SPOCK DIDN'T RESIST as he was torn rudely from the tunnel and sent sprawling into the children's midst. Two more Klingons pulled him to his feet and made him face the leather-bound giant in command.
"You have stolen the device called G-Seven," the Klingon spat. His eyes were inches from the Vulcan's. "I want it."
Spock met the invader's scrutiny and returned it. He could have lied and said he knew nothing about the unit. But he was a Vulcan; lying did not come easily to him.
Besides, it was patently obvious that either he or one of the children had taken the G-7 mechanism. And he was far better suited to enduring the Klingon's brand of questioning than the children were.
"Well?" pressed his inquisitor.
The Starfleet officer remained silent, though he knew it would not endear him to the Klingon.
The invader's eyes flashed black fire. Taking Spock's face in his gauntleted hand, he squeezed. The contact was unpleasant, even humiliating, but the Vulcan endured it.
Then, suddenly, the Klingon whipped his head to one side, releasing it. "You will never tell," he decided. "Torture would be wasted on you—though I may engage in it anyway, purely for my entertainment, when time is not a consideration."
He turned, seeking something. Finally, his eyes alighted on David.
"A human, on the other hand, may not be quite so reticent," the Klingon rumbled. "Especially such a small human." He gestured, and the blond boy was brought to him.
Even at close quarters, David didn't flinch. He did his best to look the Klingon in the eye.
The invader had chosen poorly, Spock reflected. Of all the children he had at his disposal, the blond boy would be the least likely to tell him anything.
Or perhaps I am misjudging the Klingon's intent, he thought. Perhaps this was all a show based on the belief that Spock would break down rather than see David tortured.
Nor would the Vulcan have hesitated to give away the whereabouts of the G-7 unit if he thought it would ensure David's safety. However, Klingons were not known for their merciful natures … nor for their short memories. Having been thwarted this long, they would have their revenge, even if their demands for the device were met.
"Where is the terraforming unit?" the Klingon asked.
David would not have said even if he knew. His attitude was positively Vulcan.
Spock regretted that the children were involved in this. He had tried to send them deeper into the hills. He had tried to put their safety before his own. But they had made the choice to stay with him and to help. They were faced now with the fruits of their decision.
"Where is the mechanism?" the Klingon snarled.
David glanced at Spock and remained silent.
But the boy's link to the Starfleet officer did not go unnoticed. The Klingon's ebony eyes glittered beneath the ridge of his brow.
"It seems," he observed, "this child draws his courage from the Vulcan. Well, that resource can be stripped from him easily enough."
He turned to a couple of Klingons whose hands were not full with the other human children. With a jerk of his shaggy head, he indicated a nearby outcropping, of red rock.
"Take him around to the other side," he commanded. "Then we will see how much of his foolishness is his own."
Spock watched, prevented from intervening by the half-dozen disruptors aimed at him, as the Klingons grabbed the boy and brought him around to the far side of the outcropping.
The wind was cold as it swept through the hills, making even the sun seem to shiver. Vheled looked at the boy.
And David looked back with defiance in his eyes. An almost Klingon sort of defiance, despite the fact that he was in the grip of two brawny warriors. Despite even the disruptor in the Klingon captain's hand. Vheled smiled inwardly.
Apparently, the boy's courage was his own, not the Vulcan's. This one was different from the Riordan child, the one who had succumbed to tears back at the installation. But he was still a child. More than likely, he would break. And if he did not, it was of no great import. He would die and another child would take his place. Eventually, Vheled would find the weak link in the chain. It was only a matter of time.
"You know what I want," the captain said. He raised his disruptor until it was even with the boy's eyes, until he could look right down its barrel. "Give it to me—or perish. It is that simple."
The human blinked a couple of times. But he didn't weep. And more to the point, he didn't give Vheled the information he sought.
This was getting infuriating. It was time to shed some blood, the captain decided, to show the humans he meant business.
"Stand back," he told his men, so they wouldn't be caught in the disruption effect. As they obeyed, he pressed the end of the barrel against the spot between the child's eyes. In a way, Vheled hated to reward valor with death. But in this case, he had no choice.
Suddenly, there was a flare of blue radiance. But not from the weapon he held against the human, from somewhere else.
