Pawns and Symbols Read online

  He shrugged. "I could have taken you by force anytime, if that's what I'd wanted. But I told yot I wanted more from you than fear."

  "And that is?"

  "Aetheln," he said softly.

  "What?"

  "It doesn't translate directly. I'm not sure I could explain it to you. Anyway, it means I wanted you to come to me of your own choice."

  She took a shot in the dark. "Because of Mara?"

  His laugh was short and bitter. "Actually your captain gave me that idea: 'Your people were well-treated on my ship. I expect the same for Czerny. I will hold you personally responsible for her.'" His pain was almost palpable. Gently Jean reached out to touch him. His eyes searched her face carefully. "But it's not the same for you, is it?"

  "I don't know," she replied slowly. "Perhaps in a way it is. I'm still loyal to my Federation. Where does Mara stand?"

  "Against her own empire," he said grimly. Then he added musingly, "But she said a peculiar thing before she left: 'You already have the strength but you won't see it until you use it.'" He looked at her curiously. "Why did you come back this evening?"

  She thought a moment. "Best of bad choices," she admitted. "Possibly more. Tell me, if you were to become convinced that the Federation was not out to destroy you, would you be willing to negotiate cooperation?"

  "That's a very large 'if' my dear, but yes, if I were convinced, I would."

  She grinned up at him impishly. "All right. Match me."

  Kang stared at her for a moment, then roared with laughter. "You do play for high stakes, don't you?"

  The highest, Jean thought. Then he pulled her to him exchanging one mode of communication for another.

  Seven

  Captain's Log: Stardate 6100.0 Reports of Romulan activity in a sector of Federation space tangential to the Romulan neutral zone led Starfleet Command to assign the Enterprise to that area. Reconnaissance has not confirmed these sightings. However, petty incidents and "accidents" have continued to occur along the interface of Klingon and Federation space. Starflet Intelligence reports indicate the situation within the Klingon Empire has not changed substantially. We have been recalled to Starbase 10 to take aboard additional personnel for Sherman's planet. We are now enroute to that planet which has been quiet since the initial hostile incident with our shuttlecrat.

  IT STARTED AS a very quiet Sunday morning. Kirk and Spok were finishing a game of chess in the rec room. Or rather, Kirk was finishing it. If a Vulcan face could look glum, this one could be called positively morose.

  "Your move, Mr. Spock." Kirk could not suppress a hint of glee in his voce. He didn't beat Spock very often. Spock made his move. Then Kirk. "Checkmate, Mr. Spock."

  Spock tipped his king in acknowledgement of defeat. "An interesting variation on the Vlaskov maneuver, Captain. I commend you. However, I must point out that your move of the king's knight was highly illogical. You didn't need to save your queen to complete the game."

  Kirk grinned, "Spock, I just can't resist a lady in distress." He glanced at the transparent cube sitting on the table beside them. "Speaking of ladies, I wonder where Maevlynin is. I'm eager to see how this xuan nam cube you have built works." Maevlynin, an Estryllian, had recently joined the crew of the Enterprise and now was assigned to the medical section. She divided her time between sick bay and her botany lab. Lovers of games and puzzles, Estryllians had devised many intricate ones. Xuan nam was an example. A race of telepaths with powers of telekinesis, they played the game with balls simply suspended in mid air. Dr. McCoy had discovered that Maevlynin was passionately fond of this particular game. Unfortunately, no one else aboard the Enterprise had telekinetic powers sufficient to hold the balls in space and move them. McCoy had approached Spock with the idea of building a cube that would accomplish the same thing with colored lights and keyboards. Today they planned to surprise Maevlynin with it.

  Kirk turned from the game-cube back to Spock. "Heading back to Sherman's planet reminds me—id anything come in on dispatches this morning about Czerny?"

  "No, the only mention of her was the report several weeks ago that she was no longer aboard the Klolode Two. There was a briefing on Sherman's planet. The Klingon outpost weathered the winter well. They have steadfastly ignored all communication attempts from the Federation and the Organians. No apparent contact with the Empire either. They have not engaged the Federation forces since that incident with our shuttlecraft. The only activity our personnel have noted outside their fortress has been an occasional hunting party."

