Before Destruction! Page 10

  supreme here, and you... you are merely an inconvenience." Tromok

  restrained himself from reaching for his dagger. "You are mad if

  you think you could wrest my throne from me. And if you intend to

  kill me to get it, you are welcome to try. My ships will destroy

  you, and many more are on the way." He looked at the weapon now

  aimed at him. "As hostage I am no good to you either. My men

  will follow my orders and consider me dead. My brother will of

  course, inherit my title. The end result will be the same for

  you... death."

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  "There are more ways to gain the Empire than you have named,

  and that is my riddle. Nevertheless, even that is not my final

  goal." He slowly raised himself from the chair, eyes and weapon

  never wavering. "You still do not know with whom you are dealing."

  "Not for lack of effort, though I am sure it is a strain for

  one so boastful, to keep it a secret as long as you have."

  The Host chuckled briefly at that. "I did not know the

  Klingon Emperor had a sense of humor," he said with a smile.

  "Do you also have a sense of irony?" he posed.

  The Emperor said nothing. He wished to stall but never to

  play the fool.

  "No answer?" he asked, holstering his weapon and leaning

  towards the Emperor with both hands on the table. "Then let me

  explain myself with a brief tale." His smile faded.

  "Years ago... no," he started again. "A lifetime ago, there

  was a brave Starship Captain. The first Starship Captain." It

  seemed painful for him to speak but he continued. "Long before

  we had the Neutral Zone, Organian Peace Treaties or cloaking

  devices to complicate life, this lone Captain and a hand-picked

  crew set out in their new Starship on a brave mission: The

  Exploration of Space. It was given to him to extend the hand of

  friendship to other spacefaring races and invite them to take

  their place of honor in a United Federation of Planets."

  "With nothing but a faithful crew and the shining Prime

  Directive, this Captain guided his noble vessel farther than any

  ship in the Federation had ever ventured. After weeks of

  exploration in this distant part of the galaxy, the Captain

  encountered, for the first time since the Hundred Years War, a

  race of beings who were as proficient in their technology as they

  were in their ruthlessness." His eyes narrowed as they penetrated

  the Emperor. "But now I am getting ahead of myself," he

  interrupted, then continued the tale.

  "The Starship first had made contact with intelligent life on

  a planet not far from where we are now. The Captain spent weeks in

  peaceful negotiations and in the exchange of cultural information

  with the new-found alien friends who called themselves the Bak'i.

  When it became time to depart from the planet, the Captain bid them

  farewell and began his return to the Earth, with a promising new

  addition to the Federation."

  "However, while the Starship was leaving, they detected three

  spacecraft approaching their new friend's solar system. Motivated

  by curiosity, the Starship turned around, back to the world they

  had just visited. Upon arrival, they found that the entire surface

  of the planet had been laid waste. Not one Bak'i had survived

  the terrible holocaust. Three armed warships had made short work

  of their entire world."

  "When the Captain of the Starship attempted to hail the three

  PAGE 56

  invading warships, in order to understand the action that had been

  taken, the warships opened fire. They were Klingon warships."

  The Emperor's face seemed to hint of recognition of the story,

  from a memory long forgotten, or perhaps one he wished had been so.

  "It was a time when our shields had been stronger than our

  weapons. The battle raged for hours, particle-static beams and

  focused radiation, inflicting more damage on men than on machinery.

  The Captain was on the verge of hopelessness, when he managed to

  destroy one of the Klingon warships." The Host erected himself. His

  countenance became cold in remembrance of the lives lost afterward

  by slow radiation poisoning, during the long dark voyage home.

  "With one ship lost to the void, and no outward sign of damage

  to the Federation Starship, the second Klingon vessel turned tail

  and fled. The odds were then even.

  "Yes," the Emperor whispered, transfixed by his own images of

  the long ago battle. Though seeing it from another perspective

  than that of his enemy.

  "Again the ships clashed, until the Federation ship's weaponry

  became useless, drained of energy and damaged beyond any hope of

  repair. The Captain ordered all power to his foreword shields,

  said a prayer, and began one final charge at his opponent. The

  Starfleet Captain expected to die in the collision of the two

  ships, but before the impact could be consummated, the ship from

  the Empire gave her ground and took flight to parts unknown." He

  folded his arms across his chest. "But not unknown to you,

  Emperor Tromok," he spoke in anger. "Do you still remember the

  words spoken from your own boastful lips, when the Starfleet

  Captain attempted to explain his peaceful intentions?" He let his

  guest search his memory for a moment. "Do you recall the vow I

  made to you, as you ordered your ship's retreat?"

  "You?" Tromok said in astonishment.

