2268
“Get out there, fresh meat! Crowd’s waiting.”
At the guards’ ungentle urging, Kirk, McCoy, and Yorba entered the arena. Hundreds of Atrazians once more filled the coliseum for a special nighttime exhibition. The sun having gone down in the east, polished mirrors reflected the light from several large, elevated torches onto the sandy floor of the arena. The blazing torches perched atop tall poles, overlooking the killing ground, while smaller, more subdued glow lamps were lodged about the seating area to help spectators make their way in the dark. A metal gate slammed shut behind Kirk and his cohorts, leaving the three of them trapped in the spotlight. No one else, he noted, appeared to be on the menu tonight.
“Showtime,” McCoy said wryly. “I think I preferred being in the audience.”
“You and me both,” Kirk agreed. “Not looking forward to being the star attraction this time around.”
“Who says you’re the star?”
Less than an hour had passed since they’d been taken from Siroth’s tower by armed guards. Varkat had wasted no time condemning them to the arena; he must have wanted to make an example of them after the disturbance at his previous spectacle, or had Siroth personally urged the suzerain to have them eliminated with all deliberate speed? At least they hadn’t been gagged as Fortier had been. Kirk assumed Siroth was counting on the Prime Directive to keep them from revealing their non-Atrazian origins.
“Ready yourselves,” Yorba said. “If we must die for the amusement of these backwards primitives, let us make a good accounting of ourselves.” She sneered at the masses gazing down at them from the stands. “Let them enjoy themselves while they can. My agents will surely avenge me if I perish here today.”
Another good reason to stay alive, Kirk thought. He didn’t want Klingon death squads terrorizing Atrazian civilians or, worse yet, using Yorba’s execution as an excuse to overthrow the local government and establish some sort of puppet ruler. Granted, the Klingons were here for Hamparian, not the planet’s resources, but it was never a good idea to give the Empire a pretext for an invasion, treaty or no treaty. Klingons don’t belong here—and neither do we.
Squinting against the glare of the flickering spotlights, he glanced about to get his bearings. The royal box was already fully occupied, with both Siroth and Hamparian in attendance, along with Varkat himself, but what about the rest of the coliseum? Were Sulu and the others among the spectators? He scanned the audience, but couldn’t immediately spot any members of the landing party among the sea of faces filling the amphitheater. Yorba’s eyes searched the audience as well.
“Any sign of your men?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not yet, but that means nothing. Klingons are seen only when we want to be seen, and by then it is too late for our enemies.”
“There’s a comforting thought,” McCoy muttered. “Klingons in camouflage.”
A fanfare of trumpets and drums kicked off the proceedings as a mixed assortment of simple, low-tech weapons were thrown into the arena. Kirk and the others scrambled to arm themselves. No surprise, Yorba immediately lunged for the most lethal weapon: a studded metal mace. Kirk let her have her pick as a gesture of good faith. He claimed a coiled leather whip, while McCoy selected a sturdy wooden staff worthy of Robin Hood or Friar Tuck. A mesh net lay in reserve upon the sandy floor. Kirk was tempted to grab it as well, but worried about encumbering himself. Perhaps they could use the net later, if they lasted that long.
He locked eyes with Yorba. “We fight together, as agreed?”
While imprisoned in a cell awaiting their turn in the arena, the prisoners had concluded that they stood a better chance of surviving the spectacle if they worked as a unit rather than every man or Klingon for themselves. Kirk remembered the audience cheering for the prisoner who had brought down a bloodbeak the day before. If they were lucky, maybe they could survive long enough to win over the crowd, or at least until Sulu or the other Klingons could stage a rescue attempt. Kirk hadn’t given up on finding his own way out of this predicament either. They just needed to stay alive until the right opportunity arose.
“You may rely on me.” Yorba grimaced as though the promise left a bad taste in her mouth. “If I can rely on you.”
“Not as though we have much choice.” McCoy nodded at the other end of the arena. “Look sharp.”
