Hacker Chronicles 2/HACKER2.BIN/541.CHAP#9.TXT

Text File | 1993-03-01 | 28KB | 656 lines

                              ***    NINE    ***




            The Imperial Throneship Thunder dwarfed by far the brave
       vessel from Federation space.  Blinking running lights were the
       only sign that these ships were under power and at the ready to
       enter battle on any given moment.  The invisible deflector screens
       of both ships dropped simultaneously, on cue, as they reached the
       pre-arranged transfer point.  Like two silent statues, they
       remained motionless, dispassionate to the rest of the universe.

            The Emperor stood on the dimly lit transporter platform with a
       guard on each side and a third directly behind, with his back
       towards the Emperor.  All but the Klingon monarch had weapons
       drawn, as they prepared for the dissimilation of their atoms and
       their arrival on enemy's figurative soil.

            "rIH ,jol!", the Emperor commanded his transporter chief in
       their native tongue.

            The transporter field wave caught the four men, transferring
       them, body, soul and spirit, into the unknown.  In literally 'no-
       time' for the Emperor, he found himself squinting in the bright
       transporter room of his enemy.  Before him stood a tall, lean, blue-
       skinned Andorian, who bowed low to him and righted himself once
       again.

            The Andorian took one step towards the transporter platform.
       "Emperor Tromok of the Klingon Realm, my lord bids you greetings
       and welc... "

            The Emperor dove at the Andorian, knocking him to the floor
       and pinning him there.  With a speed that belied his massiveness,
       he pulled a dagger from his wrist-band and held it to his
       opponent's azure throat.  "What treachery is this?", Tromok spoke
       in a deep and deadly voice, "Where are my guards?".  He and the
       Andorian were alone in the transporter room.

            "They are suspended in transit," the Andorian whispered as the
       pressure from the blade on his windpipe, would not allow volume.
       "They are well, I swear.  My master sent me, unarmed, to escort you
       to him."

            "He betrays our agreement, and you will pay the price."

            "He does not, Sir," the Andorian whispered as boldly as
       possible.  "He allowed you three escorts on board.  You have three
       and they are on board... technically," he said as his antennae
       began to droop.

            "Now answer me this and choose your words with care, or you
       shall surely die.  Why has 'your lord' practiced this deceit?"

            "He thought it prudent to keep," he took a shallow breath,

                                       PAGE 51








       "to keep our guards separate to," another breath, "ensure that no
       hostile action might,"  The Emperor lessened the pressure to
       allow the Andorian to finish his speech before passing out.  "might
       erupt between your guards and ours.  He wanted control of the
       situation to be between you and him.  'At the top', so to speak."

            The Emperor understandably did not believe that this was the
       whole truth, an element of it perhaps, but he knew there was more.
       The stakes were too high for him to back out now.  In the least, he
       would lose his life.  At most he would lose his honor, an
       experience he never wanted to face again.

            The Emperor lifted himself off the Andorian and with his free
       hand, grabbed the man by the back of his shaggy white hair, pulling
       him to his feet.  He forced him against the wall and replaced the
       dagger to its sheath hidden in his wristband.

            "You will instruct your Master to let me speak to my ship.
       They will detect that I am alone and attack at any moment."

            "The transporter has been modified to allow your guard's life
       signs to emanate from within the system.  Your ship has not lost
       contact with them.  They merely cannot get a direct fix on them,"
       the Andorian said, still heaving air in and out of his lungs.

            Tromok checked his rage that was building up within him... for
       the moment.  He was in a trap with every exit leading to
       destruction.  All but one.  The one he was being maneuvered into by
       his enemy.  'It is said,' he thought to himself, 'that sometimes
       the only way out is through.  Very well.  I am still the predator
       here.  The trap will be my own!' He felt the mechanism inside his
       glove, giving him the confidence of one who is prepared for the
       worst.

            "Very well, lead me to your master," spoke the Emperor of
       Klinzhai.

            "Yes, Your Majesty."

            The Emperor released him and let him step away to catch his
       breath until he was able to comply.  The Andorian calmly turned and
       proceeded to the exit.  Tromok followed, keeping no further than a
       meter between himself and his escort.

            They made their way down the hall to a turbo-shaft, then up
       two decks and out to another hall, looking identical to the first.
       There were no other crewmen to be seen by the Klingon Monarch.  No
       muffled voices, no other sounds than that of the ship itself and
       the footsteps the two made.  He strained his ears to hear the
       rustle of clothing or the quiet breathing of an assassin possibly
       behind any door.  He could detect nothing, but tensed himself
       against the unexpected anyway.

