Chapter Nine Sulu glanced around uncomfortably. All around them, Klingons conversed in small groups, many of them drinking some frothy substance that smelled like vinegar. A handful of other alien beings were milling around, mostly rough-looking types from distant worlds throughout the Klingon Empire. The air was thick with the scent of leather, and vinegar, and Klingons. Aside from an occasional disdainful glance, the Klingons paid little mind to Sulu and Spock. Officer Makkon was on the far side of the room, having a lively discussion with a pair of Klingons dressed colorful tunics. A short, hairy biped carrying a tray of glasses filled with the vinegar stuff approached and held the tray out to Sulu and Spock. “No, thanks,” Sulu scowled, holding up a hand. He was stunned when Mr. Spock reached over and lifted a glass from the tray. Wordlessly, the biped creature wandered away. Spock sipped the contents of his glass, Sulu watching with interest to see what his reaction would be. “Hmm,” the Vulcan uttered, studying the dark brown liquid. “I believe this is what the Klingons call Woukua.” “Woukua?” Spock sampled the contents again, then nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “Yes, fermented bloodroot.” Sulu cringed, looking away. Makkon rejoined them. “A shipmen of slaves left here last night,” he told them in a low voice. “Two of your emissaries were among them.” “Where was the shipment headed?” Sulu inquired. “The rim territories,” Makkon replied. He glanced around, wary of eavesdroppers. “There are hundreds of remote colonies there, farming settlements, mining operations. There are no records kept of slave exchanges. They’ll never be found.” “What of the other two emissaries?” asked Spock. “The rumor is that one was publicly executed,” Makkon told them gravely. Sulu bristled, and quickly fought away an urge to exclaim his indignation. “We don't know if it's true,” Makkon added. “Communications have been knocked out all over Kronos, so no one knows for certain what has happened. There’s no word at all about the fourth emissary.” “How should we proceed?” Spock inquired. “I have a reliable source at the Military Command Center,” Makkon replied. “I’ve sent word that we are here. All we can do is wait for her to make contact with us.” Great, thought Captain Sulu, looking around morosely. ************** “Oh, lord, we’re gonna die,” Corry uttered, frantically examining the controls. The display was a puzzlement, a collection of winking lights and buttons with Klingon symbols on them. It was obvious, even to a rookie pilot like Corry, that Kerla had programmed the ship to fly on some sort of auto-pilot, since it was flawlessly holding course, flying low over the rugged terrain. A high-pitched alarm caused Corry to jump. Klingon words flashed on a tiny screen in bright orange. Corry studied the display, scowling deeply. The ship was apparently trying to tell her something. “What the hell is it?” she said aloud, as if the console might actually answer. Behind her, Kerla snarled something in Klingonese. Corry turned in the chair. He was up on one elbow, clutching his wounded side tightly. He looked at her, drew in a painful breath and pointed. “Look...” She looked out the viewport. At some point, the desert terrain had given way to jungle, the dense, green foliage streaking by in a colorful blur. Corry’s eyes widened. Straight ahead, an enormous mountain was rising out of the landscape, swiftly growing taller and wider as the tiny ship accelerated forward on a direct collision course. “Hey,” Corry uttered fearfully, “I need a little help here!” Once again, Kerla muttered in his native tongue. Corry whirled and shouted, “Speak English!” He swore under his breath, battling against the waves of searing pain coursing through his abdomen. Kerla pointed, “Lever...top of the console...pull it down.” Corry looked over the console. There was only one lever, so she reached over and pulled it down. Instantly, the ship angled downward into a nose-dive. Corry screamed, her hands clutching the edges of the console. Kerla waved a hand frantically. “Steer!” Corry looked down. A small joystick jutted up from the console. She grabbed it, instinctively yanking back on it to pull them out of the dive. The ship swerved into a vertical climb, sending Kerla tumbling backward to land at the base of the passenger seats. He roared in pain, the sudden intensity of it nearly plunging him back into unconsciousness. Corry swore aloud, quickly pushing the joystick forward and overcompensating in the other direction. The huge Klingon slid hard into the back of the pilots chair, swearing a mighty oath and grabbing onto the edge of the seat. “Dammit,” Corry uttered between clenched teeth. She pulled up on the joystick again, gently this time, and brought them back onto a relatively steady course. The cursed thing was so sensitive that any little movement of the joystick caused the ship to react. Up ahead, the enormous mountain was approaching rapidly. “What do I do?” she