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Captain's log, stardate 5028.1. The Enterprise has discovered a starship of the Klingon Empire spying deep inside Federation territory. On discovery, the intruder refused to answer our hails and opened fire. As I record this entry, the Enterprise is locked in battle with the Klingon starship...
Kirk watched in admiration as the Klingon starship twisted to evade yet another phaser attack, then turned suddenly to launch a rapid blast that rebounded harmlessly off the Enterprise's shields. The Klingon captain was brilliant, but he had an old and ungainly ship, and for all his tactical genius the Enterprise's superior speed and range were wearing down his defenses.
"Fire photon torpedoes, Mister Sulu!"
The Klingon captain brought his ship into a sudden roll, and the first torpedo went wide off its mark. But his ship was was too slow, and Kirk saw it shudder in mid-turn as the second torpedo exploded off its hull. Then it slowed and came to a halt, displaying a gaping hole where its warp generators had previously been.
Cheers rang around the bridge. Kirk sat back with a satisfied smile. "Lieutenant Uhura, hail the Klingons, please."
Slowly, the image on the screen resolved into the face of a heavily built Klingon warrior with long hair and flashing dark eyes. "I am Captain James Kirk of the Federation starship U.S.S. Enterprise,” Kirk announced, inclining his head courteously to his defeated opponent. “And I am prepared to receive your surrender."
The Klingon bared his sharp teeth in rage. "I am Captain of the Ta'bathl," he growled. "And I will never surrender to the Federation. We choose death over dishonor, James Kirk. Today is a good day to die."
Kirk sat up in surprise as a flash of dazzling white light lit up the viewscreen. When it cleared, the Klingon starship was nowhere to be seen.
"What the-" McCoy exclaimed, gripping the back of the Captain's chair. "Jim, that ship just vanished!"
Spock looked up from the science station. "That is an illogical statement, Doctor," he pointed out. "Starships may explode, implode, or cease to exist in five hundred and seventy-three known ways, but they cannot simply vanish."
"Oh?" said McCoy. "You have a better explanation, Spock?"
"As usual, Doctor, I do," answered Spock with a deadpan face. "My sensors detect that this region of space has an unusually high concentration of a rare element known as bolonium. The energy from our photon torpedoes excited the bolonium and created a local instability in the structure of space-time, which has engulfed the Klingons."
“So what’re we waiting for?” asked McCoy. “Let’s follow them!”
“Doctor,” said Spock patiently, “The bolonium could have transported them to any point in the whole of space and time. For all we know, they could have emerged in the center of a supernova, or the core of a planet, or at the very instant of the big bang. In fact, due to the inherent fluctuations in the element’s magnetic properties, we cannot even be sure of emerging at the same time as they did. I estimate that the probability of our surviving the attempt would be-”
“Enough!” said McCoy. “Jim, I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get out of here before the same thing happens to us!”
“It's a pity,” said Kirk. “That Klingon was a fine captain, and his people deserved better. But you’re right, Bones. Warp one, Mister Sulu, and return us to our original course.”
Sulu reached out for his console. “Right away, Captain. Engaging warp drive-”
A brilliant flash of white light filled the bridge. Kirk clutched his chair for support as the ship trembled and shook beneath him.
After a moment the light faded, and slowly people began to pick themselves up off the floor. Kirk hit the comm button on his armrest. “All decks, status report!”
A quavering voice answered him. “Everything’s normal, captain. Except…”
Kirk looked up slowly at the viewscreen, and saw the enormous reddish-brown planet looming in its center.
***
Captain's log, continuing. From our preliminary studies of this planet, the dominant species appears to be humanoid. However, analyses of their communications indicate that their society is a primitive, brutal military dictatorship. Extreme caution is clearly indicated.
At first, the antechamber beside the Red Room was empty. Then there was a soft humming noise, and a shimmer of gold, and three figures in green uniforms were standing on the carpet.
Or rather, two were standing, while the third materialized flat on his back, having fallen over as he struggled to put on his knee-length polished black boots. “Cavalry boots!” he exclaimed as he finally forced the offending footwear onto his leg. “And I thought you said these people had space travel, Jim!”
“It’s camouflage, Bones,” explained Kirk. “Soldiers are the most common species on this planet. Nobody will give us a second look.” He ignored the thick woolly hat on Spock’s head. “And they do have space travel. And very, very advanced weapons. They could blow the Enterprise to pieces if they wanted to.”
