STAR TREK: TOS - Prime Directive Read online

  “Good stuff, yes, no?” Krulmadden said approvingly. “Full sensor block. Starfleet deflectors. Very expensive. Could hide anything.” He turned back to Chekov and Sulu. “The stories Krulmadden hears say Heart of the Storm is delusion like Queen Mary’s impulse pod.”

  “Illusion,” Sulu corrected.

  “Whatever. Antique outside over Starfleet prototypes [286] inside.” He widened his eyes as if they were about to burst from his head. “Warp nine Krulmadden hears, with tractor beams that reach two lightseconds, and cargo transporters that—”

  A tactical alert sounded and Krulmadden popped his mouth closed and spun back to the screen. The Queen Mary’s shuttle came into view, sliding up close to the Heart of the Storm.

  So that’s where Artinton is, Chekov thought. But why send a shuttle over when the pirates could be beamed aboard?

  “Warp nine?” Sulu said to Chekov. “In that crate? He’s got to be kidding.”

  “Message arriving,” Lasslanlin announced. The image on the viewscreen rolled over once and a new transmission appeared—Black Ire.

  “Greetings, oh noble scourge of death and construction!” Krulmadden gushed.

  “Destruction,” Sulu said under his breath.

  “Withdraw your shuttle at once or it will be destroyed.” On the viewscreen, Black Ire looked vaguely humanoid, but through the odd twists and folds of his costume, Chekov couldn’t be certain. The warbling computer distortion from the translator mask he wore—a small silver cup which covered his nose and mouth—also made it hard to tell what race he was. But the pirate was a he, Chekov decided. Thick tufts of black and white hair sprayed out from around the translator. The rest of the pirate’s face and head was hidden beneath a spaceblack battle helmet and featureless radiation goggles. Klingon, Chekov decided. With a ship named Heart of the Storm, Black Ire had to be a Klingon.

  “I send transportation to you my guest,” Krulmadden said, spreading his hands in an ingratiating gesture of friendship.

  “Black Ire does not travel in filthy shuttles like cargo,” the pirate growled. “My mate and I must be beamed aboard your ship.”

  Definitely a Klingon, Chekov thought.

  “But noxious one,” Krulmadden said as Sulu groaned at the shipmaster’s misuse of the language, “my transporter is onboard my shuttle and has, I feel such shame to say, a limited [287] range because of the great cost of the equipment. Unless you drop all your shields completely, I cannot beam you from there to here.”

  Chekov finally realized what the extra equipment at the back of the Queen Mary’s shuttle had been. Krulmadden had obviously wanted a getaway vehicle with transporter capability but hadn’t wanted to spend the credits for two transporters so he could have one in his ship as well.

  “Black Ire is not fool enough to drop all shields for Ur’eon scum!” The pirate looked off to the sides. “Crew! Arm phasers! Lock on to that scow’s bridge!”

  Krulmadden cringed and held up his hands. “No, no, do not. Use your own transporters. Your own shuttle. Swim aboard if you wish.”

  Black Ire settled back on whatever he sat in and for a moment Chekov saw another figure in the background—a veiled female draped in a floor-length vest and tunic of shimmering red. She moved quickly out of range of the visual sensor.

  “So,” Black Ire said, “you invite us to beam aboard ourselves. Does that mean that Krulmadden would drop his own shields to us?”

  Lasslanlin turned around in his chair and gestured to his board. Krulmadden ignored him.

  “Alas,” the shipmaster said, “but our screens have a slight malfunction and I regret to say we are unable to turn them off.”

  Chekov wondered how criminals could ever trust each other long enough to stay in business. If it was this difficult just to arrange a meeting between the two pirates, how long was it going to take to work out a way to transfer the Orion females to the Heart of the Storm once a deal had been struck? He wished he and Sulu had had another chance to talk privately so they could have worked out some way to free Krulmadden’s captives. But at least they had the satisfaction of knowing they had enough information about the shipmaster’s operations to set the Federation authorities onto him as soon as they got the chance.

  “Shipmaster Krulmadden,” Black Ire spat out, “you know [288] who I am, do you not? You have heard the word about me spread through space, have you not?”

