Pawns and Symbols Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN: 0-7434-1977-4

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

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  Al, Cheryl, Chris, Julie, and especially Rhonda

  who were my first editors and critics

  One

  HER CHEEK FLAT against the lab table, Jean Czerny watched the slow drip of water from her improvised charcoal column. Barely two centimeters of water in the beaker since morning. Hunger no longer bothered her but she was very thirsty. She had to depend on ground water that seeped through the wreckage and dripped from the beam above her column. Drop by crystal drop it emerged from the column. She poured out half and drank it. Not enough. Listlessly, she picked up her lab log and looked at the last few entries.

  Quake yesterday. Alone in my lab wh—it started. Tried to get door open. Must have been hit by so—thing. Came to. Dark. Been calling for help all day. No answer. Can't move debris to get out.

  Headache bad today. No food, little water. No sign of anyone. Must have more water. Can't think well. Must rest.

  10/5/06?? Better today. Found ration bar in my lab drawer. Rigged a filter to catch ground water. Recovered my new strain quadrotriticale seed undamaged and stored it in the drivault. No sign of anyone. Can I hold out until the Enterprise arrives next week?

  The entries went on. On the sixth day she had written a long summary on her new quadrotriticale strain. The eighth day she had forgotten to write an entry. Yesterday she simply wrote:

  Very weak and thirsty.

  She picked up her pen and meticulously lettered:

  10/11/06 Ditto.

  She giggled, then began to cry. She added:

  Dear God, please don't let the Enterprise be late

  . . . . so tired … get a little sleep … a big drink of water … everything will be fine. . . .

  A resounding crash brought her struggling back to consciousness. Through a thick pall of dust she foggily made out two uniformed figures pushing into the lab. Everything was confused and indistinct.

  "Thank God, you made it," she mumbled and fainted again.

  Some things never change and one of them is the antiseptic smell of a sick bay. Before she even opened her eyes Jean knew she was in sick bay. She shifted slightly. The bed was very hard. She raised her head and opened her eyes. They wouldn't focus; "Dr. McCoy? Someone? Help, I can't see! What's wrong?"

  A dark face floated into view and hands pushed her back down firmly. "Doctor, she's coming around now."

  Not a voice she recognized—something funny about her hearing too—it didn't sound right. Another strange voice—"Lie still. You had a bad drug reaction but your vision will clear in a few minutes. Hand me that second dose now and the stim shot."

  Jean winced slightly at the sudden grip on her arm and the sharp stabbing sensation that followed. It didn't feel like the usual hypospray. And what was a stim shot? Whatever it was, it worked. Her head cleared, her shakiness disappeared, and her eyes began to focus. She stared up at the black canvas webbing of the bunk above her for several seconds before she realized that this couldn't be the Enterprise sick bay. She looked at the green-smocked figure standing beside her. "Where am I? Who are you?"

  At that moment three black- and gold-clad figures approached. "Commander, just in time. She has regained consciousness—wants to know where she is." Turning to Jean, the man added, "Since he is here, perhaps Commander Kang will enlighten you himself."

  The central of the three newcomers approached the foot of her bunk and smiled perfunctorily. Tall even by Klingon standards, muscular, with fine black hair, piercing eyes, and an expressive mouth, this commander wore his arrogance easily—as birthright. "Ah, Miss Czerny, you are feeling better I see. Dr. Eknaar has done well. You were in rather poor shape when I brought you aboard yesterday. As you see, you have the honor to be aboard a Klingon imperial battle cruiser—mine." He bowed slightly. "Commander Kang of the Imperial Fleet. We picked up your distress call from Sherman's planet but reconnoitered a day before responding because we've had false distress calls involving the Federation before. However, this one seemed to be genuine, so we rescued you."

  Klingons! Jean's mind raced past a dozen questions. Klingon attack? Sabotage? Their intentions? Other survivors? Her pulse must have raced too, for she saw both Kang and Eknaar glance at her bedside monitor. She would have to proceed very carefully. She picked a peripheral question. "Kang? I thought Commander Koloth was assigned to this sector."

  "We're here on special assignment." His eyes narrowed. "Is it usual for an agricultural specialist to be briefed on our military deployment or do you serve an additional function on Sherman's planet?"

  Jean tensed. "Given the situation, all of us at the Sherman's planet station are carefully briefed on Klingon movements. You can confirm that with any of my colleagues."

  "Unfortunately, I cannot. It seems you are the only survivor of the earthquake."

  Now the monitor was undoubtedly reflecting her rising blood pressure. She didn't believe him. "Someone must have survived to send out the distress signal. I certainly didn't," she snapped.

  "Yes, we did find a man in the communications room, but he expired shortly after our arrival. Before he died, I understand he said something about the Enterprise being due soon."

  Although she distrusted Kang, unfounded accusations were unlikely to be productive, Jean decided. Even if the Klingons were responsible for all or part of this disaster, honey would gain her more than vitriol at this point.