“The probability of that is only thirty seven point three two six per cent, Captain,” interjected Spock. “They do not have warp drive or cloaking technology, or the transporter-”
“Maybe they’re not so crazy after all,” muttered McCoy.
“Doctor, the transporter is a thoroughly studied and tested technology. Barring ion storms, tachyon pulses, or other scientifically unexplained phenomena, it is perfectly safe.”
“Don't you tell me it's safe to have some machine scrambling every atom in my body and putting them back together, Spock. I’m a doctor, not a jigsaw puzzle!”
Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “I assure you, Doctor, you have always been a puzzle to me. Several pieces appear to be missing.”
“Gentlemen,” sighed Kirk. “Remember our mission. The Klingons are here somewhere. They could take advantage of this planet, manipulate it, interfere in its destiny - all things that it is our duty to prevent. We want to avoid interference with the indigenous population at all costs. So we find them and capture them and go home, without being noticed by the natives. If we’re careful, we should be perfectly safe. Clear?”
“Abundantly, Captain.”
“Right. Lead the way, Bones.”
McCoy took out a tricorder and moved it in a wide circle around them. “Klingon life signs… that way.”
***
“See any Klingons?” Kirk whispered a few minutes later.
“Negative, Captain,” answered Spock. “If they are here, they are likely concealed or in disguise.”
McCoy surveyed the crowded ballroom in dismay. Men and women in glittering finery filled the chamber, some lining the decorated walls, some eating or drinking, many dancing on the magnificent parqueted floor.
“Looking for Klingons in this party is going to be like looking for a needle in a nebula! What do we do now, Jim? Jim?”
Kirk wasn’t listening. He had spotted her.
She stood in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by a crowd of men obviously hanging on her every word. Her long black hair was braided with flowers, and her gown was a dark grey silk that matched her sparkling eyes. Kirk put on his most charming smile.
He walked across the room and bowed deeply before her. “My lady,” he began, “would you honor me-”
“Captain, wait!” Spock’s voice rose in very un-vulcan alarm as he pushed his way through the crowd and stepped between them. Before anyone could move, he had whipped out the tricorder and began to check the woman with it. "The probability that she is a Klingon assassin-"
The lovely lady looked Spock up and down. Her lips settled into a thin line as she saw his woolly hat. “Commander,” she said in an icy tone. “You are in the Imperial Residence. It is disgraceful to be in improper uniform on such an occasion.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at her. She met it with a glare of her own. Kirk swallowed, remembering Lieutenant Uhura's briefing. Did they still slaughter muties on sight on this planet? He groped desperately for a way out. “Um, ah, you really don’t want to do that, he’s from a remote village in the mountains, they’re very superstitious up there, he believes ghosts will suck out his soul if he takes off the hat...”
“Is that so?” said a bland voice. A puppy-faced man in a captain’s uniform was standing behind the lovely lady now, his eyes looking over the three Enterprise officers like a camera scanning their features. “Interesting,” he remarked. “I don’t remember seeing you three on the guest list.”
Kirk gave him another winning smile. “You’ve probably just forgotten us.”
For some reason this caused everyone around them to gasp and move away. The captain’s eyes narrowed and he reached for Spock, who moved with superhuman speed, stepping aside and catching the back of the man’s neck between his fingers. The captain slumped unconscious.
The lovely lady drew a silver stunner from her silken gown and fired point-blank at Spock, who fell to the floor beside his assailant.
Kirk and McCoy barely managed to escape before the doors sealed themselves and alarms began to ring throughout the building. After what seemed like hours of running, they paused to catch their breath, and McCoy looked at Kirk. “Perfectly safe,” he said sardonically.
The tricorder beeped before Kirk could think of a retort. He looked up. “Let’s find the Klingons right now,” he said, his voice hard. “And then we’ll get Spock out of here, and interference with the natives be damned.”
The tricorder led them to a small room in a corner of the palace. They heard voices from within as they edged toward the door cautiously, phasers held ready.
“Bet you didn’t notice this regiment, did you? Ha - there goes your capital city!”
