2268
The coliseum was built into a portion of the high blue wall surrounding the city. Tier after tier of long concrete benches curved along its inner circumference, offering seating enough to accommodate much of the populace, or so it appeared to Kirk as he and the rest of the landing party joined the throngs of jubilant citizens pouring through the gates and up the aisles for today’s lavish spectacle. According to Jaheed, the suzerain regularly hosted public entertainments to keep his subjects happy. Chances were, Varkat and his court would be in attendance—including the “blue lady” said to be keeping company with Siroth these days?
Here’s hoping, Kirk thought.
Locating Doctor Hamparian at a public arena would certainly be easier than trying to gain entry to the seemingly impregnable fortress, so Kirk and company jostled their way through the crowd, sticking closely together despite the surging press of bodies, to secure seats in an upper level of the massive amphitheater, above and across from the segregated VIP section, which was lavishly decked out with sumptuous silks and velvets and other trimmings. The deluxe seating area was currently unoccupied, awaiting the arrival of its distinguished guests.
“Just our luck.” McCoy sat at Kirk’s left, while Sulu and the others sat one row behind them, looking over their heads. “We would get stuck in the nosebleed seats.”
“We’re not here for the show, Bones,” Kirk reminded him. “Just to see and not be seen, ideally.”
Aiming to keep a low profile amidst the crowd, he scanned the packed coliseum for any lurking Klingons. Spock had alerted him, via Galileo, that the BortaS had also dispatched a shuttlecraft to Atraz, so Kirk was on yellow alert, on guard for any unwanted interference from hostile Klingons (as if there were any other kind), but would he or Sulu or any of the others even be able to spot any newly arrived Klingons in this crowded setting if the Klingons were also out of uniform and going incognito? Most of the Klingons Kirk had encountered in the past resembled your average humanoid, albeit with notably belligerent attitudes. Like the disguised Starfleet crew members, they would easily blend into Reliux’s diverse, cosmopolitan population, where foreigners came and went regularly.
All the more reason to stay on our toes, Kirk thought.
He waited impatiently for the festivities to commence. Vendors worked the aisles, hawking snacks and refreshments. A clear sky provided plenty of sunshine. The concrete bench was sturdy but unforgiving; Kirk noted that more seasoned patrons had brought their own seat cushions. He was definitely missing his usual chair on the bridge by the time a fanfare of horns, rattles, drums, and cymbals heralded the arrival of the suzerain and his court. The audience rose to their feet in respect, prompting Kirk and his companions to follow suit. The captain peered over the heads of the folks in the rows below him as a regal figure, whom Kirk assumed to be Varkat himself, accepted the acclamation of his subjects before magnanimously gesturing for them to be seated once more.
The suzerain was an older male, ornately costumed and bejeweled, with craggy features and a leonine mane of snowy-white hair. Despite his apparent years, he appeared healthy and vigorous, reputedly thanks to the esoteric knowledge of his personal alchemist, the one with the suspiciously high-tech tower at the fortress. Kirk searched for Siroth amidst Varkat’s sizable retinue, which boasted an impressive assortment of consorts, heirs, relations, ministers, courtiers, and miscellaneous hangers-on, along with multiple armed guards standing watch over the royal box, crossbows, truncheons, and short swords at the ready. Kirk had a clear view of the figures in the VIP section, although they were far enough away that he couldn’t readily make out their faces with his naked eyes.
“Do you see Siroth?” he asked Jaheed, who was seated one row behind and a seat over from Kirk. “Or the blue lady?”
“Indeed, O Captain!” Their guide helpfully pointed at one corner of the royal box. “A few seats to the left of the suzerain, just as I predicted. He’s wearing dark green, she saffron.”
