  THE FEARFUL SUMMONS
  By: Denny Martin Flinn
  Synopsis:
  This is a star trek novel featuring the original
crew. When Captain Sulu and some of the other
Excelsior officers are taken hostage by Beta
Promethian pirates, the Federation's hands are
tied as diplomacy is stalled, and the officers
remain in captivity, facing iminent death. A
retired Captain Kirk and some of the old
Enterprise crew, as well as a beautiful young
Academy graduate come to the rescue. Lots of
typical Star trek adventures before the story line
is resolved.
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
  An Original Publication of POCKET
BOOKS
  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon and
Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas,
New York, NY 10020
  Copyright 1995 Paramount Pictures. All
Rights Reserved.
  still, "tilde *tilde tilde dis** STAR
TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount
Pictures.
  This book is published by Pocket Books, a
division of Simon and Schuster Inc., under
exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.
  All rights reserved, including the right
to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever.
  For information address Pocket Books, 1230
Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY

  ISBN: 0-671-89007-7
  First Pocket Books printing June


  POCKET and colophon are registered
trademarks of Simon and Schuster Inc.
  Printed in the U.s.a.
  Thanks to Deborah Schneider, Dave Stern
and Kevin Ryan for their continuing support of this
project, Nick Meyer for introducing me to the world
of STAR TREK, and Barbara, Brook and Dylan
for their patience.
  Day One
  "THERE IS A SAYING in the Book of
Muharbar," Maldari said to the Steersman behind him.
"Things belong to those who desire them most."
  Maldari stood in front of his viewscreen,
staring at the enormous, sleek U.s.s.
Excelsior, its white hull gleaming, its
observation ports shining, its huge twin
nacelles" engines silent as it floated in
black space.
  "I have heard they are capable of a cruising speed
of warp eight," the Steersman said. "And that they can
stay in space for five years at a time, without
returning to their port."
  "You have heard more than that," Maldari said,
knowing the young Steersman was out of his planetary system
for the first time. "You have heard that Federation Starships are
invincible. You tremble at the thought of their power, their
swiftness. You believe they have magical
abilities to be everywhere, hear everything, see
everything. But they do not."
  "They have defeated Klingon Birds-of-Prey in
interstellar combat."
  "Perhaps. Or perhaps the Klingons defeated themselves."
  Maldari twisted to see his Sightsman. "Have they
scanned US?"
  "Not yet," the third Beta Promethean on the
bridge answered.
  Maldari turned back to the young Steersman.
"Then put that dead moon between us at once."
  Maldari watched the sparkling Starship disappear
behind a great gray lusterless globe, pockmarked with
craters.
  "You don't want the Federation ship to see us?" the
Steersman asked. "Are we going to--"
  "Patience, Barush. I don't know what we are
going to do.
  When I do"--he turned away from the screen, and
his sharp, crooked teeth flashed in a sarcastic
smile--"you will be the first I will confide in,
of course." Maldari's pear-shaped body, which
rested on four short legs, scuttled behind the two
crewmen and ducked under the archway.
  The young Steersman's mottled gray face
darkened with embarrassment.
  Maldari continued along the corridor joining the
bridge to the Sundew's central hull. In the
meantime, he thought, it will be best if they are unaware
of us. Perhaps it can be to our advantage. It has
been an unrewarding voyage. We have boarded an
ancient starship that turned out to be virtually empty
but for a few scientists. No valuable commodities,
not even any women to take to the slave markets.
We landed on a planet that had no use for
dilithium, or any other goods, for it had no
technology. We have searched whole systems and found
little of value. Our holds are practically
empty, after nearly a year away from port. Our
permit for star travel will be rescinded if we do not
bring home something valuable, and if I cannot tithe a
sufficient amount to the Shrewdest Ones, they will mark
my ship as undesirable, and I will have difficulty
enlisting a crew for another voyage.
  Frustrated and dismayed, Maldari entered the
central cabin. His foul mood further
darkened when he found both Kornish and Dramin there.
  The U.s.s. Excelsior Somewhere beyond the
frontier Spring, 2294 A.d.
  The planet floated serenely in black space,
three-quarters of its surface shimmering in blue,
the rest islands of brown and green. Puffy white
clouds hugged it and a single barren moon drifted in
close orbit.
  How like Earth, Sulu thought as he watched it on
the forward viewscreen, and for just a moment he was back
there, wandering the pleasant streets of San
Francisco, where, almost three decades earlier,
he had reported to Headquarters for his first
assignment for Starfleet and the United Federation of
Planets.
  It was quiet on the bridge of the Excelsior.
Low voices percolated around him. Lights had
dimmed automatically when the science officer put the
illuminated celestial body on the monitor.
Most of the crew were staring at it, as Sulu was,
transfixed by its beauty.
  "In actual fact, it is not a bit like your
home planet," Science Officer Sencus said in
a low voice to Sulu from behind him, guessing his
thoughts. "According to our scans, the atmosphere
is entirely free of pollution, the soil is without
chemicals of any kind, and the water is pure
H2O.
  There are eighty million species, all
fairly abundant, from insects to fish to mammals,
some of which have developed a fairly complex form of
communication. But nothing humanoid. From volcanic
substances we can estimate the age of the planet to be
one hundred fifty billion years, somewhat older
than the Earth, in fact. It has abundant
vegetation and no carnivorous species. Surface
storms are short-lived and mild. Because it is
equidistant from two suns, the temperature only
varies approximately ten degrees in either
direction from a mean of fifty degrees
Celsius."
  "In short, it's a paradise." Sulu
smiled. "Lucky us."
  "None of the species has made any attempt
to leave the planet," the Vulcan went on without
acknowledging Sulu's comment. "Nor have they yet
attempted to communicate with other sentient beings."
  "We could be in stationary orbit in one hour,
Captain," Sulu's navigator said. "I'd be
glad to lead a landing party."
  The young officer had turned around and was smiling at
Sulu.
  The conversation had attracted half a dozen of the
officers on the bridge. They were clustered around the
captain's chair, trying to appear casual. But
Sulu knew perfectly well what they were hoping.
It had been several months since they had last set
foot on land, and their most recent visit to a foul
and frigid planet inhabited only by massive
swarms of watermelon-sized animals resembling
cockroaches could hardly be called rest and
relaxation. They were hoping for a chance to make a closer
examination of the pristine mass that floated on the
monitor in front of them.
  "Unformnately"--Sulu raised his voice for the
benefit of his eavesdroppers--"we will have to pass it
by. If we reveal ourselves to them at this time, the knowledge of
our existence alone could alter the course of their
history. Suddenly aware of artificial
technology and other civilizations, they might be
forced to respond. And as you all know, it is against the
Prime Directive of Starfleet that we should
interfere in any way with the development of another
civilization. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen."
  The little body of officers drifted away
amid some groans and muttering.
  "A logical decision, Captain," the
Vulcan science officer said. "Though apparently
an unpopular one," he added.
  Sulu looked up at Commander Sencus. When his
original science officer, Masoud Valtane, had
been transferred to another assignment, Sulu
requested the old Vulcan as his replacement because
of the Vulcan character. Although it was sometimes a strain
to continually be confronted with a man who lacked emotion
entirely, he knew from observing the relationship between
the captain and the science officer on his first starship
assignment that it was worthwhile. A Vulcan's
ability to meet every situation, no matter how urgent
or complex, with crystal-clear logic, could be an
excellent balance for a commander with human emotions and
sometimes all too human failings.
  "They had hoped to spend a few days on a
nice, habitable planet," Sulu explained.
  "Why?" Sencus asked.
  "Because--well--because it's a new environment. They
could have taken a walk, or a swim."
  "They can do that on the rec deck," Sencus
answered. "Well, they could have had a meal that
wasn't from the synthesizers. Perhaps even
held a conversation with an alien. You know, just a little
change from routine. Something different from our starship.
Just for the variety. For the pleasure of it."
  "The pleasure of it... I see." Sencus
nodded, then returned to his customary station at the
science console.
  Clearly he doesn't, Sulu thought. He
doesn't see at all.
  "A Federation Starship would be a great prize,"
Dramin said carefully. "It must be full of
freight. Valuable commodities from all over the
galaxy."
  "And a crew," Kornish said warningly. "For a
ship that size... how many, Maldari?"
  "I have no idea," Maldari answered, wishing
he hadn't run into these tworathe political officer
and the religious officer--and then deriding himself for
casually informing them that they had come across a large,
modern Starship. "It could be a few dozen. Or
hundreds. I've never seen one inside."
  "It's large enough for hundreds," Kornish
followed up quickly. "Many of them soldiers, no
doubt."
  "Disbelievers, all of them," Dramin said.
  Maldari watched Dramin sip thick,
steaming liquid from his cup. It's that thick sludge
they all drink, he thought. Must be addictire.
Makes them fanatics.
  "I heard once they allow beliefs of every
description," Maidaft suggested.
  "There, you see. How absurd. They do not belong
in the universe."
  "It's a big universe," Kornish said. "We
have to be realistic."
  Maldari couldn't tell which way Kornish was
leaning. It was always the same. Every time members of the
Ruling Family are aboard, they serve only
to confuse the issue. They are here purely as
spies. If Kornish made no commitment, he was
free to claim support for a success, and able
to distance himself from failure. Members of the Ruling
Family must be taught hypocrisy at the
cradle, Maldari thought.
  "Does this mean," Maldari said politely
to Kornish, peevishly deciding to put him on the
spot, "that you favor turning toward home? Shall we
return to port with only what we have managed
to secure so far?"
  "Your holds are practically empty,"
Kornish said equivocally, emphasizing the
pronomial adjective as if it were entirely
Maldari's fault and responsibility. Which, come
to think of it, it was.
  "I can't put a Federation Starship in them,"
Maldari answered sarcastically. Next he listened
to Dramin, though he knew that fanatic wouldn't have
Maldari's fortunes in mind.
  "The Book of Muharbar," Dramin
pontificated, "divides the universe quite clearly
into those who follow the Only Way and those who do not."
  Convenient to call it the Only Way, then,
Maldari thought.
  "Those who do not, stand against those who do, and we have the
obligation to remove them."
  "When the holy war begins, Dramin, you must inform
me," Maldari said. "I will be first to enlist.
Provided, of course, that it is sanctioned by the
Ruling Family." He nodded at Kornish.
"In the meantime, as captain of this starship, I must
decide what is worth dying forand what is not. It's
certain they have shields. And even if we could catch
them with their shields down, it's unlikely we have the
firepower to knock them out at once. They could be a
formidable foe."
  "You are afraid of a Federation Starship,"
Dramin said. "I am not," Maldari said proudly.
"I am only careful. Perhaps you are willing to commit
suicide if the Book of Muharbar says so. But
the crew to which I am responsible may not all feel
the same way. For them, piracy is merely an
occupation. There are no cowards aboard my ship, there
are only brave men. But neither are they stupid.
If I do not bring the majority of them home with a
large profit, I will not be a captain they will fly with
another time."
  "You are going to pass them by then?" Kornish
asked.
  "I didn't say that. But that Starship is not a
lightly armed freighter with a crew of five sleepy
starmen. Ramming and boarding them will gain us nothing for
our holds, and the Sundew will be renowned for its
feel of a captain."
  "What you need," Dramin said, his fanatic's
eyes shining, "is a plan."
  "Thank you, Dramin," Maldari said. "I'm so
glad I ran into you while I was considering my
options. Whatever Conclave gets you for their
Shrewdest One will be lucky indeed." He
scuttled out of the lounge, once more feeling that he had
been less than diplomatic with his
political and religious officers. He hoped that
his sarcasm had been over their heads, but he doubted
it.
  In the corridor again, he thought over how
Kornish and Dramin seemed to be always together. They
couldn't possibly like each other. And they certainly
couldn't trust each other. Then he realized why. It
was only because all the ordinary crew members stayed
away from them both.
  Sulu sat with his science officers in the conference
room off the main bridge and chaired a discussion on
the planet, since dubbed "the Mirage" by the crew,
because they would not get to visit it in person. More
scans had been run and several probes had been
sent to the surface camouflaged as rocks. The
communications team had recorded and decoded several
languages used by the cetaceans. Geologists had
mapped the planet's landmass down to the core, and
constructed a natural history of the planet.
Meteorologists had charted its weather patterns,
and ehaostaticians had projected them one hundred
years into the future, identifying what sort of
effect the climate would impose on the
inhabitants. Microbiologists had mapped the
genetic structure of the principal
species and projected their evolutionary
development for the near future. Short of visiting
the surface, it was the consensus of the scientists that little
more could be learned.
  "Although there are no cities or complex
structures of any kind," Sencus was saying when
Sulu's mind settled on the conference, "each
species fits into the biosystem in a benign and
comfortable fashion. And while they have consistently
adapted to gradual changes in the environment, there
is no sign that any of the species has ever
attempted to adapt the environment to itself. Thus the
planet is entirely uncorrupted. Finally, I
have monitored a very advanced degree of mental
activity. Many of the species seem to exhibit an
intelligence that is quite advanced in the psychic sense,
not unlike your dolphins. It is an almost perfect
laboratory. They are a perfect example of
millions of years of evolution without aggression."
Sencus completed his presentation and turned to the
biologist Sandra Pastur.
  "In fact," Pastur took up the discussion,
"most of the species have adapted so well to their
environment--they have not dammed their rivers, interfered
with migratory patterns, or cut down their
rain forests--that long-range projections for
evolutionary development in their physical
structure indicate very little change. Here is an
example of their most advanced species."
  The biologist moved her hands over the console.
A holograph took shape in the center of the conference
table. It was a pleasant-looking creature with the
face of a dolphin and an ee14ike body
approximately four feet long.
  "For convenience' sake we have dubbed it a
dolpheel. It is comfortable on both land and sea,
either swimming or moving along land effortlessly, something
like a snake. It mates for life and lives in
family units within larger communities of several
hundred. There is no identifiable antagonism
either between the dolpheel and any other species, or
between dolpheels themselves. They travel
extensively, but not owing to either weather or food-chain
patterns, since they can survive anywhere on the
planet. They are simply nomadic and restless for
no discernible reason. What sets them ahead of so
many other species we've studied here is their thought
patterns. They are apparently developing a higher
consciousness, and doing so at a fairly rapid
rate."
  "They can read each other's thoughts, then?" Sulu
asked. "It's more like they all share many of the same
thoughts. They function mentally both individually, and
as a group. They do this for practical reasons--
something like the way birds migrate back on Earth,
where the leader's flight pattern seems to be
understood so instantly by the others that they fly as one--
and they do it for fun as well. They seem to play many
mental games with each other, games that are very
highly advanced. And they are intensely spiritual,
though of course they have no religion in the
institutional sense. These mental exercises seem
to have a purpose. Some kind of exploration of the soul
you might say. It seems a bit silly to say that
they are searching for the meaning of life. They're aware
already of the extremely chaotic and random nature of the
universe, and even of the concept of infinity, though they
have not traveled in space as you know. Rather than
developing any technical skills, they are
developing the mental skills that will enable them
to transcend time and space. If that's possible.
If they reach an impasse, there is no way of
knowing which way they will turn. I don't think we're
ever going to lind them in starships traveling the
galaxies like us. But in less than a
hundred years we will almost surely hear from them."
  "How could they contact us if they don't build
subspace transmitters?" a communications officer
asked.
  The biologist smiled. "One of these days,
they'll begin to communicate with offworriers. They'll
probably begin with telepaths. Then we're going
to find them inside our own heads."
  There was a moment of silence around the polished
conference table. The senior crew of the U.s.s.
Excelsior looked at the figure floating in
front of them curiously.
  "They respect the privacy of other species,
however," the biologist said in anticipation. "It is
highly unlikely that they will arrive without some warning
and an invitation."
  The officers breathed a group sigh of relief.
Sulu looked over at Dr. Bernard Hans, at
eighty-three years old the oldest of the crew of the
Excelsior.
  "Dr. Hans," Sulu said. "Please give us
a brief overview of your observations today."
  The doctor spoke in a quiet voice, accented
slightly by languages from the European continent of
Earth.
  "These dolpheels, and for all practical
purposes every other species on the planet, have
fit themselves to their environment so well that, at this
point in their evolution at any rate, they are
9irtually untroubled with sickness or disease of any
kind. I could not detect any inhabitant of the
planet which was, or had ever been, sick as we know
it. Of course, a few of these species are part of the
larger food chain, and do fall prey to other
species, but all the principle species--
certainly all with any intellectual development
at all--survive on the planet's vegetation.
They do not have, because they do not need, an immune
system. Nothing causes illness or premature
death. The oldest of each species is by far the most
advanced, for they never seem to slow down in their
development. At some point, at approximately
one hundred and fifty years old for the dolpheels,
for example, they simply go off and die
peacefully. Like elephants on Earth. They are
neither sick nor senile in any earthly sense, but
they seem to realize that their natural life span
has ended. When they reach their own burying ground, their
heart stops and, well, that's it. I am not often
given to characterizations outside of the purely
scientific, but I must say I find these
creatures rather noble. I for one look forward to the time
they are ready and able to introduce themselves into the
community of the universe. They may have much to teach us."
  The doctor's report had closed out the round of
talks on the planet with a humane touch.
  "I think, then," Sulu took over the discussion,
"that we've done just about as much as we can here from a
distance. And if we move any closer they're
likely to see us. I want to thank you all for your
hard work and your very impressive and complete
reports. Please see that everything is stored in the
ship's memory bank. We will inform the Federation of
our discovery upon our return, and at that time
transfer the information into Alpha Memory in the
Federation library. I expect to be moving to our
next assignment by 1900 hours. That's all,
ladies and gentlemen."
  Before the officers could rise, however, the
holograph of the dolpheel drifted toward Sulu.
Sulu looked at the biologist controlling the
device. He was running his fingers rapidly over the
console in front of him.
  "Ms. Pastur, I appreciate your competence
with the projectors. If you'd like to make a
film for the crew's enjoyment--"
  "I'm sorry, sir, it's not me. I seem to have
lost control of the holograph." She was fiddling with the
console and staring at the dolpheel as it swam through the
air and hovered in front of Sulu. "It seems
to have taken on a life of its own."
  "That is highly improbable for a holographic
image,"
  Sencus said.
  "Really, Before anyone could respond, however, the
animal made a quick tour of the conference table, past
each officer's face, its eyes lit and its mouth
twisted up in an ever-present smile. Then it
returned to the center of the table, and faded away.
  "Got it," the controlling biologist said.
"Sorry, sir, I wasn't doing that on
purpose. I guess I crossed my signals
for a moment there."
  The whole event took less than thirty
seconds, and when it was over the crew rose and began
to leave the room. Only Sencus lingered, his own
elegant hands playing over the console in front of
him. Sulu noticed this and walked up behind him. He
glanced around, but they were the only two officers left
in the conference room.
  "What is it, Mr. Sencus?" Sulu asked.
  "I was just checking the ship's principal memory
banks, Captain."
  "And..."
  "And it seems that they have been accessed from an
outside source."
  "That's not possible. The computer isn't available
to anyone beyond the Excelsior, and it's completely
secure. It requires voice identification and
only recognizes the senior Officers."
  "Nevertheless, there is evidence that the ship's basic
library and internal instruction data have been
scanned quite recently."
  "What are you suggesting... old-fashioned
hackers in space?"
  "The memory banks have been accessed, but not
directly. It's almost as if they were simply read
in place."
  "No one can mind-meld with a computer, Sencus."
  "No one we know of, Captain," Sencus said.
He rose from the table and began to leave the room.
  "Wait a minute. You can't leave it like this.
What are you thinking?"
  "While we were studying that planet today,
Captain, someone or something was studying us.
That is all I know. They did not do us any harm
at all, which they probably could have if they so
desired. I am afraid they left no evidence of
who or what they are."
  "Well, what's your guess, Sencus?"
  "I never guess, Captain. You know that
perfectly well." He left the room.
  Sulu stood alone for a minute, staring out the
observation windows at the vast panorama of space.
The planet was not visible to the naked eye from their
current distance, since the Excelsior had stationed
itself well beyond the range of reasonable vision for every
species. In the corner of the screen was only a
gray, cratered moon, without life.
  Maldari stood behind his Sightsman on the
bridge. "They haven't seen us?" he questioned.
  "No. They have been in orbit around that planet for
nearly twelve hours."
  "And you kept us hidden behind this moon?"
  "Always."
  "Put their image on the viewscreen."
  The U.s.s. Excelsior appeared in black
space in front of them, but its image was not as
clear as it had been in the morning. Maldari looked
at it again. It was the largest starship he had
ever seen. And the most modern. Its great holds must
be filled with treasure, he thought. Why else
build such an enormous ship, if not to carry great
cargo. "Can you read an interior plan?" he
asked.
  "No, Captain," the Sightsman said. "We
didn't have them in sight long enough. This is only from
the memory banks and--"
  "All right, I understand. Still, that must be the
bridge, on top."
  "Captain, do you think we can take her?" Barush
asked. "Barush, you are a fool much too anxious
to rush in and have your picades cut off. To go
into battle with a Federation Starship would gain us nothing
but scorched hide."
  "We could sneak up on them."
  "You are mistaking this ancient bucket for a
Klingon Warship with a cloaking device. They could
blow us out of the galaxy with a single photon torpedo.
Little fish that want to survive hunt only littler
fish, not sharks."
  "Then we're going to run?" Dramin said.
Maldari turned around and saw that the religious
officer had entered the bridge, closely followed
by the political officer.
  "The Sundew has never run from anything in her
entire career in space," Maldari said using his
most guttural voice. "Not when my grandfather
captained her, and not when my father captained her. And
she will not run on my watch either."
  "Then you have a plan?" Dramin said. "If you
return with the bounty of a Federation Starship, the
Shrewdest Ones would be very impressed."
  "And what shall be my excuse to board her?"
Maldari asked. "She may be a disbeliever to you,
but she's a Starship in open space to me."
  "Actually," Kornish said quietly "We've
been talking about that, and I pointed out that,
technically, she could be in Beta Promethean star
space. We're not a signatory to their Federation.
And therefore... Well, you see the situation."
  Maldari looked at his Sightsman. "Are they
trespassing in Beta Promethean star space?" he
said harshly.
  The man didn't answer at once, but his hands
stumbled over his console. While they did, he kept
his head down.
  "Of course," Kornish went on, "it depends
on your definition of star space. I'm not an
expert on that, but..." The political
officer shuffled his feet, and whatever was left of his
thoughts he didn't express.
  "Sightsman, are we in Beta Promethean star
space?" Maldari asked again. The Sightsman
looked up.
  Maldari was sure that the Sightsman looked at
Dramin before he answered, and though Maldari
wasn't looking at Dramin, he was willing to bet
that Dramin nodded.
  "Yes," the Sightsman said. "We are."
  "Well," Maldari sighed. "It would be
suicide to attempt to subdue a Federation Starship
the way we deal with independent freighters. But if
we could board her somehow, and control the bridge..
2'
  Maldari realized that he had committed himself to a
course that, a few minutes earlier, he had
evaluated as extremely risky. He couldn't
decide whether he had let Dramin talk him
into it, or if he just couldn't resist the. prize.
Certainly there would be goods aboard a Federation
Starship that would make his year in space the most
lucrative one any Beta Promethean space
trader ever had.
  After the conference, Sulu visited the
bridge and set the Excelsior on course to a
Federation starbase, where they were expected to arrive within
two twenty-four-hour cycles. Then he returned
to his cabin. He was sitting at his desk in his
white tunic carefully carving a piece of ivory
when a chime sounded.
  "Come in," he called without breaking his concentration
on the delicate swirls of white sculpture.
The hatch slid open, exposing a young Starfleet
officer with a thick thatch of gray hair shading a
round and eager face.
  "Commander," Lieutenant Russell Roose
said, "I think you might want to hear--"
  "Come in, Lieutenant," Sulu called.
"Look at this." The lieutenant walked up behind
him. "Have you ever seen one of these?"
  "I don't think so, sir."
  "It's ivory. Synthetic, of course. But it's
an exact duplicate. Real ivory only comes
from the tusks of elephants, and isn't harvested
anymore. You're from Africa, aren't you?"
  "Yes, sir. Mandelaport, South Africa.
But I don't think I've ever seen ivory that
wasn't connected to its owner."
  "Centuries ago ivory was a prized
commodity. It was thought to be an aphrodisiac when it
was ground up. It was used to make the keys for a
musical instrument called the piano. And it was a
medium for artwork. Before we could duplicate raw
materials precisely, poachers killed
elephants just for their tusks. These tusks were carved
into elaborate statues and trinkets. Using these
long thin razors, artisans often carved a series
of ivory balls, one inside the other. The effect
was truly magnificent. You can see many of these
balls in the Chinatown museum in San
Francisco. I'm attempting to duplicate the
art--a new hobby. This will be a model of our own
solar system, and I'm working on a model of the
Starship Excelsior that will float here just between the
seventh and eighth planets."
  "I see..." Roose knew that his commander was
well known by his penchant for trying to interest the many
junior officers aboard the Excelsior in one
obscure subject or another.
  "Do you have a hobby, Lieutenant?"
  "No, sir. I guess not." Roose was only
four years out of the Academy, and his whole world was the
Excelsior.
  "You'll enjoy this. It is very calming and
satisfying. Here, you take this piece and a knife."
  "Thank you, butw"
  "Go ahead. You try to carve something. You're going
to love this. Bring it to me when you've finished."
  "All right. Thank you, sir."
  "Everybody should have a hobby," Sulu said with a
smile. "Maybe we could start a club for ivory
carvers. Meet once a week."
  "Maybe so, sir."
  "Be sure to show me the results. Good day,
Lieutenant."
  "Good day, sir."
  The lieutenant lingered in the doorway, a
shapeless chunk of ivory in one hand and a
dangerous-looking knife in the other. Never having
held a weapon that couldn't be disabled, he looked at
it curiously, and handled it gingerly.
  Suddenly he remembered the reason for his visit.
"Uh... sir?"
  "Yes, Lieutenant?"
  "We've had a kind of mysterious communication.
I thought you might want to listen to it."
  Quickly Sulu put his knives neatly down on
the workbench and turned to Roose. "Mysterious
communication? What kind? Linguacode?"
  "No, sir. A fairly ancient system of
transferring information through space."
  "Not on one of our normal subspace
channels?"
  "No. A radio transmission, actually. That
is, something broadcast within the old
electromagnetic frequency range."
  "That is odd. Why didn't you tell me,
Lieutenant?"
  "I meant to, sir."
  "What does Sencus have to say about it?" Sulu
asked.
  "He hasn't heard it yet, either, sir. He was
off the bridge when it came in."
  "Let's go up to the bridge. I'd like to give a
listen to this myself."
  "That's what I came to suggest, sir."
  Sulu grabbed his jacket and hurried out the
door. The lieutenant, trailing him, smiled
inwardly. You could always catch the captain's
full-spirited attention with an anomaly, he thought.
  On the bridge Sulu went directly to the
communications station, where Janice Rand was working. The
blond officer looked up at Sulu and the
lieutenant.
  "Could you replay that message for us," the
lieutenant requested.
  Together they listened to thirty seconds of static.
In the background Sulu faintly heard a dozen
varying beeps that seemed to be repeating over and over.
  "I've checked it against all known languages,
sir. Everything that's in the ship's computer. If it
is a language, then it's from a civilization
unknown to us."
  "It is not a language, exactly, it is a
code," Sencus said, having walked onto the
bridge just then.
  "You can understand it, sir?"
  "I cannot. But I can identify it for you. It is the
original code used when the telegraph was invented.
It is called Morse code, after the inventor of the
telegraph, Samuel Morse. Six centuries
ago it was utilized frequently on Earth.
  But it died out as soon as voice transmission
became possible." Sencus strolled over and stood
behind Sulu.
  "Identify it as a code and let's see if the
ship's computer still has the morse vocabulary in its
memory," Sulu said. Lieutenant Rand's hands
flew over the console.
  "I have it," she said. "I'll put it up on the
screen in English."
  They looked at the forward viewscreen. One at
a time, a three-letter series appeared, and repeated
over and over again. Marching across the screen in block
letters, it read: "SOS... SOS... SOS...
SOS.. ?"
  "SOS," Lieutenant Roose mused. "That's
all it says. SOS. What does that mean?"
  "It means," Sulu answered quietly as he
stared at the monitor, "Save Our Ship. Now,
I wonder who would be broadcasting such a thing... ?"
Sulu stepped away from the communications console and
stood by himself just above the main command console. He
appeared to be deep in thought. The lieutenant
followed him.
  "Save our ship?" the lieutenant echoed.
"What kind of a message is that? I'm afraid--
was
  Sulu turned to the lieutenant. Any evidence
of his casual nature was gone.
  "it is an ancient distress signal,
Lieutenant," he said sharply. "I haven't ever
heard it actually used, but I can tell you it is quite
serious. It's a Mayday message, an
urgent appeal for the nearest Starship in the sector
to provide aid at once. Back in the nineteenth
century, when sailing ships actually floated on the
water to cross oceans and seas, if they had
capsized or were crippled for any reason, they
broadcast an SOS as an immediate request for
help. According to maritime law of the period, the nearest
ship was required to go to its aid. In fact that is still
true. Regardless of the ancient form of communication,
this is a distress signal, and we are obligated
to respond. Have you located the origin of the
message?"
  "Yes, sir, we have the coordinates of the
source. It isn't far from here, though it is in the
wrong direction. If we're going to make
Starbase 499 by--"
  "We're not. Send them a message that we're
going to be late. Tell them we have answered a
call for help and give them the coordinates as
well, so they'll know where we'll be.
Helmsman!" Sulu moved close to the center of the
bridge and stood behind the conn. "The lieutenant will
give you new coordinates. Alter your course at
once, and increase our speed to warp eight."
  "Yes, sir." "ETA?"
  The navigator swiftly calculated their speed
and distance on the console. "Approximately one
hour, sir."
  "Let me know when we are within visual range."
Sulu walked over to the science station.
  "Sencus?"
  "I have been listening, Captain. You will want
to know exactly who is broadcasting this archaic
message."
  "Exactly."
  "Unidentifiable at this time. No energy fields
are detectable. If it is a starship, it is not under
power. In fact, it is stationary."
  "Orbiting?"
  "No. Simply sitting in space."
  "Lieutenant," Sulu called. "Send a
message on all frequencies in all known
languages, including morse code: "The
Starship Excelsior is coming to your assistance."
Sencus, ask the computer for any information on
abandoned vessels or ancient ships that might have
been lost in the area. And let's put the entire
crew on standby."
  The bridge hummed with activity as the great
Starship changed directions and increased its
speed. Sulu took his seat in the command chair.
Everyone awaited the uncertain rendezvous.
  An hour later the Excelsior dropped from warp
eight and cruised quietly in space at vessel
speed. The navigator turned to Sulu.
  "I have them in range, sir."
  "Visual," Sulu answered.
  The forward viewscreen lit up. In the far distance
they could see a ship.
  "Magnify."
  The ship loomed up. It was an ancient design
by Starfleet standards, dirigible-shaped, gunmetal
gray with few viewing ports. The material it was
coated with was corroded and dented in places, as if
it had collided with small asteroids or space
debris and never been repaired. There were few
markings, but a faded identification could be made out
on the nose cone.
  "Scan the markings."
  The monitor jumped again, and quickly featured the
nose of the old starship. It was painted with odd
hieroglyphics.
  Sulu turned to his science officer.
  "Sencus, can you translate?"
  "It is the language of the Prometheans
from the Beta Prometheus star system. The name of the
starship roughly translates as 'Sundew, out of
Archnos." That is the larger city in their
civilization."
  "Give me hailing frequency."
  "Channels open, sir."
  "This is Captain Sulu of the U.s.s.
Excelsior. We have received your distress signal
and are prepared to assist you. Do you read me,
Sundew?"
  "I'm getting an answer of some sort,
Captain," the communications officer said. "I'll
run it through translation. Here you are."
  The bridge was silent. The entire crew
listened. Then a gruff voice came over the
speakers.
  "This is Maldari of the Sundew. Your assistance
is required at once. Please transport my
crew to your ship."
  "Captain Maldari, this is Captain Sulu.
I'm going to put you on the monitor."
  The forward viewscreen crackled with static and then
an unusual figure came into view. The
Promethean looked humanoid, but his skin was
mottled gray and wrinkled, and scaled like the
belly of a snake. Short spikes of hair
radiated outward from his cranium. More spikes
filled his upper lip and dropped down around his mouth,
reminding the crew of a fierce Mongolian warrior.
His teeth appeared razor sharp and jutted out at
various angles, and his eyes were black pools without
pupils. Sulu felt uneasy looking at the stern
visage and unbending glare. He resolved not to be
ungraciously suspicious. Knowing that his own image
would appear before the Promethean, he smiled and
addressed the screen directly.
  "Can you tell us what your trouble is, Captain?"
  "We've lost all power. My engineer says it
can't be restored in space. Emergency power is
rapidly running out, and our life-support
systems are going down now. We have less than an
hour of air. We haven't had food for several
days. We have a large supply of dilithium and can
pay handsomely for your help."
  "That will not be necessary. We will be glad to provide
assistance. Please--"
  "Thank you. We'll assemble in the main deck and
you can transport us over at once. There are about
fifty of us."
  There was a short pause. The crew
looked at Sulu. Then Sulu spoke to the
screen.
  "I'm afraid it will take us a few minutes
to prepare. Please stand by, and we'll be with you
shortly."
  Then Sulu nodded to the communications console, and
Lieutenant Rand, understanding, shut down the
communication temporarily. The Promethean's vision
disappeared from the screen. Ensign Violet Bays
stood up from her post at the conn.
  "Captain Sulu, we are capable of
transporting their crew in two shifts at once.
If their life-support systems are failing,
shouldn't we--"
  "Thank you, Ensign. Though I've never seen a
Beta Promethean before, I must say that Captain
Maldari didn't look like he was dying. He
didn't even look hungry for that matter. And he
did say that they had almost an hour of life
support left. I think they can wait just a few
minutes. I want to think about this for a moment."
  Never be hasty, Sulu thought. Particularly where
haste seems to be desired by others. He smiled
at the sudden memory of his first commander, standing like a
rock amid chaos. Nobody pushed him
around.
  Sulu turned calmly toward the science station.
"Sencus, what do we have on Beta Prometheus?"
  "They are not a member of the Federation, and have never
sent envoys to galactic conferences. Of their three
planets, only BP 1 supports life.
Although we could tolerate their atmosphere,
temperatures vary from eighty degrees Celsius
to below freezing at night. Something like your Earth
desert."
  Sencus's hands played over his computer, and he
drew up a holograph of the race. All the
officers on the bridge saw that a Promethean's
large, squat body spread out like a pear, and four
leglike tentacles were attached at the bottom.
Their two arms were the portion of their anatomy
closest to human: short and hairy and intensely
muscular. They were slightly shorter in height and
broader in girth than humans.
  "Because of their extensive deposits of dilithium
crystals, they are quite rich. This has turned them
into space traders primarily. They create almost
nothing, preferring to travel the galaxy trading their
dilithium crystals for everything they need or want.
Even food production has almost disappeared
from their planet. Thus the ship we have before us is
probably a cargo ship."
  "Thank you, Sencus." Traders, Sulu thought.
Nothing wrong with that. An ancient and noble
profession. But not people to be taken always at face
value, either.
  "Ms. Bays, how far are we from Beta
Prometheus$9"
  The seven-foot woman looked over at Sulu
from her seat at the navigator's console.
  "Almost eleven light-years, Captain.
To return them to their home port would place us
several days beyond our original schedule for
rendezvous at the starbase. Travel time would
depend on whether or not we were towing their ship."
  Sulu sat for thirty seconds more, a dozen
possible circumstances racing through his mind. His
officers waited in silence. Then he stood up.
  "Sulu to Engineering."
  "Svenson here." The rich voice came over the
intercom and everyone on the bridge heard him.
  "Mr. Svenson, do you think your crew could
repair their ship and send them on their way?"
  "Ya, but I'd have to take a look to be sure."
  "All right, prepare your crew to beam
aboard the Sundew. I'll meet you in the
transporter room. We'll take a portable
energy converter and get their life-support systems
working at once. Then we can investigate the necessary
repairs to their ship."
  Sulu turned to his bridge crew.
  "I'm going aboard with Engineering. Lieutenant
Roose, Ensign Bays, I'd like you to accompany
me. Mr. Sencus, you will remain here as the senior
officer in charge."
  "You are not intending to beam them aboard then,
Captain?" Lieutenant Roose asked.
  "I don't think that will be necessary, Lieutenant.
Besides, have you ever heard of the ancient story of the
Trojan horse?"
  "I don't think so, sir."
  "It was an enormous wooden horse that was left
at the gates of Troy as a gift. The Trojans
brought it inside their walls. But it was a trick.
It was filled with Greek soldiers, and that night they
came out and conquered Troy. It is the myth upon which
is based the old saying, 'Beware of Greeks
bearing gifts." No offense meant, Spiros.
Why don't you come with us as well, in case their
navigation systems need attention?"
  The young cadet turned around from his post and smiled,
his dazzling white teeth set off by his long black
hair.
  "None taken, Captain. A wise decision."
He rose eagerly out of his seat.
  "All right, then," Sulu said. "Put me on with
this Maldari fellow again."
  The forward viewscreen came to life. The
Promethean scowled at them from the screen.
  "Captain Maldari, I believe we can help
you more efficiently without having to beam your whole crew
aboard the Excelsior. We have sufficient
equipment to power your life-support systems and will
bring it aboard. Our engineers can then assist you in
making the necessary repairs to your power source. We have
an excellent chief engineer. He and his crew and
I will beam aboard the Sundew, with your permission."
  "We are going to die here, Sulu, if something
isn't done."
  "I understand the emergency nature of your situation.
  Please reassure yourselves that you are in no
danger. The Excelsior has outstanding resources
for full repair work in space. We will bring a
portable food synthesizer as well, and can provide
nourishment for your entire crew while we
get your problems straightened out."
  "Very well, Sulu."
  The monitor went dark.
  At that moment, Sulu became aware that Dr.
Bernard Hans had come onto the bridge and was
watching the exchange.
  "Dr. Hans," Sulu said. "Would you mind coming
with us? There may be some injuries or illness due
to the failure of their power source. We don't know
what kind of medical care they have, and you might be of
some assistance to them."
  "You couldn't keep me away. I came up from
sickbay for exactly that. Besides, they may be an
interesting species for observation as well. I've
never seen humanoids with such bad teeth."
  Maldari had to think quickly. It didn't help that
Dramin walked up beside him.
  "What will you tell them when they discover our engines
are functioning?"
  Maldari left the question unanswered. But after a
moment of thought, he turned to the Steersman.
  "Set a course for Beta Promethean star
space. Put us inside the boundaries. By everyone's
definition." He looked up at Dramin and
Kornish. Both of them were expressionless.
"We are to leave as soon as they are aboard.
Barush, raise our shields as soon as they all
step off the platform."
  "Shields or not, you said they could blast us out of the
galaxy with one photon torpedo, Captain."
  "As long as we are holding some of them, we will be
safe. Humans are like that. They are ridiculously
loyal, and will not endanger each other. We will then be
able to trade our prisoners for an enormous amount
of goods. It will be the greatest swap in Promethean
history. I am going below to assist in their
arrival."
  Maldari flashed his crooked smile, then
scuttled across the deck and disappeared into the
corridor.
  Five men and women from the engineering section, led
by Chief Engineer Norquist Svenson, were already
waiting with several large crates of equipment when
Sulu, Lieutenant Russell Roose,
Ensign Violet Bays, Dr. Bernard Hans,
and Cadet Spiros Focus arrived at the
transporter. The engineers had loaded the
transport crates onto the platform already.
  Sencus appeared in the doorway.
  "Captain, I think it would be wise if
I went with you. This is an alien race with an
eccentric background and their experience in dealing with
others has been largely confined to trading. I might
be of some assistance."
  "You would be of enormous assistance, I'm sure.
Unfortunately, our first responsibility is to the
Excelsior, and you are first officer. It's
important that I leave you in command of our Starship.
We will be in constant communication with you, and will
probably be able to return and continue on our own
way within a few hours. Svenson could build a
working engine out of Popsicle sticks if he had
to. Repairing this old bucket won't be any
trouble at all for him. Carry on."
  "As you request, Captain Sulu." Sencus,
tall and thin and with the aristocratic bearing of all
Vulcans, turned and left the transporter room
at once.
  "Logic," Sulu said quietly to Lieutenant
Roose at his elbow, "would have dictated that as
second-in-command he remain aboard the
Excelsior. His desire to come with us was probably
nothing more than pure curiosity and a sense of
adventure. Don't ever let a Vulcan tell you
they are entirely without emotions. Somewhere in
the Vulcan genetic code there is a hidden warm
spot."
  "Yes, sir. I'll remember that."
  "You have it on good authority. I knew one who was
half human, and yet he was constantly denying that
side of his own character. You can trust them to act with an
absolute clarity of logic. On the other hand, you
can always trust them, period. That is a reliable
characteristic which goes well beyond logic, and gives them
the ability to form great friendships. I'm hoping for one
with Scncus," Sulu whispered. "But he's all
Vulcan, and it's going to take a lot of time."
Sulu changed his tone, but continued speaking
to Lieutenant Roose. "Are we ready?"
  "I think so, sir," Roose said, then he handed
a small disk to Sulu. "I've programmed these
Universal Translators for the Beta Prometheus
language. They will fasten to our uniforms here." He
touched a point high up in the center of his chest, just
below his throat. "They will enable us to be understood, and will
turn their language into English." Sulu took
one and put it on. His crew did the same.
"Well now, let's see what a Promethean is
like, shall we?" Sulu said. He smiled at the
lieutenant and stepped up onto the
transporter platform. The others followed quickly.
Then Chief Engineer Svenson signaled to an
officer at the console, and the transporter beams
buzzed and flickered. As the eleven Starfleet
officers and their cargo alematerialized, Sulu
thought how attractive an assignment in deep
space was. You had the opportunity to encounter so
many interesting new civilizations.
  Acting Captain's Log, Stardate 9621.8
While Commander Sulu is aboard the Sundew, a
trading ship to whose assistance we have come, I am
responsible for the Excelsior. It is odd that the
crippled starship was not able to receive help from someone in
their own fleet. Surely they must have other
Promethean starships in the sector, closer than
we were. And while it may be impolite to judge
aliens by their appearance, Prometheans seem to me
to be a sinister-looking lot. Circumstances here are
not as simple as they appear to be, and should be
monitored closely. Science officer and acting
Captain Sencus.
  As the boarding party dematerialized on the
Sundew's transporter platform, Sulu immediately
felt that something was wrong. Then it hit him: The
tramporter room is illuminated, which
means that the ship cannot have lost all its power. With an
uneasy feeling he stepped off the platform, his hand
instinctively resting on his phaser.
  But as he did, several dozen Prometheans
scuttled into the transporter room from several
corridors. They aimed a formidable if motley
array of weapons at the crew of the Excelsior.
Maldari scuttled in behind them. He pushed his way
to the front and stood several feet from Sulu.
  "You are under arrest for spying in a Promethean
sector. Take your hand away from your phaser or
your crew will be killed."
  Sulu's face turned red with anger.
  "The U.s.s. Excelsior has not been
spying. We have arrived here at your request for
assistance. We are not in violation of anyone's star
space, least of all Beta Prometheus. Your
hospitality leaves a great deal to be desired,
Captain Maldari."
  "You are spies from the Federation. You have been
caught red-handed, and now you are prisoners of the People of
Light." Maldari spat out the words angrily, and
acted as if he believed them. "You will put all your
weapons down at once. Also your communicators.
Come this way."
  Sulu looked at the weapons aimed at him and his
crew. They were varied and ancient, but they all
looked as if they could do serious damage to humans,
and the aliens who held them looked experienced in their
use.
  "Don't resist. Do as they say." Sulu
tried to keep his voice even. Inside he was
seething, as much at himself as he was for the behavior of the
Prometheans.
  At his instructions the crew stepped off the
platform and, surrounded by Prometheans, followed
Maldari out of the transporter room, leaving their
phasers, boxes of equipment, translators, and
tricorders on the floor behind them.
  I should have foreseen this, Sulu thought. I should have
been more careful. Now I have endangered my crew.
It was absurd, he couldn't help thinking, to think that
this fifth-rate space pirate Captain Maldari
could get away with kidnapping officers of a
Starfleet ship of the line. Shields or not, the
small space freighter they were on wouldn't withstand a
minor hit by Excelsior's phasers. And the
United Federation of Planets had a starbase
less than three light-days away, with powerful
ships on call. In fact, this was
ridiculous, was the principal thought in Sulu's
mind. It was patently absurd.
  Spiros Focus was shoved by one of his captors.
He turned around instinctively and quickly swung his
hand against the bridge of the man's nose. Everyone in
the corridor heard the bone crack. Green blood
spurted out from the man's face. His gun went off,
and a thin laser beam shot forward and went through
Spiros's upper arm. He staggered backward. It
all happened in a moment.
  "Stop it," Sulu yelled out to his officers.
  And Maldari raised his hand sharply.
  There was a brief minute, almost frozen in time,
when the two sides were poised to do battle. The
crew of the Excelsior, without weapons, would
surely have gotten the worst of it. Sulu feared there
would be a bloodbath.
  "Spiros, do as they request. That goes for all
of you. Do not oppose them. Their outrageous conduct
will very shortly be subject to intergalactic
scrutiny. In the meantime, we will all have to do as they
say."
  Sulu said this without his Universal
Translator, and Maldari listened without understanding.
When Sulu's crew turned away from their
guards and relaxed their aggressive stances,
Maldari waved for them all to continue.
  In the corridor Dr. Hans caught up with
Spiros and gave his arm a cursory examination.
  "I'm all right, Dr. Hans," Spiros said.
  "It's just a scratch. But there is no telling
what kind of infection might set in from these
primitive weapons. Maldari," he said to the
Promethean walking several feet in front of him.
"I've got to have my medical equipment. I've
got a scanner and--"
  But the man only shouted something unintelligible and
turned his attention away.
  "This is outrageous, Captain Sulu," Dr.
Hans said. "Nevertheless," Sulu said quietly,
"I'm afraid we are at their mercy for the time being.
As soon as I can, I'll try to talk with
Captain Maldari again."
  At that moment the glorious unpredictability of
deep space, its inhabitants and its phenomena,
did not seem so attractive to Sulu. Even the
pleasure of having his own command seemed dulled just
now. As he rapidly began to run over the various
permutations and possibilities in his mind, Sulu
resisted the impulse to ask himself what his
old commander would do.
  Casually scanning the Sundew with a sensor he
had sent to orbit the craft, Sencus noticed a
level of activity in the energy fields that belied the
fact that the Sundew was without power. He read the
scans and turned to the helms man.
  "Lieutenant Henrey," Sencus said
quietly. "Do you read shields on the Sundew?"
  "They just went up this minute, sir. I thought that
their power wasm"
  "Yes, precisely. Yet they can raise their
shields. And why have they done so just now? It seems
a peculiarly rude thing to do." He turned to the
communications station. "Get me Sulu."
  "Sir, I've been monitoring the team's
whereabouts continually and a few minutes ago I lost
track of them." Lieutenant Rand, at the
communications console, looked puzzled and harried.
She was rapidly trying out different frequencies.
"The fact is, I can't seem to raise him. Or
anyone else on the team. It's as if their
communicators had all failed at the same time.
I've never--"
  "Raise the Sundew, then." "I have them,
sir."
  "Captain Maldari, this is Captain Sencus,
acting commander of the U.s.s. Excelsior. Come
in, please."
  Everyone on the bridge looked at the main
viewscreen. It remained black.
  "Sundew, do you read me? This is the
U.s.s. Excelsior." The screen flashed with
static, but nothing appeared. "They're accelerating,
sir," the navigator said quickly. There was an
uproar on the bridge. Sencus called for quiet.
He ordered Rand to keep track of the Sundew's
course and whereabouts.
  Sencus was sure that Svenson and his team of
Excelsior engineers couldn't possibly have gotten
the Sundew's power systems up and operational in just
those few moments. And he knew that Sulu wouldn't have
allowed their propulsion systems to be tested without
warning the Excelsior that they were going to use their
engines.
  "Lieutenant, follow the Sundew."
  "Yes, sir?" Henrey moved his hands expertly
over the conn, and Sencus felt the Excelsior
surge forward.
  "Don't scare them, stay at least a sector
away and travel no faster than they do, so
they do not think we are going to attack. If they
alter course radically, let me know at once."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Rand, are they still within range of our sensors?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "I want their ship mapped at once. Before they
are out of range. Get me the layout of the Sundew
as quickly as you can."
  "Yes, sir."
  "And call Commander Garyin to the bridge at
once," Sencus said as an afterthought.
  "What do you think is happening, sir?" one of the
younger officers asked.
  "The Sundew is moving away from us with eleven of
our officers on board," Sencus said crisply.
The experienced officers on the bridge smiled
inwardly at the incredulous look of the young cadet who
had asked the Vulcan science officer for what was,
in essence, a guess.
  Maldari saw his prisoners secured in one of the
empty holds Of his starship, then hurried up through
the corridors and ramps to his bridge. He
noted that two of the Starfleet officers were women, and
that the taller one was voluptuous by many standards. If
there are as few imperfections on her dark
peach body as there are on her silky smooth
cranium, he thought, she alone will be worth a
small fortune in certain markets. I'll deal with the
men first. The Excelsior ought to be more than willing
to give up some of their cargo for these officers. They
won't care about the two women; we'll sell them
off on the way home.
  When he arrived on the bridge, his star freighter
was just dropping its speed and coming to a floating orbit.
He noted that Kornish and Dramin were still present.
They didn't appear on the bridge often, knowing that
as captain of the Sundew Maldari had the
psychological advantage there. He ignored
them.
  "Were we followed?" he asked the Sightsman.
  "I think so," came the answer.
  Maldari, about to trade for the most valuable haul
with which he had ever returned home, and buoyed by the
feeling that he had, on the spur of the moment, turned
the whole situation to his advantage, was not in a
mood to play politics with his bridge crew.
  "Garith, you miserable toady, surely you can
spot one of the largest starships in the galaxy. If
you have to consult with your religious leader to answer a
simple navigational question, then do so, but if
you cannot do your duty as Sightsman, I will have you
relieved, and your share of our profits for the entire
voyage will be reduced accordingly. Where is the
Excelsior?"
  The young Beta Promethean's gray skin darkened
on the back of his neck. He didn't look at
Maldari or around at anyone else on the bridge
when he answered.
  "Sir, the Excelsior has remained out of
visual range, but I believe our sensors show that
it has followed us. She slowed to cruising speed when
we did, and now sits approximately two
light-years farther out from our position on a direct
line from Beta Prometheus."
  "Send this message: 'The Excelsior has
been caught spying within restricted Beta
Promethean star space. Eleven spies have been
taken prisoner. Unless a satisfactory
arrangement can be made, they will be tried by the Court
of the People of Light. Punishment is death." That should
bring a response from their ship."
  "The value of the spies is directly related
to their flagrant abuse of our star space,"
Kornish said, stepping forward from the dark-shadowed
edges of the bridge. "And thus it is the People
of Light themselves who ought to receive the majority of their
payment."
  "As disbelievers, they ought to be executed at
once," Dramin said, following him quickly.
  "If I execute them here," Maldari said
to Dramin testily, "the men who remain on that
Starship will have no reason not to blow us out of the
galaxy, which a Starship of their size could surely
do. As for the Ruling Family's share"--Maldari
turned to Kornish--"which I know you will use
assiduously for the benefit of the People, you can be sure that
we will pay our appropriate fees when we
return."
  Commander Peter Gamin, the Excelsior's chief
of security, hurried onto the bridge from the
turbolift. Sencus turned to the tall,
square-shouldered man with silky black hair cut
short.
  "The captain and the boarding party have been taken
hostage by the Beta Promethean ship, Mr.
