copyright 1999 Karyn Van Kainen Chapter Seven If there was one thing Corry had learned from this entire ordeal, it was that time really could stand still. Corry had lost all track of the passage of time, how many hours, perhaps even days she passed in these rooms they had locked her in. She developed a new empathy for zoo specimens, those poor, dumb creatures that paced endlessly behind the steel bars of their prison, searching for some intangible thing they once possessed in a previous life that had become nothing more than a distant memory. In the beginning, things actually seemed to be looking up . They had driven through the night to a dry, arid country far from any city or settlement, to an underground complex at the base of small mountain. Corry was taken deep into the bowels of the cavern, down a long, sloping tunnel, and finally beyond one of many narrow doorways. Corry was given a big basin of water and towels to wash herself. Best of all, food and drink were brought round, and Corry had devoured the awful-tasting stuff without any concern at all for what it might contain. Whatever it was, it had filled the dreadful void that had cramped her stomach for days. Sometime later, a grim-faced Klingon came to attend her wounds. With few words, he applied some noisome poultice to her feet and wrapped them in fresh bandages. Then he gave her some brown tea, and instructed her to drink it until it was gone. After that, no one came anymore. Corry slept, wandered around the two small rooms, looked over all the furniture and articles of interest, occasionally visited the necessary room, drank her tea, and slept some more. In fact, her sleeping pattern was beginning to worry her somewhat. She seemed to want to sleep almost constantly now. It was a heavy, dreamless slumber, like the sleep of someone with no reason for getting out of bed. Often she’ d awaken, briefly assess that her situation remained unchanged, then roll over and go back to sleep. The rooms had no windows, no chronometer, no way to gauge the passage of time. Perhaps all this sleep was doing her some good, since her wounded parts were beginning to feel considerably better. Still, Corry soon realized that she was sleeping just to keep herself from going insane. Corry was just laying down to sleep some more when the door suddenly opened. She rose as Brigadier Kerla entered, followed by several other Klingons in uniform. Corry was surprised at how relieved she was to see him, and swiftly fought away an overwhelming urge to smile, reminding herself of all the pain and humiliation she’d suffered at his hands. He stepped closer, gazing down at her from his great height. He looked her over once, then said, “The chancellor wishes to speak with you.” “The chancellor is here?” Corry exclaimed. He didn’t reply, but motioned toward the door. This gets better every minute, Corry thought inwardly. Shaking her head, she rose and followed the Klingon guards out of the room. Kerla fell in behind her and they headed up the long, sloping tunnel. Corry could feel Kerla’s eyes burning into her back, and shuddered as a sudden chill coursed up her spine, resisting the urge to turn and look at him. She followed the guards through a narrow doorway, down a small flight of stairs, and into a room where small couches were scattered in a haphazard pattern. Tall metal sculptures reached to the ceiling, and climbing plants wound their tendrils hungrily through the abstract shapes, draping to the floor in green cascades. Chancellor Azetbur sat on a couch on the far side of the room, a tall, slim glass of dark liquid in one hand. Kerla dismissed the guards with a gesture, then nudged Corry forward until they stood before the chancellor. “I require information,” the Klingon woman said, gazing at Corry with calm authority. “I think that’s my line,” Corry replied, anger rising swiftly in her chest. There was a light nudge of warning on her back. A tiny smile creased the chancellor’s mouth. “Perhaps we can help each other.” She leaned back, resting a long arm on the back of the couch. “Tell me everything you know about the Federations plan to overthrow the Klingon High Council,” she said, studying Corry closely. Corry stared dumbstruck. She took a moment to consider how best to reply. “Madame Chancellor,” she said at last, “if the Federation has a plan to overthrow your government, they didn’t see fit to share it with me.” The chancellors face darkened slightly, her eyes narrowing. “You think I’m a spy?” Corry asked incredulously. “A spy, perhaps,” the chancellor replied, gazing at Corry thoughtfully. “Or just a clever distraction.” “Look,” Corry said, choosing her words carefully, “I came here to negotiate a treaty in good faith, nothing more. I am not a spy, nor do I have any knowledge of a plan to overthrow your government. And if you’re implying that the Federation is using these negotiations as a ruse to cover up some invasion plan, well...” Corry sighed, then threw her hands up in the air. “If that’s the case, I guess they got it over on both of us.” Azetbur did not reply, watching Corry closely. