Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. (Thought I'd have a legitimate disclaimer for once in my life.)
Silverfang: [files protection lawsuit…kidding, really.] What country do I want? Well, Ireland is very nice. Or Italy. Either one would be good. Y'know, you're the third person who's offered me a country. Anyway, thank you for the generous offer.
Emp: The plan should be interesting, lol…hmm, Surak saving the day. Not happening here, but perhaps some other chapter…
Trekker-T: No, he really doesn't, but it was a good way to get a slightly odd plan.
WhateverYourNameIsToday: Is too an excuse! : ) And what a cute tribble…
I lost control here. This chapter was never supposed to be this long. But I started writing, and it kept going, and, well, here we are. Enjoy!
Chapter Thirty-One:
Captain Kirk Strikes Back
Less than an hour after the close of our last chapter:
Two Klingons walked down the corridor of the Enterprise. They were confident, sure that it was only a matter of time before the remaining crew who weren't sealed into various parts of the ship would be rounded up and accounted for. That done, they could begin going into various sections and deal with those crewmembers, one section at a time. Victory was assured. They were also mildly frustrated though. Primarily because they themselves had yet to see any member of Starfleet that they could capture. That was about to change.
They were coming up on an intersection of corridors. When they were perhaps ten yards away a human in a gold shirt came into view, walking down the crossing corridor. He took a few steps across the intersection, then saw the Klingons. He, quite sensibly, ignored the Klingons' shouts to halt, and ran down the corridor in the direction he'd come from. The Klingons followed in hot pursuit behind, disruptors drawn.
They had nearly caught up when he ducked through a doorway. The Klingons followed, and then they had him. Cornered in what looked to be some sort of lounge, judging by the couches and computer terminals. The Klingons aimed their disruptors, and their expressions very clearly indicated they would not hesitate to fire if provoked.
"Hands up!" one ordered.
The man complied. "So. You caught me. Now what?"
"You're lucky," one informed him. "Kagon wants prisoners today—" He broke off as his companion elbowed him. "What?"
"Kortok, do you know who he is?"
Kortok frowned. "No, Sogh, and I don't know what difference it makes anyway."
Sogh pointed at the man, who had an expression of absolute innocence. "That's Kirk!"
"Who, me?"
Kortok studied him. "Hey, he is Kirk!"
He was. Kirk shrugged. "Okay, so I'm Kirk. What difference does it make?"
"It makes a big one," Sogh informed him. "Kagon'll kill you for certain."
Kirk looked vaguely regretful. "Well, I guess we all have to go some time. But before you haul me off to be killed, will you at least grant me a last request?"
The Klingons looked at each other.
"We better not," Sogh decided. "He's up to something, I've heard about Kirk and his tricks."
"No last requests," Kortok agreed.
"Well!" Kirk said, outraged. "That's a fine example of honor! Refuse a man his final request! And you call yourselves Klingons!"
The Klingons looked at each other, uncertain.
"I don't know," Sogh said, "are last requests necessary?"
"I don't know either…what did Kahless say about it?" Kortok asked.
"Yes! What did Kahless say about it?"
They looked at each other. Neither seemed to know the answer. They looked at Kirk.
Kirk blinked. "Don't look at me, I don't know!"
That left them at something of a standstill for a minute or two. Then one of them finally hit on the brilliant plan of checking his copy of Kahless Legends for Dummies, which he just happened to have on hand. They concluded that Kahless was in favor of last requests as he had granted several. So Kirk was finally permitted to make his last request.
"There's this website I'm really very fond of. For my last request, I want to go on that website once more," Kirk explained.
[A/N: I know what you're thinking. Nooo, not that website!]
The Klingons thought that was a very pointless request, but decided they might as well grant it. So Kirk got on the nearest computer, did a bit of clicking, and brought up a website. This website did not happen to be about James Kirk. It happened to be about Klingons.
The Klingons peered over Kirk's shoulders, one on each side.