  "Then, you were merely the eldest 'son' of the Emperor of

  Klinzhai, now the Empire is yours, and I will finally make good

  on my vow." A cold smile slowly crept upon his lips, from the

  corners of his mouth. "Do you remember me now, Emperor of

  Klinzhai?"

  "I remember," he rumbled and slowly rose to his feet. "I had

  not known defeat but for you." His voice became a growl, his

  muscles tensed, "You are the secret shame I have kept hidden, even

  from myself, for these many years."

  The man reproduced his weapon, leisurely but with purpose. He

  slowly aimed it at the Klingon. "Then my name still has meaning in

  the Klingon Empire?" Strangely, the man lowered the weapon and

  placed it on the long table before him, as if to challenge the

  Klingon. "I told you that you would fear the day when next our

  swords would cross, that you would ever fear the name of Garth of

  Izar!"

  PAGE 57

  With a roar from the depths of his soul, the Emperor toppled

  the long heavy table on to its side, sending Garth's phaser

  clattering across the floor. Deciding in an instant that the

  weapon was too far to reach, the Emperor threw himself the distance

  between his enemy and himself. He hit Garth in his midsection,

  like a projectile, taking him to the floor.

  Garth was at the ready when the Emperor lunged at him and

  rolled with the momentum and mass thrust upon him, tossing the

  Klingon off and into the wall behind him. Garth was to his feet

  first but allowed his guest to also rise, savoring the

  confrontation he had long awaited, not desiring too soon an end to

  it.

  "It is good to see the
Emperor is still a warrior," Garth

  said, paying tribute to his foe.

  "To the death," Tromok said as he lifted his bulk off the

  polished deck.

  "Not so, your Majesty," he said mockingly. "I do not intend

  to kill you, and I am certain that you shall not kill me." Garth

  squared himself off from his opponent, now ready to continue the

  battle.

  The Emperor feigned left, then right and jabbed quickly with

  his left fist, connecting only with air. Garth dodged the second

  blow as well, and responded with a hard chop to the Emperor's neck,

  bringing him to his knees. The Klingon, partly dazed by the chop

  that would have knocked an ordinary man out, looked up at Garth in

  rage. Tromok pondered to himself for a moment why his enemy took

  no advantage at a downed foe. He lifted himself again, growling

  like an animal gone mad.

  Garth moved first, with a punch to the Emperor's heavy jaw,

  then one to his stomach, when, with remarkable speed, the Emperor

  caught Garth's wrist and placed a strong hand to his throat. The

  Emperor slowly, powerfully, squeezed his enemy's neck with a

  wolfish grin, and drew Garth close. "Now, you are mine!" he

  whispered.

  Garth grabbed the hand at his throat and centimeter by

  centimeter, pulled it away, his muscles straining against Emperor

  Tromok's for control. Both with feet firmly planted on the deck,

  the struggle became one of brute force. 'Victory to the strong',

  as a Klingon would say.

  They stood face to face. Both red with the exertion of their

  strength, neither giving in. One force irresistible, the other

  immovable and both committed to the defeat of the other.

  "You will lose!" said the Klingon Emperor through clenched

  teeth.

  "Not at your hand," promised Garth.

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  The seconds that they spent in battle were years of desired

  revenge nearing fulfillment. Neither would admit the thought of

  defeat into their minds, though clearly, only one would stand when

  they were done.

  "Now," Garth strained, "the tide turns." And with his final

  effort, he forced Emperor Mocdar Jek Tromok to his physical limit,

  then pulled him with all that was in him. The might of the Klingon

  was used against himself as Garth yanked backwards with all his

  strength, fairly throwing the Emperor against the bulkhead, a full

  fifteen feet behind him.

  The Klingonese monarch sank to the floor unconscious, as Garth

  slowly walked towards his downed enemy, gulping breaths as he came.

  He kneeled beside this fallen warrior, and pressed two fingers

  against the Emperor's pulmonary artery to be sure he still lived.

  Satisfied, he rose, gathered his phaser and depressed a button on

  his belt.

  The only doors to the room parted and the Andorian, carrying a

  medical bag, entered through them.

  "Revive him," commanded Garth, "And place the stasis cuffs on

  him or he may accidentally kill you as he regains his wits."

  "Yes, lord Garth," the blue man replied. He reached into his

  medical bag and produced a Doctor's spray hypo. He placed a small

  yellow canister into the instrument, set the dosage to 20

  milliliters, and injected the substance into the Klingon's neck.

  Grasping both wrists, the acting physician placed the energy bonds

  around them as the Emperor's eyes began to flutter.