Gamin. I am afraid the situation is very
dangerous. The Prometheans have threatened to kill
them."
  "I have a team standing by right now in the transporter
room. We can beam aboard andre"
  "Not just yet." "But Captain"
  "I know you are anxious. I am as well. It
would only complicate matters to move
precipitously, however."
  "The sooner the better, I say. The quicker we
act, the more likely we are to have the element of
surprise on our side. We can't let them get
away with this, Sencus," Garvin urged.
  "We will not, I assure you. We will have a map of
their ship shortly. I want you to draw up a plan
of attack."
  "Yes, sir." The security chief hurried
off.
  Sencus turned to communications again. "Are we within
range?"
  "We are now," Rand said.
  "Put them up."
  The viewscreen crackled and Maldari's face
appeared. Sencus stood in the center of the bridge.
  "Captain Maldari, what in Hades do you mean
by 'satisfactory arrangements"?"
  Sencus spoke evenly and calmly, but the
Starfleet officers on the bridge had not in the four
years of their expedition heard him use language like
that.
  Maldari smiled his crooked smile.
  "The People of Light are quite poor," he began
carefully. "Aside from dilithium, we have very little,
and need much. The Federation is rich with resources of
all kinds. If you are carrying goods that would be
valuable to us, I am sure that our political
officer would be disposed to accept them as a penalty for
your transgressions."
  "The Excelsior is a research and exploration
Starship. We are carrying scientific equipment and
little else."
  "Surely the great holds of a ship such as yours
are filled with freight. Perhaps if you would care
to tell us what your cargo consists of..."
  "I told you, we are not carrying freight."
  "Then perhaps you can suggest something else."
  "I can suggest that you return our officers at
once." Sencus stared evenly at the viewscreen.
  Maldari began to sweat. He had assumed the
Starship was staffed only by species from the planet
Earth. But this Sencus was a Vulcan, judging
by his ears. He had often heard that they were not as
predictable as humans. He pressed on sternly.
  "Unless you can suggest substantial quantities
of valuable resources, I doubt if I can
get our political officer to back down. If I
return to Beta Prometheus with the officers"--that was
something Maldari had no intention of doing, for the
Federation Starfleet officers could be extremely
hard to sell--"they will have to undergo a trial for
trespassing and spying. I cannot guarantee their
safety in that case. I suggest you send us your
Starship's manifest, and perhaps--"
  "We are not paying a ransom," Sencus said,
an imperceptible rise in the volume of his voice.
"That would be strictly against Federation and Starfleet
regulations. I could not do it if I wanted to."
  Silence.
  Maldari turned to his Sightsman and made a
curt motion, and the screens on both ships went
dark. He scuttled to his stool but hovered over
it, wishing he could think clearly.
  "We have heard that the Federation values its
officers highly," Kornish said. "That the humans
who staff the Starships do not even believe in the
Higher Calling, and fear death. How could they put
their cargo ahead of their people?"
  Maldari didn't answer. His mind was a
miasma of apprehension. That Sencus is a
Vulcan, he thought. I can hardly read
him. His impassive face, his even voice. Is
he bluffing? How do I call his bluff. What will
happen if I execute one of the prisoners? How
many soldiers are they carrying? Dammit. I
expected to make a clean trade for a rich cargo,
and hightail it home.
  "Bring their captain up," Maldari ordered.
Two Promethean pirates on the bridge
scuttled back down the corridor.
  "We should put them on trial at home,"
Dramin spoke up for the first time. "It will give the people
great satisfaction to see Federation species
executed."
  "I'm sure," Maldari agreed, thinking that the people
couldn't care less about Federation species. "But it
is our mission to buy and sell on behalf of the
families in our Conclave, and I would prefer
to honor that mission, even if it means passing up the
glory of returning with spies from the Federation."
  "If you give them to me," Dramin said,
"I'11 make good use of them at home."
  "Perhaps I should," Maldari said, thinking that it would
be a relief to put the whole mess in Dramin's
hands. "But it would be cowardly of me to ask you to take
on what is my responsibility."
  Besides that, he thought, they're my only way out of
here. The two Prometheans returned, pushing
Sulu between them. Maldari signaled for them to bring
him to the center of the bridge, where he stood beside the
Starfleet officer.
  "Bring up the transmission," he snapped. The
viewscreen came on. The Vulcan appeared to be
waiting patiently.
  "Commander Sencus, I wanted you to see that we have
no intention of harming your officers. It is a long
way back to Beta Prometheus, and in spite of the
fact that they have been caught red-handed, we will
return them to you if you could supply us with a
respectable penalty fee for--"
  "Captain, are you all right?" Sencus spoke
past Maldari. "NO-NE of our officers have been
badly hurt," Sulu said carefully. "One has
a superficial wound."
  Maldari turned to Snlu. "You have been caught
spying in the Beta Prometheus star system. As I
have explained to your comrade, we should transport you
back to our city, and hand you over to the Court of the People
of Light. But should the Excelsior be able to pay a
significant fine in useful resources and
goodsre"
  "Sencus," Sulu said, startling Maldari.
"No ransom. You may not offer these pirates
anything. Under no circumstances should you negotiate
within"
  The screen went black as Maldari shoved
Snlu out of range and nodded angrily at the
Sightsman. He waved at his two men and they
dragged Sulu off the bridge. Then he turned
to Kornish and Dramin.
  "It seems," Maldari said, sighing, "that we are
returning to our planet with human cargo." Then he
scuttled off the bridge after Sulu, feeling as if
he were caught between a titanium wall and a
Rakatan volcano, and wondering how exactly he
had gotten there.
  Sencus sat down for the first time, assuming the
captain's chair. He sat quietly for a moment,
staring at his console, though nothing was illuminated there.
The bridge was quiet and none of the officers moved from
their stations. A knot of people had arrived on the
bridge, and stood uncertainly near the
turbolift. Sencus knew that everyone was staring at
him.
  "Put the ship on Red Alert. You may as
well return to your stations. There is nothing
you can do here." The group drifted off.
  "Now, Lieutenant Rand, let me speak to the
entire crew."
  "Communication channel open, sir."
  "This is Commander Sencus. This is an urgent
priority report. Captain Sulu and a team of
officers beamed aboard a Promethean ship a few
minutes ago in order to assist them. Apparently the
request for help was in fact a ruse, and the team
has been taken hostage." He paused for a
second, knowing that four hundred people aboard the
Excelsior were going to be startled and upset. There
would certainly be friends and even relatives of some of the
hostages aboard hearing the news for the first time. "As
you can guess, this is a totally unexpected and rather
delicate situation. Beta Prometheus has no
formal agreements with the Federation and this is an act of
aggression tantamount to war. There is nothing, however,
that we can do at the moment. We are following them, we
are preparing several contingency plans, and we have
notified Starfleet Headquarters. I can assure
you that everything is going to be done to secure the
safety of the captain and our fellow crew members.
In the meantime, I ask for your patience. All
communication monitors aboard the
Excelsior will be immediately sent any new information as
it arises. Thank you."
  Sencus nodded to Lieutenant Rand at the
communications console and she gave the bridge
privacy once again. Then he laced his elegant
fingers together, and began to silently project for himself
all possible permutations of the ch*cumstances.
  "Put the Sundew on the main viewscreen."
  The screen lit up with the ship's profile as it
glided through space many kilometers ahead of the
Excelsior.
  "This is hypothetical, sir," Henrey said.
"I'm keeping us out of visual range."
  "Good. Just keep her within the range of our
sensors." Then Sencus joined Peter Garvin and
Janice Rand at the cartographic projection
console just as the Sundew's skeleton frame was
forming.
  "The bridge is here." Rand pointed to the
blueprints that were projected on the monitor in
front of them. "A single corridor connects it
directly to a central room, probably some kind
of assembly area, or lounge."
  "Is that corridor the only access to the
bridge?" Garyin asked.
  "Yes," Rand confirmed. "The bridge is almost
like a self-contained pod. The corridor is like a
round tube that connects it to the body of the ship. It's
narrow; you and your men might have to bend over to go along
it."
  "Prometheans are seldom more than five feet
tall," Sencus explained. Then he lapsed
into silence as Rand gave them a quick tour of the alien
starship, pointing out the four levels. Sencus
noticed that Garvin listened with intense concentration.
  "Scans show that they have approximately sixty
humanoid forms aboard," Rand said briskly.
"Eleven would be ours. So we're guessing they have a
crew of no more than fifty, as Maldari said."
  "That is a lot. They are probably all armed,
since they are clearly some kind of pirate ship.
What do you think, Garvin?" Sencus looked at the
big man.
  "We'll have to search the ship for the hostages?"
Garvin asked Rand.
  "Tm afraid so. Heat scans indicate that
there are warm bodies all over the ship. Without their
communicators we just can't identify Sulu and the
others. And they might be split up by now."
  Now that they were actually discussing a
direct attack, Sencus knew it would face
pretty strong obstacles. "This is not going to be a
simple operation," Sencus said. "The longer we
wait, the more difficult it will be," Garyin said
quickly.
  "It seems very difficult as it is," Sencus
said. "In hand-to-hand combat, we lose the
advantage of superior power. They will be fighting
on familiar ground. We do not even know where the
hostages are." Sencus stared at the ship's plan.
Finally he turned to C-arvin. "All right, what
is your proposal?"
  --'arvin only hesitated for a moment. Sencus
knew --'arvin was anxious to go forward, but only the
ship's acting commander had the authority to initiate an
operation of this kind. Federation standards dictated that
force was always a last resort.
  "Three teams of six men each," the big man
began. "We'll use a directed phaser to open a
hole in their shields just long enough to transport us
through. You'll transport us at once, here, here and
here." He pointed to the bridge, the main assembly
room, and a eargo hold on the third level. "A
helmsman will go with my first team. They'll take and
hold the bridge. We'll shut down all
their systems, leaving only auxiliary power for life
support aboard. Then we'll control the helm and
lower their shields. At the same time, the second
team will work their way down from the top deck, and the
third team will work their way down from the third level,
both searching for the hostages. It shouldn't take more
than twenty minutes to cover the whole ship."
  "And anyone aboard who is not hostile?"
  "We have to assume everyone aboard is," Garvin
said. "Can you go in with your phasers on stun?"
  "We'd be at a disadvantage. Teams sweeping
forward shouldn't leave living hostiles behind them,"
Garvin said firmly.
  "We cannot start killing Beta Prometheans
haphazardly."
  "They've committed an act of war."
  "Acts of war are not so easily defined,"
Sencus said quietly.
  "I'd hate to send my team in with a handicap.
If these Beta Promethean pirates fire on us,
we must be able to fire back with full capacity.
There may be casualties. It's my job to see that
the casualties are all on their side."
  Sencus thought through the logical alternatives in
seconds. He was aware that a number of
officers stood around the little group, listening. He
raised his voice slightly. "We will initiate this
action at once." He looked right at Garvin.
"With the appropriate amount of force dictated by the
situation as you find it."
  Maldari warned the Sightsman to set the shields
and transporter alarms carefully, then left the
younger Pro-methearts in charge of the bridge and
headed out the corridor.
  "Where are you going, Captain?" Dramin asked.
  "To interview the prisoners," Maldari said.
"I want to know what their ship is carrying."
  "I think I should be present, don't you? As
religious officer."
  Maldari didn't. But he knew it was futile
to object. In such a delicate situation, he should
be careful to keep both Kornish and Dramin on his
side.
  "Good idea. Kornish, you should be present also,"
he said, knowing that the other man was lurking in the shadows
as well. He scuttled through the corridor and down
several ramps, leading the two men, until he was
on the bottom deck of his ship.
  Once there they began to make their way to the rear
of the ship. They had only gotten a few
paces when a siren blared. Maldari stopped,
swearing a guttural oath.
  "What's that?" Kornish said over the din.
  "Something has breached our shields." Maldari
drew his laser weapon.
  "They're firing at us?" Dramin shouted.
  "Yes. We may have to defend the ship."
Maldari shouted in front of him, where a dozen of his
men were stationed. "They are trying to board us! Repel
the invaders!" He turned around and started back,
adding for Dramin's benefit, with less enthusiasm
than cynicism, "The infidel invaders." He was
scuttling up the ramp to the next level, when
Starfleet soldiers appeared at the top.
Maldari fired quickly. Several Starfleet
officers fired at once, hitting Kornish, who
stumbled and fell. Maldari scuttled back along
the main corridor until he came to his men.
He ordered a dozen of them to go to the foot of the ramp
and make a stand, then led a few of the others to the rear
of the ship, where the prisoners were locked in the largest
hold. Behind him Dramin was terrified.
  "I can't believe they would engage us in battle
like this. When all they had to do was pay for--" An
explosion covered the rest of his words.
Smoke filled the corridor.
  "Follow me," he shouted. He pushed through the
smoke until he reached the first turn in the
corridor. Then he felt along the wall until
he came to a cabinet. Prying it open, he pushed
the flat of his hand against a glass panel. A red
ray flashed, reading the peculiar handprint. A
rumble started in the wall.
  "Now what?" Dramin shouted as the smoke and
explosions rose around them.
  "This way," Maldari said. He led the small
group down a tangential corridor and into a room
with consoles rising from the floors. "Everyone strap in
to a seat. If you don't have one, hold on." He
scuttled to the central panel and his hands flew over
the controls. Suddenly the room they were in tilted and
dropped away.
  "Oh, my God," Janice Rand said.
  As the Excelsior's bridge officers watched
the Sundew on the main viewscreen, the rear half
of the bottom level of the starship hinged away from the
main body.
  "Their shuttle is built into the ship." Sencus
thought quickly. Then he asked Rand to patch him through
to Garvin.
  "Commander Garvin, this is Excelsior. Report
at once." There was a crackle and Garvin's rough
voice came on. "We have secured the bridge of the
Sundew. All systems under our control. Teams
B and C have searched levels one and three and are
moving down--"
  "Level four is a shuttle," Sencus said.
"I repeat, level four is a shuttle. It is
leaving the Sundew. "Even as they watched, small
explosions along the hinged side blew puffs of
smoke into the galaxy, and the shuttle completed its
separation. Then" it shot into space.
  "Track it," Sencus said to the officers beside him.
"Garyin, subdue the crew and search every inch of that
freighter." But even as he said it, he knew what
the result would be. If they had not found the
hostages yet, they were on the fourth level. The
pirate Maldari had outwitted them again.
  Maldari didn't feel so clever. Around him the
crew members that were knocked to the floor by the
disengagement were climbing back on their feet. "Where
are we?" Dramin asked. "In our shuttle,"
Maldari said. "And the prisoners?"
  "In the hold behind us. They're coming along for the
ride."
  "And everyone else?"
  Maldari saw in his mind the fallen Kornish.
"They are battling the disbelievers, I suppose,"
he said. His men took up positions in the small
shuttle, and began to bring the little ship's systems under
control.
  Great, Maldari thought. I'm locked in a
shuttle with a religious fanatic, and the only thing
I have to show for a year in space is eleven Federation
officers.
  "What do you propose to do now?" Dramin
demanded.
  "I wish I knew," Maldari said to Dramin,
figuring he had nothing to lose with a little honesty.
  "But where are we going?" Dramin insisted.
  Maldari looked over at the Promethean
crewman who had settled into the seat next to him.
The Promethean brought his controls alive, and
lights danced across the glass table he sat behind.
Then he looked over at Maldari. Maidaft
sighed.
  "No Where," he said.
  Aboard the Excelsior, Sencus paced the
bridge. The turbolift opened and Commander Garvin
stepped out, his uniform muddied with Beta
Promethean blood. Sencus spoke to him
quietly.
  "Report?"
  Garvin didn't answer at once.
  "It is not logical to blame yourself, Commander,"
Sencus said. "We did not know about the shuttle.
What happened after that?"
  "They fought us anyway. I don't think most of
them knew that the others had escaped. The starship is
under our control. Most of the pirates are dead. A
few are injured."
  "Medical," Sencus said out loud. "Board the
ship. See what you can do." He turned to Garvin.
"Our personnel?"
  "No casualties." "Good."
  "But we didn't find a single hostage."
  "Undoubtedly, they were all held on the fourth
level. Re-arm your team."
  Garvin turned heavily and went back toward the
turbolift.
  "I'm losing the shuttle," Lieutenant
Heurey called. "Follow it with all due
speed," Sencus said.
  The Excelsior shot through the galaxy. The
ancient little shuttle was no match for the speed
of the great Starship, but Sencus couldn't fire on it
for fear of endangering the hostages.
  "Course heading?" Sencus requested.
  "Somewhere in the Beta system, I think," Henrey
said. "Archnos? They're returning home..."
Sencus mused. "No, they're not heading for BP
1. They're--" Suddenly a noise boomed
outside, the bridge lights flashed off and on again,
and the ship rocked.
  "Asteroid," Henrey said. "A fairly large
one."
  "Evasive action," Sencus said.
  "I'm trying, sir, but we seem to have entered a
fairly large field of asteroids. And they're
emitting some kind of radio activity that's interfering
with our guidance systems."
  "Viewscreen."
  On the main viewscreen, hundreds of barren
rocks ranging from tiny to nearly the size of the
Excelsior herself were mining against the ship's shields.
  "Maldari's shuttle came this way?" Sencus
asked.
  "Yes, sir. She's still ahead of us. She
seems to know the way."
  "Then follow her."
  "She's slipping through spots too small for us."
  "Are we tracking her?" Sencus said to Rand.
"The sensor we fired is attached to her hull."
"Then she will not lose us. In the meantime--" Another
boom and the ship rocked unsteadily. "--m power to the
shields," Sencus said.
  On the screen, the density of the barrage increased.
"The radioactive anomaly is interfering with our
navigational instruments," Henrey called over the
increasing noise. "I'm having trouble keeping her
level."
  "Open all viewscreens. Maximum
visibility. We will fly on the stick."
  "Sir?"
  "An ancient expression," Sencus said.
"Try to pilot her through. This rock storm cannot last
forever." He was determined not to lose the shuttle.
  "The shields are draining power from thruster
capacity!" an engineer said.
  "We don't need much speed," another voice
shouted.
  "We won't have any at all if this keeps
up," came an answer from the engine room.
  The ship was rocked and buffeted by the huge boulders
slamming against the shields.
  "Navigation, map this asteroid belt."
  Sencus knew he'd have to make a decision
soon. The Excelsior couldn't fly much longer
without strengthening its shields with further power, and that
would cripple their capacity to leave the area.
  "Sir," an officer shouted over the din. "Heavy
concentrations of asteroids surround us. The field
ranges from one hundred to two hundred kilometers
in almost all directions. Above us it thins, and
disappears completely within thirty-five
kilometers."
  The Excelsior slowed to a crawl.
  "It's no use, sir. I can't take the
Excelsior much farther without pushing through these rocks.
Our shields need additional power."
  "Reduce speed to cruising."
  "The asteroids are emitting some kind of radiation
that is interfering with our sensors, and my controls are
malfunctioning."
  "Go to backup systems."
  Henrey's hands flew over his console, but even as
Sencus watched, he knew it was useless.
  "They're not much better, sir. These asteroids
are hot enough to cause interference with guidance sensors,
and even interior electrical systems."
The ship's lights blinked and went out, and the red
backup lights gave a ghostly illumination to the
deck.
  The ship rocked and bucked erratically, and the
constant booming of the asteroids against the shields echoed
on the bridge.
  "Stop following the shuttle, Lieutenant.
Pull her up.
  Engine room, allocate all remaining power
to thrusters. We will push the ship out through the top of this
obstacle course."
  Sencus knew that the great Excelsior was rising
up, asteroids slamming off her shields. Little by little
she steadied herself, and on the viewscreens Sencus
saw the number of asteraids diminish, until the
ship was steady and once more the black space around them
was an infinity of emptiness. In the sudden quiet,
Sencus turned to Rand. "Where did she go?"
  "Deeper into the asteroids, sir. The
radioactivity is interfering with our ability to read
the sensors. I don't under stand how she could have
navigated right through that belt." Sencus sat down
at his science station.
  "They had a much smaller ship," he explained.
"And an older one. If their guidance
systems are relatively primitive, the
radioactivity would not have interfered as much. Their
willingness to enter the belt indicates a familiarity
with the area."
  "I don't think I've ever experienced so much
radiation. If those planets were all dead, where was it
coming from?" Henrey asked.
  Sencus had already been wondering the same thing. His
hands'played over his science console.
  "Perhaps they were not always dead," he postulated.
"Then..." Henrey thought of something he had learned
years before at the Academy about radioactive
isotopes and their origin.
  "Yes..a civilization that misused nuclear
power may have suffered an atomic accident of some
sort," Sencus finished the young helmsman's thoughts
for him. "On an enormous planet. It was not
uncommon centuries ago. With a radioactive
half-life of literally thousands of years, those
rocks will remain barren and hot forever."
  "But then Maldari couldn't have a base there."
  "No, but we can postulate that he uses it when
he wants to go undetected. Yet he will have to come out
the other side soon. We will orbit the belt and
attempt to pick up his "And if we can't?"
Lieutenant Rand asked.
  "Then we will continue to search the quadrant for
eleven Starfleet officers," Sencus said
quietly. "Have we heard from Starfleet Command
yet?"
  "Starbase 499 has acknowledged our message
sent and passed it on. Nothing from San
Francisco as yet."
  Day Two
  Somewhere in the Beta Prometheus star system
FOG WRAPPED THE GRAVEYARD of ancient
starships when Maldari set down the shuttle in its
midst. Pushed by a light wind, it drifted around the
detritus. The wind also made the rotting hulks
creak, and a light symphony of straining metal
played on the desert junkyard. Maldari
instructed the remnants of his crew to guard the
prisoners, and then descended the outside ramp of his
shuttle. Dramin was at his side before he even put
his boots on the cracked dry ground.
  "Where are we?" Dramin asked. "In the
desert," Maldari answered. "What's all this?"
  "Starships. Ancient, broken beyond repair.
Parts here are free, you just have to take them."
  "You need to repair the shuttle?"
  "No."
  "Then why did we put down here?"
  "Would you rather land on an official freight dock,
and when the authorities ask for our manifest, tell
them we have eleven Starfleet officers kidnapped from
a Federation Starship?"
  Dramin paused. Maldari scuttled off the
ramp and set out across the junkyard. Rusting walls
of starships dumped at every angle created a
near-maze. As Maldari threaded his way through,
Dramin followed.
  "Where are we going, then?" Dramin insisted.
"Dramin," Maldari said, stopping in the shadows and
looking at him for the first time. "There are a number of
things which freight brokers in Archnos do not take under
consignment. I haven't read the regulations
lately, but I'm certain that a human cargo is
probably one of them." Dramin, Maldari thought,
is probably something of an innocent where trading is
concerned. "Let me spell this out, and then when we go
inside, you keep your mouth shut."
  Dramin was startled by Maldari's sudden lack of
deference. Maldari turned and walked on. He
spoke to Dramin over his shoulder.
  "We're going to find out what the market
might be for these humans. From brokers who do not
operate under the oppressive eyes of the Archnos
authorities."
  "And why would such brokers be here?" Dramin
asked, staring about him at the outsized junkyard.
  "Because, Dramin," Maldari said as he climbed
over a twisted piece of metal and scuttled out
into the open, "this is the No Where cantina."
Maldari nodded ahead of them, and Dramin saw a
large starship, upside down, its nose buried in
the ground apparently where it crashed. Modifications
had turned it into a ramshackle building. Violet
lights glowed out of various windows, and in the center
them was a rusted metal door.
  "There are disbelievers here?" Dramin asked.
  "There are all kinds of species here. Many
offwofiders as well as Beta Prometheans. Here
their worship revolves around a slightly different
set of principles than yours. Namely, profits.
Just have a drink. You can probably get some of that
sludge you like. I have some inquiries to make."
  Maldari scuttled across the open space and went
inside, where the fog was replaced with an even thicker
smoke, and the creaking of the wind in the ghostly starships
was buried by the clink of copperware,
multiple voices, and electronic noise. He
searched the faces of the denizens spread about the
loftlike space as he made his way along the
floor to the bar.
  "Maldari, I can't say it's good to see you."
The Beta Promethean bartender was the first to speak
to him. "Isn't my credit good?" Maldari said.
  "Your credit is, but your cargo isn't," the
bartender said in a low voice.
  "Picades," Maldari swore. "Who knows?"
  "Everybody. Although I think there is a
settlement of off worlders three systems from here who
forswear subspace communications. They may not have
heard yet."
  "Very humorous."
  "You're here to trade?" the bartender said,
scratching his thick eyebrow.
  "I have to talk to a few aliens first. Is
Lieus around?"
  "I think so. You have humanoids, then?"
  But Maldari took a steaming cup in his hands and
turned his back on the bartender without answering. He
scuttled slowly through the customers. In the corner,
he spotted a lizardlike male with narrow eyes
and a snake's head, his scaly body draped
with leather. He was sitting at a table with his back to the
wall, talking with half a dozen aliens from various
systems. As Maldari approached, Licus
looked up at him and smiled.
  He knows already, Maldari thought. Then he knows
I'm in a corner. But the females will still be worth
a fortune. if we move quickly.
  "Maldari, I've been expecting you," Licus
hissed.
  "I don't know why," Maldari said, sitting on
an empty stool across from him without acknowledging the
other off worlders around the table. Licus nodded at
them, and they disappeared into the smoke of the establishment.
  "It could be because I am the only one in this system
who deals in living species."
  "There are others," Maldari noted.
"Trafficking in sentient species other than
Betas ia not illegal."
  "Perhaps not. But even I have never tried to sell a
Federation Starfleet officer."
  "If they disappear quickly into a far galaxy, they
will soon be forgotten."
  "You don't know humans."
  "Two of them are women. One is a
magnificent specimen, worth a small
fortune."
  Licus's heavy-lidded eyes sparkled for the first
time. "And the other?" he asked.
  "Older, but also good."
  "Only two women..."
  "Licus, let's get down to business.
Seventy thousand kerns."
  Licus's placid face lit up.
  "You mean you have them here?"
  "They are well guarded."
  "Picades.t You must have brought the whole
starfleet with you."
  "They didn't follow us. They couldn't. A
Starship that size couldn't navigate through the
Kitarian Cloud Rocks. Listen, there are
eleven altogether. Seventy thousand kerns is a
bargain."
  "Let's go see," Licus hissed. Maldari
got up and scuttled toward the door. He looked
around for Dramin, but the fanatic had disappeared.
Good riddance, he thought.
  Lieutenant Roose sat on the hard floor,
leaned his back against the bulwark, and listened idly
to the two men next to him.
  "I hope," Dr. Bernard Hans said
to Spiros Focus, "this isn't going to be the
ignominious end to a glorious career."
  "The Excelsior is my first assignment, and I
only joined her two months ago," Spiros
answered glumly. "That is hardly a career."
  "I was referring to my own," Hans said, smiling
at the young man. "I have served as ship's surgeon
aboard Federation Starships for four decades now, and
was only just the other morning contemplating retirement.
Stuck in the hold of an unreliable shuttle in an
obscure corner of a far galaxy at the mercy of
absurd characters from a comic-opera civilization is
hardly what I had planned for my retirement."
  The young cadet looked at him sympathetically.
  Hans went on, primarily out of the conviction that
idle chatter was better than silence for morale.
  "I had in mind something a good deal more bucolic.
Fishing the canals of Mars, reading mystery novels
under warm Venusian skies, perhaps a visit to the
famous gardens of Orgon. Why, I might even
take up a hobby. The commander is always recommending
one or another."
  Roose was galvanized by the old man's
remarks. As the officers spoke in low voices, his
hand went down to his boot. He pretended
to scratch his ankle, and there felt the imprint of the
long knife Sulu had handed him. Too busy
to return it to his cabin, and worried that if he
left it anywhere it might hurt someone, he had
slid it into the leather of his boot as he rode the
turbolift to the bridge with Sulu. In all the
excitement since, he had forgotten about it. He
started to pull it out, then hesitated. What if they
are monitoring us in here? he thought. Instead, he
stood up and walked casually over to Sulu, who was
standing with Svenson nearer the door.
  "Captain, uh, how are you doing on your hobby?
You know, the ivory carving?"
  Sulu looked at him curiously.
  "Fine, when I can get to it. Right now--"
  t'I've taken it up too. Just like you suggested."
Roose smiled, feeling like an idiot.
  "That's interesting, Lieutenant Roose. Perhaps
if we can get back to the Excelsior in the near
future, we can--"
  "With the tool you gave me. Remember?"
  "Lieutenant, right now ivory carving doesn't
--" "In fact, I couldn't put it down."
  Roose saw Sulu's face lose the look of
bemusement at last, and stare penetratingly
at him.
  "The tool I gave you?" Sulu asked.
  "Yes." He raised his foot and adjusted his
boot. "I thought it might come in handy."
  Sulu looked at Roose's feet. Then he
looked up at Roose. "And you've still got what
I loaned you?"
  "Yes," Roose nodded.
  "You're right, it might come in handy. Be
cautious."
  "Yes, sir."
  The door opened as Roose was crossing back
to his uncomfortable seat near the bulwark, Half a
dozen Beta Prometheans came in with their weapons
drawn. Maldari came in behind them, followed by a
tall, thin, agile alien Roose didn't
recognize, but whose home system must have featured a
blistering sun, for the alien had leathery, scaled skin.
  The pirate crew moved forward and prodded the
officers with their weapons, moving them back against the
far wall. Maldari gave instructions in his
guttural sounds, but the Starfleet officers, without
their Universal Translators, didn't understand
them. Maldari and the lizardlike fellow seemed to be
discussing something. And then Maldari pointed
to Violet Bays. He gestured for her to come
forward. She held her ground.
  He gave more instructions, and two of his men
pulled her away from the others and brought her to the center
of the cargo hold. As the other hostages moved
forward, the pirates raised their weapons
threateningly.
  "Maldari," Sulu shouted and moved between
Maldari and the woman. "If you harm any
Starfleet officer--" Sulu suddenly felt the
immense strength of the Beta's upper body as
Maldari shoved him back. He sprawled on the
floor.
  Maldari said something to Violet Bays. Roose
and the others were listening carefully, but the Beta
Promethean language was impossible to fathom.
Maldari raised his weapon and pointed it at her.
He shouted something in a harsh voice. Roose
wanted to reach for his knife, but in the tense room,
any kind of movement would have attracted the attention
of the well-armed pirates. Everybody waited.
Maldari shook his weapon. The alien put his hand
over Maldari's and gently pushed the weapon down.
  "I don't want damaged goods," he said
to Maldari in the Beta Promethean
language. He looked at the tall woman.
"We want you," he said in a halting, lisped
English, "to take off your clothes."
  "Up yours," Bays said in a forceful tone.
Maldari didn't understand her at all, and the
lizard-man puzzled over the meaning of the phrase.
  On the way back to the bar, Maldari tried
to reassure Licus. "Probably female
humans are allowed more modesty than our females
are accustomed to. I doubt if she was hiding any
significant blemishes."
  "You should have insisted. Your men could have stripped
her," Lieus said.
  "When I have been paid, you can do what you like with her.
In the meantime, the others looked like they may have
caused trouble. I can't start shooting them, they're
valuable."
  "Not to me," Licus said. They had crossed through
the junkyard and come to the clearing. "The men aren't
worth much at all and, considering the belligerence of the
United Federation of Planets, will probably be
too hot to handle. But I'll take the women off
your hands. Forty thousand kerns for the two of them." He
pushed through the steel doors of the bar and left
Maldari standing outside in the gloom and
fog.
  Maldari swore a Promethean oath to himself.
He was going to be stuck with nine male humans if
he wasn't quick about it. He hurried inside after
Licus and followed him to the "table in the corner.
  "I am anxious to get back into space. I'll
throw in the men for just ten thousand kerns. Surely you can
sell them on a slave planet somewhere."
  "It isn't so easy." Lieus frowned.
"Human females are well known throughout the
universe for their durability, their"
adaptability, and their common sense. But the men will be
obstinate and argumentative. As servants they'll be
truculent and moody. And they will breed not for
intelligence or even strength, but for valueless
commodities such as beauty. Besides, the whole
Starfleet will be looking for them. Slave planets
don't want trouble from Federation Starships. I'll
tell you what. I'll give you fifty thousand kerns
for the two women. That's my best offer. Make up
your mind, because I want to transport them quickly."
  Maldari sat on the stool and rubbed his face with
his open hand.
  "All right," he said. "All right. The women are
yours.
  Now what in Hades am I going to do with nine
males?"
  "I can help you with that," a familiar voice said.
Maldari swiveled around and found that Dramin was standing
behind him. There were two more Clerics with him, one of them
much older. Great, Maldari thought, more fanatics
to deal with. But the figure that made him most
suspicious stood just next to the Clerics. He was
tall and powerfuMooking, and had an angry
visage. Though Maldari had seen many of them on his
home planet, there were few in this low-life
establishment in a barren spot in the far corner of the
Beta Promethean star system. And this one was well
dressed in a military-style uniform. He was a
Klingon.
  "Dramin, I don't know if I want to get
involved with Klingons," Maldari said, after he had
moved aside with his religious officer. And I
don't know if I want to get involved with you
Clerics either, he thought. "Besides, they don't
subscribe to the Only Way, do they?"
  "Sometimes we have to work with disbelievers," Dramin
said. "You've lost your ship. Your shuttle will be
easily spotted, is unarmed, and is much too
slow. They are willing to transport you, your
crew, and your freight back to Archnos. They have a
B'rel-class Bird-of-Prey right here on this
moon. It is commonly used to carry cargo in and out
of Archnos. As they have their own freight warehouses
and facilities, no one will question its manifest. The
spaceport there is full of opportunity."
  "And what do they want for this help, exactly?"
  "Only to use the Starfleet officers for a few
days. After that, you can do whatever you want with them."
  "I can't sell dead Starfleet officers,
Dramin."
  "You can't sell live ones either, Maldari," the
Cleric said.
  So Dramin understood the situation. Maldari
reminded himself to stop thinking of Clerics as quite so
unworldly.
  Maldari glanced around the bar. He ran his eye
over a number of off worlders. Few were traders in
species, he knew. If Licus wouldn't take
the men, no one would. What did he have to lose?
  Then he spotted a Beta Promethean he
knew. The odd figure sat alone at a table, but
was staring straight at Maldari. His Beta
Promethean features were ugly, smooth, with
straight white teeth and even skin. His
hair was silky, his eyes blue. Maldari
remembered that he was a half-breed. If the other
half was descended from any of the Federation species,
then... Maldari told Dramin to meet him
outside the shuttle with the Klingons. After they left,
Maldari went straight over to the curious Beta
Promethean.
  Before Maldari could introduce himself, the man
rose on his four short legs. "Please, sit
down." He smiled, and the milky white teeth
annoyed Maldari. "My name is Tams Tarquin.
We've traded once before, some years ago. You
probably don't remember. It doesn't
matter."
  "No, I remember. Vaguely." Maldari
wanted to recall whether he had gotten the best of the
swap or not.
  "I can imagine you are having a bit of trouble
getting rid of your current cargo," Tarquin said.
  "Sometimes the market is good, sometimes not,"
Maldari said evasively.
  "Perhaps I should explain. You're wondering about my
heritage. My mother was Beta Promethean. But my
father was a human. He was part of an early colony
in a neighboring system."
  "I'm not a bigot," Maldari said. "I leave
that to the Clerics."
  "Your cargo. I may be able to help you."
  "I don't need any help," Maldari said.
  "In placing it," Tarquin went on politely.
"I have a number of contacts among the people,
probably the only people, who would buy. Or trade.
Or, say, even if you just wanted to give it back
without causing an intergalactic incident. Which might
be the best thing."
  "You represent the Federation?"
  "No, not at all. I am merely a trader, like
yourself. But because of my, shall we say,
unattractiveness, I am more welcome outside the
Beta system than in it, and I am in the habit of
traveling freely in Federation space. I often
visit their starbases. That's why interspecies
trading has become something of a specialty with me."
  "I've already unloaded the women. I'm
transporting the men back to--to somewhere else. But
I haven't made a deal for them yet."
  Tarquin shrugged. He let Maldari think.
  "In a few days, the men might be available,"
Maldari said. "Where can I reach you?"
  "Here," Tarquin said. "I'm here often.
Or you can leave a message with the bartender. An
ancient but useful alternative."
  "And you could find a buyer for nine human males?
Even if they were Starfleet officers?"
  "I can find a buyer for anything." Tarquin
smiled, his straight teeth once more reminding
Maldari he was dealing with a perversion of the Beta
Promethean species. "It is a special
talent of mine," he appended, looking at
Maldari.
  Caught staring at the odd half-alien, Maldari
was not embarrassed.
  As soon as the pirates locked them in again,
Sulu hurried to reassure Violet Bays that
she would be safe.
  "We'll be out of here soon," he said to her.
"In the meantime, we'll all stand together."
  "Something has to happen," Lieutenant Roose
added. "They could have killed us by now if that's what they
wanted to do."
  "Somehow that doesn't give me a lot of hope.
They look like a murderous bunch of thugs to me,"
Bays said.
  "You mustn't judge aliens by their
cosmetology," Dr. Hans put in.
"What do you really think our situation is, Sulu?
What do these villains want from us?"
  "I wish I could answer that," Sulu said
seriously.
  Roose spoke up. "If these pirates want
to call themselves traders, I hope they'll trade us
for something."
  "A ransom?" Sulu said. "That would be
difficult for the Federation to swallow. Think what it
would open up. I'm sure Sencus is moving forward
on some front or another. We can count on him to do
his very best. He's enormously resourceful. We
can trust him with our lives."
  "At this point," Dr. Hans said simply,
"I believe we are."
  The little group broke up. Dr. Hans waited
until he could join Sulu in the corner of the hold.
  "Can we really expect to be rescued?" Hans
said.
  "That depends," Sulu said, measuring his own
thoughts. "I can imagine that Starfleet cannot move on
this without authorization from the Federation Council. They
may be unwilling to trigger any kind of military
action. There could be political delays,
negotiations. Then too, the Starfleet is
spread very thin around an infinite universe. We
pay a certain price in exchange for the almost
limitless autonomy that an Excelsior-class
cruiser has so many million light-years from
headquarters. I think we're paying that price now.
We are, functionally if not theoretically, on our
own, as is usually the case."
  "In other words, we're expendable."
  "Surely you knew that," Sulu said as calmly
as he could.
  "It wasn't exactly in the Basic Orders."
Hans smiled and put his hand on Sulu's shoulder.
  On the other side of the room Lieutenant
Roose looked closely at Ensign Bays.
He had always liked her. She was efficient on the
bridge, dedicated and anxious to learn off it, and
eternally ebullient socially. Now he saw for the first
time disthe strain starting to show in her pale face. He
tried to reassure her.
  "Don't worry, we're going to be all right.
It's just a matter of a few days' patience."
  "I may not have a few days," the young woman
answered. "I'm sure there's a reason Maldari
brought that man to look at me.:"
  "Listen," Roose said, feeling
protective. "We wouldn't let you become
separated from us. If it comes to that--"
  "If it comes to that, Lieutenant Roose,"
Bays said, her confidence returning, "I can take
care of myself. It would not help for any of you to get
yourselves hurt or killed, on my account. Don't
try to do anything foolishly gallant."
  "Tell you what," Roose said, bending down as
if to rebuckle his boot, then straightening up. "You
take this. Put it in your pocket or something. Just in
case." He slid the sharp knife into her hand. Her
face showed surprise. "I happened to have it on me
when we were ambushed."
  Sulu saw the maneuver, and knew at once that
the lieutenant had given Bays his knife. If it
came to hand-to-hand combat, Sulu thought, this crew
could take these pirates, and the idea gave him some
relief--coma feeling that faded as quickly as it came.
The Prometheans had murderous weapons. He'd
need a better idea than that. He looked around at
the hold, and saw that there were numerous panels and
tubes holding the controls. He approached
Svenson.
  "Sven," Sulu said in a low voice. "Look
at the walls. They're loaded with
systems."
  "I've noticed that," the taciturn
Norwegian said. "We could probably disable this
ship from here. Disrupt all of the power. But then what?"
  "What about communications?" Sulu said.
  "What do you mean?"
  "What do you think you could fashion out of some of these
wires and things? There must be a power source in the
walls somewhere."
  The tall blond man stood up. "You mean, could
I contact the Excelsior? Probably not without a
voice sensor. But I'll bet I could fashion a
simple signal transmitter. By tapping into the
shuttle's own power source, I could broadcast our
coordinates on the Excelsior coded emergency
frequency."
  "Give it a try."
  "If I start tearing up the facilities, the
ship might not function."
  "Let them worry about that."
  Svenson scouted the walls. He opened a
number of ducts and found an archaic amount of
wiring, a few sensors, and some hardwired boards.
Then he found the subspace receiver the ship would
depend on for long-range communication. In
less than half an hour he had a
signal-transmission device ready. He called
Sulu over.
  "Just press this, and a low-frequency signal on
Excelsior's emergency band will go out from it. If
they're listening, they will be able to identify our
coordinates by tracing the source."
  "They're listening," Sulu said. "Ship's
regulations require constant monitoring of the
emergency frequency if anyone is missing." Some
of the other officers had gathered around and were admiring
Svenson's handiwork.
  "Hey, Sven," Spiros Focus said
jovially. "Why don't you build us a
transporter and beam us the heck out of here?"
  "What's the matter, Spiros, don't you like the
frontier life?" another officer said.
  "To be honest, I have yet to see anything up here
that compares with my islands. I think when my tour of
duty is over, I will go back and sit on my
hillside, watch the starships land in the
Mediterranean ports, and be glad the only aliens
I deal with are fish from the sea."
  "Just one thing," Svenson said to Sulu. "I'm
fairly certain that this will be a one-time-only
transmission. By diverting the main power source on
the shuttle, I'm fairly certain I've got enough
range to reach the Excelsior, provided she
hasn't left the region."
  "She hasn't," Sulu said quietly.
  "But when the surge of power needed is monitored
by the shuttle's main onboard computer, it will
recognize a renegade and unauthorized use of
its propulsion boost by the electromagnetic
field, and probablywif their systems resemble
ours even slightly--shut down automatically
until it defines the loss of power as necessary. Since
the main communications in the control cell do the same
thing, the computer will probably either reroute the power
on its own, or at least sound a warning on the main
control panel that our captors might see or
hear."
  "In other words," Sulu said thoughtfully,
"let's hope it works the first time. All right,
Sven, give it a try."
  Svenson touched a couple of loose wires
together, then pushed a small metallic button he
had rigged. Nothing happened.
  "Well, that was pretty anticlimactic,"
Spiros said.
  "It's only a subspace transmission,
Spiros," Sulu said. "It wasn't supposed
to be bells and whistles." He turned to Svenson.
"Think it worked?"
  The tall Norwegian shrugged. "Hope so,"
he said. Silently all the officers agreed with him.
  Sounds outside caused the men to break up. The
door opened. A dozen men came in, half of
Maldari's pirate crew, the other half versions
of the lizard-man who had visited earlier. They
prodded the crew back again, and this time without words
pulled both the women forward. Holding them by the arms,
they turned to go out the door.
  Instinctively several of the officers jumped toward
the guards. A scuffle broke out. The guards hit
two of them hard with the butt of their weapons. Sulu
hurried up and tried to insert himself between the women and the
door. He reached for Bays.
  "Wait a minute," he yelled. "We are
Federation citizens. I demandre" A blast from
Maldari's weapon knocked him backward. The
last thing he saw before he blacked out was the door
closing after the two women were pushed out.
  Violet Bays had never much liked reptiles,
and these half-humanoids bore far too
much a resemblance to that particular species. She
thought of them as the lizard-men. They were escorting her
and Nora Schmidt from Engineering through a yard that
seemed to be the repository of intergalactic
junk, primarily shuttles and even starships too
ancient or busted up to be of any use. The
rotting hulks lay haphazardly scattered around and
some of the larger ones towered above them, but the lizard-men
seemed to know the path, and their leader quickly led them through
the twisted carnage. One of them held Bays"
forearm tightly, and she could feel the cold-blooded
hand, clammy and scaly on her skin.
  "Why do you think we've been separated?" Bays
said to Nora. Nora looked over at Bays as one
of the lizard-men pulled her along the path.
  "I'd rather not speculate," she said. "Though perhaps
we are being released, in some sort of goodwill
political gesture." Bays recognized
Nora's gift for sarcasm. She glanced at the
lizard-man pulling her along, but he didn't
seem to care that the two women were conversing.
  "But you don't think so?" Bays said.
  "Societies out here," Nora answered. "Or
perhaps that's unfair--let's say, underdeveloped
societies have a lesser regard for women
than the societies of our sun. The fact that their
leader up there tried to get you to disrobe, well..."
Nora let the thought go unfinished. But Bays found
the conversation comforting.
  "Then too, they're pirates," she said.
  "I don't think we'll have to walk a plank,"
Nora said. "If that's what you're worried about."
  After another few yards, Bays looked at the
man guarding her. "Go to hell, lizard breath," she
said pleasantly. He didn't react. She
turned to Nora.
  "I'd say they aren't translating us just now."
  Nora smiled, and turned to her own escort.
"Hey, scale skin. How would you like a swift
kick in the balls?"
  She got no answer.
  "In that case," Violet said in a
noncommittal tone, "you'll want to know we aren't
without resources. I've got a very sharp knife in
my boot."
  Nora tried not to be startled.
  "You are a clever girl," she said. "I think
we'll be able to take on these Jurassic types
after all. Maybe we should hold off a bit,
however. Until we get settled somewhere."
  "All right. But if their leader wants me to take
off my clothes again, I can't be responsible for my
actions."
  "That's certainly up to you. When I was your age,
I would have done the same thing. Now I think I'm
jealous that they asked you and not me." Nora smiled
sideways, and Violet decided that if she was going
to find herself in a tight situation, there was no one
she'd rather be in it with than the frank and imperturbable
Nora.
  The lizard-men hurried Violet and Nora through
the junkyard and across an open space of desert.
Violet noticed that the ships around them changed in
character and seemed to be reasonably intact. They were
all small shuttles parked in the open desert, and
some were attended by species from outside the Federation
planets. But the lizard in the lead, whom Violet
had heard Maldari refer to as Licus, ignored
them and hurried the small group onward, Then
Violet saw their obvious destination.
  Ahead of her in the open desert sat a series of
cages, each containing one or more individuals of an
alien species.
  Violet noticed a pair of Berengaria
dragons, which she knew were a protected
species under Federation environmental regulations.
Nora, however, was looking in the other direction.
  Violet followed her gaze. A shudder ran through
her. A number of the cages held humanolds.
Although she saw no races from Earth, several were known
to her as sentient beings.
  "You think this is some kind of zoo? I've heard
of those," Violet said.
  "It's possible, since we're outside Federation
territory. Federation treaties allow only for
wilderness parks, not zoos. But the care and feeding of the
species trapped here doesn't seem to be their
keeper's highest priority."
  Violet and Nora were pushed into an empty
cage, and the gate was shut behind them. Violet looked
around. They were in an open pen no more than eight
feet square, with wire enclosing the ceiling. The
walls were contiguous with other walls, and over a
hundred pens were linked together in the clearing. Although they
were locked in, and the grid of wire fencing was too
narrow to slip through, construction seemed rather flimsy.
Violet wondered how sturdy it was. But when she
went to grab the wire mesh, Nora pulled her
back. Then Nora searched the ground, and came
back with a bit of twisted metal. She
tossed it against the wire, and a spark sizzled in the
air.
  "I'd say about eighty volts," Nora said.
"Don't touch it or lean against it."
  "So that's it," Violet said. "I thought some of
these species looked pretty strong."
  "Even a zoo wouldn't have boundaries as inhumane
as these," Nora pointed out.
  The dry desert dust blew up, and a shuttle
cruised in and stopped in a clearing in front of the
cages. The species around them became agitated.
  Two Klingons climbed out of the shuttle, strode
to a squat building at the edge of the cages, and
disappeared inside. After a minute or two,
Licus and several other lizard-men came out with the
Klingons. The group strode toward Violet and
Nora. They paused in front of the women's cage.
Their translators taken, Violet and Nora
couldn't understand the exchange. The Klingons seemed
intrigued, but eventually shook their heads and moved
on. Violet watched them walk along the cages and
stop in front of another pair of females, whom
Violet recognized as Caltarian. They were
humanoid, tall and lithe, without any hair, wearing
only loincloths. They backed away from the
front of the cage as Licus began a conversation with the
two Klingons. The Klingons nodded. Licus
turned and waved back toward the building he had come
out of, and one of his guards threw a switch on the
wall. Then two lizard-men opened the cage and went
inside.
  The Caltarians resisted. They slipped to the
back corners of their cage. When the lizard-men
approached them, they kicked furiously, and one of the
guards went down. Licus hissed out a few
orders, and the rest of the guards rushed in and subdued the
two. Long poles were brought in, and the
Caltarians' wrists and ankles were tied to them.
Then the lizard-men hoisted the poles on their
shoulders and carried the struggling Caltarians out of the
cage and across the clearing. Violet watched them
disappear into the Klingon shuttle, and the two Klingons
followed them in.
  "Caltarians are a highly intelligent
species," Violet said quietly to Nora.
  Violet watched the shuttle power up, then dash
out of the clearing and disappear into the clouds. She watched
as Licus and his men returned to the building, leaving
only three guards roaming the perimeter of the
stockade. The guards paid little attention to the
species trapped inside.
  "Some say superior to humans," Nora
answered. "I sure hope that signal Norquist
rigged up went out okay, and someone knows where we
are."
  Lieutenant Janice Rand stood up suddenly.
  "I'm getting a signal on the emergency
channel!" she said. Everyone on the bridge looked
over. Sencus walked to her side.
  "It's a Mayday code."
  "Anything else?" Sencus said.
  "No. No message. But it's on our coded
emergency channel. No one could have transmitted
on it except Captain Sulu or his people."
  "And it is nothing more than that?"
  "Yes. It's stopped." "Already?" Sencus said.
  "It was a one-time-only transmission."
  "Can you pinpoint it?" "Yes."
  "Lieutenant Henrey?" Sencus turned to the
helmsman he knew was tired. They were all tired.
Not one officer had left the bridge since the
Sundew% shuttle had disappeared ahead of them in
the asteroid belt.
  "Sir," the young man said quietly.
  "Wherever it is, take us there. Right now.
Fast as we can travel."
  "Yes, sir."
  The bridge came alive at once as the
Excelsior shot into space.
  "We'll have to go the long way. Around the asteroid
belt," Henrey reported.
  "Sir," another officer said from his console. "I
have confirmation on the location. We'll be well within the
Beta Prometheus star system."
  "Their home planet?"
  "No, sir. On the outskirts of the system.
An uninhabited moon."
  "Lieutenant Rand, send a message
to Starbase 499 for transmission to Starfleet
Headquarters at once. Tell them we are entering
the BP system in search of the missing Starfleet
officers. Tell them we can expect a confrontation
with their abductors, and we request permission to use
all available force if necessary. Henrey, ETA?"
  "Within minutes now, sir."
  "Forward monitor," Sencus said, raising his
voice.
  The monitor came alive with black space.
A dark planet floated in the far distance.
  "Enhance."
  The planet grew larger.
  "Is that it?" Sencus asked.
  "That's where the transmission came from, sir," an
officer said.
  "Scan it."
  All the officers on the bridge were glad to have
something to do at last.
  "Sir, this side is deserted. No
life-forms."
  "And the other side?"
  "I haven't scanned it yet, sir."
  "Well, as long as no one is home on this
side, let us go around and look for ourselves."
  A few moments later the Excelsior had
identified the small community on the dark side of the
barren planet and hovered in space above it.
  "Report, Mr. Cavanaugh," Sencus said.
  "Our scans show only three basic areas in
use, the rest is desert." The officer was bent over
his console, his craggy face intent on the readings.
