Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless (4 page)

Sudok said clearly, “Gold to position first. The clouds descend.” At the Arena ceiling, holo projectors came glowing to life.

Vrenn saw the Thought Admiral’s wave. He thought, dimly, that it was an odd gesture, not at all like the Marine player’s sharp salute, but in a moment it was past, and he was thinking about the game, and the victory. He felt the weight of his Lance, its good balance, the fine fit of his armor.

Prizes,
he thought. The House had all the taped episodes of
Battlecruiser Vengeance,
and Vrenn had watched every one of them, and they all ended with the same line. Humans, Romulans, Kinshaya, servitors who had somehow managed to enter space, all of them asked their conqueror who he was, and the answer was always: “I am Captain Koth. Koth of the
Vengeance.
And this ship is my prize.”

Not that Vrenn could ever have a ship—not ever a ship, not without a line-name or a line—but perhaps he could have the Lance. A prize of war, his entirely. And like Koth, he would use his prize—

The
klin zha
pyramid was glowing from within, clear panels turning opaque with holo images. Vrenn heard a slight escape of breath from Ragga, that said more than a mouthful of curses. The Clouded Game was hardest on a Blockader. It was not Vrenn’s favorite, either. At least Gelly would be pleased, and the Fliers.

And Zharn, perhaps; it was hard to tell. Zharn was always leader-hard and leader-calm. No form of
klin zha
was easy for the Fencer.

On the other side of the Arena floor, the Gold team was moving, filing into the game grid. Green Team had second placement, then, and second move. Vrenn did not know how much advantage there was to second position, when the opponent’s set-up was partly hidden; he did not like the Clouded game even when he controlled all the pieces. One could not see the enemy’s pieces, or the enemy.

The Naval officer with Proctor Khidri spoke quietly; Khidri gestured, and Green Team entered the grid.

“Green player chooses the left-hand point,” Sudok announced. The Gold pieces had been placed as Mabli chose; now the Green pieces occupied another point on the Grid’s lowest level, leaving the third point empty.

“I can’t
see
them all,” Margon’s consort said, annoyed. Margon grunted at her, a threatening sound. Sudok said nothing, and moved a control; the Gallery glass darkened, and the grid cleared as the obscuring holos were polarized out. Hazy shimmers remained, indicating which panels were blocked to the players’ view.

“Drownfish’s teeth, look at that,” one of the civilians said to the other. “Old Khemara’s got a Lancer Advanced opening. What do you say to doubled stakes?”

The other administrator looked doubtful, turned to his
tharavul.
“Sovin. Percentages of success for the Lancer Advanced?”

The Vulcan said at once, “Nine percent of such openings lead to victory. Adjusted for the three-dimensional game, Obscuration rules, four percent.”

“Well…let’s say redoubled—wait. Sovin, adjust for Grand Master play.”

“Data base is small, Manager Akten.”

“Coarse data, then.”

“Coarse data indicate twenty-two percent success. I cannot correlate for Grand Masters versus Masters of Force Leader Mabli’s rating.”

“Double and that’s all, then,” Akten said, giving the
tharavul
a side-long look. “Sometimes, Atro, you want to cut more out of their skulls than just their mind-snoop….”

Sovin, of course, did not react. Operator Sudok said, “Starting positions are chosen. Goals are being placed.” He pushed two slides forward.

General Margon stroked his consort’s arm, watched her claws involuntarily extend, and smiled.

Vrenn stood in a triangular cell of metal and light. The floor was a sheet of heavy clear stuff with darkness below, bounded by black metal strips, each with a slot along its length.

He knew he was in the right front space of the starting position. It was a bad place for a Lancer in flat-board
klin zha,
backed against an edge, but perhaps not in this game.
They must follow the Grand Master’s lead,
he thought. And be worthy of his play, as Khidri had said.

Voloh, the Vanguard, was to Vrenn’s left, and Graade Vanguard was behind Vrenn. A
very
unusual starting position. Just beyond Voloh stood Ragga, still tensing against his Blockader armor. In the center of the position was Zharn; that made sense at least. Vrenn could not see any of the others, nor any of the Gold Team.

