Pawns and Symbols Read online

  "That would also be a logical move," Spock concurred.

  "Meanwhile, the original problem remains—and we don't know Czerny's whereabouts or status. If that's not resolved, the instability in this quadrant will increase phenomenally. We need to know about Czerny!"

  "Starfleet Intelligence is not that fast. It will be some weeks before we can expect any further news," Spock pointed out.

  Kirk punched the communication console button with a sigh. "I know, Spock. You're right. For now, the only thing I can speed up is the Enterprise. Kirk to Bridge. Lieutenant Hadley, have engineering take us up to Warp six-point-five. I'm on my way to the bridge. Kirk, out."

  1Tormin. A rank in Klingon Security Forces roughly analogous to sergeant.

  Five

  ALONE IN HER cubicle, Jean surveyed herself critically. The black undergarments of the Klingon uniform gave a leotard effect. She slipped on the tunic and tied it with a length of botanical twine at her waist. Maybe tomorrow she could find a way to mend her own clothes as an alternative. She took a long look at her room before calling the guard to take her to Kang. With rescue now more remote, this cubicle was at least a place of retreat where she was left alone. She was reluctant to leave it for whatever awaited her with the commander.

  She was taken to the same wood-paneled council room where she had been before. Kang sat at the desk finishing some dispatches which he then handed to a waiting crewman. As the man left, Kang rose and crossed to Jean, taking in her new attire with an amused smile. Indicating the opposite door, he took her arm saying, "This time, let's walk through, shall we?" His smile broadened as she stepped through the door and realized that this was the Commander's personal quarters. "Yes, my dear, you were headed out of the frying pan into the fire."

  Jean made no reply. In spite of her apprehension she looked about curiously. A small spartan room by Enterprise standards, it contained a bed, a small table, two chairs, and a low hassock. The opposite wall contained a clothes locker and a door apparently leading to the head. Above the bed was a mounted case containing a collection of dueling swords. The third wall contained a built-in bookshelf and a niche which held a small stylized image of a ferocious, fanged beast. Below the niche the table was set for two. The fourth wall, opposite the bed, was a huge viewscreen. Kang locked his blaster in a small cubicle above the clothes locker, then sprawled across the bed and slid back a wall section below the display case. Behind it was an elaborate control panel. He touched two buttons. The viewscreen beside Jean suddenly lit up with a view of space.

  "That's the view dead ahead," Kang informed her. "I like to keep track of things when I'm in here."

  She had remained standing where she came in. "Where are we headed?"

  "The heart of the Klingon Empire." A tap on the door behind her caused Jean to jump. Her nerves were taut to the snapping point. "Come," Kang ordered. The door opened to admit a young crewman pushing a small servocart with covered dishes. He positioned it beside the table and started to transfer the dishes to the table. "She can do that. Dismissed."

  Jean considered a protest and thought the better of it. It gave her something to do besides stand there and try to keep from screaming. Kang watched her from the bed.

  "How long had you been stationed on Sherman's planet?" The question was quiet but Jean jumped as if he had shouted.

  "About two planetary years."

  "And before that?"

  "I served a short time on the Enterprise prior to assignment to Sherman's planet."

  "And before that?"

  "I … I was born and raised on Aldebaran Colony. After university I worked a while at Aldebaran Three research outpost."

  "Where'd you learn to throw like that?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Where did you learn to fight, to throw a dagger like that?"

  "Oh, that. It's not fighting really. I mean I didn't learn it as a combat form. It's a game I used to play as a child. The stiletto is smaller than your dagger, and thinner. We threw them at targets." Jean glanced at him briefly, wondering if her nervousness showed or if he saw it and was playing on it. He stretched and came off the bed in one smooth roll.

  "It's an interesting style. I've never seen anything exactly like it. You will teach me how to do it after we eat." He sat down at the table. Jean followed suit, grateful for the knowledge that after-dinner entertainment would be target practice and not her.