Now that he knew where to look, Kirk located the pair in question. Siroth turned out to be a short, robed figure with a bald dome and bushy black eyebrows, who bore no resemblance to Louis Fortier, settling that issue once and for all. Kirk registered that discovery before swiftly turning his attention to the woman at Siroth’s side. A wide-brimmed yellow headpiece, the same hue as her gown, served to conceal any vestigial antennae, but even from a distance her complexion did appear to possess a pale blue tint. To be certain, he used the minibinoculars to zoom in on the woman’s face, revealing the unmistakable features of Doctor Taya Hamparian.
“It’s her,” he announced. “Alive and well, so it seems.”
“Thank goodness,” McCoy said with feeling. “What about Fortier?”
Kirk searched the VIP section with the binoculars, but didn’t spot the spacejacker anywhere. “No sign of him.”
“That’s damned peculiar,” McCoy said, scowling. “What became of him, and how did Hamparian end up associating with this Siroth character?”
“Both good questions, Bones.”
Sulu leaned forward from above. “Now what, Captain?”
Kirk assessed the situation. They had found Hamparian and determined that she appeared unharmed. What was less clear was whether she was being held against her will. Spock had shared, via Akbari, his hypothesis that Hamparian might have staged her own abduction in order to escape the Federation’s stringent restrictions on her research. Would she welcome being “rescued” or not?
“We need to make contact with her while she’s still in public view,” he said, thinking aloud, “so we can find out how she’s faring and try to work out an extraction plan. Perhaps we can somehow smuggle a communicator to her during the show? Before she disappears back inside the fortress?”
If it wasn’t for the Klingon battle cruiser patrolling the space around the planet, Spock could bring the Enterprise within transporter range and attempt to beam Hamparian aboard the ship if and when they successfully got a communicator to her, but with the BortaS on the scene? Bringing the Enterprise closer to Atraz would provoke the Klingons further, while beaming Hamparian up would mean lowering the Enterprise’s shields in the presence of the enemy battle cruiser.
“Easier said than done, sir,” Levine said. “Can’t imagine the locals are going to allow us anywhere near their ruler and his party, let alone barge in and take custody of Hamparian on the spot. Unless we want to employ our phasers, set on stun of course.”
Kirk shook his head. Firing energy weapons in full view of thousands of Atrazians, including a regional head of state, would do serious violence to the Prime Directive; it was absolutely to be avoided if it all possible.
“The doctor doesn’t seem to be in immediate danger. We don’t need to charge in with our phasers blazing.”
“I can try to persuade someone to pass a parcel to her, containing a note and communicator,” Landon volunteered. “Maybe tip a guard or attendant to do me a favor and deliver a gift to the blue lady? While doing my utmost to appear nice and harmless?”
She demonstrated a simpering smile.
“Possibly.” Kirk took the suggestion under advisement. “Any other ideas?”
By now, the show in the arena below had gotten underway. Jugglers and acrobats and clowns warmed up the audience in anticipation of the main events, which Kirk understood to involve bloody gladiatorial contests of the sort that, sadly, were all too common in less-advanced civilizations throughout the known galaxy. He wasn’t looking forward to enduring carnage as entertainment, but their mission did not include shutting down such practices on a planet they weren’t even supposed to be visiting in the first place. Rescuing Jaheed from a gruesome death was one thing; he’d been just one lone individual out in the wilderness. Interfering with an established Atrazian institution was far beyond Kirk’s purview and abilities.
That being said, Kirk winced as a thundering blast of music interrupted the landing party’s whispered conference, signaling the start of the first contest. The audience cheered as one, drowning out any possible discussion for a few moments. Bracing himself for the brutality to come, Kirk was unable to look away as a half dozen or so men and women were herded out onto the sandy floor of the arena from a gated archway located at ground level, several meters below the front rows of the seating areas. The contestants were a ragtag bunch, of mixed ages and body types, most of whom already appeared somewhat worse for wear. Far from the brawny warriors of romanticized fictions, they looked just like what Jaheed had explained they were: condemned criminals sentenced to fight for their lives for the amusement and edification of honest citizens.
