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  Weyland actually seemed to consider that a moment. "What would you suggest?"

  "Return my men to me and restore our power. We will leave you as we found you."

  "Why should I believe that?" demanded Weyland. "You've not been trustworthy thus far. Why should I believe you to be beings of honor?"

  "I'm trying to convince you, dammit. Restore our transporter, and let me come down there and speak to you directly."

  Again Weyland gave it some thought. "Very well," he said. "The time is right. I shall give you the opportunity to use your transporter one time … one time only. Do as you see fit."

  He vanished from the screen.

  Kirk blinked in surprise. "I didn't think he'd agree to it."

  "Nor I."

  "Perhaps he hasn't. Kirk to engineering."

  "Engineering," came the brisk reply.

  "Mr. Sco—" He corrected himself immediately. "Mr. Two Feathers, kindly run a check on transporter circuits."

  There was a brief pause, and then the surprised response came back. "Sir, transporter circuits are clear for Transporter Room A."

  "No glitches or energy disruptions." Kirk was wary of a trap, although he wasn't sure why. A being like Weyland didn't need to resort to trickery if he decided to dispatch someone. That much had been proven.

  "None, sir. It's clear."

  "Thank you, Mr. Two Feathers. Kirk to transporter room. Two to beam down. Come along, Mr. Spock. Perhaps the logical approach will work."

  "It frequently does," Spock told him serenely.

  Moments later they were in the transporter room, Kirk issuing last minute instructions to transporter chief Kyle. Spock was already on the transporter pad. And that was when the alert came down from the bridge.

  Kirk immediately tapped the comm panel. "Kirk here."

  "Captain, this is Ryan. Sensors have detected two figures outside of the Klingon ship."

  "Outside?" Kirk couldn't believe it. "Are they performing some sort of repair work?"

  "Negative, Captain. We have them on screen. They appear to simply be flailing around. Whatever they're doing out there, I don't think they are there voluntarily, sir."

  "Ryan—" and then he stopped.

  One shot with the transporter. That was what Weyland had said. And Kirk had promised to come down. Weyland had been contending that they couldn't be trusted, then he gives them a chance to show they can, and Kirk doesn't even show up? Uses the transporter for something else … perhaps even a move that could be perceived as an attempt to take a prisoner or two. After all, the Klingons might still be performing some sort of necessary maintenance.

  Even if they were in trouble, so what? They were just two Klingons, after all. Two murderers. Just two lives … and even if they were in space involuntarily, so what? Who would care if they were dead? Just two lives …

  "Damn," muttered Kirk, after a hesitation that had actually been less than a second. "Ryan, feed the coordinates to the transporter room. Kyle, lock on and beam them here immediately."

  "Captain," Spock said, stepping down off the transporter.

  Kirk looked at his first officer and said, "What else can I do? Are there any logical alternatives?"

  Spock nodded. "Yes. But only one correct alternative."

  "That's good to hear." He hit the comm panel once more. "Transporter room to sickbay. Bones, get up here. We're about to have company."

  The transporter beams hummed, their familiar lights cascading across the pads. Kirk and Spock waited, and moments later two silver-clad forms appeared. Their hands were outstretched toward each other, as if they had been trying to reach out to one another in one last, desperate act. The moment their molecules were fully integrated, the two of them collapsed to the floor of the transporter. Kirk noted incredulously that there seemed to be some sort of patching here and there to hold the suits together.

  "Sir," said Kyle in confusion, "the transporter circuits just went dead again."

  Kirk nodded. He'd expected that. Weyland was a man of his word, if nothing else.

  McCoy entered quickly with his medical gear, and his eyes widened. "Where the devil did they come from?"

  "From the Klingon ship, apparently. So adjust medications appropriately."

  "I'm not sure what's appropriate for a Klingon," said McCoy, approaching the individuals on the platform cautiously. One always had to be careful when dealing with Klingons, but these two hardly seemed to be in shape to give McCoy any grief.

