The Klingon shuttle came into land on the quiet street and the two officers got out and looked around them. "It's not the worst neighbourhood I've seen since I arrived on this planet." Marla commented.
The address they were looking for turned out to be a luxury apartment block. The numbering system was a little confusing but going into the main entrance, they encountered an elderly man coming towards them. Seeing two Klingon soldiers approaching, the old man froze.
"I am looking for Flat 3B," Kay'vin announced.
His hand trembling with a combination of age and fear, the old man pointed towards the staircase. "That way, two flights of stairs and on the right." Thankful it was not him the Klingons wanted, he retreated as rapidly as he could into his apartment and as the Klingons started to climb the stairs, they could hear the sound of the door being locked.
Reaching the first landing, they saw a door on the left labelled 2A and one on the right labelled 2B. The system was more logical than it had first appeared, Kay'vin decided. One more flight of stairs to go.
Marla sighed. "So many stairs. We could have taken the lift, you know."
"I am strong and fast," Kay'vin boasted, unable to resist teasing her and showing off a little in an attempt to impress her. "I could take those stairs in three steps, but I wouldn't want to have to wait for you at the top…"
"Pah!" Marla retorted. "You have all the speed and grace of a Ferengi running away from latinum."
Enjoying the bickering, he growled in fake annoyance before glancing mischievously at his companion. "I will show you my speed. Race you to the next landing."
Marla grinned and shoving him backwards, coming very close to sending him flying down the stairs, she set off at a run. "Catch me if you can…"
Cursing, he recovered his balance and took off after her. He had not been exaggerating when he had boasted about his speed and despite her head start, he came very close to catching her. Almost bumping into her, he skidded to a halt outside the door labelled 3B.
"I won," the Klingon woman informed him smugly. "You will bring the bloodwine tonight."
Recognising that as an invitation, Kay'vin bared his teeth at her before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. He banged loudly on the door but there was no answer. He banged again but still no response.
"Try opening it," Marla suggested.
Disruptor in hand, Kay'vin tried the handle. To his surprise, it was unlocked and the door swung open. "Anybody there?" he called, stepping cautiously into the flat, Marla close behind him. They were met with silence.
Checking the living area and the kitchen, they found evidence of recent occupation – plates in the sink and a mug half full of some sort of brown liquid. Unusually, the flat had two stories and ascending the stairs to the upper floor, they found bedrooms and a bathroom.
"Well it's the right place," Marla said, picking up a photograph of a Terran woman with two children. "That's the one that came into the station this morning."
Kay'vin nodded. "Check the cupboards and drawers," he instructed. His earlier mischievousness gone, he was all professional now. "We might as well carry out a proper search while we are here. I want to make sure there's nothing suspicious."
"You check downstairs and I will search up here," Marla decided. "I do not think she will want some clumsy male rummaging through her sleeping quarters." Offering Kay'vin a wicked grin as she headed towards the stairs, she added, "Nor do I want you in any woman's bedroom but mine!"
Shaking his head in exasperation but at the same time feeling very satisfied and pleased with himself, he got on with the job, carrying out a thorough search of the downstairs floor of the property. Every cupboard, drawer and cubbyhole was opened and examined. Every cushion was lifted and its cover unzipped to check inside. Books were removed from the bookcase. He was careful, however; the woman was not a suspect in any crime and she did not deserve to have her home trashed. While he made no effort to hide the fact that he had carried out a search, each item was put back in good condition and more or less in the same place.
When Marla returned from her own search, she found him standing looking at the primitive telephone unit, a thoughtful look on his face. "Nothing abnormal upstairs," she reported, coming to stand by his side. "What are you looking at?"
Kay'vin gestured towards the telephone. "Look at it. If I am understanding this right, the green light indicates that the answering system is switched on. You were there when I called. Yet it did not engage."
"Maybe it is not working properly," Marla suggested, removing her tricorder from its pouch on her belt. "Let me take a look… and yes, I do know how," she informed him, correctly interpreting his inquiring look. "I'm an engineer, shipside."
She was not bragging. It took her only a few minutes to conclude that the telephone unit itself had no faults. Following the wiring to its source, she studied the socket on the wall. "Can you grab me a knife from the kitchen?" she requested, "the smallest one you can find."
Mystified, but not wasting time asking questions, he obeyed, moments later handing her a small knife that was meant for peeling potatoes. "Here… will this do?"
"I think so." Taking the knife from him, Marla inserted the tip into the head of one of the screws and began to turn it. Nothing happed so she reversed direction. "Ah, that's got it." First one screw then the other was removed and she lifted off the panel, peering behind it. "I've found the problem," she muttered, talking more to herself than her companion. "There's a loose wire."
"Can you fix it?"
She shook her head. "No. At least, yes, I could if I had the proper tools and some new cable. The wire in here is damaged; it needs stripping out and replacing."
"Leave it then," Kay'vin decided. "We've been here too long. Let's get out of here before one of the neighbours decides to call in the resistance."
"We could leave her a note," Marla suggested, getting to her feet.
"Can you write their language?" Kay'vin asked. He did not want to admit that while he could speak English fairly well and even read it up to a point, he could not write it.
"I'm no linguist," Marla said, correctly guessing that neither was he. "I never learned. I'll leave the socket open though… that way she will at least see there is a problem with it. That's the best I can do. Come on, let's go."
When Sarah returned to the flat, she found her friend waiting for her in the street. "Chrissie? "What are you doing out here? It's freezing cold."