            The Andorain stopped short of a double door entrance marked
       'Conference Room One' and stepped aside to allow the Emperor to
       pass.  He bowed low again and extended his blue hand, indicating to

                                       PAGE 52








       the Klingon that he may now enter.

            It would be a sign of weakness to force the Andorian to enter
       first but at the moment of Tromok's hesitation, the double doors
       parted.  They revealed a long table with a massive chair at the far
       end.  The figure seated in the chair rose to reveal his own
       impressive stature.  His short light brown hair with streaks of
       grey, his posture and stance, his purple robe and even his eyes
       spoke of nobility and power embodied within.

            "Mocdar Jek Tromok, Emperor of all the realm of Klinzhai,
       welcome to my humble ship," he said with grace and a formal bow of
       his own.

            The Emperor stepped through the door which closed behind him.
       "And who is it that bids me welcome?" Tromok rumbled.

            "The man who offers a galaxy," he said and placed both hands
       on his hips.  "I also offer you my hospitality.  Please be seated."

            The Emperor remained standing.  "Klingons do not sit with the
       enemy.  Their Emperor makes no exception."  He too placed his hands
       on his hips, facing his foe.  His cape fanned out over his
       shoulders and spilled down to the ground.  "Unless I am convinced
       otherwise, I will stand," his deep voice challenged.

            "Very well," the host smiled as if he regarded the Emperor as
       merely charming.  "Might his Highness consider a truce until our
       positions are established?"

            The monarch considered this for a moment, knowing some
       semblance of progress must be made.  "Agreed," he stated and eased
       himself into the chair designed for a smaller boned human.  He
       pressed a button in his gloved hand and felt a tiny comforting
       click.

            "I assume that you have already decided on an offer for my
       weapon?  Possibly several counteroffers, if the first is
       unacceptable to me?" the Host spoke, as he sat back in his own
       chair, draping his right leg over the cushioned arm.  He looked
       thoroughly comfortable and nonchalant.

            "Before we bargain," the Emperor looked steadfastly into his
       host's hazel eyes, "I would know your name," he demanded.

            A smile that could charm a roaring volcano spread across the
       enemy's handsome face, "Of course you would," he said most amiably.
       "My name is well established throughout the known universe."

            "Enough!" the Emperor stood to his feet, toppling his chair
       behind him.  With lightning speed he produced a small disrupter
       that was hidden in the small of his back.  He aimed it at his
       opponent's midsection.  "I will kill you without your name!" he
       bellowed.

            The smile never left the host's face, though he did raise an

                                       PAGE 53








       eyebrow at the Emperor's speed and shortness of temper.  "It is my
       race's custom, granted an out of date one, to allow a last word to
       be spoken by the one who is about to be... 'deceased'."

            "I have no constraints to such a custom."

            "This 'is' my ship," the enemy simply offered.

            "So be it.  I am not without honor, however, if I detect the
       slightest flinch, you will be indistinguishable from the dust of
       your vaporized chair."

            "Understood."

            "Speak then, this 'last word'," the Emperor commanded.

            "Your disrupter is... empty."

            The Emperor depressed the firing button. Nothing happened.

            "I ordered the Andorian who escorted you, to lock on to all
       close proximity power sources, which might be used in a weapon, and
       transport them to me."  With his left hand he produced two small
       power cells of differing size from his breast pocket and set them
       on the table before him.  "I know that this first energy pack is
       the one you assumed to be powering your disrupter.  I am, however,
       at a loss as to what 'this' power cell was used for," he said,
       indicating the smaller of the two."

            The Emperor felt an intense pang in his stomach, realizing the
       sonic synthesizer hidden in his glove, was as useless as the weapon
       that was still pointed at his host.

            "No matter," said the Host, obviously in complete control of
       the situation.  To stress the fact, he casually drew a weapon of
       his own, not aiming it but merely letting his guest understand that
       there may be a limit to his hospitality.  "Please sit now, and you
       may yet find the answers to your many questions."

            "I will sit." He dropped his weapon to the floor and slowly
       righted his chair, "but I am weary of the games you play."  He was
       in a mild state of shock at being so easily outwitted by the man.
       "You demanded my presence.  Very well, I am here.  All I need now is
       to know your price."  He sat and faced his host, concealing his
       fury and his shame.

