copyright 1999
Karyn Van Kainen


 Chapter Five


The rain poured in cool cascades over Corry's face, down her neck and
shoulders, plastering her nightshirt against her skin.  The heavy scent of
earth and plant life, and the humidity of the air made breathing difficult,
and the sounds of wild things mingled harmoniously with the drumming of the
rain against the leaves.
     He came toward, her, striding through the high grass.  Corry tried to
back away, to run, but found herself unable to move, transfixed by the
predatory grace of his movement and the intensity of his gaze.  In a single,
swift motion, he pulled off his tunic and tossed it away.  Locks of long,
black hair tumbled over his chest, and his copper-colored skin glistened as
the rain washed over his body.
     Corry took a single step backward, but before she could go further he
grabbed her about the waist and pulled her roughly against him, lifting her
feet off the ground.  Corry gasped at the power of his embrace, her heart
pounding madly.  She offered no resistance as he bent and laid her on the
ground.  His enormous body blocked out the light as he pressed down upon
her, holding her against the wet earth.  She felt the heat of his chest
against her own, the surprising heat of his body when her hands touched his
skin.  The muscles of his back were frighteningly powerful, unyielding.
Corry smelled the scent of his body, like the summer earth with a masculine
musk that overpowered her senses.
     "Wait..." she breathed, as his hand pulled at her nightshirt.  He bent
closer, his hand continuing to work.  She gazed into his dark eyes, her will
to fight him quickly dissolving.  He uttered something in Klingonese, the
deep resonance of his voice vibrating against her chest.  Corry tried to
say, "No," but the word only came out as a helpless moan.  She gasped one
last time as he pressed his mouth against her own, and Corry felt herself
sinking, most willingly, into the earth.
     "Shh!"
     Corry sucked in a startled breath and sat bolt upright.  A hand fell
onto her shoulder and Corry spun to find Brigadier Kerla bending over her.
"You talk in you sleep," he informed her in a low voice.
     Corry stared, mortified, her face beginning to flush fiercely.  She
managed to draw in a breath and utter, "Sorry."
     "We have to get moving," he said, straightening.  Corry looked up at
him, meeting his eyes, his expression unreadable.  Oh, geez, she thought
inwardly.  She felt her face burning, and quickly averted her eyes.  Corry
rubbed her face with her hands, and struggled to get to her feet.  "Listen,"
she ventured, anxious to shake away the remnants of the dream and think
about something, anything, else, "can't you at least tell me where you're
taking me?"
     "No time for talk," he replied.  "Let's go."
     Corry sighed heavily.  If she'd learned anything at all, it was that
there was absolutely no point in arguing with the man.  She straightened,
stretching aching muscles, then limped off in the direction he was pointing.
Her feet hurt so much she could barely walk.  Trudging through the
underbrush without shoes had taken its toll on her feet, which now resembled
two blobs of ground up meat.  She was covered with scratches and bruises,
her upper arms were bruised and sore where Kerla kept grabbing them, her
tongue still hurt horribly.  On top of all that, she was cold, wet, and
famished.  Corry couldn't even remember when she'd last eaten.  Oh, yeah,
she thought.  She'd taken a bite of that awful, black bread they'd left in
her quarters.  It had been so strongly flavored, so bitter, that she'd had
to drink the whole carafe of water to cleanse her mouth of the taste.  At
the moment, even a hunk of that black stuff sounded good.
     They pressed on for hours, Corry couldn't guess how many.  Kerla kept a
brutal pace, nudging her from behind when she moved too slowly.  Corry
couldn't fathom the miracle of nature that was keeping her body in motion.
She trudged along like a zombie, so far beyond pain and misery that she no
longer seemed connected to her own body.  There came a point, however,
sometime in the late afternoon, when some internal mechanism determined that
she had reached the end of her endurance.  Like a switch, it simply turned
her body off.  Even as she collapsed to the ground, Corry was thinking, oh
brother, the big lug isn't going to like this.  I guess he'll just have to
break me in two and get it over with.
     Kerla turned her over.  "Get up," he ordered, and tried to pull her to
her feet.  Her legs were unresponsive, folding under her weight like a
couple of rubber bands.  "I can't," she muttered, her body no longer
responding to commands.  "I can't..."
     Swearing softly, Kerla picked her up roughly and slung her limp form
over his shoulder.  Corry's head whirled at the sudden movement, blood
rushing to her brain, the world suddenly upside down.  Had there been
anything at all in her stomach, she would have surely thrown up all over his
backside.  Would've served him right, she thought, then passed out.
