Chapter Five

HARNA KARISH STOOD EXPECTANTLY near the entryway into the shelter. It was good to breathe air again that was almost like home, hot, dry. His nostrils distended, as if searching for prey. In front of him the red sun hovered in the sky like a burning ember in a sea of burnished brass.

Evidence of battle littered the ground: craters dotted the area, torn fragments of cloth, a shattered helmet, twisted bits of unidentifiable metal, a scattering of brass cylinders which he realized were ancient cartridge casings. . . . Wonderful, fighting was still good here, close and direct. On a rock wall he saw several curious forms. Drawing closer he realized that they were human skeletons, the bones held in place by stained and tattered remnants of uniforms. The bodies had obviously been hung from the wall as trophies or warnings. He nodded approvingly.

Karish’s attention shifted as a grating sound echoed in the narrow canyon. Looking over his shoulder he saw, to his surprise, that a field of boulders seemed to be moving. They rolled back smoothly, one of the larger boulders apparently splitting down the middle. Behind the boulder a dark cavern appeared.

Several dozen Tarn emerged and he looked at them in open amazement. All were wearing the dark green uniforms, black leather crosshatching, and brown sash of their Imperial Era, the ruling circle of which had fallen from power following the disgraceful treaty agreement with the Federation two hundred years ago.

The warriors spread out, ancient assault weapons held at the ready. They approached warily, carefully scanning the ground. One of them stopped for a moment, bending over to probe the soil with his bayonet. He finally stood and looked back into the cavern.

“It is clear.”

A lone warrior now appeared, his brown sash worn from left shoulder to right, the mark of a clan leader, with a gray circle in the middle of the sash. Within the circle was a gold embossed talon, claws extended.

The circle of the gold talon, Karish realized. The warrior drew closer and stopped before Karish. At his approach, he warily stepped to one side so that his shadow would not touch Karish. For a brief instant he moved to exhale, to offer greeting, but was halted in his attempt as Karish flinched slightly, stepping back in refusal. The warrior altered his approach, falling to his knees with head lowered in the dust.

“The circle is broken,” the warrior hissed. “Our ancestors, lost in the hell of forgotten names, beg for redemption. Do unto us as you will.”

Karish stood silently, looking down. He drew the ceremonial dagger from his belt and held it above the warrior’s head, paused, and then, with a lightning-like swing of his arm, slashed the nape of the neck of the warrior kneeling before him. A trickle of blood rose to the wound, and a sigh drifted up from the other warriors. The ceremonial kill had just been performed, removing for Karish the onus of speaking to one of a circle which was without honor. For the moment it was as if Karish were speaking to someone who was already dead.

The kneeling Tarn stood up.

“I, Gadin, commander of those of the Rashasa, of the Broken Circle, greet you who are still of the circles of the chosen.”

“Karish,” he said in reply, for his clan markings were evident and to explain them further was to imply equality between their clans.

“Your ship, if I might ask?” Gadin replied.

Karish was silent. How to answer this? To his amazement, Picard had opened the initial contact to this circle without any indication that they were a Federation ship. He had allowed Karish full discretion on that point. The only image Gadin had seen on his primitive video screen was that of Karish, who had simply announced that he was in orbit above the planet and planned to beam down.

Strange, very strange, Karish realized. With the power on board the Enterprise Picard could have annihilated this dishonored circle in a matter of seconds, and yet he had refrained. Of course, there was the issue of war. In spite of his statements regarding the outcast nature of Gadin’s circle, their annihilation would have been a direct provocation for war. Was this Picard’s sole motivation for restraint? Could he even make such a decision without first consulting a higher authority before proceeding with an attack?

Perhaps that was what was really going on. Picard was waiting for a response from his Starfleet Headquarters. He would want backup, additional ships. There was another lingering thought as well. Could it not be that Picard knew about the existence of Torgu-Va from the very beginning and that the “accidental” find was a sham? If so, this was nothing more than an elaborate ruse, the finding of a provocation to launch a war which would not cause dissent within the Federation ranks. The rescue and vindication of the humans on Torgu-Va would be the rallying point for an all-out attack.

Yet, why was he allowed to send a message to his own command? Or was Picard’s assurance of a secured channel a lie as well? If so, then Picard most certainly must know what the response to that signal would be.

It was a game within games, Karish realized. Wonderful—such intricacies were the joy of the Tarn.

Karish realized that he had not replied to Gadin’s question.