He pushed back a shock of gray hair in an
unconscious gesture. "There's a great many
starships and shuttles, or parts of them. None of the
ships have a power source of any kind aboard. For that
matter, most of them don't have all their
walls intact. It seems to be a junkyard or
salvage yard of some kind. But there are two areas that
are filled with life-forms."
  "What kind? Beta Prometheans?"
  "Yes, sir, but many others as well. It looks
like an intergalactic crossroads."
  "What is the nature of the two areas?" Sencus
said. "It's hard to say, sir. We'll need
to take a closer look."
  Sencus turned around. Commander Garvin stood a
few feet away, waiting for an order.
  "Proceed there at once."
  Even as Sencus was saying it, Garvin turned
swiftly and headed for the turbolift.
  "Two teams," Sencus said to his back. "One
for each encampment. Garyin!" Sencus said just before the
turbolift doors closed on the security chief.
The big man turned around.
  "Phasers on stun only. We have no idea
what species are down there, or why."
  "Yes, sir," Garvin said grudgingly as the
turbolift doors closed around him.
  When Commander Garvin and twenty-four of his best people
had been transported down to the surface, he
divided them up into two teams. He
studied his tricorder.
  "According to the navigator, we're in the middle of a
junkyard," he told them, his deep voice
rumbling in the deserted yard. "Alpha team, you'll
find life-forms in that direction. Zeta team,
we'll go this way. Teams are on your own. When you
need to pull out, notify Excelsior. You know
what we're looking for. Let's go."
  Both teams hurried through the aisles of rotting
metal fuselages. There were no straight paths, but
by using sound-reflection, they were able to follow their
tricorders until they made their way to the edge of the
junkyard.
  It was just as the Alpha team was crossing the open
space that Maldari glanced out the window of the No
Where and saw them coming. He said a few words
to Dramin, who looked out the window. Maldari nodded
to the Klingons with them, and the four of them got up and
hurried across the bar.
  The Alpha team entered the No Where
cautiously. Its denizens were surprised to see
Starfleet officers, and nervous when the intruders were
recognized as not ordinary flight officers but a
security team. But the traders who patronized the
place were not easily intimidated. Most
of them merely watched as the soldiers spread out and
went through the large open area, searching the faces of
any Beta Prometheans there. After that they moved
into the back rooms, where smaller groups of
species were gathered. They didn't find any sign
of the hostages.
  By that time Maldari and his cohorts had slipped out
the back way.
  Nora saw them first. Two Starfleet security
soldiers were moving cautiously out of the junkyard
into the clearing. She knew there would be more. They were
scanning the area, but hadn't seen the women yet.
Nora shouted to Violet, and the two women waved.
The officers saw them, but as they ran across the clearing
toward the cage, a guard near the cage spotted them
and fired. One of the soldiers was hit, but the other
rolled to the side and shot the guard, who was knocked
backward and rendered helpless. The noise must have
warned the others, and a dozen lizard-men poured out of the
building.
  Before they could fire, a dozen more Starfleet
officers poured out of the junkyard and spread out in the
clearing, and a furious firefight ensued. In the
chaos, the original soldier reached Violet and
Nora.
  "Don't touch the fence!" Nora shouted. "It's
electrified! There's a switch over by the wall!"
Violet pointed out the controls she had seen the
lizard-man work when the Caltarians' cage was
opened. The soldier ran toward the building, firing
ahead of him. Violet saw him blast the little
panel. She looked around the dirt at her feet for
something to test the wire with, but saw only bare dust.
She quickly slipped her knife out of her boot and
threw it against the gate. The wire was silent.
  "It's off!" Nora said. Violet picked up
the knife. A soldier appeared out of the rising dust
in the clearing and fired his phaser at the latch. Then
he kicked the gate and it swung open. Violet and
Nora hurried through the gate and into the clearing, where a
rising cloud of dust cut their visibility, and the
noise of phaser fire exploded around them.
  Just as the soldier stepped back to let the women
through, Licus appeared behind him. The lizard leader
fired a weapon and the soldier went down. Licus
reached out and grabbed Violet Bays's hand and
yanked her toward him. He held his phaser to her
head and twisted one arm behind her back. Then he
moved out into the clearing.
  "Cease firing? Commander Garvin's deep
voice boomed in the clearing. The soldiers had
stunned most of the lizard-men and the others had run
away. But Licus moved forward, using Violet as
a shield, and worked his way toward a shuttle parked
next to the low building.
  Violet thought she wouldn't be able to do it. Although
she had received weapons training at the Academy,
she had served only on the bridge for almost five
years. She had never had to kill a member of
another species in her life.
  Licus was forcing her across the clearing. The shuttle
was coming closer. Garvin and his people were stationary. They had
their weapons raised, but wouldn't be able to fire. In
a short time she and Licus would have reached the safety
of the shuttle.
  "Violet!" she heard Nora's voice shout.
"Violet, now!" Ensign Bays thrust the knife
with all her might behind her, plunging it into the thick
reptilian skin pressed against her.
  Licus stopped. He dropped his phaser. His
webbed feet tried to find a balance in the dirt, but
he swayed and dropped to the ground, where he twitched,
the knife deep in his side. Violet stood over
him, her hand still extended.
  "First-rate use of ancient weapons,"
Nora said to her as she reached her side. "I never
liked this guy. He wanted to see you naked, and
couldn't care less about me." She smiled at
Violet.
  Violet realized she was shaking. She felt
Nora put her arms around her. "I never killed
anything before," she said to Nora.
  "If it makes you feel better, and it should,"
Nora said quietly, holding her, "this guy was
scum."
  "Zeta team to Excelsior." Garvin had touched
his communicator. "We have secured our area. Two
hostages are safe. No sign of the others. We will
continue to search."
  "They're probably still aboard the shuttle,"
Nora said to Garvin. "That's where they were when we were
separated. It's this way."
  The two women retraced their path back across the
junkyard maze. They came to the original landing
site. They hurried across the clearing to the Sundew
shuttle. The door hung open. The Starfleet
security team searched the small shuttle, but it was
deserted. An officer with a tricorder stepped up
to Gamin.
  "No life-forms here, sir," he said.
"They must have been taken somewhere else."
  As soon as the team was back aboard the
Excelsior, Garyin reported to the bridge.
Sencus listened to a brief account of the events at the
stockade, and the Alpha team leader reported finding
nothing at the No Where. Both teams had searched the
small inhabited areas of the planet, and found no
sign of the Starfleet hostages, nor of Maldari
and his men.
  "They must have been taken off the planet,"
Sencus said. "Lieutenant Rand, what kind of
activity has there been since we arrived?"
  "A single starship left the vicinity, sir.
It's heading across the system toward BP 1."
  "Identification?"
  "Yes, sir. It's a Klingon ship. A
Bird-of-Prey."
  "Klingons. Wouldn't you know it," Sencus said.
"But what would the Klingons be doing in all this?" he
said more to himself than the oflicers on the bridge.
  "Sir," Rand spoke up. "We are receiving a
subspace transmission from Starfleet Command."
  "Finally. What do they have to say?"
  "Admiral Belzie, Starfleet Command
Headquarters, United Federation of
Planets to U.s.s. Excelsior," Janice
said aloud on the quiet bridge, one hand holding
her earpiece in tightly. "Situation acknowledged.
Excelsior will report immediately to Starbase 499.
Do not, repeat, do not enter Beta Promethean star
system."
  Sencus stood silently for a long time. The
bridge officers watched him. Finally the helmsman
spoke to him. "Course heading, sir?" Henrey
said.
  "Hmmm?" Sencus was stirred out of his thoughts.
"Yes, course heading. We will cease pursuit of the
hostages, and report to the nearest Federation
starbase."
  "But sir--" Henrey said. "We could catch that
Bird-of-Prey in a matter of--"
  "Starbase 499," Sencus said abruptly, and
returned to his own science station, from where he was most
comfortable commanding the Starship. "At once. Those are
our orders."
  Day Three
  Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco
Bay THE ORIGINAL MESSAGE from
Excelsior--a simple statement that eleven
Excelsior officers had been taken
hostage aboard the Sundew, a star freighter
presumed to be from the city of Archnos in the Beta
Promethean star systemmhad flashed to Starbase
499 on an Urgent, Highest Priority
channel. It was read by the commander of the starbase and
immediately passed on to Starfleet Communication
Headquarters on Earth, where it arrived in San
Francisco via subspace radio seconds
later. It spilled across the chief of communications'
monitor automatically as it came in coded
Highest Priority. He read it at once, then
reached out to his console and entered his personal
password. He rerouted the message directly to the
central office of Starfleet Command.
  The commander in chief of Starfleet heard the warning
beep and looked up at the screen from his seat in the
conversation pit, where he had been conducting a meeting.
  He read it over to himself twice.
  "Oh, shit."
  The other officers present had also read the brief
message.
  "The Beta Prometheans are not members of the
Federation," the admiral said.
  One of the younger officers spoke up.
  "No, sir. They don't belong to any
political entity, they're entirely on their own.
They're principally traders. We get a good deal
of our dilithium crystals from them, but they trade it
through intermediaries, or on our starbases, and they have
never allowed Federation Starships to visit their
planets."
  "Why the hell would they do something like this?" There was
no answer. Finally one officer ventured a
suggestion. "They are not very stable politically. This
Maldari might be a renegade ship of some sort."
  "Do they have an ambassador to the Federation?"
  "I don't think so, sir."
  "All right, never mind. See that at least three
Starships are at the nearest starbase as soon as you
can get them there. This is one for the politicians,
I'm afraid."
  He stood up, and the other officers hurried to their
own offices. The admiral walked to his desk and
touched his computer. It read his fingerprint. He asked
to be connected with Federation Headquarters on the
mainland. "The President's Office," a voice
intoned. "This is Admiral Belzie. Where is
he?"
  "He's just down the hall in the cabinet room,
sir."
  "Tell him I'll be in his office in five
minutes. Tell him it's Federation security.
He'll probably want his team there too. Tell
him there's a problem outside Federation space, on
the frontier."
  The admiral turned away. Then he walked
across his office and through glass doors that opened
automatically. He walked onto his private
terrace. The shuttlecraft navigator snapped
to attention.
  "The President's Office."
  "Yes, sir."
  They- stepped into the small craft and almost at
once floated up to local traffic level. The
commander in chief relaxed back into his seat and gazed
out the window at the waters beneath him.
  This is going to be a serious problem, he thought.
This couMore be anything from a strategic assault to a
full scale war on the frontier. The Federation
hasn't fought a war since the Romulans in
2160. They don't want one now.
  Thirty minutes after the meeting in which the
Starfleet commander in chief briefed the president
of the Federation on the message from Excelsior, a
press release left the President's
Office on all public transceiver channels.
That evening monitors throughout the Federation carried the
brief story. Activities beyond the borders in far
space did not concern too many of the Federation
citizens.
  But right there on Earth, in San Francisco, in
living quarters high on Telegraph Hill, one
communication monitor had been set to sound an alarm
when certain information appeared in the daily news
stories. The name Sulu, as captain of the
Excelsior, had been given a priority warning
flag, and when it appeared in the file story, that
monitor beeped throughout the apartment's rooms.
  James Tiberius Kirk, who happened to be
home that evening, heard it.
  He walked to his monitor and uploaded the
story that contained the names Sulu and Excelsior.
He read it through twice, to be sure of what he was
receiving. He attempted to call up more information, but
there was nothing else on the wire that night.
  Walking to his bookcase, he took down a
disk, and inserted it into his computer. He called
up Beta Prometheus and read a short essay on
the unfamiliar civilization. They were space
traders and smugglers, they had refused an
offer to join the Federation halfa century earlier, and
their record on humanoid rights was abysmal.
  Kirk walked to the big picture window that faced
the bay. A full moon lit up the night and
sparkled off the waters. Shuttlecraft of all
sizes--small taxis, buses, freighters--
flew back and forth, servicing the twenty-four-hour
space-port city. He stared across the water to where the
gleaming towers of Starfleet Headquarters rose
above the pine-tree-covered hills. Moonlight
bounced off the mirrored one-way walls. In the
illuminated reflection he could see the hills of the
city and the shuttlecraft floating by. He stared at
the thirty-seventh floor where, six months earlier,
he had been toasted, roasted, and retired by a handful
of officers in the commander in chief's private conference
room.
  I don't miss the place, he thought. The
byzantine bureaucracy, the by-the-book
bureaucrats, the hours at the computer monitor, the
staff meetings where officers droned on about
supplies, requisitions, promotions, and
discipline, officers whose entire experience of the
galaxy amounted to a few trips to the Earth's moon
for weekend seminars in management training,
and a year stationed on a Starbase well within the Sol
system. The gleaming desks and the cushy armchairs and the
Starfleet gossip. I don't miss that at all.
  But I miss the Enterprise. I miss the
company of the Starship crew, the eccentric men and
women who spent their lives traveling deep space
together. I miss the galaxy, the starfield just
outside the observation ports. I miss the alien
civilizations, the emergencies in space. I ought not
to admit it, but I miss the danger. I miss
Spock, and Scotty. And Sulu.
  Sulu. He was the best helmsman Kirk had
ever known. He had stayed with the Enterprise loyally,
long beyond the time he had a right to be promoted. He
had, at last, reluctantly left the Enterprise
and advanced to his own command. As captain of his own
Starship, he had stayed in space when Kirk and the
others had been sent down. And now he was a
prisoner of some alien pirates. What, Kirk
wanted to know, was Starfleet Command doing about that?
  Kirk knew that if he visited Starfleet
Headquarters in the morning, he would be treated
politely. He would be welcomed at the security
gate, given an ensign escort to the admiral's
floor, and Starfleet admirals, even the
C in C himself, would stop what they were doing and
shake his hand warmly. They would ask him how he was
doing, bring up all the old complaints about
Starfleet bureaucracy, pretend to envy him in
private life. But after twenty minutes he would
wear out his welcome. They would be alerted to a
meeting, told by their assistants that someone was
waiting, or called back to their monitors for
priority messages. The business of Starfleet
would grind inexorably on all around him, and he would
not be a part of it. He would feel awkward, as people
hustled by and shouted "Good to see you, Commander," and
kept on their busy way.
  And if he reported to the public-relations
section, they would be glad to give him a private
briefing. They would roll out the red carpet and fill
him in on the situation at Beta Prometheus. Which
would tell him nothing more than exactly what he had
just read about on the news.
  Not only did he not relish the feeling of being a
white elephant, a grand old man on display, but
he was impatient for news and did not want to wait
until the next morning to find out what Starfleet was
going to do. And he wanted to know what they were really
going to do.
  So he spun away from the window, walked to his
closet, put on his jacket, and left his apartment
to go drinking.
  The Flag and Grog was a Starfleet officers'
hangout on Kirk's side of the Bay, tucked
away among the shuttlecraft docks, freight
warehouses, and administration offices on Starship's
Wharf. By this hour at night it would be packed.
  Kirk walked along the waterfront and, as always,
admired the small starcrafts that hung gracefully
in the air just above their titanium docks. Although the
big starships, like Sulu's Excelsior and
Kirk's old Enterprise, docked in space, the
freight carriers and the huge variety of smaller
shuttlecraft that could pass through the atmosphere and
land on the Earth's surface were equally as beautiful
to him. They were trim and taut and graceful, and they
spoke to him of the space they had navigated. But
Kirk hadn't left the ground since his retirement.
Climbing into a small Starship or shuttle would be
like trotting on a pony after he'd had a thoroughbred
to race.
  A revolving yellow light pierced the dense
night fog in the distance. As he drew closer he
recognized the insignia of Starfleet, which
the bar had appropriated, modified, and turned
into its logo. He smiled at the small sign in
laser lights that glowed next to the front door:
HUMANOIDS AND
  ALIENS MUST WEAR SHOES AND SHIRTS.
He swung the door open, stepped into the
turbolift, and ascended to the second-floor
establishment. The doors parted and he walked into a
steamy loft, packed to the walls with a combination of
off-duty Starfleet personnel, and the riffraff of the
galaxy.
  An electronic wall of music washed over the
scene, and the inhabitants had to shout at each other
to be heard. Barrel-shaped robotic devices
rolled around with trays of exotic drinks. An
Octoan perched its squat body on a stool behind
the bar, its twelve three-fingered tentacles
rapidly filling drink orders. It was a busy
scene. Even the ferns that decorated the bar were
roaming around the room on their root tentacles.
  Kirk went to the bar and ordered a glass of
Saurian brandy. The Octoan bartender nodded, and
delivered it. Kirk turned away from the bar
to survey the room.
  He spotted several tables of
Starfleet personnel. Not wanting to appear
anxious, he waved and smiled at a few
acquaintances who spotted him, but stayed where he was
for the time being. He saw that Admiral Caius
Fesidas was sitting with a much younger Starfleet
bureaucrat he didn't recognize, and decided
to try them for information. But not just yet. The admiral
and his friend only had one drink in front of them.
Kirk was patient. He had all night. And the
Flag and Grog was not an inhospitable place
to wait.
  A burst of starlight and red, white, and blue
lasers flashed in the giant mirror above the bar.
It reflected activity throughout the large room.
Low tones thundered out of speakers overhead. The
surface of the mirror turned to glass, and behind it
Kirk could see two humanoid forms. Then the
glass turned to smoke, lights dimmed throughout the
bar, and the smoke began to clear, leaving the two
figures standing on a mirrored stage floor,
bathed in a red-orange glOW.
  They made a handsome couple. The woman wore
only a white satin G-string featuring the
Starfleet insignia, spike-heeled glass
shoes, and a string of Martian pearls around
her neck. The man wore a black G-string pouch
in the same shape, and knee-high leather boots.
Both were Deltan, Kirk knew. The most erotic
people in the galaxy. They were six feet tall, with long
muscular legs. The female's breasts were firm and
round and small, her nipples erect. The male was
lithe and muscular. Both were completely hairless.
They held hands as they faced their audience. Their
bodies undulated slowly to a primitive beat
set at precisely the normal pulse rate of a
resting heart.
  A Kartoan dwarf appeared at the side of the
stage, his sleek bald head glistening with sweat, his
large round eyes sparkling. His mouth split in a
wide grin and he shouted over the intense music.
  "Males and females, Vulcans,
Tellarites, Andorians and Centaurians,
Denebian slime devils and Aldebaran
Shellmouths, Betazoids, Chemizoids and
Humans! Welcome! Tonight the Flag and Grog
is proud to present, for the first time on any stage on
Earth, from the distant Delta Triciatu system,
dancing to music by the Trendolds, please
welcome: Silky Way and Puss-in-Boots!"
  The music pounded and the couple began
to dance. They separated, worked their way down a short
flight of stairs on either side of the stage, and began
working different parts of the room. They slid in and out
of the tables, gyrating for the males, the females, and the
androgynous equally. A husky reptilian bouncer
followed them discreetly, making sure that none of the
rowdier customers touched the couple. The female
passed directly in front of Kirk. She
smiled at him. He could feel her powerful
pheromones wash over him and felt a fire building
inside. He had to remind himself that it was purely a
chemical phenomenon.
  The Deltans returned to the stage. They danced
with each other erotically, until they were wrapped around
each other like mating boa constrictors. Suddenly
Kirk realized that the couple was no longer performing for
their audience. They had eyes only for each other.
The heretofore noisy room quieted down. Everyone
felt the effects of the rich Deltan pheromones that
lingered in the room like a perfume cloud.
  The electronic beat increased its tempo,
drawing the pulse rates of the bar's inhabitants
along with it. The dancers moved faster and faster.
Finally the sound reached an enormous crescendo, the
beats coming on top of each other so fast as
to preclude distinction. The couple posed in a
series of positions, the last of which saw them pressed
together so tightly that Kirk doubted if even the
music could pass between them. They kissed. The lasers
burst off their bodies in kaleidoscopic
patterns. Sweat poured down their glistening
bodies. Finally they broke, and turned toward the
audience.
  "Yowee! Supernova! Let's hear it for the
Deltan Duo!" the Kartoan shouted, as he
hustled back onto the stage. "Whoa! Was that as
hot as a supergiant blue star or what! Thank
you, Deltans! See you later! And me a
unisexual."
  The stage disappeared behind a mirrored wall and
conversations resumed. Kirk looked over at the table
where Admiral Fesidas and his fellow officer
sat. The admiral had a second drink in front
of him. One more and he'd make his move.
  Suddenly Kirk felt a hand on his thigh. Not a
hand, exactly, more like a length of steamed asparagus.
He looked down and saw a damp green
Phylosian tentacle curl around his upper thigh.
A vegetable, he thought. He followed it and found that
it was connected to a plantlike alien in
roughly humanoid shape. The head had no
features beyond the leafy green foliage, but Kirk
assumed the thing was looking at him. Then he knew the
allen's opening thought.
  Come here often7 the Phylosian seemed to be
saying. Oh, great, a telepath, Kirk thought.
  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. You
looked a little lonely.
  I'm about to join a couple of old friends across the
room, Kirk thought.
  Maybe we could meet up later?
  I don't even know if this thing is male or
female.
  If you don't know, what difference will it make in
the dark? Kirk tried not to think. He tried
to frame a polite response. You're very sweet,
but I'm afraid I've taken a vow. I can't have
a relationship with anything I might have had for dinner.
  Very funny. You Earthlings are so provincial
Loosen up. The plant wandered off. Kirk breathed
a sigh of relief. It was his own fault, he
shouldn't be standing alone at the bar. Better to join some
friends.
  He strolled across the room. He shook hands with a
young officer from the southern hemisphere he
had sponsored to the Academy, and was introduced
to several recent graduates.
  "This is Admiral Kirk, everyone," the young
man said. "He was my mentor at the Academy."
  "Admiral James T. Kirk?" a young
woman with black hair and pale blue eyes said,
her eyebrows going up. "This is a very great
pleasure."
  "Captain. Thank you," Kirk said, smiling and
shaking hands.
  "I'm only a cadet, sir." The girl had a
firm handshake. "I meant that I'm a captain.
Retired, actually. I was an admiral once.
I didn't like it at all. Too much
administrative work. The pay was a good deal better
though."
  "You're still a hero at the Academy, sir. If
I may say so."
  "At the Academy they teach navigation,
astronomy, and Starship etiquette. In
Starfleet they teach politics. I wasn't very good
at that. That's why I ended up back at the rank of
captain."
  "Your short-circuiting of the Kobayashi Maru
scenario is
  a legend at the Academy. But you must know that."
  "I'm afraid I do. It's come to haunt me,
as a matter of fact."
  "And your escape from Rura Penthe, and then the
Enterprise as a renegade ship until you're"
  "Now, look, I don't know what you've all
heard, but disobeying Starfleet Command orders is
most definitely not a smart thing to do. Not if you
want to survive in Starfleet. Everything by the
book, that's what I recommend."
  "And what if you want to survive on the
frontier?" the Latin officer he had sponsored
asked. "Where the book hasn't been written
yet."
  "Well..." Kirk smiled. He enjoyed his
reputation, though he hated to admit it. "Look,
I don't want to turn this nice evening into an
Academy seminar, but I'll tell you this. Alien
civilizations can't be judged by Federation standards and
practices. And our job is exploration, not
confrontation. If you just stay out of alien affairs, you
won't get into trouble. And when you can't avoid
interaction with the natives, remember that you're thousands
of light-years from headquarters. There isn't often
time for consultation. I hope the Academy
is still teaching you to think for yourselves... within, of course,
the strict limits of the General Orders ....
How's that for a politic answer?"
  They all laughed.
  "Now, if you'll all excuse me..."
  "I hope you'll be around for a while, Admiral
Kirk," the dark-haired girl said. "We'd really
like to hear about your voyages."
  "The old man's memoirs?" Kirk said
ruefully. "Sure. Just let me do a little
brown-nosing with an admiral I know over there."
  "I thought you were retired?"
  "I am. I guess old habits die hard."
Kirk touched his friend on the shoulder and headed through the
crush of customers to the table where he had last seen
Admiral Caius Fesidas.
  The admiral was three sheets to the wind when
Kirk finally arrived at his table. The young officer,
who introduced himself to Kirk as Lieutenant
Eugene Marasco from the Press Liaison
section, was still nursing his first beer. When Kirk
shook hands with the admiral, Marasco pulled out a
chair and signaled the waitress so quickly, it was
clear to Kirk that the lieutenant was desperate for
company. Kirk sat down genially.
  "This is an honor," the lieutenant said.
"You're the best known Starship commander in the history
of the Fleet. You captained the Enterprise on a
five year mission, didn't you?"
  "I did. I had the honor of captaining her after
Commanders Robert April and Christopher Pike.
She was a sweet ship."
  "When you came back, I was part of a team that
promoted your image to the public. I used to do
advance work for your lectures around the system."
  "So you're responsible for all that hype
surrounding my reputation. I don't know whether
to thank you or not."
  "I hope you don't mind too much. Starfleet
Command wanted a hero, and ordered us to make you a
star."
  "Frankly, I'm a little uncomfortable with all that
malar-key. The Enterprise was a great assignment,
and I'm grateful, but I'm not a hero. I had some
great adventures, and thanks mostly to an outstanding
crew, I lived through them. Not everybody did. If
there are any heroes, they're the ones we left
behind."
  "A drink to fallen comrades." Caius lifted
his glass toward the center of the table. Kirk
looked at it, and a rush of memories flooded
into his mind. He raised his tankard and touched the
admiral's glass. The lieutenant, a little
startled by the sudden, sobering theme, hurriedly joined
them. They drank in silence for a moment.
  "Speaking of heroes," Kirk said quietly,
hoping to introduce the subject as unobtrusively
as possible, "one member of my crew is still out there.
And I understand that he's in a hell of a predicament.
His name is Hikaru Sulu. He commands his own
starship now, the Excelsior. And apparently he and
some members of his crew have been taken hostage by a
bunch of pirates from a bizarre out-of-the-way
planet. I hope he's all right."
  "We don't know," Marasco said somberly.
"The Beta Prometheans captured our officers from
the Excelsior, claiming they were spying, and invading
Promethean star space. The Excelsior was able
to get the two female officers back, but nine
males are still missing, including their captain."
  "Spying?" Kirk said. "That's absurd. The
Federation doesn't engage in spying. Unless I'm
misinformed"--Kirk left the opening for Caius and the
lieutenant as gracefully as he could--"the mission
of the Excelsior is the same as every other
Starship's. Exploration."
  Neither of the two men contradicted him.
  "Anyway," he went on, "haven't we been
trading with Prometheans for years? What is it they
want?"
  "Don't know yet," Caius said. "The fact
is, we haven't even been able to communicate with the
bastards."
  "The Promethean civilization is--in spite of
all our technical information--quite a mystery to us,"
Marasco said. The lieutenant was happy to talk with
Kirk. For the last hour he had been listening to the
admiral's complaints about Starfleet politics,
about his wife. His principal theme seemed to be that
he was only getting from the former what he should have been
getting, but wasn't, from the latter.
  "They are deeply religious for one thing,"
Marasco continued. "I mean in a political
way. Their government is not as powerful as their
clergy, or whatever they call themselves.
  So, for one thing, if you can imagine this, their belief
system dictates their policies, both domestic
and foreign. They consider most members of the Federation
to be the enemy because our societies operate
independent of religious beliefs,
specifically theirs."
  "But that's absurd," Kirk said. "The Federation
alone contains some tens of thousands of belief systems
for spiritual strength and guidance. If these
organizations were political in any way, we'd be
divided into hundreds and hundreds of splinter
groups clashing with each other all the time."
  "It is absurd to us, but not to Prometheans. were
can assure you they take themselves very seriously. And as
a consequence of their opinions of outsiders as the
moral, spiritual, and physical enemy, trading with
them has been a headache, I can tell you. It's the
reason we don't have facilities on their
inhabited planet. For just one thing, they wouldn't
allow either women, or many of our races, equal
access, and the Federation, as you know, refuses to create
crews or staff Starships based on physical
or spiritual identities, even to bow to local
conditions. We've been trading either in space, on
our own starbases, or through other planets, but never
on their terrain, ever since they have been offering
dilithium on the intergalactic market."
  "In other words," Caius broke in, "we've
brought the basiards out of their stinking, primitive,
undeveloped past and into the future.
We've given them resources beyond their wildest
dreams, just because their primitive planets happen
to be sitting on dilithium-crystal mines. And still
we've had to kowtow to their demands, and play
patty-cake with their leaders. When what we really
ought to do is fly up with a shitload of Federation
Starships and take the pious bastards over."
  "That's not the official position of the Federation, of
course," the lieutenant appended. "We have invited
them to become members of the Federation, but so far they have
declined."
  "I see," Kirk said thoughtfully. "But we've
dealt with primitive, belligerent societies
before. Shouldn't we retrieve Sulu and his crew at
once?"
  "At this point, we don't know exactly where they
are," Marasco said, again lowering his voice.
  Kirk was chilled by the admission. In order
to appear nonchalant, he interrupted himself, waved
to a passing waitress, and ordered another brandy.
Then he pretended an interest in the Deltan
Duo, who had entered the club clothed and were sitting
at a table near them. He winked at the aging
admiral.
  "You know, Caius, interspecies
marriage is the latest thing. I wonder what it would
be like, married to a Deltan female."
  "Oh, you think you're in love, and it's only those
Deltan pheromones. Causes all kinds of
trouble among the younger officers."
  Kirk laughed in spite of himself. Then he said
to the lieutenant, "Sorry, what were we talking
about?"
  "The situation on Beta Prometheus," Marasco
went on, lowering his voice. "We're putting
Starships in the area now, and creating contingency plans
for going in. That's highly classified, I'm
sure you know. But, frankly, I doubt if this is
going to be a Starfleet operation. The Federation
president has sent a special envoy, and the
politicians will try to effect a release of the
hostages. Until then it's a stand-off, I'm
afraid, and Captain Sulu and his crew are stuck
dead in the middle."
  "Let's hope that's not literal," Caius
intoned.
  "Damn," Kirk said, and took a drink of his
brandy to disguise his feelings.
  "Did you--sorry, do you--know this Sulu well?"
Marasco asked.
  "Hmmm?--Oh, fairly well." Kirk
shrugged. "He is a good offcer."
  Like family, Kirk thought. He is the best
helmsman and one of the most loyal men I have ever
known. And I'll be Goddamned if Federation
politics and Starfleet bureaucracies are going
to let him rot in a Beta Promethean prison.
  Two hours later the population of the bar had thinned
out, closing time was approaching, and Kirk hadn't
really learned much more.
  Admiral Caius Fesidas pushed off in a
sluggish state, ably supported by Lieutenant
Eugene Marasco, whose job, he hinted to Kirk
privately, was to see that the admiral got home
to bed safely, without causing himself or Starfleet
Command any embarrassment. Kirk watched them weave
through the room and disappear into the turbolift. He
didn't think he was going to learn anything more useful.
Most of the Starfleet executive offffcers he had
spotted earlier were gone and the bar was only inhabited
by nocturnal aliens and some younger cadets. But he
didn't feel like going home either. He spotted the
table of Academy graduates he had spoken
to earlier, and walked over to them.
  "Mind if I join you?"
  "Captain Kirk," his protege said. "Sit
down, please." The young men and one woman at the
table stood to salute.
  "I'm retired," Kirk said, and waved them
down. "Please. In fact, though loath I am
to admit it, I'm a civilian pure and simple.
Call me Jim."
  "That," the young woman with pale blue eyes said,
"will be very hard to do. You will be Captain Kirk
forever."
  "I don't know that I'm going to like that." Kirk
smiled. He was used to being treated deferentially in the
halls of Starfleet Headquarters owing to his
rank, but this was something new altogether. He found himself in
the role of Grand Old Man, and it made him
feel old. He thought about Caius, who years ago
had given up a Starship command in favor of steady
promotions within the Starfleet bureaucracy, and had
risen steadily in the ranks since. And now look
at him: a boozy, bemedaled, overweight ghost of
an officer.
  "You seem preoccupied, Captain," a voice
called him back..
  "Oh, sorry. A Starfleet crew has been
taken hostage beyond Federation airspace.
Have you heard? I knew one of the men."
  "I'm sorry," the girl said.
  "I heard about that late this afternoon," the Latin
officer said. "I guess I've always known that a
Starship assignment is dangerous, but this really
brings it home. I don't know if I want
to serve on the frontier."
  "If you have to think about it, you probably don't,"
the girl said. "There are going to be too many
sacrifices for anyone with second thoughts. Isn't
that right, Captain?"
  "Well, I'm not the best one to give advice
about career moves, as you know." He shrugged in his
civilian jacket. "But, yes, I'd say that
getting posted to a Starship that serves at the
frontier is a special calling. If you want a
family, for instance, you won't see them for years at
a time. You won't have any regular home except
your cabin, and if you want to rise in Starfleet,
your record is going to have to reflect more prestigious
--need I say political?--assignments than
drudging around in deep space. Not to mention that it is
dangerous. And disorienting."
  "What do you mean?" the girl asked.
  "When you've been away that long, things
change. You come home--if you even have a home--and
there are a lot of things to get used to. I don't
know how to define that better, and maybe this is only
me, but I've never been really comfortable on the
ground. Too many years aboard Starships, I
suppose."
  "What about the adventure? The excitement?" the
girl pressed. "Isn't it worth it?"
  "Oh yes, for me it was. But then, I never had
much attachment to terra firma anyway. Couldn't
wait to finish up at the Academy and get out
into deep space. I was glad to get away from the
theories and statistics and management side of
Starfleet Operations. Where are you headed?" He
looked at the girl.
  "I'm in Biological Records right now.
It's a bore. But I've requested a Starship
assignment. I'm hoping for deep-space
exploration. I'm a helmswoman by study, and
I've taken a second in navigation in the hopes
of getting an outward-bound assignment."
  "How about you?" Kirk said to the Latin officer.
"Frankly, I didn't put in a request. There
were so many things to think about. I've been assigned to a
facility port, but it's just here off
Jupiter. In fact, I leave in the morning.
That's what this little gathering is all about."
  "Well, congratulations and bon voyage."
Kirk toasted him with his remaining ale and the others
chimed in with some "here, heres."
  "Your first time in space?"
  "Yes. I was born on Earth."
  "Good luck. And how about you?" Kirk said
to another cadet at the table.
  "I'm a little embarrassed to admit this," the boy
said, "with all this talk about the glories of space,
but I was raised on an asteroid colony and
traveled around a lot with my parents, who were
teachers. I was looking for something really steady, and
I've applied to the Political Liaison
section. I suppose I'll be assigned some
diplomatic post, and I'm hoping it's an
advanced civilization filled with human-olds, rec
decks, and all the comforts of home. Sorry."
  "Don't apologize. Get what you want out of
life while you can. There's a lot of paradise in the
galaxy; why freeze your butt off on a subzero
planet or risk your life in a Starship?
Maybe I gave up too many good years of my
life... or maybe I'm just getting old
and regretting some of the things I missed." Or
maybe I'm getting maudlin about this boring
retirement, he thought. Because I've had too much
Saurian brandy tonight.
  The table was quiet. So, they all noticed, was the
bar now. There was a final round of good-luck wishes
to the officer who was shuttling to Jupiter in the morning,
and then the little party broke up.
  Kirk went down in the turbolift with the young people,
then shook hands all around, and watched them climb
into a tram for the trip back to the Starfleet
dormitory. When they were gone, he zipped up his
jacket and turned to start his walk back toward his
apartment. It was then that he realized the girl with shiny
black hair and pale blue eyes had not
gotten'into the tram with the others.
  "Can I get you a shuttle? You're not living at
the Academy?" Kirk said politely.
  "I am. I just didn't feel like going home right
away." She didn't move. Kirk suddenly thought
she must be trying to tell him something. Don't, he
thought to himself, misinterpret this young woman's actions.
You could be her father.
  "We could get a bite somewhere, if you like," he
offered, equally reluctant to go to bed with so
much on his mind.
  "There won't be anything decent open at this
hour."
  "No, I suppose not. Well..."
  "I just wanted to talk to you some more. You really are
a hero to a lot of young people at the Academy.
Including me."
  "And here I am, tired and slightly inebriated,
and even a little overweight. So much for heroes.
Feet of clay." Kirk smiled.
  "You're very concerned about the Excelsior, aren't
you?"
  "Yes."
  "There is a special camaraderie among the
Starfleet officers who have served in deep space,
isn't there?"
  "You're very perceptive. Yes, I think there
is." The two of them began walking slowly along the
deserted space dock streets. "It's not something
that's easy to explain. You couldn't tell a
civilian, and I've found a lot of Starfleet
officers who have never served in the frontier who
don't get it either. You just have to have been there. You'll
get your chance, don't worry. Then you'll feel it
too. It's a little like a private club.
There's nothing like it in the solar system. And nothing like
the men and women who work out there. I'll tell you the
truth, this Captain Sulu is a very close friend.
We were aboard the Enterprise together for twenty-five
years. That's why I'm so concerned. He served under
me."
  They walked along the fog-shrouded streets in
silence for a while. Then the girl stopped and turned
her face up to his. It was, he realized, a very
pretty face. Smooth young skin and rich lips.
Soft hair, eager eyes. She pulled a scarf
around her neck in the damp air, and in spite of
himself he saw her breasts push against her form-fitting
uniform. I don't know, he thought. It can't be.
I've been in space too long. Is she really
trying to tell me something?
  "I'd like to serve under you," she said, her face
breaking into a wide smile as she took a step
closer.
  Son of a gun, Kirk thought. I guess I
got that right.
  Day Four
  KIRK HAD BEEN tOO preoccupied the
night before to turn the large windows in his bedroom
opaque, and the morning sun flooded in and
woke him up much too early. He blinked and
groaned. His head felt heavy and stuffy. His
tongue tasted of Saurian brandy, which had a lingering
aftertaste he had forgotten. Pulling himself up onto
one elbow, he looked out the window. The sight of the
blue-green San Francisco Bay always cheered
him. There was no fog this morning, and the sun shone
brightly just above the East Bay hills. He peered
around his bedroom to the glowing display set in the wall.
It read 0600. Damn. He slumped back down
and tried to relax his neck and head. Then he felt
her move beside him.
  Kirk dislooked over and saw the girl sprawled
across the middle of the big bed. For a moment he was almost
startled.
  Of course I remember, he thought. We met
at the Flag and Grog last night. I wasn't that
drunk. She's a recent graduate of the
Academy and works at Headquarters while she's
awaiting a deep-space posting. Her name is...
her name is... Uh-oh.
  He pulled himself up on one elbow again, this time with
his back to the big windows, facing the center of the bed,
where the girl lay peacefully. He glanced around the
room.
  Her clothes were scattered along with his across the
floor. He looked back at the girl. She was
entirely naked, only a thin translucent sheet
thrown loosely over her. Her body was muscled,
pale, attractive.
  And I must look like hell, he thought. I think
I'll take a sonic shower before she wakes up.
And a face steam. But first her name. He spotted her
cadet purse on the other side of the bed. He
reached across slowly. She breathed easily, her
pale skin unwrinkled from the night's sleep.
  His fingers were within an inch of the purse when she opened
her eyes. She smiled up at him and he froze.
"Good morning," she said. "Good morning."
  She looked at his arm. He smiled.
  He moved his hand a few inches and set the fingers
down lightly on her exposed breast. Now he
remembered a good deal more of the previous night.
  "You are... very beautiful," he said as he stroked
her breast. "In case I didn't tell you last
night."
  "You didn't. But actions speak louder than
words. You were wonderful. Thank you."
  "Thank you. I hope you don't think... that
isea"I mean, I didn't mean to take
advantage of you."
  "We took advantage of each other. By my
invitation. I was only afraid you wouldn't accept.
But don't worry, I don't expect a
proposal. It was a pleasure serving under you,
Captain." Her smile was broad and genuine and
infectious.
  She reached out and stroked his face. She pulled his
head down and kissed him. Then she pushed on his chest
and rolled him onto his back. She rose up to her
knees and straddled him. She leaned forward slightly
and her black hair dangled on his bare chest.
  "Then again, you're not the only officer here, even
if you do outrank me. You can serve under me this time."
  He looked up at her face, which she was lowering
toward him. Just before her pretty face disappeared behind
a wave of flesh, he thought, How did I get so
lucky?
  Two hours later she had showered, eaten a huge
breakfast of ground-grown food foraged from his
refrigerator, and was going out the door in her
Starfleet uniform. He wore a Vulcan robe
that had been a retirement gift from his science
officer.
  "Thanks for making that coffee," she said.
"It was the best I've ever had. Really."
  "It's the water. It's imported from Mars. And
it's handmade from real grounds, not from the synthesizer.
Sometimes the old ways are the best."
  "Yeah, that's just what I thought about last night."
  "Oh, stabbed." He clutched his heart. "I
didn't meanre"
  "That's all right." Kirk smiled. "You know what
I got from Starfleet when I retired? A gold
chronometer. This was much better."
  "This wasn't entirely a question of hero worship,
Captain. You're an attractive man." She
encircled his stomach with her arms and laced her fingers
behind his back. "You might be a little out of shape, but
you're a very attractive man."
  "I'm not sure I can stand any more of your
compliments, but I'd like to see you again."
  "You don't have to say that. I'm a big girl."
  "You're an extraordinary girl. And honest.
How about tonight. Dinner."
  "All right, where?"
  "Let's see--" Kirk realized he hadn't
taken a woman out on a formal date in a while.
  "I'll tell you what," she said. "While you were
in the shower I put my terminal address in
your computer. You can send me a message. Just look
under my name."
  "Oh, fine. Uh, that is, well, I, uh--"
  "And my name"...mher face crinkled up with her big
smile again--"is Barbara O'Mafia. You can
call me Babs."
  "I"'11 be in touch. I will. Babs." "Have a
good day. Jim."
  She kissed him and stepped out into the apartment
corridor. She walked down the hall to the
turbolift. He watched her wait for the car. Then
he heard the latch click on another front door
just across the hall. He stepped back into his apartment
feeling embarrassed, and closed the door.
  As he walked toward his kitchen he passed a
mirror. I think I'll go to the gym today, he said
to himself.
  Kirk spent the morning at his club, Sutro
Selestial Baths, where he rowed several
kilometers in the hydroplane, boxed with a machine
set at intermediate level, and relaxed in the
steamy, invigorating Mercury Room. Afterward he
went shopping, and watched as a hologram of himself
materialized in a number of new tunics. He
picked out two that he thought made him look
young, and had them sent to his apartment.
  By late morning he was idly walking along the
beach and gazing out over the crystal blue Pacific
Ocean. He watched children skim along the waves on
space boards. He admired the sand artisans. But
it was the toy Starships that put him into a
contemplative and nostalgic mood he couldn't
shake off. He sat on a bench for half an hour
and watched elaborate model starships as they were
piloted by remote control in a dazzling series of
races and maneuvers in the air over the breaking
waves.
  He wandered idly through the pine trees and down to the
shuttle docks."...There he watched uniformed
personnel depart for the big Starships that would take
them to the uncharted frontiers.
  Instead of living great adventures, I'm talking
about the old days. Instead of facing Klingons, I'm
wandering around spacedocks, mooning over the sleek
Starships that are under somebody else's command.
  He walked slowly across the city, through the lush
green park, up and down hills, past habitats,
and through the downtown area teeming with shops carrying
exotic goods from all over the galaxy. He
reentered his apartment just after noon. He went
to his computer terminal and turned it on. Before he
could read a summary of the day's news, however, the
screen lit up with a bright red facsimile of a
bouquet of roses. They started as tiny buds,
burst open, and bloomed. They settled their green
stems in a beautiful, ancient Asian vase.
Curslye writing curled across the bottom of the
monitor: "All best, Bahs." He smiled
to himself. He looked at the pretty graphic for a
minute before he waved his fingers over the console
built into his desk, and left her a message,
asking her to meet him at 1930 hours at a
romantic restaurant. Then he called up the
Intergalactic News Network.
  A list of keywords he had placed in his
computer's memory ran instantly against the stories
on the public frequency channels that day. An
updated report on the Excelsior crew
trapped in Beta Prometheus flashed across his
screen.
  Starfleet Command "deplored the actions" of the
Prometheans. The Office of the President of the
Federation Council said that everything was being done to
"insure the safe return of the nine Federation
citizens." All diplomatic channels
were being employed. There were sidebar pieces on the
Promethean civilization and the history of dilithium
crystal trading. Sulu and his team were named and
profiled. Nothing new, and nothing was being done.
  Kirk paced his apartment, worrying. He settled
into his commander's chair, a gift from his old crew
of the Enterprise, which was bolted to the floor in front
of his window, and tried to put the story out of his mind
by reading fiction from late-nineteenth-century England.
Usually he found that to be entirely absorbing, but not
this afternoon. Finally he fell into a short, troubled
sleep. In his dreams he saw jumbled images of
deep space, the young Barbara O'Marla, and the
face of his old comrade, Sulu.
  When Kirk awoke from his nap, he felt the
sluggishness he associated with... what? Old
age. Impossible. He ran two kilometers on
his treadmill, changed his clothes, and went out to meet
Barbara O'Marla at the restaurant Nebulae,
where they dined together. He was glad to have somebody
to talk to. His restlessness had increased as further
news of the Sulu hostage incident was not forthcoming.
  "No news is bad news in a case like this,"
Kirk said. "I've been reading up on these Beta
Prometheans. They're not trustworthy.
As long as Sulu and his crew are at their mercy,
they're in grave danger."
  "You're very loyal, aren't you?" she asked.
  "Loyal? I hadn't thought about it that way.
Sulu was certainly loyal. He had several chances
to transfer off the Enterprise to other assignments that
might have advanced his career faster, but he never did.
He got us out of hot water more than once with his
skills as a helmsman. When he finally took up
his own command, we all missed him. I'm worried
about him. Apparently the Federation isn't," Kirk
finished with a touch of anger.
  "You're becoming obsessed with this, James,"
Barbara said quietly.
  "I suppose I am. Maybe I should get my
mind off it."
  "What about your memoirs? You told me you were
writing them. I think they would make a hell of a
book. It would become required reading at the
Academy."
  "I started on a memoir once. I wrote
"These were the voyages of the Starship
Enterprise..." Then I stalled. I think they
call it writer's block. Anyway, trying to do that
made me feel as if it was over. I
didn't like that feeling."
  Afterward, they walked back to Kirk's apartment.
Barbara took her coat off and walked over to his
desk, where a large model was under construction.
  "You've taken up a hobby," she said, indicating
the work. "This is the original Enterprise, the ship
my first command was named after. It's a sailing ship,
built during the nineteenth century for trading and
sailing the Atlantic ocean. It predates
man's ability to fly. I'm building a fairly
exact model. Then maybe I'll take it out to the
Bay and try it out."
  "Where's the engine?"
  "It doesn't have an engine, The wind takes
her."
  "The wind?"
  "You see these? They're sails. They're raised
and lowered to catch the natural wind. That's the only
power she has. If there's no wind, she's
becalmed. When there is, she runs in front of it.
She must have been beautiful to captain."
  Barbara watched Kirk's face as he explained
the details of the great sailing ship to her. "You must
miss traveling."
  "You can't imagine what it's like,
cruising through a cloud of gas, illuminated by a
nearby star, all pink and purple, brilliant
colors. Or the uncertainty of traveling to an
uncharted planet. And then there's warp speed," he
said to her, his tone changing. "You're racing faster
than light, covering enormous distances in
microseconds. Sometimes the old Starships
rattled a bit, vibrating under your feet."
  He had unconsciously wandered to his big window
and looked up at the night sky. She came over
behind him and put her arms around his waist, leaning her
head against his broad back.
  "You're a man of dreams, James."
  They made love, slower and more tenderly than they
had their first night, and he tried hard to be
attentive to her needs. She's a fragile gift,
he thought..a gift a man my age doesn't
usually come across. I have to take this relationship
slowly and carefully.
  He was distracted by the view outside. More than
once he looked over her shoulder and thought about the
darkening sky, as the stars came on like lights, one
after the other, until they were twinkling in the millions
and millions and millions, their light racing through the
Earth's atmosphere, right to his window.
  "You're going to do something, aren't you?" Barbara said
to him while they lay back, side by side, in the
middle of the night.
  "Yes," he said, hearing his own voice echo in the
bedroom. "Yes I am."
  How did she know? he thought. How did she know,
when I didn't know myself, not until this very minute?
  Kirk laid awake the rest of the night while
Barbara slept at his side. He watched her
breathe easily, ran his eyes over her white skin,
her smooth muscles, her black hair. She
aroused him even in her sleep, even after the night of
lovemaking, even in his distraction. He felt the
yearning and the energy again. He stared at the stars beyond his
window. It was no coincidence that Starships were thought of
in the female gender, he mused. Women and
Starships had a great deal in common. They were
sleek, mothering, energizing. They were exotic and
erotic. They were temperamental, transitory.
  And you could ride them into forever, he thought.
  Day Five
  HE WAITED UNTIL she had left for work.
Then he went to his closet, and stared at his
clothes.
  If he wore civilian clothes he
would be stopped by any security personnel who
didn't recognize him. Yet he hadn't worn
his uniform in almost a year.
  Starfleet never actually mustered anyone out of the
service, or even officially retired anyone.
All officers were placed on inactive status,
allowed to pursue their own interests, and kept in
reserve against the day their talents might be needed.
As, officially, a reserve officer, Kirk could have
worn his uniform when he held a seminar at the
Academy, or attended an official function.
He never did. It felt somehow fraudulent now that
he was no longer the captain of a Starship. And he
didn't want young cadets to call him sir.
Nevertheless, he had the right to wear it, and it might just
come in handy today. On that small excuse, he
pulled it out and put it on. Then he traveled across
the Bay to Starfleet Headquarters.
  There he strolled across the great grassy field
around which the giant bureaucracy of Starfleet
centered. It was crisscrossed with officers, but he
saw no one he recognized and no one glanced at
him a second time. So far so good, he thought. He
passed under the great glass arch topped with the
Fleet's insignia and walked into the
fifty-story atrium that was lined with offices on either
side. Starfleet personnel were everywhere. Kirk
remembered when, as a young cadet, the hallways of
operations were continually deserted because all communications
took place electronically. Now they were busy.
It was rumored that the Fleet's Department of
Humanoid Resources began some years ago
to encourage face-to-face meetings where possible.
The department apparently now felt that the failure of
electronic dialogue to carry useful nuances and
improvised content was a factor in inhibiting the
quality of collaborative decision making.
  Kirk was halfway across the great space when he
realized he had never felt comfortable at Starfleet
Headquarters. He knew and loved every inch of the ships
that had been under his command, but the labyrinthine village
represented a bureaucracy from which he had been
happy to escape. He was not sure how much of his
reason for being there he wanted to divulge, and found
himself hoping he wouldn't run into anyone he knew.
Something deep inside him, a vague instinct for what
could happen, cautioned him to avoid drawing attention
to himself. He strolled over to a bespectacled young
cadet sitting behind a console, and said quietly,
"I'm looking for an old friend. He's a
science officer. But he's on leave, and he's
probably gone back home. Which department do you
think could help me?"
  "You probably want Humanoid Resource
Records, sir. That's right here in this building.
Level thirty-two. Unless he prefers to be
unlisted, then we won't be able to help you unless you
have a class-triple-A security clearance."
  "I do," Kirk said, not having the faintest idea
what that was. "Records," Kirk repeated. He
looked up at the towering glass shaft that held the
turbolift, and walked toward it, feigning
casualness. "Thank you," he said over his shoulder.
  He got off the turbolift at level
thirty-two. He headed down the main hallway,
reading the holographic signs next to the doors as
he strolled along. COMMSATTRAC,
ALLANGTRANS, GALVEGRE, RESTROOMS.
Communications Satellite Tracking, Alien
Language Translation, Galaxy Vegetation
Research, thought Kirk. Then he saw large letters
floating in double glass doors at the end of the
hall. R@lCORDS, it said, in a startlingly
simple statement. Kirk went through the doors.