Kortok read the first line on the opening page. "'The Klingons, originally from the planet Qo'noS, are a humanoid warrior civilization bound by pride, tradition and honor.'" He grinned. "Not a bad description."
Sogh kept reading. "'The belligerent Klingon culture has made them an interstellar power to be respected.'" He puffed up with pride. "I like that."
Kirk nodded. "I'd definitely agree that you're belligerent."
Kortok read further. "'The Klingon Empire's history is wrought with violent and bloody conflicts with its chapters written with long passages of war and short periods of peace.' Kind of sad."
"Yeah. All that wasted time spent at peace," Sogh agreed.
Kirk gave them a strange look. Neither one noticed. He shrugged, and clicked on a link to sketches of Klingon ships.
"Oh, look! A NuQ'Duj!" Kortok sighed. "I wanted one of those for my birthday when I was a kid."
"Who didn't?" Sogh agreed. "And look, a Jach'eng!"
"I'll just move so you have a better view…" Kirk slipped away from the computer console. The Klingons ignored him, intent on the screen, their 'prisoner' forgotten.
Kirk waited. They didn't look at him. He stepped over to the nearest table, and picked up a 3-D chessboard and came back behind the Klingons. Then, he hit Sogh over the head with the base of the board. The Klingon fell to the floor.
"Hey!" Before Kortok could do much besides shout Kirk hit him as well. He joined his comrade on the floor.
Kirk smiled. "That was easy."
It was also easy to drag the two Klingons over to the nearest turbolift, take their disruptors, stick them inside, shut the door, and fiddle with the controls just a bit. It would take Scotty and his lasers to get that particular turbolift open and working again.
Kirk headed back to Sickbay to wait for the others to complete their parts of the plan and report back.
(Site in question is the Klingon section of: www.st-armada.com/)
* * *
In a different, albeit nearby, section of the ship another pair of Klingons was on the patrol. Walking down the corridor, they saw a small black metal box. Being Klingons, their automatic reaction was to draw disruptors. They decided to investigate before immediately blasting it though. They approached carefully. When they were a few feet away, there was a faint click. A form appeared floating an inch or two above the box. One of a decidedly ugly woman with flame red hair. The Klingons recoiled.
She spotted them, and immediately started shrieking in a painfully shrill voice. "So! Klingons! You look like barbarian scum! Just look at the state of your hair! Have you never heard of combs?! And those beards! Have you no scissors?!"
The Klingons looked at each other. They raised their disruptors.
"How dare you aim a weapon at a lady?!"
The Klingons jumped. Almost guiltily. But they didn't fire.
"Let's patrol another direction," one suggested.
"Yes, let's," the other Klingon agreed quickly.
They turned around and started down a branching corridor. Walking rather quickly.
"How dare you ignore me?! Have you no manners at all?! You uncouth, ungentlemanly—!"
The Klingons picked up speed. They weren't paying much attention to surroundings anymore. They never noticed the man standing partially concealed in a doorway, but rushed right past. They presented excellent targets. A phaser beam shot out once, twice, and two more Klingons hit the deck.
Sulu stepped out, clipping the Captain's phaser back onto his belt. "I think these Klingons are done for, Mr. Spock."
Spock came out from behind a bend in the corridor beyond the still-shrieking woman. "I should hope so, Mr. Sulu, as that was the entire purpose of this endeavor."
"Yes, Mr. Spock."
"I believe my computerized holographic projection of Stella Mudd proved effective," Spock commented, studying the hologram critically.
"Effective? She had them fleeing!"
"Walking quickly, actually. Had I had more than half an hour to devote to programming, perhaps they would have fled."
Sulu shrugged. "Well, it worked."
"And just what are you looking at?" the hologram demanded. "Think you're so marvelous, don't you? Well, let me tell you…"
"How do you turn her off?" Sulu asked quickly.
Spock pressed a button on a small handheld remote control. The hologram vanished. Sulu exhaled with relief.
"Well, we'd better stick these Klingons in a turbolift."
