STAR TREK - TOS - 59 - The Disinherited

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THE DISINHERITED

Chapter One

"Today is the last day of the rest of your life."

Jak Eisman grinned lopsidedly at the

man who had just spoken. He stabbed a finger at

him and said, "You, Delacort, are jealous."

Delacort took a step back, miming having

been shot in the heart. Delacort was several

decades Jak's senior, but that didn't stop

him from engaging in behavior that belied his years.

He shook his white-maned head and gravely

placed a hand on Jak's shoulder. "I worked with

you, trained you," he intoned. "Tried to instill

all the good values that have so guided me through my

life. And what happens? You're going to go and

get married anyway."

Jak shook his head and tapped the computer

screen in front of Delacort. "Don't you

think," he observed, "that maybe you'd better

get to work? There's a full schedule packed for

today." Jak's blue eyes snapped in

amusement. His long red hair was tied back in a

ponytail that he had only recently started

sporting; it had garnered quite a few comments from the

other members of the Gamma Xaridian colony

research team, but he had ignored them all. Because

the only thing that mattered was that L'rita liked it.

She had told him that, combined with his rather large jaw,

it made him look quite heroic, very much the

swashbuckler. He liked the sound of that. Jak

Eisman, swashbuckling aide to the

administrative head of the Gamma Xaridian

colony. It had a bit of zip to it.

Delacort, with a sigh like a stray zephyr,

plopped down behind his desk. His office was not

only the largest in the building, it was the largest

on the planet. The glorious Gamma

Xaridian sun was just coming up over the horizon,

its rays cutting through the window and illuminating the

vast variety of glass and crystal

knickknacks that Delacort had been so fond

of collecting. They lined many of his shelves, and the

early mornings in Delacort's office were

usually very impressive. Rainbows glimmered off

all of the white reflective surfaces. While

Jak detested having to rise so early to meet his

duties as Delacort's right-hand man, there was

some aesthetic value to it.

Delacort scanned his duties for that

day. "The same as yesterday," he said gravely.

"And the same as the day before that--debates,

discussions. I swear to Kolker, we have--what is

it?--seven committee meetings scheduled for today?"

"Eight," Jak corrected.

"Eight. How many scientific committees

does this colony support, anyway?"

Jak knew quite well that Delacort knew the

answer, but he said it anyway.

"Eighty-three."

"Eighty-three." Delacort shook his head

incredulously. "Eighty-three," he repeated.

"You know"--and he waggled a meaty finger at Jak

--?when I first started this colony ..."

"Back in the old days," Jak said with

extreme seriousness. "Back in the days before

space travel, when you had to walk here from earth.

Ninety million miles, in the snow. Uphill

all the way."

"That's right," Delacort said gravely. "With

dinosaurs nipping at our heels the entire

time." He smiled briefly, and then continued.

"No, seriously, Jak. When we first started

things up here, there was exactly one committee. It

was headed up by yours truly. And it was called the

Committee to Get Things Done. And I swore

that we weren't going to fall into the old trap of

parceling out every damned responsibility. And you

know what happened?"

"We did," said Jak.

"We did," affirmed Delacort. He

waved his hands vaguely. "Well, Kolker

take it. In three months I'm retiring off this

rock and it's going to be all yours. Yours and your

lovely bride's."

"Right. Sure you're going to retire," said

Jak. "You said that last year and the year before that."

Delacort affected an air of being stricken.

"What are you, disappointed that you're not rid of

me?"

Jak made a dismissive gesture, and then there

was a buzz at the door. "Come," Delacort

called.

The doors hissed open and L'rita peeked

in. She knew in what high regard Jak really

held Delacort, and although Jak covered it with

good-natured banter, L'rita was too open an

individual to cover her feelings in that manner.

So she always acted a bit shy around Delacort.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked

tentatively.

Delacort gestured for her to come in. "Not at

all," he said. "I was just chatting with your victim

here."

"Victim?" She blinked, not entirely

getting it. L'rita was the absolute top of the

heap when discussing quantum astrophysics, but

subtleties such as humor and gentle sarcasm

went right past her. "You mean my fianc@e?"

Delacort shrugged. "Is there a difference?"

"Ignore him, honey," said Jak. He

gestured for L'rita to come to him, and when she did

he ran his fingers affectionately over her bald

pate. He felt the slightest hint of fuzz and

knew that meant she'd be shaving her head again quite

soon. "What's up?"

"We just have a few last-minute things to go over

for the wedding reception tonight."

"Last-minute?" said Delacort. "I'll

say last-minute. If you waited any longer, you

wouldn't be discussing them until after you were"--he

shuddered slightly--?married. And to think that I, as

head of the colony, have to perform the ceremony."

She tilted her head slightly, her pupilless

black eyes studying Delacort carefully.