The roar of the crowd all but drowned out the creaking of another metal gate, which rose to unleash a flock of ferocious bloodbeaks on them. Squawking and flapping wildly, the man-eating ratites charged flightlessly at the unwilling gladiators, who formed a defensive triangle, back to back to back. Yorba let loose with a blood-curdling war cry as she swung the mace at any razor-sharp beak or claw that came too close. Beside her, Kirk cracked his whip repeatedly, like an animal trainer from Earth’s less humane past, while McCoy jabbed and parried with the staff, more than holding up his end of the fight. Kirk was not surprised by McCoy’s showing; although a healer by temperament and training, this was hardly the first time Bones had been forced to fight for his life against hostile life-forms. United in a common cause, the trio held the bloodbeaks at bay, but for how much longer? Was putting up a strong defense going to be enough in the long run, or did they need to go on the offensive if they wanted to survive? Kirk wished he had a better sense of the rules governing these blood sports. Did they win their lives if they defeated the beasts? Nobody had bothered to explain the rules to them, probably because no one wanted or expected them to come out of the contest alive.
And his whip arm was already getting tired.
Then, without warning, an incandescent scarlet beam lit up the night, eliciting gasps all across the coliseum as it blazed straight up into the sky from the royal box. Driving off a hungry bloodbeak with a lash across its beak, Kirk risked a glance at the stands, where he saw Doctor Hamparian standing at a rail, firing a phaser up into the air above her head.
Like a beacon—or a signal?
“Jim!” McCoy blurted. “Do you see that? What’s she up to?”
Trying to get our attention? Kirk thought.
Their eyes met across the distance, and the scientist clicked off the phaser. Before anyone could stop her, she drew her arm back and hurled the compact type-1 phaser toward Kirk and the others. Hope flared inside him as the device arced through the air, then sputtered as it began descending too quickly. Her throw fell short and the phaser bounced off a bloodbeak’s wing and hit the ground several meters away from the three humanoids. The offended avian scratched at the fallen weapon with its talons before determining that it was neither alive nor edible, then returned its predatory attentions back toward Kirk and his outnumbered partners in peril.
“Fek’lhr!” Yorba swore. She broke from formation to bolt for the phaser.
“Yorba!” Kirk honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted her to get hold of the phaser or not. How long would their forced alliance last once she was in possession of a fully charged phaser?
Before he could even try to outrace her, he spotted another gleaming object flying from Hamparian’s hand. Practice improved her aim, so it came soaring toward him. Cracking his whip and keeping one eye on the nearest bloodbeaks, he reached out and caught the device one-handed. He identified it instantly from touch alone.
A Starfleet communicator!
Yorba saw an opportunity and took it. Leaving Kirk and McCoy to fend for themselves, she raced for the phaser. She howled like a demon to put the fear of Kahless into the hearts of her foes and swung her mace at the feathered carnivore foolish enough to get between her and the Starfleet sidearm. A bat’leth would have made short work of the bird, but a true Klingon warrior could make use of most any weapon, including their own hands and teeth if necessary. The mace would do for now.
At least until she got her hands on that phaser.
The bloodbeak lunged and snapped at her. Putting her back and shoulders into the blow, she met the beast’s attack by smashing the mace into the beak with strength enough to crack it. Shrieking, the injured bird slashed at her with a vicious talon, but she ducked and rolled beneath the strike, bringing her past the bloodbeak and closer to the phaser, which lay half-buried in the sand less than a meter way. A wolfish grin lifted her lips as she anticipated turning the tables on the presumptuous Atrazians, not to mention Kirk and McCoy. She had neither forgotten nor forgiven how the Earthers had cravenly drugged her before; she would not be in jeopardy now if not for their underhanded methods. Scrambling across the sand, she reached for the weapon that would put her in control of the situation once more.
Pity it’s not a proper Klingon disruptor pistol instead, but…
A crossbow bolt struck the ground before her, barely missing her outstretched fingers.
