STAR TREK: TOS - Errand of Vengeance, Book Three - River of Blood Read online

  He racked his brain for information that would explain why he might be in a hospital, but he could not remember anything.

  Leaning forward in the bed, he felt a dull ache in his stomach.

  Then a flood of images came back to him: Yeoman Hatcher walking; the admiral; a blade of some kind; the woman who was not Yeoman Hatcher holding a phaser, then firing it at her own chest.

  Then it flooded back into his consciousness—all of it. She had tried to kill the admiral. West had intervened and she had killed herself.

  West heard footsteps and saw a woman in a blue Starfleet medical uniform. She looked at him seriously and said, “You’re awake.”

  [12] He nodded.

  “Do you know who you are?”

  “Lieutenant Patrick West,” he replied.

  “Do you know where you are?” she asked.

  “I’m in a hospital, most likely the one at Command headquarters,” he said.

  She smiled at him for the first time and said, “Good. Now, do you know what the abdominal aorta is?”

  West shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, you almost didn’t live long enough to ever learn. When you’re back on your feet I suggest you look it up.”

  She considered him for a moment and said, “You lost a lot of blood, nearly nine liters.”

  “How many did I start with?” he asked.

  “About that many,” she said, giving him a grim smile.

  Then there was another set of footsteps and West saw Admiral Justman approach the bed.

  “How is he, Doctor?” Justman said.

  “His abdomen will be sore for a few days, but otherwise he’s fine,” she replied. “I will release him later today.”

  “Excellent, Doctor, thank you,” the admiral said.

  West pushed himself into a sitting position as the doctor stepped out of the room. The effort caused his stomach to throb, but West was determined that he would not receive the admiral on his back.

  “I need to thank you, Mr. West. I owe you my life,” Justman said.

  The comment was so unexpected that West had no response. Finally, he said, “Who was she?”

  [13] “As far as we know,” the admiral said, “it was Yeoman Sarah Hatcher who tried to kill me and nearly killed you.”

  “It wasn’t her,” West said.

  The admiral raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

  “I spoke to her the evening before. She didn’t sound like herself. In fact, since she returned from leave, she did not seem like herself.”

  The admiral nodded, and said, “There have been other ... incidents. We are investigating the possibility of mind-control chemicals or devices.”

  “It wasn’t mind control, Admiral. That was not Ensign Hatcher,” West said. “In the other incidents, were any bodies recovered?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, they were not,” the admiral said. “Like Ensign Hatcher, the other assailants disintegrated themselves.”

  West nodded. He was not surprised. “It looked like Ensign Hatcher, and I was fooled until I noticed her legs in your office.”

  “Her legs?” the admiral asked.

  “Yes, sir, I had noticed Ensign Hatcher’s legs before, but when I saw them in your office, I saw that they looked different—thicker and more muscular. And her walk was ... different.”

  “You had been studying Ensign Hatcher closely then,” the admiral said, giving West a slight smile.

  West felt an embarrassed smile form on his own lips. “Yes, and that was not her.”

  The admiral nodded, deep in thought for a moment.

  “That changes things, and it explains some things as well,” Justman said. The admiral saw the question on [14] West’s face and continued. “You have seen the reports of the security breaches we have had lately, assassinations, assassination attempts, disappearances, compromised codes?” Justman said.

  “Of course. I assumed it was all part of Klingon intelligence’s preparation for war,” West said.

  “Yes, except Klingon intelligence has not been that good in the past. There have been some unprecedented breaches. Up until now we didn’t know how they were accomplishing some of these things. But now we have to deal with the fact that they have somehow replaced people like Ensign Hatcher with—what, operatives sympathetic to their cause?”

  “Why would any humans aid a Klingon invasion?” West asked.

  “Another question we can’t answer yet, but you have just given us a big piece. Thank you again, Lieutenant,” Justman said.

  But West was already focused on a thought that was rising in his mind. An answer to a question that had bothered him since the day he was hired.

  “Sir,” he said, “what does this have to do with why I was hired?”

  “What do you mean?” the admiral said, but West could see a hint of ... something on the man’s face.

  “I have asked you this before and never received a satisfactory explanation,” West said. “Why me of all the xeno-studies people in the service, or out of it? Why a recent Academy graduate?”

  Admiral Justman’s face set. “Because of your father,” he said, immediately dismissing West’s response with a [15] wave. “This has nothing to do with favoritism. I saw the problems we were having with security and I just wanted someone I could trust.”

  “Me? An open critic of Starfleet policy while I was at the Academy?” West asked.

  The admiral shook off the question. “A young man’s indulgence. I knew your xeno-studies work was excellent and I knew your father.”

  “Why would that make me any less susceptible to becoming a security breach?” West asked.

  “For no good reason I can give you,” Justman said frankly. “Call it a hunch, or superstition, but I wanted a qualified person I could trust. However, I can see that it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.”

  “Admiral, I don’t think—” West began.

  The admiral silenced him with a wave. “Later. When you are back on your feet, come see me in my office. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  With that, the admiral headed for the door, which slid open in front of him.