  Inside he found only a series of
cubicles, each with a chair and a computer. Some of them
were occupied with Starfleet personnel, but most were
empty. He sat down at one and read:
  Welcome to the Starfleet database. Please
enter your password.
  He hadn't used his Starfleet password in all
the years he had been in space, and was momentarily
stymied. When he recalled it, he was surprised
to find that the simple seven-letter word he had chosen as
an idealistic and passionate youth still suited his
self-image. He leaned over and said quietly to the
console, "Voyager."
  "Password and voice identification confirmed," a
flat and mechanical voice said. "You are cleared
for full access. State nature of inquiry."
  It should have been discontinued six months earlier
when he retired, but it worked. One thing about
bureaucracies, Kirk thought, they're always months
behind.
  He paused for a moment. Suppose he couldn't
find them? Suppose they didn't want to come with
him? Was it putting them in an awkward position even
to ask? Each would have his or her own life now. He
had a right to ask. Each would make his or her own
decision.
  Who first? he thought. Of course.
  "Locate," he said. "Spock. Captain.
Science officer." The terminal flickered and read:
  SPOCK
  Rank: Commander (inactive) Contact:
  Vulcan Science Academy Shikar
T'Khasi
  40 Eridani A (19.5, 60.0 com0.6)
  Kirk downloaded the information to his own hand-held
tricorder, then requested another entry, and
another. When he had uncovered all their whereabouts,
he exited from the database.
  Then he connected to a database for travel
information. He asked it to plot a course for him,
starting at once. When the arrangements had been
confirmed on his tricorder, Kirk left
Starfleet Headquarters.
  His visit had not gone unnoticed. The young
cadet who steered him to the correct department had
been too polite, or perhaps too startled, to let
on that he had recognized Kirk, but as he had
only recently come through the Academy, and as
Kirk's holographic image was used to teach the
Kobayashi Maru scenario--not to mention that Captain
Kirk himself was something of a legend--he had
in fact recognized the officer immediately. And
gossip being what it was, especially in the
hothouse environment of the Academy, the cadet was
well aware that a friend of his was having an affair with the
captain. The young cadet couldn't resist, and he
communicated Kirk's presence in the building with
Barbara O'Marla.
  If he isn't here to visit me, she thought, I
won't seek him out. When he left the building
without looking in on her, she felt a pang of
sadness, and realized that she felt much stronger about him
than she had admitted to herself. Now she could only
sit back and wonder why he made an impromptu
visit to the Records department, when he was almost
stubborn about not having anything to do with Starfleet these
days.
  In a sleek office overlooking the bay, high in
Starfleet Command Headquarters, someone else was
thinking about Kirk's short visit. Admiral
Caius Fesidas had been apprised of it when his
own terminal flashed a message that the password
"Voyager" had entered the data-management web.
He watched as the password was cleared, knowing it would
be, because only the day before he had reattached the
highest security clearance to the retired
password. He tracked it to the
thirty-second-floor Records department. He
saw the five locations flicker across his own screen.
He didn't have to match their service records; he
could guess who they were. And if he knew his man,
he could guess why Kirk was tracing them. He
wasn't the type to organize a reunion, and it was
months before holiday greeting cards were due.
  The admiral spoke briefly to an aide, then
returned to his previous business.
  In the Neutral Zone
  "Sarek." The 129-year-old Vulcan nodded
after he gave his name. "I have been asked
to represent the United Federation of Planets."
  "Kannish," the figure that sat across from him at
the huge black onyx table said. "I represent
Beta Prometheus."
  Sarek knew the Beta Promethean had not been
elected, was born into the Ruling Family. The
representative looked tired and old. But Sarek
knew that it took an iron will to maintain leadership
in an aristocracy, and Kannish was one of the
principal family members.
  "My son was an officer on the Sundew when the
Federation Starship attacked it."
  Long experienced in negotiating with non-Federation
civilizations, Sarek kept his face still at the
sudden statement.
  "Then," Sarek began carefully, "you have heard a
firsthand account of the incident."
  "No, I haven't." Sarek saw the mottled
dark gray skin lighten imperceptibly. "My
son Kornish was killed during the... in what you
call an incident."
  This is not going to be easy, Sarek thought.
  "My apologies. And may I express the
Federation's deep regret over the loss of your
son."
  "Regret? You can't imagine what it feels like
to lose a son. He was twenty-five years old,
my oldest. Only halfway through a Beta
Promethean life. He was destined to sit on the
Inner Council after I am gone."
  Sarek thought for a moment why he could very well know
how it felt to lose a son. And how grateful he
had been when his own son's regenerated body and spirit
were reunited in the fal-for-pan ceremony. Careful
not to insult Kannish by discussing his own personal
experiences, however, Sarek simply nodded slowly.
  "We must," he began, "insure that no
such thing should ever happen again. The Federation has every
hope that a peaceful and productive relationship between
it and the Beta Promethean people can continue. If the
Starship Excelsior had drifted into Beta
Promethean star space without prior permission, I
want to assure you that it was an accident, and that our
Starfleet will be most careful not to do so again until a
working treaty for your area of the galaxy can be defined
between us. Many of your people are traders, and certainly know
how important it is that intergalactic travel go
unrestricted. I must ask, however, that before we
discuss such broad issues, we discuss the
incarceration of nine of our Starfleet officers. The
Federation wants to assure you that they were not spying.
What can we do to effect their safe return?"
  Kannish glowered across the table. The two Beta
Prometheans that sat near him seemed to fidget on
their stools. Sarek's own aides, two young
humans newly posted to the diplomatic corps,
sat as still as they could.
  Kannish waved his muscled hand as if to dismiss the
issue. "No, no, this is not productive at
all. The important issues first. Surely in the
great scheme of things, the Starfleet officers hardly
matter. But the dilithium prices, which have
until now."
  "To us," Sarek broke in as politely as he
could, "the matter of the officers is of the utmost
importance. Perhaps you could assure me that they are
all healthy?"
  "I don't understand the Federation's concern with a few
officers." Kannish shook his head. "The Federation
itself should be of paramount importance. The lives of the
officers are a small price to pay."
  "The Federation is the lives of the officers. Each
one is of great value to the Federation."
  "Then your worlds will not progress very far in this
universe. Surely you can see how unimportant
individual lives are in the vast spaces of the
galaxy and in the creator's vision."
  "Indeed, the single life is dwarfed by the time and
space of our universe. Yet it is the very
sanctity of that life that gives our society
strength ...."
  Kannish and Sarek spoke on into the night,
Kannish laying out demands--a new, higher
dilithium price and a commitment to buy dilithium
only from the Beta Prometheans, a guarantee of
noninterference in the political workings of their
planet, and fees paid to the Beta
Prometheans for travel within their system--while
Sarek continually tried to steer the conversation back to the
officers somewhere in a Beta Promethean prison.
And away from the discourse on the inefficiency of a
democracy, which Kannish appeared to be anxious
to expound on. When he noticed that his counterpart's
energy was wearing down, Sarek remembered that a Beta
Promethean was old at fifty. He begged his own
exhaustion--in truth he wasn't the least bit
tired--and the group broke up, with assurances that they
would meet again the next day.
  In the hallway outside, he walked back to the
shuttle that would take him back to Starbase 499
while talking quietly with his aides.
  "This is going to be a difficult one," Sarek
said, as much to himself as for the education of the young
diplomats. "You notice he was fairly obtuse
about the health of our Starfleet officers, and did not
really want to discuss them at all."
  "They don't take the individual life very
seriously here," the young man on his left said.
  "No, they do not," Sarek agreed. "But
divergent philosophies are not our central
problem. We have to get them to spell out a working
timetable for the return of the men. And that may be
difficult. All this 'for good of the system" talk
aside, the traders here seem to go their own way a
good deal of the time. I do not believe the Ruling
Family controls the hostages. Or even knows
exactly where they are."
  When they were seated inside their shuttle, the young
man turned to the ambassador.
  "I know you also have a son, sir," he said.
"Isn't he serving in the Starfleet?"
  "He was. He is on an extended leave,"
Sarek said. "I believe just now he is at the
Vulcan Science Academy pursuing a complex
problem to its logical conclusion."
  The Planet Vulcan Kirk stepped out of the
shuttle onto the Vulcan planet surface and
immediately felt the increased gravity and searing heat.
He threaded his way through the terminal and boarded a
tram that took him to the Science Academy. There
he looked up an acquaintance in an obscure
office. Although the Vulcan did not know where Mr.
Spock was living just then, he knew where he could be
found that evening. Kirk thanked the scientist for the
directions, and walked leisurely through the city.
  It was extraordinarily peaceful after the streets
of San Francisco. The buildings were
bleached from the constant desert climate, and the
landscape was sparse and simple. The air was close
and warm. The sister planet was enormous in the sky,
its dust storms and volcanoes visible to the naked
eye. No one hurried. Long-robed Vulcans
walked calmly in small groups. Many
pedestrians appeared to be deep in meditation.
Handfuls of alien visitors roamed the streets like
tourists.
  Kirk found the small Globe Theatre at the
bottom of a narrow alley. Posters flanking the
box office announced the Melpomene Players'
production of William Shakespeare's
Hamlet.-The lobby was deserted, the performance had
already begun. Kirk walked around the building until
he found the stage door. He opened it quietly and
stepped into an empty corridor. Following it, he
found himself in the semidarkness of backstage. Then he
heard the voice of the man he was looking for, speaking
in bombastic tones.
  "He will come straight," he heard Mr. Spock
intone. "Look you lay home to him: Tell him his
pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your
Grace hath screen'd and stood between much heat and
him. I'll sconce me even here. Pray
you, be round with him."
  Kirk walked closer to the sound until he was
standing behind the set. Bright lights flooded the stage and
he could see through a crack in the ersatz stone wall
that Spock and a woman were playing a scene. Then a
handsome young Deltan male walked up, stood right
next to Kirk in the shadows, and shouted toward the
stage.
  "Mother, mother, mother?
  The female human's voice came from the stage.
  "I'11 warrant you; fear me not:--withdraw, I
hear him coming."
  Kirk watched as Spock stepped through a curtain
in the set. Then the young man walked past Kirk and
went onto the stage.
  "Now, mother, what's the matter?" Kirk heard
him ask the actress.
  "Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended."
  "Mother, you have my father much offended."
  "Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue."
"Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue."
  As the voices continued, becoming increasingly
agitated, Kirk walked around the braces that held
up the flats and came up beside Mr. Spock, who
was standing just offstage behind a curtain.
Spock turned and saw him.
  "Captain Kirk," Spock whispered. "This is
an unexpected surprise. If you have come to see
our production, you would enjoy it much better from a
seat in the front of the house."
  "Spock, what the hell are you doing?"
  "I am playing Polonius. Surely you
recognized Hamlet, Captain."
  "I can see that. I mean, since when have you gone in
for acting?"
  "Oh. That is quite recent actually. And
primarily because of you."
  "Me?"
  "You often told me that I should get more in touch with the
human side of my nature."
  "Your emotions. I said you should get in touch with your
emotions, Spock."
  "Precisely. I took an acting class which
promised exactly that. One thing led to another, and
here I am."
  "I see. The roar of the greasepaint."
  The on stage voices continued to float over the
scenery to them.
  "Why, how now, Hamlet!"
  "What's the matter now?" "Have you forgot
me?"
  "No, by the rood, not so: You are the queen, your
husband's brother's wife; ,ealnd--would it were not
s.t--you are my mother."
  "Nay, then, 17l set those to you that can speak."
  "Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge; You
go not till I set you up a glass where you may
see the inmost part of you."
  Kirk was about to speak when Spock tilted his head
toward the stage.
  "One moment," Spock said to Kirk. "I have a
line coming up ....
  "What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder
me"...MH-ELP, help, ho.t" the young man on
stage yelled.
  "What, ho! Help, help, help.t" Spock
shouted through the curtain.
  "How now, a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!"
  Kirk watched, amazed, as a sword ripped through
the curtain. Spock wrapped his arm around it, shouted
"0, I am slain.t" then fell to the ground,
dragging the curtain with him. It tore off its
moorings, and wrapped around Spock as he slumped
to the ground. Kirk stepped back just in time to keep from
being seen by the audience. There was more
dialogue, and finally the lights dimmed on stage.
In the shadows Kirk saw Spock jump nimbly
to his feet and walk by him.
  "That is all for my character. Come to my dressing
room. We can speak before the calls."
  Kirk followed Spook down a staircase to a
basement, and into a 1ow-ceilinged room with
Spock's name on the door. Obviously, Kirk
noted, the Vulcans had taken pains to re-create
a human theater environment. Spock sat in a
chair before a large mirror and began removing his
stage makeup.
  "Captain. I am aware of your interest in
culture, but surely, even in your retirement, you
have not come so far simply to view a Vulcan
production of Hamlet?"
  "I might have. I think your death scene was
marvelous."
  "Thank you. We have not had adequate rehearsal
time and, between you and me, the director is handicapped
by a large ego and self-absorbed personality that
precludes him from recognizing and acknowledging the
genius of William Shakespeare. Thus our
production has been saddled with artificial notions
"that cloud the fundamental issues. The
producer was impressed by his r6sumblef, and
imported him from somewhere in the galaxy."
  "I'm sorry."
  "On the other hand, his inadequate direction has
united the cast against him, and I have benefited from a
wonderful camaraderie I have not before experienced. Not
since our voyages aboard the Enterprise, that
is."
  Kirk stared at Spock for a moment, then decided
to plunge ahead.
  "I'll bet you'd like to know why I've come to see
you."
  "I assumed you would tell me when it suited you."
  "I will. I am. That is, well, how should I
put this...?"
  "Let us 'cut the cackle and get down to the
horses." I would be glad to accompany you to Beta
Prometheus." Kirk stopped. "How did you
guess?"
  "I, too, have been following the news. Our old
helmsman is in a difficult situation. For two
days now, Starfleet has not moved to assist the
hostages, and the Federation is mired in politics.
You are a captain with intense loyalties to your
crew, which you have demonstrated on more than
one occasion. You have come to visit me suddenly and without
warning, although I have not heard from you since our last
voyage together over nine months ago. It is only
logical that you have come to recruit me for a mission."
  "I sent you a postcard just last Christmas."
  "It said only, 'Winter Solstice
Greetings." In standard print."
  "Okay, I admit I was never much for writing.
Will you come with me?"
  "I will."
  "You understand, Spock, that this is entirely on our
own. I haven't been reactivated by Starfleet."
  "As you are wearing civilian clothes and not your
uniform, I had assumed that to be the case,
Captain."
  "I can't stand waiting around doing nothing, and I
thought I'd go out there and, you know, get a little closer
to the situation. In case I can be of some assistance.
But what about the play? Do you have an understudy?"
  "I was informed earlier that tonight we are giving our
last performance," Spock answered with some finality.
"The principal critic is Vulcan and found the
play to be illogical."
  "Great. I mean, I'm sorry about the play, but
I'm glad you're available. I thought we
would get together at my apartment in San Francisco
tomorrow. We can make plans then."
  "Logical. How many of the others have you
recruited?"
  "So far... let me think. None."
  "I am the first?" "You're the first."
  "I am flattered, Captain."
  "By the way, there's no need to call me
'Captain" any longer, Spock. I'm a
civilian now."
  "I am aware of that, Captain." "So you can
call me Jim."
  "Thank you, Captain."
  "I guess old habits die hard."
  A stage manager stuck his head in and announced
the calls. Spock and Kirk went up the
staircase, and Kirk found himself milling about with
dozens of actors, hushed and waiting. From the stage
he heard a solemn voice.
  "Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this
becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. Go,
bid the soldiers shoot."
  There was silence, the lights dimmed out, and Kirk
was standing in pitch darkness. He heard applause, and
bright lights came up. The actors poured
onto the stage. Kirk watched from the wings as they
smiled and bowed.
  Later Kirk and Spock walked up the alley
together, the noise from the carousing actors dimming behind
them.
  "I hate to take you away from all this," Kirk
apologized. "It was going to be my last foray into the
theater in any case. As an experiment it held out
some remarkably interesting events, but I shall return
soon to my research at the Academy. There is
altogether too much Sturm und Drang in theatrical
production for me. I prefer a more logical
approach to problems."
  "But that's what Shakespeare is noted for, the
Sturm and Drang as you call it."
  "I was referring to the backstage atmosphere.
Actors and actresses from the more emotional races
having affairs, arguments, and nervous breakdowns.
And all the shouting, crying, yelling. No, the theatre
life is not for a Vulcan, or even a
half-Vulcan. I will be glad to get back to my
studies."
  "What, and quit show business?" Kirk said
wryly.
  Spock simply said, "I will see you in
San Francisco." He waved and turned down the
street. Kirk watched the tall figure disappear
into the balmy night, then turned and headed back
toward the terminal.
  The Furosphere, Earth Kirk came down
to Earth at London Intergalactic, and shuttled
immediately up-country. There was no public tram beyond
the foot of the mountains, so he hired a private
shuttle and gave his driver the name of the small
hamlet.
  The heather-covered hills flashed beneath the taxi.
Small towns and country manors grew farther and
farther apart until they reached the Highlands. There was
no landing dock in the little village, so the driver
hovered onto a grassy field behind the single
street of small shops. Sheep bleated and
scurried out of the way as the space van stopped a
foot above the ground and its single engine stopped
humming.
  Kirk made arrangements for the driver to return
in several hours. Then he jumped down and walked
across the field toward a handful of low buildings.
He stepped onto the village's only carbonized
road. Spotting several open shops, he chose the
local pub. The last time he had seen
senior engineering officer Montgomery Scott, the
man suggested he had a lot of idle endeavors
to catch up on, and planned a good deal of them in his
retirement.
  The doors of Pluto's Inn slid open and
Kirk stepped inside a brightly skylit room, the
far wall lined from bar to roof with bottles from every brand
of fermented and distilled drink known in the immediate solar
system. The ceiling was laced with a unique
collection of laser signs featuring the names of the
most popular brands, and the floor was a jumble of
tables and chairs made from highly polished natural
woods. At this hour in the midafternoon, Kirk was the
only customer. He approached a burly woman
who was wiping glasses behind the bar.
  "I don't think I've ever seen such a fine
collection of natural wood furniture."
  "Then you're a stranger to the Highlands," she said
in a musical burr. "We get everything we kin from
Mother Earth. As long as we replace it, she does
na mind. Who are ye seeking?"
  "Montgomery Scott. An old friend. How
did you...?"
  "Strangers do na come here for the entertainment. We
do na have Alien Parks or Environpods
or Fantasy Stimulators."
  "You have the greenest earth and the bluest sky I've
ever seen."
  "Aye, and lakes and rivers so clear you can count
the scales on the fish at the bottom. But
regulations have nay permitted hunting nor fishing for
some centuries now.
  You're from the city, I can see by your clothes."
  "And I thought I was blending right in."
  "They're the right style, but they're artificial.
They come from the synthesizers. Feel this. It comes from
the sheep." She held out the tunic she was wearing.
He politely felt the material.
  "Ye kin tell, can't ye?"
  "Uh, yes, it's quite remarkable." Kirk did not
go on to say that he didn't understand how the woman could
wear something so rough next to her skin all day, just for the
sake of avoiding synthetics. Then he realized that
she was probably a Gaian, a follower of a
native religion he had heard about in which the
principal Goddess was the Earth herself. They tended
to congregate in the country, away from the
megalopolises, and were committed
to self-sufficiency and natural products.
  "Do you think you could help me. Mr.
Scott is about six feet tall and--"
  "--alm as round, since he retired. Ye'11
find Scotty at the end of the third path in the
second vale if ye leave the village walking
north. But if you just sit here, he'll come walking
through that door in a coupla hours, calling for his pint
o' bitter, and ready to tell the tallest tales
ye've ever haird tell of"
  "Tales?"
  "About quare places all over the universe.
About people that kin read your mind from standing across the room,
and others that kin put strange thoughts into your own head.
About trees that kin walk, and machines that kin take
you back in time. All nonsense if ye ask me.
People kin nay be that different just because they do na live
on Earth. It's only hod-man."
  "Well, Scotty always did have a vivid
imagination." Kirk smiled. "I don't think
I'd take him too seriously. Thank you for your
help. I don't think I'll wait though, if you
don't think it's too far a walk?"
  "I do nay think it is, but then, I do nay go
flyin' round the heavens in machinery, either. Ye look
like ye could use the exercise anyways."
  "Yes, you're right, I'm afraid.
Too much city living. North two vales and three
paths, then? All right, thank you. Good afternoon."
  Kirk spent a pleasant thirty minutes
walking north along the Scottish roads. He
calculated the two valleys and three small
paths as best he could. Most of the area was
uninhabited, though he could see the tops of
habitats nestled back among the trees here and
there. Finally he turned up a slim path and
followed it as it wound through trees, then paralleled a
creek for a few hundred yards. Coming out of the woods
he saw a simple geodesic dome tucked into a
clearing, a perfect glass hemisphere, the green
trees and blue sky reflected in the glassy
walls. The exquisite, utterly simple
technology was impressive, particularly so far from
the nearest urban center. He knew at once he
had come to the right place.
  The end of the path stopped in front of one of the
dome's panels, but it was indistinguishable from the
others. He could find no way of announcing himself
except by knocking on the thin, opaque glass, which
he was reluctant to do. Then he noticed a sliver
of red light cutting the path at knee level. He
walked through it and heard a metallic
voice announce "Visitor at the main entrance"
from inside the dwelling. He waited. The voice
repeated the message. After a few minutes he
gave up, and began to circle the dome.
  Behind the building he found a large, grassy
patio. At the far end hung a hammock of reeds
hung between two enormous trees, well shaded by their
foliage. Lying on his back on the hammock, his
loud snoring keeping the birds away, was Kirk's
old friend, Montgomery Scott.
  Kirk tiptoed over to the sleeping engineer,
looked straight down into his face. He noted the
three-day beard, the jowly cheeks, the red nose.
  "Engineering!" Kirk shouted.
  Scotty's eyes shot open and he looked
directly into the brighi sun. The dark shadow of a
man stood next to him.
  "Huh, whazzat?" he said, bringing his hand up
to shade his eyes and knocking himself in the forehead with it.
"Ooch," he complained, and closed his eyes again.
  Kirk moved slightly to block the sun and throw
a shadow on Scotty's face. Scotty opened his
eyes tentatively. This time he saw James
Kirk.
  His face jumped, his eyebrows arched, his
mouth twisted up into an enormous grin.
  "Captain Kirk!" he shouted. He tried
to raise himself up, but the hammock swayed with the
change in gravity, and Scotty lost his balance,
flopped over the side, and landed facedown in the
grass.
  "0oWill' he muttered.
  "Commander Scott, what in God's name have you been
doing with ,yourself?." Kirk said to his back.
  Scott rolled over and propped himself up on his
elbows. He smiled up at Kirk.
  "Not a damn thing." He grinned. "Not a goddam
thing. Aye, Captain, it's a glorious life."
  A few minutes later they were seated in the shade
of the dome on two comfortable cushions of air that
rose from vents in the grass.
  "Scotty, you amaze me," Kirk said as he
glanced worriedly at the ground beneath him. He tried
to put his hand on whatever it was that he was sitting on,
but his hand only passed through air. "What the heck
is this thing?"
  "It's not but a wee thing I've been tinkering with.
The column of air adjusts itself to your weight, and the
heat to your body temperature. When you get up it
goes off. It's quite safe, I can assure
you."
  "Amazing."
  "It's got one small bug, however. Because you
can't see it, my guests are stumbling over it all
the time."
  "I guess you'll have to work on it a bit more."
  "That I will. Though between my naps and visits to the
pubs, I dinna have much time." Scotty chuckled.
"Now, what is it that brings you so far away from
civilization?"
  "Have you heard about Sulu?"
  "Nee, I have not. What's wrong?" Scotty's
face clouded over. "Is he not still captain of the
Excelsior?"
  "He is. But he and his crew have been taken
hostage."
  "What! Klingons? Why, I knew those--"
  "Not Klingons, Scotty. Some two-bit
space pirates operating out of a small, obscure
planetary system called Beta Prometheus.
They've taken nine of the Excelsior's officers
hostage, including Captain Sulu. The Federation
is negotiating for their return, but as yet it
isn't even clear exactly what they want. It's
possible that their government isn't even
really in control of the situation. There's very little news
coming out of the sector, and I'm getting worried that
they're going to rot there for a long time unless something is
done. But Starfleet can't act without a directire
from the Federation, and for complicated reasons, the Federation
is being ultracautious."
  "How far is this Beta Prometheus?"
  "Far. In the frontier. Sulu was exploring
deep space beyond the border."
  "S.. 2' Scotty's face broke into a sly
grstn. "The only way to get there is by Starship at
warp speed. And you're thinkin' it might be friendly-like
to go up and see for yourself what's happening?"
  "Exactly."
  "And ye'11 need a good engineer."
  "I will." Kirk grinned.
  "Would you accept me as a volunteer?" Scotty
said. "I certainly would, Mr. Scott."
  "Then I'll join you."
  "And leave this idyllic life behind? You looked like
you were enjoying yourself enormously."
  "I'11 tell you a secret, Captain
Kirk. This easy life isn't all that it's
cracked up to be. I'm not compla*', mind you.
After all the running around the universe
I've done, it's a pleasure to have your feet on
your own hammock, an ale in your hand, and all the
time in the world. But..."
  "But what?"
  "It can get a little boring, if you know what I
mean."
  "I do, Mr. Scott. Indeed I do. How
long do you think it will take you to get ready?"
  Scotty looked down at the paunch overhanging
his belt.
  He put his hand on his stomach, and frowned.
  "Oh, three or four days, sir."
  "I'll need you in one. We meet in San
Francisco on the morrow."
  Scotty struggled to his feet and drew himself up
straight. "I'll do it, sir."
  Kirk smiled. "You always do, Mr. Scott.
You always do." He returned the salute, and walked
back around the path that would take him to his waiting
shuttle.
  New York
  "I'm afraid I can't find a thing wrong with you,
madame."
  "But, Doctor, I'm sure there must be something you
can do. I've been feeling faint for several
days now, and my stomach growls at the oddest times."
  "Do you get any exercise$9"
  "Well, no..."
  "What do you eat$9"
  "Actually I'm rather fond of the cuisine of
Gamon VII.
  It's wonderfully rich and meaty."
  "You're a cholesterol factory."
  "You needn't be so blunt, Doctor."
  "Good nutrition and exercise. That's my
prescription.
  Pull yourself together and come back in thirty days."
  The doctor left the woman sitting on the table
in her white gown, and sauntered out into the hall. He
wandered over to the nurses' station. A young woman at
the desk looked up.
  "Mrs. Melgood can get dressed." He
lowered his voice and spoke to his new nurse in a
plaintive tone. "Isn't there anybody really
sick waiting for me$9"
  "I'm afraid not, Doctor."
  "A case of Debellium brain rot disease$9
Aphasia and disorientation from passing through the
Guardian of Forever Bitten by the two-headed toad
from Rangoren$9"
  "No, sir. As a matter of fact, I've
never heard of any of those problems. Are you sure--
was
  "Never mind. They're not from around here." McCoy
tapped his fingers on the desk between them and gazed over
her head up into the skylight. She had seen him
gaze out the window into the sky more and more lately. And
always with a faraway look in his eyes.
  "Mr. Zieglar is coming in at four o'clock. He
wants to know if you can artificially lengthen his ankle
tendons to improve his tennis. And there's a Mr.
Akara who needs some immunizations. He's going
on vacation in the Vornok System, and is afraid
of, well, you know his
  "Yes." McCoy made a noise that clearly
indicated his displeasure. "A bunch of spoiled,
idle people."
  "I beg your pardon, Doctor.*"
  "My patients. Nobody is ever really sick.
Well, how could they be$9 They all live right here
on terra firma. There hasn't been any rogue
bacteria in centuries. They all have their
predispositions mapped at birth, and are
correcting them before they even start to appear. It's
disgusting."
  "Actually, Doctor, New York is
considered something of a paradise. Even most aliens
prefer to live here when they can. I don't quite see--
was
  "It's boring! I'd even welcome seeing some
Klingon blood! Oh, you should see it, nurse.
It's pink. God knows what its biological
compositry is, they won't let us screen it. You
know, once I had to work on a Klingon. He was
dying right in front of me! My anabolic
protoplaser did nothing. So I leaped up and
tried to resuscitate him by hand! What a fool,
to think that a Klingon's heart was in the same place
as ours. Or that they would have one at all." He
chuckled. "But that's another issue altogether."
  "Did you save him?" The nurse looked at
McCoy, but he was apparently thinking of something
else, and staring out the skylight behind her with a vague
expression once again. "Dr. McCoy?"
  "Hmmm? Oh, sorry. What?"
  "Did you save him? The Klingon?"
  "Oh. No. I'm afraid I didn't. And
he was our last best hope."
  "I don't understand."
  McCoy shook his head, and stood up.
"Never mind. That all seems like a long time ago
now. Well, if there's no more patients, I
suppose I'll go over to the Star Club and start
my infusions."
  "Infusions? I didn't know you were sick,
Doctor."
  "Of wine."
  "Oh. There is one thing more. A man is waiting
in your office. Not a regular patient. He said
he was a friend of yours."
  "A friend of mine? That's funny. I don't
remember making any plans ...."
  "He said it was a surprise visit. But he said
you would know him."
  "All right. I suppose someone I once met
on the golf course wants some free advice.
I've got to stop giving out my card." McCoy
wandered down the hall. The nurse looked after him.
Then she began to close down her own workstation for the
day.
  McCoy opened his office door.
  "Now, what's wrong with--" But he stopped when
he saw the smiling figure relaxed in the armchair.
"Kirk! James Kirk! James T. Kirk!
Well, you're a sight for sore eyes!"
  Kirk smiled and stood up. They embraced, then
shook hands. McCoy--who in twenty-five years
of service had seldom shown much enthusiasm at
all--astonished Kirk with the warmth of his welcome.
He stepped back, and pumped Kirk's hand. Then
they embraced again.
  "My God, it's good to see you. How the hell
are you? Don't tell me something's wrong with old
Stone Constitution Kirk?"
  "No, I'm fine, Bones. How are you?"
  "Fine, Jim, just fine." "Good."
  "Well, I'm all right."
  "Just all right?"
  "I'm... oh, I don't know... things lately
have been a little... how should I put it..."
  "You're not sick, are you? You never would think about
yourself. You never once looked after yourself."
  "No, no. I'm healthy."
  "You're in private practice, I see."
  "Yep. Ministering to dowagers who want
lipolifts. Prescribing for old men who've
heard about the latest aphrodisiac. Once in a
while I give a lecture over at the Health
Science Center."
  "I've done that. At the Starfleet
Academy."
  "You too?"
  "Makes me feel old."
  "Exactly! I find myself telling young kids about
this or that alien physiognomy, and it makes me...
oh, never mind."
  "What?"
  "I suppose it's silly."
  "You can tell me."
  "Well..." McCoy looked around, and
whispered. "It makes me wish I were back in
space again. It's ridiculous. Why would a man
my age, after decades of bumming around the galaxy,
want to go back up there." "Wanderlust?"
  McCoy looked at Kirk. "I'm afraid
that's true, Jim. I've got it bad."
  "I'm sorry, Bones." Kirk suppressed a
smile.
  "Bones! I haven't been called Bones,
since... well..."
  "Yes." Kirk let the silence between them stand, and
McCoy looked toward his office window.
  "I suppose I'll get used to it." McCoy
sighed. Kirk let more silence gather. Then he said,
"You don't have to."
  "Don't I?" McCoy came back to Kirk.
"There's not much I can do about it now."
  "I think there is, Bones."
  McCoy looked at Kirk suspiciously.
Kirk smiled. He began telling McCoy a
story in a whisper. McCoy leaned in, listening.
He didn't ask any questions, and he didn't
respond. But halfway through Kirk's story, he
held up his hand.
  "Say no more, Jim."
  "We could use a good doctor. You never know what
can happen, so far away from terra firma."
  "You couldn't keep me away. When do we get
our orders?"
  "Orders?"
  "From Starfleet. Aren't they going to recommission
us? Are the uniforms still--"
  "Bones, Starfleet didn't send me here."
  "NO? But then..."
  "I just got tired of waiting."
  Bones began to understand. "You never were any good at
waiting, Jim."
  "No."
  "Neither was I." The doctor shook his head.
  "We'll be meeting up with some old
comrades tomorrow at my apartment in San Francisco.
We ought to talk things over. And I don't mean
old times."
  "I'll be there."
  Kirk stood up. McCoy stood up behind his
desk. Kirk reached across the desk, and they shook
hands. "Tomorrow then. At noon," Kirk said.
  "Tomorrow," McCoy smiled, and Kirk left the
room.
  McCoy stared at the door that shut behind Kirk
for a minute, then touched his intercom.
  "Mrs. Vegune?"
  "Yes, Doctor? I was just leaving."
  "Cancel all my future appointments. Something
of an emergency has come up. Call Dr.
Reiss, and ask him to take over my cases for
me. There isn't much to do, he won't mind."
  "Yes, Doctor. Where will you be?" McCoy
smiled. "A very long way away."
  "How long will you be gone?" "I'm not sure."
  "Through the weekend, then?"
  "Yes, Mrs. Vegune, through the weekend at
least." McCoy turned off his intercom. Or through
century's end, he thought. Who knows? He opened a
bottom drawer and took out his portable
medical tricorder, heartbeat reader, spray
applicator, medical scanner, anabolic
protoplaser, and surgical scalpels, and packed
them in the antique black bag which was his parting gift
from the crew of the Enterprise.
  Then he danced around his desk and out the door.
  The Siberian continent, Earth Kirk disembarked
from the Shanghai Expresscraft and asked
directions at a nearby InfoPort. The computer
quickly transferred brief instructions into Kirk's
datapadd. As he strolled through the snow-locked
Ukrainian freighter port megalopolis, the
air was frigid and few citizens were on the street,
but inside the enormous environpods he knew the
city was bustling.
  The streets became narrower and narrower as he
followed the directions on his monitor, until he
found himself walking among the long shadows of ten-story
freight wharves. He made another turn down a
tiny alley and came to a door with a round mirror
at eye level. In the mirror floated a
hologram featuring dice in green smoke, and the
words Asian Paradox. It was where Kirk's former
navigator could be found, according to his landlady.
  Inside, the club was filled with thick
smoke. Kirk squinted into the distance, but the room was
long and disappeared into the fog of Cobanian cigars.
He looked up. The upper floors, platforms
really, were made of antigravity plasticine and
floated overhead, connected to each other and the ground
by suspension bridges.
  A short, hunched-over alien with huge ears and
bad teeth was dispensing liquids at a long bar
crowded with humans and aliens of all races. Not
wanting to appear out of place, Kirk managed
to secure some iced Mongolian tea and held it in
his hand as he worked his way among the tables. He
passed the Pan Gow tables, the roulette spinning
disks, the long green pits within which floated
combinations of numbers changing positions and dice
bouncing on horizontal energy waves. He
passed tables where small groups of individuals--
some whose home planet he recognized and some he
didn't--played ancient and modern games of
cards. In front of all the denizens of this club were
personal velvet bowls filled with silver and
titanium chips, gems in dazzling colors from
throughout the galaxy, chunks of gold. Kirk watched
the frenzied activity through the blue haze of smoke.
But he knew he wouldn't find his
navigator among the gaming tables. He saw the
section he wanted above him, and climbed the floating
stairs to the third level. Above them the great loft's
windows were opaque, and the club was lit by halogen
sprinkler lights, affecting a perpetual sense of
nighttime.
  Kirk walked by a long line of tridimensional
chessboards, with rows of players faced against each
other. Behind them stood various humans and aliens
kibitzing quietly. No one looked up as he
passed. Everyone stared intently at the boards. Up
here there was none of the shouting, in hundreds of
languages, or the energetic body language of the
games below, only the occasional shifting in chairs
and a languid arm moving a piece. After a player
moved, he touched a clock between them, and sat back.
But the concentration, Kirk sensed, was intense.
  Finally Kirk stood behind the man he had sought out.
He watched as Payel Chekov puzzled over a
move, then reached for a bishop. A female
Betazoid sat facing him. She was blond, with
dazzling eyes, and she looked up at Chekov before
making an answering move.
  Chekov made another move, and again the female
looked at Chekov before answering. There was
a long pause. Kirk was tempted to interrupt, but
he knew it would be rude, and in any case he had
no good advice to give for Chekov's next play.
Finally Chekov sighed, and moved his king. Quickly the
female picked up her knight with long, delicate
fingers and deployed it. Then she looked up at
Chekov and smiled faintly.
  "Checkmate," she said.
  Chekov frowned. He studied the board. "You're
right." He pushed his king over on its side with a
snort. "I hope you won't mind payment in--"
  "Any currency will do." She smiled. He
reached into his pocket and pulled out a number of
multicolored, exquisitely etched bills, and
handed them over. She rose as she took them.
  "Thank you," she said. Then she walked away.
Kirk watched her as she gracefully disappeared
into the crowd. Chekov was staring at the tridimensional
playing field. Then he sat back and gave a
long sigh.
  "Boje moi," Kirk heard him curse under his
breath.
  "Mr. Chekov," he said quietly, "she knew
perfectly well you were playing the Kolchinsky
gambit."
  Chekov turned at the voice. He leapt up from
his chair.
  "Captain Kirk! Captain Kirk, what in the
galaxy are you doing here? How are you?"
  "Fine, Mr. Chekov. How are you?" Kirk
looked at the chessboard.
  Chekov followed Kirk's look, then smiled with
embarrassment and shook his head.
  "Well..." he said, "I thought I played this
game better. But..."
  "Is this what you've been doing with your life since
I saw you last?"
  "Only between assignments."
  "Then you're still navigating starships around the
universe?"
  "I am. I york for Trans-Universal
Shipping. Sometimes ve transport materials,
sometimes ve take tourists out for a spin around the solar
system. Sometimes ve even dock on habitable
planets." Chekov shrugged. "It keeps me
busy."
  "Not busy enough, I suspect," Kirk said as
he motioned to the fallen king. "Do you gamble often?"
  "Too often, I am afraid. Perhaps it is in
my Russian blood. But Captain,
what are you doing here? I thought you veto living
hafvay around the vorld, in San Francisco."
  "I am. Just now I am in need of a good
navigator, and I thought I would look you up."
  "Excellent. Just let me get my charts from my
apartment."
  "I can't promise what you'll get out of this
trip. If you're trying to keep up with your gambling
debts..."
  "Captain, you insult me. I would be glad
to take a Starfleet assignment. Just because I
stepped down to inactive status after twenty-five
years in space doesn't mean I don't rant
to serve the Federation."
  "I appreciate your loyalty. But I'm
afraid this isn't a Starfleet assignment, and it
isn't the Federation you'll be serving. Let's sit
down in that booth over them, and order some food and
drink. I'll fill you in."
  Half an hour later Chekov sat back in the
booth and stared at Kirk.
  "If Sulu is in danger, ve must transport
ourselves there at vonce."
  "We don't have a ship. Or much of a crew. But
Mr. Spock has agreed to go, and the good
doctor too. And I've tracked down Scotty.
We're all meeting at my apartment tomorrow to talk
things over. I thought you'd like to be there."
  "I would not miss it, Captain."
  "Great. Then I'll see you there." They rose and
started back through the club. Chekov checked his
chronometer and looked around the club.
  "Tomorrow, you say? That gives me a few hours
to try and get back what I haf lost here. You go
ahead, and I vill see you in San
Francisco."
  Kirk stopped and looked at Chekov.
  "All right. But don't lose your shirt."
  "My shirt?" Chekov was puzzled. "why would I
bet an article of clothing? Who would take such a
thing as valuable?" He looked at the denizens of the
club, a motley assemblage of aliens in all
sizes and shapes. "And what possible good could it do
them if they von it?"
  "It's just an ancient expression, Chekov.
Never mind."
  "Ah, still interested in Earth history, are you,
Captain?"
  "Right now I'm interested in getting up to Beta
Prometheus. Think you can find it,
navigator?"
  "If it exists in the cosmos, Captain, I can
figure the coordinates."
  Kirk waved. Chekov turned toward the chess
tables as Kirk headed back through the crowd of aliens
toward the front door. Then Chekov turned and
called after him. "Captain?"
  Kirk stopped and looked back at him.
  "Yes?"
  "why did you say she knew I vas playing the
Kolchinsky gambit?"
  "Mr. Chekov. Never play chess with a
Betazoid. Don't you know? They're all
telepaths. She was reading your mind."
  Chekov stared at Kirk as the realization hit
him. "I vas robbed!" he said.
  Kirk waved and disappeared.
  In orbit between Earth and Mars High in the
infrastructure of a black-glassed
satellite-sphere as large as a small city,
Uhura sat at the head of a huge polished table,
her left hand holding a small monitor firmly
in her ear, her right hand floating over a panel in
front of her. Around the table, where other chairs
might have been, a wall of monitors
faced her. On each screen a face blinked out at
her, some of them human, some not, all babbling in their
native tongue. Uhura deftly held a number
of conversations at once, in several different
languages.
  "The Orion Nebula is undergoing firestorms
and we can't get through," she said in a sweet voice.
"However, let me assure you that deliveries will
only be delayed one and one half of your orbits."
She smiled and touched another part of her console, then
spoke again in a much stronger voice. "Mr. Singh,
there are over two million Federation citizens in that
colony, and they are counting on you to complete the order
before the rainy season, after which there will be a half-year
delay before another shuttle can land there. If you are
unable to meet the deadline, tell me now and I will
subcontract with another company to take the load
off your shoulders .... Yes, I thought you could.
Always good to do business with you, Mr. Singh. Good
afternoon."
  When she saw a familiar face pop onto a
monitor, she changed frequencies again.
"Harrison, I've sent you a private message
on our coded subspace channel. It will be waiting
when your planet reappears from the
eclipse, which is half an hour from now. It
includes the details you requested, but if this leaks
to any of our competitors before the prototype is
ready, I'm going to take it out on you, and your next
assignment will be very close to the frontier." She
saw the man nod, and she smiled. "On the other
hand, if your product reaches the market first,
I.g.s. will be most grateful, and you'll be
promoted to the planet of your choice. I'll talk
to you tomorrow."
  Uhura went efficiently on, dealing with
requests and problems from far-flung regions of the
galaxy, until she was startled by a tap on her
shoulder. The office was off limits to I.g.s.
personnel without top security clearance. When
Uhura turned around, she was even more surprised.
Behind her stood the tall figure of James
Kirk, for whom she had been chief communications
officer for twenty-five years. "Captain!"
  "Uhura. Still fluent in an awful lot of
languages, I see."
  "Oh, the Universal Translator can do most
of the work. But I like to keep in practice. Wait a
second." She touched the console in front of her
and the monitors went dark. "David?" she
said.
  "Yes, ma'am," a young male voice said.
"No calls for a few minutes." "Yes,
ma'am."
  Uhura swiveled toward Kirk.
  "All right, now, what in the world are you doing here?
And while you're at it, how did you get in? This
is a highly secure area."
  "Is it? No one stopped me. Come to think of it,
there was some sort of sign on the door about
Authorized Personnel. I couldn't think who was
authorized, however, so I ignored it." Kirk was
looking around the room, impressed by the luxurious
furnishings, the floor-to-ceiling windows that held
a view of the galaxy, the enormous desk. "This
isn't a Starfleet operation, is it?"
  "Oh, no, it's far more confidential than that.
It's I.g.s.
  Headquarters."
  "I.g.s.?"
  "Inter-Galactic Systems. I'm Senior
Vice President in charge of Procurement and
Delivery."
  "Why all the secrecy?"
  "Industrial espionage. There are very
sensitive issues coming through my desk."
  "Really? Such as?"
  "Some of our subsidiaries are on the cutting
edge of technology. If another corporation even
guessed at the nature of a new product, it could
mean years of research and development down the
drain."
  "But technology patents are only good
temporarily. Then they become the property of the
Federation anyway."
  "Trillions in value can be earned in that time.
Additionally, we want a new product to be
identified with us. It's good for company moral, and
good for business."
  "I didn't realize. I don't suppose I
ever knew much about business. Maybe I ought to start
thinking along those lines, now that I'm a
civilian."
  "I noticed that, Captain. You're not wearing your
uniform. And here I thought you'd have made admiral
again by
  11OW."
  "I left active service when the Enterprise
was decommed, same as you. Came here on a
private starship, as a matter of fact.
Sat in the back and hoped the crew knew how
to handle her. It was an unusual experience, I can
tell you. I haven't actually been off Earth
since returning. Until today, anyway. So, this
is what you do, huh? At a desk all day."
Kirk looked around.
  "It's an enormous responsibility,"
Uhura said with a touch of pride. "Many colonies
depend on us for their very survival."
  "Oh, sure, sure. I didn't mean--"
  "Never mind, Captain. Tact was never your
strong suit. I'm a bit busy here just now,"
Uhura said as she gestured at her video
screens. "I've been monitoring the press
reports. Why don't you just tell me what's up
with Sulu?" Is he in real danger?"
  "Could be. A few old friends and I are going out
there to see if we can be of any use."
  "What friends?"
  "Oh, Mr. Spock, for one. And Dr.
McCoy. And I just enlisted a navigator..."
  "Chekov?"
  "How did you know?"
  "I think I hear something taking shape in all this.
You'll need an engineer."
  "Oh, yes. Well, Montgomery Scott said
he wouldn't mind helping out. So..."
  "And a communications specialist, of course."
  "Of course."
  Uhura smiled. She pulled out the little ear
monitor she had been wearing and set it down on the
console. She touched the desk. The monitor
screens in front of them lit up with' the words
PLEASE STAND BY.
  "Okay, let's go," she said.
  "What about your new career? I don't want
to inhibit you from taking your rightful place in the
business world."
  "I'll take a sabbatical. Out of loyalty
to Sulu, of course."
  "Of course."
  As they headed for the door, Uhura said to Kirk,
"Just how far away is this Beta Prometheus?"
  "Very far. It's in the frontier. It was just being
charted when all this happened."
  "Uncharted, eh? I wonder what language they
speak? I expect it will need decoding."
  "I'm sure it will," Kirk said, as he hurried
ahead. A metallic voice chimed in the room just
as they were leaving.
  "The Vice President is in a meeting.
Please leave your message, and your call will be
returned."
  Day Six
  San Francisco ThEvery NEXT MORNING was
Sunday. Kirk woke up early and went
directly to his communications monitor, where he
had flagged any news items that contained the words
Beta Prometheus, Sulu, or the U.s.s.
Excelsior. There wasn't anything new. In
fact, there wasn't anything at all. Kirk
suspected that, probably for diplomatic
reasons, a shroud of privacy was descending slowly
over the issue. Even the nonpublic Starfleet
channels to which he still had access did not have any
updated information on the status of the "incident" on
Beta Prometheus.
  Turning to his personal channel, Kirk found
only a note from Barbara O'Marla, asking him
to meet her at Poseidon, an upscale bar
overlooking the starcraft wharves, at 1800 hours
that night, when she got off work from Starfleet
Headquarters. He knew his visitors were arriving
during the day, and didn't want to make a commitment
he would have to cancel, but when he tried to call
to speak with her she was not in her office or her room.
In the end he had to leave a message for her on her
monitor. He hoped she wouldn't show up at the
destination without some confirmation. He took a long
shower while he thought over what he would say to the four
men and one woman who would be gathering that afternoon, then
made himself some authentic coffee.
  He sat in the comfortable captain's chair that faced
the great window overlooking San Francisco Bay
and did what he had often done in the last few
months when he found himself restless and with time on his
hands. He idly watched sleek starcraft dock and
depart from the port below his window. Sometimes, looking
through his televiewscope, he looked at the great
Starships hovering just beyond Earth's atmosphere,
waiting for the smaller ships to ferry them a crew.
  After an hour or so, and a breakfast Kirk fixed
himself, the door chime sounded for the first of six times.
  By noon, everyone was assembled. They were all
enmeshed in exchanging stories of civilian life,
when Kirk spoke up.
  "I know everyone is happy to see old friends,"
Kirk said. "But maybe we'd better begin. I
believe I've told you most of it already. Captain
Sulu was taken hostage just under a week
ago by a group of thugs from a star system known as
Beta Prometheus. They have fabricated a spying
charge. The Federation is engaged in diplomatic
conversations with the leaders, but the facts are that nothing is
happening, and from what little bits of information about the
Prometheans I have been able to unearth, I am not
at all sanguine about the position Sulu and his
comrades are probably in."
  "Sanguine?" Scotty frowned.
  "He's pissed," Uhura decoded.
  "Extremely," Kirk appended. "Sulu is
rotting in these pirates' jail, under who knows what
kind of conditions, and Starfleet will not get him out."
  "In fact their hands are tied," Spock said from
his position by the window. Everyone turned to look at
him. "They cannot engage in an act of aggression
unless it is sanctioned by the United Federation of
Planets. And the Federation prefers to negotiate.
At least for the time being."
  "Diplomats?" Kirk snorted.
  With that a silence overcame the room. Finally
Spock spoke again.
  "In any case, as I understand it, you propose
to go and, shall we say, take a look?"
  "Exactly."
  "Sounds like a very good thing to me," Scotty said.
"We should fire up our engines at once."
  "Count me in," Chekov said. "And me,"
Uhura said.
  "I don't," McCoy said, "want to be a
wet blanket, Jim. I am packed and prepared
to volunteer my services. I know we are all
anxious to help out Sulu. But as I understand it"--
here McCoy nodded toward Mr. Spockm"...th is not
a Starfleet mission. That poses all sorts of
problems. What sort of actions can we take out there
on our own? Is the Federation going to sanction our
mission, or stand in our way? We are all,
remember, inactive. We could find ourselves with the
welcome of ants at a picnic. Finally, and I
ask this in a spirit of optimism of course, how in
hell are we going to travel several sectors
into deep space? Federation Starships with warp-drive
capacity are not given away as door prizes. And
they require a large crew. As I look around
myself, I see a number of trustworthy if
ancient comrades from the Enterprise. But only six
in all. What in God's name can we do?"
  Having come all this way on a wave of
enthusiasm, they were brought up short by the
pessimism expressed by the doctor. They sat in
silence for a while. Kirk then got up out of his
chair and faced them all.
  "I don't know. I don't know what we can do.
I guess I gathered you all together more out of
frustration than a specific plan. But I
simply can't stand by and do nothing. Let's take it
one step at a time. Here's what I propose.
Scotty, you and Mr. Spock will spend the afternoon
looking for transport. Bones, you and I will see
if we can dig up the latest on the situation. 1
know a young press relations officer who might be
willing to bring us up to date. Chekov and Uhura,
you get the navigational charts we'll need, and any
background you can dig up on the Beta Prometheus
star system and that part of the galaxy. We'll all
meet back here at 1900 hours. We'll discuss
our options then. Would that be all right?"
  He looked around the room. Everyone nodded. In
a few moments the apartment was empty.
  Chekov and Uhura strolled along Starship's
Wharf on their way to the Maritime Museum where, in a
private attic room upstairs to which Chekov's
membership gave him access, there was an outstanding
collection of navigational maps and
guides. There was also a port on-line to the
Central Reference Library of the Navigational
Research Division at Starfleet Headquarters.
But it was the private collection that made Chekov
choose this particular location to access the information they
would need. More than one official constellation map had
mistakes in it, and often vast amounts of galactic
space were uncharted altogether. Although Starfleet had been
organizing information for almost two centuries, only
a small portion of the vast galaxy had been
explored as yet. Information poured in to Headquarters
daily, but even the true size of the universe had
yet to be identified, and vast amounts of space,
hundreds of galaxies, and millions of planets
had yet to be properly classified, or in some
cases even identified. Chekov often found that in the
collections of small, private organizations there
were ancient logbooks and archaic essays by early
galactic travelers that gave him information he
might otherwise never see. And in the wisdom of the
early Starship captains he often came across minor
remarks that helped him with the eccentric and eclectic
pathways of travel, especially those beyond Federation
boundaries. For all the streamlined efficiency of the
Starfleet Central Reference and its
vaunted Memory Alpha, the fact remained that,
not unlike the early days of covered-wagon travel
across the original United States, each Starship
was mostly on its own in uncharted routes through the vast
universe.