Who dares?
Yanking back her hand, she glared up at the royal box, where a scowling Atrazian guard stood ready to fire again if she went for the phaser. He may not have known exactly what a phaser was, but he clearly wasn’t about to allow her use of any unauthorized implements, let alone one that had just fired a radiant beam of light into the sky.
“QI’yaH!” she snarled under her breath. She froze, torn between abandoning the phaser and making a desperate dive for the weapon in hopes of securing it before she could be skewered. Would the guard risk another warning shot before shooting to kill, to avoid spoiling the night’s entertainment? It might be worth finding out.
“Heads-up, you Klingon lunatic!”
Wood smacked loudly against flesh and bone and feathers, provoking an angry squawk. She spun around to see McCoy defending her from the plumed monster she’d evaded moments ago. Blood dripped from an ugly gash on his forearm, where a claw or beak had obviously grazed him. He jabbed the blunt end of his staff at the bloodbeak’s chest.
“You’re welcome,” he cracked.
She shot a covetous glance at the phaser, which remained tantalizingly within reach.
“Not a chance,” McCoy said, reading her mind. He blocked a slashing claw with the staff, then thrust it at the creature’s skull to buy them more time. “They’ll never let you touch it.” He stumbled backward, recoiling from a jagged beak, which remained deadly despite the hairline crack she’d put in it. “But I could use an assist here if you’re not too busy.”
She silently cursed his ancestors back through three generations. Mace in hand, she rushed to join him in battle against the loathsome animal. She refused to give him the satisfaction of facing the bloodbeak alone.
“Are all human physicians so insufferable, or are you singularly aggravating?”
“It’s one of my specialties.”
“Good God, Taya!” Siroth stared at Hamparian in shock and outrage. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“You gave me no other choice!”
She plucked another phaser from her purse, hoping to be able to throw it to Kirk or McCoy, but he grabbed her wrist, twisting it roughly, and wrested the phaser from her grasp. Royal guards closed in on her, seizing her by the shoulders, as he also confiscated her purse, which contained two more communicators. She had left Yorba’s disruptor pistol back at the tower, being in no hurry to arm the Klingon as well. In hindsight, perhaps she should have taken that weapon to defend herself, although she had never actually fired a weapon at anyone in her life. She was a scientist, not a soldier after all. How in the cosmos had she gotten herself into this fix?
“I’m sorry, Taya.” Siroth shook his head mournfully. “You should have listened to me.”
“Listening to you was my first mistake.” She peered down at the arena, where three more lives were at risk because of her folly. She could only hope it wasn’t too late for them to save themselves.
I’ve done my part, she thought. It’s out of my hands now.
The communicator chirped in Kirk’s grip. Flipping it open while also cracking the whip at any bloodbeak that got too near, he held it to his lips.
“Kirk here.”
“Standby, Captain,” Sulu’s voice answered. “The cavalry has arrived.”
Rapid phaser bursts, almost subliminal in duration, flashed briefly in the night, like lightning leaping upward from the stands to strike the mirrors focusing the torchlight onto the arena. The mirrors shimmered brightly before dissolving into atoms, throwing the floor of the arena into murky shadows. Kirk winced at the infringement of the Prime Directive, but couldn’t blame Sulu for bending the rules under the circumstances. A few bright flashes in the night were a relatively restrained use of phasers, considering; with any luck, they’d be remembered as only a puzzling freak event in the city’s history.
Assuming we all make it off Atraz alive, Kirk thought. Hamparian included.
The dazzling beams, and ensuing darkness, yielded immediate confusion and tumult throughout the coliseum. Startled Atrazians, unsure what was happening, jumped to their feet, shouting and calling out to each other as they began rushing for the exits, pushing and shoving in their haste to flee the amphitheater. Even the bloodbeaks were taken aback by the sudden loss of light. They milled about uncertainly, squawking in confusion, distracted from the hunt if only for the moment. Assuming the chaos was all part of Sulu’s plan, Kirk got ready for whatever the next phase of the operation was.