"You react so negatively to the notion of

marriage, Mr. Delacort," she said

curiously. "Why?"

"An unnatural state of affairs, my

dear," he boomed. "Do you know what the difference

is between marriage and death?"

L'rita looked from Delacort to Jak. Not

wanting to let it dangle, Jak sighed and said,

"We don't know. What's the difference, boss?"

"I don't know either," replied Delacort.

"But until I've got it figured out, I'm not

ready to commit myself prematurely to either one."

That was when the sirens went off.

L'rita gasped, instinctively moving closer

to Jak, pressing herself against him. She looked

around in confusion. "Jak?"

The air of camaraderie, of gentle banter,

had evaporated in an instant. Delacort was

immediately behind his computer screen once more, shouting,

"Computer! Damn it, clear the screen! Give

me a perimeter report!"

Jak had moved to the comm unit on the wall and

was already demanding updates. At that moment the

doors whooshed open without preamble, and scientists

were pouring into Delacort's office like

lemmings. The air was filled with the babble of

voices shouting either updates of the unexpected

situation or demands to know what was going on.

In the courtyard far below Delacort's

office, the Klaxon continued to scream its alert,

and various colonists, in assorted states of

dishevelment, were staggering out into the main areas,

pulling on clothes or robes to cover their

nightclothes. Only crazy people like Delacort and

his immediate staff were insane enough to be up and around at this

hour.

Delacort was waving and shouting in irritation,

"Shut up! All of you, shut up!" He was

unable to hear the computer report, and he had

to bellow, "Computer, repeat!"

"Six vessels have dropped out of warp space

within the planet perimeter and are approaching the

surface at accelerated speeds," said the computer

voice in its deep baritone. "Preliminary

sensor scans indicate their weapons are armed and

ready. The general size and configurations of the

vessels indicate a ninety-three percent

likelihood they are the same vessels that

attacked the Alpha and Beta Xaridian

systems within the past four months."

"Nearest planetary defense system?" he

asked.

"Bravo station."

"Direct communication link now. Now!" he

added, as if the additional shouting would somehow speed

up the computer's instantaneous communications

capabilities.

A moment later a calm drawl came over the

intercom. "This is Sloan at Bravo station,"

they heard. "You ringing me up to tell me we're

having company, chief?"

Delacort drew an arm across the sweat that

seemed to have materialized on his upper lip. He

breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the

protective spirit of Kolker. Sloan was the most

experienced man they had in a planetary defense

position. If they had to be under attack, they

couldn't be in a better situation. "Yeah,

Sloan. What've you got?"

"I'm tracking them," said Sloan. "Fast

puppies ... but nothing I can't handle. Phaser

cannons are locking on. We'll have target

confirmation in about four seconds."

Delacort nodded and cast a quick glance at the

people crowding his office. His people. Their faces

were a uniformly pasty color. He imagined that his

was as well. He didn't see Jak, and he

raised his voice slightly as he called out,

"Jak! Get an emergency broadcast off

to Starfleet! Tell them--"

"Just did it," said Jak. "Figured I should

take care of it, just in--" He glanced at

L'rita, whose arm was around his waist. She was

trembling against him. "Just in case things get too

confused later."

It was not, of course, what he was originally

going to say. Delacort knew it all too

well, and the unspoken completion hung there--..j in

case we don't make it.

But that wasn't going to happen.

"Talk to me, Sloan," said Delacort.

There was a long moment in which Delacort saw his

life passing before him, and then Sloan's comforting

voice sounded through the office. "Targets

acquired," he said. "We have positive firing

signatures."

Delacort's response was succinct. With

what had already happened to Alpha and Beta

Xaridian, no chances could be taken. No

presumptions made. If the intruders even

seemed to smell hostile, the only thing to do was

proceed on the assumption that they .were hostile.

He licked his lips once and said, "Blow them

to hell."

"Look!"

One of the committee heads was pointing out

Delacort's large bay window. Far, far to the

east, they could see small balls of fire

lighting up the sky. The g round phaser cannons

were unleashing their armament on the incoming hostiles.

Moments later the sight of the cannonfire was

accompanied by the sounds, but they were coming over the comm

link that the computer had established. The

high-pitched whine of the ground-based phaser

defenses had always given Delacort a

headache. Now, though, they were the sweetest sounds

he'd ever heard.

And then he heard something not so sweet.

"God damn!" came Sloan's angry

voice. "They're fast little buggers, I'll

give 'em that! Stoner! Dini! Reacquire

targets, damn it! Get them before--"

And suddenly, there at the horizon line where

Bravo station was firing at the incoming vessels,

a ball of fire leaped into existence and

arced upward, as if trying to reach for the sky and

caress it with fingers of sizzling heat. There was no

sound except for a sudden burst of static that came

over the comm link.