                                                     **************
     It seemed only moments later that Corry regained consciousness.  She
blinked, looking around in disoriented confusion.  It was pitch black, the
air filled with the sounds of night creatures.  Corry was propped up against
a tree, shivering uncontrollably.  And, she realized almost at once, she was
completely alone.
     Rubbing her pounding head, Corry squinted into the blackness,
listening.  "Hey," she called softly.  "Where are you?"  There was no reply,
only the rhythmic buzzing of insects and the occasional cry of something
obviously larger.  A bolt of panic shot through her spine.
     He left me!
     "Oh, shit," she uttered aloud.  With an effort, Corry pulled herself to
her feet, cold, hard fear numbing the pain in her body.  She pressed herself
back against the tree, trying hard to quell the rising terror in her chest.
She searched the night for any sign of lights, of civilization.  Blackness
surrounded her on all sides.  A crunch of dried leaves nearby caused her to
whirl about, squinting into the darkness.  "Is that you?" she call.  No
answer came.  Her breathing quickened as icy waves of terror began to engulf
her.  Her body started to shake uncontrollably.
     That son of a bitch, she thought bitterly.  Corry struggled to summon a
rational thought, to think about what she should do next.  She was lost in a
huge forest, on an alien world, with no shelter, no food or water, no
weapons.  She searched her mind frantically for some course of action, and
came up empty.  Nearby, something moved, rustling the underbrush.  With a
fearful noise, Corry fell to her knees, her hands searching frantically for
something, anything...Her fingers fell upon a cold, hard surface.  She
quickly dug the rock out of the dirt.  She stood up, backing up against the
tree once more, clutching the rock in her hand so tightly that her knuckles
turned white.  "Oh, God," she whispered to herself, "this isn't happening."
Hot tears began to roll down her cheeks.
     Suddenly, there was something on her left.  Corry whirled, screaming,
swinging the rock in self-defense even as her legs turned to water and
collapsed beneath her.  She was caught up in a huge pair of arms, one of
them catching the hand with the rock in mid-swing.  "Easy!" Kerla admonished
in a sharp whisper.  "It's only me!"
     "You...son of a bitch!" Corry cried.  She grabbed handfuls of his
tunic, not knowing whether to strangle or hug him.  Much to her chagrin, she
found herself sobbing uncontrollably.  Corry collapsed against his chest,
burying her face in the coarse material of his tunic.  Humiliated, she
battled hard to regain her composure without success.  Stunned, Kerla did
not know how to react.  He had no comprehension of the meaning of her
outburst.  Kerla had never seen a human weep before, nor would he have
understood it if he had.  All he could sense was the intensity of her
emotions.  She held fast to his tunic, the intoxicating scent of her hair
rising into his nostrils.  Quickly, Kerla pushed her away.  "Stop it," he
ordered.  She looked up at him, struggling to catch her breath.  "Sit down."
     Corry did not protest.  She lowered herself to the ground and fell back
against the tree, breathing deeply in an effort to control involuntary sobs.
Kerla knelt by her feet and pulled a satchel from his shoulder.  With
surprising gentleness, he raised Corry's left foot and examined it.  He
produced a large, ornate bottle from the satchel.  Pulling off the top, he
looked over his shoulder at Corry.  "This will hurt."
     Corry braced herself as he poured some of the contents over her
bloodied foot.  It stung right down to the bone, and Corry bit down on her
knuckles to keep from yelling.  Gradually, the burning pain began to
subside, and Kerla carefully wrapped the foot with a long piece of cloth.
When he was done, he moved to the other side and repeated the procedure with
her right foot.  Corry watched him closely, amazed by this unexpected act of
kindness.  "Where did you get that stuff?" she inquired.
     He didn't reply.  When he finished bandaging her right foot, he dug
through the satchel once more and produced a small bundle of clothing and a
pair of soft shoes.  "Here," he said, "put these on."
     She took the articles.  Too exhausted, cold, and battered to worry much
about modesty, Corry struggled to her feet, turned her back on Kerla and
pulled off her wet nightshirt.  She quickly dressed herself in the tunic and
trousers.  They were enormous, but they were warm and dry, and the well-worn
material felt wonderful against her frozen skin.  Carefully, she pulled the
soft, leather shoes over her sore feet.  For a moment, she leaned back
against the tree and relished the simple pleasure of warm clothing and
covered feet.
     "Let's go," said Kerla, then headed off through the woods in silence.