  Her days settled into a routine: breakfast in her room, the entire day including lunch with Aernath in the lab, and dinner with Kang. After dinner was devoted to dagger throwing or trying to master the intricacies of a Klingon game, tsungu, that reminded her of the Chinese chess that her grandfather used to play. During the day she kept her mind occupied with the work on the quadrotriticale and her "Czerny strain"—as Aernath called it. Although stiff and withdrawn if anything happened to remind him of his bond-status, Aernath seemed comfortable enough working with her. Many of the experimental conditions he set up seemed to bear no relationship to conditions on Sherman's planet but she could get no explanation from him.

  One question she did get answered. "What's the heart of the Klingon Empire?"

  "Our star system, of course."

  However, each evening as she prepared to join Kang the sense of apprehension returned. She was walking in a fog, knowing neither destination nor terrain. Kang's behavior remained bland and innocuous as if, having obtained her initial cooperation, he had declared a truce. A brief truce she was convinced as she watched him warily. These evening tête-á-tête were not merely for his amusement. He seemed to be observing her, measuring her, though for what purpose she could not fathom. His occasional questions and even more occasional comments yielded few clues. So she waited, afraid to disturb the calm.

  Tonight she entered the council room just as Kang finished perusing the last dispatch. He sent the crewman off with orders for immediate transmission and hardly seemed aware of Jean as he got up and strode into his quarters. Stowing his gun, he pulled off his tunic and boots and sprawled on his bed. Tonight he called up section after section of the ship on the viewscreen snapping an occasional order to a startled crewman. Finally he put up the forward view and lay there staring morosely at the starscape.

  After some moments she broke the silence. "Which star is our destination?"

  Kang roused himself and rose in a single fluid movement. For a big man he was surprisingly quick and graceful. He padded over to the viewscreen. "That's it."

  "When will we reach your planet?"

  "Sometime tomorrow ni—" He whirled, demanding fiercely, "Who said it was my planet?"

  "You did," said Jean, suddenly frightened. "You told me we were going to the heart of the Klingon Empire."

  "And you deduced that was my planet?" Kang asked sharply.

  "Isn't it?" Jean responded, determined not to reveal any further knowledge. Kang did not reply. Striving for a lighter tone she asked, "Shall I ring for dinner?" At Kangs nod she leaned across the bed to push the call button. She straightened and turned to find Kang directly in front of her. Her stomach turned to ice and her legs to water. He seized her hair in both hands, pulled her around and sat down on the bed forcing her to her knees in front of him.

  "'Lieutenant' Czerny, is it? I've checked your story by all the sources we have. It all tallies—but that. The unknown in the equation is the Enterprise. Why did Kirk call you that? What's your game? Is your story straight or is this another of Kirk's tricks? Because so help me, if it is, I'll kill you with my own hands—slowly—by inches. You have my word on that."

  Warm, red terror washed over Jean. She didn't know what Kirk meant either—it was as if she'd forgotten something … "Please believe me, Kang. I'm telling the truth. No games. My problem is that I don't undersand what's going on. Why have you brought me here? What do you expect me to do? What are you going to do?"

  "What am I going to do?" Kang repeated softly. "Play some pawns and preserve an empire. I hope. And you, my dear, will do exactly as I tell
you to do with no tricks. You're the unknown symbol in the equation all right and I don't like nasty surprises. If you do exactly as you're told, and we succeed, then afterwards you can name your price. You have my word on that, too." He released his grip abruptly and Jean collapsed forward until her forehead rested against the edge of the bed between his knees.

  She struggled for calm, fought to make her body still, her thoughts rational. She had seen the Klingon commander angry before but this was different. He was like coiled steel ready to snap at any instant, wound taut by some urgency, some crisis she still didn't grasp. Gradually her breathing slowed, her trembling diminished. Still she knelt, staring at her knees, not daring to move. She felt Kang's hand on her back, lifting a lock of her hair, coiling it in his fingers. She glanced up. He was staring abstractedly at the viewscreen oblivious to her presence.