cried. “Put us down,” Kerla snarled. He pointed at a large dial on Corry’s right. “Turn it left...reduce the speed.” She reached for it. “Slowly!” he bellowed. Corry carefully turned the dial counter clockwise. The ships engines whined as reverse thrusters kicked in, and their speed dropped rapidly. As it slowed, the small vessel quickly began to lose altitude. “Wait,” Corry said. “Where am I supposed to land?” She scanned to terrain ahead, looking for an open spot. There was no break in the tree cover, just an endless canopy of green. Just then, to her right, Corry spotted an area of bright blue. “Hey,” she said, “will this thing float?” There was no reply. Kerla was unconscious, slumped at the base of the pilots chair. Guess we’ll find out soon enough, Corry thought, carefully turning the joystick and angling the ship downward. She reduced their speed, turning the knob until it couldn’t turn anymore, but it still seemed to be coming in much too fast. With a fearful sound, Corry eased the joystick back, bringing the nose of the ship up as the surface of the small lake came streaking toward them. She braced herself, grasping the edge of the console with her free hand, as the ship plunged into the water. With the nose in the air, the aft section hit the water first, then with a terrible noise the front of the ship came down hard, slamming Corry forward into the console. The machine cut a huge swath through the calm surface of the lake, the forward momentum of the ship forcing its nose under the water. For a terrifying moment, Corry thought the vessel was going to flip over. They decelerated almost instantly, and soon the small ship was bobbing wildly on the huge waves caused by its unexpected arrival. Corry lay against the cold surface of the console, her lip bleeding where she had struck it, her head pounding from the impact. She became vaguely conscious of the sound of trickling water, and pushed herself upright, one hand clutching her neck. Every muscle in the back of her neck was constricting into a painful knot, making it hard to turn her head. Behind her, Kerla stirred, and Corry climbed gingerly out of the pilots chair to check on his condition. His breathing was labored, the wound in his abdomen bleeding profusely. He scowled at her, then looked around. A pool of water was edging its way rapidly past the passenger chairs. “We’re sinking,” he uttered, then waved a hand toward the hatch. “Must get out.” Corry stood and reached for the hatch release. The hatch sprang open, and water poured into the opening with the force of a burst dam, pushing Corry back and almost taking her feet out from under her. The small ship began to sink rapidly, pitching astern. Clearly, they only had seconds to get out before the ship filled completely. Corry grabbed Kerla’s arm and attempted in vain to hoist him to his feet. “C’mon!” she shouted frantically. Clutching his wounded side, Kerla grabbed the pilots chair with his other hand and struggled to his feet. Corry put his good arm over her shoulders and steered him toward the hatch. The water was rushing in with such force that it took all of her strength to move forward against it. The ship was pitching steeply astern, making their escape an uphill battle. When they neared the open hatch, Kerla put a hand on Corry’s back and pushed her through the opening. She went under the water briefly, getting a noseful, then surfaced a few feet from the sinking vessel. Kerla threw himself forward , his immense frame barely clearing the small hatch, and kicked clear of the ship only seconds before it blew out a huge gasp of trapped air and swiftly disappeared beneath the surface. Kicking hard to keep herself above water, Corry looked around. They weren’t far from the shore, perhaps a quarter mile. Kerla was struggling, in too much pain and too weakened from loss of blood to swim effectively. She swam over and came around behind him. She reached around and took hold of his tunic, supporting his chin with her arm, and began kicking for the shore. He struggled against her for a moment, but the pain in his side was intense. Reluctantly, he was forced to relent, and allowed Corry to pull him along. It was a much longer swim than Corry had estimated, and there were moments when she thought she would never reach land, or that her body would give out and they would both sink like stones to the bottom of the lake. Her progress was made all the more difficult by having to swim for the both of them. It was almost forty-five minutes before Corry’s feet finally touched bottom. She hauled Kerla toward the shore, the muscles in her legs burning from the exertion. She dragged him as far as she could, until gravity took over and the weight of his body exceeded the little strength she had left. Kerla used what little strength he himself had, and pushed with his feet, using his good arm to pull himself up onto the shore. He managed to get most of the way out of the water before they both collapsed, heaving and exhausted. Corry’s body felt like