“Those poor souls,” McCoy said, compassion and disgust warring in his voice. “How many worlds have to keep reinventing these same atrocities? What in blazes is wrong with us humanoids anyway?”
“I know, Bones, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Keep telling yourself that, Kirk thought as the grisly spectacle unfolded. Simple short-range weapons, incapable of endangering the audience, were thrown to the prisoners, who scrambled to claim a whip, a net, a staff, a mace, or a rope, while already fighting among themselves for whatever might give them the best chance of survival. Brutal memories of Triskelion, Magna Roma, and even life-or-death ritual combat on Vulcan stirred Kirk’s sympathy for the unwilling gladiators. He’d been in their sandals more than once.
“Captain!” Landon pointed urgently at one of the unfortunates in the arena. “Isn’t that Fortier?”
What? Kirk hastily turned the binoculars on the indicated contestant, who he now noticed was missing one hand. A closer look at the man’s distraught, bug-eyed face cinched it; there was no mistaking Louis Fortier, whose fortunes had obviously taken a severe turn for the worse. Not only was he missing his prosthetic hand, but his mouth had been wired shut as well.
To prevent him revealing any embarrassing secrets?
“It’s him,” Kirk stated. “Fortier.”
“Good God!” McCoy reacted in horror. “I wanted that spacejacker to get what was coming to him, but not like this!”
Down in the arena, Fortier got his remaining hand on a whip, which he snapped tentatively, perspiration streaming down his face. Instead of the Federation-contemporary attire he’d sported on the Chinook, he was now clad in torn and ragged Atrazian garb that had seen better days. Bulging eyes stared fearfully at a gate across the way from the one that had disgorged the prisoners. A metal portcullis rose to release…
Wild, feathered beasts.
“Bloodbeaks!” Jaheed went pale at the sight of a flock of long-legged, flightless birds even larger than the ones that had attacked him in the savannah. He made a protective gesture over his heart and gut. “Man-eaters!”
The avian creatures were comparable in size to an Australian cassowary or the winged leopards of Betelgeuse Prime. Their long necks and legs might lead a human biologist to classify them, along with their smaller cousins, as ratites of some variety. Orange and green plumage feathered their bodies, while the males boasted lurid red crests atop their heads. Curved beaks and talons looked far too sharp for comfort.
Squawking and screeching, the bloodbeaks charged at the hapless contestants, who, lacking any apparent plan or organization, tried to defend themselves as best they could. A bony, half-starved woman hurled a net at an oncoming bird, hoping to snarl or tangle the creature, but her throw went wild, flying over the bird’s crested head and sliding uselessly off its back. Panicking, she turned and ran, but didn’t get far before the ferocious ratite pounced on her, knocking her face-first into the ground. Avian screeches and all-too-humanoid screams reached a hideous crescendo as the bird’s razor-sharp beak and claws tore at her, turning the sandy floor crimson, much to the excitement of the bloodthirsty audience, who again leaped to their feet, cheering and hooting exuberantly.
“Monsters!” Levine reached for his phaser, but Sulu placed a restraining hand on the other man’s arm.
“Don’t do it, mister. Not our world, not our mission.”
Levine nodded, jaw tight. “It’s just that… this is inhuman.”
If only, Kirk thought. He lifted his gaze to see how Hamparian was reacting to the barbaric spectacle. Was she pleased to see her kidnapper facing death in the arena or was she as sickened by the proceedings as Kirk was? To her credit, she was indeed averting her eyes from the sanguinary display, unlike Varkat and the bulk of his court, who were clearly enjoying the show as much as the commoners they ruled over. Siroth was the only noticeable exception; the alchemist maintained a neutral expression, betraying neither approval nor disapproval of the grisly contest.
I wouldn’t want to play poker against him, Kirk thought.
Another prisoner fell prey to the bloodbeaks, igniting a feeding frenzy among the greedy creatures. The surviving contestants were already on the defensive, frantically trying to fend off the feathered carnivores with their rudimentary and woefully inadequate weapons. Cracking his whip, Fortier struggled to hold three ratites at bay as they closed in on him from all directions. His eyes were wide with fright. Muffled cries escaped his wired jaws.