            "I have a price... and it is high, but I will not yet name it.
       And though I will not compromise, I am still curious as to what you
       intended to offer me."

            "I offer you first, your life.  Make no mistake, that will be
       the first thing you will lose if I do not return to my ship.
       Whatever else it costs us."

            "No doubt, but continue," he said.  His patience seemed to
       have no end, but the Emperor was not deceived.  He knew a fellow

                                       PAGE 54








       warrior, and was feeling nothing but danger from the man across
       from him.

            "I offer you second, a planet to rule under me.  You will
       preside over all affairs that you deem worthy, and you may
       establish any laws of your choice, as long as you remain loyal to
       the Klingon Empire.  Which is the third part to my offer.  In so
       swearing your loyalty, an oath not to be taken lightly, I will
       provide two fully armed battle cruisers for your personal
       protection.  You may use them as planetary defense against any
       intruder who is not also loyal to me."

            "That is, indeed, a grand offer," said the host with a nod of
       his head.  "If I were, per chance, a less ambitious man, I would
       consider accepting it."  He stroked his grey temple with his middle
       finger.  "It is good but it is not my price."

            The Emperor's face shone red and his jaw muscles flexed
       visibly through his cheeks as he clenched his teeth.  He knew his
       own patience was required, but to expect a Klingon, and not just
       any Klingon, to endure the arrogance of this man was requiring too
       much.  "What is your price?" he asked between his teeth, debating
       if he actually wanted to know.  If nothing else, he would agree to
       all concessions, make and receive payment, and then obliterate this
       pompous 'targ', if he had to destroy a planet from beneath his feet
       to do it.

            "I, lord Tromok, am a ruler without an empire of my own.
       They say 'a king, less his kingdom rules an imbecile.'"  His
       countenance grew suddenly cold as he forced himself to remember
       his past and likewise prepare for the revelation that he would
       now bestow upon the Klingon Emperor.  "I had recently launched a
       campaign against the Federation, the very first stage mind you,
       only to have it thwarted by a man I would rather have fought beside
       than against." His own anger began to emerge as he spoke of his
       past.  "I am hardly finished with Starfleet, but there is an old
       Klingon proverb that seems to be quite appropriate: 'If you cannot
       lead your own camp... lead your enemy's'."  He stopped for a moment
       to see if his meaning was comprehended.

            The Emperor barely heard the words spoken to him.  "If you
       have mentioned your demand, I have not heard it," he said darkly.

            "My price is the Klingon Empire!"

            "Then you do rule an imbecile," the Emperor spat hotly.  "I am
       supreme here, and you... you are merely an inconvenience."  Tromok
       restrained himself from reaching for his dagger.  "You are mad if
       you think you could wrest my throne from me.  And if you intend to
       kill me to get it, you are welcome to try.  My ships will destroy
       you, and many more are on the way."  He looked at the weapon now
       aimed at him.   "As hostage I am no good to you either.  My men
       will follow my orders and consider me dead.  My brother will of
       course, inherit my title.  The end result will be the same for
       you... death."


                                       PAGE 55








            "There are more ways to gain the Empire than you have named,
       and that is my riddle.  Nevertheless, even that is not my final
       goal."  He slowly raised himself from the chair, eyes and weapon
       never wavering.  "You still do not know with whom you are dealing."

            "Not for lack of effort, though I am sure it is a strain for
       one so boastful, to keep it a secret as long as you have."

            The Host chuckled briefly at that.  "I did not know the
       Klingon Emperor had a sense of humor," he said with a smile.
       "Do you also have a sense of irony?" he posed.

            The Emperor said nothing.  He wished to stall but never to
       play the fool.

            "No answer?" he asked, holstering his weapon and leaning
       towards the Emperor with both hands on the table.  "Then let me
       explain myself with a brief tale."  His smile faded.

            "Years ago... no," he started again. "A lifetime ago, there
       was a brave Starship Captain.  The first Starship Captain." It
       seemed painful for him to speak but he continued. "Long before
       we had the Neutral Zone, Organian Peace Treaties or cloaking
       devices to complicate life, this lone Captain and a hand-picked
       crew set out in their new Starship on a brave mission:  The
       Exploration of Space. It was given to him to extend the hand of
       friendship to other spacefaring races and invite them to take
       their place of honor in a United Federation of Planets."