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to bring me here,” Corry said, feeling she no longer had anything to lose. “What do you intend to do with me?” “There were four Federation emissaries on Kronos. You are the only one left alive,” the chancellor told her. She took a sip of her drink and gave the words a moment to sink in. “If the Federation is involved in this coop, they will want all of you dead in order to spur public support for an invasion. This is the most dangerous scenario, since the threat of exposure will make them desperate to eliminate us all. If, as you say, the Federation is not involved, then they will surely want you back alive, in order to keep the peace process moving forward. This makes you a valuable commodity, in either case.” Corry’s recent meal began to churn in hard spasms in her stomach, the sour taste of it rising into the back of her throat. The chancellor’s words had instantly reduced Corry’s humanity, her life, into nothing more than a bargaining chip in a high-stakes game that was bigger than all of them. Azetbur stared at her a moment longer, watching with interest the play of Corry’s thoughts across her face. Then, apparently having gotten everything she needed, she waved her hand once in a dismissing gesture. Kerla took Corry by the arm and escorted her from the room. They walked in silence back to Corry’s cell. Corry swiped at the tears rolling down her face, furious at the way they came unbidden and unwelcome, an outward sign of her human weakness. Kerla had already sensed her anger and fear, and now caught the warm, salty scent of her tears in his nostrils. At the doorway to her cell, he tugged on her arm until she looked at him, her eyes hard, sparkling with fear and pride. He studied her face a long moment, then wordlessly touched a finger to the wetness on her right cheek. “What does this mean?” he demanded. She trembled, wanting to slap his hand away. Her body did not respond, as if paralyzed by the power of his grip on her arm. “It means,” she uttered, looking into his dark eyes, “I want to get the hell out of here.” He gazed at her a moment. Then he smiled slightly, nodding his head, and released her arm. Still trembling, Corry backed away and entered her cell. The spell was finally broken as the door slid shut between them. Corry lowered herself onto the bed and buried her face in the blankets, at last releasing the floodgates and giving in to the emotions she’d held at bay for so long. Time resumed its slow and immeasurable pace, and soon Corry had escaped once more into the blackness of dreamless sleep. Chapter Eight Sulu glanced over at Mr. Spock, who was seated beside him. The Vulcan stared forward stoically, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Hikaru sighed softly, struggling hard to hide his discomfort. They had boarded the Klingon transport just inside the neutral zone, a broken-down thing that looked more fit for a junkyard than for space travel. The two Klingons at the helm had been arguing loudly the entire journey, sometimes raising their fists and shaking them in each others faces, and Sulu expected them to come to blows any minute. All of this didn’t seem to phase Mr. Spock at all, or Officer Makkon who was seated just behind the pilots chair. As much as Sulu tried to imitate their lack of concern, his nerves were swiftly becoming frazzled. The ship jolted violently, and Sulu’s hands instinctively sprang to the armrests. The two Klingons in the cockpit exchanged another round of harsh remarks and insults. Spock looked over at Sulu. “Are you all right, captain?” he inquired. Sulu grinned at him mirthlessly. “Ride’s a bit rougher than I’m used to.” “Mmm.” Spock nodded, considering a moment. “It would appear the ships stabilizers require adjusting.” “Right,” Sulu muttered, clutching the armrests as the vessel shuddered spasmodically. The Vulcan had always had a knack for stating the obvious. One of the Klingon pilots turned and bellowed at length. Officer Makkon nodded, then looked over at Sulu and Spock. “We are approaching Kronos,” he said. Thank God, Sulu thought, but refrained from saying it aloud. “Remember, this is a trading port for slaves,” Makkon told them, his eyes betraying that he was aware of the Federations views on slavery, but didn’t much care. “You are here to examine the merchandise, nothing more. Do not answer any questions, understand?” They both nodded, and Makkon turned to converse once more with the Klingon pilots. Once again, the ship shuddered, then jolted with a loud bang. Overhead, a piece of the interior plating came loose and swung down, narrowly missing Sulu’s head, and continued to swing above him gracefully, a shower of dust and dirt cascading from the opening. Sulu coughed, swiping dirt from his face. “We’ll be on the ground soon,” Spock reassured him in a low voice. “Not soon enough for me,” Sulu responded, and didn’t care if the Klingons overheard. *************** Corry was eating her evening meal, some sort of pungent stew and a hunk of that chewy, black bread, when her cell door slammed open and two stern-faced soldiers came stamping toward her. The forwardmost man pushed her tray aside, took her arm and plucked her to her feet while the other hovered in the