"I will do that, Lieutenant. You should return to Sickbay and report to the Captain."
* * *
In the Mess Hall, Jones was arguing with himself. Two Klingons were coming down the corridor outside, he'd checked a minute ago and seen them in the distance. He knew what he was supposed to do. Now he just had to convince himself to do it.
First he pointed out that if he didn't follow the plan the Klingons would probably find him and kill him anyway. Then he sternly told himself that this was his duty as a Starfleet officer. Then he reminded himself that Captain Kirk was depending on him to carry out his portion of the plan.
That last one finally got him to poke his head out the Mess Hall doors. The Klingons, only a few feet distant, spotted him immediately. Jones gave a yelp of only half-feigned terror, and retreated. The Klingons followed. He was halfway across the Mess Hall, aiming toward the back wall with the replicators, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Hold it! We've got you covered!"
Jones' hands shot up over his head. He wasn't armed anyway. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw two very large Klingons with disruptors walking towards him.
Jones inhaled. This is fine, this is okay, this is what's supposed to happen, he told himself. "So, you going to kill me straight off?" he asked, as lightly as he could manage. He surprised himself at how lightly he did manage it.
"Nah," one of the Klingons said. "Kagon's taking prisoners."
"Oh." Good. Problem Number One, the possibility of his immediate death, averted. That fact lent him strength to ask his next question. "So, if I'm going to be hanging around here awhile longer, could I get a drink before you haul me off for holding?"
The Klingons looked at each other. They could respect a drinking man. It was a Klingon sort of request, to ask for a drink while facing impending captivity. They nodded.
"All right, but no funny business."
"Thanks."
Jones willed his legs not to shake, and walked over to the replicators. The Klingons followed him, disruptors still drawn and pointed vaguely in Jones' direction, but they were relaxed. Jones had a harmless look about him much of the time.
Jones stepped up to the replicators, and took a deep breath. "Computer…I want…orange juice."
"Specify quantity."
"Lots! Lots and lots and lots!" The last 'lots' was barely out of his mouth when Jones dropped to the floor, rolled under the nearest table, grabbed a leg and held on for dear life.
The Klingons were just reacting to this peculiar movement when the replicators whirred, and out splashed gallons upon gallons of orange juice. A great jetting stream of it hit the Klingons right in the face.
"Shut this thing off!" one spluttered, outraged.
The computer didn't listen, and out poured more and more orange juice. The Klingons battled the tide without success. Within moments the juice level had risen to waist high, and Jones was forced to move up to the top of the table, which he clung to with no less vice-like of a grip. One of the Klingons decided that all of this was clearly Jones' fault, and started to move towards him. But it is no easy thing to move through orange juice. The Klingon slipped, lost his footing, and went down. The tide of the orange juice picked him up, and he was carried—kicking, splashing and cursing—across the room. The other Klingon had the sense to grab onto the nearest table—not Jones' but the one next to it—and watched his companion in horrified fascination. Jones decided he'd better do something about that. He sat up, the orange juice level now lapping at the edge of the table and continuing to rise, and grabbed at a chair that floated by. He managed to drag it up, and toss it in the general direction of the still standing Klingon. It fell far short, but the Klingon ducked instinctively anyway, let go of the table, lost his balance, and was swept away. It wasn't long before one of the thrashing Klingons—it was growing hard to tell them apart—was carried near the door. The automatic sensors opened it, and the orange juice thundered out and down the corridor, carrying the two howling Klingons with it.
With an outlet, the level of juice started to drop appreciably. When it was at knee height Jones came down from his table, and sloshed his way to the door, in search of the Klingons. He finally found them fetched up at a dead end, knocked senseless and half-drowned.
Jones grinned.
* * *
Three Klingons walked down a corridor of the Enterprise. Coming to a fork in the corridor, one of the Klingons noticed something up ahead. He stopped his companions, and pointed.
"Look. Do you think those are…"
"Kirk wouldn't have any of those, would he?" the second Klingon said uncertainly.
