Chapter Three

     Corry awoke with a jolt and sat straight upright.  She was instantly
sorry.  Her head swelled with pain, and the world dissolved into swirling
shades of gray and black.  Her blood pounded in her ears.  Corry clutched
her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the dizzying vision.
After a few moments, the whirling sensation began to subside, her ears
gradually stopped pounding, and Corry became more aware of her surroundings.
     She was sitting on a cold, hard surface.  Corry gazed down and found
herself on a dirt floor, with only a piece of threadbare carpet beneath her.
The room smelled of must and old wood and damp earth.  Streaks of sunlight
cut through the planks of wood which composed the walls of the room, and
particles of dust floated daintily through the narrow beams of light.  One
side of the room was paneled in dark, gray metal and had a narrow door made
of a similar material.  A nondescript pile of stuff lay in one nearby
corner.  As far as Corry could tell, she was in somebody's back porch.
     Corry closed her eyes and shook off a wave of disorientation.  With
each passing moment, more and more parts of her body were beginning to hurt.
She ached all over, undoubtedly from laying on the hard dirt floor.  Her
foot began to throb mercilessly, and Corry brought her leg up to examine the
wound, only to find her foot tightly bandaged.  Though she was curious to
see the extent of the damage, Corry opted not to tamper with the dressing.
She touched her head and found that another bandage had been applied to the
cut just above her right eye.  Her tongue throbbed where she had bitten it.
My God, she thought to herself, I'm a mess.
     What could have happened, she wondered.  There were many possibilities,
but one persistent thought kept tumbling about inside her head.  During her
months of preparation for this mission, and again at the briefing with
Admiral Ellison of Star Fleet just before Corry had boarded the shuttle for
Kronos, the term "worst case scenario" kept coming up.  Although everyone
had a differing opinion about how she should conduct herself, how she should
handle the Klingons, what to eat and what to avoid at all costs, everyone
seemed to agree on what the "worst case scenario" was.  It meant the total
breakdown of diplomatic relations between the Federation and the Klingons,
and the Klingons movement toward a military solution to their problem.
Corry could only conclude that she had been caught up into the middle of the
"worst case scenario."
     "Terrific," she muttered aloud, no longer able to stand the hard
surface of the floor.  Corry was on her hands and knees, contemplating the
least painful way to get to her feet, when the metal door slammed open and
Brigadier Kerla came stamping toward her.  "Get up," he said.  "Quickly!"
     "Oh, my God," Corry uttered.  "Here we go."  She didn't even manage to
get halfway to her feet before he grabbed her by the arm and began dragging
her toward the door.  Corry had the horrible, sinking sensation that this
was to be a continuation of last nights insanity.  "What's happening here?"
she demanded.
     "Shh!" Kerla replied, pulling her through the doorway.  They entered
what looked like a small kitchen, then hurried down a short hallway into a
bigger room.  Numerous large pieces of furniture were pushed against the
walls, and small, conical lamps burned on the tables in the pre-dawn light.
A young Klingon, just a boy, stood in the doorway which led outside.  He
looked out, in both directions, then turned and gestured sharply for them to
proceed.  Corry struggled to keep up, trying to avoid putting all of her
weight onto her injured foot, as Kerla hauled her past the boy.  For an
instant, Corry caught the boy's eyes.  His expression was an interesting
combination of resolve and visible displeasure.
     Stepping through the doorway, Corry found that they were on a street
lined with small houses, which stretched as far as she could see in either
direction.  The dawn sky was iron gray, and the air had the damp, heavy feel
of rain about to fall.  Over the pounding of her own heart in her ears,
Corry could hear the sound of engines whining in the distance, coming
closer.  Kerla grabbed her by the wrist.  "Stay close," he ordered, and
headed at a run down the street.
     This is nuts, Corry's mind told her frantically.   This is crazy!
Corry ran as fast as she could, fighting back a sudden urge to burst into
hysterical laughter.  The image of this huge Klingon dragging some poor,
bashed up, half-dressed, limping woman down the street seemed, all at once,
hilarious.  She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from exploding into
laughter.  Corry had always had the infuriating habit of laughing at the
most inappropriate moments.  It was just a coping mechanism, she supposed,
but it had gotten her into trouble on many occasions, not the least of which
had been her Uncle Mike's funeral.  Her father hadn't spoke to her for days
after that one.  She didn't even want to imagine what Kerla's reaction might
be if she suddenly were to burst into hysterics.