  And there was the question of anonymity. This tiny
private museum was unlikely to be visited,
particularly on a Sunday afternoon, by any Starfleet
personnel. Had they gone to Starfleet
Headquarters, they might have run into any number of
officers, some of whom would know them. Then there would be
an awkward moment when Chekov had to explain why
he and Uhura were rummaging around the library, and
what they were looking for, and Chekov knew from
experience that he was not good at dissembling. They had
all agreed to keep their trip a secret between themselves
until the last possible minute, against the
possibility that Federation diplomacy might
prohibit such a trip and Starfleet bureaucracy
would consider it interference.
  Thus he and Uhura were headed for one of the coziest
places in the universe to Chekov's mind: the
attic room, for members only, of the
centuries-old Maritime Museum, a tiny
three-story building right on the beach,
tucked into the shadows of the huge commercial
environpods of the port city. They walked
quietly, enjoying the clean salt air of the
headquarters city. Then Uhura broke the silence.
  "Why do you think Captain Kirk has
organized this expedition, Pavel?"
  "To see what can be done about the situation, as he
said."
  "Do you think there's anything the six of us could do
to help that Federation diplomats and Starfleet
Starships can't?"
  Chekov-didn't answer that right away. Finally
he spoke. "Probably not." "Then why?"
  "The captain is restless. I as veil. I
admit it. There's nothing like a deep-space
voyage."
  "He didn't have to ask the old crew. He
doesn't have to go to Beta Prometheus. He could
hire himself out as captain in private industry and
pilot a star freighter almost anywhere he wants.
Or he could request active duty. Starfleet
would find something interesting for him."
  "He is concerned about Sulu. Ve all are."
  "Yes. But, again, the question is, if Starfleet and the
Federation can't solve the impasse, what
could we do?"
  "What are you getting at, Uhura?"
  "The captain has been known to be impatient at
times. Hotheaded."
  "He would prefer to call it self-directed, I
think."
  "Whatever. I'm not a young cadet any longer.
Excuse me, but you're not either. Are we going to have
to do battle? I'm not sure I want to be fired
on by Klingon battlecruisers any more in my
life. Or trapped by alien unintelligences. Or
bounced around the skies while I'm trying
to decipher static. I don't know about you,
Pavel, but I was sort of enjoying a quiet
life."
  "Then why did you come?"
  Uhura sighed. She didn't answer. They
walked a few more yards and stopped in front of the
entrance to the museum. Then Chekov spoke again.
  "Me too," he said. "Because he asked." And he
led the way up the stairs to the reception desk.
  Kirk and McCoy strolled across the grassy
quad on their way to a lunch with Lieutenant
Eugene Marasco, the young press officer Kirk
had met at the Flag and Grog on his first
hunt for news. They arrived at Heaven's Hearth
a few minutes late. The neon archway was filled
with Starfleet and civilian personnel on their
lunch hour. Marasco had particularly picked this
eatery because it was populated more by lower-echelon workers
and civilians.
  Not that Kirk expected Marasco to be much of a
source. He would be selective about the classified
information he passed to Kirk. That was his job. But
Kirk hoped there might be more to the story, and trying
to find out kept this worry in check.
  Kirk and McCoy threaded their way past waiting
groups to a corner Marasco had already commandeered in the
rear of the restaurant.
  "Captain Kirk, it's good to see you."
Marasco stood and shook hands.
  "This is Dr. Leonard McCoy. Bones,
Lieutenant Ma-rasco." They sat down.
  "I hope you don't mind this place," Marasco
said as Kirk arrived at the table. "It's devoted
to macrobiotic food."
  "I'm always interested in something new. What is
that?" Kirk said.
  "Well, for one thing, it's not new.
Macrobiotics has been around for
centuries. It's extremely healthy and energy
oriented. I've taken the liberty of ordering for
us."
  "Great."
  "In the meantime, I'm sure you'd like to know about the
hostage problem."
  Kirk dropped his casual pose.
  "You've caught me. I did want to pick your
brain. I'm very worried about Sulu and his crew.
How did you guess?"
  "It wasn't difficult, Captain Kirk,"
Marasco said. "You are one of the legends of the
Starfleet, and your crew is not far behind. In fact,
it's my guess that your running into old Caius two
nights ago was not entirely an accident. The
Flag and Grog is where I would go if I wanted
to tune in to the Starfleet grapevine." Marasco
leaned in and lowered his voice a bit. "The truth
is, Starfleet has been restrained from taking action
on this--some kind of military action, I mean--by the
Federation. They don't want a war, an invasion,
an incursion, a police action, or even a
strategic incident. Of course they want the
hostages returned. How they expect to effect that,
nobody knows just yet."
  "Those are Federation citizens," Kirk said with some
urgency. "Whether the politicians like to admit it
or not, what has happened is an act of war."
  "They're Starfleet officers, too, and if we
don't take care of our own, we're not going to get
many volunteers in the future."
  "And the future," Kirk intoned, "is our
business." Marasco laughed. "All right, touch6.
I suppose I've been in press relations too
long. Let me try to stop talking like an
advertising executive. Most of the Starfleet
brass are impatient and angry too. You're not
alone. It's still a top priority, but we haven't
gotten permission to move, and, frankly, I
don't think we will."
  "Well, then, what is being done?" McCoy
asked bluntly. "A diplomatic mission has
been sent. They are attempting to talk with the Ruling
Family. The problem is that the Excelsior
officers were captured by some pirates from a strata
of the Beta Promethean civilization the government
doesn't really control. The government says they
deplore the situation, and they probably do; any
interruption in dilithi-um trading affects their
profits. But these pirate-traders are a
large part of their society, and keep them in power
by refusing to align themselves with the Spiritual Leaders.
If they were antagonized, they might throw their
weight behind the Conclaves and the Spiritual Leaders would
rule entirely. The society could become wholly
theologic, which would put the Ruling Family out of
business. The Federation wants the balance of power
maintained as well. We have agreements with the Ruling
Family about the dilithium that keeps the supply
going and the price reasonable. So everybody is
happy. If the Spiritual Leaders took over, they
might change the rules. They have what they call a
Higher Calling, and they don't seem to care if the
dilithium gets mined or not."
  A waiter arrived with two plates piled high with
green rice, moldy water chestnuts, and tough
bamboo shoots. Marasco's face lit up.
  "You'll love this. Pure protein." McCoy
looked at it cautiously. "This is, ah... what
exactly?"
  "It's real. Not from a synthesizer," Marasco
mumbled through a mouthful of rice. "You can't get this just
anywhere. It has to be grown. Takes enormous
quantities of land and water. An entirely
inefficient method of agriculture. But
you can taste the difference."
  "I can see the difference," McCoy said glumly
as he looked down at his plate. "There aren't any
worms in here, are there? I've heard they're a
delicacy, but I've never..."
  "No, no worms. Nothing that moves. That's part
of the macrobiotic creed."
  "Well, that's a relief," McCoy said as he
picked up his utensils. Kirk went on. "So
what you're saying is, the Federation is simply not
going to allow the Starfleet to take any kind of
aggressive action."
  "That's probably true. It's going to be a
political show all the way. It will just take time.
We've cordoned off their system. We're not
allowing them out of their own immediate space. We're
allowing a bare minimum of humanitarian
supplies through, but nothing military."
  "And how long do you think the Prometheans can withstand
being isolated like that?" Kirk asked.
  "No more than a few decades."
  "Oh, great," McCoy said sarcastically.
"Sulu will be home free in no time."
  As they finished, Marasco asked Kirk and
McCoy about their years in deep space,
and they accommodated him with a few stories. They
all left the restaurant together, and separated just
outside. As Kirk and McCoy headed off,
Marasco thoughtfully watched them go.
  They walked back in silence. Kirk was thinking
about the next day. He was taking the responsibility
of dragging his old crew into uncharted areas in the
frontier on a mission, the precise nature of which
was not really clear. Was this a vainglorious attempt
to recapture old feelings of leadership and
adventure, or a genuine mission of loyalty to an
old friend and comrade? Suddenly Kirk had his
doubts, but he kept them to himself. They turned the
corner and hiked up the last hill to Kirk's
apartment.
  "I did not want to be a wet blanket myself
with the others present," Scotty was saying to Mr.
Spock, "but unless we can get Starfleet to work with
us on this, I do not see how we're going to travel
hundreds of millions of light-years into deep
space. It is not like going' to Mars for a vacation."
  "I have been to Mars for a vacation." "Really?"
Scotty said. "What was it like?"
  Mr. Spock paused to remember. "They lost
my luggage," he said.
  "I'm sorry."
  Spock shrugged. "I have not been on vacation
since."
  With that Mr. Spock set resolutely out
to visit the docks and offices along the port, and
Scotty followed cheerfully.
  Two hours later Scotty was losing his ability
to maintain a jaunty attitude. They had hiked
what seemed like several kilometers. They had
walked throughout the spaceport, talking to numbers of
starship captains and freight operators,
transportation specialists and port chiefs,
engineers and cadets, and even some humans and aliens
who appeared to be simply lounging around the docks which
held the smaller starcraft. Scotty turned to the
tall Vulcan.
  "Mr. Spock, we're not getting anywhere.
Starships do not just rent out like hovercraft. The big
ones are not even here, they're in spacedock above the
planet. Do ya think--"
  "It would not be logical to give up before we had
traversed the entire port." Mr. Spock had
hiked through the area at a pace so steady that
Scotty, his human anatomy sometimes causing him
to fall behind and sometimes to hurry ahead, had
become frustrated. He had felt at home
climbing in and out of the spacedocks, talking to the men and
women who ran the transportation for various
intergalactic enterprises. But he had to admit
failure so far. They had not found a starship
available for their purposes. As he had warned the
others before they started out from Kirk's apartment, ships
capable of speeds up to warp ten "do not grow on
trees."
  They hiked on. They had almost reached the limit
of the port when, high up on a steep cliff
overlooking China Beach, Mr. Spock stopped.
  "What's that?" he asked Scotty. He was staring
at a small but sleek white star yacht floating
twenty yards above the edge of the high cliff, just off
the terrace of a mansion on the bluff.
  "A very small starcraft," Scotty answered.
"It could not hold more than a dozen personnel. And
by the looks of it, it could not last the first asteroid
storm. She's built for looks and for luxury,
Mr. Spock. I do not have to visit her engines
to see that."
  "Nevertheless, she is worth a visit."
  "She's not even correctly docked."
  "It looks as if she belongs to that
private environpod on the cliff there. Let us
go see."
  Spock set off at a rapid gait toward the
path that led through a front garden to the home.
Scotty sighed, flexed his toes in a vain
attempt to relieve what he was sure were
soon-to-be-blisters, and followed glumly.
Another toy bucket, he thought, that could not take
me home, halfway across this little planet, much
less into deep space.
  Spook knocked on the door, while Scotty
attempted to smooth the rumples in his clothes
caused from several hours of hiking around the port. It
was a large mansion overlooking the Pacific
Ocean, all sleek titanium and opaque
glass. Colorful flowers at its base were well
tended. Thick fog slid off the angular roof.
  The door was opened by a tall furry humanoid,
and when Spock asked if he could interview the owner
of the star yacht moored in the air off the terrace, the
alien turned around and headed into the house. Spock and
Scotty followed. They were ushered into a large room
with rich upholstering and a huge picture window that
overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The yacht could be
seen floating outside, just above the window.
The alien left the room.
  As they stood admiring its sleek lines, a
short, stout man with no hair on his glistening head
walked in. He was dressed in a casual
jumpsuit, and his age was difficult to assess, but
his joviality was not. He was clearly proud of the star
yacht and eager to show it off.
  "Hello," the little man boomed. "My name's
Thaylor. Rockefeller Thaylor. You like my
starship, I understand? If you're from one of those
databanks, she's all yours."
  "Databanks?" Spock said, not sure if he
should introduce himself until he got the full
picture.
  "Star Yachts. Interior Architecture.
Luxury Worlds. They've all been here. Doing
holographic essays. The Plush Princess
has been featured in all of them."
  "The Plush Princess?" Scotty asked.
  "My baby," Thaylor purred. "Commissioned
her two years ago. She's fitted with the best there
is from all over the galaxy."
  "Twin nacelles engines?" Scotty asked, his
interest rising. "Matter-antimatter cones?
Gravitational and life-support backup
systems?"
  "Huh? Oh sure, I suppose so. I
don't know anything about that stuff. I meant the
furnishings. There aren't many hotels on Mars that have
this kind of luxury. She sleeps eight in four
cabins. The galley can synthesize the most complex
gourmet meals. The control deck has an
enormous main viewscreen, and is custom-fitted
with genuine leather chairs. Why, wait until you
see the aft space lounge."
  "Oh. Well, that sounds outstanding," Scott said,
casting a glance at Spock. "It sounds like just what
we are looking for."
  "Gmat," the enthusiastic man said. "You can
scan her any time, just give me a day's notice
to inform the cleaning crew."
  "In actual fact," Spock said,."...we had
her in mind for something a little different."
  "Oh? What?" Traylot smiled pleasantly.
  Spock was about to explain, when he heard
Scotty speak. "For a holodoc!" Scotty said.
"A holodoc?"
  "In a documentary style," Scotty appended,
hoping it sounded important.
  "A documentary holodoc? That sounds
interesting. About star yachts? You won't find one
better outfitted than mine."
  "Not exactly," Scotty said. "About...
travel in deep space."
  "Deep space? I haven't been out of the solar
system myfi Too many aliens out there."
  "Yes, well, that's just where we're going. Deep
space. Can she travel at warp speed?"
  "Of course. She can do it all. Her designer
said she was the fastest ship in her class. Said I
could go to the end of the galaxy if I wanted. She's
in peak form. My private pilot sees to that."
  "She must have warp speed, then," Scotty said
to Mr. Spock.
  "Presumably," Spock said, unsure of where
Scotty was going with this.
  "But I don't thinkt" Thaylor frowned.
  "Imagine how famous she'll become,"
Scotty said quickly.
  "Famous?"
  "Of course. As the star of a holodoc on alien
worlds. Have ye never heard of the Calypso?"
  "That's a kind of dance, isn't it?"
  "It's also the most famous oceangoing ship of its
time!"
  "Oceangoing? What time was that? Why would anyone
want to travel on water?" The man was becoming more
puzzled, and rapidly losing his booming
personality, while simultaneously Scotty was
taking on the personality of a used-hovercraft
salesman.
  "Why, the twentieth century, of course,"
Scotty said.
  "I'm afraid I'm not much on history,"
Thaylor said lamely.
  "Captain Jacques Cousteau. The greatest
explorer of our oceans the world has ever known. He
took the Calypso to every corner of the globe. And
Captain Spock here, who is a metaphorical
descendant of that stalwart breed of intrepid
explorer"--he nodded at Spock, who stared back
stoical lyt"...wd like to take the... what's she
called again?" "The Plush Princess."
  "Aye, the Plush Princess... to an
obscure, unexplored corner of the galaxy.
She'll become as famous as the Calypso.
Famouser." Scotty slowed down, realizing he was
getting too carried away. "Captain Spock
you've heard of, I expect."
  "Well..."
  "He's made any number of discoveries in
space. The Tholian Web. The asteroid
Yonaria. The Murasaki 312. All his
discoveries."
  "I'm afraid science isn't my strong suit,
either."
  "Well, he's really going for it this time,"
Scotty said in confidential voice.
  "I am?" Spock said.
  "For what?" Thaylor asked.
  "The greatest discovery in history. He's going
into a black hole: I forgot to introduce myself.
I'm Montgomery Scott, the documentary
producer. My crew and I are making the
holodoc, so that children everywhere and always will have a firsthand
look at Captain Spock's amazing adventure.
And we thought that your starship would be just right for the
voyage. Imagine. One month from now, the Plum
Princess---"
  "The Plush Princess."
  "--the Plush Princess will be the most famous
starship ever built. You'll be equally well known as
its owner, of course."
  "This sounds exciting."
  "That's exactly the word."
  "But I don't think I could let my baby fly
right into a black hole. As I said, I don't know
much about science, but isn't that dangerous? Has
anybody ever done that before?"
  "Did I say into a black hole? My
mistake. We're just going to scan one up
close."
  "Still..."
  "But not that close. A safe distance. Your baby
will be completely secure in his hands. Mr. Spock
is the best pilot flying today. Also the safest.
Wouldn't risk a hair on the head of his crew.
Those that have hair. What we were hoping, is that you
might be willing to supply that beautiful starship for the
holodoe. She'll be the principal character, just like the
galactically famous Calypso."
  "The ship that Cousteau fellow was on?"
  "Exactly."
  "Well, it does sound important. How long
would you need her for?"
  "A week, only. Two at the outside."
  "I suppose I could do without her for a week. I
don't often charter her, but I have on occasion. What
would you consider to be a fair price?"
  "Did I mention that the captain here
donates any and all profits to the Starship
Historical Preservation Society and
Intergalactic Geographic Museum? Our
rolodoe is, what d'ye call it, nonprofit?"
Scotty lowered his voice, and tried to be as humble
as he could. "Frankly we were hoping you would
volunteer the use of the starship. As a
philanthropic gesture." Scott looked over the
man's shoulder and studied a series of hotographs
that were set on the marble mantel over the fireplace.
"Other contributions have been made by some prominent people
you might be familiar with. The Zone Governor. The
North American president..." He hoped he
had identified the men in the pictures with their arms
around Thaylor correctly.
  "Really?" Thaylor said. "I know them!"
  "They want to remain anonymous, of course,"
Scott said rapidly. "Because of their public
positions. So right now we're looking for someone who
does not mind the notoriety.
  To name the expedition after."
  "Name the--?"
  "The Thaylor Expedition, for example. If you
would allow us. Public relations needs this sort of
thing. Of course, by the time we get back the
holodoc will be released Federation-wide, and she'll
be terribly famous. You'll probably have people coming from
all over the cosmos to take her picture. I
hope you would not mind the intrusions."
  "I suppose I could loan her for such a good
cause."
  "Excellent. You'll have the gratitude of the
entire scientific community. Our crew will be
back first thing in the morning."
  Scotty managed to steer the conversation away from the
star yacht before the little man could change his mind. He
inquired about paintings of ancient lineage that lined the
walls of the hallway as they walked back to the
front door. At last they were in front of the house
again.
  "Good afternoon," Scotty said. "And thank you again for
your generosity. We'll take good care of her. And of
course, I'll see that you get an advance copy
of the holodoc."
  "Hadn't we better sign a contract or
something?" Thaylor said.
  "If you like, I'll be glad to." Scotty
glanced at Mr. Spock, who was standing patiently
if sternly at the edge of the footpath. He drew
Thaylor aside. "You do recognize that
Mr. Spock is a Vulcan?"
  "Of course. I know they are extremely
trustworthy and honest. I was not suggesting anything
else. But--"
  "They are sensitive too. A Vulcan's word
is better than a contract."
  "Well, yes, all right. I suppose, if you
promise to bring her back in good condition, Mr.
Spock."
  Scotty saw Spock hesitate for a fraction
of a second.
  "Absolutely, Mr. Thaylor. I can
promise you that," Spock said.
  Scotty let out his breath. He shook hands with
Thaylor, then indicated to him the Vulcan
salute. Thaylor understood, and raised his right hand
toward Spock, separating his middle and ring fingers.
"Ah, live long and prosper," he said.
  Spock returned the greeting, and the men
separated.
  As Spock and Scotty walked back down the
front path, Thaylor stood in the doorway. He
seemed to be thinking of something.
  "Spock... Spook... Wait a minute...
Mr. Spock?
  You know, I believe I have heard of you. You're
quite famous for your documentaries, aren't you?"
  "Me?" Spock said. "Oh, no, I do not
believe so."
  "He's an extremely modest man, is Mr.
Spock," Scotty jumped in. "Likes the
crew to get most of the credit. Well, we'll be
back first thing in the morning. Good day." As they
walked briskly away down the front path, he
turned and waved goodbye to the round man in the
doorway of the house.
  "I trust," Mr. Spock said thoughtfully as they
strode back along Starship's Wharf, "we have not
presented too large a falsehood to that man."
  "We haven't," Scotty said with an avuncular
smile. "7 have, I'm afraid. I was worried
if we told him the truth, he'd never loan us his
yacht. And as we were at the very end of our hopes for
finding something suitable, I thought I had no choice.
I hope that's all right. I know that Vulcans never
lie. But I do not believe you did."
  "I could hardly get a word in," Spock said.
  "There you are then. Your conscience is clear. As for
mine, I'll just have to undertake to bring the Princess
back soon in good condition."
  They walked on in silence, Mr. Spock
considering the ethics of the situation, and Scotty
wondering just what he would find when he went aboard the
craft he had managed to borrow. He looked over
his shoulder at the Plush Princess. The sun was
deep in the sky and an orange glow lit the city.
  "Do ye think she'll actually fly?" Scotty
said finally. "She looks a mite fancy for deep
space."
  "I put my faith in you, Engineer Scott,"
Spock said. "If it is any kind of a starship, you
can coax it into space. Besides, you heard what the man
said: the best of everything."
  "I think he was referring to the seat cushions,"
Scotty said glumly. "I do not expect a
starship like that to have much real power."
  "Well, it is a beginning," Spock said.
  For his part, Scotty was worrying about that tiny
starship and how she would handle in deep space. But
then, Scotty was used to worrying. And now that he had
a starship to worry about, he felt a glow of pride
he hadn't felt since he left the Enterprise.
  When the door chime sounded, Kirk wondered who
it could be. He looked around his living room, but his
crew had reassembled and were all present.
He went over and opened the door.
  Barbara O'Mafia stood in the doorway. She
looked crisp and young in her Starfleet uniform.
Before he could speak, she did.
  "I'm going with you."
  "Come in."
  "When you couldn't meet me tonight, I knew you had
decided. You can't really intend to go alone. Oh,
don't worry. It's not because of our relationship.
It's the trip. I've always wanted to go into deep
space. I'm not going to miss this chance."
  "Don't stand in the hall. Come in."
  She entered and went into the living area, where she
stopped. Kirk's friends were all busy in the room,
going over charts and talking quietly but urgently
among themselves. Everyone turned and looked at her.
There was a considerable. silence, and Barbara realized
she had assumed that Kirk would be alone in his
apartment. She looked around at the curious faces
staring at her.
  Kirk closed the door and came in behind her.
  "This is Barbara O'Marla, everybody. A friend
of mine. Barbara, this is Mr. Spock. That's
Montgomery Scott by the window. This is Mr.
Chekov, and that's Uhura." Uhura
smiled and waved. "And this old pile of bones is
Bones. Dr. McCoy. Don't get too
close to him, he's still lethal."
  Everyone said hello. There was another pause.
Kirk attempted to fill it.
  "We were just, uh, talking about our mutual friend,
Sulu." Another pause. Then it dawned on
Barbara.
  "You're the senior crew of the Enterprise," she
said to them, and she felt herself blush.
  "That's us, lassie," Scotty chimed.
  "The crew of the Enterprise," she said again, this
time, almost in awe. "Wow. Mr. Spock, the
science officer. You're half Vulcan. Dr.
McCoy, medical officer. Mr. Chekov, you were
the navigator. Uhura, communications. And you must
be Scotty. I can't believe I'm meeting you
all."
  "She's a very bright lassie, Captain,"
Scotty said from his chair. "Who is she?"
  "I'm sorry for sounding so insipid. It's just that
I'm so impressed. Mr. Scott, I was at your
lecture on the Klingon Bird-of-Prey warship.
It was terrific."
  "I'm very glad someone was listening."
  "I wasn't expecting, I mean, I didn't
realize Jim would have company. Excuse me for
bursting in."
  "The pleasure is all ours," McCoy said,
moving closer. "I was at the Academy only six
months ago. were you at my seminar on alien
physiognomy? I don't think so. I would have
remembered."
  "You'd have been lucky to remember your
lecture," Scotty said to him. "Now stand back and
give the lassie some room. We were just opening a
rare, if illegal, bottle of Romulan ale.
Part of the loot from years of traveling in space.
Perhaps you'd join us in a glass. Or maybe you'd
better not. It's contraband, and I see you are in
uniform."
  "You better sit over here with me, honey,"
Uhura said. "They're a bunch of idle hands today,
if you know what I mean."
  Kirk lowered his voice. "We were actually
discussing some business." He attempted to draw her
by the elbow back out of the room. She stood firm,
however. Kirk looked around. Everybody was still staring
at them.
  "Don't be rude, Jim," McCoy
said.
  "I'm afraid I'm the one who's being rude,"
Barbara said. "i'm sorry for interrupting--"
  "You're not interrupting, Barbara." Kirk again
tried to lower his voice and get the conversation down to just
the two of them. "But maybe I could call you
later."
  "Wait a minute. Oh, my goodness. You're
allgoing to Beta Prometheus!"
  Kirk sighed, and let go of her elbow. Dr.
McCoy grinned.
  Uhura smiled. Scotty raised his glass.
Mr. Spock raised one eyebrow.
  "Why don't you come in," Kirk said in a tone
of resignation. Then Chekov got up and offered her
the armchair he was sitting in. She sat down. And
waited.
  "This isn't going to be a Starfleet assignment.
This is a private trip. We're all retired.
That's what retired people do, they travel. We're just
going on a little cruise."
  "To a stinking corner of the galaxy beyond Federation
boundaries that features a primitive civilization
whose best tourist spot is dilithium crystal
mines? Fire your travel agent."
  "All right. We might be able to help. We can't
just sit here waiting."
  "I can help. I've been recommended for a
Starship mission. I'm just waiting for an opening."
  "Then you'll get it. Be patient."
  "I have some leave time coming. It's not a problem."
  "We don't know what might happen. Deep
space isn't always predictable. I can't be
responsible for you."
  "You wouldn't say that if we weren't lovers,"
Barbara said without embarrassment. But Kirk
blushed. Barbara went on. "You were responsible for
more than four hundred people on your precious
Enterprise. I'm qualified, and I'm
volunteering. It wouldn't be logical to turn down
help. You might need some younger officers aboard.
Deep-space navigation has changed a bit in the
year since you left Starfleet."
  Chekov looked insulted. Scotty looked
depressed. Only Bones smiled.
  "I'm sorry." She softened. "I didn't
mean to insult anybody. I know that nobody knows a
Starship like you do. But you've got to admit it. You
could use me."
  "Tin sure we could, Barbara. And I
mean that. You're going to make an outstanding Fleet
officer. Why, I'll bet you'll have your own command
one day. I'm sure you can look forward to an
extraordinary career. But our mission, our trip that
is, has nothing to do with Starfleet. As a matter of
fact, only today I inquired about going on active
status for this emergency, and was politely rebuffed.
So you can't go, because you are under orders from Starfleet.
I can't be responsible for making you Absent Without
Leave, can I? And suppose something were to happen?
Suppose we were taken prisoner, or got into some
sort of conflict with the captors? As a Starfleet
officer, you are a representative of both the
Fleet and the United Federation of Planets."
  "Jim, I do have other clothes."
  "It might be dangerous."
  "That's my concern. Have the decency to let me
weigh the danger and let me make my own judgment.
Again, if we weren't lovers--"
  Kirk sighed. "All right. I won't speak for
you. But if you haven't been assigned yet, you can't
just run off and head for deep space. Starfleet
bureaucracy--"
  "Has given me a leave of absence. I have
to attend the funeral of my great-aunt."
  "When did she die?"
  "Any century now, I'm sure. I'm going
to get started; she lives a long way from Earth."
  Kirk sensed that he was losing ground when he heard
the others chuckle.
  "Frankly, Barbara, you're asking me
to compromise both your career and your safety. Leaving
aside our, uh, personal relationship, you are a very
young officer. Hell, you were only a cadet until
a few weeks ago."
  "I can handle the job. You don't have a
helmsperson. That was my training. You want to see
my scores from the Academy?"
  "Still--"
  "Oh, and one more thing. Th." She took a small
silver disk out of her pocket.
  "What is it?"
  "The most recent holographic map of the city
where the Excelsior crew is being held, on the first
planet in the three-planet system Beta
Prometheus. It's classified Top Secret,
and there's no way any of you could get it without hacking
into and illegally searching through the carefully guarded
private files of Starfleet's Navigation
Group. Which would take you a week at
least."
  Startled, Kirk reached for it. But Barbara
O'Mafia pulled it away.
  "Think of it as my passport."
  There was a long moment of silence. Kirk might
never have filled it. But Bones spoke up.
  "Sounds like we could use her, Jim. She's
pretty resourceful."
  Day Seven
  BARBARA O'More caret RLA didn't sleep
at all before her first journey to the stars. Growing up
on Earth, the closest she had come to interstellar
travel was on the Academy simulators. She was
every bit as excited about that as she was about her
companions for the journey: the most famous crew in the
history of the Starfleet. Will I measure up? was
her principal thought as she tossed and turned in her
bed.
  In his apartment Kirk, too, had been up all
night, sitting in the chair that faced the big
picture window, watching the port traffic come and
go. Is it a fool's errand? What can we do that the
United Federation of Planets hasn't? Andwitha
luxury tub that is probably not equipped with
firepower of any kind?
  Uhura slept, though she tossed and turned
continually, hearing in her dreams the harsh Promethean
language. Chekov pored over the charts he had
collected until long past midnight, then fell
into a fitful sleep during which he still saw them
floating in his mind.
  McCoy sat with a fifth of Mercury bourbon and
nursed it through the night, having reached that age when
sleep was nearly unnecessary, and came in any case in
short naps. What in the universe is a doctor
my age doing, going off into deep space again?
  Scotty paced his room, and sat for long
minutes at his televiewport, through which he could see
west to the edge of the city and the Plush Princess
moored near the cliff. He grumbled about it
continually, though in truth he was primarily concerned
over its unique design and up-to-date power
systems. I've spent my entire professional
life in the engine room of the Enterprise and its
various progeny. What if, at this late stage, the
complex engines of the younger designers should prove too
complex for my ancient skills? I risk looking
like an old fool. Unwilling to go to bed, he slept
an hour in a comfortable chair, then woke up and
carefully packed his small cache of
hand-held analysis coders and equipment. Like the
others, he packed his uniform, but did not wear it.
They would be traveling as civilians, not
representing Starfleet. Nor would they have the
resources of Starfleet behind them.
  It was this last idea that Spock mulled over for
most of his evening. Using a Vulcan relaxation
technique, he was able to sleep for a fair part of the
night, but the political implications of their coming
adventure were never far from his thoughts. Spook tried,
logically enough, to project just what their actions would
be once they reached Beta Prometheus. Should they
check in with Starfleet or Federation officials at
Starbase 499, just outside the star system?
  None of the questions the crew pondered in the dark hours
were answered for them, but the dawn broke and brought their
initial enthusiasm back with it. All were up and
ready in minutes. They left their rooms early, and
separately made their way through the fog bound
streets to Seacliff.
  At 0500 hours Kirk and Scott went
aboard the Princess and toured the facilities.
Everything seemed tiny to them in comparison to the
Constitution-class Enterprise that had been their last
home.
  Scotty learned how to program the coordinates
in the sleek transporter panel. At 0555 he
honed in on the grass only several hundred yards
below them, and waited for a request.
  The others arrived before the 0600 rendezvous.
Spock was the last to arrive, at precisely
0559, strolling up with his silk duffel bag of
personal articles. The others were talking quietly
about the look of their transport. It featured a
saucer module a fraction of the size of the
Enterprise's, perhaps as wide in diameter as
fifty yards, and only two stories tall. Its
twin engine nacelles were snug underneath the saucer,
and the ports were broad and oval, though there were not many of
them. (kirk and Scotty had already discovered that the
starship was built for interior privacy more than
exterior visual evaluation.) There were no
extensions or attached shuttles. It was a
clean-lined starship of archirig if impractical
beauty.
  When Spock arrived, Scotty beamed Kirk
down to the grass below the starship.
  "I see we're all here," Kirk said. "This
mission--if you wish to call it that--is entirely
unconventional, and has not been sanctioned
in any way by either Starfleet Command or Federation
bureaucracy, to which all of us still owe our allegiance,
as officers, albeit decommissioned at the moment.
Ms. O'Marla, in particular. You are a newly
commissioned officer whose record will not be improved
by an unauthorized trip to a tense and politically
unstable star system. Let me ask each of you one more
time if you wish to exempt yourself from this trip. It may
be dangerous. It may even be illegal under
Federation law. It will certainly at the least be
uncomfortable," he said, glancing at the small star
yacht. "Now is your last chance. I'm sure none
of us would think the less of any others in any way
should one of us decide to stay behind."
  No one responded. Barbara O'Marla, having
looked at Kirk without expression during his
speech, simply looked away, and up at the star
yacht.
  "We're in, Jim. We're all in,"
McCoy said.
  "All right then. Perhaps Ms. O'Marla, as the
newest member of our crew, you would care to give the
signal."
  Barbara looked at Kirk uncertainly for a
minute, then at once realized what he was
offering. She smiled broadly. She glanced around
to see that everyone was standing in a fairly tight
circle. Then she touched the communicator on her
breast, looked up at the star yacht, and said in a
clear, young voice, "Beam us up, Scotty!"
  The six travelers dematerialized.
  When they found themselves on the small transporter
platform in the stern of the Plush Princess, everyone
began talking at once.
  "Where do we stow our gear?"
  "Where's the command bridge?"
  "Is there a synthesizer? I forgot to eat
breakfast!"
  "Where will our first destination be?"
  "Does this beauty have shields?"
  "Gee, I hope we don't get this carpet
dirty."
  "Where'd you guys get this toy, anyway?"
  "What's her top speed?"
  "Where's the communications workstation?"
  "All in good time," Kirk laughed. He led the
way through the narrow corridor of the lower level. He
raised his voice and cut through the hubbub.
  "There are only four living quarters aboard the
Princess. We'll have to share. On the
other hand, they are all state-of-the-art staterooms,
and I think you'll be pleased. Since there's seven of
us, I've allotted this room"--he stopped in the
corridor and nodded to an archway--"to Dr.
McCoy on the basis of, uh, seniority."
  "He means I'm the crabbiest, and no one
wants to bunk with me. Thanks, Captain."
  "You're welcome, Bones. Call me Jim.
I think perhaps we're all in this little adventure
together, and while we ought to run our ship along our
usual lines of command and duty organization, there's
no need to be overly formal." He walked on as the
door slid open and Bones stepped gingerly into his
small but well-appointed sanctum. "Now, on this
side we have another stateroom with its own
bathroom, so I have assigned that to Uhura and
Barbara. Thus affording them a bit of privacy.
  The ladies stepped into the Barbara.
  "Care which bunk is yours?"
  room. Uhura looked at "No, you go ahead."
  Uhura threw her duffel on the bed. "All
right. This looks like a pretty nice space.
Small. But we'll get along."
  "You must be used to larger quarters."
  "The old Enterprise was pretty
nice. Not so well cushioned, but larger. And the
viewports for the senior officers stretched up to the
ceiling."
  "You must miss it."
  "I guess I do. I suppose that's why I
signed on to this mission. Do me a favor, will you?"
  "Sure, anything."
  "Stop me if I reminisce too much. I
don't want to sound like one of those fat old
admirals sitting around the Flag and Grog talking
about the good old days. Heck, you're probably
better trained than I ever was."
  "I doubt it. Can I tell you something?"
  "Of course--communications is my
specialty."
  "I'm just a little scared. I've been on some
training missions, but never gone outside of the solar
system. Never stepped foot on any planet
except Earth. Traveling into deep space has
always been a dream. A fantasy. Now that it's a
reality, well..."
  "I understand. It wasn't that long ago I was
exactly the same. Came from a couple of local
schools in Kenya. Read a lot of offworld
literature, but never really dreamed I could
become a Starfleet officer. I suppose I've
never gotten over the thrill of being accepted into the
Academy. Don't worry. You'll do swell.
You couldn't ask for better mates on your first
assignment. And there's no better navigator than
Chekov."
  Farther along the hall, Kirk had pointed at
two adjoining staterooms, each featuring bunk
beds. "These are ours," he said to the remaining three
men. "We share the bathroom facilities here in
between. We can divide up any way we want."
  There was a pause, as the four of them stood
awkwardly in the connecting general quarters to the two
bedrooms. Kirk thought for a minute that for a crew that
had traveled together for twenty-five years, they
didn't appear to be very close. It crossed his
mind that he probably hadn't shared many moments of
nonofficial discussion with any of them. In fact,
he couldn't think of one. Spock broke the silence,
however.
  "Captain, you and I can bunk in here, and leave that
side to Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scott."
  "Fine," Kirk said, and the little group broke up.
Everyone busied themselves stowing their gear. As they had
brought only the bare necessities, this
took little time. Kirk stepped out into the hall and
climbed up the shiny circular staircase that threaded
the narrow space and took him one flight up and
onto the command deck. He found Bones already there.
  "Jim, there's no medical quarters."
  "No. Let's hope no one gets seriously
ill. You can set up on that deck behind us, if you
like."
  "The aft space lounge? Looks like it's for
owners who like to be pampered by their servants."
  "At least you'll be comfortable. Although I'm
afraid the ship didn't come with any servants."
  The others arrived on the top deck one after the
other. Kirk pointed out the amenities.
  "Uhura, I think that corner over there can be
yours. Most of the communications gear seems to be in that
wall. We'll have" to bring over a stool from the
lounge. These three chairs here will be ours. I'll
take this one in the center if that's all right. Mr.
Chekov, that one will give you the easiest access to the
ship's navigation terminal."
  Chekov sat down at once and began loading
information into his port from the disks he had brought.
  "And this one is for our new helmswoman."
Kirk was well aware that their relationship
had taken a significant turn when she had
signed on, but was unsure of just where things stood.
"Congratulations on your first assignment, however
unorthodox it may be. Please take the conn."
  "Thank you," Barbara said quietly, and immediately
sat down. For the next half an hour she hardly
heard a thing going on around her, as she tried
to familiarize herself with the main control and display
panels of the small ship. She played her fingers
over the sensor matrix and ran a program that
tested her thrusters. Then she input several
experimental warp-speed instructions and watched as the
subspace information flew by. It all seemed quite like
her hours of experience in the Academy
simulators, and in a short time she felt comfortable.
Then suddenly she realized that she would be responsible
for boosting the ship right through the Earth's atmosphere and
locking on to its first navigational target. Almost
immediately thereafter she and the navigator would take the ship
to warp speed. And it wouldn't be a simulation. A
small sweat broke out on her forehead. She
looked over at Chekov, who was delighting in the
superspeed information displays the modern star yacht
provided him. When he looked up, he smiled.
He looked at her knowingly. He winked.
She felt better already.
  "There's no science station, as you can see, Mr.
Spock," Kirk was saying "But I thought you might
be comfortable here"--Kirk touched a chair that had its
own console--"where you could use this terminal to access
whatever we have in the ship's memory banks. Also,
Uhura can hook you into Memory Alpha, so you can
access pretty much whatever you want."
  "Thank you, Captain. This will be quite adequate."
Spock had already logged on and began testing the
ship's ability to sense atmospheric pressures,
life signs, and gravitational pull.
  "We do have shields, you'll all be happy to know.
They wouldn't deflect a simple nuclear-powered
missile from the earliest days of atomic warfare, but
they'll keep our hull impervious to the traditional
flotsam and jetsam of the galaxy. All right, then.
Is everybody ready here?" There were silent nods from
the command deck. "Scotty?"
  "I think I've got the engines under control,
Captain," came the familiar voice. "But power
is limited, so don't ask me to strengthen her
shields," he warned Kirk. "They're not
designed for any kind of battle. They're good for
keeping the hull shiny and new, but that's
all. Also, we don't have any torpedoes at
all."
  "We're not going into battle, Scotty,"
Kirk said. "We're just going out there to take a
look. Well then, Mister O'Mafia. She's
all yours. Let's take her into planetary orbit
at once. One-quarter thrust ahead."
  Barbara's fingers flew over the panel. The ship
tilted toward the outer atmosphere. Kirk watched
Barbara as the ship moved gracefully away from the
Bay and headed up at ever-increasing speeds. There was
a jolt, and the ship lurched forward so quickly everyone was
thrown back in their seats. By the time they straightened
up, the ship was floating gracefully in the dark and
eternal blackness of space.
  "I'm sorry. She got away from me for a
moment," Barbara said apologetically to everyone on
the bridge.
  "Considering that was your first nonsimulated-launch in
an unfamiliar ship, I think you did awfully
well," Kirk said. And he began a short round of
applause that brought both a blush of embarrassment
and a deep swell of pride to the young helmsman. Of
whom he found himself unnaturally proud as well.
He kept his faced composed, however, even
as he felt his heart beat for her.
  Moments later the Plush Princess was streaking
across the galaxy on a direct headingmsupplied
by Mr. Chekov from his research of the previous day--
to Starbase 499, the nearest Federation base to the
planetary star system known as Beta Prometheus.
  Sulu regained consciousness slowly. He first
felt the hard floor he was lying on, then the soft
material under his head.
  "Captain?" the ancient voice whispered. Then
again, louder. "Captain?"
  SulUs saw Dr. Bernard Hans on his
knees on the floor next to him.
  "Are you all right?" Hans said.
  With an effort, Sulu lifted himself up to his
elbows. He felt his joints crack.
  "You were stunned," Hans said. "How do you
feel?"
  "Well," Sulu groaned, "that's how I
feel. Where is everybody?"
  "Right here. All the men, anyway. They took
Ensign Violet Bays and Engineer Nora
Schmidt away."
  "I remember now. Where are we?"
  "In a room of some sort. Don't
worry, it's dark for all of us. There are no
windows."
  Sulu looked around. In the dimness he made out
the figures of Lieutenant Roose, Cadet
Spiros Focus, Chief Engineer Norquist
Svenson, and the others. He climbed to his feet,
several pairs of hands helping him.
  "Actually," he lamented, "I think this hard
floor was worse than the phaser shot. How long have
I been unconscious on it?"
  "Twelve to twenty-four hours. It's hard
to say. There are no chronometers, and the little light
doesn't ever seem to change in here."
  "Any idea where we are?"
  "Not really. Maldari returned with a bunch of
Klingon soldiersm"
  "Klingons!"
  "Afraid so. He and another Beta Promethean
who dresses all in black brought them. We were
all hustled out of the shuttle and across a junkyard, and
piled into a Klingon ship. A Bird-of-Prey.
We carded you. We landed in some sort of freight and
warehouse dock, but not a busy one. It was
practically deserted. We're in one of the
warehouses now.
  Some sort of room inside."
  "Any way out?"
  "You wouldn't have had to lie on a hard floor for a
day and a night using my jacket as a pillow,"
Hans said as he picked up his jacket and shook it
out, "if there were. The boys have been over every inch of the
place. Even up there." He pointed at the
ceiling. "Stood on each other's shoulders. Damn
fine acrobatics went on, you should have seen it. But
they found nothing. Our captors use the one door.
Solid as a rock. Actually, harder, that's just an
expression. Doesn't even have a handle on our
side. They've given us some food from time to time, and
this stuff to drink, but nothing else." Hans handed
Sulu a cup of thick liquid. "It's not bad.
You better drink some."
  Sulu looked around him at each of the men.
  "Everyone all right?" One at a time they nodded.
"Spiros, your arm?"
  "It's fine, Commander."
  "Well then, here we are," Sulu said. Though
all of his officers were brave men, and all of them had
substantial training in survival techniques on
alien and inhospitable planets, they were scientists,
engineers, navigators. He didn't
think they could last long under inhumane conditions. He
felt entirely responsible for them. "And my
fault, too," he added ruefully.
  Everyone was quick to challenge him.
  "No, no, not at all. You mustn't blame
yourself," Hans said. "All part of the assignment."
He looked around the dim room with a grim smile
on his face.
  "Why do you think we haven't been beamed out of here
by now?" Lieutenant Roose said. "I mean, where
the hell is Sencus and everyone?"
  "Probably these bastards threatened to harm us if
Sencus didn't withdraw," Hans said. "As for
beaming, they took our communicators, and the
Excelsior may have little idea where we are. They
moved us just after Sven sent out our coordinates.
Anyway, I'm afraid these walls might be
transporter-proof. It seems a sensible thing for a
prison. I'm sure Starfleet will be able
to extricate us. Though we may have a fair amount
of time to kill."
  "I'll tell you what," Sulu said. "While
we wait, why doesn't Swen lead us in some
exercises?"
  There were some groans from the less-fit
members of the little group.
  "Come on, everybody," Sulu said, uncomfortable
in his necessary role of cheerleader. "It will help keep
us fit. And exercise is essential to mental
health."
  "Clearly then," Dr. Hans said to Spiros as
he joined the group assembling in the center of the
room, "these heathen hosts of ours are out of shape."
  Starbase 499 The artificial city floated in
stationary orbit several parsecs from the Beta
Prometheus star system. Its fifty floors of
activity bustled in normal times. The addition of the
response teams for the Prometheus incident made it
virtually hectic, and so the arrival of the small star
yacht the Plush Princess caused little notice.
The spacedock commander wasn't even at the docking
port when Uhura quietly requested permission
to dock.
  "This is the Plush Princess, requesting a
spacedock," she called when they came within hailing
distance of the star-base.
  "What is the purpose of your visit?" the
assistant docking officer said routinely. Uhura
looked up at Kirk, who frowned.
  "Vacation," she finally said lamely.
There was another pause as the docking officer must have
wondered what was worth visiting in this obscure part
of the universe. Fortunately for Kirk and company,
other, larger ships required his attention at the time.
  "Permission granted," the voice came back.
Seeing the size of the Princess, he assigned her
an obscure berth in the corner, read out the
coordinates, and subsequently forgot about her. But
just before he did, he requested the name of the ship's
captain.
  "James Kirk," Uhura said. Then the yacht
sped through the gate and headed for its assigned berth in
the great spacedock. As it did, all of the crew,
at their viewports, took note of the three huge
Starship cruisers that were hanging in space near the
entering port, armed and ready. Lights blazed from their
ports, and activity was brisk and businesslike.
  The Plush Princess, which had dropped to the use
of only its thrusters just before entering the spacedock,
glided to a smooth stop, and Kirk requested that
all but the artificial-gravity and life-support
systems be shut down.
  "I think we should all thank and congratulate
Cadet O'Marla on the completion of her first
deep-space voyage," Mr. Spock
said quietly from his seat in the rear of the control
deck.
  "Here, here," McCoy said as he came forward from
his rear lounge.
  "Well done," Kirk said quietly.
  Barbara beamed inwardly. "Thank you," she said.
  There was a pause, and then Uhura asked the question that
was on everyone's mind.
  "Well, now what?"
  Kirk stood and saw them all gathered on the
control deck. He announced the plan that had been
formulating in his mind since their launch.
  "Now I think we all deserve a drink," he
said.
  "Good idea," he heard McCoy and Scotty
say.
  "But Captain," Chekov said. "Ve've come such
a long way. Aren't ve going to... I don't
know... do somothing."
  "We are," Kirk said. "Because just about everything that
happens on a starbase is talked about on the rec
deck. If we hang around there, we ought to hear all
the gossip, which is as good a place to start as any.
Keep your ears open, particularly for anything on the
state of the negotiations for the hostages.
I'm sure a number of minor diplomats will be
holding court in the bar at any given time. That's
where diplomats usually are. Let's plan to meet
hack here in, say, one hour."
  The crew gathered on the transport deck,
beamed over to 499, and wandered into the labyrinthine
starbase, looking for all the world like a yachtload of
tourists.
  Kirk and his friends arrived late in the evening
cycle of the starbase, and the rec deck was crowded with
raucous humans and aliens. Kirk noted that a
dance contest was in progress, though how the judges were
going to pick a winner, given the variation in style and
anatomy of the contestants, he couldn't guess. The
music was old age, a twenty-first-century blend
of synthesized sounds and harsh percussive beats
revolving vaguely around a pentatonic scale.
Although Kirk himself had no particular emotional
response to the musicreit sounded more like noise to him
--apparently the young officers and aliens who mixed
freely on the dance floor found in the music, for the
moment at least, a mutual bonding that transcended
their cultural differences.
  The group from the Plush Princess split up.
Kirk, Scotty, and Chekov were crossing
the room when Scotty spotted someone he knew.
Even with his back to them, Scotty recognized the
broad girth and ginger hair of one of his oldest
acquaintances from Academy days.
  "Flanny, you old gin-swigger, you!" Scotty
boomed as he slapped the man on the back. "I
thought they had laid ye ta rest years ago."
  The engineer turned around, and his pink face
crinkled into a broad grin.
  "Well, well, well, Montgomery Scott,
the second best engineer-graduate from the class of
2241. I thought you retired this year. Wait a
minute, where's your uniform?"
  "In mothballs. I am temporarily
off-duty, Flanny. And it's a pleasure, I can
tell you. But I'm expectin' a new assignment
any time now. Why, as soon as I get back, I
bet they'll be offerin' me one of their latest ships
of the line." He winked. "This is James Kirk and
Pavel Chekov, my old shipmates." They
shook hands all around. "Flanagan and I went to the
Academy together, over 50 years ago. How about
that?"
  "Do ye have to mention the years, Scotty? We're
becoming a couple of dinosaurs."
  "Nonsense. Fit as a fiddle, both of us.
These younger officers aren't going to have our experience, not
for decades. Boys, Garth Flanagan. Will you
let a reserve officer buy you and your friends a
drink?"
  "We would not let you leave without taking a round,
now you know that." The jovial man's eyes twinkled.
"Now, sit down, sit down, and tell us what
brings you to this starbase in the back of beyond."
  They sat down and Scotty waved for a round. He
told the engineers that he and his friends had come to the
starbase in search of some news about the Beta
Promethean situation, as they had an old shipmate
who was one of the hostages. The men at the table with
Flanagan all turned out to be from the Starfleet
Starships that had recently arrived.
  "They're armed to the teeth, Scotty,"
Flanagan said confidentially. "They could turn the
whole planet into an asteroid belt in minutes.
And I believe that is exactly what the admiral
would like to do."
  "Admiral?" Scotty asked.
  "The Starships are here under the direction of
Admiral Julius Fesidas."
  "Fesidas?" Kirk interrupted. "I
know that name. He's an admiral I know in San
Francisco. He's in charge?"
  "This is his son."
  "There's a coincidence," Kirk said.
  "Probably not," Chekov said. "Even in
Starfleet, the son also rises."
  Everyone laughed.
  "Anyway," Flanagan went on, "I got the
feeling young Fesidas is champing at the bit to go in
and get the hostages. He'd like to prove his
mettle."
  "And why hasn't he?" Scotty said.
  "It's not up to him. It's up to the Federation
Council. Only the president can order a
full-scale military attack. But there's something
else."
  "What?" Kirk said.
  "In my humble opinionre" Flanagan began.
  "Your opinion wasn't humble in Academy
classes," Scotty said.
  "Perhaps not," Flanagan said in his quiet burr,
his eyes twinkling. "In any case, our Starships
could nae hide in a black hole. They'd be seen
coming a galaxy away. And then what would happen to the
hostages? Of course we could beam down
an elite troop of soldiers, but then we'd lose
our firepower advantage. In fact we'd be at
a disadvantage, because the terrain around Archnos, where
we assume the hostages are being kept, is
particularly hostile. It's rocky, barren, and
ice-cold this time o' their orbit. The pirates
who've got your friend might be a bunch of
primitive dunderheads, but they have the home field
advantage, if you know the expression."
  "Then you don't think there'll be an invasion?"
Kirk said. "Now, Captain, you know perfectly
well the last people to know what's going' on are the ones
down in the engine room. That's only me own poor
opinion," he said proudly, "formed as it has been
from more than four decades serving the insignia." He
tapped the Starfleet patch on his uniform.