  The larger of the two figures removed his head covering. Kirk's eyes went wide with surprise, and then he shook his head. The Klingon rites of succession in action once again. All things considered, it was amazing the individual was alive.

  He looked up at Kirk with amazement. "Gods. I'm dead."

  "No," said Kirk. "You're on the Enterprise."

  "I assumed I was dead, since my personal picture of hell is being trapped forever with you."

  "Good to see you too, Commander Kral."

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Scotland, 1746

  MONTGOMERY SCOTT ROLLED OFF his straw pallet, ignoring the protesting creak of his back. What had just happened? There had been a shot, and some shouting, and now the sound of running feet and the sound of angry voices raised. He thought he heard the Nesbits, begging and pleading about something. The inn was ablaze with light, and Scotty burst out, almost tumbling down the stairs to the main room.

  There was William Hanover, Duke of Cumberland, in his night clothes. He was holding, by the scruff of his neck, a furious and kicking Seamus.

  "What the blazes …?!" Scotty gasped.

  Hanover was paying no attention to Scotty. Instead he was addressing the Nesbits, shaking Seamus for emphasis. "So are you claiming that you were unaware that this little rebel was under your own roof?"

  "I am no rebel," shouted Seamus, red-faced, "but a patriot, who will gladly die for the prince who, by God, is your king!"

  "Oh, shut up," said Hanover in annoyance. "And next time you attempt to shoot someone in their sleep, be certain that your hand is not shaking with fear."

  "If my hand was shaking," snapped Seamus, "it was with excitement at having the chance to rid the world of you! And strike a blow for the prince!"

  "You had your opportunity," said Hanover, "and you missed it."

  Seamus kicked him in the shin.

  William Hanover, the Duke of Cumberland, let out a yelp and lost his grip on the boy. Seamus made a break for it, leaping toward a window. He almost made it, but one of the soldiers lunged forward and snagged him by the ankles. Seamus went down with a crash, amidst a tumble of chairs. It took three soldiers to haul the struggling teenager to his feet, and Seamus promptly sank his teeth into the forearm of the nearest one. The soldier yelled and, drawing back his hand, cuffed Seamus once hard across the face. The boy moaned and sagged in the grip of the other men.

  "What shall we do with him, sir?" said the officer who was holding Seamus from behind.

  "Shoot him," said Hanover, sitting and nursing his throbbing shin.

  "In here, sir?"

  Hanover stared at him in disbelief. "Of course not in here! Do you think we're as barbaric as the enemy? Sink me, man! If you shot him in here, you'd get blood all over the floor."

  "Sorry, sir," said the officer, properly chastened.

  "Decorum at all times," said Hanover. "We are English, you know. We stand for something. Take him outside and shoot him."

  "Right away, sir."

  Seamus was dragged out into the street. It was dark, the small amount of light being provided by torches held by some of the soldiers.

  No fancy firing squad here. Seamus was simply hurled into the middle of the dirt road like so much baggage. He tumbled and fell onto his back.

  He started to scramble to his feet, and one of the officers, swinging up his musket, called out, "I wouldn't try to run, boy. If you do, then you'll be wounded and we'll have to finish you slowly. If you stand still, then we can make it quick. You won't feel
anything."

  "I already feel revulsion! Whenever I look at you!" said Seamus defiantly. He stood, arms drawn back, facing them. "Go ahead! I'm not afraid!"

  "You've got spunk, lad. Too bad you're on the wrong side," said the soldier. The others brought up their muskets as well.

  And then there was a pounding of hooves and the loud whinny of a horse.

  The soldiers spun around, unable to make out who was galloping down on them in the dark. Suddenly a horse burst into the circle of light, plowing right through the soldiers before they could do anything other than scatter to get out of the way.

  The boy's eyes widened in amazement. "Mr. Scott!" he cried out.

  Scotty bore down toward the boy and extended an arm. "Hurry! Now!"

  Seamus leaped upward and Scotty hauled him onto the back of the horse as if he were completely weightless. He snapped the reins and the horse charged forward. There was the crack of musket shot just past his head, but Scotty wasn't concerned. Even under the best of circumstances, muskets weren't (Aren't! Aren't!) very accurate.