  Maybe. Swallowing her suspicions, she replied coolly, "Yes, the Enterprise is due any day now for a routine check. If I'm in fact the last survivor, let me express my gratitude for your response and aid. However, it won't be necessary to trouble you any further. If you'll return me to the station, I can wait for the Enterprise there."

  "Impossible." Kang smiled faintly. "I'm sure you understand the delicacy of the situation if our ship were found by the Enterprise at the scene of such an unfortunate tragedy to one of your research stations. We've already left that star system. You'll have ample opportunity to show your gratitude for my hospitality before it comes to an end."

  Maybe not. As she had feared, there was a barb in the bait of Klingon altruism. Might as well expose it now—they surely had her hooked
and netted. "Never let it be suggested that a Klingon would be guilty of so soft an emotion as compassion for a human. Why did you really rescue me, Kang? What do you want?"

  "Although I don't expect you to believe it, in fact, we rescued you without any prior expectations. However, we now find there are two simple things you can do: open this box of yours containing the new quadrotriticale seed and decipher these notes." He waved to one of the other Klingons who produced a notebook. Jean recognized her lab log.

  Her determination to remain cool suddenly vanished. "My new strain! You had no right to steal that from our station!" She sat bolt upright on the edge of the bunk, almost striking her head on the tier above in her haste. Amber lights blinked frantically on her monitor. Angrily, she brushed the connecting wires from her arm and temple. "Kidnapping and piracy! That's what it is!"

  "On the contrary, I rescued you and saved your life. Therefore, I have every right to you and your possessions. I don't intend to spend time arguing with you. Will you open the drivault and decipher your notes?"

  "I'll see you in the ninth ring of hell first."

  Kang shrugged. "It will be yours, my dear, not mine. We have ways of persuading one to see our point of view. Dr. Eknaar, start with the truth serum."

  The Klingon doctor had been trying ineffectually to ease Jean back into her bunk and monitor. He glanced worriedly at Kang. "Commander, we already tried that as soon as Aernath translated her notes. She had a severe allergic reaction to the lourkain—that's why it took her so long to come around."

  Kang looked annoyed. "Then use the agonizer. But get the information." He turned to leave.

  "That won't work either," Jean quickly interjected.

  Kang paused and looked back. "You are allergic to the agonizer too, I suppose? No matter. It will accomplish the task nonetheless."

  Jean was glad the monitor was disconnected and could not betray her. "Not exactly, Commander Kang. I told you we were carefully briefed on Klingon affairs. Our current station personnel were also carefully selected and conditioned. Since you have already discovered the allergic reaction, I may as well tell you that torturing me with the agonizer will only produce my instant demise, not get you the information you seek."

  Two full strides covered the space between them. Brushing aside the murmuring medic, Kang seized Jean's shoulders and pulled her upright until her toes barely reached the deck. "Is this another of your Kirk's devious plots?" he snarled. Jean met his scowl steadily. "No, you're lying. Kirk always has a surprising trick or two in hand but he is congenitally incapable of sacrificing his troops even when good tactics demand it. You're bluffing."

  "You know Captain Kirk fairly well," Jean replied quietly. "He also knows quite well what to expect from you. The intent was not to sacrifice us but to spare us unnecessary suffering given your known propensity for 'tactical sacrifices.'"

  She caught her breath as Kang's grip on her shoulders tightened painfully. He stared darkly at her face for a long moment. "I still think you're bluffing. Lieutenant, your agonizer."

  "But, Commander," protested Eknaar, "if she isn't bluffing and you use that, you'll never get the seed. Aernath says blasting it open will incinerate the stuff. You need her alive to get it."

  Kang suddenly dropped Jean's left shoulder and whirled, sending the doctor stumbling back to avoid him. "Stick to your needles and nostrums, Eknaar, and don't presume to instruct me on the obvious. Tell me, what is her current physical status?"

  Eknaar hunched his shoulders worriedly. "Oh … with the stim shot and all, I'd say normal human female by now. At fifty kilos she's a little undernourished but I have her back in basic balance."

  Kang returned his attention to Jean. "Well, Czerny? Do you want to reconsider before we turn—courtesy of Captain Kirk and his machinations—to older and less efficient methods? A simple gesture of gratitude would make it easier for all of us."

  Jean caught a momentary flicker of some strange emotion in his eyes. She decided to try another appeal. "I can't give you that grain, but Captain Kirk would have the authority. If it's that important to you, go back to Sherman's planet and ask for some of the seed in return for my release. He would honor that request, I'm sure."

  Kang laughed. "Ask? Ask Kirk for something I already rightfully possess? You have a poor sense of a Klingon commander, my dear."

  The ship's intercom interrupted, "Bridge to Commander, it is twenty-six fifty. Bridge report, and course changes are due soon."

  Kang released Jean's other shoulder so abruptly that she staggered against the tiered bunks. "Acknowledged. I'll take it in the Council room." He turned. "Bring her up there."