  The Emperor, not feeling at all well, opened his eyes for a

  moment, then realizing that they were not focusing, blinked several

  times to clear them. Immediately he became aware of his

  surroundings and of the fact that he was temporarily immobilized.

  He looked up to see the man standing across the room from him, to

  his astonishment. Tromok closed his eyes again at the man he saw.

  'Surely,' he thought, 'my mind plays tricks!' He opened them once

  again and saw that the vision had not changed. Directly across

  from him, standing majestically in royal robes, was the Emperor

  of all Klinzhai.

  The vision smiled. "You see," Garth said in the voice of the

  Klingon monarch, "I never had the need to strike any bargain, never

  needed anything from you, but 'you'."

  "You can not do this!" spoke the Emperor, almost breaking before

  his enemy, as his heart sank, for he knew that if there was anyone in

  the universe who could wrest the Empire from him, it was this man.

  The man that wore his face.

  "It is already done!" boasted Garth. "But be of good cheer,

  for I am not finished with you nor the galaxy yet!" He strode over

  to his double. "You see," he spoke, kneeling beside the former

  Emperor, "there is something I know about the Organian Peace Treaty

  PAGE 59

  that neither you nor my Federation seem to be aware of." He smiled

  a dangerous smile. "But that is another riddle," he said. Rising

  from Tromok and turning towards the exit, he began to laugh. He

  left the room, his laughter echoing down the corridors, silenced

  only when the doors shut behind him.

  PAGE 60

  *** TEN ***

  The white streak that was Enterprise blazed like a stray bolt

  of lightning through the vacuum of space. She was on a heading

  that would bring her into a still-disputed area of the galaxy. The

  Federation claimed it. The Klingon Empire claimed it, but the

  Organians controlled it and named it the Neutral Zone. Hence,

  ownership of any tract of space or any planet within that region

  must be acquired by peaceful, productive occupation. This was in

  accordance with the treaty signed by both claimants. Violent

  aggression by either party was forbidden, and would, by the self-

  appointed arbitrators / enforcers, be stopped.

  Since the initiation of the treaty, both camps had made

  attempts to stretch the limits of the contract, to no effect. The

  Treaty was ironclad. Adherence to it was not an option. In

  addition, it was agreed that Organia, as a planet and a people, was

  to be left alone... until now.

  James T. Kirk occupied the center seat. He waited for the

  inevitable. The weight of the Captaincy was never heavier on his

  shoulders than at this moment. His orders to approach the planet

  in the solar-system ahead of him was a violation of Treaty. His

  orders to set his ship for self-destruct was a violation of his

  conscience. And yet he still waited for the inevitable.

  The meeting Jim had called in sickbay with McCoy and Spock

  was an exercise in futility. The danger still roamed his ship. To

  attempt to incapacitate the Grensk android would be difficult even

  if it was not conducive to exploding. The android had far superior

  strength to that of even a Vulcan. Every plan that they discussed

  or formulated put all aboard in jeopardy. To leave Grensk to his

  own devices placed the ship in no less a perilous position, but it

  did give them a timeframe within which to work. They used to call

  his predicament a 'catch twenty-two, Jim recalled.

  Jim looked at the chronometer in the arm of his chair. "Mr.

  Sulu, shouldn't we be reaching the system perimet
er soon?"

  "Aye, Sir, coming up on it in about eight minutes." Sulu spoke

  calmly.

  "Prepare to power down to impulse, point 9, in about eight

  min..." Jim shut his mouth and grabbed both sides of his chair. He

  could feel something vibrating subtly for just a moment. It

  stopped. He sat still to see if it would happen again. Then the

  whole ship began to shudder violently.

  Jim hit his comm button. "Kirk to Engineering, Scotty,

  what's the problem?" he asked urgently. The shudder became more

  pronounced. "Mr. Scott!" No answer. Spock quickly moved over to

  the engineer's console.

  "Captain," Spock announced, "the port nacelle is beginning to

  PAGE 61

  buckle, all readings are peaking in the red."

  "Sulu!" Jim started, but before he could finish his sentence,

  the ship pitched to port, and the Enterprise began to maneuver in

  an irregular, large spiral, her inertia dampeners and starboard

  engine began to whine.

  Holding onto the corner of the console, the helmsman tried to

  reach for the controls, fighting like the rest of the crew against

  the powerful centrifugal force. Straining, he managed to get a

  finger on the correct button, and pressed the emergency shut-off

  switch. The starboard engine went silent and Sulu was able to

  engage braking thrusters.

  "All stop, Sulu." Perspiration beaded on the Captain's

  forehead.

  "Slowing, Sir," spoke Sulu, equally sweaty.

  Uhura turned from her station. "Captain, damage control is

  reporting a fire in engineering, and something about an explosion!"