  "Well, they seem to be busy enough elsewhere. Maybe that post has been overlooked, for the moment. Still, it's just one more thing we have to sort out with the Klingons eventually." Kirk fingered the xuan nam keyboard, experimentally producing a cascade of lighted dots from one corner to its diagonal opposite. "I'm glad this assignment on the Romulan neutral zone was a dry run. With the Klingon border so uneasy, all we need is trouble with the Romulans to boot …" He snapped the cube console off and stood up. "Can I get you a cup of anything, Spock?"

  "No, thank you, Captain." The Vulcan was making some minor adjustments to the cube.

  Kirk smiled as he crossed to the beverage automat and punched for another cup of coffee. His thoughts returned to Maevlynin. Like Vulcans, Estryllians were adept telepaths. Unlike Vulcans, they emphasized emotional development, but had a violent aversion to machines—especially complex ones. In their distant past, Estryllians had possessed an advanced technology and had almost destroyed their planet with it. In reaction, they had forbidden any use of complex machines or weapons, devoting themselves instead to the development and peaceful use of their mental powers and emotional range. However, Maevlynin had shown a capacity to adjust to a starship that, of necessity, depended heavily on complex technology.

  At the moment, Maevlynin and Dr. McCoy were absorbed in another problem in sick bay. One of the men in the engineering section had slipped and fallen while working in the Jeffries tube. Although no bones were broken, he had painfully wrenched his back. While McCoy could resolve the problems with a few days sonic treatments and injections, he was rapidly developing a profound respect for the Estryllian approach to such injuries. He watched now as Maevlynin, a trained Estryllian healer, had the man sit bending this way and that. Her slender fingers probed gently along the spine. "The primary problem is here, with extension to L-two and L-three," she said.

  McCoy beamed. "Exactly what my scanner showed."

  Maevlynin wrinkled her nose. "Doctor, you really ought to dispense with those diabolical gadgets. They are unnecessary. Shall I proceed with treatment?"

  "Those diabolical gadgets as you call them are extremely useful and they don't get absorbed in the botany lab," McCoy rejoined . "Yes, go ahead."

  Again her fingers moved along the spine. One hand grasped the man's shoulder from the front, turning him slightly while the palm of her other hand worked over the affected area. Her slightly pointed ears were hidden by her blond hair, but with her peaked eyebrows and pointed chin she still looked very much like a pixie. As McCoy watched, his feelings toward her were an amalgam of respect for a talented colleague and a … well, not exactly brotherly … feeling of affection. Sensing his feelings, Maevlynin glanced up at him and smiled her acknowledgement of them. McCoy felt his face flush. Damn, he thought, would he ever get used to this utter transparency of emotions that working and living with Estryllians brought? He turned and dropped a tape card into the reader on his desk, giving his attention to an emotionally neutral subject: review of this week's routine crew physicals.

  Chekov saw it first. He was on bridge duty that morning at Spock's customary position. Scott was in the command chair. "Mr. Scott, sir, the sensors are showing traces of a matter-antimatter explosion and small pieces of debris compatible with a Romulan ship dead ahead of us."

  Immediately Scott ordered the helmsman to reduce speed and notified Captain Kirk on the intercom.

  "Yellow Alert, Scotty. Spock and I are on our way."

&nbs
p; When Kirk and Spock arrived on the bridge moments later, the shattered shell of the Romulan vessel hung in the center of the main viewscreen. Moving to the command chair, Kirk snapped, "Report, Mr. Chekov."

  "The ship is totally disabled, sir. There seems to have been some sort of explosion in their engines. No sign of life on the vessel. However, one small launch craft is missing so there may have been survivors."

  "Any nearby planets capable of supporting humanoid life?"

  "Yes sir. The nearest star has a class M planet, Persephone Two, that has been previously explored. It is capable of supporting humanoid life though none has emerged there."

