STAR TREK - TOS - Errand of Vengeance, Book - 2 - Killing Blow

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POCKET BOOKS
New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore
The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you
should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor
the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New
York, NY 10020
Copyright © 2002 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.
This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license
from Paramount Pictures.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
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ISBN: 0-7434-4602-X
First Pocket Books printing August 2002
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Printed in the U.S.A.
For Misha and Kevie
Contents
Acknowledgments.4
Prologue.6
Chapter One.10
Chapter Two.14
Chapter Three.17
Chapter Four21
Chapter Five.24
Chapter Six.29
Chapter Seven.35
Chapter Eight39
Chapter Nine.44
Chapter Ten.48
Chapter Eleven.51
Chapter Twelve.57
Chapter Thirteen.61
Chapter Fourteen.64
Chapter Fifteen.67
Chapter Sixteen.72
Chapter Seventeen.78
Chapter Eighteen.81
Chapter Nineteen.84
Chapter Twenty.87
Chapter Twenty-one.91
Chapter Twenty-two.95
Chapter Twenty-three.97
Chapter Twenty-four101
Chapter Twenty-five.106
About the Author108
About the e-Book.109
Acknowledgments
Thanks once again to Gene Roddenberry and all the creative people who have brought the Klingons to
life. And thanks again to Marc Okrand for his work on the Klingon language and his three booksThe
Klingon Dictionary, The Klingon Way, andKlingon for the Galactic Traveler. Thanks also to the
Klingon Language Institute for more helpful translations.
And thanks to Mike Okuda for his patient technical and general Star Trek advice. Once again,The Star
Trek Encyclopedia and theStar Trek Chronology by Mike Okuda and Denise Okuda were
indispensable to me as I worked. This book also owes a debt to theStar Trek: The Next Generation
Technical Manual by Mike Okuda and Rick Sternbach.
Special thanks to my friend Larry Brantley for his advice on things military and to my friends Anthony
Steele and Scott McFadden for their patience.
And finally, thanks to my wife, Paullina, who once again provided many thoughtful comments and
suggestions. And thanks to my children Natasha, Misha, Kevie, and Tania for their great patience with
Dad.
bItuHlaHbe’ chugh blquvlaHbe’
(“If you cannot be shamed you cannot be honored.”)
—KLINGON PROVERB
Prologue
KLINGON BATTLE CRUISERD’K TAHG
KLINGON SPACE
KAREL SLEPT FITFULLY.
When he opened his eyes he was looking at his brother Kell—not as he would have been now, but as
he was when they were children. Kell was eight and Karel twelve.
“I’m going with you,” Kell said. His voice was full of all the force his eight years could muster. It took an
effort for Karel not to laugh.
“It is impossible. You are too young and it is too dangerous,” their mother said, appearing at the door.
Karel did not question the fact that he was standing outside his family home on Qo’noS, or that his
mother was there, or that his brother Kell was young and still alive.
The logic of dreams told him these things were so and he believed them. By force of will he pushed
down the dim beginnings of questions. He was too pleased to see his brother to allow them to remain.
[2]“I am no coward, Mother,” Kell said, gripping hismek’leth sword firmly.
“No one is saying you are a coward, but only a fool faces a trial before he is ready for it,” their mother
said.
“Karel was my age when he went on his first hunt,” Kell said.
Mother shook her head in exasperation.
It was true, but Karel had been bigger at the same age. He had also simply been more ready. Besides
the additional danger because of his smaller size, Kell was more squeamish than Karel had been at the
same age. He might falter when immediate action was necessary, and such a mistake on a hunt could be
fatal.
“Karel, talk to him,” Mother said.
Both his brother and mother looked to him now.
His brother’s eyes were full of expectation that seemed to demand he be taken seriously as a Klingon
and a warrior. The look should have been laughable on someone Kell’s age. But it was not. He might not
have had size, strength, or years, but he was determined.
Karel knew that if he said no, his brother would forgive him—but he found that he wanted to do
something to nurture a determination so strong.
“You are not ready,” Karel said.
“I am—” Kell began.
“You are not!” Karel shouted over the younger Klingon’s protests. “But today you have an opportunity
to prove me wrong.”
Before Mother could voice her own protests, Karel continued, “You must prove it by staying by my side
and doing what I say.”
[3]Relief visibly washed over Kell’s face as he nodded vigorously.
Karel said, “I will look after him, Mother.”
Karel could tell she was not happy, but she was satisfied. She was their father’s wife and would not let
fear rule her.
She looked seriously at Kell and said, “Let your foe know the strength of your blood.”
Kell nodded seriously as Karel picked up his ownmek’leth. They walked in silence down a path to the
edge of the woods near the family farm.