“Bones! Yorba! Get over here, pronto!”
So far, so good, Sulu thought. More or less.
Overseeing the rescue attempt from the stands, he was disappointed that Hamparian’s first toss had fallen short, failing to return Kirk’s phaser to him, but relieved that everything else was going as planned. He and Landon and Levine had commandeered front-row seats on the southwest side of the coliseum, just below the wall surrounding the arena, putting them in fine position to disintegrate the spotlight mirrors with short, contained phaser blasts. Loose, voluminous clothing concealed a rope wrapped around Sulu’s torso. A picnic basket, resting at Landon’s feet, held more supplies, smuggled past the guards at the gate.
Now it was time for their unlikely allies to play their part.
Klingon agents, positioned throughout the seating areas, moved quickly to take out the distracted security guards posted in the stands, employing brute force and handheld agonizers to incapacitate the startled guards before they even realized they were under attack. Befitting their name, the agonizers delivered an excruciating shock to a victim’s nervous system, rendering them helpless and even unconscious if necessary, without inflicting any lasting physical damage. Convincing the Klingons to avoid lethal force had been almost as challenging as persuading them to collaborate in the rescue attempt, once Hamparian put both landing parties in touch with each other, but the agonizers had been a compromise, albeit an ugly one. Sulu feared that the Klingons would almost surely end up spilling some Atrazian blood anyway, but that was bound to happen regardless. Better to work with the Klingons to minimize any casualties, he’d judged, than give them free rein. It also served to keep both sides from getting in each other’s way while trying to liberate their respective commanders.
That’s the idea at least, Sulu thought. Hope I didn’t make the wrong call.
The communicator chirped again. “Ready to get out of here, Captain?”
“And then some, Mister Sulu.”
“We’re in the stands, roughly 270 degrees from your location. Head for the light.”
As promised, a Starfleet-issue light lit up like a beacon on the southwest side of the coliseum, several meters away. Kirk applauded Sulu’s resourcefulness. Just like a helmsman to show them the way.
“That way!” he shouted at McCoy and Yorba as they fought their way through the bloodbeaks to rejoin him. The sudden darkness had briefly thrown the frenzied ratites, but only for a few moments; all too quickly they’d remembered their appetites and prey. Both McCoy and Yorba were already looking ragged and beaten-up. Torn clothes and nasty lacerations testified to the ferocity of the bloodbeaks, as well as to the pair’s failure to get hold of the thrown phaser. Kirk pointed hopefully toward the incandescent glow of the light. “That’s Sulu’s signal. He’s our way out.”
“About time,” McCoy said.
Yorba shrugged. “Any port in an ion storm.”
Now that he knew where to look, Kirk could dimly make out Sulu, Landon, and Levine calling to them from the stands. Levine tossed one end of a sturdy rope or cable over the railing, offering Kirk and the others a lifeline—if they could reach it before being torn apart by hungry bloodbeaks.
“Stop them!” Varkat bellowed, red-faced with rage. The suzerain lurched to his feet and shook his fist at the shadowy figures in the darkened arena. “They’re trying to get away, making a mockery of my justice!”
Bingo, Hamparian thought.
Emotions were running high in the royal box. Agitated courtiers offered conflicting advice to the suzerain, while assorted hangers-on held back, trying to keep a low profile lest they get blamed for tonight’s spectacle spiraling out of control. The royal guards were overtaxed, torn between protecting Varkat, halting the ongoing escape attempt, and not incidentally, keeping a close eye and tight grip on Hamparian, who found herself the target of abundant fear, suspicion, and anger. Her headdress had been yanked from her head, exposing the antennae that, along with her bluish skin, marked her as an outsider or worse. Parents clutched their offspring to themselves while casting baleful glares and whispers in her direction. Nobles, attendants, and other members of Varkat’s court made superstitious gestures to ward off evil. Did Atrazians burn witches at the stake? Hamparian feared she was going to find out.
