Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless (11 page)

“I know of the game,” Kodon said. “It is a fair observation…. So, if this is the sort of idiot the Rom Admiral is, Thought Ensign Vrenn, what shall we do to him?”

“There is a single piece in
latrunculo,
” Vrenn said, speaking almost faster than thought, “with the ability to leap over others, like a Flier of
klin zha.
Other pieces must be concentrated against the Centurion….”

Kodon laughed loudly. “Signal to
Death Hand,
priority! Drop shields and transport, and separate, I say once more separate;
hold destruct.
”

“Helmsman—” A line appeared on Vrenn’s display. Vrenn took
Blue Fire
to Warp 0.5 and skimmed the cruiser over Warbird, almost close enough to touch.

The Rom moved.

“Number 3 shield down.”

“Troop transporters energized to receive,” the Engineer said, and the power graphs dove as a wave of
Death Hand
’s Marines were beamed aboard
Blue Fire.

Blue Fire
jumped two more Warbirds, taking only token shots at them. Then, as Warbirds turned in place, a shudder went through
Death Hand
at the center of the enemy cluster: there was a brilliant ring of light at the junction of the cruiser’s narrow forward boom with her broad main wing. The two structures parted, and the boom began to crawl forward on impulse drive.

The Roms hesitated, turned again inward.

“Number 4 shield down, 5 up.”

“Transients in the signal,” the Engineer said, his hands running over controls. Power curves spiked, and warnings flashed yellow. He said, “We’ve got some scramble cases.”

“Affirm,” Kodon said.

Marine no-ranks did not have personal transporter operators watching for them.

Blue Fire
glided on toward
Death Hand,
directly toward it. Vrenn watched as his boards showed tighter and tighter tolerances, less maneuver power as the mass transports stole it from engines.

“Transport arc’s changing again,” the Weapons officer said. “5 shield down, 6 up.”

“Transients clearing from the signal,” the Engineer said, as the two ships closed.

“Signal to
Death Hand,
” Kodon said. “Invitation to Naval officers aboard.”

Moments later the main display lit with a picture of
Death Hand
’s Bridge. Smoke obscured the scene. The Captain’s left arm was tucked inside his sash. Behind him, someone was lying dead across a sparking console.

“Your invitation received,” the Captain said. “My Ensigns are transporting now. I hope they find much glory with you.”

“I am certain,” Kodon said.

For the first time since the battle began, Vrenn thought about the damage to
Blue Fire:
who might be dead on the lower decks. But he had less time for such thoughts by the second. The two cruisers were less than a thousand meters apart, on collision course. An alarm screamed; Vrenn snapped it off.

He shifted power between port and starboard engines:
Blue Fire
began to roll.

Kodon said to the other Captain, “And your Executive?”

“Dead,”
Death Hand
’s Captain said. “And I, of course…”

“This need not be said,” said Kodon. “Kill Roms, with your Black Ship, Kadi.”

The other Captain grinned. “Not these Roms. They’re too stupid. After this death, no more for them….” His lips pulled back from histeeth, and his arm spasmed; blood soaked through the sash. The picture broke up.

Blue Fire
slipped sidewise through the gap between the parts of
Death Hand.
Roms still surrounded them, some still firing into the dead ship’s hulk.

“Naval officers aboard,” the Engineer said. “Ready to receive second Marine unit.”

“Squadron Leader,” Communications said, “they’re breaking formation.”

Vrenn heard, registered, ignored: He
was
the ship now, seeking out the one gap in the formation of Roms they never would have thought to cover: how can two ships be in the same place at once?

Kodon looked up from his foot repeaters. “So, not all their Captains are such fools as their Admiral…. Cancel transport. Signal Code
TAZHAT
. Action!”

“Acting,” said all voices on the Bridge.

The planet whirled over on the display as Vrenn, clear at last of
Death Hand,
brought the ship about. Yellow lines cut across his displays, then green ones, then a blue. Vrenn pushed for thrust, the first set of levers, then the second.

Blue Fire
engaged warp drive, and the stars blazed violet, and black, and were past.

“Flash wave aft,” said the Communications officer.

“Shield 6—” said Weapons, and a rumble through the decks finished the statement for her.

“Power,”
Vrenn said, and the Engineer gave it to him.
Blue Fire
reached Warp 2, and the rumble died way: the ship had just outrun the sphere of photons and debris that was everything left of
Death Hand.
And of the Roms around it.

“Kai!”
Kodon cried out. Vrenn felt proud, then embarrassed: it surely must be Captain Kadi that the Squadron Leader hailed.

Then Kodon said, “Navigator, course for the nearest outpost. Dronesman, trail one to flash. Communications, have
Two Fingers
home on the drone signal.”

Kandel said, “Sir, the cargo ships—”

“Dust, like all good Roms,” Kodon said, quiet but intense. “I am not now interested in prizes. I want an answer, and I do not think it is to be found back there.”

“Squadron Leader, shall I signal to the Fleet—”

“Signal them
anything
and I’ll have your throat out!”

So that,
Vrenn thought,
is what a
real
threat from Kodon sounds like.

After a moment, Kodon spoke again, in his normal tone. “Engineer, raise the heat and moisture on quarters decks; we’re going to be hungry but we might as well be comfortable. And I want Warp 4 power as soon as possible.” He got out of his chair. “Kurrozh, you have the conn. Vrenn, you will come with me.”