As he looked up, he saw that one of his men had fired on the other. And Chorrl, the one who'd been fired upon, was disintegrating before his eyes.
The captain of the Kad'nra didn't know what was happening, but he knew that it wasn't good. It wasn't until the Klingon's disruptor swung in his direction that he began to understand the extent of the problem.
"Grael," he said. "What are you—?"
There was no time to finish his question. Grael's finger was depressing the trigger.
Hurling himself out of the way, Vheled narrowly missed being disrupted. The blue beam lanced past him and shattered part of the outcropping.
As the captain landed on the groud, he rolled and came up firing. Unfortunately, his aim was shaky, and he missed his target by a good half a meter.
Even more unfortunately, Grael's second shot was perfect. Vheled could feel himself being ripped apart; the pain was like nothing he had ever imagined. He doubled over, his weapon slipping from his hand.
But even as he perished in the atom-tearing wake of the disruption radiation, the captain of the Kad'nra managed to raise his head long enough to glare at Grael and hurl one hissing curse at him:
"Traitor!"
For a moment, Grael stood over the remains of his former comrade and his former captain, trying to accept the reality of what he had done. Somehow, he'd believed that treachery would be an easier thing to swallow the second time around.
He was wrong. It was worse—much worse. But there was no turning back now. He had only begun to fulfill his unholy pledge to Kiruc, first by sabotaging the Kad'nra, and then by killing Vheled to keep him from bringing back the colonists' terraforming technology.
There were still a half-dozen other Klingons on the other side of the outcropping to deal with. And then Kruge and his group, back at the installation .
First things first, he decided. He would have to find a way to wipe out his remaining crewmates—preferably without being killed himself. After all, the whole point of this was to ensure his continued survival.
So wrapped up was Grael in his thoughts, he almost forgot about the human child—who now stared at him with strange, blue eyes. Returning the stare, the Klingon suddenly got an idea.
It was a risk, Grael told himself. But it also might be his only chance. Going over to what was left of Vheled, he picked up the captain's disruptor and held it out to the boy.
The human looked reticent, suspicious. He didn't move.
"Take it," the Klingon rasped, so no one else could hear. "You want to help your friends, don't you?"
The child nodded. "Yes," he said softly.
"Then this is your chance. Take it."
The boy weighed his decision for another second or two. Then he came forward and held out his hand. Grael laid the disruptor in it.
"You know how to use it?" he asked.
The human nodded again. He pantomimed pressing the trigger.
"Good," said Grael. He directed the boy to one edge of the outcropping. "You stand there." Indicating the other end of the rocky mass, he said, "I'll stand here. When I give you a sign, take out as many as you can."
The child's eyes narrowed. There was a question in them: Why?
Graed didn't answer. It was none of his concern.
Silently, they moved to either end of the outcropping. As the traitor craned his neck around it, the scene beyond gradually came into view. The Klingons had herded the children and the Vulcan together so they could surround them and watch them more easily. Apparently, no one had heard the brief disruptor battle. Nor had enough time passed for them to suspect anything was amiss.
Grael turned and gave the signal. Then, unbeknownst to the boy, he waited for him to fire first. That would ensure that the Klingons' fire would initially be directed at the human, not at the traitor.
After all, why incur more danger than he had to? Let the child run interference for him. The only aspect of his plan that might have worked better was the human's aim. His first burst went well wide of the Klingon nearest to him.
Everything else worked like a charm, however. No sooner had the Klingons realized they were being fired upon than they returned the favor, blasting away at the source of the blue beam.
Grael couldn't tell if the boy was hit or not—nor did he much care. The important thing was that he had provided a distraction.
With unerring accuracy, the traitor cut down two of his comrades in quick succession. A third saw him and got off a shot but not a good one. And a fraction of a second later, he too was writhing in agony.
Then a couple of beams sizzled past too close for comfort, and Grael had to retreat behind the outcropping. Two more blasts struck the edge of the formation, pulverizing it; fragments rained down all over.
Taking a deep breath, the traitor stuck his head out past the rock again and fired. Again he was successful, and a comrade fell.