“Inside,” Karish finally said, motioning to the entry to the tunnel.

Gadin bowed. “Of course. They might have patrols beneath us even now.”

Gadin snapped an order, the squad deploying around them. Entering the tunnel, Karish followed the lead of Gadin as they wove their way through a series of defensive barriers, guard posts, and concealed traps.

An open gateway to their right caused Karish to pause. To his amazement, he saw a huge open cavern. Lined up inside were a dozen aircraft, ancient machines of wings and propellers.

“Made by our own hands,” Gadin announced proudly. “We started with nothing but the material salvaged from our landing craft. Four hundred and eight survivors, barely enough food to last thirty days. The first years were the Times of Struggle: digging shelters, raising food, learning the old arts as revealed in our stored computer records. We suspected a Federation ship had crashed nearby but it took years to find the animal scum. Then the War for the Redemption of the Circle began. For once we confirmed they still lived, we knew our victory was not complete, and thus . . .”

His words trailed off, for it was far too bitter to admit that they had lost a ship without achieving total victory.

“Go on.”

“First it was with knives, bows, primitive single-shot powder weapons, and two phaser guns which still held their charges. From there, down through the years, we made rifles that could repeat shots, artillery, radio, radar, aircraft, missiles, armored vehicles, short-range rockets, and now, now you have arrived at our moment of triumph. Yesterday we succeed in unleashing our first atomic weapons, destroying one of their cities. Even now we are searching for their underground capital. Once that is shattered the war will be won.”

It was evident that Gadin was reciting their accomplishments with the hope of gaining approval.

“Yes, I saw that,” Karish said.

“And you were pleased?” Gadin asked hopefully. “We slaughtered thousands. Even now we are finishing preparations for two more strikes.”

Karish said nothing. How bad the timing of all of this. Another half-year and this circle would have completed its war in triumph. He stepped into the cave that served as a hangar bay. Slowly he walked down the line of aircraft, putting a hand out to touch the tapered aluminum wings, pausing to smell the oil, gasoline, and dripping hydraulic fluid.

An armorer, at the sight of Karish approaching, froze in place, head lowered. Karish ignored him, slowly walking around the plane. It was something of legend, not used in half a hundred generations; never had he seen one before. He scrambled up on the wing, peering into the open cockpit. The instruments were primitive, nothing computerized at all, an old-fashioned ball floating in a curved tube to indicate pitch, another one to show artificial horizon and a compass, that was it.

He looked back down at Gadin.

“Now we have this,” Gadin exclaimed, his pride evident, his tone one of an underling seeking approval.

“And the humans, the Federation?”

“They have them too. They call theirs a Mustang. I believe it’s the name of an ancient warrior god. We are completing our first jet and, within the year, we will have a missile that can loft a small atomic weapon into orbit.”

“And you did this from nothing?” Karish asked.

“Our honor is at stake, my lord, our desire to restore our circle by any way that we can.”

“You could have killed yourselves,” Karish replied coldly.

Gadin lowered his eyes. “Yes, my lord. But then, if we had done that, our enemies on this world would still be alive to spit upon our rotting hides.”

Karish looked down in open surprise. There had been stories before of circles that had been dishonored; the tale of the Thirty Outcasts was a famous ancient play. Their lord had been dishonored by a courtier at the Imperial Palace. He had failed to gain revenge when he had attacked the courtier in front of the emperor and was forced to commit suicide. His circle of warriors, outcasts, had wandered for years, placed under an Imperial Injunction not to seek revenge. Yet there was the higher calling. After twelve long years of waiting, the courtier had returned to the Imperial Palace to receive an award. The Thirty infiltrated the palace, disguised as holy ones. And in the middle of the ceremony they fell upon the courtier and killed him, then turned their knives upon themselves in atonement for breaking the Imperial law. Thus, honor was restored in all ways.

Yet these warriors had waged war for over two hundred years. He stepped off from the plane’s wing and continued down the length of the hangar, passing larger planes obviously intended for the dropping of primitive explosive-filled bombs and yet others which he realized were for the transporting of warriors who would jump upon their target.

He heard the tramping of feet and, looking back down the length of the cavern, saw a line of warriors marching in, burdened with heavy packs and weapons, wearing uniforms that would blend with the desert landscape.

“A team to be dropped near where we suspect an enemy city to be hidden. If they discover it, we’ll place our next atomic weapon there to collapse the city. The setting and detonation of a bomb is the highest honor.”