  As he stepped through, Justman turned around once and said, “Thank you, son. Thank you for what you have done for me.”

  Before West could reply, Admiral Justman was gone and the doors had closed behind him.

  Chapter One

  KELL RETURNED to his quarters and immediately set to work. Chief Fuller had asked him to collect Benitez’s personal effects, and he placed the cargo container on the human’s bed while he did so.

  Though Benitez had come with many more personal effects than Kell himself had when he joined the ship, Kell could see that they would fit easily into the container.

  There were a few books. The first was something called The Starfleet Scout’s Handbook, which looked well used. Inside the front cover, in a childish scrawl, was the name Lou Benitez.

  How old was Benitez when he put his name in that book? When had he first dreamed of Starfleet?

  When Kell himself had been hunting targs with his brother and dreaming of great victories for the Empire, [18] had Benitez been dreaming of service on a ship like the Enterprise?

  Kell took some satisfaction in the thought that Benitez had reached that childhood dream, while Kell had grown up to be a party to perhaps the greatest blow to the Empire’s honor.

  In a way, the human had won, for as Kahless said, “Better an honorable defeat than a dishonorable victory.”

  Benitez died with his honor and his principles intact. In the memorial Kirk had said that Benitez and Sobel died serving principles and ideals greater than themselves.

  It was true.

  Benitez had died living a dream forged by a child who had put his name on a book that represented something greater than himself.

  He had joined the Starfleet Scouts—whatever they were—and learned Klingon to earn something called a Galactic Citizenship Merit Badge.


  It was a naive, human conceit that understanding the language and ways of alien races would somehow prevent misunderstandings that might lead to wars. All too often, Kell had seen, wars were fought because peoples understood each other too well.

  Benitez had died because he had understood too much. He had learned Klingon to become a better Galactic Citizen, but because he understood the language he had understood Kell’s discussion with the Klingon High Commander.

  He had learned that Kell was a Klingon and that there were others of his blood throughout the Federation and Starfleet, waiting to do their duty and strike blows for [19] the Empire. They were betleH ’etlh, or The Blade of the Bat’leth. Like the edge of that honored blade they would weaken the Federation with a thousand cuts so that the Klingon fleet could strike the killing blow—as the point of a bat’leth would in a battle.

  It was also like the pincer formation of a targ hunt, when the Klingons on each side of the targ’s path would weaken it with blows as it charged the lead hunter, who stood at the apex of the formation, waiting to strike the death blow.

  There was honor in a direct battle of two warriors who each carried a bat’leth. There was even honor in the targ hunt, because the lead hunter and the charging targ each had a chance to defeat their opponent.

  But there was no honor in the coming battle, Kell realized.

  The Empire was using deceit and treachery to give itself an advantage over the Federation, all the while spinning lies about the nature of humans.

  It was wrong and a stain on the honor of every Klingon. So mad was the Empire’s determination to defeat the humans that it was willing to murder a planetful of Klingons to achieve that goal.

  And Kell himself had murdered Benitez to keep that goal alive. It was a cowardly, honorless act, he knew now.

  Kell vowed that it would be the last such act he would ever commit.

  He knew he could not reclaim his honor, but he could honor his friend. He could fight to preserve the Federation that Benitez had served, that Kirk and many others still served.

  [20] He could fight on the side of honor, even if he had no honor of his own. And as he did, he would keep the name and face of his friend Luiz Benitez in his blood.

  Kell put the book into the container. Then he picked up the next. It was titled The Flash Gordon Anthology. Kell almost smiled at that. Benitez had given Kell the name Flash, after the human hero.

  Paging through the book, Kell saw tales told in words and pictures. He put the book aside, vowing to learn about his namesake.

  Next came photographs of older humans that Kell assumed were Benitez’s parents. There was also a photo of a female with yellow hair that Kell thought might have been a mate or potential mate.

  Kell put them all in the container along with the uniforms and civilian clothes. Finally, in the top drawer of Benitez’s dresser, he found the medals and citations the human had earned in the 1324 incident.

  There were other things that looked like medals there as well. At first Kell did not recognize them, but he was finally able to read the words Starfleet scouts and merit badge on the back of each one.

  With that task done, Kell sat at the desk and opened the Flash Gordon book. It was hours later when the door rang and Kell said, “Come.”

  Kell had been expecting to see Leslie Parrish and was not looking forward to that encounter. Instead, however, he saw Dr. McCoy standing in his doorway.

  “Ensign, have you got a minute?” the doctor asked.

  “Yes,” Kell replied.

  [21] “Then come with me to sickbay,” McCoy said, leading the way.

  As Kell followed, he felt a burden lifting off his shoulders. The doctor would give him a physical and immediately learn that Kell was a Klingon.

  Had that happened when Kell was first posted to the Enterprise, he would have immediately killed the human and then as many more as he could before he was subdued.

  Now he waited, the roar of his blood finally quieting as he walked to sickbay to await his fate.