  “Who has not heard of the dread Black Ire, oh dread Black Ire?” Krulmadden shook his fist at Lasslanlin who kept trying to attract his attention.

  Black Ire leaned closer, filling the screen. “Therefore, you know what will happen if you betray my trust in you?”

  “I cannot know, for my life would not be worth living if such a thing I ever did, oh no.”

  Black Ire stood and placed his blackgloved hands on his wide black belt. A black cape fell from his shoulders. Odd, Chekov thought, that looks just like the one I bought in the souvenir store on Rigel VIII before I met Sulu in the bar.

  “Very well, Ur’eon dog. You may beam my mate and me to your shuttle and from there to your ship. But if anything should go wrong, my officers will lock tractor beams onto you and drag you into the nearest star! Now lock onto these coordinates exactly so you can beam us through the opening we shall make in our shields.” He punched something in on a console out of view. A blue light lit up on Lasslanlin’s board.

  “We receive your coordinates, Black Ire. My shuttle pilot will beam you now.”

  Black Ire’s image winked out and was replaced by the outer sensor view of the shuttle by the Heart of the Storm.

  Lasslanlin almost shrieked the instant the transmission was cut. “Shipmaster! Shipmaster!”

  “What is it, loathsome sore?”

  “When Black Ire called for phasers armed, nothing happened,” Lasslanlin said. “There should have been carrier leakage through shields so his weapons officer could lock on Queen Mary—but was nothing.”

  Krulmadden rubbed at his green fleshy face with jeweled fingers. “But why would he bluff? It costs next to nothing to power up phasers for such a simple threat.”

  Lasslanlin looked once at Sulu and Chekov, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “But what if he has none?”

  [289] “What?”

  Lasslanlin looked to be in pain. “What if only has a sensor block? No weapons, no shields, no cargo hold full of unsynthesized metals?”

  “No cargo ... ?” Krulmadden was clearly upset by the concept. “Then how could he pay for the greenskins?”

  “Perhaps not wish to pay, Shipmaster.”

  Krulmadden leapt from his chair and under the lighter gravity traveled a meter higher than he had intended, though he still managed to land gracefully.

  “He is a pirate!” the shipmaster said. “Why should he lie to us! All of space knows of Black Ire!”

  Chekov cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, Shipmaster. I have not heard of Black Ire.”

  “Neither have I,” Sulu added. “And the Enterprise was always receiving updates on pirate and smuggling operations.”

  Krulmadden silently picked at the emerald in his teeth. He turned to Lasslanlin. “Little snail thing, have you heard all your life of the great and terrible stories of the lonesome pirate, Black Ire?”

  “That’s loathsome,” Sulu said.

  Lasslanlin shook his head, jingling his metal earrings. “Only in past few tendays, Shipmaster. Many, many subspace transmissions.”

  Krulmadden pulled something stringy out from between his teeth, looked at it, then sucked it back into his mouth. “Which shows what a good pirate he must be if he has hidden his crimes so well.”

  Chekov figured that when Krulmadden lifted off from a planet in his shuttle, he’d be lucky to know which way was up.

  Then Krulmadden boasted with pride. “Good thing this fine shipmaster has hidden a few crimes of his own!”

  Lasslanlin looked more confused by his cousin than usual. On the screen, the shuttle turned smoothly, then sped for the
Queen Mary. Artinton’s voice came over the commlink.

  “Guests on board, Shipmaster. Coming alongside.”

  [290] “Beam them to our bridge!” Krulmadden said. “We have no secrets from Black Ire and his mate! And take care to miss nothing when you energize.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone around here worry about taking care of anything,” Sulu said.

  Chekov shrugged. He had given up trying to understand Krulmadden or any of the Orions. He found himself hoping that Black Ire would start a fight when he came onboard. At least a Klingon could be reasoned with. After a fashion. Compared with Orions.

  A transporter chime started and Chekov saw the swirling eddy of materialization form in front of the helm and navigation console. As Krulmadden and Lasslanlin concentrated on the slowly forming shapes of two humanoids, Chekov moved closer to Sulu.

  “We should be ready to take adwantage of whatewer might happen,” he whispered.

  Before Sulu could reply, Chekov had left the elevated ramp and gone to stand near Krulmadden’s chair.