     They sprinted down the street, past countless houses with darkened
windows.  No one else stirred on the street, or in doorways, and the homes
looked all but abandoned in the gray morning light.  Corry was numbly
astounded at her ability to keep pace with the big Klingon, who had the
double advantage of extraordinarily long legs, and the enviable luxury of
quality footwear.
     Abruptly, Kerla turned left and headed through a small yard, ducking in
between two of the houses.  They emerged from between the houses and ended
up on another street which looked identical to the one they had just left.
Kerla halted a moment, looking in both directions.  Then he backed up,
pulling Corry up against the nearest house.  Corry gasped for air, her heart
pounding so hard in her chest it seemed destined to burst.  She looked up at
Brigadier Kerla.  He was leaning out from the wall, gazing down the westward
end of the street.
     "Excuse me," Corry whispered.  "Hello?"
     He held up his hand for silence.  Corry sighed in exasperation.  In her
mind's eye, she suddenly recalled the image of Nolan Cullens offering her
congratulations for bagging this assignment.  He'd been quite gracious about
it, actually.  He'd smiled that dopey smile of his, and said, "Just
remember, don't take any wooden nickels!"  Whatever the hell that meant.
     Yeah, Corry's inner voice uttered morosely, some career move this
turned out to be.  "Look," she persisted in a low voice, "I'd just like an
explana--"
     Kerla whirled and, with frightening speed, grabbed the back of her head
with one hand, while slamming the other hand over her mouth.  Corry uttered
a terrified sound, looking into his dark eyes in shock.  "For the last
time," he said in a frighteningly calm voice, "be quiet, and do only what I
say.  Understand?"
     Corry nodded quickly.  He held her gaze a moment for emphasis, then
gradually loosened his grip.  Suddenly, a sound caught his attention.  "Get
down," he ordered, and shoved her into the shadows at the base of the wall.
     Corry maintained only a fragile grip on her sanity, her stomach
pinching into a painful knot as anger and fear held a duel to the death
inside her body.  She angrily swiped tears from her face and looked up at
her captor.  Kerla was once again peering around the corner of the house.
The world was gradually growing bright, though the sky remained deeply
overcast.  The hum of a single engine grew louder, mingled with the distant
drone of other machines.  Corry watched Kerla closely.  Somewhere in the far
reaches of her brain, she began toying with the idea of making a run for it.
She glanced around, mentally measuring the distance to the nearest street.
She could leap from the ground and run like crazy toward the sound of the
engines, screaming for help at the top of her lungs, too quick for Kerla to
stop her.
     The plan continued to tumble around aimlessly in her mind.  Even as it
did, Corry found herself sinking further into the shadows, unable to make
the leap from planning to execution.  What a weenie you are, her inner voice
chastised.
     As he watched the street, mulling over his options, Kerla quietly drew
his sidearm and held it ready.  A movement at the far end of the street
caused him to tense and pull back a bit more.  The woman was still, save for
the soft sound of her breathing.  Kerla could smell her fear, and sensed her
desire to escape, but she made no move to do so, though he prepared himself
to stop her if she tried.  Down the street, a slow-moving vehicle emerged
from the shortening shadows, heading in their direction.  Kerla could see
the driver looking left and right between houses as the vehicle rolled
forward.  He brought his weapon to bear, and prepared to open fire the
moment the vehicle came into range.  Just then, the vehicle moved out of the
shadows, and Kerla recognized a familiar form at the controls.
     Reholstering his weapon, Kerla bent and took the woman's arm.  "Come
on," he ordered.  "Quickly!"
     She did not resist, but wordlessly came along as they emerged from
their hiding place and ran toward the approaching vehicle.  The driver
spotted them and accelerated forward, skidding to a stop at the edge of the
street.  He leaned over and flung the passenger door open.  "Hurry," he
said, as Kerla pushed Corry into the rear seat and piled in behind her.
"They're searching this sector."
     Corry recognized the man as the same Klingon who had been driving the
night before.  He sped off down the street the moment she and Kerla were
aboard.  Kerla pushed Corry down onto the floorboard behind the driver's
seat.  "You stay there," he commanded.  She glared up at him, but did not
attempt to argue.  Kerla moved to the front and sat down beside the other
Klingon.  The two men began conversing in Klingonese.  Corry let her head
rest on her knees, and tried without success to pretend that none of this
was really happening.
     "The others have reached the rendezvous safely," Krahm was telling his
commander.  "All but Keya-mor."
     "And the chancellor?" demanded Kerla.