  The tap on the door broke his reverie. "Come." The crewman entered, positioned the cart and left. With a sigh Kang rose, pulled her up and went to the table. They ate in silence. Finally he spoke. "We should attain orbital position around Tahrn sometime tomorrow night. We will beam down he following morning. There will be a ceremonial procession and an audience with the emperor. That will be conducted in ancient Court Klingonese. No translation will be necessary—simply follow my direction. After the audience you'll be assigned to the Royal Agricultural Station near the capital where you will work. If asked, you will declare your vow of unserving loyalty to me. You will not mention or discuss the Federation with anyone."

  He seemed at an end. "And Aernath?" Jean ventured.

  "He will work with you, of course. Also I've detailed Tirax to accompany you as my personal envoy. He will ensure that things go according to plan."

  Jean shivered. She had only encountered Tirax once since the duel and she did not relish the thought of extended contact with him.

  When they finished eating, Kang dismissed her. On her way back to her room, she considered asking the guard to take her to Aernath's quarters instead. She needed the reassurance of talking things over with him. However, it could wait until morning, she decided. She valued the free and open working relationship Aernath had established with her, but it was still fragile. He became stiff and distant whenever anything reminded him of his bond status. Intruding on him now might precipitate that again.

  She spent a restless night going over and over Kang's words trying to see how she and Sherman's planet fit into the picture. At last she fell asleep.

  The next morning, still apprehensive, she ate little breakfast. Summoning the guard, she said, "I'll carry the dishes. We can drop them off on the way to the lab."

  "No lab today, Czerny. You're confined, to quarters."

  "What!" Jean fairly shrieked in dismay. "But, why?"

  "Kang's orders." He picked up her tray to go.

  She seized his arm. "No, wait. Please go get Aernath then. I have to talk to him."

  The Klingon looked annoyed. "My orders are to stand guard not run errands. I can tell you I'm not about to get decked just before planetfall. Now let go of me." He left, locking the door behind him. Jean went to the lavatory, buried her face in a towel and screamed. Then she cursed the guard and Kang, methodically consigning them to the nine consecutive rings of Aldebaranian hell. She settled down to wait. Perhaps Aernath would come on his own. Lunch appeared, then dinner, but not Aernath. She spent another sleepless night.

  She did have a caller the following morning: a young woman carrying several bundles. The two women stared at each other curiously. "Who are you?" Jean asked.

  "I'm from Court Protocol and I've been assigned to help you get ready for the audience." She proceeded to unpack her bundles on the table while stealing sidelong glances at Jean. Suddenly she blurted, "Are you really a human?"

  "Yes," Jean answered. "Why?"

  "Well, I … I've never met a human before."

  "I suspect none ever got this close to Tahrn before," Jean commented drily.

  "I wouldn't know about that," the woman answered hastily. She walked nervously around Jean, surveying her from various angles. "I'll do your hair first."

  Jean sat quietly feeling strangely calm. Perhaps two sleepless nights and little food had something to do with it but the proceedings took on an unreal dreamlike quality. The woman fussed over her hair for a long while, combing, parting, braiding and pinning. "Do all humans have such pasty white skin?" she asked as she finished.

  Being Eurasian, Jean had never considered her skin as pasty white. "Oh, no," she assured the woman solemnly. "We come in all colors—black, white, red, yellow, green and orange as well as your usual brown." The woman looked suitably impressed.

  Her dress was of scratchy silver material which clung from shoulder to ankle. The short sleeves and cowled neck stood out stiffly. Jean insisted on retaining her leotards but the top undergarment had to go. With a flash of foresight, she gathered up her meager belongings into a bundle and took them along.

  Though she had undoubtedly been transported aboard, Jean had no memory of the transporter room. She looked about curiously. Her attention was drawn to a pile of objects in one corner. She recognized Aernath's equipment, apparently awaiting transhipment. This confirmation of Kang's promise lifted her spirits. Aernath was going planetside, too. She stuffed her bundle in among the data sheets. At a slight sound she turned to meet the insolent appraisal of Kang. He had exchanged the somber uniform of the Imperial Fleet for an elaborate costume replete with jeweled dagger, dress sword, and shoulder cape.