  "I don't know what will happen. But here we are,
ready, willing and able to serve the Fleet. Aren't
we, gents?" He raised his glass.
  The other engineers said "Here, here" and raised their
glasses. Scotty, Kirk, and Chekov joined in
the toast. Then Kirk excused himself, and left the
jovial group.
  Mr. Spock reentered the turbolift and rose
up to a less crowded level of the starbase,
on the opposite side of the spacedock from the star
yacht he had arrived on. He stood in front of a
big viewport. Hanging in space just off to the
side was the U.s.s. Excelsior. He walked
to the nearby transporter room and encountered a young
engineering officer.
  "My name is Spook," he said quietly. "I
am looking for a fellow Vulcan. His name is
Sencus."
  "He's aboard the Excelsior, sir. He's
our commanding officer. In Captain Sulu's
absence."
  "I see. Permission to go aboard, then."
  "Yes, sir. Just step up there, and I'll beam
you up."
  "Would you care for me to give you some proof of my
identity? Aboard my old Starship, we did not
let just anyone talk their way on board."
  The young officer smiled. "Mr. Spock, your
civilian clothes don't fool me. I
recognize you. I only wish your friend Mr.
Sulu were here to welcome you himself."
  Spock nodded, and stepped up onto the
transporter platform. Moments later he was
surrounded by the familiar trappings of a
Starfleet Starship, this one an
Excelsior-class, even larger than his old
ship.
  The officer on duty at the transporter room
must have been warned by the young man who sent him there.
  "Good morning, Mr. Spook. Welcome
aboard. I've told Captain Sencus about your
arrival. He's waiting for you on the bridge now."
  "Thank you." Spock nodded. He stepped off the
ship's transporter platform and walked through the
archway. Although he found himself walking through the
familiar corridors of a Starship, he realized that
this was not the "To your right, sir. Then the turbolift
there will take you up. Top floor, of course."
  "Thank you, officer," Spock said, and followed
the directions.
  Moments later he walked onto a bridge that,
for all the world, reminded him of his old Starship.
Realizing he had not been on a Federation Starship in
over nine months, Spock immediately recognized his
surroundings, as he stepped onto a bridge that was
identical to his old one, and saw the uniforms he
and his crew had worn for years. He glanced to one
side, and saw a young female officer at the
communications station. He saw the command chair
on the other side, but it was empty. A few
officers were at their stations, performing routine maintenance
checks, but the helm and navigation chairs were empty.
  At the science station, a Vulcan taller and
thinner than Spock stood up. He came forward with
his hand outstretched.
  "Mr. Spock. We have never met, though
Captain Sulu has told me a good deal about you.
I am Sencus, science officer of the
Excelsior."
  Spook and Sencus both raised their hands in the
traditional Vulcan greeting, and said quietly,
"Live long and prosper."
  "You were the first Vulcan to graduate from
Starfleet Academy," Sencus said. "In those
days, among my friends at the Vulcan Science
Academy, that was tantamount to running away and
joining the circus. We all knew the legend."
  "Did you? Interesting... Sencus," Spock
continued, "I wonder if you could tell me what
happened? So I might hear it firsthand."
  "Of course." Sencus leaned in. "Seven days
ago we received a distress call.. 2' Sencus
rapidly narrated the events for Spock. After the
story, he sat back in his chair for the first
time. "Then we were ordered back to starbase," he
said. "Since then, there has been no activity of
any significance. The stalemate in negotiations
the Federation admits to is quite real. The Federation
emissaries are extremely civilizations trading
in this part of the universe makes it virtually
impossible to impose any kind of serious embargo.
  Too many other civilizations feel it is not their
problem, and do not want to stop trading."
  "What do you think the Beta Prometheans really
want?" Spock said. "Surely they do not think that
the Excelsior was actually spying."
  "The captain of the Sundew, a Beta
Promethean named Maldari, attempted to extort
some sort of ransom out of us. I had to refuse,
because of our General Orders. After that, things went from
bad to worse. It seems to be more a case of
blundering in than planned strategy," Sencus
theorized. "From what our diplomats can gather from
various representatives of the Ruling Family, the
taking of the hostages was not sanctioned by them to begin with,
and was probably one mad act by Maldari."
  "Then what do they want with them now?"
  "It is not so much what they want with them, as how
to get rid of them without losing prestige.
The Shrewdest Ones are in a kind of campaign
to convince the people that Starfleet and the Federation are the
enemy." Sencus, some years older than Mr.
Spock, went on, considering his words carefully.
"From what we know about this civilization, the Shrewdest
Ones control the Conclaves as their religious
leaders, but the boundary between their belief system and the
power structure is very gray, as it is in most
religions. To keep the people in line, it is necessary
to focus their energy and, in some cases, their anger,
since both the Only Way and the Ruling Family
control an inordinate proportion of their
society's resources. The Federation is an easy
target, which seems, in this case, to have fallen into their
hands almost accidentally. And they are being somewhat
manipulated in this by another group, who have
apparently jumped in to use the hostages to their own
advantage. This group is attempting to convince the
Beta Prometheans that the Federation has been
exploiting them."
  "Who is this?" Spock said.
  "The Klingons," Sencus answered. Spock's
eyebrow went up.
  "Klingons?"
  "In fact, there is a rally scheduled for
tonight in Archnos.
  We are worried that the hostages will be presented
there. It could be dangerous."
  "A rally?" Spock said. "To what purpose?"
  "An anti-Federation gathering jointly sponsored
by the Clerics and the Klingons. An antigovernment
rally, in fact, possibly to put pressure on the
Ruling Family."
  "Have they always been political bedfellows?"
  "Not at all. It is an unholy alliance,
to be sure. But they seem to have found common ground this
week. They are going to fan the flames of hatred."
  "Thereby refocusing the attention of the People of Light
away from their own domestic problems, particularly the
unequal distribution of dilithium profits,"
Mr. Spock finished.
  "Exactly," Sencus said. "We have not been able
to get close enough to Archnos to identify the prison the
officers are held in. One of our biggest problems
is the monocultural nature of the Beta
Prometheus system. We cannot just transport a
manmand certainly not a womanmdown there, because anyone
who looked remotely like he was from a Federation
society would stand out like a Melkotian at a
Caitian festival. Otherwise
Starfleet's Intelligence Section would have the
place well filled with security teams by now. That
includes Vulcans, of course."
  Sencus was a full Vulcan, from whom Spock
did not expect to see any display of emotion.
Yet he could tell from the tone in which Sencus had
outlined the situation that he was frustrated.
  "You have tried?"
  "An officer from the Excelsior volunteered.
We beamed him down. Within five minutes he
garnered so much attention we had to beam him back."
  "But they must have visitors. From other
civilizations, I mean."
  "There are. They trade with Kaferian
insectoids, Aurelians, a number of others.
We have a few sources, but nothing has proved
useful yet. And they conduct a lot of business with the
Klingons, who have refused to participate in the
Federation embargo."
  "Naturally. That might be promising, however. Do
you think that a Klingon could go into Archnos and
investigate some of these buildings we suspect
might hold our officers?"
  "They do have a great deal of access, especially in
the warehouse areas, where they appear to do a
lot of trading. But what Klingon would work as a spy
for the Federation?"
  "I cannot think of one." Yet Mr. Spock
seemed to be hatching some sort of plan.
  "Then how would that help?"
  "Perhaps if this person only resembled a
Klingon.. 2'
  Sencus smiled. "You mean, send in someone who
looked like a Klingon. I do not understand."
  "It seems possible."
  "Too bad we do not have a shapeshifter on
board. Maybe we could send for one. I believe
there is a race of Chameloids who can change their
identity rather easily."
  "Yes, but they are not very friendly. And decidedly
untrustworthy. I can attest to that," Spock said,
thinking of one who double-crossed Captain Kirk
during their last assignment.
  Spock spent another half hour on the
bridge, talking with Sencus. Then he rose
to leave.
  "Mr. Spock," Sencus said. "Might I
ask you something else? Of a personal nature?"
  "Of course," Spock said.
  "I have only been aboard the
Excelsior for less than a year. But you spent
almost three decades with Starfleet, most of it with the
Enterprise. Was it worthwhile?"
  Spock stopped in the doorway. He thought about the
question.
  "Worthwhile? I do not know, Mr. Sencus. I
do not know the value of life itself. I do not know who
does. So I cannot compare it to anything else. But I
can tell you this," he said. Sencus leaned in.
  "Between you and I? It was never uninteresting." Then the
customary stern visage returned. "Good afternoon,"
he said, and disappeared into the corridor.
  Kirk spotted McCoy at a table of young
female medical officers. He walked over
to collect the doctor.
  "And let me tell you," Kirk heard him saying
as he approached, "when I saw pink blood, I
knew I was in trouble."
  "Doctor, excuse me," Kirk said before
McCoy could begin another story, "but we're heading
back to the ship. Sorry, ladies."
  McCoy scowled at Kirk, sighed, then rose
and bowed to his tablemates. He ambled after Kirk.
  As they crossed the room, Kirk searched through the
crowd for Barbara, but couldn't find her.
He felt a twinge of concern. Had he done the right
thing by letting her come on this voyage? Certainly she
had proved herself a capable helmsman, though Kirk
was well aware that piloting the little star yacht in safe
and well-charted territory from the Earth to a starbase
was hardly a difficult test. He had privately
talked her performance over with Chekov, and found that
Barbara had gained the navigator's confidence too,
though not without the caveat that "it vas an unewent-ful
trip, Captain. Ve must vait to see how she
viii do in unusual situvations." Again he
experienced the unnaturally proprietary feelings
he had for her. While these thoughts were going through his
mind, he looked around distractedly.
  McC0y broke into his consciousness. "I
haven't seen her, Jim."
  "I didn't ask--"
  "You were about to."
  "Dr. McCoy, have you become a mind reader
since our last journey together?"
  "i've been observing your behavior toward her, and
I saw the look on your face when you were searching the
dance floor."
  "I do feel responsible for her. Maybe I'd
better--"
  "It isn't necessary, Captain. She is
obviously a strong-minded and capable officer. As for
your relationship with her, which I must admit I envy,
take it from an old pro in these things. Don't
crowd her."
  "I'm not in the habit of discussing my personal
life with fellow Starfleet officers," Kirk said.
  "Jim, you're not in the habit of discussing your
personal life with anyone, including yourself. But
you're a civilian now. The Enterprise is under
someone else's command, I understand. Loosen up, before
you become an old fart like me."
  "Thanks for the advice. For the record, I
don't think you're an old fart, Bones."
  "Thanks."
  "We'll have to take these little trips more often,
Doctor. It seems to be cause for a good deal of
honesty."
  "This is my last," McCoy grumbled, and led the
way out of the crowded bar.
  The business of the Federation, even on Starbase
499, until now a backwater assignment on the
very edge of the frontier, was round-the-clock. The
arrival of three Federation Starships and a
diplomatic team only added to a
cacophony that was constant and multifarious. Any
number of humans and aliens were coming and going at all
hours.
  In this spirit of activity it was not difficult for even
a Promethean to wander the corridors, listening
to gossip and making acquaintances. Thus Taras
Tarquin sat in a shadowy corner of the rec deck and
watched the comings and goings. His squat Promethean
body seemed out of character with his reasonably humanoid
face, his straight teeth, and his genuine smile.
Though on any of the worlds of Beta Prometheus he was
considered something of a mutant, and thus an outcast,
here he was merely recognized as a virtual
cauldron of breeds, some of which were assumed to be
human.
  When he spotted the crew from the Plush
Princess, he made inquiries among his
acquaintances on the starbase. Discovering that they were
retired Starfleet officers who had come up to 499
because of a connection with one of the hostages, he waited
until they had left the rec deck, and followed them
to the spacedock, where he stood in front of the great
viewport, admiring the Plush Princess.
  While the crew of the Plush Princess was
visiting the rec deck, Barbara
O'Marla took the opportunity to casually
separate herself from the others, and headed for the starbase
library. There she found an idle monitor in the
empty room. She turned it on, and navigated
her way through the system until she found starbase
communications. She entered a private password
to gain access to a private mailbox. Then she
spoke a simple, two-word message: "Arrived.
Barbara." She coded it secure, then rose from her
seat and headed back toward the Princess.
  "There's one more thing," Scotty said. "I did
manage to borrow a few supplies. The engineer was
kind enough to lend me a couple of photon torpedoes
and a mobile launcher. I've brought them aboard, and
I think I can hook them into our energy circuits,
and find enough power to fire them if necessary. Just in case
we have to fire on someone. Though at this point, I
cannot imagine who."
  Kirk smiled. "Always resourceful, Mr.
Scott. But let's try not to start an
intergalactic war, shall we? After all, we were all
kindly asked to stand down from active duty when we
almost started one with the Klingons a year ago."
  Six of the seven travelers had returned to the
Plush Princess, and were gathered in the aft
space lounge reporting on their various conversations.
Kirk alone noticed that Barbara was late in
returning.
  "What next, Jim?" McCoy asked, drawing
his attention. "Well, that depends. An idea has
been broached by Mr. Spock that may be worth a
try. It appears that the only near-to-humanoid
species that is a reasonably integral part of the
population of Archnos is Klingon. Although right now as
you know we have a shaky but holding treaty with them, they
do not participate in the Federation. So they are
ignoring the embargo and still doing a good deal of
business. There are hundreds of them coming and going, some
even living there, we believe. Mostly traders."
  "What good is that?" McCoy asked. "We can't
trust a Klingon to help us."
  "No, we can't. But perhaps one of us could disguise
himself as one."
  "What?!" several of the crew said.
  "It is Mr. Spock's idea," Kirk said
lamely.
  "I've heard of cosmetic enhancement," Barbara
said, walking onto the bridge. "But is it
reversible?"
  "That was a primitive medical
technique used a good deal in the twenty-first
century, during a time of extreme vanity,"
McCoy said. "Even reversible cosmetic
surgery is possible, but I don't have the proper
equipment with me. And even if I did, I wouldn't
make someone look like a Klingon."
  "We were thinking more along the lines of a temporary
situation. Theatrical makeup."
  "Makeup?" said Uhura.
  "Actually," Mr. Spook spoke up, "I have
had some little experience with this. When I was part of a little
theater group. As an actor."
  "You were an actor?" Chekov said.
  "It was a hobby for a short time. In any case,
we once mounted a production of Romeo and
Juliet, and a rather theatrical stage director who
was somewhat more imaginative than Iogical"--they
could tell that Spock was being polite--"decided that
the Capulets would be Klingons. It was his...
concept, shall we say. And so we spent weeks
perfecting our Klingon makeup technique. It
did not work."
  "Well, if it didna work," Scotty said,
"what good is it to us now?"
  "I meant to say that the production did
not work. The Klingons are not well regarded in most
of the Federation, as you know, and that gave all of the
audience's sympathy to the Montagues. Thus, the
production divided the characters into heroes and villains
which, I think you will agree, Shakespeare did not
intend for that particular play. However, the makeup
fooled everyone. Almost."
  "What almost?" Kirk asked.
  "The ears. We Vulcans have rather well defined
ears. We had great difficulty disguising them."
  "No problem," Kirk said. "You'll make me
up. I'll go down to Beta Prometheus and attend
this rally."
  "I'll go with you," Barbara said. "One person
won't be safe. There ought to be at least two, in
case something happens."
  "That is an excellent notion, Cadet
O'Mafia," Spock said. "And thank you for
volunteering. Your commitment to our cause is most
gratifying. However, we will need a helmsman
to remain aboard, for the ship will be in danger of
discovery within the Beta Prometheus star space."
  "Well, then--" Uhura began, and stood up.
  "And we'll need an excellent communications
person to remain aboard as well,"
Spock said quickly. "Someone able to deal with the Beta
Prometheus language if necessary." Uhura sat
down again. "Then I'll go," Chekov said.
  "I would much rather you remain as navigator. You and
O'Marla will have to bring the Princess within
transporter distance of Archnos, and that could be
dangerous. We also cannot accept you, Mr.
Scott," Spock said just as the chief engineer was about
to speak. "We need your skills here, especially in
the transport room. You will have to stand by to pull them out
of there the moment anything goes wrong."
  "Well, let's see." Dr. McCoy looked
around. "That leaves ... uh, that leaves..." He
realized everyone was looking at him. "Me?"
McCoy stood up abruptly. "Wait a
minute. The last time I went near a Klingon ship
I was thrown in jail and froze my butt off."
  McCoy looked around him, sighed, and sat back
down. "I guess I volunteer," he said
lamely.
  "Then that," Kirk said, "will be our first step.
Now, while Spock works on us, would you, Uhura,
and you, Barbara, go back to the starbase and forage for
some appropriate clothes."
  "Sure," McCoy grumbled. "There
ought to be a Klingon haberdashery somewhere about the
galaxy."
  Two hours later Kirk and McCoy came out
of the bathroom. Kirk sported an enormous
forehead with waves of ridges running down to the
bridge of his nose. McCoy had three vertical
ridges on an almost bald head. Both were darker,
and McCoy had a sour-looking beard and mustache.
They were clothed in dark tunics of leather and metal,
and their thick boots made them inches taller. They
climbed the access ladder back up to the control
deck, and walked onto the bridge. Scotty shot
out of his seat.
  "Heavens awake! Will you look at them now," he
said, smiling. "I've nae seen two more
Klingon-looking Klingons. Why, General Chang
himself could not smell the difference. I've never seen
anything' like it!" he crowed.
  "I've never seen a Klingon in person,"
Barbara said, "but you look just like the holographs
I've seen. Mr. Spock, you did an incredible
job."
  "Thank you," Spock said. "It was merely the
careful application of the correct physiognomy and the
patience of my two models. I believe
they now stand a chance of fitting tight in with the local
population. At least in the high-traffic freight
areas where Klingons are common."
  "What about if someone talks to them?" Barbara
asked. "We have solved that problem too, I
believe. We have hidden Universal
Translators under their tunics. Anyone who
speaks to them, they will hear in English. Anyone they
speak to will hear them in Klingon. Just be careful not
to talk very much," Spock warned them. "Your voices
are not nearly as guttural, your lips won't be a
perfect match for the words they'll hear, and you know little
of their customs and culture."
  "Right," said Kirk.
  "I hope we don't run into anyone we know,"
McCoy said. "In this corner of the galaxy, it is
extremely doubtful. You are very unlikely to be
recognized," Spock said. "Nevertheless, keep your
communicators on at all times, and we will be
monitoring your whereabouts."
  "I was thinking more about the embarrassment than the
safety," McCoy grumbled.
  Chekov and Uhura came onto the control deck
as Scotty climbed down to the engine room.
Chekov stopped in his tracks, and Uhura
let out a yelp of surprise.
  "Don't worry, it's only us humans,"
McCoy said. "You look incredible," Chekov said.
  "Thank you, Mr. Chekov," Kirk said.
"What news?"
  "We've isolated the coordinates of the rally
site using the data on Archnos which Barbara
brought." His hands played over the console, and a
street map of Archnos illuminated the monitor.
  "Well, we might as well get started,"
Kirk said. "There ought to be several more hours of
Promethean sunlight left." He sat in the command
chair, but found everyone stating at him. "What's the
matter?" he asked.
  "Oh, nothing, Captain," Chekov said. "It's
just that I never thought I would see a Klingon sitting
in the command seat of a Starfleet wessel. Even an
unofficial one." He smiled and sat in his
navigator's chair.
  A few minutes later the Princess was in
orbit near Beta Prometheus 1. Kirk jumped
up out of his chair. "All right, Mr. Spock. The
command is yours. Bones, let's go down there and take
a look."
  "Jim, suppose they recognize us as
human beings?" Kirk turned and took a good look
at McCoy.
  "Bones," he said. "I don't even
recognize you as a human being. You look like a
Klingon. You sound like a Klingon. In those clothes,
you're beginning to smell like a Klingon. Believe
me, the only danger we'll be in today will come from
running into somebody who hates Klingons. Come
on."
  He and McCoy hurried to the transporter
platform, where Scotty met them.
  "Just a couple of Klingons, or I'm not my
mother's son. All right, good luck," Scotty said
as he worked the controls.
  The two Klingons disappeared from his platform.
  The city of Archnos On Beta Prometheus I
the air was crisp, the temperature cold, and the
blue sun low in the sky by the time Kirk and
McCoy arrived. The most modern buildings
appeared to be nearly windowless, and made of a shiny
metal. The streets themselves were not wide. They tried
to take a direct path to the location of the rally, but many
of the streets wound around in odd ways. Clearly the
city had not been laid out by a master architect, but
grown every which way over the centuries.
  There were signs everywhere of the Only Way. They
exhorted citizens to appear daily at the
Conclaves, to raise their children to the Higher Calling,
to follow the Book of Muharbar. They called themselves
the People of Light, though it seemed to McCoy, an
inveterate grump where any kind of organized
worship was concerned, that "Light" was an oxymoron
when artificial belief systems were involved.
  Prometheans scuttled back and forth on their
squat, four-legged bodies. Other aliens also
walked the streets. There were enough Klingons to give them
some small feeling of security, though both men
froze the first time they passed a group of them.
Fortunately, Klingons appeared to be as unfrly
to each other as they were to humans, so Kirk and
McCoy did not find it necessary to engage in a
conversation.
  "This way, I think," Kirk said and started off.
  "Oh, great," McCoy grumbled, and shambled
along after him. "A walking tour of the city."
  They walked with purpose, tried to maintain an
arrogant bearing, and looked like they knew where they were
going. After a while they found themselves on a more fully
populated street, walking in the same direction as
many others. At last Kirk and McCoy
made their way into a district of warehouses,
docks, and shuttle fields. Signs of
intergalactic trade were everywhere.
  "There's the rally, in that big building straight
ahead," Kirk said.
  Eventually the crowd overflowed the sidewalk, and
droves of people moved along the street in the same
direction, carrying Kirk and McCoy with them. It
was a good thing that other Klingons and two-legged aliens
were in evidence, for the tide of Beta Prometheans
moved three times as fast as the others with their four
muscular legs and lower center of gravity. The
Prometheans tended to scuttle out into the street and
stream past the slower life-forms. As everyone got
closer to their destination--by the last block it seemed as
if the whole community was heading for the rally--the
Prometheans brushed passed real Klingons, who were
slower, and tended to remain arrogantly gaited and in
their own world.
  Kirk strode forward. Half a block away
he said under his breath, "Remember, keep your
Translator off if we talk to each other, and on
if you have to talk to someone else. But try not to talk
at all."
  There was hardly time to say more. As they
came within twenty yards of the doors to the warehouse,
the crowd became so intense that it would have been
impossible to turn and change directions. The
doors stood open, and a sign overhead said something
indecipherable in alien script. "What does that
say?" McCoy asked.
  "I don't know. I don't read Promethean,"
Kirk said. "Come on."
  They stepped into a lobby with hundreds of others.
There were several tables staffed by young Beta
Prometheans, and the walls were coated with posters, which
carded more slogans or announcements much like the one
over the front door.
  The young Beta Prometheans smiled and nodded, and
several said "welcome" in Klingon. Kirk and
McCoy nodded and passed through another set of double
doors guarded by two Klingons who didn't smile
but stamped their feet as Kirk and McCoy went
by.
  The interior space was enormous, and the large
floor was filled with spectators. There were several
hundred beings, including Prometheans, other
aliens, and Klingons, all facing a high platform
at the far end. On the platform several
representatives of alien races were
standing, and one Klingon was exhorting the crowd. His
speech was punctuated continually by shouts and roars and
applause from the crowd. Kirk and McCoy were
separated by the milling mob. Kirk worked his way to the
front of the hall, and stood just under the platform.
  The rally featured a number of speakers who
decried the Federation as imperialist aggressors, and
used the hostages as examples of spies.
Klingons warned their "fellow workers" that the Federation
wanted to control the dilithium mines and would soon
take them over, subjugating the Prometheans. The
Clerics described a paganistic, morally lax
Federation anxious to export their decadence throughout the
galaxy.
  After half a dozen speakers, the crowd worked itself
up into a frenzy, and Kirk found himself raising his right
fist and extolling the purity of the Beta Promethean
people and their friends the Klingons. He used the
tumultuous activity to look around, and spotted
MeCoy in the front ranks near him.
  Damn. If we get too far apart from each other
I could lose Bones in the crowd. He worked his way
over to MeCoy and stood next to him.
  "Furthermore," the Klingon was saying, "the
Federation wishes to impose its regulations
upon the entire universe! They wish to impose their
culture upon the entire universe! They wish
to subjugate all races which they consider alien!
They are attempting to destroy all non-Federation
societies and place themselves at the center of a
Federation-only cosmos!"
  A roar of agreement went up.
  "They have sent their warships to the very edge of this
system! They have sent spies to prepare for their
attack! But we are not fooled!"
  Another roar of agreement.
  "We must be vigilant! This disease must be
destroyed. We must build a galactic army that
is capable of beating back these imperialist
Federationists!"
  A third great roar. Kirk began to feel a
bit claustrophobic. The heavy makeup didn't
help.
  "My friends, listen to me," the Klingon orator
went on. "Only days ago a dozen spies were
sent in a Starfleet warship to prepare the way for
an invasion." He turned and nodded, and several of his
cohorts on the platform hurried down to the back
door. They opened it, and Prometheans carrying
weapons walked through. Sulu and his eight
fellow officers were led onto the floor in front
of the platform in single file.
  The Klingon orator told the crowd to look and
see for themselves how the Federation had sent spies into the
Beta Promethean star system.
  "Although we captured these spies, there are more
gathering even as we speak, at a nearby starbase
belonging to the Federation. Dozens of their warships are
preparing to launch an attack on Beta
Prometheus. Only the great Klingon Defense
Machine can stop them. Only when each Starfleet
cruiser is matched with the more powerful Bird-of-Prey
will the balance of power be restored. The Klingon
treaty with the Federation must be denounced! The Klingons
are your friends! They will stand shoulder to shoulder with you against
the imperialist destroyers! Stand up for the Beta
Promethean culture or it will be destroyed, just as
surely as the Federation has destroyed or
subjugated so many other alien races."
  Kirk looked around. He didn't feel safe,
but logic told him that he was. There were a number
of Klingons in the crowd, and in any case the crowd
was so turbulent and chaotic that no one was looking at
them. He lowered his voice and said with as little emotion as
possible, "Let's get closer." He
moved forward, and McCoy followed.
  Kirk worked his way through the crowd until he was
only a few feet in front ofSulu. Sulu
stood stoically, his head held up, his face without
expression. He didn't look at Kirk.
"Federation spy," Kirk said to him without malice.
Sulu didn't flinch. But his face altered
imperceptibly, and Kirk knew that he had heard
the words in English, as Kirk had said them.
  "Federation spy," Kirk went on in what he
hoped sounded like a menacing growl in Klingon to those
around him.."...allyr Starfleet comrades are coming. We
will be ready for them. Do you understand?"
  Sulu looked over the faces in front of him.
But he saw only Prometheans, Klingons, and
assorted riffraff from the galaxy. Kirk spoke
again.
  "In memory of General Chang, we of the true
Klingon Empire will be triumphant." He
raised his hand and indicated himself with his finger. Sulu
looked right at him. Kirk nodded imperceptibly.
He couldn't tell whether or not Sulu understood.
The Excelsior commander showed no sign of
recognition.
  "We repeat. This is Beta
Prometheus star traffic control. Identify
yourself."
  Aboard the Plush Princess everyone was still.
  The voice transmission boomed in the small
cabin for the second time.
  Uhura hesitated. She looked up.
  "What should I say, Mr. Spock?" Uhura
asked.
  "How about, 'We're the crew of the Enterprise,
and we're going to blow you out of the skies if you don't
return Mr. Sulu, you nasty little planet,""
Scotty suggested. "Mr. Scott," Spock said
sternly. "Sorry," Scotty said.
  The same voice came back. "Attention
Plush Princess. You are trespassing in Beta
Prometheus star space without prior permission. A
Promethean ship will approach and scan you."
  "Let me talk to them," Spock said.
  Uhura ran her hands over the console and nodded.
"This is Spock, captain of the Princess,"
Spock said in a whiny voice. "We are a
pleasure yacht out of Talos. Did you say Beta
Prometheus?"
  "That is correct."
  "I am afraid we have made a bad
navigational error," Spock said apologetically.
"We were headed for the Delta Triciatu system.
For recreation."
  "Stay where you are until our starship approaches
and gives you permission to move," the voice growled.
  "They could spot the two torpedoes I
borrowed," Scotty whispered.
  Spock looked at Scotty and one eyebrow
rose.
  "I told you," Scotty said. "I borrowed
two torpedoes in case of an emergency. I've
attached them to the underside of the saucer."
  "We were just leaving," Spock said to Promethean
control. "We did not mean to be any trouble. I
believe we transposed a couple of coordinates
by mistake."
  "Do not leave your star space untila"
  "Plush Princess out." Spock nodded
to Barbara, who was watching him intently from her seat
at the conn. She swiveled to the controls and quickly
touched them. The Princess veered to its right and shot
into space, leaving the leisurely orbit over Beta
Prometheus. In distancing itself from the Beta
Prometheans, however, it went well beyond
matter-energy transport distance for Kirk
and McCoy on the planet below.
  Death to the Federation," the Klingon leader shouted
them.
  (eath to the Federation!" the crowd answered. "Death
to the Imperialist aggressors!"
  "Death to the Imperialist aggressors!" the crowd
answered.
  "Long live the Klingon Empire!"
  "Long live the Klingon Empire!"
  "So I ask you, friends of Klingons, what should we
tell the Ruling Family? Do we want to lie
down and roll over for the Federation, or do we want
to fight them?"
  "Fight them!" the roar answered.
  "What should we do if the Ruling Family fails
to stand up for the Beta Promethean people and all other
nonhuman species in our galaxy?"
  "Depose them!" the cry rose up.
  "And what should be done with the Federation spies?"
  "Kill them!" the roar went up, reverberating in
the large hall.
  "My friends, let us make this promise to the
Federation Imperialists. The Federation must withdraw from
this quadrant of the galaxy. For every day they remain,
we will execute one of their spies." The
crowd was shouting uncontrollably now, and the orator
was building them to a frenzy.
  The hall was a blur of noise. The Klingon
orator was screaming into his address system. The
crowd was surging forward, trapping Kirk and
McCoy in the front. Kirk noticed that Beta
Prometheans and not Klingons were guarding the nine men,
but they were having greater and greater difficulty keeping
the crowd back. One Beta Promethean who seemed
to be their leader was shouting at his cohorts, but Kirk
couldn't make out what he was saying in the noise.
  "And let us," the Klingon orator screamed,
"start today!" Before Kirk could react, the Klingon
drew a disruptor from his holster and fired point
blank at the back of the head of the nearest Starfleet
officer on the floor beneath the platform. When the bolt
hit him, the young man shook and crumpled forward.
  Chaos followed. Kirk heard Sulu shout
"Spiros!" and leap to help him. The Klingons on
the platform began chanting, "Death to Federation
spies! Death to the Federation!" The crowd around
Kirk and McCoy erupted, and tried to rush the
other officers. The Beta Promethean guards
surrounded the Star fleet officers and began pushing
them toward the exit. Kirk tried to catch
up with Sulu, but couldn't get close enough in the
crowd. He passed near the dead Starfleet
officer, who was being spat upon by Beta Prometheans.
Kirk noticed that the guards were being exhorted to get
the hostages off the floor by a screaming Beta
Promethean. That must be Maldari, he thought, the
pirate who started all this. He doesn't seem
too happy. Kirk tried to keep his eye on the
officers as Maldari and another Beta Promethean
grabbed Sulu and pushed him away from the body of the
young officer. In the melee, Kirk lost Sulu, but
saw the rear door open and the guards hustle the
Starfleet officers through. Then the guards closed the
door behind them. At once the Klingon orator
exhorted the crowd. Kirk found himself surrounded
by Klingons, Beta Prometheans and other aliens
waving their arms and shouting. He joined them.
  "Death to the Federation! Long live the Empire!"
he shouted. McCoy frowned, but understood and quickly
joined Kirk in the shouting.
  They carried on this way for several long minutes.
Finally the crowd seemed to calm down to a low
turbulence, and began leaving the building.
  When the hall had thinned out, though still one-third of the
huge crowd milled around, Kirk stood
next to McCoy, both pretending to read a poster
tacked to the platform.
  "They went out that door?" he said as quietly as
he could, though he had turned his Universal
Translator off and doubted if anyone near them
spoke English.
  "Yeah," MeCoy nodded. "Let's get out of
here, Jim."
  the exit doors. They waited until they were on
the street and well away from the building and crowds
before they spoke, contenting themselves with an occasional
"Down with the Federation!" for the sake of anyone within
hearing distance. They hurried around to the rear door of the
building. There they saw the last of the Beta
Promethean guards pushing the last of the Starfleet
officers into a shuttle, and closing the hatch behind them.
Almost immediately the small starship took off. It was
suddenly quiet. The streets around them were deserted,
shadows were starting to fall, and Kirk felt
conspicuous.
  "That poor kid," McCoy said. "We should have
blasted their guards and gotten Sulu out of there.
We've got our phasers."
  "You may have noticed that they outnumbered us by about
five hundred to two."
  "The Klingons are in on this," McCoy said.
"That's confirmed."
  "Not officially, I'll bet. This is only the
militant Klingon faction that hates the treaty.
They would like to use this incident as a chance to break it.
By getting the Promethean people on their side and starting
a war, they'd have just what they want. Uh-oh, look
who's coming."
  Kirk and McCoy stared as the Klingon orator
and two of his toadies who had been talking with the
Beta Promethean pirates behind the prison
building began walking straight toward them.
  "They just want to be friendly," Kirk said.
"We're Klingons, remember."
  "Klingons aren't friendly, even to each other. They
want to know who we are, and what we are doing here.
What's the answer going to be?" McCoy said.
  "I'll think of something," Kirk said, just as the
three Klingons approached them directly. He
remembered not to smile.
  "Did you attend my speech?" the Klingon said.
  "Oh yes," Kirk said, remembering that
Klingons did not use salutations or greetings.
"Outstanding."
  "You are not from the Bird-of-Prey
Krogshat?"
  "No, we're not," Kirk said, desperately
trying to recall what little he knew of the Klingon
syntax, so his words did not appear to be
translations.
  "Where are you from?" the Klingon said. "Qo'nos,"
Kirk said. Brilliant, thought McCoy.
  "How did you get here?" the Klingon asked.
  "Oh, we've been here a long time," Kirk
said. "We're traders. Dilithium traders.
We work here." Kirk nodded in the general direction
of the warehouses.
  "Dilithium trade is reserved for only
certain Klingons," he said. "What ship do you work
for?"
  Kirk stared at him. "The Kerla," he finally
said.
  There was a pause.
  "I've never heard of the Kerla," the Klingon said
suspiciously.
  "It's named after Brigadier Kerla. You must
remember him. He died defending the greater glory
of the Klingon Empire from those filthy assassins on
the Enterprise."
  "It's not a ship of the line, then. It is
not a Bird-of-Prey," the Klingon said harshly.
  "No, it's... a trader. Carries freight.
Nothing so glorious as a warship. Just a humblew"
But Kirk's expanding eloquence was cut short.
  "In that case," the Klingon shouted, "you are
arrested for illegal trading in dilithium, which is
reserved for members of the Dilithium Mining
Corps. Seize them," he said to the two Klingons
standing next to him.
  Kirk thought it about time he and McCoy left the
city of Archnos. He reached down and turned off his
Translator. Then he touched his communicator.
"Scotty, it's us," he said in a low voice.
"Get us out of here," he said.
  But nothing happened.
  Too far from Beta Prometheus I to beam them
up, the Princess banked into a sharp turn and came
to a near-sudden stop. It hovered behind a large
asteroid as the Promethean warship shot by.
  "Outstanding at the helm," Scotty said from the
engine room. "It's a very good thing I was holding on
to something, however."
  "Sorry for turning so sharply, everyone,"
Barbara said. "I saw that asteroid at the last
minute. Thought it would be a good place
to hide. We weren't going to outrun them without going
into warp speed, and I was worried about getting too
far from Captain Kirk and the doctor."
  "It was an admirable ruse," Mr. Spock said
encouragingly, as he climbed back to his feet.
"Let us just wait a moment for that ship to give up,"
he finished. They all sat quietly, as the ship
hid behind the barren asteroid. Then Mr. Spock
spoke up.
  "Uhura?" he said simply.
  "They've reported to base, sir. Said we've
left their star space. Said they shot at us and we
must have left the area at warp speed."
  "Good. Mr. Chekov?"
  "We're only about half a light-year away,"
he answered quickly. "But that's too far to hear them
or pick them up."
  "All right. We will go in and listen every fifteen
minutes. If we get a signal we will pick them
up. If we do not, we will withdraw again. We will
simply have to play cat and mouse with this warship
until we can get out of here."
  Unfortunately they were several light-years away
when the first call was sent up by Kirk.
  McCoy sighed. He and Kirk were
surrounded by Klingons, and being marched along the
street.
  "Great. Another Klingon jail. Maybe this time
they should just skip the trial," McCoy said as the
two of them were hustled along, Klingon disruptors
prodding them in the back. "I don't think reasonable
doubt is part of their judicial system anyway."
  "Princess, do you read me?" Kirk said
quietly. "Kirk and McCoy here. We are
ready to be beamed out of here."
  "They've left us and gone back to the starbase,"
McCoy whispered.
  "Why would they do that?" Kirk said. "They wouldn't
do that. Something's come up."
  "Not us," McCoy said.
  "Bones, when we get to that corner, I'm going
to trip this overweight brute next to me. We'll
go that way. Turn the corner at once, and run
into the crowd on the street. Maybe they won't
attempt to fire with so many Prometheans around."
  "Relying on a Klingon's humanity.
Excellent plan," McCoy groused. He felt
increasingly irritated, not so much at their immediate
jeopardy--having been in tight places with Kirk
before and spent a season ministering to the
complaints of Earthbound civilians, he preferred
the former --but at the thought that he might have to spend
another night in a foul Klingon jail.
  "It's the best I can think of just now," Kirk
whispered. "All right. I'm with you," McCoy
answered. A Klingon soldier shouted something and
shoved him forward and he stumbled, but found his footing.
  A few feet farther on, their leader stepped off
the sidewalk. It was almost a one foot drop to the
street, a distance the four-legged Prometheans had
no trouble scuttling over. When they reached it,
Kirk began to step down, then shot his foot out in
front of the guard next to him. With the help of a strong
push in the back, the big Klingon stumbled forward off
the sidewalk and crashed into the leader. The two of them
fell to the ground. At once Kirk and McCoy
turned the corner. Momentarily shielded by the
building, they sprinted several yards ahead and into a
crowd of pedestrians.
  "Scotty!" Kirk shouted, touching his
communicator. "Where the hell are you?"
  "Where the hell are we?" McCoy said, out of
breath, as they hurried through the streets, keeping
inside the crowds of Prometheans and other aliens
on the thoroughfare. Even as the
Prometheans scuttled about, Kirk and McCoy
sprinted ahead of them, causing many to wonder about the
two Klingons rushing past.
  Guttural noises exploded behind them.
McCoy looked over his shoulder.
  "Here they come, Jim," he huffed. They heard a
zing of disruptor fire. Kirk looked over his
shoulder. The Klingons had their weapons up, and were
pushing through the crowd. A Promethean's average
height was shorter than the humans" and a good deal
shorter than the Klingons', which gave the pursuers a
fair range of vision.
  "Duck!" Kirk shouted, demonstrating. He
bent over at the waist and hurried forward. Another
zing of phaser fire heated the air. A Promethean
behind them was hit, and fell to the ground. MeCoy
took his sounds to be swearing. The crowd around them
began to panic as the Klingon soldiers stormed through,
firing ahead.
  "So much for safety in numbers," McCoy said.
  An intersection ahead was blocked with traffic.
The crowd began to slow down, and pedestrians other
than Kirk and McCoy began scattering to the
sides. Kirk looked back again. Several
Klingon soldiers were well within firing
range. They raised their pistols on the run.
  "Scotty, bring us in. Now would be a good time.
Kirk and MeCoy to Scotty. I said--"
  Kirk felt the first tingle of the dematerialization
process, and knew he would be back aboard the
Plush Princess in seconds. Their pursuers
pounded up the sidewalk to where they had last seen the
suspicious-looking Klingons who claimed to be
trafficking in dilithium. Prometheans stared out at
them from behind street refuse, but gave them a wide
berth. The Klingons stood in the center of the
intersection, staring around them in frustration.
  "That was another close one," McCoy said as he
stepped off the transporter platform. "Where the
hell have you been?" he said testily to Scotty.
  "Sorry, gentlemen," Scotty said. "We were
out of range. A little business with a Beta
Promethean warship. We were just orbiting back in
when we heard you talking to those real Klingons."
  The three of them went immediately to the control deck
where the others were waiting. Kirk and McCoy stood
in the doorway.
  "All right, everybody, back to spacedock at
499," Kirk said.
  "Would you care to take your captain's
chair back," Mr. Spock said.
  "No, I'd like to get out of this outfit. Spock,
come help us get these ridiculous faces off."
He turned and led the way down to their cabin's
bathroom.
  On the control deck, Barbara held a brief
conversation with Chekov, then announced an eminent
departure. Her fingers flew over the consul and she
put the Princess on a direct route to the
spacedock.
  "ETA for Starbase 499 should be about thirty
minutes," Mr. Chekov announced.
  "Did you know they were going to do that? Did you?!"
Maldari screamed at Dramin.
  "I did not," Dramin said solemnly.
  "I don't believe you! You arranged this with the
Klingons! The prisoners are mine! You and that
fanatic had no right, no right at all!"
Maldari's gray skin was black with rage.
  Dramin shrugged. "Believe me, I had no
idea they intended to execute one of the officers. But
it is of little consequence. One disbeliever less in the
galaxy."
  Maldari tried to control his anger. He tried
to think.
  "No more rallies. The Klingons will not be allowed
to use the prisoners again. Nor will the Clerics."
  "What will you do with them?" Dramin said.
  "I'll sell them. Just as I sold the women."
  "You can't. They have little worth. Their real value
is to the cause."
  "What cause?" Maldari asked, suspicious.
"What are you getting out of this?"
  "Me? Nothing, of course. But Beta
Prometheus must be ruled by the True Believers."
  "Meaning the Shrewdest Ones," Maldari said.
  "The Ruling Family does not have sufficient
commitment to the Only Way."
  "And you think the Klingons do?"
  "The Klingons are merely of momentary usefulness.
Once the Ruling Family is replaced, and Beta
Prometheus is isolated from the influence of the
Federation, the Shrewdest Ones will be in control of our
star system. The Klingons will be irrelevant."
  "So that's it. You hope to overthrow the Ruling
Family." Maldari wondered why he hadn't seen
it from the beginning. "And you're using my hostages to do
it."
  "The hostages are prisoners of the state. They
are Federation spies who should be brought
to justice."
  Maldari wanted to tell Dramin he could drop
that kind of talk right now, but he saw the gleam in the
fanatic's eyes, and knew it was useless. He
merely sighed. Dramin watched him, then spoke
up.
  "You made a good profit on the women. Your
crew is happy. Let me have the men and you can
return to space and pursue your trading."
  "I have nothing to trade! The Ruling Family
has informed me through my freight master that I may not
take dilithium off the planet until this little
matter is cleared up. My holds are virtually
empty, and I had to divide up the money I got
for the women to keep the crew loyal. I don't even
have a starship. And your temporary political
bedfellows have just eliminated one-ninth of my only
source of income."
  "I'm sure that the Clerics would be able to give you
enough to return to trading if you were able to prove your
loyalty."
  Maldari stared at Dramin. Then he said,
"What do they want?"
  "Give us the hostages."
  "So you can shoot them one day at a time
until you have caused a war with the Federation?"
  "Give us the hostages, and we will see that you have
permission to return to trading. With your holds
filled with dilithium. What do you care what
happens to the hostages?"
  "Traders don't need a war. Your last holy
war caused us to lose many fortunes."
  "There will be no war. As soon as the Ruling
Family is replaced, the Shrewdest Ones will
apologize to the Federation, and return the remaining
hostages."
  "If there are any remaining." "Again, that is of
little concern."
  "I'11 think about it." Maldari walked away
from Dramin without the typical Promethean
salutation.
  When the seven crew persons left the Plush
Princess in spacedock and went aboard Starbase
499, they found that rumor of the hostage execution was
already spreading. The three Federation Starships were lit
with activity. The tee deck was noisy with conversation.
The official response, a short statement
condemning the action by the Federation, seemed absurdly
shallow to Kirk, who had seen the handsome young officer
murdered, and seen the body lying on the
floor beneath his feet.
  "They have promised to execute one hostage per
day until the Federation withdraws from this sector of the
galaxy," Kirk said grimly as he gave his friends
a detailed account of the rally. "We have to believe
them. That gives us less than twenty-four hours
before another Starfleet officer is killed. We have
to get those hostages back," Kirk said, slamming
his hand on the table.
  From a shadowy corner of the rec deck one Beta
Promethean had been watching the group since they
returned from Archnos, so the sudden outburst on
Kirk's part didn't surprise him. Now he
judged it was time to act. He had discovered who the
travelers were--retired officers from the crew of the
old Enterprise, where they had served with the hostage's
captain--and felt that their being out of uniform made them
a reasonable target for his proposal. He screwed
up his courage, slipped off his chair, crossed the
room, and stood next to the Vulcan.
  "Pardon me, but I wonder if I might
introduce myself," he began. "I'm a Beta
Promethean trader. An honest one, I hasten
to add."
  The crew stared at him. Kirk looked
suspicious.
  "And you are the crew of the Enterprise, I
presume," he continued.
  "The Plush Princess," Scotty said. "And
we are not trading just now, so if you think you're going
to sell us something here, you're wasting your time."
  "I understand. I do have something to sell, and I am
guessing that you would in fact be interested. I wonder
if I might--"
  "Sit down," Spock said, surprising his
companions. "Actually, we're rather busy--"
Kirk began, but Spock cut him off and spoke
directly to the Beta Promethean trader.
  "Since you have been shadowing us since we first
arrived at Starbase 499, you know perfectly
well who we are. I think it only fair that you
tell us now who you are."
  Kirk and the others, fascinated by Spock's
explanation, watched the half-Promethean squat
on an empty chair.
  "I am Taras Tarquin," he said quietly.
"And I can arrange for you to purchase the hostages."
  The noise of the rec deck covered the startled
exclamations of the group.
  "Of course we'll go. But I'll go
instead of Uhura," Kirk said, as soon as Taras
Tarquin had left them alone to discuss the offer.
  "Now, wait a minute, Captain." Uhura
stood up. "He asked for Spock and me."
  "It might be dangerous."
  "disallyes, it might. But it might be more dangerous
to ignore their instructions."
  Kirk sighed. Before he could frame a reply,
however, Uhura went on.
  "In any case, you said yourself there's no need
to follow strict Starfleet regulations. So, since
no one here is giving orders, I've been invited,
and I'm going."
  "In any case, Captain," Spock
interrupted their discussion, "the risks in this situation
will have to be accessed by each of us on our own, since
we are all technically civilians at this time. And
if Uhura wishes to accept this invitation-was
  "I do," Uhura said quickly.
  "--then I think that is how we must proceed."
There was a pause, during which Kirk scowled. "On
the other hand," Spock went on, "I do not believe
we should take this question of independence too far. After
all, every good expedition has a leader, and I think
we can all agree that Captain Kirk is
the best there is."
  Kirk looked up at him, glad to have the
initiative back.
  "Therefore, I think perhaps if you truly have an
objection, Captain, perhaps we should reconsider."
  "No. I'm afraid you're right," Kirk
sighed. "If he has asked for a meeting with
Uhura, for whatever reason, I suppose we have
to go along. Be careful."
  "Over the years," Uhura said to Kirk, "I have
been in more dangerous situations. Please don't
worry."
  "Are you saying I'm being too protective?"
  "You are."
  "All right. Just keep your communicator open.
We'll be aboard the ship if you need us."
  Resigned, Kirk promised himself not to worry.
He rose and looked around. Tarquin was lingering on the
edge of the room, watching them. Kirk nodded an
agreement, and Tarquin turned and scuttled away.
Kirk took Spook aside and spoke to him in a
low voice.
  "I could understand that this Maldari wants you to be a
go-between. Vulcans have an exceptional reputation for
being straightforward and trustworthy. But why
do you think he wants Uhura?" Kirk said.
  Spook shrugged. "Possibly he feels less
threatened by a woman. Or perhaps he saw her on the
dance floor earlier, and is intrigued."
  Kirk and McCoy, Barbara, Chekov, and
Scotty all watched Spook and Uhura leave the
rec deck, then headed back for the Plush Princess
to wait. As they did, Kirk found himself wondering
for the umpteenth time if Mr. Spook didn't
possess something of a human being's sense of humor
after all.
  Spock and Uhura took the turbolift to the
spacedock floor. Following Tarquin's
instructions, they found an ancient shuttle waiting
on a deserted platform, a marked contrast to the busy
docks around them.
  Tarquin was standing near several freight sleds. His
smile, even more than his unusually straight teeth,
was a mark of his human ancestry "Mr. Spock,
I'm so glad you have decided to negotiate. We will
attempt to effect a speedy return of your fellow
officers." He looked around. "You are alone?"
  "As you requested. May I ask who you
represent?"
  "Oh, I do not wish to present myself so
formally. I do not wish to mislead you. I am simply
a Beta Promethean with the desire to see our two
civilizations become closer. Or at least not
drift dangerously apart."
  "You do not represent the government?"
  "The Ruling Family? Oh, no. One has
to be born into that tribe to have an official
position."
  "Or the Clerics?"
  "The Shrewdest Ones, we call them. At least
that's the closest translation in your language.
I'm afraid not. They are much too dogmatic for
my tastes. For example, did you know"--he
looked at Uhura--"that women do not have first names on
Beta Prometheus? They are allowed only the last
name of their fathers, and later their husbands. Don't you
find it characteristic of religions that women are
second-class citizens?"
  "We Vulcans do not--"
  "Of course. I mean on Earth. That is why I
asked you to come, Miss Uhura. You will not be a
threat to them."
  "Them?" she asked.
  "The ones I represent. Or perhaps that is too
strong a word. I do not want you to think that
I speak for them, only that I can speak to them, you
see. Without me or someone like me, it is unlikely
you will be able to do even that."
  "Then you represent... ?" "Yes. The
pirates."
  "Now we're getting somewhere," Uhura said
enthusiastically.
  "I would not say that. These Beta Prometheans are
very different from Federation citizens. They are very
independent."
  "Taras, we Federation citizens, as you say,
actually pride ourselves on our independence. We
elect representatives to the Federation Council,
and our rights are--"
  "Of course. I did not mean to insult you. The
Federation planet, even while for reasons of
self-interest some Prometheans do not. I meant
to say that most Beta Prometheans, in this case the
crew of the Sundew who have arrested your fellow
officers, do not consider laws, rules, or
regulations something which they need to follow, except as
it benefits them. How best to explain this? With the
exception of the Shrewdest Ones, to which the average
Beta Promethean pays only the slightest lip
service, there is no feeling that cooperation
among the members of the community would lead to a better
life for all. It's more along the lines of every man for
himself."
  "That is very plain," Spock said.
  "These men had no idea that they would set off such
an intergalactic furor when they captured the
Federation cers."
  "In other words," @.pock pressed on, "these
pirates are holding out for something they want."
  "I suppose that's so." "What? What do they
want?"
  "That is something they would like to tell you themselves."
  "Good. Let us go at once."
  "I'm afraid it is not quite that simple. Only
one of you may go. Miss Uhura."
  Spock frowned. "I can go alone if you like, or
you can take us both, but I will not--"
  "It is the Only Way. That is a Promethean
expression, rich in meaning. It refers to our
religion, as well as a host of other things we do,
rather blindly if you ask me. In this case, you must take
me literally. They will allow only one, and to be
perfectly honest, they would be afraid of a
Vulcan. They fear the powers of your mind, which to them
seems almost mystical. They are a
primitive people, as you may know, and have very little
experience with sophisticated telepaths."