“And the ones who set it die?”

“But of course, they are Tacig, the Chosen Ones of Glory.”

“You speak as if your circle had honor, for only a circle that is complete may name its warriors Tacig.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but in all these years there has been nothing.”

Gadin hesitated, head lowered again.

“Go on.”

“My lord, we wondered if all the circles had been defeated and if, perhaps, we were the only ones left.”

“How could you imagine that?” Karish snapped angrily.

“Forgive me, lord, but there was never an answer. We had, at least, destroyed their ship, the hated Verdun. We lost our ship in the exchange, our ancestors taking refuge on this planet. We thought there would be some reply to our last broadcast announcing the kill . . . but there was nothing.”

He spat out the last words with bitterness. Karish remained silent.

“Then we stumbled upon them. When we took their first patrol, and realized that they were indeed survivors of the Verdun, we thought our victory was tainted and that we had been abandoned for not fulfilling our mission, that we were unclean.”

Gadin stopped speaking, his gaze unfocused as if he himself had discovered the hated foe.

“And then,” he whispered, and there was a moment of hesitation.

“Out with it,” Karish snapped, half suspecting what was to come.

Gadin looked up at him, eyes flaming.

“And then, my lord, some came to think that it was we who were the unbroken circle and that all the other circles were the ones who were broken. Across the generations we have fought, waiting with dread but also with hope that there would someday be a sign that we were remembered.”

Karish said nothing.

“Tell me, my lord, why do you come now, now when victory is so close? If you arrived but a year later we could have stood with heads held high, proclaiming our mission to be complete and our circle purified.”

“Because we came, that is answer enough.”

“Is it? Where is your ship, my lord?”

Karish hesitated for the briefest of moments and instantly realized that he had made a mistake. A subtle difference now showed in Gadin, as he raised his head level to look into Karish’s eyes.

“There is much to talk about,” Karish said, brushing the look aside. “In private.”

Gadin said nothing.

With a hiss, Karish uttered with clenched teeth, “I will be obeyed.”

The bark of command caused Gadin to finally lower his head, but only for a moment. As he looked up again Karish could see the dark suspicion in his eyes, the slight prickling of the spikes down the back of his head.

“For now, then,” Gadin replied, waiting several seconds before adding with a hint of mockery, “my lord.”

“My commander,” a voice interrupted.

Gadin turned. A warrior wearing the star of a commander of a hundred on his breast stood at attention behind him.

“Go on,” Gadin snapped.

“My commander. The Eighth Company of the Hadarish Command reports that they have located a tunnel which may be the one we have been looking for, the primary entrance into their main city.”

“What?”

“Yes, my lord,” the ensign announced, eyes bright with passion. “The commander of the Eighth just radioed in. One of his hidden surveillance posts saw two humans appear out in the open, as if materializing out of thin air, then disappear into what we suspected was an access tunnel. They have yet to reappear. Our team deployed a seismic probe and definitely picked up indicators of underground air pumps in operation. We might be on to a major site.”

“Was the patrol seen?”

“The Hadarish are the best, my lord. They infiltrated the area weeks ago without being seen. The Feds don’t know they are there.”

“Let me see!”

Gadin followed the officer over to a room carved into the side of the hangar cavern. Karish, ignored for the moment except for several watchful guards, slowly followed him. One guard made as if to stop him but Karish cast him a sharp gaze and he lowered his eyes. Karish stepped into the room, dimly lit by a single incandescent lamp suspended from the ceiling. Gadin was leaning over a map table, the young officer pointing out a location.

Karish said nothing. Riker and Eardman had been spotted beaming down, that was obvious. Did Picard fail to do a proper scan of the site or were the Hadarish so well concealed that they had not been detected?

Gadin whispered some commands to those gathered around him, then looked back at Karish, motioning for him to step out of the room. Karish remained for several seconds as if to convey that if he was leaving it was by his own volition rather than by Gadin’s command, then withdrew.

Gadin finally stepped out and with a wave of his hand dismissed the guards so that the two were alone.

“What do you know of these humans that appeared? It sounds like they were beamed down the same as you.”

“What do you intend to do?” Karish replied.

“Do you know who these humans are? Are they from a Federation starship?” Gadin asked.

Karish sighed. He had not dreamed that his explanation of what was happening would take a track where he was on the defensive.