     "Safe, for the moment," answered Krahm.  He glanced over at the
brigadier.  "When you failed to arrive as planned, we feared the worst."
     "We were delayed."  Kerla looked over his shoulder out the rear window.
No sign of pursuit.  "You should not have come back.  It was a foolish
risk."
     "It was the chancellor's order," said Krahm.  "She wants the woman."
He paused to turn the vehicle onto another, wider street and they headed
away from the housing development and into a more wooded area.  He motioned
toward the back seat with his head.  "How is she?"
     "Cooperative," said Kerla, then added, "for the time being."
     Droplets of rain appeared on the windshield and quickly grew into a
downpour that pelted the metal vehicle loudly, drowning out the sound of the
engine.  The sky became dark and threatening as they headed straight into
the storm front.  Krahm switched on exterior running lights and wipers, and
reduced their speed somewhat as the road quickly became muddy and slick.
     Corry closed her eyes, and allowed the pounding of the rain to overtake
her senses.  The sound washed away the physical world, and Corry willingly
rode the wave of sound to a place far outside her aching body.  The
monotonous drone of the rain and the rhythmic motion of the vehicle lulled
her into a weird and dreamy slumber, filled with brief, disjointed images
that played across her minds theater like a poorly edited piece of film.
The distant voices of the Klingon men were strangely comforting in this
sleep-induced euphoria.
     A sudden motion of the vehicle snapped Corry's head to the side and
jolted her back to consciousness.  There was a shout of alarm from the front
seat, and all at once the loud cracks of gun fire shattered the drone of the
rain.  Corry heard the sound of exploding glass.  Without warning, the
vehicle lurched violently and struck something solid that sent it soaring.
Corry instinctively flung her arms out, seeking a purchase, her stomach
diving into her pelvis at the sudden sensation of weightlessness.  The
vehicle hit another obstacle, spun wildly to the left, then bounded downward
with a deafening crescendo of splintering wood and tortured metal.  Corry
screamed involuntarily, her body flung about between the rear and front
seats, helpless to protect herself.  Just then, the nightmarish ride ended
with a surprisingly unclimactic whump as the vehicle came up against an
object too large to smash through.  The back end lifted into the air,
hovered a moment, then came down with one final jolt as if to punctuate that
the ride was, indeed, over.
     There followed several long moments of eerie silence, save for the
sound of the rain pounding against the roof.  Corry appraised her condition,
and found herself shaken, but reasonably unharmed.  Just then, she heard
movement in the front seat, followed by the crunching of unwilling hinges as
the front door of the vehicle was forced open.  A moment later, there was
more noise as the rear door slid reluctantly aside.  Brigadier Kerla leaned
in.  Rivulets of blood ran down his left arm from a wound near the shoulder,
and also from a long gash down the side of his face.  "Are you injured?" he
demanded.
     "No," she managed.  "I don't think so."
     He reached out his right hand, the rain pouring in torrents all around
him.  Corry gazed at the outstretched hand a moment, then she wordlessly
took it.  Kerla pulled her from the vehicle, and for the first time Corry
could see what had happened.  They were at the bottom of a deep ravine, a
long path of smashed and damaged trees marked their passage straight through
a dense growth of vegetation which apparently camouflaged the road somewhere
high above.  The nose of the vehicle was buried in a small hill of muddy
earth.  Forest stretched out before them in all directions, dense enough to
block out most of the daylight.  Corry looked up the trail of destruction,
squinting in the driving rain, and shook her head in wonder that they all
weren't killed.
     Kerla leaned into the vehicle's front seat.  He emerged once more, and
straightened to his full height, stuffing a weapon similar to his own into
his belt.  "Let's go," he ordered.  Turning, he headed away from the wreck
and into the forest on their right.
     "Hey!"
     The brigadier halted and looked back at her over his bleeding shoulder.
Corry motioned toward the vehicle.  "What about him?" she asked, her voice
sounding small in the driving sheets of rain.  Kerla stared at her a long
moment.
     "He's dead."
     Corry bent and looked into the vehicle at the dark figure slumped
unnaturally in the driver's seat.  For reasons she couldn't fathom, Corry
felt a small rush of sadness for the man.  She stared at the lifeless form,
the cold rain stinging her skin.  There was movement to her right, and Corry
looked up as Brigadier Kerla came up beside her.  Suddenly, he looked up the
embankment, listening.  "Let's go," he said sternly.  "Now."
     Without arguement, Corry turned and limped in the direction Kerla
indicated.  He spared a glance up the hill before hurrying after.



