Star Trek Into Darkness Page 0,47
. He sucked his teeth and whispered to Spock.
“This isn’t going to work.”
The science officer murmured a reply. “You don’t know what she’s doing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kirk hissed. “Whatever it is, it isn’t going to work.”
“It may . . . whatever it is. And if you interrupt her now, you will not only incur the wrath of the Klingons, but that of Lieutenant Uhura as well.”
“What if they just decide to shoot her?” It was maddening, Kirk felt, to only be able to listen to what was taking place outside, but he had no choice. If he, Spock, and the others showed themselves at the wrong moment, the Klingons might react instinctively. The first thing they would do is shoot the communications officer. On the other hand, if the four men charged the local patrol, she was likely to end up dead anyway.
As he scrambled to unpack their sidearms, he found he was not as much worried about the existence of a “wrong” moment as he was the absence of anything resembling a right one.
“I am here to help you. Who’s in charge?” Uhura demanded in Klingon so guttural it hurt her throat. But it had the intended effect. Instead of immediately and wordlessly attacking, which would not have been out of keeping with local procedure, the officer who stepped forward challenged her only with speech.
“Silence, human!” declared the foremost of the armored, helmeted troops. “ You will answer my questions.”
She met his concealed gaze unflinchingly. Showing uncertainty now, or lack of resolve, could be fatal.
While the captain of the Enterprise was cogitating fruitlessly, his communications specialist continued to confront the Klingon officer. When the Klingon tried to propound a traditional intimidating posture by leaning over her, she simply took a step back and rose on her toes. Exasperated, the Klingon was compelled to resort once again to mere words.
“How do you know our language?”
Uhura replied immediately, without missing a beat. “We K’normians are famous as traders. Knowing the language of others is my business.”
Decidedly un-martial looks were exchanged by the surrounding soldiers. One of them made a barely audible comment that generated unmistakable amusement among his immediate companions. At a withering glance from their commander, they went stone silent. He returned his gaze to the lone visitor, his tone slightly less inquisitorial than before.
“Your presence here is not authorized. What could possibly cause you to take the risk of making an unauthorized landing?”
Uhura’s appropriately curt response was emphasized by a suitably severe accompanying gesture. “With respect: There is a terrorist hiding in these ruins. He has killed many of our people. The reward for his capture is substantial: worth even the risk of landing on Qo’noS. We intend to collect it.”
The Klingon commander pondered her explanation. Slowly, he removed his helmet. It was then that she could see that he was smiling. When he spoke again, his tone was suspicious, his expression accusatory.
“Why should I care about humans killing humans? Why should any Klingon?”
Uhura didn’t hesitate. “Because you care about honor. And this man has none.”
From inside the grounded trading vessel, Kirk could only watch. She can’t keep playing this game forever, he thought in frustration.
“You say you come to gain a reward,” the Klingon commander spat back at Uhura. “There is no honor in that, either.” Turning, he spoke to the nearest soldiers. “We must find out how she came to be here. Her explanation may be truthful, but no matter how powerful the motivation, no human should be in this place.” Abruptly, he reached out with one hand and grabbed her face, his fingers digging deeply into the flesh. “Reward or honor, it matters not. You should not be on our world.” With his right hand he reached down to draw a knife from his ankle sheath.
It was at that moment that a succession of killing blasts tore into the tightly packed squad of soldiers, dropping one after another. While Kirk couldn’t see who or what had unleashed the surprise barrage, he was not one to look a gift phaser in the muzzle—besides which, the issue had now been forced. He charged out the ship’s open portal while firing as fast as he could take aim.
Out of the crushed pillars and structural ruination off to his right came a hooded humanoid figure. It was firing two weapons: one a large handheld, the other—the other was designed to be mounted on a tripod and manipulated by two or more fighters. It was long and heavy and ought not