  As Black Ire solidified, Chekov saw that when the pirate had referred to his mate, he hadn’t been talking about one of his officers. The second figure who beamed in with him was the woman in shimmering red. Though her face was still veiled, Chekov was struck by her startlingly blue eyes which shone out from her rich black skin. He was also struck by the way in which she stared at him.

  Black Ire stepped forward and placed his hands on Lasslanlin’s console. “So, Krulmadden, we meet—”

  The distorted speech of his translator mask was interrupted by a second transporter chime. Chekov looked down at the deck as a small pile of objects appeared at Krulmadden’s feet. Black Ire and the woman suddenly looked nervous and began patting themselves under their arms and on their backs as if they had just realized they had lost something.

  The shipmaster turned to Chekov and gestured for him to pick the objects up. Obviously, he could not bend that low himself.

  [291] Chekov carefully lifted what had materialized. The temptation to try something was strong. He held four phaser mark ones, two stun wands, and an area disrupter. They all looked used, rebuilt, or surplus.

  Krulmadden studied the weapons for a moment, then shook his head. He took them from Chekov and dumped all except a phaser one in his chair. Then he smiled at Black Ire and his mate.

  “You try to bring weapons on board this jewel of peace. Krulmadden cries tears of loss and sorrow for the honor that has died today, oh yes.”

  Black Ire drew himself to his full height and held the back of his glove to his translator mask. “Heart of the Storm,” he barked, “lock phasers on this scow’s engines.”

  Krulmadden glanced sadly at Lasslanlin. “Mate Lasslanlin, lock disrupter cannon on Heart of the Storm.”

  The pirates glared at each other. Chekov was fascinated. Whatever happened next, things could not be worse than they were. Unless, of course, the Heart of the Storm opened fire on her own commander. And if they were Klingons, that was a distinct possibility.

  “Shall we play this game, Black Ire, whom no one has heard of?”

  “I play no game with garbage,” the pirate scoffed.

  Krulmadden brought his hands together and tapped his fingertips against the small phaser he held. “You are right, fearsome one. Krulmadden shall not play this game either.” He shrugged and smiled.

  Black Ire seemed relieved. He began to lower his glove.

  “Mate Lasslanlin, destroy our guests’ ship.”

  Before Krulmadden had even finished giving the order a glowing blue lance of disruptive energy flashed on the screen and the Heart of the Storm dissolved into a handful of spinning hull sections and a cloud of sparkling energy.

  Black Ire and his mate wheeled to see the destruction of their ship on the screen. The woman put her hand to her mouth.

  “No bodies,” Lasslanlin said. “No crew.”

  [292] “Mate Artinton,” Krulmadden said, “stand off until I give you order to dock. Our guests have decided to stay and share hospitality with us. But might decide to be beamed back to what’s left of their ship anytime I say.” He made a shallow bow to Black Ire and the woman. “How kind of you to accept shipmaster’s even kinder invitation.”

  Chekov applauded and Krulmadden jumped back as if he had expected an attack. “You are a fine shipmaster,” Chekov said.

  “You are pitiful liar,” Krulmadden snorted. “You wanted Black Ire to be bad to your shipmaster and feed Krulmadden to recyclers so you and other mammal could sell the greenskins for yourself.”

  Chekov gave the shipmaster his most winning smile. “Is that not what you would have us do? You are a fine shipmaster and a fine teacher. Sulu and I have learned much from you.” He made a bow as Krulmadden had done.

  Krulmadden frowned theatrically. “Very well, I give you three percent of the Talin fissionables for being such toads. Now go get manacles for ex-pirate and mate.”

  “There is a better way to keep them captive,” Chekov said slyly.

  Krulmadden waited.

  “The way you kept us captives!” Chekov explained. “The grawity field!” On the other side of Krulmadden, Chekov could see a look of sudden horror pass through Sulu’s eyes.

  Krulmadden shook a finger at Chekov. “You are a clever little mammal. The f’deraxt’l and statorfleet have not ruined you completely. Even if you do not like the company of greenskins, which puzzles me in great amounts.” He went back to his chair and brushed his hand against a section of the inner arm. Chekov kept his eyes level with Krulmadden’s, but concentrated on remembering exactly which part of the chair arm the shipmaster stroked to adjust the field. As the local gravity constant on the bridge began to climb, Chekov knew that at least the first part of his plan was going to work. Now the question was whether or not he could continue to function.