                                                Chapter Four

     The dainty sound of thin, finely tempered steel foils echoed lightly
through the huge room, creating a sound reminiscent of the delicate hammered
instruments played during the harvest rituals of the Arrengae people on
Crete Six, though perhaps not quite as harmonious.  Still, it was music to
Hikaru Sulu's ears, the clashing of the foils.  And the fencing movements
were a dance of precision and balance, with an elegance all their own.  Sulu
loved the sport, relished the thrill of a good match, the artful balance
between strength and cunning.
     Sulu was thoroughly absorbed in the present contest.  Rivulets of sweat
trickled down his face, threatening to blur his vision.  Sulu's opponent
lunged forward in a graceful feign, then crossed right toward Sulu's forward
leg.  Sulu slashed downward to block the attack, and riposted with a lunge
toward his opponents abdomen.  Though his opponent swung his sword arm over
to block Sulu's attack, Hikaru's sword passed straight through both sword
and arm, sinking deeply into the other players mid-section.  Sulu gasped in
surprise as his opponent suddenly broke apart into small pieces, and took on
the form of a badly designed test pattern.
     "Dammit!" Sulu cursed, slapping his foil against his leg.  The other
player briefly reappeared, then fell to pieces once more.  Across the room,
the large doors parted and a tall, fair-haired woman strode in.  "Sorry to
disturb you, captain," she said, her voice echoing in the large chamber.
     Sulu stepped down from the fencing platform.  "That's all right,
MacKenzie," he uttered, sounding disgusted.  "I wish to hell they'd work the
bugs out of this thing."
     "Problem with the holo-deck, sir?"
     Sulu pulled off his helmet.  He found a towel in his gym bag and wiped
his face with it.  "I haven't made it to the end of a match yet."
     "I'll have Brogan run another diagnostic on it," said MacKenzie.  She
gazed at the jumbled dots of light which a moment ago had been Sulu's
opponent, and she shook her head.  "Personally, sir, I doubt they'll ever
have much use for these things."
     Captain Sulu sighed.  The holo-deck had been installed only four months
earlier, during their most recent refit at Star Base Three, and was still
considered experimental.  Star Fleet had been using similar devices for
training simulations for seven years, and had high hopes for both the
practical and recreational applications aboard the larger ships in the
fleet.  At the moment, however, Hikaru Sulu was not impressed with the
thing.  He and Commander MacKenzie had debated the merits of interactive
computer holograms on numerous occasions, and he was in no mood to revisit
that discussion now.  "What did you want, commander?"
     "A message from Star Fleet, sir," she answered.  "We've been ordered to
Star Base Ten at best possible speed.  Further instructions upon arrival."
     "Very well," said Sulu.  "Set course for Star Base Ten, warp eight."
     "Aye, sir," she replied, and left to relay the captains orders to the
bridge.  Sulu walked over to a small console set into the wall near the
doors, and hit a switch on the panel.  The remains of his opponent dissolved
and vanished.
     "Till we meet again," uttered the captain.
                                                    **************
     It was sixteen hours later when Captain Sulu and Commander MacKenzie
appeared in the transporter chamber at Star Base Ten.  A young ensign
stepped forward and stood at attention.  "Welcome to Star Base Ten,
captain...commander," he said.  "Admiral Ellison is expecting you.  Will you
please follow me?"
     The ensign led them out of the transporter bay and into the main hall.
They followed him down the long corridor.  Star Base Ten was one of the
smaller and less utilized of the Federations many bases.  Located on the
outer edge of Federation territory, Star Base Ten was primarily a stopover
for couriers and merchants, a weigh station for traders working the rim
territories, and, of course, a base of operations for Star Fleet personnel.
     Their escort rounded a corner and entered a conference room.  Sulu
gazed in mild surprise at the eclectic group of people assembled around the
large conference table; most notably, a pair of high-ranking Klingon
officials.  Admiral Ellison came forward to meet them, dismissing the
ensign.  "Captain Sulu," she said, "welcome to the fray."
     "Admiral," Sulu responded, accepting her handshake.  "What's happened?"
     "I'm afraid we have a situation," the admiral told them.  She motioned
toward the table.  "Find a seat."
     As Sulu and MacKenzie approached the table, a familiar voice said,
"Captain Sulu, I'm pleased to see you again."