“I wish you hadn’t done that, Taya,” Siroth said in a low voice. “I had such high hopes for our collaboration.”
“So did I,” she replied. “I just didn’t take into account the cost.”
He tucked her purse, containing the contraband tech, under the folds of his robe as he purposely distanced himself from her. Ever the survivor, it seemed.
“Do you hear me?” Varkat gesticulated wildly at the arena. “Don’t let them escape!”
“Yes, sire!” The same guardsman whose crossbow bolt had discouraged Yorba from claiming the tossed phaser raised his weapon anew. He squinted at the arena, attempting to target the uncooperative gladiators despite the gloom and commotion below. “Just let me get a clean shot—”
A bolt from across the stadium struck him in the shoulder, causing him to cry out and drop his weapon. Guards and guests alike ducked and dove for cover. Loyal subjects threw themselves in front of Varkat in order to shield the monarch. More bolts arced over the arena, some falling short, but others thudding into the royal box, forcing the guards to defend themselves and Varkat’s entourage instead of firing upon Kirk and company.
Thanks to the Klingons, Hamparian knew. As planned, they’d taken the crossbows from the guards they’d subdued in the stands, arming themselves in Atrazian fashion in order to provide cover for Yorba and the two Starfleet officers, in that order no doubt. Hamparian still had reservations about using Yorba’s communicator to bring her fellow Klingons into the loop regarding the rescue plan, but it seemed to be paying off so far. Varkat’s own guards were on the defensive for the moment. Long enough for Kirk and the others to make their escape?
“Sire!” An anxious minister tugged on Varkat’s arm. “It’s not safe here. We must away to the fortress!”
Varkat shook him off. Furious eyes fixed on Hamparian.
“You! This is your doing!” He swept his arm toward the arena. “Throw that horned she-devil to the birds! She wants to aid those foreign troublemakers? Let her share their doom!”
“What?” Siroth, to his credit, tried to intervene. “Sire, I urge you—”
“Silence, alchemist! Lest you join her in the beasts’ bellies.”
Rough hands seized Hamparian and flung her bodily out of the royal box.
Watching each other’s backs, Kirk and the others reached the wall, despite the bloodbeaks coming at them every centimeter of the way. Yorba’s mace was spattered with avian blood and brains, while McCoy’s staff was chipped and scored from fending off too many claws and beaks. A pouncing ratite almost got Yorba, going for her throat while she was occupied by another bird, but a well-placed crossbow bolt through its skull saved her just in time. More shots from the stands helped to thin the relentless flock assailing them.
Works for me, Kirk thought, not about to question any backup from above. Good marksmanship too.
Tipping his head back, he spotted the rest of the landing party just above them, leaning over a rail. Yeoman Landon had signal-light duty, while Sulu and Levine were holding on to the other end of the rope, ready to pull them up if needed. Kirk smiled, proud of his crew. Oddly, though, none of them seemed to be brandishing a crossbow.
“Any time you’re ready, sir!” Sulu called.
Kirk nodded. “You first, Bones. That’s an order.”
“You’re the captain.” For once, McCoy didn’t argue the point. Panting, he handed over the battered staff and took hold of the rope. “Just make it snappy, okay? I think we’ve overstayed our welcome here.”
That’s putting mildly, Kirk thought. Tucking the communicator beneath his belt, he used both his whip and the staff to hold the remaining bloodbeaks back as McCoy half climbed and was half pulled up the wall and over the railing into the front row of a seating area. Sulu threw the other end of the rope back down to them. Kirk swung it toward Yorba.
“After you.”
She snorted derisively. “Your ridiculous human chivalry will be the death of you.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Holding on to the mace’s handle with her teeth, she scrambled up the wall with ease, suggesting that Klingons also had simian ancestors in their evolutionary family tree. Kirk strenuously guarded her ascent with whip and staff until she reached the top. Following her was going to be a challenge, since it would mean turning his back on the birds.