“Yes, I know of them. They are with the Federation.”

A low rattling hiss escaped Gadin.

“And are you?” he snarled. “I have asked you twice about your ship and twice you have evaded my question.”

“You forget your place in this universe, Gadin,” Karish snarled.

He stared straight at the Tarn commander, but this time Gadin did not lower his eyes.

“Are you with these humans? I find it a singular coincidence that both of you arrive within minutes of each other.”

“No!” Karish barked. “How dare you even imply such a dishonor.”

“So why do both of you arrive at the same time?”

Even as they spoke, Karish noticed a sudden increase in activity in the hangar. Ground crews came bursting out of side corridors; an ancient truck, powered by internal combustion, rumbled past, stopping in front of a four-engine plane. What looked like electrical cables were run out from the truck and hooked into the plane. Within seconds one of the four engines on the plane coughed, propeller turning, then kicked over, the propeller blurring, engine howling. The truck was disconnected and then rolled onto the next plane as the other three engines on the first plane spun to life, filling the cavern with a thunderous roar.

Pilots, looking to Karish like actors from an ancient play or holostory, sprinted across the cavern, ground crews helping them to scramble up ladders into their planes.

“There is so much to explain,” Karish finally replied. “So much to understand of all that was and now is.”

“Then tell me!”

Karish briefly tried to explain all that had transpired, bending the information to make it seem as if he were an envoy sent to deal with the Federation, thus explaining why he was aboard their ship.

Gadin looked at him with open suspicion.

“And this Federation ship commander. He claims he sends his people down to the Federation on this planet ordering them to stop fighting?”

“He wants an end to the fighting.”

“And do you believe it?”

Karish hesitated. “It seems doubtful.”

Gadin said nothing, staring at Karish. Finally he stirred. “Victory is within our grasp. Our honor restored. And now you are here, you of the Imperial Circle that abandoned us.”

“Ancestors of the circle, not I.”

“And what will you do, you of the Royal Circle?”

“What are you planning here?” Karish asked.

Gadin turned and went back to his staff, bent over, and talked softly with one of the radio operators. He waited for several minutes, then came back to Karish. All around them the pace of activity increased, columns of troops marching out of what Karish suspected were barrack areas, warriors bent over with heavy loads. There was expectancy in the air, the scent of the hunt, of the kill, and it stirred Karish.

“If your words are true, then this human commander sent his envoys down to meet with their leader, the one called Murat.”

“That can be assumed,” Karish said cautiously.

“Then now, for the first time, we truly know which of the compounds is their headquarters, a goal we have sought for years. In their arrogant stupidity they have revealed it to us.”

Karish did not stir. He had no loyalty to the Federation, but still, he was bothered by this mistake of beaming Riker and Eardman down and thus revealing the location of the main city.

“I’ve ordered a strike with explosives and gas. It will cover the lifting of assault troops in to support the Hadarish unit. We’ve bombed the area before, because we suspected that there might be a city there, so another strike will not give us away. The bombs will not do much damage, the city is buried deep, but they will serve as a diversion.

“I’m going with the assault force. If we have indeed found the entry to their main city we will gain the entrance, secure it, then prepare for the final strike. Do you wish to see how the Circle of the Golden Talon fights?”

Karish could not help but notice that Gadin referred to his command as a circle and not as one that was broken.

It was a challenge offer. Karish nodded an agreement.

As if noticing for the first time, Gadin looked down at Karish’s chest. There, tucked under his sash but with the edge protruding, was a communicator tab with the emblem of the Federation on it which could also serve as a locator. Karish looked down and saw it as well.

Without comment Karish removed it, let it drop to the floor of the hangar, and quickly ground it under his heel. He silently cursed. Hopefully Gadin had not clearly seen the emblem.

“Wait here then,” Gadin replied, almost as if giving an order. He retreated back into his command center. All was now a mad bustle of activity around Karish. The first planes were taxiing out. The sound was deafening, the air so thick with exhaust fumes that he thought he would get sick. A column of troops marched past him, filing up the back ramp into a plane; more columns followed.

Gadin, followed by his staff, came back out of the command room. One of the guards approached Karish, bearing an extra set of battle gear, and set it down by Karish’s feet. Karish looked at it in confusion.

“Are you going with us or not?” Gadin asked, the challenge in his voice evident.

“Of course!” Karish snapped. “This equipment is primitive. Show me its use.”

