CHAPTER EIGHT
“Get up,
woman. There is work to be done.”
Kaala opened her eyes to find K’las
looming above her, his expression a hybrid of contempt and curiosity.
She
swung her legs off the bunk and sat up. When she attempted to stand, though, a
wave of pain and nausea struck her almost instantly, and she collapsed dazedly
back.
K’las snorted in derision, and then ran a tricorder over
her, paying particular attention to her head.
“I
am no doctor,” he declared finally, “but it appears you have a mild concussion.” He rummaged
haphazardly through the shuttle’s medical supplies, and turned back to her with
a loaded hypospray. “Since you obviously require assistance...”
He
thrust the device against her neck and injected its contents before she could
jerk her head away. Kaala struck his hand aside, and
spat, “What have you given me?” She
rubbed at the spot where the hypo had touched.
K’las ignored her, and turned back towards the cockpit of
the small craft. “When you are able, effect repairs on the
sensor array.”
Shaking
with anger, she rose and took a step towards him. Before she could take two, it
registered that much of the pain and all of the nausea were gone. She was still
a bit disoriented, but even that sensation was fading quickly.
Now
curious, she checked the medical packet herself. Of the five doses of metheglin
customarily found within, only three remained. It confirmed her sudden
suspicion that despite his manner, K’las had been
tending her while she’d been unconscious.
Kaala had no pretensions that he’d developed some feeling
for her. She was a valuable asset to him, at the moment; and though a Klingon
might despise weakness, it was also against a true warrior’s code to allow the
helpless to suffer when aid could be easily rendered.
“What
happened? What is the extent of our damage?” she called forward, even as she
knelt and pulled aside the access panel to expose the main circuitry of the
sensor array.
He
was curt, but he did reply. “We were caught in the periphery of the Qul’etlh’s warp
core breach.
“Life
support and the cloaking device are nominal and operating. Weapons, propulsion,
communications, and sensors are all out. I am currently attempting to restore
the disruptors. You are currently engaged in asking questions instead of
working.”
Kaala bit back a reply, and addressed herself to the
damaged array. Fortunately, the repairs were relatively basic—most of the
problem lay in a series of overloads that could be corrected by swapping in
replacement parts from the small vessel’s stores.
The
job was completed in just under four hours. She reset
the controls and closed the hatch, announcing as she did, “They will be online
in a few moments, after the diagnostic cycle is complete.”
K’las grunted in acknowledgement, and continued his own
work. In the time she had been engrossed with the sensors,
he had evidently either repaired the weapons, or given up trying, and moved on
to restoring the propulsion systems.
She
dropped rather heavily into the pilot’s seat, and examined the display. Her
headache was returning, and she shook it in an attempt to clear the dizziness,
growling at her own weakness.
Disruptors are operational, she noted in
surprise, as are thrusters and impulse
engines. She plotted a course for Makath V, the
nearest Klingon outpost, and waited for the sensors to come online.
As
the blind little ship regained its senses, Kaala
reached for the thruster controls, and...
...was
stoppped abruptly as K’las
appeared from nowhere to immobilize her hand at the wrist.
“Do
not... move... the ship,” he snarled; his grip was strong enough to break
the bones of a more delicate woman, and she hissed in pain. Abruptly, he
released her and turned back to the medical packet on the table. He handed her
the hypospray, already loaded with another dose of metheglin, and
then threw himself into the second cockpit seat.
“I
shall assume that your incredibly stupid action is a
result of dizziness and not incompetence,” K’las
sneered, even as he began a long range scan of the surrounding area.
Kaala had had enough. She reached down to the small
serrated dagger she kept in her boot, determined to punish K’las
with a wound that he would remember
long after his words had been forgotten.
Scars do not fade like insults, she
thought smugly. I shall... gone!
“Your
various toys are in the storage locker under the bunk,” K’las
informed her in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone. “If you attempt to retrieve
them while we are still in jeopardy, I shall kill you and complete our task
myself.”
The
threat was delivered so casually that Kaala knew he
was both utterly serious and more than capable.
She
made no move towards the crew compartment.
There will be another time, she consoled
herself.
His
sneering tone returned, and Kaala instinctually knew
that the moment of danger had passed. “Your skills with the sensors are
superior to mine,” he informed her.
“What
is this?” he asked, pointing at the readout.
She
examined both the visuals and the stream of incoming data.
“Federation starship, either Ambassador-
or Galaxy-class, closing at warp seven.
She will pass within two light minutes of this position in less than an hour.”
Warily, Kaala inquired, “Shall I decloak?
Their sensors are certain to spot us, and our communications are still
non-functional.”
K’las thought back to what he had seen—the cowardly manner
in which the Qul’etlh
had been murdered. Slowly, the heat of his anger subsided, as he re-forged it
into a cooling calculation.
“Not
yet.
“Soon
enough, though. Soon
enough.”