“Cover me!” he shouted to his allies above. “I’m coming up!”
“Aye, sir!” Sulu threw the rope back down to Kirk, who counted on them having a crossbow at hand, if not a phaser in a pinch. “We have your back.”
A scream came from across the arena. Kirk turned in time to see Hamparian crashing onto the sandy floor of the arena, just below the royal box. Dazed, defenseless, she searched frantically for the lost phaser, but couldn’t find it anywhere near her.
“Kirk! McCoy! Somebody! Help me!”
He didn’t hesitate. Abandoning the rope, he started toward her.
“Leave her, Kirk!” Yorba yelled from the stands. “Let her pernicious science be lost to both our peoples! Neither will gain an advantage!”
Kirk ignored her. He had a mission to complete and a life to save.
But Hamparian’s desperate cries had already attracted the attention of the bloodbeaks. Turning away from Kirk in search of easier prey, they charged toward her instead. Kirk experienced a surge of alarm. Could he make it to her in time and then back again across the arena, against all the birds? He didn’t like their odds, but he had to try. Chances were, her sudden arrival in the arena had something to do with her throwing him the communicator.
The communicator… of course!
Memories of Capella IV came back to him, giving him an idea. He threw the staff like a javelin at the closest bloodbeak and reached for the communicator. Flipping it open, he hastily fiddled with the controls to produce the desired subsonic vibration. The trick was more effective with two communicators working in tandem, but he wasn’t trying to start an avalanche, just repel some man-eating ratites.
Here goes nothing.
A persistent bloodbeak, still intent on making a meal of Kirk, charged at the captain, who turned the communicator to face the oncoming bird and switched it on. A low thrum emanated from the speaker, much to the distress of the animal, which responded by flapping its wings and ruffling its feathers before rushing away from Kirk.
Success!
Wielding the vibrating communicator like a talisman, Kirk drove off the bloodbeaks as he raced to Hamparian’s side and helped her to her feet. Her antennae trembled, along with the rest of her.
“Can you run?” he asked.
“I’ll have to.”
Crossbow bolts arced over their heads as they dashed across the arena.
“Seal the gates!” Varkat raged as his guards practically dragged him out of the royal box. “All of them! Let no one escape!”
Mixed emotions churned inside Siroth as he watched Kirk and Hamparian make a break for it, with Kirk somehow using a Starfleet communicator to repel the bloodbeaks. Part of him wanted Taya to survive, yet he also dreaded the consequences of Kirk and his Starfleet compatriots escaping back to the Enterprise. And what about the Klingons? They were also bound to keep interfering with his activities on Atraz.
Why can’t they just leave me alone? Don’t they realize how important my work is?
He hated the idea of leaving Atraz after all the time and trouble and expense he’d gone to set up shop here, up to and including importing Hamparian from the Federation. Was there any way to salvage this operation, or was it time to move on to another world, another identity, maybe even another era?
“The gates!” Varkat demanded, refusing to leave before he was satisfied that the prisoners could not escape. Ire and affronted pride vitalized the aging monarch as much as Siroth’s twenty-third-century treatments and pharmaceuticals. “Someone tell me the cursed gates are shut!”
To Kirk’s relief, the sonic vibrations kept the bloodbeaks at a distance as he and Hamparian raced back to the wall, where Sulu and company hauled the endangered scientist to safety before Kirk hastily scaled the wall himself, reuniting with the rest of the landing party even as panicked Atrazians continued to flee the stands in droves. He switched off the communicator, glad to see to that McCoy was already looking over Hamparian, even without his medkit. Sulu greeted Kirk warmly.
“Good to see you again, Captain.”
“That goes double for me, Mister Sulu.” Kirk nodded at Levine and Landon. “I appreciate the timely assist.”