Gadin motioned to the guard, who looked at Karish in surprise. The guard unrolled a battle jumpsuit, unzipped it, and handed it to Karish, who slipped it on and zipped it up. The fabric was heavy, close-fitting. Feeling the weave, he noticed that it felt slightly oily, and realized a moment later that it was designed to dissipate infrared signature so that one blended into the background. The color was red-hued, to match the terrain. The guard now helped him with his helmet and camouflage hood; next came the goggles, then belt, crosshatched webbing, canteens, a pouch of fragmentation grenades and flares. A heavy pack was strapped to his back. The guard hooked the webbing over Karish’s shoulders.

“This is the pull ring,” the guard said, taking Karish’s hand and placing it over the steel ring.

“Pull ring?”

“For the parachute. Clip it onto the trail wire when you form up to jump.”

“Parachute?” Karish asked after waiting for several seconds to make sure that his voice was under control.

“We’re jumping, of course,” the guard said, looking straight into Karish’s eyes for a reaction. Karish said nothing.

More gear was strapped on: an ancient sidearm, an assault gun strapped across his chest, and finally another pouch, which, if its weight was any indication, carried yet more munitions.

“That’s it,” the guard announced. “Move, they’re waiting for us.”

The floor of the cavern was empty except for the dozen four-engine planes lining up, engines howling. Staggering under his burden, Karish struggled to the ramp of the plane, the guard having to help him up. An empty bucket seat was beside Gadin, who motioned for him to sit by his side. As he sat down the plane lurched, turning. Karish almost fell out of his seat and he heard several barks of amusement. Furious, Karish looked around, and heads were lowered.

“My warriors are amused by you,” Gadin announced.

“I am not here to be an object of amusement,” Karish snapped angrily.

The plane lurched again. Engines howling, it staggered forward, picking up speed, the vibration and lurching bounces blurring his vision.

“They want to see how a warrior of your circle fights.”

“I know how to fight.”

“Like this? In the manner in which we have fought for hundreds of years, forgotten by the other circles? Tell me, Karish, how do you fight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you fight like us? Can you fall from the sky as we do? Can you crawl down one of their filthy tunnels with nothing more than a knife in your hand, knowing they wait for you around the next bend? Can you spot their traps, weave through their underground mazes? Have you ever had a tunnel blow on you, or found a comrade nailed to a tunnel wall with his throat slit? Can you survive those things, Karish?”

The plane lifted off, then banked sharply, rolling up on its starboard side so that Karish was hanging by his seat belt, looking straight down at the warriors strapped in on the port side.

The plane flipped over onto its port side and then finally leveled out. As it slowly climbed it bounced violently, soaring up and down on the hot air thermals created by the scorching late-afternoon heat.

The taunt in Gadin’s voice was clear, but for the moment Karish was forced to struggle with the fear that the violent maneuvers of the plane might make him sick, a humiliation that would be unbearable.

Gadin watched him casually.

“You ask how the Federation personnel arrived at the same time.”

“I was waiting for the answer, the answer to many questions.”

Karish began to explain. There was no sense in hiding the truth; Gadin would find out soon enough, and to plead mere coincidence would lower his position even further when the truth was revealed. Gadin listened, saying nothing. Karish stayed focused on him in order to distract his mind from the violent rolling ride and the cold fearful anticipation of what was to come.

A yellow light suddenly blinked from the ceiling above Gadin.

“More later,” Gadin announced as the warriors around them struggled to their feet.

Karish followed Gadin’s lead, fumbling with his drogue line clip until Gadin finally reached around and snapped the hook onto the wire trailing overhead.

The back doors of the plane parted; a hot howling wind swirled around Karish. The plane nosed over, blue red sky filling the opening before him. With a stomach-lurching bounce the plane leveled out and Karish saw dark canyon walls to either side of the aircraft.

A klaxon boomed, startling Karish.

“Ready!” Gadin roared. “Karish, just run for the door when I give the word!”

Karish swallowed hard, staring straight ahead. The rim of the canyon was racing past to either side, the clearance so close that he thought the wings would touch.

The thumping boom of the klaxon stopped abruptly.

“Go, go, go!” Gadin roared.

Karish froze for an instant. He felt a hand shove violently against his back. From the corner of his eye he saw that the warrior at his side was already out the door, disappearing.

Taking a deep breath, he started forward; better to die than to suffer the humiliation of cowardice.