"I don't know but those sure look like…" The third Klingon trailed off.
They looked at each other, and in voices filled with dread, said in unison, "Tribbles."
Five small, harmless looking balls of fur were lying in the middle of the corridor. The Klingons eyed them warily, and with more than a little revulsion.
"Should we blast them?" one asked.
"No," one of the others said, "Where there's one tribble there's certain to be a thousand. And where there's five…"
They looked at each other, horror-stricken.
"We need reinforcements," one decided.
The others quickly agreed. "Yes, reinforcements. Definitely."
They started down the other corridor in the fork. They only made a few steps before they broke into a run. Their mad dash carried them partway down the corridor, and came to an abrupt halt when they tripped over a wire conveniently strung at ankle-level. They thudded to the floor, partially stunned. Before they could prevent it, a hypospray injected each of them with something. They made a few feeble attempts to chase after the Starfleeter who had such audacity, but they soon collapsed to the floor, and didn't move.
Chekov surveyed the wreckage, and grinned. "That went well."
"I'll say," Uhura agreed, walking up, carrying the five balls of fur. "Three big strapping Klingon warriors, fleeing from a few balls of fluff. One of the funniest things I've ever seen."
"Good thing Dr. McCoy still had the fur samples from that study he was doing," Chekov commented, as he disconnected the wire strung across the corridor.
"Not to mention a hypospray with a neural paralyzer in it. Why did he have a neural paralyzer in his office anyway? Not exactly a common item."
"You know, I asked him that once," Chekov said, remembering. "And he said he always likes to have a neural paralyzer handy. Takes one with him ewery time he beams down. Doesn't matter where you're going, you newer can tell when one might be handy, ewen if it's shore leave or a Wulcan wedding ceremony." Chekov shrugged. "I don' understand it."
* * *
Kirk had only been in Sickbay for a few minutes when the doors opened. He abruptly realized that there was absolutely nothing to prevent the Klingons from just happening to wander in. He reached for his phaser, and then remembered he didn't have it. He was just starting to reach for a disruptor as Sulu stepped in. Kirk relaxed.
"Mr. Sulu. The fact that you're not in Klingon custody seems to suggest you were successful."
Sulu grinned. "Yes, sir. You should have seen the hologram, sent the Klingons running."
Kirk repressed a shudder. "Good, but I'll skip seeing the hologram. Where's Spock?"
"Sticking the Klingons in a turbolift. Here's your phaser, by the way," Sulu added, handing the phaser to Kirk and dropping a couple of disruptors on one of the tables.
"Thanks." Kirk clipped his phaser back to his belt. Any Klingons who felt the urge to visit Sickbay were welcome to come in now. He was ready for them.
Practically on cue the doors opened. Fortunately, though, it wasn't a Klingon. It was Jones, dripping and triumphant. The ensign's normally brown hair looked almost reddish, his uniform was saturated, there was a distinct sloshing sound from his boots as he walked, and he was puddling rather badly. He was absolutely exhilarated though, and grinning broadly.
Jones saluted sharply. "Mission accomplished, sir!" he announced proudly.
"Good work!" Kirk said, and clapped him on the back. And got orange juice on his hand. "Um…there's probably some towels around here somewhere…"
Jones glanced down at himself, as though noticing his condition for the first time. "Oh. That might be a good idea, sir."
"Just might be."
McCoy hid his towels well, but between the three of them, Kirk, Sulu, and Jones, they finally located a few. Jones was just about dry, though still rather orange-stained, when the Sickbay doors opened and admitted Spock.
"Ah, Spock—" Kirk started.
"Klingon behind me." Spock came in at a run. He dived onto a biobed, slid across, and disappeared behind it.
The Klingon entered a moment later, disruptor drawn. He stopped short in some amount of surprise at seeing, not one Starfleet officer, but three. And not even the one he'd been chasing. He reacted by raising the disruptor, but he wasn't fast enough. Kirk had his phaser in hand by then, and fired. The Klingon slumped to the floor, stunned.