“I just wish we could have found a way to get to you and Doctor McCoy sooner,” Sulu said.
“No complaints here,” Kirk said. “Not that we’re out of the woods yet.”
They would have to compare notes later. Assessing the situation, Kirk saw that the fleeing spectators were running headlong into armed reinforcements rushing to deal with the disturbance and apprehend the escapees. Newly arrived guards had to shove their way upstream against yet another frantic exodus. Kirk had a flash of déjà vu as he recalled the last time he attempted to exit the coliseum via the gates downstairs.
That hadn’t turned out well.
“I don’t suppose an emergency beam-out is an option?” he asked Sulu. As far as he knew, the Enterprise was still maintaining a diplomatically discreet distance from Atraz.
Sulu shook his head. “The ship’s in orbit, but they can’t lower their shields with that D7 stalking them.”
“Understood,” Kirk said. “Do we have an exit strategy, Sulu?”
“Aye, sir.” Sulu gestured toward the rapidly emptying rows of seats above them. “Up, not down.”
Kirk trusted Sulu knew what he was doing. “Lead on, mister.”
“Landon!” Sulu called out to the yeoman. “Break out the smoke!”
“Aye, Lieutenant!” She reached into a picnic basket resting at her feet, which she had apparently brought to the festivities, and retrieved a tinted glass bottle. A refreshing beverage was not on her mind, however, as she smashed the bottle against the railing, releasing a billowing cloud of thick mustard-colored smoke. A pungent odor, sour but not acrid, assailed Kirk’s nostrils.
A smokescreen, he realized, to aid our escape.
“Curious provisions, Yeoman. Not exactly Starfleet rations.”
“Credit Mister Sulu,” she said. “Using materials found in a local market.”
Sulu shrugged. “Just putting my botanical know-how to good use.”
With no time to lose, they got a move on. Eschewing the aisles, they hurriedly climbed the rows from bench to bench. Starfleet lights helped to pierce the gloom and smoke. Kirk would’ve liked a breathing mask, as used by landing parties on less hospitable worlds, but those weren’t regularly issued when visiting Class-M planets; the nearest such masks were stored on Galileo many kilometers away.
“What the devil was in that bottle, Sulu?” McCoy made a face, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Or do I not want to know?”
“Nothing toxic, Doctor, I promise!”
Despite the smokescreen, Varkat’s guards chased after them. “Halt! In the name of the suzerain!”
Kirk braced himself for a fight, but was caught by surprise when the guards met resistance from—Klingons in Atrazian garb? Glancing back through the swirling fumes, he spied an Atrazian soldier tumbling down an aisle with a crossbow bolt in his side. Another guard, the one who had ordered them to halt, spasmed and collapsed after being ambushed by a disguised Klingon lurking among the fleeing civilians. Kirk recognized the brutal effect of a Klingon agonizer.
“Yorba’s men?” he asked, coughing because of the smoke.
“I would hope so,” she answered from a few paces away. “Perhaps we stand a chance after all.”
Yet another guard was flipped over a railing into the arena. Excited squawks greeted the offering, followed by frantic screams. Kirk flinched at the cries.
Sulu winced as well. “The devil you know,” he said apologetically. “An alliance seemed like a good idea.”
Kirk nodded grimly. He wasn’t inclined to second-guess Sulu’s command decisions during a crisis. Hard choices were part of the job.
The party hustled up the steps, which were increasingly free of Atrazian bystanders. Landon lobbed another bottle from her basket into the rows behind them, masking their escape behind a fresh cloud of smoke. McCoy stuck close to Hamparian, helping her keep up with the others; as near as Kirk could tell, the scientist was more bruised than broken from her fall into the arena. Levine followed closely behind Kirk, ready to take a crossbow bolt for the captain. Kirk hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Pick up the pace, Kirk!” Yorba hurried ahead of him. “My men are paying the price for our freedom!”