Corry followed him, feeling strangely detached from everything that had
existed prior to this moment; Basedea, her family, her career.  They all
seemed like something she had dreamt about long ago, like she had been
transported to another reality that had no connection to those other things.
It felt like she was getting farther and farther away from the life she had
always known, and a new life had taken its place, one with unpredictable
events and even more uncertain outcomes.  It was with a pang of fear that
Corry realized that she was beginning to accept the parameters of this new
reality.  It was starting to feel...normal.
     Now there's a helluva thought, she mused.
     Up ahead, Kerla had reached the top of a steep hill.  He paused there,
waiting for her to catch up.  She came alongside him and saw that they had
reached the edge of the forest.  On the other side of the hill was a road,
and beyond that was a small city, the lights flickering in the distance.  On
the far side of the city, the blinking lights of ships moved through the
night sky, some heading in to land, others soaring away to quickly disappear
into the stars.  Kerla headed down the hill, and Corry hurried to keep up.
They crossed the road and headed down a narrow street which led into the
city.  Breathless and scowling, Corry halted.
     Kerla turned and motioned sharply.  "This way."
     "I don't get it," she said incredulously.  "You mean we're just going
to stroll right down main street?  After all this duck and cover we've been
doing?"
     He came closer, and Corry tensed, expecting him to strike.  Instead, he
took hold of her arm and said, "There's nothing to fear.  Stay close to me
and speak to no one.  Understand?"
     "Yeah," she uttered, shaking her head.  "Sure."
     Without further discussion, Kerla ushered her down the street.  They
soon reached a surprisingly busy section of town, and were quickly
surrounded by moving bodies and vehicles.  Corry felt
claustrophobic, glancing around uncomfortably at the milling chests and
abdomens on every side.  She couldn't imagine what all of these people were
doing out in the middle of the night.  She could not get oriented, catching
only fleeting glimpses of buildings, shop wagons, and an occasional open
space which swiftly disappeared.  As the crowd pressed in, Corry had a
sudden, intense wave of separation anxiety.  She grabbed a handful of
Kerla's tunic, fearful of losing him in the crowd.
     Unwillingly, Corry caught the eyes of passersby.  They seemed
surprisingly disinterested in her, as if it were commonplace to see humans
strolling around in downtown Klingonville.  They passed an area where the
air was thick with the scent of cooking food.  Corry's stomach crunched
desperately as she breathed in the tantalizing aroma.  Whatever it was, it
smelled wonderful, and Corry uttered a moan of despair as they pressed on.
     A voice suddenly boomed, and Kerla halted as a big Klingon fellow in
civilian attire approached them, his arms outstretched.  The man grabbed
Kerla and hugged him roughly.  Kerla returned the gesture, and the two men
exchanged loud greetings in Klingonese.  Corry stepped behind Kerla and
tried hard to make herself invisible.  Nevertheless, the new arrival caught
sight of her and scowled at Kerla.  He gestured sharply and seemed to demand
that Kerla explain himself.  Kerla laughed, and offered a long answer which
inspired raucous laughter from the older man.  The two men exchanged
remarks, then roared once more.  Corry began to get the distinct feeling
that she was the butt of some great joke, and she felt her ire rising.  As
if he could read her thoughts, Kerla put a hand on her shoulder, made his
excuses to the other man, then quickly steered her away.
     They turned off onto an adjoining street, this one not nearly as
crowded.  They followed another turn and entered a street lined with large,
open buildings.  The air began to take on an odor reminiscent of the barn on
Corry's homestead.  Corry heard shouting, and turned to look into the
building on their left as they passed.  Inside, huddled together in a
miserable mass, were shackled beings from many different worlds, young and
old, male and female.  Standing around them were Klingons in uniform, some
with electrical prods in their hands, others with clipboards.  Corry
glimpsed several humans  in the group.  One in particular looked very much
like a man she had met at Admiral Ellison's briefing, an older fellow named
Berkshire from Corinigh.  Then, just as quickly, the opening passed from
sight.
     Corry glanced up at Brigadier Kerla.  He did not meet her gaze.  "What
kind of place is this?" she asked.
     "Quiet," he responded.  He put a hand on her shoulder to move her
along.  Then, in a low voice, he said, "A spaceport for the slave trade."
     "Jesus," Corry uttered.  An image of herself being sold on an
auctioning block caused her to shudder violently.  Is that why he brought me
here, she wondered fearfully.