Four down, two to go. But before Grael could score another victim, the Vulcan made it unnecessary. Coming up behind one of the Klingons, he grabbed him at the juncture of neck and shoulder and the warrior collapsed.
As the sole remaining invader turned to fire at the Starfleet officer, a couple of the human children tried to tackle him from behind. And when the Klingon tried to cast them aside, it left him open for the Vulcan's attack.
A single blow was all it took. The Klingon crumpled as if his bones had turned to frail swamp reeds.
Only then did Grael check to see the status of his young accomplice. The boy, it seemed, was unhurt. And he still held the disruptor.
"Your job is done," the traitor told him. "Give me back the weapon."
As before, David hesitated. Grael eyed him. Would he actually have the courage to test a Klingon's trigger finger? At point-blank range?
Suddenly inspired, Grael pointed his disruptor in the direction of the human's comrades. "Don't test me," he said. "I'm on your side—if you allow me to be."
Maybe it was the threat to his friends; maybe it was something in the Klingon's voice that smacked of the truth. In any case, the child lowered his weapon and tossed it to Grael.
The Klingon caught it and grunted. "A wise choice." Then he came out of concealment, only to see the Vulcan kneeling to recover a weapon from one of the fallen.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," he said.
Like the boy, the Vulcan seemed to weigh the various elements ot the situation. In the end, he withdrew his hand.
That gave the Klingon the chance to complete his work here. He destroyed his two unconscious comrades, then their weapons.
While he was doing this, the Vulcan remained impassive, only the merest shadow crossing his face. But the children's faces openly displayed their emotions: horror and revulsion.
"They were your enemies," said Grael, when he was finished. "Why" not be glad they are gone?"
"What you did was unnecessary," replied the Starfleet officer. "They would have remained unconscious for hours."
"Unnecessary?" the Klingon echoed. He leered. "Maybe for your purposes, but definitely not for mine."
The Vulcan regarded him. "I must confess," he said, "I do not understand your motives—or for that matter, your objectives."
"My motives," Grael told him, "are my own. And my objectives, at least insofar as you need know about them, are to confound this mission and take us back to the homeworld. In fact, I will be encouraging our departure sometime later today." He pointed with his disruptor in the direction of the colony. "That should give you time to return to your installation and free your human friends while you still have the chance."
The Vulcan maintained his scrutiny. "An act of mercy?" he asked.
The Klingon shook his head. "You know better."
Accepting that as the truth, the Starfleet officer looked to his young charges. "Come," he said. "Let us do as he suggests."
Only the boy with the yellow hair and the strange blue eyes gave Grael a last look. The rest just followed the Vulcan past the outcropping and into the distance.
When he was sure they were gone, the Klingon holstered his disruptor, sat down where he could rest his back against the outcropping, and contemplated his deeds.
Kruge was pacing the commandeered dome when the door opened again. As before, it framed the powerful form of Oghir.
"Second Officer? It is Grael."
Oghir's expression was no more sanguine than before. Kruge cursed and opened his communicator. "Grael? This is the second officer. Report! What is happening?"
Grael's tone was hollow, flat, as if his emotions could not begin to keep up with the disasters that had been taking place out there. "They're all dead," he reported.
The second officer shook his head. "What nonsense is this?"
"They're all dead," the man repeated. "Captain Vheled, First Officer Gidris, everyone. I'm the only one left."
It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then another before Kruge could get himself to believe them. "Who killed them?" he asked. "Not the human brats?"
"No, not children. There are no children out here, Second Officer. Only adults—Starfleet officers." A pause. "It's a trap of some kind, I think. As if they wanted us to come here, to try to steal their technology …"
Kruge resisted an impulse to hurl his communicator at the dome's curved wall. He should have known mere children couldn't outwit an experienced warrior like Gidris. He should have known.
And so should Vheled have known. He should have taken more men, maybe even directed long-range disruptor fire from the Kad'nra.
But now it was too late. According to Grael, the captain was dead. And so were their hopes for obtaining the full measure of this colony's scientific advances.
Abruptly, Kruge realized he'd gotten what he'd wished for. He was in charge—not just for a little while, but indefinitely.
The knowledge sobered him. "Stand by," he told Grael.
"Aye-aye, sir," came the response.