Lying on his side, he wasn’t sure what to do next. He felt rough hands grab him by the shoulders, unsnapping the harness. Gadin pulled him to his feet.

“Injured?”

Karish shook his head. Looking around, he saw that the second wave was already touching down. Within seconds they had started to form. Gadin motioned for Karish to follow.

“We know this canyon is secure from their observation. The planes will form in with the bombers, pass over the target, then return to base. Meanwhile, we link up with the commander of Eighth Company, try to gain the entrance, and see if this is just an outpost or the main access into the city.”

“How?”

“We raid it.” Gadin slapped the assault gun strapped to Karish’s chest. “That’s why you brought this along.”

Gadin broke into a loping trot, units forming up behind him, skirmishers deployed forward, dodging from rock to rock as they moved. The warriors moved with a steady catlike ease, weapons at the ready, heads turning back and forth as if scanning every inch of ground as they passed. Karish struggled to keep up.

He suddenly felt a rumble pass through the soles of his feet. Bits of dust swirled up from the ground, a few small rocks came sliding down from the canyon wall to his left. He looked over at Gadin.

“The air attack on the suspected city.”

“Gadin, something seems out of the ordinary here.”

“What?”

“You are the commander of all forces here?”

“Yes.”

“Then why lead a raid like this? Surely there are lower ranks just as capable.”

“The fact that this Federation commander beamed his people down here is the clue we have sought for years. Perhaps it is where their main city is located. Tell me, these Federation personnel, did they beam down to meet Murat?”

Karish wanted to reply but for some reason felt he could not. He felt torn by the requirements of Picard, of his own circle, and now of this warrior of a broken circle.

“How can you not already know where their command center is? Surely a city is easy to find?”

Gadin looked over at him, astonished.

A skirmisher forward held his hand up and the group instantly froze, crouching down. Gadin raised a clenched fist, then extended it palm outward. The warriors around him went to ground. Karish followed Gadin’s lead, lying down beside him.

“You understand nothing of this war, do you?” Gadin whispered.

“Yes, that you have fought them for two hundred years.”

“No, the tactics, the challenge.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Look. We hold the surface. This world, I am told, is not too unlike the homeworld. For the humans of the Federation it is all but uninhabitable. As soon as they arrived they burrowed underground to escape the heat while we stayed, for the most part, on the surface. When we finally made contact the paradigm had already been set.

“Through all the long years of battle they have dug like vermin beneath the soil. Always digging, crawling, burrowing.” He spat the words out with distaste. “As quickly as we find one nest and exterminate it, there are two more dug. Now there are thousands of miles of tunnels beneath us. They pop up in the darkness, often under our very feet to kill. Only forty days ago they raided the very command center where you beamed down—you saw the litter of that fight. They destroyed three planes and almost penetrated to the assembly area for our nuclear weapons before we destroyed them. The fight was good. I personally cut the throats of two of them.”

Gadin grunted with pleasure at the memory.

“We, in turn, fight to dig them out. We search for airholes, trapdoors, places where they have harvested food. We now look for infrared signatures of exhaust vents, traces of chemicals from their manufacturing. When we find these clues we try to dig them out.

“We have found smaller cities, for they have dispersed over the years, but never the core of the hive, the nest where Murat and those closest to him live. That is the heart and, by all the gods, if we have found it I will cut it out and stop its beating.

“Now that we have atomic capabilities, if this is indeed their capital, we will set our next bomb here and collapse it with the blasts. It will be glorious.”

While listening to Gadin, Karish watched as the skirmisher at the head of the column crept forward and then stopped.

“There might be something ahead,” Gadin whispered. “Stay alert.”

Two more skirmishers moved to either side of the first one, weapons raised. The first warrior seemed to grab hold of the ground and then pulled it back. A rattle of firing broke out, startling Karish. An instant later the skirmisher was flung backward by an explosion. Karish had seen death in many forms but never from primitive explosive powder. The skirmisher’s body seemed to just disintegrate.

“Vermin, damn vermin!” Gadin snarled.

“I thought you said this place was secured?” Karish cried.

“Nothing is secure against these animals,” Gadin shouted. He barked out a series of unintelligible commands. Karish looked around in confusion but the warriors around him seemed to understand what was expected. There was a flash of fire forward. A curious whistling sound clipped past Karish. He raised himself up on his elbows and then saw a plume of dirt erupt by his side.