"Communications ended," the computer said with

dispassionate calm.

At first there was no sound, and then Delacort

managed to get out a question "Reason for end of

communication?"

"Bravo station has been destroyed."

There was barely time for the people in the office to digest

that bit of information, and then they saw them--the

attackers--seeming to dive straight out of the sun

that was now rising. It was as if they were being spit

straight out of a gateway to hell.

From toward the back, Jak spoke, in a

voice that was barely above a whisper. "Del ...

what do we do?"

When Delacort replied, he felt as if it

were someone else's voice. As if he were speaking

from a million miles away.

"Jak--send on all frequencies, so those

bastards can hear us."

"You're on, boss."

Delacort raised his voice slightly and

said, "This is Administrator Delacort.

Break off your attack immediately. Starfleet has

been informed of your hostile activities. You do

not have a chance. Reply, please."

He waited for a reply--something, anything. A

boast. A threat. A demand. Something.

What he got was the screaming of air as the

vessels descended. They made a low pass that

shook the walls, caused the still morning air to thunder

around them. The floor beneath Delacort's feet

shook, and his glass and crystal pieces toppled

off their mountings. The room was filled with the sound of

shattering fragile things--things like sculptures,

Delacort thought, and dreams.

The vessels came around, and this time, when they

made their pass, they opened fire. Delacort

closed his eyes, but was unable to shut his ears as the

sounds of ray blasts filled the courtyard

outside. From below him came the screams of his

people--p whom he had been unable to protect. His

office, too, was filled with screams and shouts, the

thundering of feet and the stink of sweat and death. He

heard buildings crack and crumble beneath the

assault and went to his window, pressing himself

against it as if to present the greatest

possible target.

Below him the colony was in flames. He saw

mothers clutching the broken bodies of their children, and

then buildings collapsing forward upon them. He

saw decades of his life going up in blazing

ruins. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, and

when he turned he saw that his office was empty

except for Jak and L'rita. Her face was

buried in Jak's chest, her back shaking from

racking sobs. Jak was chewing his lower lip,

running his hands across her head and trying to tell her

that everything, everything, was going to be all right.

Delacort stared at them.

And once again, in a voice that seemed to be coming

from someone else, Delacort was speaking. "Do you,

Jak, take L'rita ... to be your lawfully

wedded wife, to have and to hold till death do you

part?"

They looked up at him, as if he'd lost his

mind. Incredibly, he was smiling. "Well?"

"Del ... are you--"

"I don't think we have much time," Delacort

said, prodding gently.

"He does," L'rita said quickly. "And I

do, too."

Jak looked down at her and a second later

was kissing her hungrily, desperately, drowning

in her.

"Then by the power vested in me--" said

Delacort.

The window blew inward, the air frying around

them. The explosion drove Delacort forward, and

he wondered about the distant stinging pain in his chest.

He looked down and saw the huge shard of glass

projecting outward and stared at it in stupefaction

before falling.

Jak took a step toward him, and then the

building was hit again. This time it was no near

miss. This time the ceiling exploded, and debris

rained down upon him. L'rita screamed his name

once and leaped into his embrace as the ceiling

fell in on them completely. Then the floor under

them collapsed, plunging to the ground five

stories below.

For another five minutes the raiding vessels

continued pounding the research colony. They made

pass after pass, until they were satisfied that no

life remained beneath them.

And then ...

Then they took ...

Nothing.

Instead the raiders circled around, their sleek

triangular vessels glinting in the morning light

that Delacort had so loved. They arced away

toward the rising sun, leaving behind them death and

destruction and no reason whatsoever for their

massacre.

The emergency signal, of course, had already

gone out to Starfleet. But the raiders did not

particularly care about that.

They had their own concerns.

And, surrounded by death, they did part.

Chapter Two

The Comm Unit on Uhura's wall beeped

once. She walked over to it and tapped it with the

side of her hand. "Lieutenant Uhura here,"

she said.

"Lieutenant, a moment of your time in my

quarters, to go over the final details of your

mission."

"Yes, Captain," she said. "Right away."

"Take your time, Lieutenant. We don't

rendezvous with the Lexington for another five

hours."

"Yes, sir."

Walking out into the corridor, she headed for the

captain's quarters, no.ing or smiling to crewmen

as she passed them. She had a way about her that

caused people to relax almost immediately.

Abruptly she frowned as she heard something that

was rather unusual in the corridors of the

Enterprise--the sound of running feet. For a

brief, giddy moment she thought that perhaps the ship was

on red alert and somehow she'd simply been

oblivious to the signals. But no, others passing

her by heard the footsteps, too, and exchanged

slightly confused glances with her.