  And within moments Seamus and Scotty had pounded off into the darkness.

  Hanover looked up as his men, looking somewhat shocked, slowly reentered the inn.

  "Is he dead?" asked Hanover.

  "Uhm … no, sir," said an officer. "He, uhm … he got away, sir."

  Hanover's stare was acid.

  "Got … away?"

  "He had help, sir."

  "Really?" He regarded them carefully. "Not a mark on you. You must have put up a fearsome fight."

  "He surprised us, sir. A man on horseback—"

  Hanover slammed a fist down on the table, causing dishes to rattle. "I don't care if a hoard of rampaging Huns helped him! Get him back here!"

  "Yes sir!" said the officers, and hurriedly they ran out to mount a pursuit.

  Hanover shook his head. "Damned disappointing performance, I must say. Impossible to find good officers nowadays."

  Chapter Twenty-two

  KBREX BELLOWED in utter fury, "They were what?"

  "Transported away," said Kevlar at the sensor station. "They were on our screen and then they vanished."

  "Raise the Enterprise," snarled Kbrex. "Raise those bastards immediately. Enterprise! Answer us, damn you!"

  "Enterprise here," came the unflappable voice of a human female.

  "I want to speak to your slime bastard of a dung-brained commander, now!"

  There was a pause. Then, when the woman came back on, she sounded amused. "I'm sorry, but there's no one here by that name."

  Dead silence.

  "They've cut off, sir."

  "Get them back!"

  Moments later …

  "Enterprise here."

  "You stupid targ!" bellowed Kbrex, waiting for her to sound intimidated, as he added, "Do you know who you're dealing with?"

  "You called earlier, didn't you?" said the woman calmly.

  "Put your brainless captain on immediately, or so help me Kahless, I will rip out your living heart and strangle you with your own entrails!"

  There was a pause.

  "Who did you want to speak to again?"

  His face was turning purple. "Your flea-bitten, cowardly, son-of-a-whore captain!"

  "He's out walking the dog," the woman informed him. "But I'm sure he'll be back when you're ready to be polite."

  Dead silence.

  "They disconnected again."

  "Get them back!!"

  "Enterprise here," came that same maddening voice.

  "You weak vomitus—" began Kbrex.

  But he was cut off as the voice continued smoothly, "We're not home right now, but please leave a message and we'll return your communication as soon as possible."

  Kbrex sputtered for a moment, and then the communications officer, fearing for his life, informed Kbrex that the Enterprise had severed communications once more.

  On the bridge of the Enterprise the crew was as close to full-fledged hysterics as Kirk had ever seen them.

  After hours of sitting helpless, in the hands of some superbeing with his own motives and unknowable thought process, having the opportunity to let off some steam was proving a blessing for the crew.

  "We're being hailed again, Captain," said Uhura. As opposed to the barely controlled giggling from the rest of the bridge crew, Uhura maintained the absolute deadpan that she used with the Klingon. "How long shall I keep this going?"

  "Until he's ready to behave in a respectful fashion," said Kirk, casually studying his fingernails. "In my younger days I might have taken his abuse. But I'm getting too old to put up with this sort of treatment."

  "Yes sir," she said, ready for another round. Adding a honey-dripped drawl to her voice, Uhura picked up the communications band and said, "Enterprise here." As before, she immediately had it on audio for the crew to hear.

  There was silence for a moment, and then a gruff Klingon voice, sounding as if he were strangling on every syllable, said, "Is … Captain … Kirk … there … please?"

  Kirk and Uhura looked at each other, and Kirk smiled, inclining his head slightly. "On the screen, Uhura."

  The infuriated face of the Klingon appeared, and he snapped, "Have I provided you with sufficient amusement?"

  "Is there some way I can help you?" asked Kirk.

  "You know damned well what you can do," he snapped. "I am Commander Kbrex, and you have our former commander and his companion over there."

