Demands of Honor (23 page)

“Kirk out.”

Fuller closed his communicator and turned to the landing party. It was time to tell his people what they were up against.

“Are you mad?” Koloth said to Karel, shouting. Most of the crew were on their feet by now and looking over at their captain and first officer.

“It is the one thing that Duras doesn't expect, the one response he cannot plan for,” Karel said.

“But the Earthers …”

“Captain, we have no weapons that can reach Duras, no method of stopping him from destroying us and our brothers. He left us with our uniforms, our hand weapons, and our communicators—and only one of those things can help us now.”

“But the Earthers are our enemies.”

“I would say that Duras, who threatens us all and insults the honor of the empire, is our enemy. We are not at war with the Earthers at the moment. When we are, I will leave not one of them standing. Until then, the enemy of my enemy—”

“Is still my enemy but may be useful,” Koloth said, finishing the phrase.

Karel lowered his voice. “I have told you my brother's story. This Kirk is an honorable man. He risked his own life and the lives of his crew to protect this world from Duras's greed and treachery once before. Kirk earned my brother's loyalty, and we have nothing to lose by seeking a temporary alliance with him now.”

Koloth silently considered Karel for a moment. The captain was weighing his suggestion and Karel could see that it was not because of its merits as a plan but because as unpleasant as it was, it was their only option—at least the only one that had even a chance of stopping Duras.

Yet Karel could see the resistance in his commander and understood it. Klingons were raised on tales of Earthers' treachery and cowardice. Officers in the Klingon Defense Force were schooled on similar stories about Starfleet. Kirk held a special place in many of those stories.

Karel's brother Kell had proven the falsehood of those tales, and Karel had told Koloth his brother's story. However, a single wild report from his first officer might not be enough to combat all the information fed to Koloth in his lifetime and career.

“Better for a warrior to die with his pride intact,” he said.

“And better still to take victory with honor,” Karel said.

“Then know this: if I humble myself before this Earther and we do not taste victory, you will be immediately demoted from first officer to a junior
trainee
weapons officer.”

Karel smiled at that. If they did not taste victory—and soon—they would never live to return to the ship. On that level, the risk to Karel's career was small. “Fair terms, Captain,”

The last batch of phaser rifles came down and Fuller distributed them. He had offered Adon and his people phasers, but they had politely refused. They were more comfortable with the particle-beam pistols they had recovered from the Orion mine. Fuller understood. It was better to go into a fight with weapons you knew well. And from what Fuller had seen as Adon and his people took practice shots, they knew their weapons very well indeed.

He also saw them practicing with swords he clearly recognized as
mek'leths
—a small variation on the
bat'leth
that he had seen used to such deadly effect at the Battle of Donatu V. Quite a few of the people seemed skilled with the weapons, moving like masters of a refined martial art. From what Fuller understood, the
weapons were for hunting and sport. Until recently, there had been no fighting among clans in this planet's history for as far back as it could be measured.

Until the Klingons came,
he thought.

Fuller had to remind himself that these natives
were
Klingons, at least biologically. Perhaps they represented what Klingons could have become or should have remained had they not spent centuries perfecting methods of killing one another and then exported those methods to the stars.

Now Klingons were nothing more than a disease infecting the galaxy, devouring everything in their path—even these innocent people who represented whatever Klingons had that passed for a better nature. Well, whatever the empire's plans were today, Fuller would do his best to keep them from being successful. In this endeavor, at least, he had the help of two full squads of Starfleet officers and an unlikely group of natives.

When that job was done, Fuller hoped he would have an opportunity to do even more. He would take the kind of action that was necessary when dealing with species like the Klingons, but that the Federation too often refused to take out of principle. Well, survival was the only principle Fuller respected now. His job was to help ensure the Federation survived. He had seen too many people—Sam included—give their lives to protect it.

Fuller would do what he had to do now to see that those sacrifices were not in vain, and that would mean getting his hands dirty. He was determined to do whatever it took.