“Down, you damn fool,” Gadin cried. He turned away from Karish, grabbing what looked to be a microphone from an ancient radio off the back of a warrior who had been following them. Gadin started to shout into it.

Surprised, Karish realized that someone was actually shooting at him. It was hard to grasp. There was no trace of light, no high-pitched crackle of a phaser, just the curious whistle, puffs of dirt and shards of shattered rock. It was something straight out of ancient times and, rather than be afraid, Karish felt a curious thrill. Unclipping his assault gun, he looked at it for a second, somehow instinctively knowing that pulling back the handle on the side of the weapon would chamber a round. He heard the reassuring click and, rising up, he shouldered his weapon and pointed it up toward a canyon wall where he had seen a sparkle of light and puffs of smoke.

“Don’t,” Gadin snapped. “You don’t know who to shoot at. Just stay still.”

An explosion erupted from the side of a canyon wall, followed a split second later by a deafening roar behind Karish. Warriors around him raised their guns and started to shoot at the concealed artillery position. Without bothering to ask Gadin’s permission, Karish sighted his weapon, squeezed the trigger, and held it. He was startled by the violent recoil, the stuttering burst of fire erupting from his gun. A couple of seconds later the gun fell silent. Surprised, he removed it from his shoulder, burning his fingertips on the barrel. What was wrong?

“Fool, fire single shots!” Gadin shouted. Grabbing Karish’s gun, he tore the clip off, fished in his own ammunition pouch for a replacement, slammed it in, and passed it back. Karish grunted with approval as the gun was again in his hands. Finding it hard to shoot lying down, he got up on one knee, ignoring Gadin’s angry warning. Taking careful aim, he gently brushed the trigger, and the gun recoiled. He released, then touched it again.

The power was intoxicating. Roaring with delight, he continued to shoot, ignoring the whistle of bullets, the shriek of another incoming round.

Gadin rose up on both knees, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Air strike coming!” he roared. “Pull back! Pull back!”

Warriors around Karish got up, still firing, and started to fall back, two of them stopping to drag off the dead body of the warrior in front of Karish.

Ahead, the two surviving skirmishers got up and ran, dodging and weaving. An explosion erupted under one, flinging him into the air.

Before he even understood what he was doing Karish was up, racing forward. Plumes of dirt erupted around him. Crouching low, he slid in beside the wounded soldier, who was clutching the stump of his leg, shrieking in agony. Karish grabbed him around the waist, hoisted him up over his shoulder, and, turning, staggered back.

Gadin was on his feet, shouting something, but in the thunder of battle Karish couldn’t hear. Looking up, he saw a plane winging its way up the valley, twisting and turning through the narrow pass.

Gadin extended both hands, motioning for Karish to get down. Karish fell to the ground, and then to his own amazement he actually shielded the injured warrior with his body. The plane screamed overhead, twin dark cylinders detaching from its belly. The cylinders tumbled from the heavens, spinning end over end, dropping from the sky with grace. A second later a thumping whoosh swept over Karish, followed an instant later by a searing wall of heat.

The fire of the flaming napalm engulfed the valley floor. Another plane shot over, this one at a right angle to the canyon, the cylinders of napalm slamming into the wall where the concealed gun positions were located. Fire splayed out in every direction and Karish curled up, feeling the heat wash over him.

He felt someone grab him by the shoulders, pulling him up. It was Gadin.

“Come on! Gas is next!”

Together they helped to drag the wounded soldier back. Two more warriors came up, one of them wrapping a tourniquet around his leg. Clearing back around a turn in the canyon, Karish finally let go of the soldier, who looked up at him with shock-glazed eyes and then nodded a thanks.

Karish collapsed against the side of a boulder, heart racing. He understood now the calculated side of his action. He had been held in disdain until he could prove himself; saving the soldier was the necessary move to win that. But there was something more. He wanted to do it; to seek risk beyond the sterile, joyless, and tedious realities of life in court. This was a harsh reality undreamed of, and he wanted to grab hold of it with both hands and embrace the danger as if it were an illicit lover.

Gadin was looking at him warily.

“Why?”

“Why not?” Karish snapped back. “A warrior comrade was hurt. He could not be left.”

“My comrade, my circle, not yours.”

“Then why did you not go forward yourself to rescue him?” Karish replied coldly.

“Because he will die despite your vain act of heroism.” Gadin hissed and nodded to where the warrior lay, shuddering spasmodically. Comrades around him were kneeling, looking one to the other.