“He doesn’t stand a chance, Jim,” McCoy said. “Unless we do something!”
“Like what, Bones?” Kirk shared his friend’s dismay and anguish. No matter what Fortier had done or threatened on the Chinook, the man was still a Federation citizen and a human being, but in attempting to elude Federation justice, he seemed to have run afoul of a far harsher variety, and there wasn’t a damn thing Kirk could do about it. His own instructions to the landing party came back to him: Recovering Hamparian was their top priority.
Not Fortier.
For better or for worse, the end came quickly. Warding off one bloodbeak, Fortier didn’t spin around swiftly enough to stop another bird from leaping at him from behind. A vicious kick sliced open his back and sent him sprawling onto the sand, where the birds converged on him. Any chance of the spacejacker ever seeing the inside of a Federation courthouse vanished within moments.
“So much for Fortier,” Kirk said grimly over the roar of the crowd. The dead man had endangered the lives of an entire shipload of innocents, but that hadn’t made his final moments any easier to watch. “He’s escaped us for good.”
“Poetic justice?” Sulu asked.
Kirk shook his head. “No poetry. Just brutality.”
The carnage was apparently too much for the nameless Atrazian gentleman seated to Kirk’s right, nearer to the aisle, who got up and left even as the birds were feasting on Fortier’s remains. Still troubled by the spacejacker’s ghastly demise, Kirk barely registered the slender, dark-haired woman who quickly claimed the empty seat beside him—until he felt the point of a blade pressing against his ribs.
“The spectacle is not to your liking, Kirk?” she said in a low voice. “I am not surprised. You Earthers are too softhearted to see the savage beauty in such blood sports. We Klingons have stronger stomachs.”
Damn it. Kirk kicked himself for letting Fortier’s ugly death distract him from the woman’s approach. Granted, that horrific sight would capture anyone’s attention, but that was no excuse for letting his guard slip.
“Captain,” Sulu whispered urgently, “don’t look now, but I think I’ve spotted a couple of Klingons—in local garb—heading toward us. Pretty sure I recognize one of them from that crew that tried to take over the Enterprise a while back. They must be from the shuttlecraft we were warned about. Looks like they’ve found us.”
You don’t say, Kirk thought wryly. “Thank you, Mister Sulu, but I’m afraid I’m already quite aware of that.”
He tipped his head to indicate the woman beside him, who smirked at Sulu. “No sudden moves, please,” she informed Kirk’s startled companions, “unless you wish to treat the crowd to the sight of your captain’s blood… in generous quantities.”
“Blast it!” McCoy reached for his medkit, just in case. “Hasn’t there been enough pointless bloodshed already? Can’t you Klingons go five minutes without threatening violence?”
“Steady, everyone.” Kirk held up a hand to deter Sulu and the others from taking any rash actions while he had a knife to his ribs. “Let’s find out what the lady has in mind.”
He slowly turned his head to inspect their new acquaintance. She appeared to be roughly his age and size, with jet-black hair tidily piled in a bun above a shrewd angular face. Smooth pink skin was closer in hue to Koloth’s than Kang’s. Indigo eye shadow highlighted dark eyes that gleamed with icy intent. Atrazian attire provided no way to determine her rank.
“You seem to have the advantage of me,” Kirk said evenly. “Captain…?”
“Colonel Yorba of Imperial Intelligence. We’re here for Hamparian and will brook no interference. I advise you and your officers to sit quietly while we claim our prize.”
Glancing about, Kirk spied the Klingons Sulu had spotted, mere moments too late. Maybe three in all, they were closing in on Kirk and company, climbing or descending the aisles or squeezing horizontally along the rows of seating. Their brusque manners and menacing glares made it clear they now wanted to be recognized by their Starfleet counterparts.