“Fuller,” a voice called from behind him, and Fuller turned to see Andrews approach him.

“Sam …” It was impossible; Sam Andrews had given his life twenty-five years ago so that Fuller could have a chance to return home to see his son born. He had named his son after Sam Andrews….

“Fuller, are you okay?” Greenberger asked. Andrews disappeared and in his place stood Section Chief Greenberger. The man was thinner than Andrews, without even a hint of resemblance between them. How in heaven's name had Fuller seen Andrews in him? He knew the answer to that, and he knew it wasn't good. It didn't say much for his long-term mental health prospects.

Of course, Fuller had ceased worrying about his long-term prospects years ago. Whatever good he accomplished, he would have to do in the short term. Still, he willed himself to keep it together. He owed that much to the men and women who were still depending on him to see them through this mission.

“I'm fine. Let's take our inventory,” he said.

He and Greenberger walked through the assembled Starfleet and native people. Adon had two weapons platforms, and Fuller had seen Adon and the young woman in action—they were expert pilots. The natives also had an ore hauler, which Adon had stolen from the mine on the day he had taken the dilithium. Adon's people wanted nothing to do with the hauler because it was slow and lumbering. To Fuller, it seemed like a good armored vehicle that would provide cover and a mobile defensive position. And Quatrocchi would be able to fly it.

They had fourteen security people, each with a phaser II pistol and a phaser rifle, which for the moment were slung over their backs. They also had forty native men and women, half of whom were armed with Orion pistols
and all of whom carried the Klingon swords. Adon had offered blades to the security officers, and Fuller had left the decision up to the individuals. All of them had accepted except for Parmet and, of course, Fuller himself. He had held and used an authentic
bat'leth
years ago and had not picked up another Klingon-built weapon voluntarily since.

Adon stood in front of his people and addressed them in their language. Fuller noted that some traditions crossed almost all cultures, though it was jarring to hear Klingon spoken by this young man he had come to respect.

Fuller took his position in the ore hauler with his squad. Greenberger and the others were in front of them below and would make up the ground forces. Fuller began, “You all know why we are here. Our mission is clear: stop the Klingons from getting a foothold in Federation space. For the moment, they are in league with certain native elements and have control of the dilithium mine. But the dilithium they came for is safely on board the
Enterprise.
It's going to be up to us to see to it that this is a total loss for the empire today. We're going to take the mine and make sure it is never used against the Federation. Now, it won't be easy. We'll be attacking a fortified position and facing greater numbers who will be very well armed. On the other hand, I have seen for myself what you are capable of. And we do have some help.” Fuller gestured to the natives assembled around Adon. “It has been an honor and a privilege to serve with you on the
Enterprise.
We've lost good people to the Klingons, and yet it seems like we are barely in the beginning of what may come. Well, today, we can have something to say
about how things will end. The empire understands one thing: force. Up until now they have been a race of conquerors who have moved virtually unchecked through their portion of the galaxy. Starfleet and the Federation have different beliefs, we live by different principles, but we also understand force. And today I say we teach the Klingons about that force. They have fought humans before and have not won a single major battle against us. I think it's time for another lesson.”

There were nods of approval from the officers around Fuller. They had the look of people ready to do their jobs. He looked over at Adon. The young man boarded his platform as the young woman next to him did the same. Fuller nodded and Quatrocchi started powering up the hauler. In less than a minute, they were in the air.

Fuller opened his communicator and hit a button programmed by Ensign Jawer. A channel opened immediately to Adon. “We're ready,” Fuller said.

“So are we,”
the young man replied.

“Then let's move out,” Fuller called out as Adon did the same to his people. The group started moving. They might have looked like a motley group of officers and primitively dressed hunters, but as a strike force they were in pretty good shape. They had fast attack craft, an armored vehicle, and dedicated, highly motivated ground forces.

Fuller was beginning to think they might actually have a chance.