            "With nothing but a faithful crew and the shining Prime
       Directive, this Captain guided his noble vessel farther than any
       ship in the Federation had ever ventured.  After weeks of
       exploration in this distant part of the galaxy, the Captain
       encountered,  for the first time since the Hundred Years War, a
       race of beings who were as proficient in their technology as they
       were in their ruthlessness."  His eyes narrowed as they penetrated
       the Emperor.  "But now I am getting ahead of myself," he
       interrupted, then continued the tale.

            "The Starship first had made contact with intelligent life on
       a planet not far from where we are now.  The Captain spent weeks in
       peaceful negotiations and in the exchange of cultural information
       with the new-found alien friends who called themselves the Bak'i.
       When it became time to depart from the planet, the Captain bid them
       farewell and began his return to the Earth, with a promising new
       addition to the Federation."

           "However, while the Starship was leaving, they detected three
       spacecraft approaching their new friend's solar system.  Motivated
       by curiosity, the Starship turned around, back to the world they
       had just visited.  Upon arrival, they found that the entire surface
       of the planet had been laid waste.  Not one Bak'i had survived
       the terrible holocaust.  Three armed warships had made short work
       of their entire world."

            "When the Captain of the Starship attempted to hail the three

                                       PAGE 56








       invading warships, in order to understand the action that had been
       taken, the warships opened fire.  They were Klingon warships."

            The Emperor's face seemed to hint of recognition of the story,
       from a memory long forgotten, or perhaps one he wished had been so.

            "It was a time when our shields had been stronger than our
       weapons.  The battle raged for hours, particle-static beams and
       focused radiation, inflicting more damage on men than on machinery.
       The Captain was on the verge of hopelessness, when he managed to
       destroy one of the Klingon warships." The Host erected himself. His
       countenance became cold in remembrance of the lives lost afterward
       by slow radiation poisoning, during the long dark voyage home.

            "With one ship lost to the void, and no outward sign of damage
       to the Federation Starship, the second Klingon vessel turned tail
       and fled.  The odds were then even.

            "Yes," the Emperor whispered, transfixed by his own images of
       the long ago battle.  Though seeing it from another perspective
       than that of his enemy.

            "Again the ships clashed, until the Federation ship's weaponry
       became useless, drained of energy and damaged beyond any hope of
       repair.  The Captain ordered all power to his foreword shields,
       said a prayer, and began one final charge at his opponent.  The
       Starfleet Captain expected to die in the collision of the two
       ships, but before the impact could be consummated, the ship from
       the Empire gave her ground and took flight to parts unknown."  He
       folded his arms across his chest.  "But not unknown to you,
       Emperor Tromok," he spoke in anger.  "Do you still remember the
       words spoken from your own boastful lips, when the Starfleet
       Captain attempted to explain his peaceful intentions?"  He let his
       guest search his memory for a moment.  "Do you recall the vow I
       made to you, as you ordered your ship's retreat?"

            "You?" Tromok said in astonishment.

            "Then, you were merely the eldest 'son' of the Emperor of
       Klinzhai, now the Empire is yours, and I will finally make good
       on my vow."  A cold smile slowly crept upon his lips, from the
       corners of his mouth.  "Do you remember me now, Emperor of
       Klinzhai?"

            "I remember," he rumbled and slowly rose to his feet.  "I had
       not known defeat but for you."  His voice became a growl, his
       muscles tensed, "You are the secret shame I have kept hidden, even
       from myself, for these many years."

            The man reproduced his weapon, leisurely but with purpose.  He
       slowly aimed it at the Klingon.  "Then my name still has meaning in
       the Klingon Empire?" Strangely, the man lowered the weapon and
       placed it on the long table before him, as if to challenge the
       Klingon.  "I told you that you would fear the day when next our
       swords would cross, that you would ever fear the name of Garth of
       Izar!"

                                       PAGE 57








            With a roar from the depths of his soul, the Emperor toppled
       the long heavy table on to its side, sending Garth's phaser
       clattering across the floor.  Deciding in an instant that the
       weapon was too far to reach, the Emperor threw himself the distance
       between his enemy and himself.  He hit Garth in his midsection,
       like a projectile, taking him to the floor.

            Garth was at the ready when the Emperor lunged at him and
       rolled with the momentum and mass thrust upon him, tossing the
       Klingon off and into the wall behind him.  Garth was to his feet
       first but allowed his guest to also rise, savoring the
       confrontation he had long awaited, not desiring too soon an end to
       it.

            "It is good to see the Emperor is still a warrior," Garth
       said, paying tribute to his foe.

            "To the death," Tromok said as he lifted his bulk off the
       polished deck.