There was a flicker of light in Zharn’s space. A disk, half a meter across and a handbreadth thick, materialized in midair. Zharn caught it nimbly. The Goal was of polished green metal, heavy by the way Zharn held it. Vrenn hoped he would not have to find out. Zharn put the Goal gently on the floor of his space, put a boot up on it and stood tensed and ready.

The slots in the floor strips lit yellow. At once Vrenn leaned forward, shifting his balance for action; he dropped his Lance from parade to ready position, and moved fingers on the controls. The Lance hummed through his fingers, and the Active tip went from blue to green.

There was a movement before him. A large shape, golden: the enemy Blockader, passing through an unClouded space. Vrenn watched the yellow strip in front of him, waiting for it to change, but it did not.

Ragga’s did, yellow to blue, and the Blockader moved, watching to all sides, and even above, though of course no pieces could yet be on the higher levels.

But that was not a bad caution. In non-combat
klin zha,
a Blockader could not be killed at all; but it was different in
klin zha kinta,
and Blocks who forgot that it was different learned again in hard fashion. Another strip turned blue, and Ragga moved on; he disappeared as he crossed the line, which went yellow again after him.

Segon Vanguard walked from a mist into Ragga’s empty space.
He did it too hastily,
Vrenn thought, went through the Cloud panel too sure the space beyond would be empty. Segon turned slightly, to wave to Zharn Fencer.

The Gold Vanguard emerged from Cloud and slammed his fist into Segon’s chest, all in one motion.

Segon staggered, sank down almost to kneeling—then brought the heels of both hands up hard into the Gold player’s chin. The Gold’s head went back, and Segon’s left gauntlet chopped into her throat. Almost too fast to see, the enemy kicked to the side of Segon’s knee; they fell together. The bodies locked, and tensed for a long, long moment, and then there was the liquid-metal sound of a joint failing.

Segon stood up, shoulders pumping as he breathed. He took an unsteady step away from the fallen Vanguard. The Gold’s body shimmered, vanished, transported away.

The panel beneath Vrenn’s boots trembled, then began to rise, riding on the rails of the game grid. Vrenn returned Zharn’s salute, gave one to Segon, who raised a shaking hand to acknowledge.

The panel stopped on the next level above. Vrenn was completely surrounded by Cloud panels. The Elevation move had been toward the grid center, so there was still a board edge to his right—safe to ignore that panel—but he was not in a corner. Two directions to cover—no, four. He looked up.

Spurs flashed by Vrenn’s face. Vrenn swung the Null end of his Lance, caught the Flier in the thigh; the swooping Gold rolled in midair and landed on his back, spurred boots pointed at Vrenn. Vrenn reversed the Lance, touched the controls; the Active tip glowed yellow. The Flier twisted his control-gloved hand and was off the floor instantly; his bootheels struck the Lance’s deflector shield, and the Gold spun in midair. His shoulder grazed a side panel of the cell, above a yellow floor strip; there was a blue flare and the Flier’s jacket smoked, but the player made no sound.
“Kai,”
Vrenn said under his breath, at the same time dropping the shield and checking the Lance’s charge counter. It was down by almost a sixth.

The Gold somersaulted forward. Vrenn raised his Lance horizontally, catching the gilded steel spurs against it. The Flier continued his roll. Before the enemy could vault over and land behind him, Vrenn fell forward, twisting to fall on his backside. The Flier whirled, just short of striking the far wall; swooped down again.

Vrenn touched his weapon controls. The crystal tip pulsed green.

The Flier was struck in the left ribs, knocked off course. Vrenn spun the Lance end-for-end, smashing the Null end at the Flier’s control gauntlet. He connected. Small bones crunched, and wires. As if swept by an invisible hand, the Gold’s harness flung him into the wall of the cell, and pressed him there, outlined in blue fire. The harness spent its charge. The Gold Flier hit the floor, moved just a little, then sparkled and vanished without a sound.