Kirk listened with surprise to Koloth's story. Of course, he was immediately wary of a trick. He had suspected
dissension on board the Klingon warship, but a dispute of this nature with a member of the High Council? “What are you proposing, Captain?” Kirk asked.

“I propose that you use your transporters to move myself and my crew to Councillor Duras's position. We will handle the situation from there.”
Koloth's voice was pained, which Kirk understood. If his story was true, Kirk guessed that it had taken quite a bit for him to ask the
Enterprise
for help. Klingon pride would have made that request difficult indeed. Even given the life-and-death nature of the situation, Kirk guessed that the decision to do it had been a near thing for Koloth.

“Provided that you are successful, what would happen next?” Kirk asked.

“Next?”

“What are your orders regarding the planet below?”

“I see. My orders were to deliver Duras for his
diplomatic
mission. Pending completion of that mission—either with success or failure—I have standing orders to return to the empire. I intend to follow those orders.”
After a moment, Koloth added,
“I do not forget my debts, or my honor, Captain. Though I do not fear war with the Federation, or battle with you, I do not intend to begin either. And I will not allow thousands of my brothers to die in service of a lie.”

Much of what Koloth said made sense. If Duras was in command of the mission and Koloth was in command of the ship, there was bound to be conflict between them, particularly if the mission was the murder of thousands of Klingons.

And yet, the Klingons had lured the
U.S.S. Endeavour
into a trap at Donatu V. Even if Koloth was telling the truth, this diplomatic mission to the system was a cover to destroy a world and plunge the galaxy into war. Was Koloth's request yet another deceit?

“One moment, Captain,” Kirk said. Then he motioned to Uhura, who suspended the transmission. “Thoughts?”

“Koloth's story does fit all the facts,” Spock said.

“Could they sabotage the ship through the transporters somehow, Scotty?” Kirk asked.

“Not likely, and I can take extra precautions,” the chief engineer answered.

“They would be able to give the landing party some help,
if
he's telling the truth,” McCoy said.

That was it, the only question that mattered. Klingons had killed Sam Fuller and other members of Kirk's crew on Starbase 42. Could he trust Koloth and his people to help Sam's father now? Kirk had all the information he would have, and he was out of time for this decision. As with most of the important calls he'd made in the center seat, he would have to trust his gut.

“Mister Scott, ready the transporter,” Kirk said. “Lieutenant Uhura.” He heard the click of an open line. “Captain Koloth, prepare your people for transport.”

“Captain, the Klingon vessel is powering its weapons,” Spock said calmly.

“Red alert!” Kirk said, immediately on his feet. “Shields on maximum. Full power to phasers and arm photon torpedoes. Lieutenant Uhura, inform Captain Koloth that his request will have to wait.”

“The Klingon vessel is breaking orbit,” Spock said.

The sound of the red-alert klaxon filled the bridge
now. “Battle stations. Mister Sulu, get us out of orbit. Give us some maneuvering room.”

Well, it looked as if Koloth had been telling the truth after all. However, at the moment, there was nothing Kirk could do about it.

KRAETIAN SPACE STATION

NEAR THE FEDERATION-KLINGON BORDER

“A
MBASSADOR,
I
AM RECEIVING
a message from the Kraetian administrator. He says our
relief team
will arrive shortly via high-speed shuttle,” Fitzpatrick said.

Could it be Starfleet …?

“Acknowledge the message. Ask where and when we can meet them,” Fox said.

Fitzpatrick nodded. “We're not expecting a relief team. Sir, what's going on?”

Fox assembled the others and said, “I think Starfleet is mounting a rescue. We can't be sure because the last message from President Wescott included a code that said our communications may have been compromised. We have to assume that this is a rescue attempt. This will likely be our only chance. Carry only what you
must. We'll leave all the equipment behind.” Fox didn't have to tell his people to take their weapons. They wore their laser pistols at all times, even while they slept—which for the last few nights they had done all together in the common room.