            "Not so, your Majesty," he said mockingly.  "I do not intend
       to kill you, and I am certain that you shall not kill me."  Garth
       squared himself off from his opponent, now ready to continue the
       battle.

            The Emperor feigned left, then right and jabbed quickly with
       his left fist, connecting only with air.  Garth dodged the second
       blow as well, and responded with a hard chop to the Emperor's neck,
       bringing him to his knees.  The Klingon, partly dazed by the chop
       that would have knocked an ordinary man out, looked up at Garth in
       rage.  Tromok pondered to himself for a moment why his enemy took
       no advantage at a downed foe.  He lifted himself again, growling
       like an animal gone mad.

            Garth moved first, with a punch to the Emperor's heavy jaw,
       then one to his stomach, when, with remarkable speed, the Emperor
       caught Garth's wrist and placed a strong hand to his throat.  The
       Emperor slowly, powerfully, squeezed his enemy's neck with a
       wolfish grin, and drew Garth close.  "Now, you are mine!" he
       whispered.

            Garth grabbed the hand at his throat and centimeter by
       centimeter, pulled it away, his muscles straining against Emperor
       Tromok's for control.  Both with feet firmly planted on the deck,
       the struggle became one of brute force.  'Victory to the strong',
       as a Klingon would say.

            They stood face to face.  Both red with the exertion of their
       strength, neither giving in.  One force irresistible, the other
       immovable and both committed to the defeat of the other.

            "You will lose!" said the Klingon Emperor through clenched
       teeth.

            "Not at your hand," promised Garth.


                                       PAGE 58








            The seconds that they spent in battle were years of desired
       revenge nearing fulfillment.  Neither would admit the thought of
       defeat into their minds, though clearly, only one would stand when
       they were done.

            "Now," Garth strained, "the tide turns."  And with his final
       effort, he forced Emperor Mocdar Jek Tromok to his physical limit,
       then pulled him with all that was in him.  The might of the Klingon
       was used against himself as Garth yanked backwards with all his
       strength, fairly throwing the Emperor against the bulkhead, a full
       fifteen feet behind him.

            The Klingonese monarch sank to the floor unconscious, as Garth
       slowly walked towards his downed enemy, gulping breaths as he came.
       He kneeled beside this fallen warrior, and pressed two fingers
       against the Emperor's pulmonary artery to be sure he still lived.
       Satisfied, he rose, gathered his phaser and depressed a button on
       his belt.

            The only doors to the room parted and the Andorian, carrying a
       medical bag, entered through them.

            "Revive him," commanded Garth, "And place the stasis cuffs on
       him or he may accidentally kill you as he regains his wits."

            "Yes, lord Garth," the blue man replied.  He reached into his
       medical bag and produced a Doctor's spray hypo.  He placed a small
       yellow canister into the instrument, set the dosage to 20
       milliliters, and injected the substance into the Klingon's neck.
       Grasping both wrists, the acting physician placed the energy bonds
       around them as the Emperor's eyes began to flutter.

            The Emperor, not feeling at all well, opened his eyes for a
       moment, then realizing that they were not focusing, blinked several
       times to clear them.  Immediately he became aware of his
       surroundings and of the fact that he was temporarily immobilized.
       He looked up to see the man standing across the room from him, to
       his astonishment.  Tromok closed his eyes again at the man he saw.
       'Surely,' he thought, 'my mind plays tricks!'  He opened them once
       again and saw that the vision had not changed.  Directly across
       from him, standing majestically in royal robes, was the Emperor
       of all Klinzhai.

            The vision smiled.  "You see," Garth said in the voice of the
       Klingon monarch, "I never had the need to strike any bargain, never
       needed anything from you, but 'you'."

            "You can not do this!" spoke the Emperor, almost breaking before
       his enemy, as his heart sank, for he knew that if there was anyone in
       the universe who could wrest the Empire from him, it was this man.
       The man that wore his face.

            "It is already done!" boasted Garth.  "But be of good cheer,
       for I am not finished with you nor the galaxy yet!" He strode over
       to his double.  "You see," he spoke, kneeling beside the former
       Emperor, "there is something I know about the Organian Peace Treaty

                                       PAGE 59








       that neither you nor my Federation seem to be aware of."  He smiled
       a dangerous smile.  "But that is another riddle," he said.  Rising
       from Tromok and turning towards the exit, he began to laugh.  He
       left the room, his laughter echoing down the corridors, silenced
       only when the doors shut behind him.




















































                                       PAGE 60