“Plasma? You have that?” Karish asked. “A laser scalpel could open that wound in seconds and then clip off the bleeding.”

“Your circle, not mine,” Gadin whispered coldly. “Besides, there’s no room for one-legged warriors on this world.”

One of the wounded soldier’s comrades lowered his head and whispered into his friend’s ear. There was a feeble nod. The circle around him lowered their heads, each of them placing a hand on the soldier’s chest.

The prayer for the dead of a circle, Karish realized. The warrior who had whispered something to his friend moved quickly, hand drawing dagger. Even as he did so the wounded soldier bared his throat and it was over in a second. The one who had performed the release of the soul closed his friend’s eyes. The circle stood up and started to walk away, heads lowered.

Karish gazed at the body.

“At least you let him die within the circle of comrades rather than burn to death,” Gadin finally said. “You have won the honor of their circle for that act.”

Karish said nothing. Another plane came in, shrieking low overhead, banking sharply as it turned up the valley. The sound of the explosion was different, a soft crump, and he saw streamers of green rise up over the edge of the canyon wall, then settle back down.

“Gas?” Karish asked.

“Won’t do much good. They’re long gone, but we might catch someone.”

“Shouldn’t we have masks on?”

Gadin barked with amusement. “The wind is at your back, warrior. It will go the other way.”

Karish heard the low thump of the gas bombs going off as two more planes winged in. The warriors around him were scattered into small groups, warily gazing at the sides of the canyon walls. Some were already cleaning their weapons, a few were eating or taking a drink. Karish suddenly realized that he was suffering from a burning thirst. Unclipping his canteen, he started to take a long drink but paused as a sidelong glance from Gadin told him to conserve. Taking but a short sip, he clipped the canteen back to his belt.

“You haven’t answered one of my questions.”

“And what is that?” Gadin asked.

“Why did you come up here? This is not a job for a commander.”

Gadin grunted, staring straight at Karish.

“I wanted to see if your circle had the stomach to fight.”

Karish felt as if he should be insulted, but he knew better. He stared straight at Gadin, realizing that the warriors around them had been listening to their conversation.

“For my circle I thank you for granting Jarah the right to die within his circle,” Gadin said, and Karish heard grunts of approval from those gathered around them.

“He died as one of a true circle, I shall honor his memory,” Karish replied formally.

Instantly, he could sense the change around him. The wall was down. His statement carried with it the full understanding that he of the Royal Circle had passed judgment and had found these warriors to be pure . . . they were not outcasts.

One of the warriors stepped forward and raised his hand. Karish saw blood on his fingertips. It was the one who had helped his comrade to pass to the realm of ancestors. The fingertips brushed against Karish’s forehead.

“Now you bear the blood of Jarah,” the warrior announced. Karish felt a cold delicious thrill of emotion. He was now formally a part of their circle. Here was life as it was meant to be.

Drawing the bayonet out from his belt he closed his eyes, bracing for the shock, and slit his wrist open. Gasps of wonder erupted around him. He held his wrist up and felt fingers touching the blood. He opened his eyes and there was Gadin, looking down, nodding with approval. Gadin’s fingertips were red and with a dramatic flourish he wiped them across his own forehead.

“Time to move,” Gadin announced. “Masks on.”

The warriors around him took off their helmets and camouflage hoods, pulled gas masks out of pouches and slipped them on. Karish followed suit, not embarrassed when Gadin checked the fit and then tightened a strap.

“Let us go kill Federation vermin and have our revenge,” Gadin announced.

Growls of approval echoed around Karish and his heart froze. For a brief moment he had forgotten why he was here. What was it that Gadin expected? Was he to go with them, to hunt and to kill, perhaps to find the city with Riker and Eardman inside? If it was found, surely the next atomic weapon would be used. Then what?

He thought of the promise extracted by Picard, and beyond that, the promise made to the Council of Circles before departing on this mission. The warriors started to file past him, weapons at the ready. He cursed himself, allowing his emotions to get swept away by the thrill of the moment, the return of the hunt and the scent of the impending kill. Those who had gathered around Jarah motioned for Karish to fall in with their squad.

Yet here was a call to war as it once was in the glorious past. Here he could be alive, part of a circle that was not dishonored, perhaps the only circle still with honor as he had always dreamed. And for the moment he forgot all . . . except for the joy of the hunt and the kill.