  "We are not exactly telepaths."
  "The famous Vulcan mind-meld. It frightens
them. As I said, they are not sophisticated. Miss
Uhura only, please. I will see that no harm
comes to her."
  There was a tick of silence. Taras looked around
and, apparently in an effort to give Spock time
to think about this, made small talk.
  "This dock is seldom used. It is too
small for the containers and shuttles now being operated out
of this starbase. Alas, my own transport is, as
you can see, of a much more ancient vintage. It is
serviceable, however, and perfectly safe."
  "Uhura, you do not have to--" Spock began.
  "It's all right, Mr. Spock. This is what
we came for." She turned to Taras. "Which way do
we go?"
  "I must make a few small requests first. You
will leave your phaser behind. I must assume you are
carrying one, even though I cannot see it. I understand you
were all part of the great Starfleet in years past."
  Uhura took her phaser out from the folds of her
civilian jumpsuit, and gave it
to Spock.
  "And your communicator."
  "I must protest--" Spock began.
  "I'm afraid they would insist. You will possibly
be allowed directly into their sanctum, and could somehow
transcribe that location over your communicator.
Also this." He pointed at the Universal
Translator on her tunic.
  "This is my translator. I won't understand
what the Prometheans are saying without it."
  "I shall be your translator."
  Uhura took it off and handed it to Spock.
  "I suppose you will want my clothes next."
  "No, thank you. It is true there are
cultures out here so primitive their women are not
allowed to wear any. In the case of Beta
Prometheus, the opposite is true. Women must
be well covered. Your modest dress will do. Shall we
go?"
  "Taras," Mr. Spock said sternly. "I'm
going to hold you personally responsible for Uhura's
safety. She is an emissary, and is not to become
a hostage with the others. If anything should happen
to her, I will blame you."
  "That is uncharacteristically dramatic for a
Vulcan, I believe. But then I understand you are
part human."
  "I mean what I say, Taras. Uhura is
to be kept safe at all times, and returned in
less than three hours, or I personally will come
after you."
  "I understand, Mr. Spock. I think perhaps we can
trust the pirates to behave in their own
self-interest, and in this case it is to communicate with
you through Miss Uhura. I shall return her here as
soon as I am able." He then led Uhura up a
short platform, and Spock saw them disappear into the
shuttle. After a few minutes, it rose up and
glided across the spacedock toward the big bay
doors, disappearing into the traffic of dozens of larger
starships.
  Uhura felt the sensation of spaceflight. She
had no idea where she was, since there were no
viewports in the shuttle. She sat stiffly,
aware of the shuttle's increasing thrust, then its
deceleration, and finally felt it settle straight
down. She heard the low hum of the ancient engines
fade away. Tarquin took her by the elbow and
guided her back out the door and across a short
space. Under her feet there was only hard
rock, dust, and dirt. Finally she was led through a
door.
  The light was yellow and streaked inside the room.
She was surrounded by half a dozen Beta
Prometheans, and saw at once the difference between the
full-blooded versions and Taras. The others had
ugly, sharp, angular teeth jutting in different
directions, and a mottled gray skin color, where his
was pale. Clearly Tares was only a minor
figure among these pirates, she observed, because he
was now off to the side and not part of the leader's group.
The leader and several of his cohorts were animateally
discussing her among themselves.
  Then the Promethean who looked to be the leader
came forward, and said something to her in a harsh,
guttural language.
  "He is introducing himself to you," Tares said from the
side. "His name is Maldari, and he is--was
--the captain of the Sundew. That's the starship that
captured the officers." More talk from the captain.
  "He wants to know if you represent the
Federation."
  "Tell him I represent the Plush
Princess. James T. Kirk, commanding."
  The captain then spoke several long
sentences.
  "He says you probably want to know if your
spies are all right. He wants you to know that they
are. They are in a safe place, and all are
healthy. He will release them, provided you agree
to a number of things. Nod, smile, say yes."
  Uhura did. "What do they want?" she said,
getting abruptly to the point, feeling that she ought
to match bad manners to bad manners.
  Taras spoke aloud to Maldari in their
language. Maldari answered, there were a few more
exchanges, and Taras turned to Uhura.
  "They want weapons. "Powerful Starfleet
weapons" is the way they put it."
  "There is a Federation directive against selling
or even giving away any weapons to nonmembers
of the U.f.p"
  "They claim the weapons they want are for
trade. they deal in dilithium and odd goods most
of the time, but the dilithium trading is tightly
controlled by the Ruling Family, and their share of the
profits is minor. They know they can get a fortune
for Starfleet-type weapons, even hand phasers,
throughout the galaxy."
  "Not to mention using them themselves to kidnap more
Starfleet officers."
  Taras shrugged.
  "Tell them I'll take their demands back
to Captain Kirk." Taras said a few words
to Maldari.
  "Now tell them that I have to see Captain Sulu
and his crew."
  There was a pause.
  "They are not being held here," Taras said. "This
is a fairly uninhabited moon on the far side
of BP 1. The crew is in a prison in
Archnos. It's quite a way from here."
  "Tell them," she repeated.
  Taras sighed. "All right," he said.
  Then he rattled some more to Maldari. Maldari
angrily shouted back. Taras patiently spoke
some more. He nodded, indicating Uhura. Maidari
stepped forward and came within a foot of Uhura.
She could see his brown teeth and his smile, though
what exactly a smile indicated among these people,
she didn't know. She smelled a rancidness about
him. Bathing, she thought, has got to be exported.
But she held her ground. Maldari spoke
directly to her.
  "He says you should take his word for their
safety. You cannot make any demands."
  "It's not a demand. I want to see them, or I
cannot report that they are safe. If I cannot report
that they are safe, Captain Kirk will not take your
offer seriously. How do we know you even have them?"
  Taras hesitated before he translated. When he
did, Maldari stared at Uhura.
  "Now tell him that the Federation will never ransom the
hostages, because it is the strict policy of the
Federation not to encourage blackmail. But Captain
Kirk has been known to bend the rules. Tell him
he is staring with his beady eyes at the one person who
might be able to do something to help him out of the spot
he's got himself in, because eventually Starfleet will
blast his ass into the cosmos, and everybody will lose.
If he's a trader, he ought to understand. Leave out the
beady eyes part."
  Taras smiled, and ran off a series of rapid
sentences. In response, Maldari frowned. But
he turned and spoke to his men. They moved forward
quickly. One of them took Uhura's arms and began
to lead her away.
  "Hey--"
  "They have agreed. They will allow you to visit the
hostages."
  Uhura tried to remain calm.
  "You will be transported to Archnos on Beta
Prometheus 1. I'll wait for you here."
  "You're not coming?"
  "It is better if I do not. You may have
understood by now that I am an outsider here. My
impure blood makes me virtually an outcast.
I have been useful to them as a intermediary, but they do
not trust me, and I do not know where your friends are being
held. Just do as they say." He spoke rapidly
to Maldari. "They'll bring you back here shortly."
  Uhura was walked across the room. She passed
into a corridor, was led out of the building, across a
short stretch of hard ground, and pushed into the
shuttle. Half a dozen Beta Prometheans
climbed aboard with her. The doors clanged shut.
She felt the shuttle lift off, and she settled
back as comfortably as she could.
  Her heart was pounding in her chest. I know IY-EVERY
been in dicier situations, she thought. But I can't
remember any others just now.
  Uhura felt the shuttle land. There was an
exchange of dialogue between the Prometheans in the
shuttle, and the shuttle door opened. She blinked in
the harsh sunshine. Before she could look around,
her Promethean captors hustled her out of the
shuttle and across a stretch of pavement. They
plunged her into a dark building and slammed the door
shut.
  When her eyes adjusted, she found that they were standing
in a huge warehouse piled with transport
containers. They moved down a corridor of stacked
cases, then turned a corner. It was almost a
maze, since the transport containers were
haphazardly placed. She tried to remember the
twists and turns. First right, second left, first
left... she thought. Finally they came to a door.
Two Prometheans were standing guard. Her own guards
turned to her and ran their hands all over her clothes
and body, a little too enthusiastically, she thought. But
she held her temper. Another exchange of the
incomprehensible language, and the guards opened the
door. Inside, in a low light, she saw a
blaze of Starfleet uniforms. She was ushered
inside, and the door was closed behind her. Eight
Starfleet officers stared at her.
  "Uhura!" she heard the voice of the former
helmsman of the Enterprise shout, and Sulu came
striding over, a big smile on his face.
"Whatre? How--?" Then his smile
faded. "Don't tell me you've been taken
prisoner too," he asked.
  "No, Sulu. I've been brought here to make
sure you and your people are okay. It's good to see you."
  "Can you tell us what is being done about this?" Dr.
Hans asked.
  "Let me introduce you," Sulu said quickly.
"This is Uhura. We served together aboard the
Enterprise. In spite of these clothes, she is a
Starfleet commander."
  "Inactive. In fact, I ought to warn you, I'm
here unofli-cially."
  "What does that mean?" a gray-haired but young
officer asked.
  "This is Lieutenant Roose, my communications
officer. That's Dr. Hans, medical officer. This
is our chief engineer..." Sulu quickly rattled
off introductions to the eight officers that surrounded
them.
  "I wish I could answer all your questions. I'm
afraid I don't have much to tell you. Basically,
the Federation is negotiating with the Beta Promethean
Ruling Family. But, in the words of the diplomats,
it's going to take time. If they are making any
progress, they're not making it public
knowledge. But I'm sure they are," she added quickly. The
faces around her appeared strained and tired, though she
was glad to see that everyone appeared healthy. "Are
they treating you all right?"
  "We are all in good condition," Sulu said at
once. "But they have already executed one officer. And
taken the two women somewhere else," Sulu said
grimly.
  "We know about the officer," Uhura said. "I'm
sorry. The women are safe. Sencus and the
Excelsior crew were able to retrieve them. And
we're going to get you out of here."
  "What did you mean, you've come unofficially?"
Sulu inquired.
  "I'm not here on a Starfleet mission. Kirk
--"
  "Captain Kirk is here?"
  "Kirk, Spock, McCoy. Scotty and
Chekov. A young helmsman just out of the Academy.
And me. We came up here on our own. Don't
even have a Starfleet starship. Came in a luxury
tub."
  The room was quiet. The disappointment was
palpable.
  "There are three Starfleet Starships
standing by, however," she added quickly.
  "But the Federation prefers to avoid setting off an
intergalactic conflagration," Dr. Hans said
quietly. "And they are unwilling to negotiate with
blackmailers. So they negotiate without
negotiating. And we are caught in this lethargic
process."
  "I'm sure they're making some progress,"
Uhura said encouragingly.
  Suddenly the door opened and four of the armed guards
came in. They took Uhura by the arms and hustled
her out.
  "Say hello to Captain Kirk," Sulu said,
as the door was slammed closed behind her.
  Uhura's guards hustled her between the high-stacked
transport containers. She counted the turns and
memorized them as well as she could. Then she saw a
door ahead, and it popped open. She saw a flash
of light, and a round, dome-topped building on the
horizon. She was hurried through the door and pushed
immediately into the waiting shuttle. The hatch closed, and
she felt the shuttle lift off. A Beta
Promethean voice spoke. Taras translated.
  "He says to tell Captain Kirk that your friends
are all right. But to tell him that they will be
turned over to the Shrewdest Ones unless he
supplies the merchandise we have discussed."
  A ten-minute journey brought her back to the
dock of the starbase. Taras helped her out onto the
dock.
  "Here we are," Taras said. Spock was sitting
on an unused freight container. He rose and
came right over to them. "You are all right?" he said.
  "Fine," she said. "They took me to see Sulu
and the crew."
  "Excellent news. How are they?"
  "They all seem okay. Tired and very tense.
Particularly since I couldn't give them much
news."
  "All right, there is not much more we can do here. We
must report back to Captain Kirk. Taras, I
want to thank you for making this contact for us. I wish
I could say I knew what we shall do, but I do not as
yet."
  "I am at your service. I shall stay here on
499."
  Together they walked across the empty hall and down the
corridor. They got into the turbolift.
  "Taras," Mr. Spock said. "You are part
Beta Promethean. What do you think of
all this?"
  Taras's usually accommodating face went
somber. "That is difficult to say. These pirates
have found themselves with a commodity that will be difficult
to barter. They had certainly expected a quick trade
of some sort, but they underestimated the position of the
Federation. They are now as stuck as you are. If they
simply release them, they will look like fools by the
standards of a Promethean trader's code."
  Spock thought about this. "And you?"
  "Me?" Taras said.
  "Where, if I may ask, are your allegiances?"
  "I am no more than a middleman, Mr.
Spock. I am fortunate enough to be able to speak
to Maldari and his pirates. I would not say they
trust me, but they will communicate with me out of
necessity."
  "Usually middlemen take a percentage of the
profits," Spock said.
  "Usually they do." Taras smiled. The door
slid open. "Here is my level. Please let
me know how you wish to proceed. I will be on the rec
deck." And the door slid shut between them.
  "Now we know he isn't in this out of loyalty
to his human ancestry," Uhura said.
  "No, he is not," Spock said. "I
suspected that. I wanted to be clear on where we
stand."
  "And where is that?" Uhura asked.
  "We cannot trust anyone," Spock said.
  "There's one thing I didn't tell you, however,
Mr. Spock," Uhura said as the crew of the
Plush Princess gathered on the lounge deck.
"I got a glimpse of the building. I didn't
want to say so in front of Taras, because I
wasn't sure he ought to know that."
  "Excellent reasoning, Uhura. Do you think you
could identify it?"
  "If I saw that side of the building again, I
might be able to recognize it. It depends on how
many buildings look alike on Beta Prometheus.
But there's a few other things. When I was going in,
I managed to look up. The next highest building
behind the warehouse had a domed roof of some sort."
  "That's one of their Conclave Halls. They're
religious buildings. There are quite a few of them.
Still, that is useful."
  "And coming out, I did the same thing. I tried
to take a bearing. The only thing I could see was a
tall tower."
  "You mean, like a tall building, a
skyscraper?" Kirk asked.
  "No, some kind of communications tower. Very narrow,
and only antennas at the top. It was the tallest
thing by far on the horizon, facing that way. It was about
thirty degrees to the left of straight ahead.
That's all I saw, I'm afraid. It's not
much."
  "On the contrary," Spock said. "It could be a
great deal, as any good navigator knows.
Correct, Mr. Chekov?"
  "Correct, Mr. Spock." Chekov smiled
at Uhura. "With any two points, I ought to be
able to plot the third. It is a simple question of
geometry. I'd bet ve could now find the prison
when ve need to."
  "Many Klingons," Sencus said evenly,
"certainly would like to see tensions escalate between the
Federation and Beta Prometheus." Kirk and Spook
sat quietly on the bridge of the Excelsior,
listening to Sencus. "It is undoubtedly the same
political faction which last year was behind the Gorkon
assassination and against the peace process. The
Clerics have a different agenda. They want
to replace the Ruling Family and install
a completely theocratic state, with themselves at the
head. Anything that weakens the family could encourage
this. Thus for the time being these two factions have found a
common cause, much to the regret of the Ruling
Family, which is under increasing pressure from the right.
The family could mitigate the growing resentment
by allowing more of the dilithium profits to filter through
to society, but capitalism like that goes hand in hand
with democracy and freedom, which could in turn
seriously erode the Ruling Family's hold on
power.
  "Also, the Ruling Family doesn't know if they
could force the pirates to behave without sending government
troops in. That could push public opinion in
favor of the Clerics. Thus the pirates find
themselves in an untenable position. We cannot offer them the
one thing they would like, because 'x would be giving in
to blackmail. However, I think now that had I paid
their ransom at once, a young cadet may not have
been murdered under my command."
  Sencus sank into silence. Kirk glanced around,
but the Excelsior was in dock and the bridge was
deserted but for the three of them.
  "As I see it, then," Kirk said, "we have very
little choice if we want to effect
Sulu's release. We have to give them what they
want."
  "Selling or trading weapons is a direct
violation of the Prime Directive, Captain,"
Spock said. "The Federation simply will not condone such
a thing, under any conditions."
  "That's right," Kirk said. "They won't. But we
don't represent the Federation any longer." Kirk
ironically touched his civilian clothes. "And I
don't see that we have any choice. The Federation is
paralyzed. Hell, the Beta Promethean Ruling
Family is paralyzed. As long as war doesn't
break out, these diplomats can pat themselves on the
back and assure themselves that they're doing a good job.
But our friend and his fellow officers can't stand a
stalemate forever. I know we're breaking Federation
regulations, but there's nothing else I can think of.
Before we put our lives and those of the hostages in
danger with a frontal assault, I'd like to try this.
We'll get what they want--I have an idea about
that--and we'll arrange for the exchange." Kirk
rose and nodded to Sencus. Then he and Spock
left the Excelsior.
  "It, ah, won't take all of us, of course.
I'd very much like you to stay on the starbase,
Barbara." The conspirators were gathered in the aft
space lounge.
  Barbara looked up, surprised. "I'm in.
I've always been in. I signed on for the voyage
and I'm not bailing out on you now. Jim, this is just you
trying to protect me because--"
  "No, this is common sense. We're
circumventing the Federation's negotiations and acting
without authority from Starfleet. The six of us have already
had successful careers, which are behind us. We don't
have nearly as much to lose as you do. We'll look like
idiots if it fails. If it succeeds we'll
probably be court-martialed. I suppose
we'll deal with that when it happens. My guess is
that at the very least we'll all be ignominiously
thrown out of Starfleet. You, on the other hand, have your
whole career ahead of you. You've been a big
help, and we appreciate it, but we don't really
need you for the rest, and I for one would feel much better
if we parted ways now. You're asking me to ruin your
career, and I don't think I'd like to do that."
  It was very quiet when Kirk finished. He was
uncomfortable, but he had to say it. Barbara stood
up resolutely.
  "I'll tell you what," she said. "If
you'll sleep on it tonight, I'll go quietly in the
morning, if you still want me to."
  "Fair enough," Kirk said. "For now, I think
Mr. Spook and Uhura ought to go and seek out Mr.
Taras Tarquin, and arrange a specific time and
place for the exchange. Make sure he understands that
there is to be no publicity. I'll leave all that
to you," Kirk finished, nodding at Mr. Spock and
Uhura.
  "All right, Captain," Spock said. He and
Uhura rose to go and seek out their contact on the
starbase.
  Kirk turned to McCoy.
  "Let's you and I go over to the starbase. We'll
need to access the Memory Alpha library to find
some weaponry these pirates will love."
  "They're not gonna accept pictures and
technical specifications, Jim," McCoy said,
puzzled.
  "No, but a bunch of high-ranking Starfleet
officers like us ought to be able to commandeer whatever we
need. What do you think, Mr. Scott?"
  Scott, who had been listening from a comfortable
chair, stirred. "It's very possible. But I
suppose you don't want to walk right in
to the chief of starbase operations and request a
supply of powerful weapons for the purpose of creating
a ransom for the hostages."
  "I don't," Kirk said.
  "Well, then," Scotty mused, "there's a lot
of Starfleet officers on 499. I'll just have
to find one who'll help us out. And keep his mouth
shut."
  Scotty hurried away.
  Shortly Kirk and Bones were rummaging through the
starbase library. Kirk foraged in the depths of the
information catalogues until he found what he was
looking for, then followed that trail. Used to making
command decisions but quite unused to the technical
minutiae of the databanks--which for the most part he had
always left up to his science officer, navigator,
and helmsman--it took a good bit of investigation and
discovery. Finally he appeared satisfied.
  "I think I've found what I'm looking for,"
he said cautiously to McCoy, who had been
watching over his shoulder for some time. "Look at
these."
  They flipped through screen after screen of
futuristic weapons, from small hand-held
devices to large shoulder cannons that
required backpacks as power sources. They had
ranges up to hundreds of yards, and carried charges
that would last for long periods of time. They had laser
sights and customized grips, and looked as if they
were made of impervious titanium. Numerous
controls testified to the variety of their fire areas,
and many featured built-in computer functions
to access range, load, and power instantly and
accurately in the field. Most were sleekly
designed, and some strapped onto the user's arm for
steadiness.
  Bones studied the catalogue and smiled.
"Perfect," he said. "You old horse trader
you." Then he wandered off in idle search of something more
interesting to read than weaponry catalogues.
Kirk turned back to the screen and began copying
notations into his personal tricorder. It took
him almost half an hour to put together the
specifications he wanted. After that he disconnected
from Memory Alpha library, closed down the
terminal, and went in search of McCoy, who had
settled down to read an article he had found on the
curative properties of some rare, alien
vegetation.
  Kirk looked over his shoulder for a
moment, and saw fields of mushrooms in a golden
sunlight.
  "What's that stuff?." he asked. "Looks
good."
  "Toadstools. They're native to Cytrops
469, a planet in the Deuteronimous system."
  "They look awfully tasty. I've always liked
mushrooms. They're not poisonous, are they? I
suppose if they're poisonous, the inhabitants
of that planet have to stay away."
  "They're not poisonous; they are the inhabitants
of that planet. They have a fully developed sonar
language of over a hundred and forty thousand words and
conceptual ideas, as well as telepathic
abilities. Starfleet has held several
hyperspace conversations with them, and an exploratory
voyage is planned for the next five years."
  "Oh," Kirk said, looking at the squat
mushroom plants he had gastronomically
admired. "I don't think I'll order
mushrooms for a while," he said.
  Spock and Uhura found Taras Tarquin in a
shadowy corner of the recreation deck and waved when they
entered the room.
  "Mr. Spock, what can I do for you?"
  "We have decided to try to make a deal with this
Maldari and his crew," Spock said quietly.
"Where can we talk?"
  Tarquin looked around the recreation room, where
humans and aliens from that corner of the universe were coming
and going.
  "I doubt if anyone could eavesdrop on us
here," he said.
  "I would rather that too many people do not see us together. No
offense meant."
  Tams smiled. "Follow me." He led them out
of the room and along the corridor until they came
to a small turbolift. They-rode it up to a high
floor, got out, and followed a smaller corridor
nearly to the end. He led them through an archway, and they
found themselves in a forward observation lounge that was
deserted.
  "It is unlikely that we will be disturbed here,
especially at this time of the evening cycle," Tarquin
said as he indicated chairs for the two of them and sat
on a stool.
  "You seem to know all the quiet spots on the
starbase, Mr. Tarquin," Spock said.
  "1 am here often. I trade throughout this section
of the galaxy. I like to come here sometimes, as it
is usually deserted but the viewport is enormous.
That is the Magellus cluster overhead. Isn't it
beautiful? Well, what shall I tell them?"
  "We are prepared to provide what they want in
exchange for the eight Starfleet officers."
  "Excellent," Tarquin said.
  "But let me make this, as an Earth statesman
once said, perfectly clear. This is not a
Starfleet matter. I do not represent the Federation
or the Starfleet in any way. They have no idea
we are negotiating with you. We are not going to tell
them, and if you or the people you represent do, the deal is
off, for surely they would interfere. We are well
aware that we are acting illegitimately, and so are
you. This is a straight trade, from one private
party to another. We will supply, shall we say, eight
transport containers of the goods they have specified, and
we will turn them over to them in exchange for the eight
Starfleet officers they are holding."
  "Nine containers."
  "I think eight ought to be... oh, I see. I
think we have stumbled upon your commission. I was wondering
when we would come to that."
  "Mr. Spock, please believe me, I have the
best of intentions here. My mother was a
citizen of your Federation. My loyalty is
unquestioned. It is only that I have taken very large
risks, and I am after all, by profession, a
trader. I believe this is the simplest way
to handle the small matter."
  "All right. Nine. And the exchange must happen
tomorrow morning. Speed is of the essence."
  "That is very sudden. I have to contact--"
  "You will do it. If you are worth your commission."
  "Very well."
  "We ought to make the exchange in a reasonably
private place."
  "I have a suggestion about that," Tarquin said. "There
is a moon orbiting Beta Prometheus 3. No
farther from here than the principal planet, but
uninhabited, a windy and inhospitable place, and you
can make the exchange there. I will give you the
coordinates, and the exact time."
  "As you wish. And may I say that I think you are
doing the right thing, Mr. Spock. Only you must be
careful."
  "You do not have to warn me that Maldari is not an
honorable man."
  "Good. We know who we are dealing with. Yet they
have no desire to hang on to the hostages,
of that I am positive. For them it is becoming more and
more like holding a Berengarian dragon by the tail. But
you must understand: the Prometheans prize wheeling and
dealing above all. And not honestly, as you say. If
they can best you in a trade, they feel you are a
fool. Caveat emptor, I believe you call
it."
  "Let the buyer beware."
  "Something like that. I tell you, Mr. Spock, they
have a saying. Grog optoman, nokt ingo.
Roughly translated, it means, 'Fool an
enemy, trick a fool." They have a very different
system of ethics, or morality, altogether. It is
simply a cultural difference. They believe the people
of the Federation planets, especially the Earth, are
fools to attempt to trade value for value. I
would recommend that you be sure they have the goods
to supply before you proceed. Now, if you will excuse
me, I have to get inffcontact with the other side. That is
not always easy. Look for a message on your yacht
within several hours." Taras Tarquin nodded
politely at Uhura, and scuttled out of the
observation deck.
  Spock and Uhura waited a few minutes after
he had gone, then left the room.
  Kirk and McCoy met Scotty on level
twenty-four, near the inner shaft of the starbase. It
was a room devoted principally to one of the starbase
synthesizers, but at this late hour it was closed. The
doors were shut. Great diagonal stripes and the words
AUTHORIZED STARFLEET PERSONNEL ONLY
formed an intimidating barrier. When Kirk and
McCoy rounded the corridor and arrived at the
meeting place, Scotty was waiting with a familiar
figure.
  "You remember Garth Flanagan, James,"
Scott said. "And this is medical officer Leonard
McCoy." Flanagan and McCoy shook hands.
"Flanny just happens to be in charge of starbase
supplies." Scotty smiled.
  Flanagan pushed a card into a slot and the door
swung open. They followed Flanagan into the
synthesizer room, and he closed the door behind them.
  "My friend has been kind enough to loan us the use of
one of his synthesizers," Scott explained to Kirk
and McCoy. "I've explained that we're on a
private voyage on that little toy the Plush
Princess, and got a bit far from our home port
without realizing just how inadequate her provisions
were. We dinna need much."
  "Here it is," Flanagan said. "Make whatever
use of it you like. There won't be a record, as
I've shut off the data transmitter. I'll
turn it on again when I come to work in the morning."
  "You're a good lad, Flanny," Scott said.
"You always were."
  "Well, it's almost as good to see an old
countryman as it would be to see the heather again."
  "Aye, I've got plenty around my place.
When you're finished playing the bureaucrat out here,
you'll have ta come by. I'll owe you a drink."
  dis"...I'll be collecting, dinna you worry.
I'll be leavin" now. Don't leave a mess.
There's plenty of transport containers and if you
use that antigravity sled over in the corner, you ought
to be able to move your supplies out of here and back
to your ship. As for me, I dinna see you tonight." He
waved and went out the door. The three conspirators
waited until the door shut firmly behind him.
  "Scotty, you sly old dog," McCoy said.
  "Comin' from you, Doctor, I take that as a
compliment. You can travel the galaxy over, but there's
nothing like a countryman for loyalty, I always say.
Now, Captain, if you have the specifications for what
you want, let's get started. It may
take us several hours." His experienced hands flew
over the panels on the face of the synthesizer, and the
console's lights began to respond. "Where's your
shopping list?" he said.
  Some time after Mr. Spock and Uhura arrived
back on the Princess and reported to the bridge,
a message came to them on a private
frequency.
  "Mr. Spock," Uhura said from her station. "I
have a set of coordinates coming in from Taras
Tarquin. No message, just the location."
  "That probably means the exchange has been
agreed to. Anything else?"
  "Wait a minute. Here's a time... 0500
hours. That's all it says."
  "All right. The time and the place. There is our
confirmation. Let us hope we, have something to trade
when we get there."
  An hour and a half later Scotty shut down the
synthesizer, while Kirk and McCoy
manipulated the last transport container onto the
antigravity sled. The whole load looked like it
would fill a good-sized shuttle, which was what they were
going to need to transport it onto the Princess.
  McCoy slipped the last transport
container that was loaded with weapons into place, then
stood back and brushed his hands together. "Now what,
Jim?" he said. "Do we just walk out of here with all
this stuff'?."
  Kirk maneuvered the antigravity sled over to the
double doors. He smiled at McCoy.
  "That's exactly what we do. Walk out with it
all." Scotty and McCoy smiled at Kirk.
McCoy shook his head and laughed. "Okay,
Jim," he said, and he moved ahead to open the double
doors.
  They walked the twenty-foot sled out of the
synthesizer room, then waited while Scotty shut
the doors behind them. Then he took up the lead.
  "If I've got my directions right,"
Scotty said, "we ought to be going' right up this
corridor. There's a freight turbolift around the
bend, which will take us right up to the spacedock freight
port. There's plenty of shuttles there."
  They maneuvered the huge sled into the corridor and
nudged it along until they came to the big bay
doors. At that late hour, few people came along,
and those who did were uninterested in the three men pushing
freight purposely through the corridors of 499.
They were alone in the lift. But when they
stepped onto the freight dock at the edge of the
enormous, airy spacedock where the dozen
Starfleet Starships and assorted smaller
vessels floated, it was a different story. The
twenty-four-hour spaceport was busy with
activity. Shuttles flew back and forth across the
big open area and out to the Starships. Though the
evening-cycle crew was not as large as the day-cycle,
it was just as busy. A number of Starfleet
personnel were there. Kirk looked around and spotted
a tall, young African in a Starfleet uniform
who looked like he was in charge. He walked over
to him.
  "Excuse me, I'm James T. Kirk, from
thew"
  "U.s.s. Enterprise. This is a pleasure,
Admiral. I'm Deck Officer B'huto."
  "Actually, I'm not an admir--"
  "If there's anything I can do for you, don't
hesitate to ask. Sorry, what were you saying?"
  "Uh, oh, nothing. I was just wondering if we could
borrow a shuttle. Just for a few minutes. We've
got some supplies to take over to our, ah,
temporary transportation. My chief engineering
officer is an outstanding shuttle man, so
we wouldn't--"
  "I wouldn't hear of it, sir."
  "Butw"
  "We'll take it over. I'll have my men make
it their highest priority."
  "Oh. Well, thanks, but I wouldn't want you
to go to that much trouble. It's only a lead of, oh, this
and that, you know. For the trip home. Nothing
important, we can handle it. Got it all loaded
on the antigravity sled and Scott is an outstanding
shuttle pilot."
  "The chief of operations here would kill me if I
made you take that by yourselves. Is that it?"
  "That's it. One sled. It's no problem, we could
--"
  "Here we are. Officers Handler and A'ron, the
best shuttle pilots on 499. This is
Admiral James T. Kirk. Please take
him and his crew and their luggage over to their ship at
once."
  "Right this way, Admiral," one of the young men said.
"Thank you, Mr. B'huto, you've been very kind,"
Kirk said to the officer.
  "Anytime. Anything I can do for you, sir, just let
me know."
  "Thanks. See you later," Kirk said, and
followed the two shuttle pilots.
  As they approached Scotty and McCoy, the men
stood up nervously.
  "Is this yours?" one of the pilots asked.
  "Yes, yes it is. Everything on this sled.
We're on the Plush Princess, it's that star
yacht in the far corner of spacedock."
  "All right. I'll get a shuttle." And he
walked over to a parked shuttle at the edge of the
floor that overhung the spacedock.
  "I've got us a ride," Kirk said
to Scotty and McCoy, who stared at him. "Very
kind of them. Rolled out the red carpet for an old
Starfleet admiral." He smiled at them. "Be
on board in a minute."
  Scotty looked at Kirk with wide eyes, but
was speechless. McCoy kept glancing at the
transport containers, but didn't say anything either.
The pilots backed the shuttle up to the sled,
stopping it only inches away. A back bay door
opened. Kirk tipped the sled up and slid it into the
shuttle. Then he climbed in after it. He waved
at Scotty and McCoy, still standing on the deck.
  Scotty and McCoy scrambled in and the
back bay doors slid closed behind them. In
moments they saw the Princess off the starboard
viewport. Then they heard the pilot's voice.
  "Princess, open your doors, please, we have a
delivery." They heard Chekov's voice make a
response; then a door on the rear of the saucer
slid open. The shuttle driver neatly turned the
shuttle in a 180-degree arc, then backed up
until they were just touching the Princess.
  "There you are, Admiral. Hope that didn't
take too long."
  "Fine, thank you. Just fine." Kirk got out and
pulled the sled with him. Scotty and McCoy
jumped out behind it. The shuttle doors closed and the
shuttle shot off across the spacedock, back to the
freight deck. McCoy turned to Kirk.
"Admiral?" he said, his eyes opened wide.
  "They had me confused with my former self. I
didn't want to disappoint them. They probably
don't get many real admirals on the freight
deck."
  "Or any phony ones either," Scotty said with a
chuckle.
  "Well, we've got weapons to trade.
Let's go see if Mr. Spock is
back."
  "We've made contact with the crew of the
Sundew," Barbara said quietly, as she sat with
her back to the bar in a dark corner of the rec deck.
The man facing her sat back in the shadows.
  "You have?!" he said.
  "Kirk plans to make a trade for the hostages.
He's worried that another hostage will be executed
tomorrow. And there's always the danger that the hostages could be
moved, or security around them might be increased.
He is not a patient man."
  "Where? When?"
  "I don't know yet. Early tomorrow, I would
imagine."
  "Will you be going?"
  "Yes. Kirk doesn't want me to, but
I'll talk him into it. I'll leave a message
on your terminal. I'd better get back now,
don't want to be away too long or somebody will
suspect something. Wait at least ten minutes before
you leave."
  After this confidential talk with her contact,
Barbara made her way back to the Princess.
  The crew held a short conference in the aft
space lounge, and briefly checked the
starship's equipment. Then the little group broke up
for the night.
  Spook was climbing the ladder to his upper berth
when Barbara came into their cabin.
  "Jim, I'd like to talk to you," she said
quietly.
  Spook looked down at her. He looked over
at Kirk, who had been staring out the viewport.
  "Perhaps I will go up to the lounge deck and discuss
the weather with Dr. McCoy," he said. He
climbed back down the ladder and headed out the
hatchway.
  "Mr. Spock, I may be new to deep
space," Barbara said, "but as there isn't any
atmosphere up here, there isn't any weather to speak
of, is there?"
  "No, I suppose that is true. On the other
hand, Dr. McCoy is not very good at small
talk, so I doubt it will matter. Good evening."
He left the cabin.
  Kirk hadn't been alone with Barbara since the
trip had begun. He had consciously put his
original feelings for her out of his mind. He had
wanted to make sure that his judgment wasn't
impaired by their relationship. He'd seen that
happen too often with other oEcers. Heck, he'd
had it happen to him on occasion, although only when under
a chemical or biological influence engendered in
him by some alien life force. He sensed that she,
too, had kept her distance, both physically and
psychologically.
  Now there was nowhere for him to go in the small cabin.
He inhaled her fragrance, remembering it clearly
from their encounters in San Francisco. He
didn't know what to say, so he waited cautiously
for her to speak.
  "Jim, you're going to need a good pilot. You
don't have one, and you can't get one from Starfleet or
Starbase 499 without tipping your hand. You've got
to take me."
  "Scotty is an excellent pilot."
  "So is Chekov. He taught me a lot coming out
here. But you need Scotty in the engine room and the
transporter room. You can't have him running back
and forth, not in such a delicate situation. Who knows
what's going to happen when we get out to that moon? And
you know that Chekov can't handle both duties at
once, without wasting time. Time that might be
precious."
  "I've been on the helm before. I
didn't always sit and give orders."
  "I'm sure you were a hell of a pilot.
Twenty-five years ago."
  Kirk frowned.
  "I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean that as
an insult. But you haven't handled the helm
directly in a long time, and you've never handled the
Princess. Tomorrow's voyage isn't the time to get the
feel of her. Why risk additional problems?"
  "I understand how you feel, Barbara. And I
greatly appreciate your loyalty. But I won't
jeopardize your whole career. We'll manage."
He looked out the viewport, unable to look
directly at her.
  "Tell me something," Barbara said quietly.
"You said you have nothing to lose. But that's not true.
If I have my future, you have your past. Your
reputation. You are an icon of Starfleet, and
yes, you have on occasion done things not exactly by the
book. You're the commander who stands for self-reliance
and quick thinking. You're the smart cadet who beat the
Kobayashi Maru scenario. But you and I both know
this is different. This might very well be seen as
arrogant self-interest. You could jeopardize the
peace you helped bring about yourself. And you're
doing it for one man. A man who knew when he
signed on with the Starfleet twenty-six years ago
that he might risk his life someday. His loyalty
is to Starfleet. Where's yours? Why are you doing
this?"
  Kirk thought about this for a very long time. Finally he was
ready to answer her.
  "I have a great feeling for the Federation and the
Starfleet. I always will. I'm loyal to the concepts
they stand for, the democracy, the freedom, the greater
good of the community. I served. for over twenty-five
years not just for the adventure and the excitement, but because
I wanted to help create the very glory, the future
glory, that our explorations would lead to. But I have
a greater loyalty, and that's to one man. To my old
helmsman. He stood by me for a lot of those years,
and I'm going to stand by him now. I can't think of
anything else. I suppose that's what this boils
down to for me. I was never a man for the big
picture. I was a failure as an admiral,
I'd be a failure as a politician and a
diplomat. I know I'm hardheaded. I know I
sometimes have narrow vision. But that's me. Getting
Sulu out of there is all I can think of. It's the
only road that makes sense to me. Sulu
is real, and the concept of the Federation losing one of its
carefully cultivated intergalactic relationships
isn't real to me. I can only take this one step
at a time. I'll admit that I came up here
partially for the adventure of it. Maybe it was the
excuse I was looking for to get back at the conn
of a Starship, to get back into deep space. But today
when I saw him, without the broad smile I
remembered so well, the whole thing became so
simple. I'm going to get him out, and if I can't
think of a way to do it legally, I'm going to do it
illegally."
  "Thanks," she said.
  "For what? You know I don't want you going with
us."
  "For being so honest. Now let me tell you about my
reasons," she said. She moved away from him and sat
on the bed.
  "I've come this far. If I have to quit now,
I'll be mortified. I can go back a disgrace,
but I can't go back a failure. If I stay,
I'm one of you. One of seven. If I go, I'm
on my own. My fellow cadets will know that I
bailed out. You talk about loyalty. Well, I
don't want to be smart. I don't
want to be political. I just want to be loyal,
too. To you and to the mission. This is my first
assignment, unauthorized as it is. It may be
unorthodox. Hell, we know it's probably going
to end up being downright illegal. But I piloted the
Princess out here, and I want to pilot her
back."
  "I appreciate that, Barbara. I really do.
I know you'll be disappointed, but I won't drag a
young officer into a wild, renegade plan like this.
You'll have to stay on Starbase 499 while we're
gone."
  Barbara leaned against the bulkhead. Kirk
wondered if it was a purposefully provocative
pose. Her next words convinced him that it was.
  "If you dump me here, you won't see me again."
  Kirk looked at her. "I'11 be lost without
you. But I have to put my feelings for you aside. You
know that. It's just not good leadership."
  Barbara sighed. She stood up and walked to the
door. Then she turned around.
  .... Last shot. I'm sorry to have to do this to you,
James." She looked straight at him and something
about her expression changed. He saw a Barbara
he hadn't seen before. "If you dump me,
I'm going straight to Starfleet and tell them your
plans. You know they'll interfere. There's not a chance
in hell they'll let you move one inch without their
supervision."
  Kirk's jaw tightened. "You wouldn't do that."
  "I would. I'm afraid I never told you
everything about myself, Jim. I'm also strong-minded."
  "This is blackmail."
  with your plans is in secret. So I'm your
hostage. Take me with you, or don't go."
  "Barbarare"
  "No deals. What do you say?"
  A cold air hung between them.
  "I guess I have no choice," he finally said.
  She smiled. "Good. And now that we've got that out
of the way, we don't have to bring it up again. I'm in
for the duration. The crew will think you caved, but don't
worry, I won't brag." She turned and started
out the hatchway. When she stopped and turned back,
Kirk hadn't moved. He was still looking at her.
  "Jim, I'm sorry. I guess I'm as
strong-minded as you are. Maybe we're a bad
match. I hope not."
  She smiled, but he didn't return it. She
turned away from his quizzical stare. As
she disappeared into the corridor he heard her say,
"By the way, as long as I'm going, I'll
drive."
  Day Eight
  WHEN THE CREW ROSE the next morning,
they gathered in the tiny galley of the yacht and ate a
synthesized breakfast. None of the seven had much
to say. The air was thick with tension, as they faced an
unpredictable rendezvous and none of them had slept
easily. In the dawn stillness they moved up to their
places on the bridge without being asked. "Engage
thrusters," Kirk said to Barbara's back.
  "Thrusters engaged," she said without looking over
her shoulder. Barbara guided the star yacht to the
rendezvous coordinates.
  "Leaving warp drive, Captain," Barbara said
after the short voyage.
  "% have the Promethean moon vithin wisual
recognition, Captain," Chekov said a few
seconds later.
  "Put it up on the screen," Kirk said.
  The image was like countless others the space
travelers had seen. A dry round orb,
pockmocked with craters. No clouds or
vegetation, hardly even any shadows. The
highest peaks of rock would hardly have put a star
cruiser in the shade.
  "Mr. Spock," Kirk said. "Report?"
  "Captain, there is a breathable if thin
atmosphere. The only sign of life-forms is
low-level vegetation rooted deeply in the
planet's crust, and one species of small
mammal. The former are not poisonous and the latter not
aggressive. They appear to hide during the day and
forage for food in the darkness. No recognizable
minerals or ore of any value. No dilithium,
which accounts for the abandonment of this particular sphere in the
Beta Promethean system. A close visual
scanning indicates that there are footprints. As there
is little wind or water, however, these marks might
well last for weeks, even months, and thus could be
very old. There are also signs of small-craft
landings and launchings. I would suggest that this small
moon, because its orbit keeps it on the least
hospitable side of Beta Prometheus 3 and thus
is seldom in visual range, has become something
of a useful port for precisely what we are doing
now. Those Promethean traders who wish to keep their
transactions secret land here. A smugglers'
cove, if you will."
  "Thank you, Mr. Spock. Barbara, place us
directly over the coordinates we were given, within
beaming distance."
  "Aye, Captain," she answered. "Any sign
of their ship?" Kirk said.
  "Negative, Captain," Spock responded.
Not in visual range.
  "Uhura?" he asked.
  "No, Captain," Uhura responded.
"I've been monitoring all frequencies and
subspace channels, but there hasn't been any
communications yet at all."
  "Very well. We'll wait."
  "For how long, Jim?" Dr. McCoy said.
  "Until our patience runs out, I suppose.
Does anyone know what a Promethean's sense of
time is? Perhaps we're unconscionably rude
by being on time. Anyway, if we have not been sent on
some sort of wild-goose chase--or worse--I
assume they will want to make the exchange on the
surface of the planet. Mr. Spock, if you and
Dr. McCoy will accompany me down to the
planet's surface, we will speak to this Maldari.
I'll call for the transport containers if I think
this will go smoothly. Scotty?"
  "Aye, Captain?"
  "In our absence you are acting captain of the
ship."
  "Aye, Captain."
  "Don't send the containers down unless you hear
directly from me."
  "Aye, Captain."
  "I think you know the drill. I would keep your
shields up, weak as they might be, and watch out for
any tricks. If you have to pull away for any
reason, we'll attempt to rendezvous at our
original spot every hour on the hour."
  "Got it, Captain."
  After that the crew waited in silence for what seemed
like a long time. In reality, not more than five or ten
minutes had gone by when Uhura spoke.
  "I'm getting something, Captain," she said
quietly. Everyone tensed.
  "They have not identified themselves, but the coded
frequencies match the ones that Tarquin gave us."
  "What are they saying?"
  "They're using a code of some sort, not a
language. I don't recognize it, but
Flitwait a minute, it's Morse. VII put
it through the Translator. They are asking us
to identify ourselves."
  "Put me on the air, Uhura. On a coded
low frequency that nobody else will overhear."
  "Channel open."
  "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the
starship Plush Princess. We are carrying nine
transport containers of freight, and would like to trade
them for your... cargo."
  "Do you have the proper coordinates on the moon's
surface?" Maldari's voice said as Uhura
slipped the coded signal through the
voice-equivalent translator.
  "We do," Kirk said.
  "Beam the containers down there."
  "Beam your payment down."
  Silence. Finally Uhura whispered, "Nothing,
Captain." Kirk sat in the chill silence without
moving a muscle. Finally it paid off. Maldari's
guttural voice burst into the bridge.
  "Beam yourselves down, Captain, and we will meet you
there."
  "Agreed." He jumped out of his chair and shot
into the turbolift. Spock and McCoy were right behind
him.
  When the three arrived on the lower deck,
Scotty had the transporter ready. They stepped
onto the platform and he gave them a thumbs-up
sign. A moment later they were standing on the dry
rock surface of the lifeless moon, in the center of a
valley ringed by low ridges.
  They stood there alone for some minutes. MeCoy
took out a trioorder and aimed it in a circle,
reading off its display.
  "No signs of life," he said.
  They stood in the chill air of the desolate
moonscape, lit only by the reflective glow from
Beta Prometheus 3 as it loomed in the sky
nearby.
  Then MeCoy read off his tricorder display
again. "Something over there." They all looked.
  An ancient shuttle, rusted and dented from
inferior metals, inferior shields, and too much
use, flew down and landed on the far side of the fiat
area. For a while it just sat there.
  Finally a shuttle door opened and several Beta
Prometheans climbed out. Kirk and McCoy
recognized some of them from the anti-Federation rally.
The three watched as the Prometheans scuttled
forward until they were only ten yards away. Kirk
realized they had covered almost a mile in
only a few minutes. They can sure as hell run
fast, he thought. It must be their lower center of
gravity, and four muscular legs. "Kirk?"
Maldari said. "I'm Kirk."
  Maldari looked at him. "So, you are the famous
Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. Your
reputation precedes you."
  "You must be Maldari. Of the Sundew. So does
yours, I'm afraid. You have kidnapped Starfleet
officers representing the United Federation of
Planets. We're here to take them back."
  "They were spying!" Maldari shouted. Kirk saw
the others nod their heads. "They were invading Beta
Promethean territory in preparation for a
full-scale attack on our civilization. This is
the way the Federation behaves, everywhere it goes, as
ifm"
  "Why don't we dispense with the propaganda you have
picked up from the Klingons. I'm not here
representing the Federation or Starfleet. We're
here to trade, which is, I understand, your business. We
have nine transport containers on our ship, each
loaded with Starfleet weapons, and will be glad to beam
them down as soon as you can provide eight
Starfleet officers."
  Maldari's heavily lidded eyes narrowed. But
he didn't say anything. Kirk went on.
  "I can assure you that Starfleet will not allow this
situation to continue indefinitely. In a very short
time, they'll send Starships that cotfid force your
planet in!compliance. As men of vision"...mKirk
hoped the shameless flattery wasn't overly
obviousm"...y and I ought to be able to avoid that. Where
are the officers?"
  Maldari turned to one of his aides, and nodded his
head. The aide turned and scuttled back quickly
to the shuttle. He leaned in and said something. Then
everybody waited. Kirk and Maldari looked at
each other. Spook and McCoy stood patiently.
  Finally a second shuttle, slightly larger if
just as ancient as the first, glided in and settled on the
rocky ground behind the first one. The door opened and
Starfleet officers climbed out. From the distance,
Kirk counted eight.
  Kirk touched his communicator. "Okay,
Scotty, beam down the transport containers."
  Kirk saw Maldari signal one of his men, and the
two shuttles rolled toward them. The containers
began materializing next to them. Maldari
scuttled over to one of the boxes and opened the
lid. He handled a few of the weapons, then turned
to Kirk.
  "These are very modern weapons."
  "That's what you wanted." "They are difistcult
to use. Were"
  "Look, Maidaft. They didn't come with an
instruction manual. And we don't give
lessons. Each and every one of them is primed and
loaded with liquid neutron energy. Look at
them. You want them or not?"
  Maldari's helpers had pulled several of them out
already, and were admiring them. One sighted a large,
complicated-looking gun back toward the Starfleet
officers.
  "Hey, watch it. These things aren't toys,"
McCoy shouted.
  "Load them up," Maldari called to his
aides.
  The Prometheans put the weapons back in the
transport containers and began maneuvering them into the
open shuttles. There were no antigravity sleds, and
they lifted each one by hand. But the Prometheans were
strong, and the containers disappeared quickly into the
shuttles.
  Kirk began walking toward the
Starfleet officers, Spock and McCoy right behind
him. As they did, Kirk touched his communicator
again.
  "Scotty, prepare to beam up eight officers."
  "Jim, there's something funny here," McCoy
said. Kirk looked at him and found him studying the
tricorder display.
  "Those officers..."
  "What?"
  "They don't register any life signs."
  Kirk picked up the pace again until the three
of them were running hard across the rocky moonscape.
As they got closer, Kirk slowed down and cursed.
"Damn."
  He turned to look over his shoulder. The two
shuttles were just loading the final containers. As he
watched, they closed their doors and sped off,
disappearing into the sky behind the moon.
  "Robots," Spock said. "Primitive
customized robots."
  "Damn, damn, damn!" Kirk shouted.
"We've been cheated."
  "It would appear so," Spock said.
  Kirk turned one around and lifted up the
Starfleet tunic. He saw the small
indentation in the imitation skin and pried out the panel.
A tangle of chips and data input terminals was
exposed. Kirk frowned. "I should never have trusted
these Beta Prometheans. Too much time out of action,
I suppose."
  "Do not blame yourself, Captain," Spock said.
"We did our best. From a mile away, they
looked authentic."
  "Come on, let's get out of here. And let's
bring them along. They might come in handy. Scotty,
if you still have a fix on our location, please beam us
up. Beam up our eight friends here as well."
  A moment later seven humans and eight robots
were crowded into the star yacht's transporter room.
  "Robots!" Scotty exclaimed. "I'11 be
damned. Robots."
  "I'm afraid so, Mr. Scott." As the other
crew members crowded into the hatchway to welcome the
returning hostages, Kirk explained what
happened on the moon's surface. "I feel like
such a fool," he said.
  There was a depressed silence, then the humans
drifted out of the transport room and back up to the
bridge.
  "Now where am I going to put these things?"
Scotty muttered.
  "You know," Barbara said, lingering behind to examine the
robots, "these uniforms are pretty authentic,
even if the people wearing them are not."
  Sulu and his officers sat around the large bare
room in their underwear.
  "If Starfleet is trying to bluff these
pirates," Lieutenant Roose offered, "I
wish it were not with strip poker."
  "At home we are often naked in the snow,"
Norquist Svenson offered. Everyone looked at
him. "After the sauna. It is most healthy." He
shrugged.
  Sulu glanced around the room. The officers were
tired and tense, the result of their incarceration and the
death of Spiros Focus. The lack of sunlight
in the sealed room was disorienting, and although there were
vents, through which the breathable atmosphere of the planet
must have been pumped, the air was stale.
  Sulu wished he could have cheered them up, but he had
assumed from the beginning that their captors could monitor
what they said in their prison. So he couldn't tell
them that he had heard the voice of James T.
Kirk when they were taken to the rally and displayed. He
had looked into the face of a Klingon and seen
an extraordinary likeness, in an odd way,
to his old captain. He would have laughed at the
ridiculous makeup, if he had not been worried
it might expose Kirk. Then Uhura had
confirmed his presence. He had no idea what the
captain had in mind. But he was there on the planet.