To let us know Yorba isn’t alone—and cow us into staying put?
We’ll see about that.
Kirk stalled while strategizing. “I don’t suppose that seat just happened to open up next to me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I gave that inconsequential native a substantial bribe for surrendering his seat. No doubt he assumed that I wished to make the acquaintance of a handsome stranger.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.” Her blade pressed harder, not quite drawing blood. “No offense, Kirk, but I prefer Klingons. Humans are too… tender… for my tastes.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally.”
In the arena, a handful of contestants were still fighting for their lives against the frenzied bloodbeaks, holding the attention of the crowd. Peering across the coliseum, Kirk made out two more Klingons, identifiable by their determined tread, martial bearing, and obvious lack of interest in the featured entertainment, advancing toward the VIP section—and Doctor Hamparian.
“What exactly is your game plan here?” Kirk questioned Yorba. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Seize the scientist by force, in exchange for the life of the suzerain. Preferably without resorting to our disruptors, but… we’ll see. What is that expression you Earthers have about needing to shatter eggs to scramble them?” Yorba kept watch over her men as they made progress toward the royal box. “Not that we’re constrained by your insipid Prime Directive, of course, but the treaty regarding this sector does mandate that my soldiers not be too obvious about our incursion on this backwards world.”
“Your discretion is commendable.” Kirk digested what she’d just told him. “I take it then you don’t expect Doctor Hamparian to go with you willingly?”
There went Spock’s defection theory, unless it wasn’t the Klingons Hamparian was defecting to?
“That is entirely up to her,” Yorba said, “but we are taking her regardless. The Empire has need of her brilliance… and her secrets.”
Just then, a desperate contestant miraculously managed to leap onto the back of an unsuspecting bloodbeak and wrap a rope around its neck. Gripping the rope with all her might while the alarmed bird frantically tried to throw her off, she succeeded in strangling the huge bird, who collapsed onto the increasingly scarlet sand. Thrilled by this unexpected upset, the entire audience surged to its feet, cheering the woman’s victory.
Kirk seized the opportunity.
Just a fraction of a second behind the crowd, he leaped to his feet as well, then delivered a sideways kick to Yorba that knocked her into the startled spectators between her and the aisle. Her knife flew from her grasp, clattering onto some nearby steps.
“A fine way to treat a lady,” McCoy quipped.
“That was no lady, that was a Klingon.” Kirk landed nimbly back on his feet, ready to take on Yorba, who was entangled with the confused Atrazians she’d fallen among. He couldn’t imagine that a single kick would slow her down for long. “And I didn’t see you rushing to my rescue, Doctor.”
“Never known you to need my help with a woman.” McCoy also sprang to his feet. “But it looks like we’re in for it now.”
He wasn’t wrong. Even as Yorba struggled to disengage herself from the overly solicitous Atrazians wanting to make certain she was okay, her men rushed into the fray, abandoning any pretense of stealth. They charged down the aisles and across the crowded rows to get at their Starfleet foes, shoving and elbowing their way past indignant spectators, who swore at them profanely, only to be tossed aside, tumbling into the rows below, eliciting yet more shouting and commotion. Less bellicose Atrazians scrambled to flee the uproar, vacating their seats to avoid being caught up in the sudden brouhaha. Drinks and edibles were spilled and splashed over unhappy audience members.
“Saw this coming.” Sulu adopted a defensive stance. “Because… Klingons.”
Levine raised his fists. “No kidding.”
“Merciful fates!” Jaheed clambered up to a higher row to get clear of the conflict. “Fighting belongs in the arena, not in the stands! Not where the guards can see!”
Tell that to Yorba and her men, Kirk thought.
The Klingons came on in a rush, from all sides, not unlike the predators in the arena. Kirk and his crew met them in kind.