"I haven't been out here long," Chrissie reassured her, "I knew you'd be home around this time I wanted to talk to you out here where it's safe. I need to warn you… The Klingons have been here."
"WHAT?" Sarah was horrified. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Chrissie said. That was not strictly true, she was anything but fine; but still… "I wasn't there. I'd gone out. When I came back, Mr Barnes from downstairs was waiting for me. He said two Klingons asked him where flat 3B was. Some of the other neighbours saw them running up the stairs. There were obvious signs of intruders inside, things had been moved, cupboard doors and drawers open… it looks like they've searched the place."
Sarah swore virulently. "I think I know why. Jamal got picked up by the Klingons yesterday. I'd hoped he'd gotten away and gone into hiding but I've just heard from Joe – he saw them arresting him."
"Jamal?" Chrissie asked. "I assume you mean one of the two men who left the church just as I got there? One of your resistance friends?"
Sarah nodded, "Yes."
"Your friend must have identified you," Chrissie said, frowning. "I don't think it's safe for you here anymore. You're going to have to stay somewhere else for a while."
"I understand," Sarah sighed. "We need to talk to Captain Kirk. That isn't the only news I have."
Klingon holding cells, London
Tuesday 18th January 1994
Everything hurt, the pain so intense it was hard to breathe… hunger gnawed at his belly, his lips cracked and bleeding through lack of water… Just remaining conscious was taking all his remaining strength. Slowly, with great effort, the prisoner raised his battered head in an attempt to look at his tormentor, the bruising and swelling around his eyes making it difficult to see. "I… have… nothing to tell you," he said, struggling through the clouds of pain to form the words. "I can't tell you what I don't know."
"Then you will tell me what you do know," Karg growled implacably. "Let's start again from the beginning. Tell me who you are."
"My name is David William Kendal," the prisoner repeated for what must be the hundredth time in this interrogation. Why did his torturer keep asking him the same simple questions over and over and over? "I am a doctor, a trauma specialist."
"You proclaim your innocence," the colonel snarled, "yet you are a Terran. Why would you help a Klingon patient? Are you a traitor to your own people?"
A traitor? Hazily, David considered that. The question was actually a fair one and was deserving of a proper answer. Certainly, some of his own people thought so. He'd more than once had the word 'collaborator' thrown at him. "Primum non nocere," David said, his voice little more than a whisper. "First do no harm." His throat raw from screaming, talking was both difficult and painful. "That... is what is means to be a doctor. When I became a doctor, I… I took an oath…" His voice cracked and he stopped, gasping for breath.
To his surprise, a beaker of water… plastic, he noted; nothing that could be broken and used as a weapon… was handed to him.
"Drink!" Karg commanded harshly.
Gratefully, he accepted the beaker and with trembling hands, raised it to his parched lips. Fighting the urge to gulp the precious liquid down before it was snatched away again, he sipped at it slowly, wetting his lips and mouth before carefully swallowing. Drinking too fast would make him choke or even vomit.
"You were speaking of this oath," Karg reminded him after a moment.
"The Hippocratic oath… It is my sworn duty to treat my patient… to the best of my ability, even if… that patient is my enemy." David paused, taking several shuddering breaths before continuing. "It is sacred to me… as it has been for every doctor… physician… medic for thousands of years before me.
Karg leaned forward, not yet convinced, but nevertheless interested. "And you truly live by this oath?" He had never heard of such a thing, could not imagine it – at least, not in a medical context.
Yes… I…take that oath very seriously… I would die before…" He stopped again to drink a little more water, savouring the lukewarm liquid as it soothed his ravaged throat. "… before allowing a patient in my care to be harmed. To do otherwise would make me a traitor to my oath and to my profession." Raising his head, he met the Klingon's eyes. "That a member of my team has violated that trust is… unacceptable."
"It is a pity," the Klingon growled, "that not all your team take their oaths so seriously."
"On that…" David sighed, "we are in agreement."
Slowly Karg nodded. In general, he had little to no respect for Terrans. They were weak, cowardly, dishonourable… he could spend the entire day listing reasons why they were so inferior and worthless. But he found he believed this one. Neither beatings, nor the use of the agoniser had changed his story and when he had spoken of his oath, his sincerity had been obvious. "You speak honourably," he conceded. "And you will find that honour is something we Klingons understand and respect."
Like many Klingons, Karg had a bias against the healing arts, believing that the strong would survive and the weak should be allowed to die. Medics had their uses patching up broken bones, knife wounds etc, but more serious injuries and illnesses that would leave the sufferer permanently damaged and reliant on their families… no, it was better to die honourably. The Terran obsession with saving life at all cost was incomprehensible to the Klingon.
Carefully, Karg considered what to do with the prisoner. He could use the mind-sifter, but he did not think it would make any difference or tell him anything new. No, this one at least, was completely innocent of the charges against him. As the security captain had reminded him, the doctor had given good service.
Karg barely held back a growl at the thought of his superior. He intensely disliked having to report to an Imperial Intelligence officer and this one in particular did not seem to understand the demands of the job. Their orders were to subjugate this planet, not mollycoddle its occupants and in his opinion, Krang was far too lenient with them. And as for taking those Terragnan brats home with him… what was that all about? It would be laughable if it were not so pathetic!
He, Karg, was the senior Defence Force officer on site and this should have been his command – and when the time came, it would be his command. That time was rapidly approaching, Karg knew. Not just for his own glory, but for the good of the mission, Krang had to die.