A floor strip turned blue. Vrenn walked through the holo into the space beyond.

Some of the Naval officers, and even one of the Marines, were slapping their thighs in approval. “Good play! Good play!”

Admiral Kezhke said, “Who’s the Green Lancer?”

Operator Sudok pressed keys, and the close-up image was printed over with red letters.

“Vrenn,” Kezhke read, “
Gensa,
good House…
Rustazh?
” Kezhke knocked aside the fruit one of his consorts was feeding him. There was a silence in the gallery.

General Maida had a just-lit incense stick in his fingers; he stopped halfway to the holder on his shoulder. “I thought the Rustazh line was extinct.”

“So did I,” Kezhke said. “I wonder if Kethas knows.”

“Can such things be?” Margon said amiably, and gestured to remind Maida of his smoldering incense.

Kezhke said, “Sudok—”

“The Admiral Grand Master inspected his players’complete records some days ago.”

Margon said, “You can hardly assume a Grand Master’s play would be affected by his interest in one of the pieces.”

“No,” Kezhke said levelly, “not Kethas. But it’s been…seven years since all the Rustazh died—”

“All but one, it would seem.”

“It would seem.” Kezhke stroked his stomach, turned to the cubicle at the end of the room.

Within it,
Thought Admiral Kethas again moved his Lancer.

Vrenn had reached the sixth level of the grid, four cells to an edge. There were only a few Clouds here; about half the level was visible, and several spaces on the level above. Vrenn wondered briefly if the other Gold Flier was still in play, and almost without thinking checked his Lance. The indicator read four-tenths charge. The Fliers could not carry Goals, but surely that did not matter yet; surely they were not so close to endgame.

Behind Vrenn, a player was rising from below. He turned; it was Gelly, bouncing from toe to toe as if she were weightless. There was a film of blood on her metal gloves. She was smiling, like a shining light in her face. Vrenn nodded to her, and she spun round on the ball of one foot.

The other enemy Flier shot upward, through a space two away from Vrenn’s, and was lost in the Clouds above.

Huge green-armored shoulders appeared near the far point of Vrenn’s level: Ragga was coming up. There were creases now in his heavy leather, and a few rips. Vrenn wondered if he was happier now. He stood as if nothing had ever, could ever, touch him.

The Golden Lancer stepped out of Cloud, faced Ragga directly. Vrenn leaned forward slightly, eager to see.

The enemy’s Lance flashed green. Ragga made no attempt to dodge the bolt; he did not even grunt as it struck him. Then he swung.

The Lancer was at least smart enough not to bother with his shields. He reversed his weapon to the Null end. Vrenn smacked a hand on his thigh; it was a bold move. Not that it would save him, not against Ragga.

The Green Blocker’s fist smashed at the Lance butt, knocking it down, almost out of the Gold’s hands. The enemy staggered.

So did Ragga.

Vrenn stared as the best Blocker of all the Houses sank to his knees. The Lancer stepped back to recover. Ragga barely moved. The Null end struck him, and struck again, and again.

On the third stroke Vrenn heard the pop of a spark, and then he understood: the Lance butt was not Null. There was something hidden in it; a contact stunner, or an agonizer.

It must, he thought, it
must
be a rule he did not know—some handicap against a Grand Master, perhaps—Vrenn checked his controls, touched a finger to the Null of his own Lance; only the grip of training kept him from banging the blunt end against the floor or into one of the wall barriers. Vrenn looked up, toward the window where he had seen the players, but it was blocked now from his view.

An edge of Gelly’s space went from yellow to blue. Vrenn turned, saw the path of blue lines leading to the Gold Lancer. Ragga was gone. Vrenn opened his mouth, to warn her. His jaw was tense enough to hurt, and before he could strain out any words Gelly Swift was across the spaces at warp speed.

The Gold brought up his weapon. Gelly danced around it, kicked the Lancer. He stumbled, started to turn. She kicked him again, punched him in the lower back. He seemed about to fall; she tumbled, did a handstand and struck his helmet with her bootheel.