A typically bearded male Klingon slashed at Sulu with a serrated steel dagger, but the helmsman deftly dodged the attack. Snatching up an abandoned seat cushion from the row above him, he parried a second slash with the pillow, snagging the blade in the cushion before delivering a high kick to the Klingon’s jaw.…
A meter away, Levine traded punches with a hefty Klingon who had several centimeters on him. This didn’t intimidate Levine, whose combat training included plenty of sparring matches against opponents of all shapes and sizes. He dodged the Klingon’s right fist and countered with a left uppercut to the other man’s whiskered chin. The blow caught the Klingon off-guard, and Levine took advantage of the opening to block the Klingon’s hasty counterpunch and deliver a solid left hook that staggered the burly Klingon, who should have known better than to consider a Starfleet security officer easy pickings.
A third Klingon lunged at Landon, but she executed a flawless judo flip that sent him hurling over her shoulder into the audience below. Kirk recalled her pulling a similar move on Gamma Trianguli VI just as effectively. McCoy ducked as the upended Klingon plunged past him.
“Hey, watch where you’re throwing those things!”
Getting out of the line of fire, the doctor scrambled down to the row below, where he joined an unruly exodus of agitated spectators shoving their ways toward the aisles. Meanwhile, Kirk found himself confronted by a scowling Atrazian male upset over Kirk’s seemingly unprovoked attack on an innocent woman. The man got between her and Kirk, much to the snarling Klingon’s annoyance. “I don’t need your help, you idiot.”
“Don’t worry, miss. He’s not going to strike you again!” He threw a punch at Kirk, who easily deflected the clumsy blow.
“Hold on!” Kirk urged. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you kicked a woman!”
Other Atrazians, already hyped up by the violence in the arena, joined the free-for-all erupting in the stands. A lone guard, racing to deal with the disturbance, was furtively tripped by Jaheed, causing him to somersault down an aisle into assorted spectators hurrying toward or away from the brawl, depending on their inclinations. A random citizen seized the guard’s fallen truncheon and waded into the melee, whooping it up as he challenged humans, Klingons, and Atrazians alike. Pandemonium engulfed the scene.
“O Captain!” Jaheed hollered over the din. “More guards will come! We must flee before we all end up in a dungeon… or worse!”
The man now calling himself Siroth could hardly miss the ruckus on the opposite side of the coliseum. From his vantage point in the royal box, the court alchemist watched the fight break out among the hoi polloi drawn to Varkat’s barbaric spectacles. God only knew what had ignited the brawl, which was mushrooming like a chain reaction, drawing attention from the bloody contest in the arena.
“What’s happening?” Taya Hamparian asked at his side, sounding distinctly alarmed by the disturbance. He couldn’t blame her; she was still getting her bearings here on Atraz and was not yet inured to its more primitive customs. “Is this normal at these… events?”
“Not in my experience.” He feared that the festivities were not making a good first impression on his recently arrived collaborator. Unfortunately, there had been no polite way to decline attending Varkat’s latest savage extravaganza, particularly with Fortier on the menu; they couldn’t afford to boycott his lawful doom if they wanted to avoid any guilt by association. “Don’t worry about it, though. We’re perfectly safe here among Varkat’s entourage.”
Indeed, even now the suzerain’s personal guards were tightening the security around them in response to the disturbance. Additional guards, armed with crossbows, truncheons, and short swords, joined those already standing watch over Varkat and his court. No one was going to get anywhere near the royal box while the riotous donnybrook was raging in the cheap seats across from them. Siroth wondered how far out of control the tumult had to get before Varkat’s guardians decided it would be safer to whisk them all back to the fortress in an excess of caution.
“I suppose every world has its hooligans,” Hamparian said, relaxing to a degree. “And sadistic ‘sporting events’ like this can hardly be expected to bring out the best in people.”
He didn’t argue the point. “The price of setting up shop on a less socially advanced world, beyond the Federation’s influence and oversight.”