The brothers met another four Klingon boys of about Karel’s age. They immediately shot glances at
Kell, who met the gazes with an iron stare, daring them to challenge his right to participate in the hunt.
None did. The small group had learned to show respect to Kell—Karel had seen to that. Though neither
the oldest or biggest Klingon of the group, Karel had established himself as their leader several seasons
ago.
The group walked on to the edge of the cultivated fields of Karel and Kell’s farm. Once inside the
woods, they walked on to the spot where they always began their hunts. As they looked for signs, the
group spread out in their familiar pattern, with Kell staying close to his brother.
Mourl was the first to find something and whispered, “Over here.”
The others converged on Mourl’s find and saw the small piece of fur-covered flesh on the ground.
Karel gave a silent nod to Mourl, who began looking for the trail. Though the smallest of the
group—next to Kell—Mourl was the best tracker.
[4]After a short time, Mourl had crept behind a heavily thorned bush and pointed straight ahead. Karel
and the others peered over the bush and saw thetarg lying down and watching over its larger prey in the
center of a small clearing.
Quickly testing the air, Karel confirmed that they were downwind of the beast. Pleased, Karel used a
hand motion to tell the others to wait.
Wildtargs were never docile, but they were less aggressive after a large meal. Speed and reactions were
slowed. The difference would mean the difference between a successful hunt and an unsuccessful one.
For the hunters, it often meant the difference between life and death.
These weretargs, after all.
A sound of movement sounded behind thetarg, whose head spun around to look for the disturbance.
Karel and the others froze.
The sound had come from the other side of the clearing, but thetarg would be extra alert now.
Scanning the group, Karl was pleased to see that Kell was frozen in place. The only movement was the
small rise and fall of the young Klingon’s chest as he breathed.
Kell also had a look of relaxed concentration, one that Karel knew mirrored his own expression. He
also knew that Kell was hyperalert and ready to move on an instant’s notice. It was one of theMok’bara
techniques that Karel himself had taught his brother.
The others had not studied the Klingon martial art and were getting restless, their bodies giving in to
small, involuntary movements.
Slowly, Karel raised his head above the thorns in[5]front of them. Thetarg was sitting there, guarding its
prey ... but not eating.
It was maddening, and Karel knew that sooner or later one of the young Klingons with him would give
away their position and they would be facing a hungrytarg determined to protect its catch.
Karel knew he had to do something quickly. He motioned for the others to take their positions.
They got up slowly—but not silently, Karel noted with displeasure. However, eight-year-old Kell was
stealthier than many older, bigger, and more experienced hunters.
Sparing a look at thetarg, Karel was pleased to see that it had apparently not heard or paid attention to
the noise.Kahless is forgiving today, Karel thought.
Strangely, thetarg had not begun eating yet. Usually, atarg would not hunt if it was not hungry. This one
had no interest in its food.
Well, Karel and his friends had taken on hungrytargs before. Yet, he had not wanted to take the
additional risk with Kell there.
For now, it could not be helped.
Karel slowly backed away as the others formed a line in front of and on either side of him. They would
form a rough pincer with Karel and Kell at the apex.
Karel would make noise to attract thetarg. When it charged, the others would lash out with their
mek’leths, weakening it as it charged Karel and his brother. Then Karel would have to strike the final
blow, or face the wrath of the chargingtarg.
All Klingon hunts ended with such a confrontation between the two combatants; a confrontation that
could have only one victor—and one survivor.
[6]Then the largest and oldest of the group made a mistake that changed the nature of the hunt. The big
Klingon stepped on a stick, which snapped under his foot.
Instantly, thetarg was on its feet and moving. The Klingons were far from being in position and far from
ready. Suddenly Karel was certain this hunt would end badly.
Then Karel heard the squealing oftarg young and knew with complete certainty thatbadly would not
begin to describe this hunt by the time it was done. He spared his brother a glance—Kell’s face showed
alertness but not panic.
“A nest?” Kell whispered.
Karel nodded. They had stumbled on atarg who was not just protecting a fresh kill but a litter of young,
who were hidden in the nearby bush.
When thetarg was lying next to its prey, it was collecting information about the Klingon hunting party
and assessing the threat to its young. In effect, it was planning its own hunt.
Targswere not particularly intelligent, but they were efficient hunters and fierce protectors of their
offspring.
And this one was very, very angry.
Since the Klingons were just a few meters away from the bush and not even close to their hunting
positions, thetarg charged the nearest target, Mourl, who had turned to run.
It was a bad mistake. Facing an uninjured chargingtarg with amek’leth was difficult if a Klingon met the
attack head-on. If atarg caught an unlucky Klingon from behind ...