doorway, rifle held ready. The soldier gave Corry a shove toward the doorway, barking something that Corry assumed meant, “Move it.” Lord have mercy, she thought, here we go again. Corry’s heart began to pound faster, her hands and feet quickly turned cold, but she offered no resistance as the soldier pushed her through the doorway. Following his indication, Corry turned right and headed down the long, sloping corridor. They passed numerous small doorways and dark, adjoining corridors, then made a sharp right turn at the end of the long tunnel. Here, the floor sloped upward in a gentle incline. Close behind her, the two soldiers exchanged remarks in low voices. Suddenly, one of the men grabbed Corry’s arm and they all halted. Fear gripped Corry’s heart, uncertain what to expect next. For a long moment, the three of them stood there in the semi-darkness, the Klingons listening intently, looking back the way they had come. Trying to slow her breathing, Corry shivered convulsively. She felt an amazing lack of desire to inquire as to what was going on. Corry had decided long ago that the less she knew of Klingon political intrigue the better. Her existence had become an insane roller coaster ride from one traumatic moment to the next. Corry had lost all sense of time. Her previous life seemed now like a distant memory, those wonderful days when she took her personal safety for granted. Now she was like a piece of flotsam on the seashore, propelled back and forth by a relentless surf, her ultimate destination a matter of fate, fortune, dumb luck, and a hundred other forces beyond her control. Gradually, Corry’s mind had found a way to adapt to this new state of being. From here on out, she was going with the flow. As the three of them stood motionless, ears straining, there came a sound in the distance, muffled by the heavy walls. It was a sound like the faraway thunder of running horses, of human voices shouting to be heard. Without warning, the two Klingons whirled around. Snatching Corry by the arms, the three of them headed up the inclining corridor at a dead run. Corry’s aura of calm resignation quickly gave way to cold panic. They reached the top of the incline and were confronted with a huge, metal door. One of the soldiers pounded hard on the door, muttering euphemisms under his breath as no response was forthcoming. The two men exchanged harsh remarks, followed by more pounding and even more graphic euphemisms. Standing between them, Corry looked from one soldier to the other. She noted with mounting concern that they looked about as close to a state of panic as she had ever seen a Klingon. Just then, and to the obvious relief of the two soldiers, the metal door swung open. Kerla motioned sharply for them to enter, then quickly sealed the door behind them. They entered a large, circular room, with darkened doorways and small, narrow passages studding the entire circumference of the room. Kerla barked orders and the two soldiers turned and disappeared into one of the doorways. Without a word, he took Corry’s arm and directed her into a different doorway. They were immediately engulfed in darkness. Corry reached out into the blackness with her free hand, her eyes unable to penetrate the void. Kerla was moving fast, much faster than Corry cared to go without the benefit of her eyesight. She could only surmise that he had memorized these corridors down to the last detail, or that his eyes were better equipped for night vision than her own. In either case, Corry tried hard not to resist as he hauled her around a turn and suddenly pulled up short. “There are steps here,” he said, putting her hand on a cold, metal railing. “Go up, quickly.” Both hands on the railing, Corry stepped up as fast as she could, Kerla right on her heels all the way. They reached a small landing, he directed her to the left, then they climbed another long set of stairs. Corry’s heart pounded painfully. She negotiated the steps as quickly as she could, running blind, propelled onward by the urgency in Kerla’s voice, no longer concerned about what or whom they were running from. She was moving so fast by the time they reached the top of the stairwell that she would have slammed headlong into the metal door blocking the exit, had Kerla not grabbed a handful of her tunic and pulled her up short. He came around her and pushed the heavy door open. Sunlight burst through the opening, blinding Corry as effectively as the darkness had. She shielded her eyes with both hands, struggling against the discomfort to get a look around. They had emerged in a small, crudely carved cavern. At the far end, the cavern opened onto a wide expanse of barren land, almost a desert except for a few haggard-looking bushes dotting the landscape. Kerla took her by the wrist and they sprinted out of the cavern, heading across the blistering terrain at a dead run. Corry cursed her short legs, running for all she was worth and feeling very much like the last man on a “crack the whip.” At any moment, she half expected Kerla to fling her forward and send her sprawling under her own momentum. A few meters ahead, Corry could see that the land fell away, dropping into a