Very carefully, they poked their heads around the door. Two boys were seated on the floor with an enormous board between them, covered with maps and toy soldiers, spaceships and tanks and missiles. One of them was small and misshapen, with a head too large for his body and a pair of thin legs enclosed inside metallic braces.
“Now let me handle it this time, Jim,” said McCoy. He put on his best bedside manner as they walked into the room. “Hello, boys,” he began with a wide grin. “Have you seen-”
“Now, Elena!” cried the small one.
Kirk heard a sudden popping sound from over his head, and before he or McCoy could react, they were both immobilized by a fine net of glittering strands that tangled around their arms and legs.
“See, Ivan?” crowed the little boy triumphantly, looking up at the roof. “I told you the tangle-fields would work!”
A third boy climbed carefully down from the top of a cupboard. “Yes, but um, Miles… I’m not sure raiding the armory was such a good idea, mama would say-”
A girl leaped to the ground beside him. She held the tangle-field launcher in her arms. “Oh, don’t be a baby, Ivan,” she scoffed. “I think Miles’ idea was brilliant.” She gave the little boy a glowing look, and he seemed to grow several feet taller on the spot.
“Sire,” he declared, bowing to the oldest boy with a grand flourish, “I bring before you my prisoners, captured in your name, to answer to you for their crimes and receive your justice. What is your will, my liege?”
The boy turned to the captives and regarded them with a thoughtful expression. “Who are you, and what do you mean by invading Our Residence?” he demanded solemnly.
Sire. Our Residence. Kirk swallowed. What was it they did to traitors here?
The tricorder started beeping, loudly and insistently. “Jim,” whispered McCoy. “I'm getting strong Klingon life-signs...”
“Are you really,” said a soft voice behind him. Everyone spun around to see the stocky dark-haired man in the green Admiral’s uniform, leaning against the doorframe as armed guards flooded into the room from behind him.
The little boy leaped to his feet. “Da, see what I caught!" he squealed. "Can I keep them?”
***
The ImpSec guards parted as the Lord Regent led Kirk and McCoy into the interrogation room. McCoy was muttering dark threats at his back all the way. “If you barbarians have hurt one hair on his pointy-eared head, I’ll –”
Spock was seated at a table across from a tall red-haired woman in elaborate native costume. Stacks of flimsies covered the space between them, filled with equations and neatly labeled diagrams. There were a set of restraints on the arms of his chair, but they lay open and forgotten as Spock solved a complicated five-dimensional navigation equation.
Kirk heaved a sigh of relief. “Spock, we’re here to rescue you!” blurted McCoy.
Spock looked up at them and raised an eyebrow appraisingly. “Clearly, Doctor,” he remarked, before returning to his equations.
The red-haired woman looked up with a smile. “There you are, Aral!” she exclaimed. “I want you to meet Commander Spock of the Federation. Spock, this is my husband, Aral.”
The puppy-faced captain looked pleadingly at the Regent from a corner of the room. “I tried fast-penta,” he said plaintively. “He says the probability that he’s a genetically modified Cetagandan assassin is zero point four seven six per cent. I thought that was enough to keep him locked up, but Lady Vorkosigan made me let him go.”
McCoy spluttered in rage. “Well, we’re going!” he declared. “I’ve had enough of this paranoid planet. As far as I’m concerned, the Klingons are welcome to it!”
“Klingons?” asked Lady Vorkosigan, puzzled. “What are Klingons?”
Spock answered. “Klingons are a profoundly illogical people,” he explained. “They are a warrior race, brutal, bloodthirsty and totalitarian, driven by the pursuit of honor and glory. Have you seen any in this building?”
Lord and Lady Vorkosigan glanced at each other for a moment and burst out laughing.
***
[Translated from klingon]
Captain's log, stardate unknown. Today, I shall ride out to break the siege of Surleau. Should I not return, I shall go to the halls of our glorious ancestors, for I have lived the life of a true warrior. I have led my people in battle, faced my enemies without fear, and provided well for my native wife and children. I have followed the traditions of our people faithfully, even on an alien world.
Chance was on our side when she brought us to this world. Then, it was primitive. Easily molded. Easily turned into another Klingon homeworld for our half-Klingon children.
Now, this is a good world for a warrior to earn honor.
This is a good world to die.
Captain Kosigan growled softly to himself as he finished his final log entry. Then he raised his bat’leth and charged with a cry.