  Inside, Kell noted that sickbay was empty. The doctor motioned him to sit in front of his desk, and he complied.

  Then McCoy opened a glass cabinet behind the desk and pulled out a bottle with a long neck. Kell recognized it immediately: Saurian brandy. The doctor poured two glasses and put one in front of Kell.

  Though he had never had a physical examination conducted by a human doctor before, Kell felt certain that this was not the usual procedure.

  McCoy sat across the desk and said, “Go ahead, son, have a drink.”

  Kell drank the brandy, which spread a pleasant warmth as it traveled down his throat.

  “I thought we could have a chat,” Dr. McCoy said.

  “A chat?” Kell replied.

  “How are things at home?” McCoy asked.

  “At home?” Kell replied.

  “Yes, your mother, your brother, are they well?” McCoy said.

  Kell did not understand for a moment. How could the [22] doctor know about his family ... ? Then he remembered. Jon Anderson. The real Jon Anderson whose face he now wore also had a mother and a brother, his father dead for years, like Kell’s own.

  He decided to answer truthfully. “I assume they are well. I have not been in contact with them for some time.”

  “Well, it’s time you made some contact. It can feel pretty isolated out here, especially when we face tough times. Staying in touch with home keeps you grounded, reminds you that there’s a galaxy out there beyond the hull of this ship. Will you promise me that you will make that connection soon, consider it doctor’s orders?” McCoy said.

  “Yes, I ... promise,” Kell said.

  “Good. I think it will do you some good. It seems that your friends are worried about you,” McCoy said.

  “Worried? I was not injured,” Kell said.

  “It’s not your physical health that Chief Fuller and the rest of your squad are concerned about. They think you are taking the death of your partner very hard.”

  Kell knew he had revealed something on his face, something the doctor saw.

  “It is very easy to blame yourself when these things happen,” McCoy said.

  Though he did not know Kell’s secret, Kell decided that the doctor was both perceptive and shrewd. He would not underestimate the human. He also decided to keep his answers as truthful as he could.

  “I do not feel that I did everything I could to prevent his death,” Kell said, feeling relieved to speak his shame for the first time.

  [23] “You know, there is someone else who comes in here every time we lose a member of this crew and says the same thing to me. His name is Captain James T. Kirk. Let me tell you what I tell him: You are only human. Sometimes your best and the best anyone could have done has to be good enough. And sometimes we do everything right and people still die. It is not fair, but it is a fact of the life we lead.”

  Kell was silent. He could not risk speaking. If he did, he would tell this human the truth: that he had murdered Benitez as surely as if he had thrown him into the abyss himself. Suddenly, Kell realized that he feared exposure now only because it would prevent him from doing his new duty as he saw it, from serving the principles his friend had believed in so strongly.

  “Ensign Benitez would not want you to spend the rest of your service or your life beating yourself up over his death. He would want you to accomplish what you both set out to accomplish when you first set foot on board this ship,” the doctor said, taking another sip of his own drink. “And if you don’t believe any of what I just told you, remember that there’s another man on this ship who carries that weight on his shoulders. Let him. The captain’s shoulders are big enough,” McCoy said.

  Then the doctor stood up. Kell finished his drink and did the same.

  Putting a hand on Kell’s shoulder, the doctor said, “Now write home and spend some time with your squad. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kell said as he stepped into the corridor.

  * * *
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  [24] West straightened his shoulders and stepped through the doors to the admiral’s office. He felt a twinge in his stomach as he did so but tried to make sure that it did not show in his face.

  The admiral was waiting by the door. He was smiling broadly and holding out his hand, which West shook.

  “It is good to see you back on your feet, son,” Admiral Justman said.

  “Thank you, sir. I feel fine,” he replied.

  Justman studied him for a moment and said, “Your doctor tells me that is not very likely. Apparently, you should still be a little sore while the grafts settle in.”

  “Perhaps a little sore,” West said as he followed the admiral to the conference table by the large window that showed the dramatic view of the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  He felt another twinge as he sat down, and this time he was sure that it showed on his face. The admiral gave him a brief look and a quick smile, but said nothing.

  “Lieutenant West, there is a reason I wanted to talk to you today, besides my desire to thank you once more,” the admiral said. There was a finality in his tone that put West on his guard.

  “I think you have done a wonderful job here, Lieutenant, but I am closing down the project,” Justman said.

  For a moment, West did not respond. He had been expecting this, perhaps not so soon, but he had been expecting it.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you the solution you were looking for,” West said finally.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Lieutenant. [25] Perhaps if I had called you or someone like you sooner, we would not be where we are,” Justman said.

  “I don’t think that is true,” West said. “The Klingons have been on this course for twenty-five years, since the Battle of Donatu V.”

  Justman nodded, “You may be right, Lieutenant. I wish to God it were not true, but I think you are right.”

  Then Justman lifted up a data padd and said, “You have done Starfleet and me personally a great service. I think it’s time we paid you back. On this padd is your official release from your current position, a commendation for bravery, and my authorization for your post on a starship, effective immediately,” Justman said.