  "You seemed to be finished with them," said Kirk neutrally.

  "They have been sentenced to die," came the angry reply.

  "Well, then you will doubtlessly get your wish. I can assure you that they will die."

  Kbrex actually seemed surprised at that. "You mean you will interrogate them and then kill them yourselves?"

  "No. I'm just assuring you that they will die. Sooner or later. We all will."

  Kbrex's face darkened. "And some of us, Captain Kirk, sooner than others." The image blinked out.

  "I don't think he likes us," observed Kirk.

  Spock stepped to the side of Kirk's command chair, staring straight forward as he said, "The question remains as to your intentions toward our guests."

  "I have no intentions toward them," said Kirk tightly, the faint amusement he'd derived from Kbrex's discomfiture quickly fading. "I have nothing to say to them."

  "You are irritated over the recent events on Cragon."

  Kirk looked up at him sharply. "They were responsible for the death of one of my men."

  Spock inclined his head slightly in deference to the captain's statement, but with Spock what was unsaid was frequently as important as what was spoken.

  Kirk thought for a moment, and then stood. "You have the conn," he said.

  It was fairly clear where the commander was quartered. It was the only cabin with a pair of heavily armed security guards posted at the door.

  The captain knocked, and waited for a moment before he let himself in. The two Klingons rose when he entered.

  There was dead silence as the two men sized each other up. The captain studied the steady poker face of the young Klingon commander. If he could read those inscrutable Klingon features, there was something beyond the usual warrior stiff-necked snarl. Kirk's eyes flicked to the woman, just barely. That could be a sore point with a Klingon male. But even in his brief scan of her face, he saw not only her noble beauty, which was breathtaking to any humanoid, and a haughty braveness, but a hint of fear. And fear in a noble Klingon wasn't a casual thing.

  "I want to know the status of your ship, Commander," said Kirk briskly.

  "Rot in hell," said the male. There was a sharp intake of breath from the female, but otherwise she said nothing.

  "That is not the best attitude to have with your savior," Kirk said.

  "A savior? That would imply that you had some sort of altruistic motives behind your action," replied Kral. "Your reason for rescuing us is governed entirely by your desire to torture us to derive information." />
  Kirk shook his head. "They certainly have you brainwashed about us, don't they?"

  "We know the goals of the Federation," said Kral.

  "We've never made a secret of our goals," Kirk told him, getting angrier by the moment. There was something about the arrogant and defiant stance of the Klingons that was absolutely infuriating. "To promote well-being and understanding throughout the galaxy. Just as the Klingons have made no secret of theirs: conquest and obliteration of all races but theirs."

  "We are the stronger!" declared Kral.

  "I've heard those claims before, Kral. Years ago, spouted by Klingons who looked different from you but had the same obnoxious and arrogant attitudes."

  Kral turned his back on Kirk. "I see no point in continuing this discussion. Bring us to the nearest starbase, where we will assume our status as prisoners of war."

  "There is no war!" said Kirk in exasperation. "As for the nearest starbase, what do you suggest we do? Get out and push? We have no power!"

  Vladra seemed surprised by this. "You don't, either?"

  Kral turned and made a sharp hissing sound, indicating that she should keep quiet. But defiantly, Vladra said, "Commander, what does it matter anymore? We're not welcome aboard the Ghargh—"

  "Be silent!" he snarled, his fists clenched.

  "Do you think I'm stupid, Commander?" demanded Kirk, trying to distract the Klingon's growing fury away from the woman. "Dropping a commander into space isn't exactly a sign of respect. Obviously your crew has decided they have no further use for you. And frankly, if you were as cooperative with them as you are with us—"

  Kral launched himself at Kirk.

  Vladra cried out a warning, but it was, of course, a bit late. Kirk sidestepped quickly and Kral slammed into the wall. Kirk backpedaled as Kral spun and faced him, fists clenched and teeth gritted.

  The doors to the quarters hissed open and the two security guards entered. They interposed themselves between the Klingon and the captain; each of them trained a phaser on one of the Klingons.