The Klingons’ fierce defense of their commander’s escape was indeed coming at a cost. Guttural cries and defiant death howls told Kirk that the outnumbered soldiers were taking casualties. Peering back through the smoke, he glimpsed an unknown Klingon receiving a crossbow bolt to the skull. The undercover soldier fell backward in the mob behind him.
“Yorba!” he shouted. “Call back your men. Order a retreat!”
She kept climbing the rows, not looking back. “They are doing their duty. I would not dishonor them by endangering our mission for their safety’s sake. I will see them in Sto-Vo-Kor, sooner or later.”
Kirk was vaguely aware that Sto-Vo-Kor was some sort of Klingon Valhalla, at least according to Starfleet’s current understanding of their culture. “But their lives—!”
“Are none of your concern.” Yorba took a moment to give him a warning look. “And make no mistake: they would sooner die in glorious combat than heed the words of a Starfleet captain!”
Kirk believed her, unfortunately, even as he was appalled by Yorba’s callous attitude, which struck him as ruthless even for a Klingon. He’d reluctantly ordered personnel into mortal danger before, but he liked to think that he valued the lives of his crew far more than Yorba did. He would never willingly leave anyone behind. Yet climbing the coliseum alongside the others, he belatedly realized someone was missing.
“Hang on. Where’s Jaheed?”
A grin lightened Sulu’s expression. “Not too far away… in theory.”
Before he could elaborate, they reached the top of the seating area, below the top of the wall surrounding the city. Another rope, secured by a grappling hook, was already in place to allow them to climb up onto the wall. A surly-looking Klingon waited by the rope. Levine drew his phaser to discourage any last-minute betrayals. Sulu and Landon did the same.
“Colonel.” The Klingon saluted Yorba, smacking his right arm against his chest. “For the Empire!”
“Wrultz,” she acknowledged him curtly. “Your communicator… now.”
Kirk eyed the wall before them, deducing what Sulu had in mind. “Up and over… and out of the city?”
“Rappelling down the outer wall,” Sulu confirmed. “With alacrity, as Mister Spock might say.”
Not a bad plan, Kirk judged, although someone was going to have to defend the wall to make sure no Atrazian guards unhitched the rope before the rest all reached the ground. And that someone is going to be me.
He approached Hamparian. “You up to this?”
She glanced back at the arena, only faintly visible through the swirling fumes. “Given a choice between this and those ghastly birds? What choice do I have?”
“None, I suppose.” Kirk contemplated Yorba and her warrior. Should he let them descend the wall first or last or somewhere in between? He made a point of keeping between the Klingons and Hamparian in case Yorba would still rather see the scientist dead than returned to the Federation. At the moment, she appeared to be using a borrowed communicator to check in with the BortaS, which was presumably in the same fix the Enterprise was in when it came to not being able to lower its shields. She couldn’t just beam back up to her ship either.
“Yorba to BortaS. Imperial authorization code Qam-Chee Xol 7979V.” She stared across the coliseum at the fortress looming over the city. “Target previously noted anomalous structure, designated JX118. Full disruptors!”
“What?” Kirk started toward her, only to be blocked by Wrultz. “You can’t do this!”
“I beg to differ, Kirk.” She lowered the communicator. “Behold.”
A devastating viridian beam shot down from the sky, striking Siroth’s tower. Fired from orbit, the disruptor beam lit up the night, drawing shocked gasps and screams from awe-stricken Atrazians throughout the coliseum and the city beyond. The tower shimmered and glowed before collapsing into rubble. The crash of falling stone and timbers could be heard all the way down to the stadium, even as the sizzling beam blinked out abruptly, letting darkness rush back in to fill its absence. A huge plume of dust rose from the ruins of the tower.
“Merciful heavens,” McCoy said in a hushed tone. He glared at Yorba. “Have you lost your bloodthirsty Klingon mind?”
“So much for an egregious violation of your precious Prime Directive.” She smirked at Kirk and McCoy, unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”