Not that brawls and disorder were entirely unknown within the Federation’s borders, especially out on the frontier, on hardscrabble mining colonies and such. Indeed, he had once narrowly avoided being caught up in a similar fracas in a nightclub on Brecillien II. Curious as to what had set off this particular free-for-all, he extracted a miniature spyglass from the interior of his robe and directed it at what appeared to be the heart of the melee. At first he spied nothing remarkable, just random men and women trading blows for no discernible reason, but then the handcrafted lenses brought him a close-up look at a face near the center of the storm, one he knew too well.
James T. Kirk. Celebrated captain of the Starship Enterprise.
“Here… on Atraz?”
For a moment, his thoughts were thrown back to another era, another name, lifetimes ago. Memories from a distant past surfaced as though waking from cryogenic sleep. Then the present demanded his attention. If Kirk was here, he had surely come for Hamparian.
Something had to be done about that.
“Guards! Guards!” he called out to the nearest sentries. “We have a dangerous intruder in our midst!”
“More guards will come! We must flee before we all end up in a dungeon… or worse!”
Kirk registered Jaheed’s warning as he contended with the overly chivalrous fellow out to teach Kirk a bare-knuckle lesson about attacking defenseless women, regardless of whether Yorba needed or wanted protection—which she most certainly didn’t. Kirk blocked the man’s clumsy swings, while keeping a close eye on his real enemy, who impatiently freed herself from the other Atrazians trying to assist her, only to find her would-be defender between her and Kirk.
“Out of my way, you fool!”
An open-handed chop to the man’s neck, delivered by Yorba from behind, clipped the man’s strings. Before he could even hit the floor, she roughly tossed him aside, into the fleeing crowd below, to get at Kirk. She grinned wolfishly in anticipation of the battle to come.
“Not bad, Kirk… for a human. I’m going to enjoy returning the favor.”
“I hate to spoil your fun, but I think we all need to make a strategic retreat while we still can.”
Unsurprisingly, more guards were already rushing to quell the disturbance. Their crossbows would be of little use in these close, crowded quarters, but they still had their swords and truncheons and force of numbers. Kirk saw a silver lining in that the brawl had visibly resulted in an increase of security around Varkat, making it harder for Yorba’s agents to get to the suzerain or Hamparian, but both landing parties being taken into custody was not in anyone’s best interest.
“What’s that expression your people have?” Kirk reminded Yorba. “Only a fool fights in a burning house?”
Yorba hesitated. Cold, cunning calculation doused her eagerness for battle, turning her grin into a frown as she surveyed the increasingly volatile situation.
“QI’yaH!” she cursed, the profanity defying universal translation. Producing a handheld communicator of Klingon design, she barked orders to her men. “Abort operation. We’ll seize the scientist later, under more advantageous conditions. Yorba out.”
“Good call.” Kirk issued a similar command to his own team, while keeping a close eye on Yorba. “Scatter to avoid capture. Rendezvous at our lodgings.”
With any luck, the escalating brawl would provide cover for the disguised Starfleet visitors, who would be lost amidst the general bedlam, along with their Klingon counterparts, which was possibly just as well; Klingons getting taken prisoner on Atraz, or blasting their way free with their disruptors, was a galactic incident in the making.
Putting away his communicator, he nodded at Yorba. “Until we meet again, Colonel?”
“Why wait?” She drew a disruptor pistol from beneath a colorful flap of fabric and aimed it at Kirk’s chest. “You’re coming with me, Kirk.”
“I beg to differ,” McCoy said, coming up behind her. A hypospray hissed against her throat and her eyes rolled upward until only the whites could be seen. Her disruptor slipped from her fingers, thudding onto the concrete floor. The doctor, who had circled around to come back down the row from the aisle, caught her limp body before it could collapse onto the hard concrete floor. “Mind giving me a hand here?” he asked Kirk.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Kirk took a moment to confiscate the fallen disruptor before assisting McCoy. Supporting the slumping Klingon between them, her boots dragging against the floor, they let the exodus carry them down an aisle toward the amphitheater’s arched exits. Kirk spotted Sulu and the rest not far ahead of them, also heading for the gates. Levine hesitated, looking like he wanted to push his way back toward Kirk and McCoy, but Kirk shook his head and waved Levine and the others to keep moving forward; he and McCoy and their tranquilized companion could catch up with the others once they were safely clear of the arena.