  As Kang left, Jean found herself brusquely hoisted up by his two lieutenants, propelled out the door and along a series of narrow corridors. She cooperated just enough to keep her feet under her and keep the pressure on her arms bearable. She wanted time to collect her thoughts and assess the situation. By a stroke of luck and a bit of bluff she had won a brief reprieve from the agonizer but she wasn't sure Kang was convinced. Even if he was, what would happen then? They mustn't get the new grain! Why had the Klingon ship been there in the first place? Why Kang—not Koloth? It couldn't be the seed strain—that was too new. No one else knew about it beyond the station personnel. Personnel: had there been any other survivors? Had the Enterprise picked up their distress signal, too? So many questions. It didn't look as if she was likely to get any answers soon. Jean fought down a rising flush of panic. Survive and succeed: the Klingon credo. Well, that would have to be it for now. Simple basics. One challenge at a time. The first thing was to stall Kang as long as possible—give the Enterprise a chance.

  The Klingons shoved her unceremoniously into a small wood-paneled room. Kang occupied the chair behind the single desk. Other chairs were ranged in front of it. He was addressing the desktop intercom: "—and hold to that course until further notice. Anything else to report?"

  "No, sir. End of bridge report, Commander."

  "Very well. I'm not to be disturbed unless it's urgent. Kang, out." He flipped a lever on the console and turned to the trio in front of him. He gestured to the opposite wall. "Proceed."

  Jean was shoved against the wall facing Kang. Suddenly one of the guards brought his boot heel down heavily on her root. She gasped and curled involuntarily only to be met with a blow which snapped her head back against the wall. Cold fury sifted through her. "Filthy Klingon cowards! You call yourselves Imperial officers. You're not fit to do my wash."1

  This brought a brief laugh from Kang. "You see, Tirax?"

  The lieutenant who had hit her flushed. "With your permission, Commander?"

  Kang smiled thinly. "Just don't kill her, Lieutenant." He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a dagger. "Catch, Czerny." He lodged it in the wall next to her shoulder. Tirax had drawn his dagger. The other guard released his grip and stepped aside grinning.

  Jean pulled the knife from the wall and hefted it experimentally. She was no duelist, but on Aldebaran Colony as a girl she had been amateur stiletto champion. Then, she could hit a five-centimeter target at ten meters. That was a long time ago.

  She and Tirax circled slowly. If she could move away from the guard at her back before Tirax made his move. . . . Tirax lunged and Jean threw. He missed her and came up against the wall gazing with astonishment at the haft of Kang's dagger in his right upper chest. Dropping his own dagger, he pulled hers out and then collapsed as the inrushing air compressed his lung. Jean snatched up the free dagger and backed away.

  Kang smiled appreciatively. "Not exactly standard Klingon dueling form but nicely done—for a human female. Lieutenant, take your comrade to sick bay, then report back."

  "Yes, sir." No longer grinning, the other officer helped the gasping Tirax to his feet.

  Kang stood and deliberately removed his blaster, placing it in the drawer and thumbing the lock. Keeping his eyes on Jean he circled the desk, smoothly retrieved his dagger from the floor and faced her. "Now …"

&nbs
p; Jean fell back a pace and raised her free hand in protest. "Kang, please, I don't want to fight you. For God's sake, listen to me. You can't get away with this madness. Stop before it's too late. Take me back now and we'll forget about all this. Don't violate the treaty any further!"

  Kang wiped his dagger meticulously on his thigh. "I haven't broken any treaties yet and I don't intend to." He looked at Jean appraisingly. "Guard!"

  Again, Jean protested, "Kang, please! I … I don't want to hurt you."

  "Hurt me? Kill me would be more like it. Now that would be a pretty stroke, wouldn't it?"

  "No," persisted Jean stubbornly, "if I fight you, I lose either way. You know that."

  "Then meet my demands."

  "I can't."

  "All right. Defend yourself."

  They circled each other warily, waiting. There was a door opposite—the one by which they had entered. When Jean had her back to that, she threw her dagger—momentarily pinning Kang to the paneling through his left shoulder.

  Desperately, she dove for the door praying it would be open. It was, but Kang caught her as she reached it. They went down in a tangled heap, and shortly, Kang had her pinioned beneath him.

  Jean glared up at him. The shoulder wound was more superficial than she had intended. With a slight shake of his head, Kang remarked conversationally, "Never turn and run from a superior force. That's always a tactical error, my dear."

  "Like you're running from Kirk?" Jean challenged.

  Kang grinned broadly. "This time, Miss Czerny, I am not the inferior force as Kirk will discover if he chooses to pursue me."

  Jean held her breath as his dagger slowly descended to her stomach. He slit her tunic from navel to jugular notch with just enough pressure to scratch but not break the skin. She could feel her throat pulse against the point. Kang's face bent a scant ten centimeters above hers. He moved the dagger point to her chin turning her face to his with it. "And you promise to be an important pawn in the game. Rescuing you was a fortunate stroke of serendipity."