it was weighted with lead, her muscles gone limp. The pain in the back of her neck was so severe that she couldn’t turn her head. She rolled onto her side and scowled at Kerla. “Apparently, our luck in shuttlecraft is no better than our luck in cars,” she told him flatly. He only shook his head, his eyes tightly closed. A movement made Corry look up. An enormous Klingon was coming toward them, looking unlike any Klingon Corry had ever seen before. His hair was wildly disheveled, worn almost to his waist, with numerous small objects woven into it. His cranial ridges were much more pronounced, his forehead broader and more prominent than the Klingons Corry was familiar with, and his teeth jutted outward from his mouth in a crooked overbite, giving him a much fiercer appearance. He was wearing unusual clothing as well, dark broadcloth and an animal skin cape, and he carried a huge, wicked-looking weapon in his hands, a crudely carved wooden handle sporting a multi-edged blade. The man came stamping toward them, his eyes fixed on Corry and narrowed into angry slits. He was followed by a handful of similarly unhappy-looking men and women, who obviously had the same tailor and shared the same taste in weaponry. The huge man bellowed a stream of angry remarks in Klingonese, raising his weapon. “Kerla?” Corry said urgently. He had fallen unconscious once more. Chapter Ten It seemed much longer to Captain Sulu, but it was nearly two hours before Officer Makkon’s promised contact arrived at the decrepit port station terminal. She was extremely tall, even for a Klingon, and looked Sulu and Mr. Spock over with dark eyes adorned with blue and copper paint that gave her the appearance of wearing a mask. Sulu supposed she was actually quite beautiful, for a Klingon woman, and noted that many of her male counterparts in the room had marked her arrival with sounds of approval. She exchange brief greetings with Officer Makkon, then said, “We can’t talk here. Follow me.” She led them out of the terminal, down the busy street outside. They dodged fast-moving transports and snarling beasts pulling wagons, until she turned off the main thoroughfare and headed down a narrow, deserted road lined with warehouses and tall, tubular structures resembling granaries. She slowed her pace somewhat, glancing behind them to ensure that they were not followed. “We can deliver the chancellor to you by tomorrow morning, if all goes well,” she said. “You will need to arrange off-planet transport.” “That’s already been done,” Makkon replied. “What of our Federation emissary?” Spock inquired. The woman halted, looking down at Spock. “We aren’t certain,” she said. “We only know that she was to be taken to the chancellors fortress. A few hours ago, we learned that the fortress had been attacked. The chancellor has been moved to another location. I’ve heard no news of the emissary.” “If she had been captured, we would have heard about it,” Makkon remarked. He looked at the Excelsior captain and added, “They’ll make a great show of it, use it to incite the people against the Federation.” “She’d be executed?” Sulu said, not really as a question, since he already knew what the answer was. Makkon only nodded. A distant explosion ended the conversation. Everyone listened. Not far away, somewhere in the streets nearby, there rose the sound of shouting voices and small weapons fire. Sulu’s heartbeat quickened as another explosion cut through the air, this one closer than the one before. At that moment, a young Klingon officer appeared further down the street. Catching sight of them, he hurried over to where they stood. The young officer and the Klingon woman conversed in quick, urgent tones, then he turned and sprinted back the way he had come. “Your presence here is known,” she told Sulu and Spock, then exchanged remarks with Officer Makkon. She looked once more at the Federation men. “Our time is running out. We will set the rendezvous, and contact you with the chancellors location.” She turned to leave, but Sulu reached for her arm. “And our emissary?” he said firmly. She held his gaze, but did not reply. When she made to leave once more, he held fast to her arm, causing her to turn with a look of warning. Sulu did not relent. “You don’t understand,” he told her sternly. “This isn’t about the chancellor any more. If they kill our emissary, then all of this is for nothing.” She looked from Sulu to Spock, who added, “We believe the Federation is already prepared to move against you.” Both she and Makkon stared at them in silence. The rumble of another distant explosion broke the moment. With a hard look at Makkon, she whirled and strode away. “Come,” Makkon said, an edge to his voice, “we must get off this street.” A crack of weapons fire nearby quickened their pace. Unbelievable, Sulu thought morosely. I never dreamed I’d be trying to save the damned Klingons from themselves! ******************* Spewing a litany of Klingon verbiage, the big man came stamping toward them. Corry’s eyes widened as