.
     Two days.

                                                        *********

     A sound drew Corry from a restless sleep.  She opened her eyes,
listening.  The sound came again, a deep and painful moan.  Corry pushed
herself up, every joint and muscle crying out in protest.  Sleeping on the
hard dirt floor had done nothing to improve her condition, and left her
feeling even more exhausted than she had before dozing off.  Across the
room, Kerla uttered another rumble of pain.  Corry wasn’t sure how long she’
d been sleeping, or where the other Klingons may have gone.  She could hear
nothing, no sounds or voices nearby.  It was obviously nighttime, the
blackness broken only by the dim light of a dying fire in the center of the
small house.
     Stiffly, Corry crossed the room on her hands and knees.  Kerla rumbled
restlessly, breathing shallowly and painfully.  The Klingons had bound his
abdomen in cloth bandages, now stained darkly with dried blood.  The air
near Kerla was thick with the scent of some strong poultice.  Corry watched
him in the flickering light, wondering how he had managed to survive such a
wound, and what might happen to her if he should succumb to his injuries.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched his hand, so large next to her
own, so dark compared to her pale complexion.  His fingers were long and
graceful, the lightly callused palm surprisingly soft.  The intense heat of
his skin warmed her hand.
     Suddenly, his hand closed over hers in a painful grip.  Gasping, Corry
tried to pull her hand away.  He yanked on her arm, pulling her close.
Corry looked into his dark eyes fearfully, her heart pounding.  Kerla
breathed deeply, taking in her scent -- feminine pheromones and fear, so
different from any Klingon woman he had known.  He studied her face a long
moment, then in a low voice said, “Did they take my weapon?”
     “What?” Corry uttered.
     He sighed painfully.  Corry glanced around.  Kerla’s belongings were
piled in a corner at the foot of his thatch mat.  “No,” she said, “they didn
’t take it.”
     “Get it,” he ordered, releasing his grip on her hand.
     Corry backed away, rubbing her hand, then quickly retrieved the weapon
from the pile.  “Hide it,” he told her coarsely, “you’ll need it.”
     She looked at him incredulously.  “I’m not going to shoot anybody!”
     “Don’t argue,” he rumbled, his hand clutching his wounded abdomen.
Corry sighed helplessly, then lifted her tunic, stuffing the pistol into the
waist of her trousers.  With a tremendous effort, Kerla pushed himself up on
one elbow.  “We have to get out of here.”
     “Hey, wait a minute,” Corry whispered, coming closer.  “You can’t go
anywhere in your condition.  Besides, where are we going to go?  We’re in
the middle of the jungle.”
     “I know where we are!” he snarled.  He sighed loudly, looking at Corry.
“We’re leaving.  You’re going to help me.”  He scowled and suddenly said,
“You still don’t trust me?”
     Corry blinked, caught off her guard.  “Of course I trust you,” she
heard herself reply. She shook a finger toward the doorway.  “You didn’t see
what happened!  There’s some big, ugly Klingon out there that wants to kill
you!”
     “Yes,” Kerla replied.  “He wants to mate with you.”
     Corry blinked again.  “I beg your pardon?”
     “You do know what mating is?” Kerla inquired with impatient sarcasm.
     “Of course I know what mating is!” Corry retorted angrily.
     “He thinks you’re my wife,” Kerla said.  “If we stay, he’ll kill me so
that he can mate with you.”
     “Okay,” Corry replied, climbing to her feet.  “Let’s go.”




Chapter Twelve


     General Kah strode down the long central corridor at the Military
Command Center, flanked on either side by heavily armed warriors.  Debris
still littered the corridor, and here and there the walls were spotted with
the black remnants of energy bolts, the scent of burnt material still
hanging in the air.  The general turned into a doorway, the former offices
of the chancellor and her aides.  It was clear that the rooms had been
thoroughly ransacked, then put back together out of necessity, with only a
crude semblance of their former tidiness.  Three Klingons hovered near the
large desk.  Their conversation ceased at her approach.
     “What news?” Kah demanded, moving past them to seat herself behind the
desk.
     “The chancellor has escaped,” the forwardmost man informed her.  He was
considerably older than his counterparts, with a calm directness that bore
witness to his many years of military experience.  He did not flinch under
the general’s furious stare.  “We were unable to prevent her from leaving
the planet. “
     “You failed me, Krahon,” she growled.
     “Apparently, the chancellor has more interior support than we
anticipated,” he told her calmly.
     “Apparently.”  She drew in a breath and released it, reeling her anger
back in with an effort.  “And what of the Basedean emissary?”
     “Her whereabouts are unknown,” one of the younger Klingons spoke up.
“We believe she is still in hiding.”
     “Brigadier Kerla has many operatives willing to assist him,” Krahon
added.  “But, sooner or later, they must attempt to leave the planet.”
     “Every spaceport is being heavily monitored,” the other man put in.
     “We need her in our custody,” General Kah told them sternly.  “The
Federation is already preparing to move against us.  With a Federation
hostage, an ambassador, we will be able to negotiate, and delay the
Federation invasion long enough to complete our preparations.”
     “We may be able to secure more than one hostage,”  Krahon grinned
slightly.  “We have learned that the Federation is attempting to rescue the
emissary, and that a Star Ship captain is somewhere on Kronos, taking part
in the rescue.”
     The general’s face brightened, and she fell back into the chair,
folding her hands across her stomach.  “They are making it easy for us, aren
’t they?”