Not that Yorba’s men were going to let them abscond with their leader without a fight. Scattered through the crowd, the Klingons not still brawling glared balefully at Kirk as they strove to keep pace with the retreating humans and their Klingon captive. Kirk braced himself for a rematch in the streets and alleys outside the coliseum—unless he could use Yorba as a bargaining chip to forestall any further combat? Assuming, of course, that the Klingons would choose recovering their commander over battling their enemies. How loyal to her were Yorba’s men?
We’ll find out soon enough, Kirk thought.
“Coming through!” He used Yorba’s obvious incapacitation to speed their progress toward the exit. “Let us through! This woman needs air!”
Not everyone was willing or able to step aside to let them pass, but enough considerate spectators and guards made way for them that they soon reached the bottom of the seating area and came within sight of an archway leading out of the arena. Jaheed had already made it out the gate, with Sulu, Levine, Landon close behind him, just ahead of Kirk and McCoy. Also caught up in the crush of bodies: Klingons before and behind Kirk, waiting to reengage.
“Who knew Klingons were so heavy?” McCoy said, grunting with exertion. “What do they feed their troops, pulverized duranium?”
“Just a few meters more,” Kirk said. Then we’ll see what happens. “Coming through!”
Already thinking ahead, he was caught by surprise when a gruff voice called out:
“Those two, with the woman! Seize them!”
Any hope that somebody else was being singled out evaporated when Kirk saw the shouter pointing directly at him and McCoy while barking commands at the other guards manning the gate.
“Don’t let them get away! By order of the royal court!”
“Oh brother,” McCoy muttered. “When it rains, it pours.”
“Easy, Bones. You’re a doctor, not a weatherman.”
With admirable, if inconvenient, promptness, guards surrounded the trio, targeting them with crossbows. “Surrender at once, strangers!”
Already at the gate, Sulu and the others stared back at them in dismay and confusion. Meeting their eyes, Kirk again shook his head. No point in them all getting arrested. He and McCoy would be better off with the rest of the landing party still free and at large.
Sulu nodded reluctantly.
Good man, Kirk thought. Glancing around, he saw unhappy Klingons hanging back as well. It appeared they were in no hurry to see Yorba perforated by crossbow bolts.
Klingons looking out for their own. Who knew?
“Please, there must be some mistake,” Kirk dissembled to the guards. He and McCoy could not raise their hands without dropping Yorba, but he was careful not to make any sudden movement that might be construed as threatening. “Our friend here has just fainted from all the excitement. We’re simply trying to find her some peace and quiet, away from the commotion.”
“Save your lies for someone who cares, outlander.” The face behind a loaded crossbow turned to the guard who had first sounded the alarm. “Are these the ones you want?”
“Aye.” The latter stepped forward to scrutinize Kirk’s face. “This is him, the one Siroth warned of. No question.”
Siroth? Kirk tried to make sense of what was happening. From the sound of it, the court alchemist had ID’d him, but how? Had Hamparian blown their cover? He wondered how she had recognized him. As far as he knew, he’d never met the woman. It was possible, he supposed, that she knew of him by reputation; captain of the Enterprise wasn’t exactly a low-profile position, particularly in light of some of the ship’s exploits, discoveries, and first contacts in recent years, but even still… his face wasn’t that well known, was it?
“Hamparian.” McCoy’s brain had obviously followed the same breadcrumbs. “It has to be. The ‘blue lady’ ratted us out.”
“Possibly. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“But who else…?”
“Silence!” a crossbow wielder barked before consulting the lead guard. “What about the woman?”
The first guard shrugged. “Take her, too.”