And then, around the corner, his arms pumping

furiously, sped an ensign. It was only at the

last moment that he realized he was on a direct

collision course with Uhura, and he pinwheeled his

arms and backpedaled quickly, without allowing for his

momentum. The result was that his feet shot out from

under him and he hit the floor, landing bone-jarringly

on his rump.

Uhura stood over him, her arms folded and

her lips slightly puckered. Her instinct was

to reach down and help haul him to his

feet, but she intuited--correctly--t he would

simply be further mortified if she aided him.

He rose quickly, hurriedly brushing himself off and

murmuring abject apologies.

"Are you all right?" she asked, trying to fight

down her amusement.

He blinked in surprise, as if his own

physical condition was of such little significance as

to be completely irrelevant. "Oh. Oh,

yes. Never better."

His feet were shuffling slightly, and he was

clearly anxious to keep moving to wherever he was

heading. But protocol required that he now stand

there until the superior officer--who had

acknowledged his presence--made it clear that she was

done with him.

"Ensign Chekov," she said, one eyebrow

slightly raised in a mannerism she'd picked

up from Spock. "You're in a great hurry,

Ensign. Accidents can be caused that way."

"Yes, Lieutenant," he said, bobbing his

head nervously.

"Where were you off to in such a hurry?"

"The bridge, ma'am. To my post."

"Were you under the impression that you were going

to miss the bridge somehow?" she asked. "That it was

going to leave without you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," he said in a very serious

tone. "I did not think that at all. But I was

... am ... late reporting for duty."

"How late?"

"Forty-five seconds, ma'am," he said, and

then amended, "Well ... now a minute

forty-five."

"Yes, well, you'd be even later if you

broke a leg or sprained an ankle en

route, Ensign," she said, fighting to keep the

corners of her mouth from twitching. "Take it a

bit more slowly next time."

"Yes, ma'am. I did not want the keptin

to notice that--"

"The captain is in his quarters, waiting for

me," said Uhura. "So he doesn't know about

your ... indiscretion."

Chekov looked at her apprehensively, and

she added, "He won't hear it from me, if that's

what you're thinking."

He nodded gratefully. "Thank you,

ma'am."

They stared at each other for a moment, and

then Uhura inclined her head slightly

to indicate that Chekov should go on his way.

Immediately Chekov was off, starting to dash, and then

braking himself before Uhura could say anything. He

walked quickly, his hands balled into fists, his feet

just bordering on a run. It was clearly all he

could do to contain himself. Indeed, it was the same for

Uhura, who barely was able to wait until young

Chekov was gone from view before bursting into laughter.

Just as quickly as she felt cheered, she became

saddened again. The casual encounter had simply

underscored for her that she was about to go off and be a

stranger on another ship. No matter how

crowded a starship was, it could be extremely

painful if it was filled with 429 strangers.

Kirk did not look up from his work when he

heard the buzzer at his cabin. "Come," he said

simply.

The door hissed open. He did not even have

to bother to raise his gaze. There was a distinctive

scent of perfume, and the slight tinkling of that

particular pair of large earrings t hat his

communications officer occasionally favored. Kirk

usually had to look up to confirm the identity of a

male who entered his cabin, but for females he had

almost a sixth sense. "Sit down,

Lieutenant," he said. "Be right with you."

Uhura, for her part, was surprised at the

casual manner in which her captain was able

to identify her without looking up at her.

She sat down obediently, momentarily

unsure of what to do with her hands before finally resting

them in her lap.

Kirk shut off the computer screen and turned

to look at her. "Nervous?" he asked.

She let out a soft sigh. "A bit,

Captain," she said. "Being away from home ..."

"You don't think of Earth as home?" he

asked.

She shrugged slightly. "Not for some time," she

admitted. "And you, sir?"

He pursed his lips. "Not even when I was

living there," he said candidly. He rose from behind

his desk. "But you don't have to worry,

Lieutenant. I've known Commodore Wesley

for years. A good man. I might go so far as

to say he's the second best starship commander in the

fleet."

"Second best?" asked Uhura.

"And the first ...?"

Kirk smiled. "What's life without mystery,

Lieutenant? Take your own guess." Then the

gently bantering tone evaporated, and Kirk was

speaking in all seriousness. "The Lexington is

a damned fine ship. I wouldn't be sending one of

my officers there if I thought otherwise."

"With all due respect, Captain ...

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THEDISINHERITEDChapterOne"Todayisthelastdayoftherestofyourlife."JakEismangrinnedlopsidedlyatthemanwhohadjustspoken.Hestabbedafingerathimandsaid,"You,Delacort,arejealous."Delacorttookastepback,miminghavingbeenshotintheheart.DelacortwasseveraldecadesJak'ssenior,butthatdidn'tstophimfromengaginginbehavi...

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