Curbing his fury, Kruge considered his options. He didn't have many.
He could take the few troops that were left to him and confront the Starfleet force in the hills, but that seemed like a losing proposition. If this was a trap, as Grael had suggested, who knew what else lay in store for them out there?
The second option was to cut and run. To beam up with whatever data Mallot had been able to coax from Boudreau and his computers and content themselves with that.
Naturally, the second option grated on Kruge's nerves. For one thing, they would look like puris, slogging home with their tails between their legs and their mission only partly accomplished, and that would not help the Gevish'rae cause in the least. For another, Boudreau had lied right to his face. He must have known what awaited them in the hills; he must have been in on it. And Kruge hated it when people lied to him.
On the other hand, what else was there for them to gain here? There was still a chance that the G-7 device was a formidable weapon; in his heart, he still believed that. But there was also a chance that the damned thing had never existed in the first place.
Maybe the whole installation was just bait for the Federation's trap. Maybe when they got back to the homeworld and analyzed all Mallot's data, they'd find out that it was gibberish—more bait.
Still, they couldn't go back with nothing of value. They couldn't—
With the suddenness of a summer storm in the Fesh'rin hills, Kruge's course of action became clear to him. He spoke into his communicator again.
"Grael?"
"Yes, Second Officer?"
"I am now the captain," Kruge reminded him tautly.
"Yes, Captain?" the man amended.
"Contact the ship and have yourself beamed up. And alert the transporter tech. There will be more to follow."
"As you wish—Captain Kruge."
Still standing just inside the door, Oghir looked at him. "We are leaving?" he asked tentatively.
Kruge nodded. "Yes. We—are leaving. But not alone."
The man looked puzzled. "Not alone?" he echoed.
"Of course not," said the new captain of the Kad'nra, as he brushed past Oghir on his way out the door. "The colonists will be coming with us."
And with Oghir trailing him, he headed for the domes where Boudreau and the other lying humans were being kept.
A small, nondescript gray ball appeared in the distance on the main viewscreen. The captain knew what it was: there was no point in calling for magnification.
"Approaching Beta Canzandia Ten," Sulu reported, from his customary position at the helm. His voice was stretched tight, but no tighter than Kirk's nerves. The trip had seemed to take an eternity. "Estimated time to Beta Canzandia Three is twenty-three minutes, thirty seconds."
"Still no response from the colony," Uhura contributed.
The captain leaned forward, lodging a knuckle in the space between his chin and his lower lip. Probably they'd beam down and find the problem was nothing more than a communications unit on the blink. Or some damned interference pattern in the atmosphere.
And Spock would look at him as if he'd been crazy to tear across space at warp nine. As you can see, sir, he would say, eyebrow raised in incredulity, we are quite unharmed.
At the navigation board, Chekov was hunched over his controls as if to get a better look at one of his monitors. Suddenly the ensign whirled around in his seat.
"Sair, I've got a Klingon wessel on my screen—and it's in orbit around the colony planet!"
The captain absorbed the information in an instant and formulated a course of action.
"Maintain speed, Mr. Sulu!" He touched a pad on the armrest of his command chair. "Mr. Scott?"
"Aye, sir."
"We've got trouble up ahead—Klingon trouble. I want phasers and photon torpedoes primed and ready!"
"Ye've got 'em," Scotty assured him.
Kirk's mind raced. What were the Klingons up to, anyway? Just asserting what they claimed were their borders—or something more than that?
Could it be they were after the terraforming technology? He certainly wouldn't put it past them. The Klingons had seen benign Federation technologies as threats in the past; why not now?
Damn. The colonists had no defenses, no way of fighting back. They'd be helpless against the likes of a Klingon raiding party.
If they'd hurt Carol … or Spock …
Abruptly he realized his hands had become fists. With an effort he relaxed them, then tapped his armrest again. "Mr. Leslie."
"Sir?" came the almost instantaneous reply.
"Prepare a security team. It looks as if we're going to have to take a colony back from the Klingons."
Leslie caught on quickly. "We'll be ready in five minutes, sir."
"Five minutes will be satisfactory," the captain told him.
It would be about twice that before they reached Beta Canzandia Three. Kirk knew they'd be ten of the longest minutes in his life.