Vrenn stood, not knowing what to think and so trying to think nothing. It was an old trick to threaten the one and punish the other: this had an intensified effect on both subjects. He could not think of what he had done wrong, but knew far better than to be reassured by that.

And then he knew too well what he had done: he had suggested a strategy to a Squadron Leader during battle, and worse, the strategy had worked.

But then, as Vrenn followed Kodon to the lift, he saw one of the Bridge crew flash him the spread fingers of the Captain’s Star, and then another, and another. And he knew, then, that he would have his ship, even if it flew in the Black Fleet.

The Ensign’s tunic was torn, and smelled of smoke. He slung his bag on to the empty bed, sat down hard, and saluted with a bandaged hand. “Kelag,
Death Hand,
” he said.

“Kai Death Hand,”
Vrenn said. “Vrenn—” He paused. “Brevet Lieutenant.”

“Vrenn…?” Kelag looked at Vrenn’s rank badges. “But you’re an Ensign?”

“Brevet Ensign.”

Kelag shook his head. His eyelids were drooping. “I don’t understand. What’d you…”

“I was
Blue Fire
’s Helmsman. I am, I mean.”

“Oh,”
said Ensign Kelag, awake at once.
“Kai
Vrenn.
Kai Blue Fire.”

Vrenn nodded. “That was Ruzhe’s bed,” he said. “He was aft, in Engineering.”

“Bad battle.”

“He got through the battle all right…but when they were working on getting the power back up, some tubes blew. It was intercooler gas. Almost plasma, they said. Anyway, there hasn’t been time to clear out his things.”

Kelag was contemplating the floor. After a moment, Vrenn realized he was asleep sitting up. Vrenn stood, took a step, meaning to stretch the Ensign out flat on the bed, but then he stopped. He did not look up. Security did not like any signs that one knew they were watching. They were much more likely to find something wrong with what they saw.

Vrenn turned out the lights—let them watch by infrared—and went to bed himself. He was instantly asleep.

Security had a Rom in the cube. It was running live on ship’s entertainment channel, and in the Inspirational Theatres. Most of the newer officers had traded duty to watch, but Vrenn had stayed on the helm. Kodon laughed; “You’ve gotten to like the conn quick enough. I know what that’s like.”

The Weapons Officer had the Examination picture on her repeater screen, sound too low for Vrenn to hear. If he looked that way, he could see it clearly enough. The right side of the screen showed the information display: a green outline of the Rom’s body, with blue traces of major nerves and yellow crosses where the agonizers were focused. On the left, the Romulan sat in the chair—very firmly so;
Blue Fire
’s Specialist Examiner had set the booth foci so the Rom’s muscles shoved her down and back into the seat cushions, leaving all the restraint straps slack. It was the work of a real expert, showing off just a little.

Vrenn supposed his view was really no worse than that in the Examining Room itself: the agonizer cubes were supposed to be entirely soundproof, with phones for the interested observer to listen at any chosen volume.

There had been three Romulans at the Imperial outpost where Kodon’s Squadron stopped. They claimed diplomatic protection; Kodon was hardly interested, and the outpost Commander was only too happy to stay out of the Squadron Leader’s way—especially after the Executive made clear that
he
was next in line for cube time.

The Ambassador cut her own throat, by Romulan ritual and admirably well. The Romulan Naval Attaché tried to be a great hero by overloading his pistol, but mis-set the controls. Kodon gave him to the surviving Marines from
Death Hand.
That left the Mission Clerk, who was in the cube, while the Security analysts did similar electronic things to the coded recordings she had carried. Security was pleased with their catch: clerks often knew more useful things than the bureaucrats they served.

The Rom slumped over. The Weapons Officer yawned and turned away; on the screen behind her, the agonizer foci shifted to new nerves, and the clerk’s head snapped up again. “So hey, Krenn,” the Gunner said, “how long before we get someplace with thick air? I hate these little outposts, flatulent rocks.”

Vrenn was getting used to the officers ennobling his name, though it couldn’t be final until the Navy made his promotions official. Which might, he knew, never happen. Not everything a privateer captain did, lasted. But for now, it made the conversations easier. “Three days to Aviskie, Lieutenant, if the Squadron Leader wants Warp 4.”

“He will. Got any plans?”

The Romulan was bleeding a thin green trickle from the corner of her mouth.

“I hadn’t,” Vrenn said.

“I think you do now.”

Vrenn tried not to laugh, but did anyway. The two other Lieutenants on the Bridge were carefully watching their boards.

“So what am I supposed to make of that?” the Gunner said. “There may be too much Cadet fuzz on your ears to know it, but you’re on the warp route, Thought Ensign.” Kodon’s half-mocking title for him had spread. “Ever hear of the Warp 4 Club?”

“I
have
got duty.”

“You can’t conn the ship for three
khest’n
days.”

Vrenn grinned. The Gunner had no serious faults he could see—except, perhaps, the rank badges on her vest: Vrenn wondered if he ought to wait, just until his Lieutenancy came through in cold metal.

But then he wouldn’t be a full member of the Club.

The Romulan began to convulse, then went rigid: her lips moved, forming words. The Gunner turned up the sound: it was barely understandable as a string of Romulan numbers.

“Here come the code keys,” the officer said, slapping his thigh.

“You see?” the Gunner said to Vrenn, laughing. “I hope your timing’s
always
this good.”