  [293] Krulmadden bounced from foot to foot. “Ah, feels good like home.” He rumbled with laughter. “Let us make it feel twice as good!”

  Chekov braced himself for four times Earth gravity. He felt the field climb higher. His shoulders sagged in on his chest as the weight of his arms increased. He had to struggle for each breath.

  There was a thud from the front of the bridge and Chekov slowly turned his eyes to see that Black Ire had collapsed to his knees. His hands pressed against the floor and his arms trembled with the effort to support himself. Then the woman collapsed beside him.

  “Ha ha! Is good is good!” Krulmadden sang.

  Chekov staggered to Krulmadden’s chair and leaned against it. He saw Sulu step back to hang on to the railing behind him. He felt his knees creak.

  “Exercise!” Krulmadden laughed. “Good Ur’eon exercise for my little mammals. I go see what kind of weakling Black Ire is now.” He bared his jeweled teeth at Chekov. “You do not go anywhere.”

  Chekov forced a smile past his sagging cheeks. He was beginning to see black sparkles in his vision as his heart could no longer keep blood flowing to his brain. Now or never, he thought, then leaned over the arm of Krulmadden’s chair and reached for the hidden control surface.

  But when he bent over he no longer had the strength to keep his back extended and he crumpled over the side of the chair, losing his breath with the sudden impact. The weapons on the chair seat pressed in on his face. He tasted blood and his heartbeat thundered in his ear.

  Chekov blindly reached for the gravity control. He touched the smooth metal of the chair arm. Suddenly the bridge lights flared back to Rigel normal. Wrong control. He heard Krulmadden’s grunt of surprise.

  Desperately, Chekov slid his fingers over the chair arm. It has to be here, he thought. I saw Krulmadden do it just like this. He felt a slight impression in the smooth metal and stroked his [294] finger against it. He heard a violent explosion of breath and realized it was his own. He had sent the gravity setting the wrong way and now his fingers were too heavy to lift.

  The pressure of the chair arm in his stomach was overpow
ering. He could no longer take a breath. The bridge seemed to start spinning around him as his inner ears began to collapse. He heard Sulu calling out his name.

  Then Krulmadden’s black-maned head appeared above the level of his seat. The strength of the gravity field was so strong that even the powerful Orion had to crawl. But he could crawl. And from the look in his eyes he was also going to be able to kill.

  “Bad little mammal,” the shipmaster grunted. His thick lower lip hung down as if invisible threads pulled on it. “I crush you into spread for biscuits.”

  Chekov closed his eyes. He had no time nor strength for one last breath. For Captain Kirk, he thought, then put the last Wortham unit of energy he had into one final stab of his fingers.

  He touched the metal of the arm. He felt Krulmadden’s hot breath on his face. He stroked the metal away from him and—

  —free fall.

  Krulmadden whooped like a child on a roller whip and flew away from the chair, the phaser slipping from his hand. Chekov had known what was coming—had hoped for what was coming—and held on to the chair arms. With the pressure gone from his chest and stomach, he drew in a huge breath. His ears still rang and the bridge still spun but he could see once more.

  Chekov looked over to Sulu. His friend had locked his arms around the bridge railing and was holding himself in place as if he were blowing in a gale force wind.

  “Look out!” Sulu shouted. “Above you!”

  Chekov twisted his head around in time to see Krulmadden swooping down from the ceiling of the bridge. Chekov ran his finger back along the gravity control and Krulmadden’s trajectory changed as a triple field came back on.

  “Again!” Sulu shouted.

  Chekov got the hang of it. By flipping the gravity on and off, [295] he bounced Krulmadden across the deck until the Orion’s eyes crossed and he simply flopped from one field setting to the next. Then Chekov set the field for Earth normal, grabbed one of the phasers he had kept in place beneath him, and stood up. For a moment he wavered back and forth, still feeling the bridge move beneath him, but it was only a sense memory because Krulmadden, unconscious, didn’t budge from his place on the floor.