  Kirk weighed the possibilities: a chance to explore the disabled vessel and gaining important military information versus a possible wild-goose chase looking for survivors. The ship would wait, survivors might need immediate help. "Navigator, set a course for Persephone Two."

  In orbit around Persephone Two, sensors showed that there was indeed a Romulan small craft on the surface with two survivors. Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Chekov beamed down near the vessel. It was empty. The party fanned out in four directions to look for the survivors.

  Reena worked awkwardly with the knife in her left hand. Even to hold the carcass with her right hand was painful because of her arm and hand injuries. Her head wound, though not serious, was throbbing painfully too from all the exertion. But Lucius was in far worse shape than she and someone had to get food. He had seemed so much weaker this morning. She refused to think about that possibility. Could she survive alone on this planet until a Romulan vessel might come in response to their distress signal? She knew this was unlikely. The ship had been destroyed on the edge of Federation territory. Her mind turned away from that thought, too. She had enough horrors to contemplate without thinking of Federation stormtroopers! A slight sound behind her drew her attention. As if to give substance to her nightmare, there stood a figure in the dreaded blue and black uniform of a Federation starship. Dropping her knife, she lunged for her weapon lying on an adjacent rock. The phaser fire caught her just as she reached it.

  McCoy knelt by the unconscious Romulan swearing under his breath. He had taken her for a youth when he first came over the rise. Now he had discovered she was a woman and injured as well. He should have aimed for her weapon instead of stunning her. "Maevlynin's right. Give a man a weapon and he just creates more trouble for himself," he grumbled as he worked over the inert Romulan. Satisfied that her condition would allow it, he scooped her up to return to the Romulan craft. As an afterthought, he hung the second carcass she had been skinning next to the one already on her belt.

  Kirks search had ended differently. The Romulan he found was already dead. He and Spock were in the process of burying him when McCoy returned bearing his limp burden. Chekov was scrutinizing the Romulan craft.

  "Did you find the other Romulan yet?" McCoy queried.

  Chekov nodded. "Captain Kirk did. He's dead."

  McCoy thought for a moment that the woman he was carrying had regained consciousness. He could swear he'd felt her tense. He eased her down alongside the craft. No, no response yet. "Well, this one will come around any time now. She'll make it."

  Kirk and Spock appeared around the front of the craft.

  "Ah, Bones. I see you found the other one. Good. The one I found—"

  "You killed him!" The Romulan woman, obviously conscious, sprang at Kirk.

  Unprepared for her attack, Kirk fell backwards but managed to grab her wrists as he went. Rolling to his feet, he pulled her up. McCoy saw her look over Kirk's shoulder at Spock. She shook her head in sudden disbelief, then looked back at Kirk.

  "Spock! Enterprise! No." She wrenched free of Kirk's grasp and backed away, straight into McCoy's waiting hypo.

  Spock's eyebrow went up. "It would appear that we have a most unfortunate reputation among the Romulan fleet."

  Kirk looked at the unconscious Romulan and gave a low whistle. "Bones, it looks like you got yourself a handful this time. When she wakes up, tell her that her comrade was already dead and try to reassure her. Come on, Spock, let's see if we can recover the launch's log and computer tapes."

  The woman was just regaining consciousness a short while later, as Kirk and Spock were preparing to beam up. Kirk turned to the doctor. "Well, how's your patient now?"

  "I'd like to see her stabilize a little before I beam her up. Probably a few more minutes."

  "We have the tapes. Mr. Spock and I will beam up and get a security team down here to work with Chekov. You bring her when you're ready. Scotty, two to beam up."

  Reena sat up groggily. Her captor momentarily had his eyes on the two who were shimmering out. The other one was bending over the console, his back to her. If she could just reach the firing button. . . .

  Chekov caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. His communicator lay in front of him. He flipped it on. "Deflectors! Scotty, quickly!"

  A short pause. "Deflectors on. Mr. Chekov—what is happening down there?"

  What was happening was pandemonium. McCoy got to Reena first. Chekov took a look at the panel: missile firing button depressed, one launch cradle registering empty. In a white-hot fury he lunged for the Romulan. "She fired on the ship! I'll kill her!"