  "Excellent. You'll make a passable Klingon, yet," he said.

  Although his tone was light and bantering, she read grim warning in his eyes. Their performance had begun and she was expected to play her role well. With just the merest hint of defiance in the lift of her chin she replied evenly, "At your service, Commander."

  He was flanked by Tirax and three other officers wearing black and silver uniforms, also new to Jean. In addition to swords they wore their phasers. Kang took the foremost transporter position and motioned the others into position behind him.

  They materialized in what proved to be the Imperial Capital Spaceport. After reception formalities they moved by glide-car to the periphery of the port. The considerable traffic between Tahrn and her sister planet occupied much of the central spaceport. In addition, loading docks for interstellar freighters, berths for the occasional itinerant space trader, and various shuttlecraft from interstellar cruisers were scattered throughout other sections of the port.

  The black and scarlet uniforms of Imperial Security were conspicuous among the ground personnel. Catching their arrogant stance and hostile glances, Jean began to see Tirax's presence in a new light. If she was important to Kang, he would protect her, and well she might need that protection in this hostile world! She shrank lower in the seat to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  At Port Control they left the glide-car and walked a gauntlet of Imperial Security Guards. While Kang acknowledged their salutes casually, Jean kept her eyes on his heels, thankful for the flanking escort that surrounded her.

  Awaiting them outside was a high-wheeled, canopied conveyance drawn by two beasts that at first glance she took to be the reality of the symbolic beast she had seen in Kang's quarters. A second glance revealed that they were not but produced the firm conviction that she desired no closer acquaintance. Kang entered the carriage and motioned. Awkwardly, she clambered up. He took a seat and indicated a small pillow at the heel of his left foot. "Kneel there and keep your head bowed." The four lieutenants stood on a platform at the back of the carriage.

  The air was chill and the canopy blocked the faint sunshine. There seemed to be nothing warm about this world for Jean. Even with her head down she could see the crowds thronging the roadway, dressed mainly in browns, blacks, and maroons. Everywhere there was the scarlet flash of the grim-faced Security. Nonetheless, there was an air of festivity, of anticipation, and an enthusiastic reception of Kang. Whatever she might think of him, clearly he was popular here.


  As she watched the passing crowds, something subliminal tugged at her awareness. Something wrong. Beneath her personal forboding and the cheers of the Klingons there was something else. She redoubled her attention, searching the faces as they went by. What was she missing? Then she saw a woman holding a small child:—pot belly, stick legs, pinched listless face. Her memory supplied the high-pitched cry—Marasmus! Now she scanned the crowd intently, picking it out everywhere: thin arms, pinched faces, clothes too voluminous for their wasted occupants. Widespread evidence of malnutrition and near starvation! Forgetting her instructions, Jean looked up at Kang. His face was grim. "Kang!" she whispered. "Your people! What's wrong?"

  "Famine!" One word through clenched teeth.

  "Famine! But how? Why?"

  "Blight. The fools! I told them that viral warfare was foolhardy. They wouldn't listen. Some escaped, mutated. Now both our major grains are affected. You see the results."

  Suddenly Jean held the missing pieces of the puzzle. "The quadrotriticale—"

  "Is resistant. Especially your strain."

  "Why in the name of space didn't you tell me all this in the first place?"

  He turned full face to her and demanded fiercely, "Would you have believed me?"

  Her intended affirmation died under his glare. "I … no, I probably wouldn't have." Then she exclaimed, "Sherman's planet! That was just a feint to divert the Enterprise, wasn't it? Oh, Kang! Why didn't you just ask for the help?" Then she saw that strange look of his once again. This time she understood it for what it was: urgent need, pain, and indomitable pride.

  Kang turned his face away. His voice was low and harsh. "A Klingon commander does not beg!"

  Jean bowed her head, rested her cheek against his knee and shut out the faces of famine. "Kang," she said softly, "you don't need to worry. Given the situation I am truly at your service." This would be no disloyalty to the Federaion.

  The only reply was a single finger coursing down the back of her neck.