                                                          **********
     “Do you know where you’re going?”  Corry uttered.  She struggled to
keep her legs from collapsing beneath her as the huge Klingon leaned on her
heavily.
     “You ask too many questions,” he rumbled.  Kerla clutched his wounded
side tightly against the steady waves of pain, resisting the fierce need to
lean on her more than he already was, knowing he would crush her if he did.
He tried to focus his attention on keeping his legs moving beneath him, to
mentally separate himself from the discomfort and the sick sensation
swirling endlessly through his insides.  After a few more steps, he realized
that he had to rest.
     “Wait,” he mumbled, steering them toward a large tree.  He fell back
against it, releasing her.
     Corry stretched her shoulders, watching him closely.  He lowered his
head, breathing deeply with his eyes tightly closed.  “Kerla, you’re not
going to make it,” she said, wiping sweat off her face with her sleeve.
     He scowled at her, but didn’t reply.
     Corry sighed, looking around.  The sky was brightening rapidly, the
cool dampness of the night gradually giving way to heavy humidity.  The air
was alive with buzzing insects and the calls of wild animals hidden in the
trees high above.  As far as she could see, there was nothing but jungle, an
endless landscape of trees, creeping vines,and mossy plant life.  Corry
turned once more to Kerla.  “You look like you’re going to collapse.”
     “I’m not going to collapse,” he growled.  He drew a deep breath and
added, “There’s a communication relay station not far from here.”   Kerla
motioned sharply.  “Let’s go.”
     Corry offered her shoulder once more and they continued onward over the
difficult terrain at a snail’s pace.  They traveled through the morning and
well into the midday heat when they stepped into a clearing and came upon a
squat, brick building.  Next to the building, a metal structure stretched
into the sky, topped with a large receiving dish and wiry appendages affixed
with transmitters.  With an effort, Corry helped Kerla cross the distance to
the building and to a single metal door.  With some difficulty, she pushed
the door open and was met with a blast of stifling, hot air.  Kerla threw a
switch inside the door and dim lights illuminated the interior.  A bank of
instruments and a number of chairs were positioned along one wall.  Corry
assisted as Kerla hobbled to a chair and lowered himself carefully into it.
     For a long moment, Kerla sat still, breathing deeply and waiting for a
wave of nausea to pass.  Then, he pulled himself closer and began
manipulating the controls.

                                                      **********
     “What is it?” Sulu inquired, eyeing the instrument panel over Makkon’s
shoulder.
     The Klingon pressed several buttons, then paused to study a display.
“A distress signal,” he said, “on a coded frequency.”  He studied the
display a moment longer, then turned to look at Sulu.  “It’s Brigadier
Kerla.  The emissary is safe.  He’s transmitting their position.”
     Captain Sulu grinned.

                                                      **********
     An aide burst into General Kah’s office, prompting her to slam a fist
on the desk.  “I did not give you permission to enter!” she snarled.
     “Forgive me, general,” he replied quickly, “but we’ve received an
urgent message from Krahon.  Our monitors have intercepted a
transmission...we’ve located Brigadier Kerla and the Federation emissary.
Troops are on their way.”
     The general smiled slightly.

                                                     **********
     Kerla completed the transmission.  Corry watched as he leaned forward
on the console, his face contorted with pain and exhaustion.  “You need to
rest,” she told him.  He did not resist when she took hold of his arm and
helped lift him from the chair.  It took all of her strength to keep him on
his feet, and to cross the distance to the open door of the station.
     “We should stay inside,” he said.  Together, they turned their backs to
the wall just inside the doorway and slid down to a seated position on the
dirt floor.  Kerla let his head rest against the welcome coldness of the
brick wall, fighting unconsciousness with a mighty effort.  Corry pushed his
hand away to examine the bandages around his abdomen.  They were lightly
soaked with fresh blood.
     “You’re bleeding,” she said worriedly, wishing she had access to even a
basic medical kit.  She glanced around the interior of the station.  There
were no supply cabinets, nothing in any way useful.
     He watched her closely as she pondered what to do.  It was an unwelcome
realization, but there was nothing she could do to help him.  Corry sighed.
Suddenly, she felt his gaze upon her and looked up into his eyes.  He was
looking at her with an intensity that made her heart quicken, an almost
predatory stare that seemed to bore straight through her exterior and into
secret places she did not necessarily wish to share.  All at once, she
became keenly aware of his closeness, and she began to back away.  He
prevented her from moving away by reaching a hand around the back of her
neck, pulling her closer.  She put her hand on his chest, partly in a
defensive gesture as he pulled her closer still, and she could feel the beat
of his heart against her hand, powerful and rhythmic.  His fingers moved
gently behind her head, his brow furrowing slightly at the surprising
softness of her light-colored hair.  Corry’s chest constricted, her breaths
coming in short gasps as he touched her cheek with his long, fine fingers,
the heat of his dark skin burning her palm.
     “Kerla, we have to tighten the bandages,” she uttered, her voice
sounding extremely small, “to stop the bleeding.”
     His eyes softened, but did not relinquish their hold on her own.  Corry
reached up and took his hand away from her face, and their fingers
intertwined briefly.  He felt the tremor in her touch, but did not have the
strength to stop her as she moved away.