Karel quickly saw what Mourl was trying to do as the[7]Klingon headed for a nearby tree. It was not a
dignified way for a warrior to survive an encounter with atarg, but survival, not dignity, was clearly
Mourl’s primary concern.
Still, Karel saw immediately that it would not work.
“Mourl,” Karel shouted. “Turn and face it.”
If the Klingon heard, he gave no indication, and continued to sprint for the tree, eyeing a low-hanging
branch.
Mourl meant to leap for it.
By now thetarg’s snarls were loud, even from Karel’s position—more than two dozen meters away.
Mourl turned quickly and saw thetarg nearly on top of him.
He couldn’t wait another second. He leaped for the branch, putting all of his strength into that single
burst ...
... and missed.
He came down hard on the ground, stumbled forward, fell, and tried to immediately roll to his feet.
But thetarg got there first. It hit the Klingon at full speed, its mouth tusks piercing Mourl in the side.
The Klingon howled and reached for hismek’leth, which hung from his side. Unfortunately, that side was
pressed against the ground.
Without thinking, Karel was racing for his friend, sensing his brother behind him.
Thetarg backed away and bit hard into Mourl’s hand. The Klingon howled again, using his good hand
to push at thetarg, leaving his head and throat unprotected.
Thetarg struck with great speed and bit straight into Mourl’s throat. The screams stopped abruptly.
Karel forced himself to a stop and grabbed out to reach for his brother. He slowly began backing away.
Mourl was beyond help. He had to make sure that Kell got home.
[8]Quickly glancing around, Karel could see the backs of the other three of their group as they
disappeared in the distance.
When he turned back, he saw that the targ did not mean to tarry on Mourl. Its head was turned up and it
was watching Karel and Kell carefully.
Karel knew he had no choice but to face thetarg directly.
“Keep moving back,” he said forcefully to his brother. “If I fail, you will need some distance to escape.”
Kell said nothing, but Karel heard his brother’s footsteps behind him. He was pleased to see that his
brother was showing some sense. He did not want to face his mother if he failed to bring down thetarg
and then failed to protect his brother.
Karel realized that if he did not bring down thetarg, the animal would make certain he was spared the
task of facing anyone. Karel grabbed hismek’leth firmly in hand and asked Kahless and the spirit of his
father for the strength to prevail.
Then he heard the shouting behind him.
Snapping his head around, Karel saw his brother shouting and swinging hismek’leth back and forth to
attract thetarg, just as he would do if he were the apex of a pincer formation during a hunt.
The difference was that there weren’t four other Klingons to weaken the beast before it reached him.
And Kell was only eight years old and didn’t have the size or strength to stop atarg at full charge.
Courage and determination were powerful weapons for a warrior, but they alone would not win a battle.
[9]Karel began shouting himself, but thetarg had seen Kell and was charging after him.
The pincer formation was effective because a chargingtarg would not stop until it had reached its target
or had died. Thus, the Klingons on either side of the charging beast could strike blows at it.
When thetarg swept past him, Karel acted without thinking and swung hismek’leth in a swift arc. He
made satisfying contact with the beast’s hide. Thetarg slowed slightly.
Another two or three blows like that and thetarg might have actually been slowed and weakened
enough to make a difference.
Kell stood firm, holding themek’leth directly in front of him. Karel knew that Kell’s best chance was to
hold the sword high and swing it hard as thetarg attacked him. Of course, given the circumstances, Karel
knew that would make very little difference.
Still, Karel hoped that Kell would hurt the creature before it set on him.
Thetarg was just meters away now, but Kell still stood firm. Karel found himself yelling and noted that
his brother was doing the same. It was aMok’bara cry—a cry of battle.
Then thetarg prepared to leap and Kell suddenly dropped, jamming hismek’leth into the ground. Even
if thetarg had seen the danger, it would not have been able to stop. The animal leapt, flying through the
air for a brief moment until its chest hit the blade, which Kell held firm.
Thetarg kept moving, flying toward the hilt of the weapon, even as the blade tore through it.
[10]By the time the beast had come to a rest, Karel was there, kneeling next to his brother.
Both the young Klingon and the beast were still. Kell could see they were connected. One of thetarg’s
tusks had burrowed deeply into Kell’s shoulder.
Grabbing thetarg around the neck, Karel pulled and the tusk came out. Tossing the beast aside, Karel
watched as his brother’s wound began to bleed freely. He turned his brother onto his back and felt for a
pulse. He was relieved to find it strong.
Taking a quick look around, he saw that none of the others from their party was in sight. Grabbing Kell
by the neck and knees, he lifted.
That was when the younger Klingon stirred.
“No,” he whispered.
“What?” Karel asked, bringing his head closer to hear.
“No ... I can walk,” Kell said.
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