Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless by John M. Ford Read Free Book Online

without touching it.
    Vrenn took the package, held it as tightly as he could without wrinkling it. “This is…an honorable House,” he said, and looked up, but of course sunlight and clouds clothed the stars.
    Then the crowd parted, and Vrenn and Tirian went to the flier; the Transporteer touched controls on a wrist device, and the door opened and stairs swung down. Tirian gestured, and Vrenn went aboard.
    Vrenn had seen pictures and tapes of ships’ interiors, but he was not at all ready for this. He was in a tunnel, barely wider than his shoulders and not much higher than his head, lined with equipment of metal and plastic and rubber, alive with small lights and noises.
    “Go on forward,” Tirian said, turning his wide shoulders to follow. Vrenn emerged into a slightly larger space, fronted with thick tinted glass. There were two large padded chairs, each caged by equipment. Small displays flickered, and ducted air rushed by.
    Tirian said, “You’re left seat. That’s—”
    “Gunner’s seat,” Vrenn said.
    Tirian clicked his teeth together. “Sure, you’d know that. Can you get belted in?”
    Vrenn climbed into the seat, pulled the parts of the harness together and locked them over his chest.
    “Fine job. Can you get out now?”
    Vrenn slapped at the knob on the harness buckle. Nothing happened. He slapped again, hard enough to hurt. Nothing.
    Tirian reached across. “Turn, then push.” He demonstrated, then relocked the harness. “Anything could bump open those old locks they show on the tapes. This is safer, and just as fast.” He leaned against his chair, tapped his thin, pale fingers on his knee. “Now. I’m your Transporteer. Do you know what that means?”
    Vrenn struggled with himself. Could this really be a servitor? Or was Vrenn’s new status not what he had believed? He looked at Tirian, who waited, no expression on his bony face. Vrenn knew he must answer, and he would not lie. “No. Will you tell me?”
    Tirian nodded gravely. “Of course, zan Vrenn. My duty is to keep you safe, while you are aboard any vehicle. If you travel by particle transporter, I will set the controls, that you may be properly reassembled. It may also become my duty to inform you of desirable or undesirable actions while in transit; as my master you must decide how to act on this information. Is this explanation sufficient?”
    “Yes, Trans—Tirian.” It was more than sufficient. A Captain lent his life to the one he trusted as transporter operator, each time he used the machine: the one chosen must be of special quality. It was reasonable that an Admiral should have a special officer for the purpose—and a kuve one, who could have no ambitions.
    Now Vrenn realized he had insulted one he must trust. He was not sure how to correct the error; surely he should not express error, not to a servitor. He simply had no experience of kuve; on tapes they were so easily dealt with…
    Finally Vrenn said, “I seem to have misunderstood you at first.”
    Tirian said, “I regret that this is common. I am a Withiki—” more a whistle than a word—“and I do not speak well.” He got into his seat, fastened his harness, began bringing the flier to life.
    Vrenn looked at him, wondering at what he had just heard. He had seen Withiki, real ones, at the Year Games, and Tirian could not possibly be of that race.
    The flier began to lift. Through the windshield Vrenn could see his once-Housemates waving, and he waved back, though realizing they could not see him through the dark glass.
    He waited until Tirian had brought them to cruising altitude, then said, “Could you provide me with some information on this equipment?”
    Again Tirian’s teeth clicked; Vrenn supposed it was his race’s form of polite laughter, but he was not offended. “The weapons are indeed loaded, Vrenn, but are all on safety. However, you might enjoy the view through the gunsights. A moment to get us on guide-beam, and I’ll show you how it