he raised his crude weapon, preparing to strike. In a flash of astonishment, Corry suddenly realized that it was not she, but Kerla, who was about to be attacked. “No!” she cried, holding up a hand in a useless warding-off gesture. Just as the blow was about to fall, the shout of a harsh, Klingon voice caused the man to halt his attack in mid-swing. The huge man stood there a moment, his weapon hovering dangerously, staring down at Kerla’s unconscious form with obvious contempt. Corry held her breath, waiting for the wicked-looking blade to fall. The voice spoke again, more sharply this time. Breathing hard, the man slowly lowered his weapon. His eyes turned to Corry, his predatory expression causing her to shrink away. There was a movement behind him, and a Klingon woman came up alongside, gazing down with interest at the new arrivals, her eyes deeply recessed behind her prominent cranial ridge. She barked an order, which brought a rumble of protest from her disheveled companion. She looked at him fiercely, repeating her words in a soft and dangerous tone. With one last , hungry glare at Corry, the man whirled and stomped away. The Klingon woman looked down at Corry, muttering some remark in a disparaging tone. Then she gestured to her companions, who quickly swooped in, gathered Kerla into their arms and carried him away. Corry watched them go nervously, then looked up at the Klingon woman. “He needs help,” she said, causing the woman to scowl at her strange words. “He’s been wounded.” The Klingon woman uttered a low growl, her mouth screwing up into a toothy grin. Then she bent and grabbed Corry by her wet tunic and hauled her to her feet, simultaneously shoving her off in the direction of her companions. Corry staggered, barely keeping herself upright, one hand flying to her painfully frozen neck. She glanced back at the woman angrily, who snapped off another order, gesturing sharply for her to follow the others. “Okay, okay,” Corry uttered, and quickly complied. They followed a narrow trail through the dense underbrush, winding their way past trees with gigantic trunks covered with brown moss. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the strange calls of birds and animals and the scent of moist earth and plant pheromones. Corry trudged along behind as the three Klingons, two males and a female, carried Kerla’s limp form through a particularly dense patch of thorny vines, then emerged into wide clearing. Crude structures made of dried earth and grass were clustered around a long, rectangular pavilion. Moving amid the structures were Klingon adults of all ages, and youngsters ran here and there, ranging from mere toddlers to developing adolescents. The Klingons, perhaps thirty in all, stopped whatever they were doing and looked with interest as the small group approached. Curious and excited rumblings trailed the new arrivals as they passed the pavilion. A small child ran up and jabbed Corry in the arm with a sharp stick. “Hey!” Corry shouted, slapping a hand over the wound. The woman behind her chased the youngster off with a stern remark. The Klingons carried Kerla into one of the earth structures, and the Klingon woman roughly prodded Corry to follow them inside. Corry found herself in what she presumed to be a single-room house. Thatched mats covered the dirt floor on one side of the room, and the three Klingons proceeded to deposit Kerla carefully upon one. Tools, bowls, and various implements were scattered everywhere, and the walls were adorned with the shriveled bodies of birds and small animals. A shallow pit at the center of the house contained the remnants of a fire, and a single hole in the roof provided the only ventilation. Corry watched as the three Klingons began to carefully remove Kerla’s tunic, muttering softly between themselves as they examined the wound in his side. In a moment, one of them stood and hurriedly left. Without warning, Corry was shoved hard, sending her reeling across the room to land in a heap in the far corner. Corry’s anger swelled rapidly, and she whirled to look up as the huge Klingon woman approached. The woman stood over her, gazing down into Corry’s eyes, her expression blatantly challenging. She muttered what Corry presumed was an insult, then watched to see what Corry’s reaction would be. Corry’s temper almost managed to convince her to accept the woman’s challenge, the obvious consequences be damned. Fortunately, her good sense won out. Corry held the woman’s gaze, but stayed where she was. With a grin and a disparaging snort, the womanturned away and joined the others. Corry drew in several deep breaths,beating back her anger with surprising determination. The Klingons lost allinterest in her, turning their full attention to Kerla. Corry fell back against the wall, resting her pounding head against the hard, dirt surface. She had no desire at all to find out what would happen next. With my luck, she mused, rubbing her throbbing neck gingerly, I’ll be basting over a hot fire by nightfall.