  "Chekov, stop it. Let me handle this." Jumping between them, McCoy shoved Chekov into a chair. He wondered wearily how many people he was going to have to knock out how many times today. It had started as such a nice quiet Sunday. He handed Chekov his communicator. Now Kirk was on the other end of it.

  "Bones, Chekov. What on earth is going on down there?"

  Chekov explained while McCoy none too gently placed the woman in a second chair and tied her there. "It's about time we reached an understariding. I'd like to have time to treat you instead of knocking you out all the time. Now sit still and behave yourself."

  Reena watched the two Federation men with a certain grim satisfaction. For the moment she had put the entire starship on the defensive. Here, both men were preocupied with determining exactly what had happened to their ship. The torture would come soon for information or revenge or both but with any luck it would be mercifully quick. Certainly if the younger one had his way it would be short. Her captor on the other hand struck her as sadistic. He might be capable of keeping her alive a long time. She shivered.

  Slowly they pieced together the situation: Spock on the ship with the launch tapes and Chekov here at the console. The launch was armed with two probe missiles—a new device that would stay with the deflector shields until they were lowered, then home in on the targeted ship, activate and explode. They even determined that the timer had not been set; the device would take the maxiimum delay after attachment to detonate: two hours.

  "Chekov, is there any way that device can be disarmed after launch?" Kirk asked via communicator. "The tapes don't have that information. I don't care what you have to tear apart. We've got to have that information."

  "Yes sir. We'll do our best."

  "Fine, let me know as soon as you have something. Kirk out."

  McCoy and Chekov looked at each other. Chekov picked up his tricorder and went out to have a fresh look at the remaining device.

  McCoy considered his patient speculatively. Physical condition: weak but stable. The two Romulans had apparently been on limited rations for some time. Her physical reserves were depleted. Head wound—looked bad but minor really. Right arm and hand injury—now there was a nasty problem: a lot of tissue damage and infected too. Must hurt like the devil. It needed surgery but that would have to wait for sick bay. Mental condition: problematical. The woman was obviously frightened and angry—angry enough to attack Kirk and then later to fire the missile in spite of her weakness, a phaser stun, and a hypo. Panic triggered by the sight of Kirk and Spock … she must have heard terrible stories about the Enterprise. He had to get her calmed down. No telling how long they would be stuck here before Spock and Chekov figured out how to disarm that bomb. Too bad he didn't have some really powerful tra
nquilizer along but that wasn't standard medikit equipment.

  McCoy pulled up a box that Spock had extracted from the console to get at the tapes and sat down beside the woman. "What's your name?"

  She looked startled, as if that wasn't what she expected. She glanced at her uniform, thenat the stripes on his sleeve. "Navigator R. Tertullian … Lieutenant Commander, sir," she hazarded.

  It was McCoy's turn to be startled. "Yes, that's my rank but there's no need to be so formal. I'm Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. We found your ship and came looking for survivors. Unfortunately your friend was already dead when we found him.

  Navigator Tertullian said nothing.

  McCoy tried again. "How long have you been here?"

  "I'm sure First Officer Spock has recovered that information from our tapes already," she replied icily.

  "What happened to your ship?"

  Her voice dripped with scorn. "As if you don't know already. Surely, Lieutenant Commander, you don't expect me to divulge military information to enemies of the Empire."

  "All right. What about your comrade here? What was his name?"

  The anger blazed. "If he died without telling you, you can be sure I won't tell you!"

  Right back to square one, McCoy thought wryly. You sure aren't much of a psychiatrist. He shrugged. "Nice weather we're having. Do you think it will rain?" And he went out to see how Chekov was doing.

  Chekov was doing well … and he was not. As McCoy came over, Chekov looked up from his tricorder. "I don't think the captain will be happy with my news. This device can be disarmed … but only by a Romulan. It contains sensors programmed to Romulan neural patterns. If anyone else tries to disarm it, it detonates immediately.

  Suddenly, McCoy thought he knew how a lobster must feel when it tries to back out of a lobster pot. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.