     Sulu looked first surprised, then somewhat sheepish.  "Mr. Spock," he
said, quickly recovering.  Spock no longer wore a Federation uniform, and
his dark blue and maroon-colored robes gave him a civilian appearance that
Sulu was strangely uncomfortable with.  Mr. Spock look more like a wizened
old sage than the perfect specimen of a Star Fleet officer that Sulu
remembered.  Hikaru found the sudden transition unsettling, to say the
least.  "Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Sulu said.  "I didn't recognize you."
     "No need to apologize, captain," Mr. Spock replied.
     "May I present my first officer, Commander Krista MacKenzie?"
     Spock bowed his head slightly. "Commander."
     "A pleasure to meet you in person, sir," MacKenzie replied.  "I've
heard so much about you."
     Admiral Ellison rapped on the table.  "Let's get started, shall we?"
     The others quickly seated themselves.  Admiral Ellison motioned toward
the Federation officials sitting on her left.  "Captain Sulu, this is
Governor Matthew Conklin from Basedea, Governor Carr'oggh from Corinigh, and
Governor Sylvia Mannis from Timmeron III."  She then indicated the two
Klingons seated to her right.  "And this is Commissioner Kalos and Merit
Officer Makkon, who are overseeing the Klingon resettlement efforts."  She
leaned forward on the table and gazed solemnly at Sulu.  "Captain, no one
understands better than you the importance of the Camp Kittomer agreement
between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.  As the driving force behind
that agreement, Chancellor Azetbur's leadership is essential to the
successful completion of the relocation project.  Without that leadership,
support for the relocation of the Klingons will crumble, both in the Klingon
bureaucracy and among the general population on both sides.  This has been a
delicate diplomatic process, to say the least, and the stakes are extremely
high."
     "I understand that, Admiral," Sulu said, glancing around at the others.
     "We have lost contact with our emissaries," the Basedean governor
stated.  "Our representative departed for Kronos three days ago to complete
treaty negotiations with the High Council.  We have received no
communications from her, and our efforts to ascertain her condition have
been unsuccessful."
     "Our intelligence indicates that factions of the Klingon secret police
may have deposed Chancellor Azetbur," said Spock.  "If true, our Federation
emissaries on Kronos would be appealing targets.  At present, there are four
Federation emissaries from various outer territories on Kronos.  Our efforts
to communicate with any of them have been systematically deflected."
     "What about the High Council?" MacKenzie inquired.
     "The chancellor has many supporters in the High Council," Commissioner
Kalos replied.  "But no one knows how much of the military has lent its
support to this coop."
     "If the army has turned against us," added Makkon, "then no one will
dare support the chancellor openly.  Without the support of the military,
the peace treaty is doomed, and all of our negotiations will have been in
vain."
     "Captain Sulu," said the Admiral, "I'm sending you to Kronos.  This
mission is being coordinated under the highest level of security.  We must
make contact with our Klingon operatives on Kronos so that we can get a
clear picture of what's happening there.  As you well know, support for the
relocation initiative has always been precarious, not only in the Klingon
government, but within our own as well.  An event like this could convince
the Senate that a military solution is needed.  We have to know what has
happened to the chancellor, and, if she's still alive, she must be restored
to power as quickly and quietly as possible."
     "What if the chancellor is dead?" asked Sulu.
     "In that event, captain, a military conflict may be unavoidable," Spock
replied.  "The chancellors supporters would have no choice but to fall in
line behind those leading the coop.  The Federation will not wait for the
Klingons to strike first, and risk the appearance of complacency in the
safety of Federation citizens.  If war comes now, the Klingon people would
most surely be annihilated."
     Eyes turned involuntarily to the two Klingons, who stiffened visibly.
     "Mr. Spock and Officer Makkon will accompany you," Admiral Ellison
said, breaking the moment.  "I want you under way immediately."
     Everyone rose.  As Sulu turned to leave, Admiral Ellison put a hand on
his arm and pulled him aside.  Making sure they were not within earshot of
the others, she said, "Look, Hikaru, I don't give a damn what's happened to
their chancellor.  As far as I'm concerned, they can go ahead and kill each
other and save us all a lot of grief."
     Sulu gazed at her in silence.
     "But I'm not risking one more human life trying to save these ugly
bastards," she continued.  "I don't care what that Vulcan ambassador says,
you are not to put yourself or your crew in harms way, do you understand me?
This mission is a joke, Hikaru.  The moment the Senate gets word that
they've killed our emissaries, it's all over.  And not you, or me, or even
God himself can save the Klingons then."  She looked into his eyes.  "Are we
clear?"
     He held her gaze a moment, then nodded slightly.  "Yes, ma'am, " he
replied softly.  "Very clear."