     Kerla steered her around a corner and then directed her into an empty
building.  The stench within was almost intolerable, and Corry's eyes
watered in response.  They came to a doorway on the far side of the
building, and Kerla motioned for her to enter.  They stepped into a dimly
lit hallway and followed it past numerous dark doorways, and eventually into
a wide enclosure.  Several vehicles were parked inside, and a small group of
Klingons stood nearly, conversing in hushed tones.  They turned as Corry and
Kerla approached, uttering exclamations of pleasure and relief at the sight
of their commander.  Corry recognized several of the Klingons from the
hellish night when this had all begun.  Kerla exchanged brief remarks with
the others, then they turned away and quickly dispersed, climbing aboard the
vehicles.  Kerla looked at Corry, indicating the nearest car.  "Get in."
     Without argument, she stepped into the vehicle.  Kerla climbed in
behind her, slammed the door shut, and the vehicle headed swiftly out of the
building and into the dark streets of the city.  Beside her, Kerla gazed
ahead stoically.  Though she risked making him angry, Corry turned to Kerla
and said, "So far, our luck in vehicles has not been very good, you know."
     He looked down at her.  He didn't smile, but he did not strike either.
Encouraged, she ventured, "Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"
     "Yes," he replied, surprising her.  Then he shocked her by grinning,
and added, "When you need to know."


Chapter Six
                                               
     Sulu sat at his desk in the ready room, gazing down at the computer
display without really seeing it.  One hand aimlessly massaged his brow, the
fingers of his other hand curled through the handle of an ice cold cup of
tea.  He hadn't slept well at all the night before.  Instead, Sulu had
prowled the decks of the Excelsior as she made her way toward the
Federation-Klingon border, making his crewmen nervous as he casually
inspected instruments and control panels.  Captain Kirk had often done the
same, showing up unexpectedly in Data Control, or in Maintainence,
wordlessly running his fingers over the back of control panels, checking
instrument readings over a crewmans shoulder, quietly ensuring that his
people were always on their toes.  When he finally did return to his
quarters, Sulu had tried to sleep, but found that his mind was too busy to
rest.  He nodded off a couple of times, only to drift quickly back to
consciousness.  Finally, he had given up and headed to the ready room to
complete some ship's reports.
     So far, he hadn't completed any.
     A signal drew him out of his stupor.  He looked over at the door.
"Come."
     The door opened, and Mr. Spock stepped in.  "Am I disturbing you,
captain?"
     "Of course not," Sulu replied.  He indicated a chair in front of his
desk.  "Please, sit down."
     Spock crossed to the desk and lowered himself into the chair.  "I have
been going over the list of Klingon operatives on Kronos with Officer
Makkon," he stated.  He slid a small disc across the desk to Sulu.  "We've
narrowed the list down to seven who are most accessible."
     Sulu nodded, lifting the disc and turning it over in his fingers.
     "Officer Makkon has assured me that a transport will be waiting for us
at the neutral zone border," Spock continued.  "And your ships surgeon has
arranged for each of us to recieve a transmitter implant, so that our
movements can be tracked by Excelsior."
     "Very good," said Sulu, watching the disc flipping over and over in his
hands.
     Spock gazed at him closely.  "Is there something troubling you,
captain?"
     "Yes," Sulu replied distantly.  He laid the disc down and looked up at
Spock.  "Something Admiral Ellison said to me, just before we left Star Base
Ten."
     "Oh?" said Spock, leaning his elbows on the arms of the chair and
lacing his long, delicate fingers together.
     "She called this mission a joke," Sulu told him gravely.
     Spocks eyebrows rose, then furrowed together thoughtfully.  "I see
nothing humorus in this situation."
     Sulu smiled slightly, shaking his head.  "That's not what she meant,
Mr. Spock."  He leaned forward on the desk.  "She implied that our mission
is a useless gesture."  He drew in a deep breath and exhaled a long,
troubled sigh.  "I got the impression that the Federation is already
prepared to move against the Klingons, that they're counting on us to report
that our emmissaries have been killed so that they can attack the Klingons."
     Small wisps of anger tugged at the corners of Spock's mouth.  He took a
moment to consider Sulu's remarks.  "Killing Federation emmissaries would
guarantee public support for such an attack," he pondered aloud, then
sighed.  "Unfortunately, it is possible that that is exactly what has
happened."
     "I feel like we're trying to roll a big boulder up a hill," Sulu said,
grinning mirthlessly.  "Every time we get close to the top, the thing starts
rolling backwards."
     Spock nodded at the analogy.  "It does not make it any easier when
others are pushing against you."
     "Maybe," Sulu said softly, looking down at his hands, "we should just
let it go."
     The two men fell silent, and the words hung in the air like dark
clouds.