Spock stood up from behind the biobed. "I must compliment you on your reflexes, Captain."
"Thank you, Spock," Kirk said, clipping his phaser back on his belt. "Pretty good jump yourself there."
"I felt it necessary to get out of the line of fire as rapidly as possible."
"Makes sense." Kirk studied the Klingon, who was sprawled out on the floor. "Somebody give me a hand with him. We should stick him in a closet or something, he's cluttering up the entryway."
They had just finished hauling the Klingon into the nearest supply closet when Chekov and Uhura entered.
"Have any luck?" Kirk asked.
"Yes, sir," Chekov grinned. "We got three of them!"
"Good!"
"Three," Spock said thoughtfully, "That makes a total of—"
He was interrupted by the intercom.
"Captain Kirk," Kagon snarled, "It seems clear that you are still alive."
"And kicking," Kirk added helpfully, though of course Kagon couldn't hear him.
"You are only making things worse!" Kagon thundered.
"Worse for who?" Kirk asked politely.
"Nine of my men have failed to report in. So far I have been lenient because I want you all alive—" And because all the missing men had come to light in the last fifteen minutes, and he'd hardly had time to do much of anything "—but for the next Klingon who disappears, I'm killing a hostage! For the one after that, two. After that, three. You can do the math. Surrender while you still have some crewmembers left, Kirk. Kagon out."
"Pleasant fellow," Kirk commented. "Well, if we stop for now, we ought to be all right. We'd have had to come up with a new plan anyway, we've lost the element of surprise."
"Captain," Spock said gravely, "you have not added up the number of Klingons accounted for, have you?"
Kirk frowned. "No, why?"
Spock pointed to the closet containing the Klingon. "That one," he said, "makes ten."
The room went quiet.
Kirk's eyes widened. "Ten?"
Spock nodded. "Ten."
Kirk checked his phaser, then strode towards the door. "I'm going to the control room." He glanced back for a moment. "Jones, let's see what you can do. You come with me."
"Me?" Jones squeaked. "I mean…yes, sir!" He pushed still damp hair out of his eyes, grabbed a disruptor off the nearest table and hurried after Kirk.
"Captain, what are you going to do?" Spock asked.
"I'll figure that out when I get there," Kirk said grimly, walking out the door.
* * *
Captain Kagon was mad. It is generally considered imprudent to get in the way of an angry Klingon. He had lost contact with nine of his men. He blamed Kirk. He had said he would kill a hostage, and almost immediately another man had failed to report in. It was time to show that he wasn't bluffing.
He hated to kill hostages. The killing didn't bother him, of course. He was a Klingon. But a dead hostage is a useless hostage, and he had a limited number here, for the moment at least. Therefore times and means had to be carefully chosen. Kagon hadn't made Captain by being stupid. Everything was used to best advantage. The time was right.
"It's time we made some use of these hostages," Kagon announced.
His lieutenant grinned. He knew how hostages were used. "Which one?"
Kagon looked along the line of prisoners, seated on the floor against the wall. The hostile stares he got back didn't bother him. What did bother him slightly, and had been bothering him slightly since he'd first captured them, was that every single stare said precisely the same thing. 'You poor, miserable sap. You're obviously a fool if you think our Captain is going to let you get away with this.' Well, time would tell which of them was the fool. And for the moment, he had other things to think about.
He wondered which one ranked highest. He wondered how to tell Starfleet ranks. All those blue shirts looked the same. Except for the gold stripes along the sleeves. Kagon looked closer. Unless he was mistaken, the youngest ones had the least stripes. Which indicated, more stripes, higher rank. And the one with the most stripes…
The one who'd thought it was so clever to tell Kirk numbers and weapon-status.
Kagon smiled that wolfish smile, and pointed at McCoy. "That one. Kill him."
[evil grin] Heeheehee…my turn to have a little fun with Bones…