steep, sloping dune which terminated at another expanse of flatland, this one expanding to the horizon. As they approached the top of the dune, the ground on Corry’s left suddenly exploded. Sand and debris pelted them like tiny bullets. Corry cried out as another explosion followed, then another. She threw up her hand to shield her face from flying dirt and rocks. Then, suddenly, they were over the edge. Their feet sank into the deep, hot sand and their momentum sent them tumbling helplessly down the enormous hill. Corry squeezed her eyes shut, tucked her arms in and tried unsuccessfully to roll like a log. She came to a stop face-down in the burning sand, her brain spinning in a desperate effort to get reoriented. She raised her head, spitting sand from her mouth, when Kerla grabbed her by the tunic and plucked her to her feet. “Keep moving!” he shouted. Up ahead, a small ship rested beneath a sand-colored tarp. They sprinted the distance in less than a minute. Kerla pointed sharply to the ropes staked around the forward section of the ship. “Pull those stakes up,” he hollered, and ran to pull the stakes on the other side. Corry came to the first stake and yanked it out of the ground with a mighty heave. Swearing under her breath, she did the same to the remaining three. Kerla pulled the tarp clear of the ship, then hit a sequence of buttons on a panel near the hatch. Just as the hatch whirred and popped open, the earth next to Kerla’s foot exploded. Corry ducked away, looking back toward the top of the huge sand dune. Small, dark figures were visible, weapons flashing in the sunlight. Kerla whirled and fired a fierce volley, forcing the attackers to hastily retreat. “Get in,” Kerla ordered, waving Corry toward the open hatch. She quickly ducked into the small opening. Kerla climbed in after her and pulled the hatch closed behind him. Corry found herself in a tiny shuttle, the kind used for short surface-to-surface hops. The air inside was stifling, almost too thick to breathe. There was a lone pilots seat at the front of the vessel, and four closely packed passenger seats behind. To the rear were numerous control panels and a small storage compartment. Kerla pushed Corry into a seat on his way to the cockpit. In a moment, Corry heard the drone of the engine warming to life. Abruptly, the engine noise was drown out by the percussion of small weapons fire pelting the outer hull. Corry gripped the arms of her chair as the muffled explosions became more intense. Suddenly, the small vessel lifted away from the ground and accelerated rapidly, the sudden velocity sending Corry’s stomach reeling. In the viewport, the ground shrank away as the tiny transport gained altitude. In a few moments, the air began to clear as ventilators kicked in. Corry drew a breath and released it slowly. Over the sound of the engines, Corry could hear Kerla’s labored breathing. He worked the controls deftly, pouring more speed into the ships tiny engine. Corry rose and joined him in the cockpit, gazing out the viewport at the unfamiliar terrain. “Where’s the chancellor,” she inquired. He did not look at her, his long fingers punching at the controls. “Safe, for now.” She watched him closely. “Where are we going?” Kerla did not reply. His hands ceased their busy movements and came to rest on the edge of the console. Slowly, the huge Klingon began to pitch forward onto the controls, his chest heaving as though struggling to catch his breath. Instinctively, Corry grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to hold him upright. “Hey,” she said. “What’s the matter?” He fell back into the chair, and Corry could see for the first time that the front of his tunic was soaked with blood. “Oh, my god!” she cried, trying to save him as he pitched from the chair. Helpless to do little more than cushion his fall, they both crashed to the deck. Corry struggled to extricate herself, then knelt beside him, pulling up his tunic. There was a small hole in the right side of his abdomen, just below the rib cage, bleeding steadily. “Oh, my god,” Corry repeated. She pressed her palm to the wound, pushing hard. Kerla uttered a roar of pain, a sound that shot terror through her heart like a spear, but she managed to continue pressing on the wound. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Kerla spoke in Klingonese, drawing breath with a great effort. Corry shook her head, fighting the fear that was rising in her stomach. “I don’t understand you,” she cried. Kerla drew a breath. “The ship...” he managed. “you....land.” “Are you crazy?” Corry exclaimed. “I don’t know how to fly this thing!” He gazed up at her, then a tiny smile creased the corners of his mouth. “Don’t...crash.” She stared at him, agog. He fell silent, his breathing becoming more labored. “You can’t do this to me,” she uttered. The tiny smile appeared again, then his eyes closed and he fell unconscious, breathing in sharp, difficult gasps. Corry’s hand began to go numb. She swiftly exchanged hands and continued applying pressure to Kerla’ s wound. This time, he did not cry out. Corry looked up at the viewport, the landscape rushing by in a colorful blur. “Oh, shit,” she whispered.