Something certainly was under way that might lead to their
freedom. He wanted to tell the others, but couldn't
figure out how under the circumstances. They needed
to know that not all Klingons were enemies. That one might
come along who was a friend in a foe's clothing.
  Dramin arrived at the door to the unused
warehouse moments after Maldari and part of his crew
had left. He was accompanied by a cohort of
Klingon soldiers.
  "We're to see the prisoners," Dramin told
the young Beta Promethean on guard.
  "Shrewdest One," the nervous guard said,
"Maldari is not here, and he has left instructions
to allow no one near the hostages."
  "No one but me, I'm sure you mean."
  "In fact, he did not mention..."
  "My name is Dramin. I was a member of the
Sundew's crew. I was the religious officer.
It was I who captured the prisoners in the
first place."
  "Yes, but--"
  "What is your name?"
  "Mikali, Shrewdest One."
  "And Mikali, to whom is your loyalty?
To Maldari, or to your Conclave?"
  "We are all loyal to the Only Way, of
course."
  "Then it can certainly do no harm to allow your
Conclave leader to interview the prisoners."
  "I suppose not." He stepped aside
hesitantly and pounded a coded knock on the
door. Another guard opened it from the inside.
  "Barush, he wants to see the prisoners,"
Mikali told the inside guard.
  "Take us to them at once," Dramin said. "We
will not be long."
  Mikali looked at the group of Klingons who
behind him. "Shrewdest "They are to come with me."
Dramin scuttled past Mikali, and the Klingons
strode in after him. Inside they were led to the prison
room. The guard stood aside.
  "Open it," Dramin said. "Did you think we have
come to stare at their prison?"
  The young Beta Promethean scuttled
backwards. "There are eight of them. I am alone.
Maldari specifically said--"
  "Do you think these miserable disbelievers can escape
past a cohort of Klingon soldiers?" Dramin
said forcefully, indicating the Klingons that towered behind
him. The Klingons brought their weapons up, as if
on cue.
  "I suppose, if you will take responsibility
for them..."
  "Of course. Open the door."
  The Beta Promethean inserted a luminous rod
into an almost hidden hole in the wall. Then he used
his massive upper-body strength to lift off an
iron bar. He pushed and the door swung open.
  Though the warehouse was dimly lit, the prison
room was nearly black, and the officers blinked at the
light. Dramin scuttled in.
  "The one who is called Sulu," he said to the
men. "Come forward."
  Sulu rose up from his seat on the floor.
  "I am Captain Hikaru Sulu, of the Starship
Excelsior."
  "You will come with us," Dramin said.
  The other officers rapidly rose to their feet and
moved forward, warning Sulu against going. The
recent execution of their young cadet was fresh in all
their minds. The Klingons, however, growled in their own
harsh language, and pointedly waved their weapons.
  "Dr. Hans. In my absence you are in charge,"
Sulu said as he walked forward. Dramin turned and
led the way out of the room, and Sulu followed him.
The Klingons backed out. The young Beta Promethean
guard quickly shut the door behind them, then scuttled
after the group.
  "I don't think Maldari will like this," he whined.
"You'll bring that human back, won't you?"
  "Maldari has seven left," Dramin said. And
he hurried The mug of thick, steaming liquid was
placed in his hands. Sulu looked at it.
  "Drink this," Dramin said. "You need
nourishment." Sulu looked at the Beta
Promethean dressed in black. He was different from
the guards who came and went from their prison room.
His mottled gray skin was slightly darker, but the
principal distinction was his eyes. They shined brighter
than the average Beta Promethean. And he blinked
less. In fact, he hardly blinked at all. That
was odd, Sulu thought.
  "Go ahead," Dramin said. "This is cacoa, a
drink native to Beta Prometheus. It's
the same thing you've been drinking since you arrived
here. Just a richer blend. You drink it, and relax.
And here is a tunic for you to wear. Put it on.
Then I want to talk to you about some political
ideas. After all, you're a man of intelligence."
  Sulu drank the stuff. It had the same
brackish taste of the other Beta Promethean
liquids they had been offered. This was richer, and
tasted also of something else, though Sulu couldn't have
described it precisely. His head felt suddenly
lighter. Alcohol, he thought. That's it, there's
something in this drink that's an intoxicant. But even as
he thought he shouldn't drink any more if he wanted
to maintain his equilibrium, a warm feeling
flooded over him, and he took another sip. It
tastes fine, and it makes me feel good, he thought.
I wonder what he means by political ideas.
  "Commander Sencus, I've got a transmission
you'll want to hear." Lieutenant Rand had
personally hurried through the Excelsior to the
Vulcan's quarters. She fiddled with his console as
he turned from his desk to look at his viewscreen.
"I monitored it from Archnos. It's been
translated into the Beta Promethean language, but
I'll put it back into English."
Static crackled in the room. The viewscreen
flickered. Sulu's face appeared,
expressionless. He was wearing an ill-fitting
Promethean tunic of some sort. Hans and Rand
watched as Sulu spoke in a monotone.
  "Citizens of Beta Prometheus. I am
Hikaru Sulu, commanding officer of the U.s.s.
Excelsior, a Starfleet warship from the United
Federation of Planets. Eight days ago my ship
was engaged in scanning the Beta Prometheus star
system for the purposes of planning an invasion--"
  Sencus stood up sharply. The image on the
screen drew him closer.
  "--of Beta Prometheus in order to force it
to become a subject of the Federation. We were well
inside Beta Prometheus star space when we were
caught by the Sundew and brought to Archnos. Our
ship, however, escaped, and returned to Federation
Starbase 499, from where a fleet of Starships is
preparing to launch an assault. I see now that such
actions are an abuse of the power of the Federation, and that
our desire to impose our will and our culture on
other civilizations is in imperious ignorance of the
Creator's will and in contradiction to the Only Way.
I renounce such actions as an attack
on peace-loving civilizations throughout the galaxy.
And I ask all Federation Planetary systems to do
the same."
  There was a crackle of static and Sulu
disappeared from Sencus's monitor.
  "Nonsense," Sencus said. "He But before he
could finish, a Beta Promethean face replaced
Sulu's and spoke.
  "The Shrewdest Ones have announced that the human
commander Sulu will be executed at two-thirds
orbit today, unless the Federation Council agrees
to an immediate lifting of the dilithium embargo, a
restoration of the rights of Beta Promethean trading
ships to travel throughout the galaxy, including within
Federation territory, and a penalty of two hundred
and fifty thousand kerns paid to the High Conclave in
exchange for the return of the spies."
  Static replaced the Beta Promethean face.
Rand touched the monitor.
  "That's all there was, Captain."
  Sencus still stood facing the blank monitor.
  "Can you translate two-thirds orbit?"
  "Yes, sir... 1500 hours. Today," she added
nervously. Sencus glanced at the chronometer in the
wall above the monitor. "Almost 1200,"
he said. He turned and stared out the viewport and
across the dock to the lights in the starbase's outer
shell. "Get me the starbase commander."
  Rand's hands played over the console in Sencus's
cabin.
  In a few minutes a deep voice came through.
"Sencus, we've heard their ultimatum."
  "And... 7"
  "And I'm afraid right now my hands are tied.
Admiral Fesidas is here with me. The Federation
Council has already seen the transmission, and they
are preparing a response. But you have to understand, even
Starfleet Security doesn't believe that an
assault would secure the hostages. We don't
even know where they are at this point."...L
  "You just saw Sulu on subspace
transmission."
  "Yes. We've identified its origin as coming from
their most powerful transmission tower. Clearly they
wanted it to be monitored by other star systems. But
we don't know if Sulu was at that location when he
made the speech. Or if he is there now:"
  Sencus thought to request that the Federation just give the
kidnappers what they wanted, but he couldn't. He
knew the Federation could not accede to the demands.
  "You realize that Captain Sulu could not have said
those things unless he was coerced."
  "Of course. No one is blaming him. No one
believes the transmission."
  "Beta Prometheans are going to believe it."
  "The Ruling Family has assured the Federation
Council that they are doing everything in their power
to insure that there are no more executions of Federation
citizens," the voice said.
  "That transmission did not mention the Ruling
Family. Sulu referred only to the Shrewdest
Ones. Clearly the Conclaves have the hostages.
Who is in charge over there?"
  "I'm afraid we don't know, Sencus."
  "Neither do they, I think," Sencus said
abruptly. Then he slumped in the chair by his
desk.
  "You will let me know if there is anything we can
do?" Sencus asked.
  "At once, Commander." Sencus saw
Lieutenant Rand adjust the console, and knew that the
commumcation had ended. He stared out the viewport for
some time. Rand didn't leave the cabin. Finally
Sencus turned to her.
  "You know, there is someone here who is not quite
so helpless as we are. Perhaps we ought to let him know
about this."
  "I'll forward the transmission to the Plush
Princess at once, sir."
  Kirk sat alone in his commander's chair on the
bridge of the Princess as they flew back to the
starbase. In his mind he saw the drawn face of
Sulu on the transmission. He looked at the
chronometer on the wall. It was almost noon.
  He wasn't aware of Spock entering the
bridge, but when he felt the tall Vulcan move
up next to him and gaze at the dark galaxy, he
felt less alone. Finally Kirk spoke
quietly.
  "The idea of attempting to make another trade
for Sulu does not appeal to me very much, Mr.
Spock," Kirk said. "We can't trust them, and
we can't keep raiding the starbase for valuable
goods."
  "I concur, Captain," Spock said. "And with your
new plan as well."
  "My new plan? I haven't quite got a new
plan, Mr. Spock." Kirk looked up.
  "Surely you are thinking the same thing that I am
thinking," Spock said.
  "An assault..."
  "With only seven of us? Better to call it a...
covert action."
  Kirk sighed. "I have been thinking that. I
suppose we all have. I'm worried that I lean
toward it out of anger. I hate to be bested. That was
an embarrassing moment on the moon. For Starfleet
even if they didn't know it, for the whole crew of the
old Enterprise, and for me. Especially for me,"
he added glumly. Having admitted that, Kirk
smiled at Spock. "I guess one thing I
haven't lost with age is my ego."
  Spock looked at Kirk. "Perhaps just
recognizing that makes you a better human being,"
he said. "In the past, I posit that you would have--"
  "Oh, never mind the old days, Spook. What
are we going to do today?"
  "Let us put our heads together on that," Spock
said earnestly. Kirk stepped back.
  "You don't mean--"
  "Oh, no. Nothing like that. It is just one of your
expressions, I believe."
  "All right," Kirk said, relieved.
"Let's."
  "What do you mean, one's missing?!"
Maldari screamed at Barush. "You were guarding
them!"
  "Dramin came and said that--"
  "Dramin! That fanatic! I might have known. And
he promised me that no more of my prisoners--my
prisoners --would be executed! Who has he
taken?"
  "Their leader."
  "The captain? Picades! I have just bested the
Federation traders in a swap. I have whetted their
appetite and we are ready to sell the real officers
for more goods or kerns. How can I tell them that while
I was selling them phonics, one was being executed?"
  "I believe he is still alive. The Conclave
Declaration said only that--"
  "Where is he?"
  "The prisoner? I don't know. Dramin still has
him. He brought a cohort of Klingons to guard the
prisoner."
  "Klingons," Maldari spat and scowled. His
black eyes blazed. "Didn't I say that no
good would come of doing business with Klingons? Didn't
I?"
  "Yes, Maldari, you did," Barush said,
nodding.
  "This is my own fault. I should never have accepted
their transport to Archnos from the No Where. They
stick their oversize heads in everywhere. The rest of the
prisoners are inside?" Maldari tilted his dark
gray head toward the barred door.
  "Yes, Maldari. All seven."
  "Go tell the others. We're moving the rest of the
prisoners."
  "Now?"
  "Yes, now. We're moving them out of the reach of the
Shrewdest Ones, and out of the reach of these Klingons
too. Go get the rest of the guards, then bring the
prisoners to the shuttle. It's in the back. I'll
meet you there." Maldari scuttled off, thinking.
  "with Uhura's descriptions, ve have isolated
three buildings. Ve're pretty sure it's one
of them," Chekov said, as he stepped to the
navigator's console. He ran his hands over the
controls and a map of Archnos came up on the main
viewscreen. "Now look here." He stepped up
to the map and pointed with his finger. "Here's the tallest
building on Archnos, and it's a transmitter, just
like Uhura thought. We are positive it's the one
she saw. There are a lot of those domed conclaves
around, but by figuring the angle--the conclave
has to be on the opposite side of the building from the
tower--and judging by Uhura's description, there's
only a thirty-degree difference, or a
one-hundred-and-fifty-degree angle between them,
leaving exactly two hundred and ten for the other
degree, if ve postulate that the yarchouse is in the
middle. So there are three buildings large enough to fit
Uhura's description. One here"--he pointed
--"one here"--he pointed again--"and one here. Anything
else vouldn't compute."
  "Does this mean, Jim, that I have to dress up
once more like a goddam Klingon?" McCoy said.
"In twenty-five years with you, I've been in a
lot of predicaments. But I've seldom had
to act like a soldier, and never a Klingon. I'm a
doctor, not an actor."
  "You could stay here and let Scotty go. Run the
transport-or for us."
  "Not on your life, Captain," Scotty
jumped in. "Not that I would not love to go down there
with a phaser and have a shot at these damn
Prometheans. But I cannot trust the doctor with my
engines. They're delicate things, and we may need
all the power I can coax out of them."
  "I'd have to agree with Scotty,"
Kirk said. "The women and Mr. Spock can't
disguise themselves as male Klingons. So it's the
three of us," he said, nodding at Chekov and
McCoy. "That is, on a volunteer basis, of
course. I really mean it, this time. There's
probably going to be fireworks. This time will be far more
dangerous. And once again, we're not representing
Starfleet. Frankly speaking, I'm well aware
this trip started out for most of us on a note of more
  enthusiasm and enjoyment than seriousness. I for one
  wanted to get back on a starship and back
into space. But
  now I think we all have to admit we're a crew
of slightly
  overage and overgrown adventurers."
  "Speak for yourself, Jim," McCoy said.
"Chekov and I
  don't weigh a pound more than we did when we
signed on, do we, Pavel?"
  "No comment, Dr. McCoy," Chekov said in his
thickest
  accent.
  "You have managed to insult four of us in one short
  sentence, Doctor," Uhura said. "That may be
a record, even
  for you."
  "And on that note," Kirk said, trying to steer the
conversation back into more productive channels, "each
of us must
  search his or her own soul and decide, in the harsh
glare of
  reality, whether or not he or she ought to go forward."
Kirk
  was looking right at Barbara, who was looking back
at him
  with a studied and stern expression. "So perhaps I ought
to
  say that I don't expect anyone--"
  "Oh, come on, Jim," McCoy said. "Enough
of this
  palaver. Do you honestly think there is anyone here
who is
  going to jump ship? Even though I will be the first
to admit
  that it's certainly what each one of us ought to do.
We
  haven't abandoned ship in the past, and we're not
going to
  now. I know I can speak for all of us when I
say that."
  There was a round of nods and short statements of
  agreement. Kirk was secretly pleased.
  "As for you," McCoy went on, "I think you're
just trying
  to get off the hook for bringing us into this. Well, it
won't
  happen. Each of us is going to blame you for the rest
of our
  days for dragging us out of our comfortable if boring
  existence and back into trouble. Now, let's go over
this plan
  of yours one more time."
  Kirk was looking at Barbara, and she smiled.
He felt an
  urgent desire to go back in time, to be back in
his apartment
  with her, back in that stage of their relationship which, in
  the light of the last couple of days, was less
complicated.
  Equality between men and women, he thought, was some like
that old on a tree log that floated on the water.
You both had to keep running at precisely the
same speed. One hesitation and into the water you'd go.
  "Kirk?" McCoy prompted again.
  Kirk looked around him. "Yes, the
plan. Feel free to suggest improvements and
alterations, of course."
  Kirk couldn't help but lower his voice, even
though there was no one aboard the Princess but the seven
of them. The conspirators leaned in, and they spent the
rest of the trip going over the exact details. When
Chekov announced that they were arriving at Starbase
499, the meeting broke up.
  Suluwalked ahead of the Klingon guards in a
trance. He felt good about the statement he had
made. The Federation had a heavy-handed approach
to its position in the galaxy. While claiming its
mission to be exploration and research, its vast
influence was actually based on the power of
Starfleet. Moreover, the Federation's insistence on
the rights of the individual over those of the state led
to excessive behavior that failed to benefit the
community in general. Leadership was a
responsibility of which only certain individuals
were capable, and all others must submit to the will of the
leaders for their own benefit. Sulu wondered how he
could have spent so many years failing to realize that
individual will had to be subjugated to the will of the
larger community if civilizations were to advance without
leaving some members of the community behind. He
thought about the cacophony of cultures he had left
behind, even on his own planet. Then he thought about the
concept of a monocultural civilization, and saw
at once how it led to peace and harmony, with all
members of society equal. Surely. it was
truly the Only Way.
  When they arrived at the warehouse, Dramin held
a heated conversation with a number of Klingons who had
arrived before them, but Sulu didn't understand what they
were saying. Eventually he was taken back to the
prison room, where he was mildly surprised
to find that the others were no longer there.
  He had wanted to engage in a discussion with Dr.
Bernard Hans on the points he had been thinking
about. Surely somoone of Dr. Hans's
experience could see that the Shrewdest Ones had the good
of the larger Beta Promethean society at heart,
that it was they who protected the interests of the average
Beta Promethean. Surely Dr. Hans would be
one of the first to see the efficacy of the idea of the
eradication of individual will in favor of the
collective good. Dr. Hans would see at once
that the clamor of competing belief systems in their own
society was harming their forward progress. And when
he did, probably the others would begin
to understand as well. Sulu had looked forward
to discussing the ideas to which he had been introduced with his
officers. When he found the room empty, he was
disappointed.
  He felt too good to worry about them, nor did
he wonder where they were. He sat and waited
patiently for the opportunity to talk with them about his
new ideas.
  "Do the prefiight check for me, would you, Mr.
Chekov?" Barbara said. "We might not be
returning here, and I want to see an old friend. I
went to the Academy with him. I'll be back
shortly."
  "I vill take care of it," Chekov
responded. "Ve're launching soon, Ms.
O'Marla. I should varn you that Captain Kirk would
not vait for anyone."
  "Don't worry. I wouldn't miss this trip for the
world." Barbara left the deck and headed for the
transport room, where she was just asking Scotty
if he would mind beaming her over to Starbase 499
when Kirk appeared.
  "Where are you going, Barbara?" he asked
politely. "Oh, hello James. I'm just going
over to see a friend before we go. I figured
that if we got hold of the hostages, we'd head
straight back to Federation star space, and I might
not see her again."
  "Your friend hasn't guessed what you're doing here,
has she?"
  "Oh, no. I explained that I was just on a
vacation. With you, as a matter of fact. She bought
that, because... I told her about us. No, I've been
very careful not to give anything away."
  "Still," Kirk said looking at her, "if you
wouldn't mind, I'd like to ask everyone to stay on the
Princess from now on. We'll be leaving shortly,
and I think we ought to stick together. You can apologize
to your friend in a transmission when we're all
safely back in San Francisco."
  Barbara hesitated. Then she smiled. "All
right, sure. If you think that's best."
  "I do. Thanks."
  Barbara nodded and headed back toward the cabin she
shared with Uhura. Kirk watched her go. Scotty
watched Kirk watch her.
  "You think she has a friend on the starbase?"
Scotty said quietly.
  "Yes, I do. But I'm just beginning to wonder
what civilization this friend is from."
  "What is it you're thinking?" Scotty said.
  "I have no idea, Mr. Scott," Kirk
responded. "But she told us her friend was a she,
while a minute ago she told Mr. Chekov it was
a he." He looked at Scott, who didn't
say anything. "I just happened to overhear her
conversation. Don't you think," Kirk asked, "that her
presence here is odd, in fact? I know she is an
impatient gift, but as a graduate from the top of
her class at the Academy, I believe she could
have had a deep-space assignment within a few
weeks, or a few months at the very least. Yet
she insisted on coming along on our half-assed
mission."
  "I am not one to talk about personal affairs,
Captain," Scotty said. "But I do not think
she's here for the adventure. I think she's here because of
her feelings for you. If you'll excuse me saying
so."
  Kirk was almost startled. "I hadn't thought of that,"
he said. "What an interesting notion. But a not altogether
sound one, as Mr. Spock would say."
  "You underestimate yourself, Captain," Scotty
said. "Thank you, Mr. Scott. Yet I have
to wonder how it happened that we were cheated
by Maldari and his pirates. I mean, how is it that
Maldari had the courage to pull such a fast one?
How did he know we weren't carrying a lot of
firepower? Or that we didn't have backup from
Starfleet?"
  "He could have taken the chance. He's a pirate
trader, after all."
  Kirk shrugged. "Yes, I suppose he could
have. Let's just hope he isn't way ahead of us
today."
  "Not likely. Your plan's too clever
by haft."
  "Unless there is a leak."
  "Nobody knows about this except the seven of us."
  "Mr. Spock is telling Captain Sencus.
We'll want the Excelsior to rendezvous with us
for the trip home. If we succeed, he'll ask
permission of Starfleet to leave Starbase 499 and
meet us. But Mr. Spock believes Commander
Sencus to be entirely trustworthy."
  "Because he's a Vulcan? Remember
Lieutenant Valeris."
  "How could I forget her? No, because of Sencus's
actions immediately after the hostages were taken, and because they
have apparently engaged in some private
conversations. Commander Sencus hasn't told his crew
anything, however. Nor has Spock given Sencus
any hint of our precise plans. Only that we
hope to do something, and would the Excelsior stand
by to help if necessary. We'll send them a
transmission if we need them. I wouldn't ask them
to engage in any battle, however. They're still under
orders from Starfleet to stand by at 499. I've
compromised one crew already. That's enough."
  "Then as I said, only the seven of us know."
  "I hope I'm not letting my feelings for
Barbara obscure my judgment."
  "If you want my opinion, Jim, it's the other
way around. You've been a captain so much more than
you've been a lover, I'd worry about letting your
judgment cloud your feelings."
  Kirk looked over at Scotty with a surprised
expression.
  "I hope I haven't spoken out of turn,
Captain," Scotty said.
  At first Kirk didn't answer, contenting himself with
turning back toward the corridor and looking after the
ghost of Barbara O'Marla. Finally he spoke
to Scotty.
  "On the contrary, Chief Engineer. I
suspect you know me better than I do myself."
Kirk smiled. Then he wandered back to the bridge.
  "How are the robots coming?" Kirk asked when
Scotty joined the rest of them on the bridge.
  "I'll have them all up and running in time,
Captain. They're not going to last long, but they ought
to look convincing enough."
  "How much are they going to be able to do?" Uhura
asked.
  "Not much. They're sturdy but stupid, I'm
afraid."
  "That's probably just what we need," Kirk
responded.
  He turned to Scotty. "Why don't you tell
us what you've done with these dime store robots."
  "Well, I've reboosted their power source
by plugging them into the ship's electrical energy
system," Scotty pointed out. "I've
programmed them to a more aggressive behavior
pattern. I've entered a prearranged series of
commands, which, once activated, they'll follow
until they've either been destroyed or run out of
power. As you requested, they canna actually fire
their weapons."
  "Good. We don't want anybody
hurt."
  "I could probably get them to recognize
Maldari and his crew."
  "It won't be necessary, and I don't want to take
the chance that an innocent civilian, even a Beta
Promethean, gets hurt. We have to remember that the
Federation is seen as one big monolith out here, and
is going to take the blame for anything that might
happen."
  "Unlike once we get back to San
Francisco," Scotty suggested.
  "Where we'll all be court-martialed for operating
without direct'orders in a situation under the operational
eye of the Federation. Is that what you're thinking,"
Kirk said.
  "It had occurred to me. Understand, Captain, I
do nae wish to go out in a blaze of glory. But I
would prefer to avoid being run out of Starfleet in a
uniform of tar and feathers.
  Or spending any time on a prison planet."
  "Having second thoughts, Mr. Scott?"
  "No. But as long as we're out on a limb up
here anyway, I wouldna mind blasting a few of these
damn pirates who got us into this predicament."
  "I wouldn't either. I suppose that's why
you and I wouldn't make very good bureaucrats. We
might still get the chance, Scotty. But I'd prefer
it to be a judgment in our hands, and not in the hands of
these addlepared robots. Better their weapons are
disarmed."
  "Dinna forget I've managed to rig two
torpedoes up to this pleasure palace."
  "That's right. Let's hope they won't be necessary.
What about power, Mr. Scott?"
  "There's enough to fire them both."
  "Good."
  "Or put up the shields."
  "I see."
  "Or get her up to warp speed," Scott said,
frowning. Everyone was looking at him.
  "Dare I hope for two out of three?" Kirk
said.
  "Nary a chance, Captain. The torpedoes and the
shields alone are well beyond the specifications of this
luxury tub to begin with."
  "I'll keep that in mind," Kirk said.
  "You'd better," Bones echoed.
  "That about does it, then," Kirk said.
  Everyone nodded and rose. As Kirk left the
room, he glanced at the lead robot.
"You know, this one does look an awful lot like
Sulu."
  The little star yacht slid across the black sky on
its way to an orbit over Archnos. Kirk had the
main viewport opened, something he had seldom done
in the past, and as they cruised toward what he knew
would be their last desperate attempt to extricate
Sulu and the others from their prison, he watched the
scenery go by. Billions of stars, uncountable
planets, he thought. How many more to explore?
Another five-year mission? It would take a
lifetime. It took mine. And we barely scratched
the surface. I don't mind leaving the task
incomplete. No, but I mind leaving it to others.
How selfish of me. As if there weren't enough star
systems to go around.
  He asked Uhura to record a transmission in
the ship's memory bank and mark it for automatic
sending at a later date, top-secret priority
to Starfleet Headquarters, in the event the
Princess lost life-support systems for more than
twelve hours. Then he spoke out loud, so that
everyone aboard the Princess could hear him.
  "Ship's Log. Stardate 9625.10.
Captain James T. Kirk aboard the
star yacht Plush Princess. This afternoon six
members of the original crew of the U.s.s.
Enterprise will attempt to extricate the eight
Starfleet officers of the Starship Excelsior led
by Captain Hikaru Sulu, who are being held in a
prison on the surface of the planet Beta
Prometheus 1, somewhere in the city of Archnos. We
wish it to be known that we are acting entirely on our
own, in direct violation of standing orders and
regulations from Starfleet and the Council of the United
Federation of Planets. We take this action in the
full knowledge that it could jeopardize our standing as
Starfleet officers. We have no choice, however.
A fellow officer with whom we have served is in
danger, and we have chosen loyalty to him over our
duty to the Federation. Should something go wrong,
Starfleet Headquarters will receive this message, by which
we wish it to be known that we meant no disrespect
to Starfleet, or to the United Federation of
Planets."
  Kirk signaled to Uhura, who put the
transmission in the communicator's memory
banks.
  "That's about all for now, I suppose," he said
quietly. "Well, there is one more thing.
It's all happened quite fast. I don't think I
ever got a chance to thank you all for your help,"
Kirk said quietly. Then he rose and headed for his
bunk. As the others broke up, Uhura could be
heard to say quietly, "You know, I think that was our
first thanks in twenty-five years,"
  "Imagine," Chekov said to her, "how much it
means."
  When the Plush Princess arrived at the space
coordinates Chekov had chosen as
appropriately far enough away to avoid detection and
close enough for a staging area, the ship glided to a stop
and hung in space, its powerful engines quiet, and
only intermittent thruster power keeping it in a
stationary orbit automatically. Chekov,
McCoy, and Kirk joined Spock in his cabin, and
he began the laborious process of transforming them
into Klingons. Scotty was down in the transport
room making final programming adjustments to the
robots. Uhura had gone downstairs to check on
the small arms weapons they had aboard. Barbara was
alone on the deck, monitoring the ship's
geographical position. She scanned the skies
around her, but there were no signs of any other starships
nearby. She calculated the ship's
reserve power systems.
  Then she walked over to Uhura's station and looked
around. With no one else on the bridge, she sat
down, and quickly typed a message out. She sent it
off, and then she erased it from the ship's memory
bank.
  She walked back to her own station. With nothing
left to do but wait, she strolled up to the main
viewscreen and gazed out across the skies to a tiny
blip on the horizon that she knew to be Beta
Prometheus 1. She called up a closer view.
The large planet filled the screen. She ran a
scan and saw the pattern of heavy populations
clustered around only a few areas of the reputably
inhospitable environment. She guessed which one was
Archnos--the largest--and asked for an inset. She
left the holographic reliefs on the screen and
sat back in her chair, where she waited
impatiently. She drummed her fingers on the side
of the chair. Not unlike other conspirators with hidden
loyalties, she was uncomfortable when given too much
time to think about things.
  She was deep in her own thoughts when someone tapped
her on the shoulder. She jumped. She turned around,
and jumped again. Three hard-visaged
Klingons were standing in a semicircle around her.
  "Well, do we pass?" she heard Kirk's
distinctive voice coming from the one in the middle. "Come
on, how do we look?"
  "Good," she stammered out. "Great. You all look
great. No one will ever suspect you're not Klingons.
Isn't it awfully hot under all that?" Barbara
ventured.
  "Yes," McCoy said.
  "I have used a viscous application that should allow
the pores to breathe freely," Spock said. "In
any case, it is often below freezing on the
surface of the planet at this point in their orbit."
  "It was hot as hell standing around that anti-Federation
rally, I can tell you," Kirk said.
  "That was your nerves," Scotty said, as he
appeared behind them, having come up from the engine room
for a look.
  "How," Barbara asked, "did the six of you ever
agree on anything during your twenty-five years
together?"
  "We seldom did," Kirk said equitably.
"We were usually too busy for discussions, however.
Stations, everyone."
  Upstairs Barbara watched, marveling,
as the three Klingons took their places around the
small bridge.
  "Mr. Chekov, coordinates for stage two
please," he said when everyone was settled.
  "On the screen," he answered. "Beaming
distance."
  "Barbara, proceed with full thrusters,"
  "Proceeding, Captain."
  The ship shot forward and in minutes was cruising
high above Archnos. Kirk and McCoy studied the
map. Then Kirk turned around.
  "Scotty," he said. "Can you put us down about
here?"
  "Aye, Captain."
  "Okay, Klingons," Kirk said. "Let's
go."
  "There's the tower," Kirk said under his breath
to McCoy. "If Scotty has put us down near
the first target, then we have to go down this street until
we come to a warehouse, then try to find a door which
lines up with a Conclave."
  They found the first building, a ramshackle
two-story monolith faced with shiny metal of some
kind that seemed to match Uhura's description.
There were doors of one kind or another on
all sides. They walked around it until they found
a door that lined up with the roof of a Conclave behind the
building. They turned around, and saw the communications
tower in the sky. The whole layout was worth
investigating. They watched the door from across the
street, and found that a number of Beta Prometheans
went in and out. Many seemed to be carrying oversized
bags, as if they were bringing supplies of clothes and
food.
  "This seems very promising," Kirk said.
  "Now what?" McCoy said.
  "We go inside, I think," Kirk said, and
headed for the door. McCoy and Chekov followed.
  As they had seen others do, they simply strode
up to the door and opened it. They stepped inside,
trying to appear as if they knew where they were going.
  At once Kirk realized this was not where the
hostages were being held.
  They could see the entire inside space of the large
building. It was open from one wall to the other, and
illuminated by large skylights in the ceiling. The
large wooden floor they stood on was filled with
Beta Prometheans, and music boomed out of
speakers. There were mirrors lining the far wall, and
everyone was facing them. In the front of a
group of at least fifty, a Beta Promethean was
leading them all through an exercise routine.
  Kirk and McCoy stood mesmerized at the
sight of a herd of Beta Prometheans--all with the
customary four legs--moving back and forth in
unison to the beat of some sort of punktronic
music.
  "Holy cow, Jim. Would you look at this,"
McCoy said. "It's a dance school. Or an
exercise class of some sort. If Sulu is
here, he's in great shape."
  Kirk turned and frowned at McCoy.
"Uhura said there were stacks of transport containers
just inside the door. That was only this morning, so they
can't have moved all that. This can't be the building."
  As they turned to go, a male Promethean
scuttled up to them from behind a desk.
  "Hello, you're earsty," the man called in a
singsong voice. "This is the four-legged class.
Two-legged alien aerobics isn't for another
hour. But you can watch if you like."
  "Exercise?" McCoy said.
  "Thank you," Kirk said. "I think we'll come
back."
  "D. It's awfully good for your heart.
I understand the Klingon diet is terribly fatty."
  "It's nails," McCoy said.
  "I beg your pardon?" the Promethean said.
  "Never mind. He's just grouchy," Kirk said
quickly. "Of course. Hardening of the arteries. Too
much meat. Not enough exercise. Come back in an hour.
You'll feel much better."
  Kirk piloted McCoy out the door. McCoy
had a difficult time tearing himself away from the sight
of fifty Prometheans scuttling back and forth, their
muscular arms swinging in rhythm.
  Outside, Kirk walked swiftly away from the
building. McCoy caught'up with him.
  "Couldn't be a front, I suppose?" he said.
  "Unlikely, Bones. It would take too many
Prometheans, and then there's the building. It
didn't look like they could hide much inside. That's
all right, we have two buildings left to check out."
  He looked up at the buildings around them, tried
to see himself on the holographic map they had
studied.
  The three artificial Klingons from the star yacht
Princess walked through the shadows of the city of
Archnos on Beta Prometheus 1. It was freezing
on the planet, but as they walked along a
prearranged route toward the second building they
had identified as a possibility, they began
passing more and more Beta Prometheans, as well as
various aliens and not a small number of Klingons.
Chekov nodded as he passed a group of three
Klingons. Two paid no attention to him, but one
scowled back. After they had passed on by half a
block, Kirk spoke in a low voice.
  "Mr. Chekov, Klingons aren't friendly. You
don't have to say hello to anyone."
  "I forgot."
  They passed several militaristic-looking
Klingons, but were not stopped. More suspicious were the
Clerics, several groups of whom milled about the
streets. They seem to be permanently
suspicious, however, Kirk thought. I think they
look at everyone that way. He saw the second
warehouse up ahead. He led McCoy and Chekov
around to the rear of the building. There was a door
precisely as Uhura had described it. He
glanced over his shoulder and saw the transmission tower
at the correct angle. He saw the domed
Conclave in the distance behind the door. Moreover, a
number of armed Klingons stood in front of the
door.
  "This must be it," Kirk said.
  Their makeup had fooled everyone so far, Kirk
thought.
  Now they only had to get inside.
  And out again:
  He reached under his tunic and touched his
communicator.
  "Kirk to Plush Princess. I believe we have
found it. It's the second building. We are going
in."
  Then without hesitation he led McCoy and Chekov
directly up to the door. He flicked his
Universal Translator on as they crossed the
street. He walked directly up to the guard at
the door, "Do you have the prisoners?" Kirk said in
an authoritative voice.
  "Of course," the guard answered back.
  "Are they well guarded?" Kirk asked.
  "Of course they are," the Promethean said.
  Kirk began to wonder if he could keep up this
conversation for long without seeming like an awful fool.
He decided he couldn't, and opted to try to get
inside.
  "We would like to see them," Kirk said, lowering his
voice both for more authority and in the hope
that not too many of the others overheard clearly. The
guard hesitated. "That is not possible."
  "Tell Maldari we are here. We are--"
Kirk had prepared the idea but even so hesitated,
wondering how it would translate. "--the Klingon
Council for Military and Espionage Matters.
We have an interest in the spies you have secured, and
wish to interrogate them."
  The guards looked Kirk and his crew over.
Kirk looked straight back at the aliens, hoping
to intimidate them. Just open the door, Kirk thought.
  Finally the older one nodded, and said to Kirk,
"Wait here," then turned and pounded on the door.
He shouted a few words, and it was opened from the inside
by another Klingon. They exchanged words, and he
stepped inside as the inside guard started to close the
door. This is crucial, Kirk thought. I'll have
to take the chance of getting shot right here. He put his
hand out and kept the door from closing.
  Just a few more seconds, Kirk thought. "We
need to see Maldari," he said. "We have come
to interrogate the prisoners at the request of the
Klingon High Council We are the
subcommittee for--"
  He didn't have to ad-lib any longer.
At that moment a wild look came over the face
of the Klingon left guarding the door, and Kirk
knew that Scotty had timed it just right. He turned
around.
  Eight uniformed Starfleet soldiers, all armed
with phasers, had materialized in the street facing the
warehouse.
  Kirk was the first to shout. "Federation soldiers!
Shoot them!" he yelled, which he hoped was a
reasonable command in either Beta Promethean or
Klingon. At his words Chekov and McCoy drew
their phasers out from underneath their tunics and began
firing on the Starfleet soldiers. None of them
hit their intended mark, a fact which, at least for the
moment, seemed not to impress itself upon the Klingon
guards. The other, authentic Klingons and
Prometheans milling in the street were unarmed, and
took cover once they understood the situation.
  The inside guard was pulling the door closed on
Kirk when Kirk forcefully shouted "Attack
them!" and wrenched the door open. At once the
Klingon joined his comrade and both of them began firing
on the Starfleet soldiers, who appeared to be
firing back. None of the real Klingons taking cover
behind the wall questioned the fact that the two
Klingon guards seemed to be holding off the complete
squadron themselves, with only single-shot,
laser-driven assault weapons.
  As he disappeared inside, Kirk saw a couple
of his Starfleet soldiers get shot and stagger
back, but the others strode resolutely forward,
firing, without the slightest effect. Chekov ran
past the two guards and caught up with Kirk inside
the warehouse.
  McCoy dove in last. He fired his phaser
at one of the guards without looking directly at him,
and passed into the building. Stunned, the guard fell
to the street, and the phalanx of remaining Starfleet
soldiers moved inexorably forward to the door,
though, curiously, not quickly. The remaining guard
looked at his companion, then turned to fire again at
the oncoming enemy.
  Inside, Kirk slammed the door shut behind them.
The three stood still for a second, their eyes adjusting
to the dark. Kirk, looking at a picture in his
mind Uhura had drawn for him, yelled "This
way!" and headed along the corridor she had been
led down earlier. He counted off the turns and
exits. He stopped, turned left, and began
running again. McCoy and Chekov were right
behind him.
  Suddenly a dozen Klingons were running toward
them, their weapons at the ready. Behind them Kirk
saw a Cleric. They looked confused at the sight
of the three Klingons in the prison. Kirk didn't
hesitate.
  "There is a Starfleet war team outside, trying
to get in! At least two dozen! Heavily armed!"
he shouted over the explosions of gunfire outside.
The Kiingons stopped directly in front of them.
"You've got to get the prisoners out of here before the
soldiers break in!" Kirk went on hurriedly.
  One of them turned and shouted several commands. The
Klingons broke up; half of the group pushed past
Kirk and his crew and headed toward the door. The
Cleric turned with the others and ran back along the
corridor. Kirk, Chekov, and McCoy ran
behind them.
  The motley group arrived at a door. Kirk
could hardly contain his urgency. He forced himself
to wait patiently behind the group as they hurriedly
unlocked and opened the door. Then he followed them
inside.
  Only Sulu was there. The Cleric hurried over
to Sulu and brought him forward.
  "Where are the others?" Kirk shouted. No one
answered. The Cleric was barking commands at the
Klingon soldiers, and sending. most of them back
along the corridor toward the phaser fire.
  "Where is Maldari?" Kirk tried again. "Where
are the other prisoners?"
  But the Cleric shouted more commands, and the remaining
Klingons took Sulu and hurried him farther along
the corridor, away from the prison. Kirk,
MeCoy, and Chekov ran after the fleeing Cleric
and his Klingons, until they all arrived at another
door on the far side of the warehouse. There they
stopped. The Cleric barked something at one of the
Klingons, and the Klingon opened the door
cautiously. Then he threw it open wide and
stepped out. It was dark outside, as the Promethean
sun was in the sky only a few hours each day.
There was no sign of Starfleet soldiers, and the
Klingons stepped into the alley. The Cleric brought
Sulu. Kirk and his team simply stepped through the
door after them. Then Kirk spotted the shuttle
parked in the shadows along the far wall. He saw the
Cleric signal to the others, and the guards ran across
the street toward their transportation.
  "We'll take over from here," Kirk
shouted as he came alongside the Cleric. The
Shrewdest One's eyes blazed as he turned
to Kirk. Kirk wondered for a moment whether he saw
Kirk, or the Klingon disguise.
  "I think we'll take better care of them than
you will," Kirk said. It was unlikely, however, that the
Cleric heard Kirk. Halfway through his
explanation Kirk fired his phaser directly at
the Promethean, who skidded backward and flopped
to the ground. McCoy and Chekov fired their phasers
within seconds, and the Klingon guards fell almost at
once. Only one was quick-witted enough to raise his
rifle, but he was standing near McCoy, who quickly
slapped it down, and it fired uselessly at his
feet. A second later Chekov shot him, and he
joined his friends on the ground. Suddenly the alley was
quiet.
  "Sulu, it's me. It's us. Look." Kirk
tore off the carefully applied silicone material
Spock had re-created his face with. McCoy and
Chekov did the same.
  "Captain Kirk! Dr. McCoy. Mr.
Chekov. This is a surprise. But why have you shot
my friends?"
  Kirk could do nothing at first but stare at
his old shipmate. Chekov frowned. McCoy
stepped up beside them. "I'll take over, Jim,"
he said. Then he pulled a medical tricorder out
of his bag and quickly ran it over Sulu. "Vital
signs are healthy. Tell me, Captain Sulu,
do you know who you are?"
  "Why, you know me, Doctor. I'm Sulu."
  "So far, so good. These"--McCoy nodded at the
fallen Klingous and the Cleric at their feet--
"Klingous are your kidnappers, isn't that right?"
  "Oh, no, Doctor. They've been our hosts.
You see, I have renounced the ways of the Federation in
favor of the Only Way, which I must tell you is the
only path to a better galaxy. Why, did you know
that--"
  "Tell you what, Sulu. How about if you come
along with us, and tell us more about this? Right now we're
a little pressed for time. Do you know where the others are?"
  "I'm afraid not," Sulu responded. "But
I'm sure they're in good hands."
  Kirk, MeCoy, and Chekov could only look
at each other in bewilderment. MeCoy turned his
back on Mr. Sulu.
  "Brainwashed," he said under his breath. "I can
help him, but not until we get back to the
ship."
  Kirk touched his communicator. "Scotty,
we've got Sulu. But the others have been taken
away from the jail. Probably by Maldari and his
crew, since they're nowhere around. You'd better
transport
  "Wait a minute, Captain," Chekov
interrupted. Kirk turned to see that he had his
tricorder out and functioning "I'm getting some
signs of human life. Our normal body heat
is slightly higher than the normal Beta
Promethean's. Here on the ground I think I can
register the difference. I think we can follow the
Excelsior officers. This way." Chekov started
off up the alley.
  Kirk touched his communicator. "Scotty, never
mind. Just beam up Captain Sulu. We're going
to try and track the others. Stand by." He started
off after Chekov as Sulu dematerialized.
  On the other side of the building, several Klingon
soldiers had joined their comrades in defensive
positions. They knelt, firing at the Starfleet
soldiers advancing in a semicircle toward them.
One by one the eight men in red tunics went down.
Round after round crackled out of the disruptors
of the Klingons until all of the Starfleet officers
lay on the ground, small sparks and some smoke
drifting out from under their tunics.
  The guards fired a few more rounds out of nerves,
then stopped. Finally one of them looked around, called
out to the others, and began to move cautiously forward,
his gun at the ready. He stood over the inert
figure, and looked directly down into the crystal
eyes of a Starfleet soldier. The other guards
crept cautiously forward and examined the downed
mechanical robots. The leader bent down and
looked closer. Then he rolled the man over
roughly, and pulled up his tunic. A red warning
light indicating severe malfunction was blinking.
He uttered a loud exclamation. Then he looked
around at the other defunct soldiers. Only then
did he notice a lack of blood anywhere on the
battlefield, though perhaps he was one of many
Klingons with a severely limited knowledge of alien
anatomy, and wasn't aware that humans spilled a
good deal of blood when shot.
  During the fierce battle, not one of the robots
had fired a lethal shot from the weapons they carried,
but it was unlikely that the Klingons were aware of this,
given the noise and urgency of the engagement.
The noise had come from prerecorded phaser fire and
been emitted through speakers that were part of the robots'
equipment. If Scotty had been able to see his
small army do battle using nothing more dangerous
than those sounds he had preprogrammed, he would have
been quite proud of them. But he was on the lower deck
of the Plush Princess, waiting patiently.
  Chekov jogged through the streets, reading the
tricorder. Kirk ran right behind him, his phaser
ready. McCoy ran behind them. Once a Beta
Promethean turned the corner and stopped to stare as the
odd platoon of three humans in Klingon dress
ran by, but he was unarmed, and none of the officers
shot him.
  "Mr. Chekov," Kirk said in spurts of
breath, "are we going the right way?"
  "I believe ve are, Commander," Chekov
answered. "Humans have been through here. This way, I
think," Chekov said, and he pointed across a deserted
field. They had left the last building behind them and
were in the open.
  "We're pretty badly exposed now,"
McCoy said as he looked around apprehensively.
"You sure you know where we're going?"
  "Look. There's some kind of an
installation up ahead," Chekov shouted. "If I
remember our maps correctly, ve are at the
outskirts of the city."
  Kirk slowed down. "It looks like an abandoned
installation of some kind," he said. "Probably an
old dilithium mine."
  "According to my tricorder, that mine is not deserted,"
Chekov said.
  The three of them jogged quickly across the fiat
field. "And what are we going to do when we get
there? Now that we've run out of robots, I mean,"
McCoy said as they sprinted along.
  A few hundred yards later they stopped in
front of a pair of six-foot-tall steel
pyramids that stood on either side of a crumbling
road. The objects marked an entrance of some kind.
A moon had risen high in the dark sky by the time they
arrived, and moonshadows flickered throughout
collapsing, rusted structures that were spread over
several acres. They clung to the shadows as they
approached the entrance. There was no sign of anyone
else in the area. They gathered in the shadow of an
empty guard booth just outside the perimeter.
Chekov aimed his tricorder up the pitted path.
  "Ve are not the only warm-blooded
animals on the premises," he said quietly.
  "Where?" Kirk whispered.
  "Inside. That direction," Chekov indicated.
  "Maldari must have brought the hostages here,"
Kirk said under his breath. "My guess is he's
hiding them from the Klingons. We ought to take off this
crap now."
  "Now, there's the best idea I've heard so
far," McCoy said as he began peeling off the
remaining latex attached to his face. Chekov
did the same.
  When they were done, they stood in the rough leather of
their Klingon tunics and waited for Kirk's
instructions. He led them in a wide arc around the
principal road. They kept to the shadows, and
eventually arrived at a towering gridwork of open-air
catwalks that ranged over an acre of scarred
ground. There was a hill in the center. Chekov took
a look at his tricorder again.
  "We're getting strong readings. They must be just
beyond that hill."
  The three of them spread out to arm's length and moved
slowly through the steel pilings that supported the
gridwork above. As the ground rose in front of them,
Kirk got to his hands and knees, then
lay prone on his belly. The others copied him, and
they crawled forward. At the crest of the hill they
stopped. Kirk inched farther forward until he could just
see over the hill.
  Amid the scaffolding of the abandoned mine, Kirk
saw a knot of humans in Beta Promethean
tunics. They were surrounded by more than a dozen Beta
Promethean pirates. Other Beta Prometheans
were opening the transport containers Kirk had
supplied, and passing around the weapons Kirk had
traded to them. He thought he could see Maldari
giving orders.
  Kirk crawled back down.
  "I think everyone's here. They're just opening up the
weapons we gave them." Kirk rubbed his hands together
in the chilly night. "It must be below freezing," he
whispered. Then he smiled. "Perfect."
  They heard the crunch of gravel and turned
to look toward the entrance. A shuttle slid by the
pyramids guarding the entrance road and shot into the
compound. Kirk and company crawled back down the low
hill and disappeared into the shadows just as it went by them.
They watched it pull up alongside the edge of the
structure, and several Prometheans climbed out
quickly and hurried in.
  Again Kirk crawled up the hill. He heard the
guttural Promethean shouting, and he saw
Maldari talking animatedly to the new arrivals.
Maldari glanced at his seven remaining prisoners,
then spoke again to the messengers. It was clear
to Kirk that Maidaft wasn't sure what to do.
Then Maldari barked out some orders and the additional
Prometheans spread out and took up defensive
positions around the perimeter of the hostages.
  Kirk touched his communicator. "Kirk
to Princess. Mr. Spock, are you still with us?"
  Spock materialized next to him. "Right here,
Captain," he said.
  On the bridge, Barbara looked around. She and
Uhura were alone.
  "Uhura," Barbara said. "I think we'd
better get a bit farther away from Archnos. We
don't want to be seen. Can you monitor Kirk from
back there?"
  "I think I can keep them in range."
  "All right. Scotty, you there?" she said.
  "Yes, ma'am," came Scotty's smooth
burr back over the intercom. "Where would I be,
now?" he said with a flicker of amusement.
  "Of course. I'm pulling the ship
back to our outer-perimeter orbit. We won't
draw any attention to ourselves out there."
  "Very good, ma'am," he said. "I'm sure
they'll be all right," he added, sensing her discomfort.
"Kirk's been in worse spots, he has. We
all have. Try not to worry too much."
  "Thanks, Mr. Scott," Barbara said.
  Of course, we were all on the same side in those
days, Scotty thought. I hope we are now.
  Kirk's expression lit up. "Mr. Spook,
this is timely. We were just about to surround them. Would you
care to join us?" Spook nodded and began to circle
around the perimeter of the clearing. Kirk watched him
disappear into the spidery catwalks of the antiera
installation. When Kirk turned back, he nodded
to Chekov, who hurried off in the other direction.
  Kirk stood up. He walked up to the top of the
hill. There he paused for a minute, then began
walking down the shallow slope directly toward the
waiting Beta Prometheans. After half a dozen
yards they spotted him. Maldari stepped toward
them, and all of their weapons were raised. Kirk
waved and smiled.
  He crossed the one hundred yards of open
space umil they arrived at the bottom
of the hill. He stood only yards from the
Prometheans, and the Excelsior hostages were only
yards beyond that. Kirk suppressed the urge to look
up at the catwalks.
  "Maldari, you crook. You cheated us. We gave
you the weapons you wanted, and we got only robots
in return. We've come for the others," Kirk said.
  Maldari's mealy gray skin turned darker.
  "The officers are here. Except for one, who was
taken by that damn Cleric. You can have these. He
raised his weapon. "For fifty thousand kerns."
  "How much is that, exactly? Never mind, we
don't carry that kind of cash on us anyway.
Suppose you just hand over the officers on credit,
eh?"
  Maldari started to shout, but before he could, Mr.
Spock dropped down from the catwalk above and landed
at the edge of the group. He reached over and pinched the
nearest Promethean at the base of his neck. The
Promethean froze and slumped forward. His body
fell with a thud, landing, as it happened, directly
between Kirk and Maldari, just as their conversation had
reached something of a standoff. Maldari looked down at
the unconscious pirate at his feet. He immediately
fired his weapon at Kirk but nothing
happened.
  "Oops," said Kirk.
  At once a firefight broke out. Chekov
appeared from the shadows on their right flank. McCoy
appeared from the shadows behind Kirk. They all fired
their phasers at the stunned Beta Promethean
pirates. At least five fell to the ground without
getting a shot off. Others were able to shoulder their new
weapons and begin firing back.
  But nothing emanated from their weapons. Try as they
might, the Prometheans could not coax one bullet,
one flicker of laser light, one miniphoton or
blast of phaser fire out of the barrels of their shiny
new assault weapons. They pulled their triggers,
they lined up their sights, they adjusted every dial and
studied every gauge on the complicated panels of their
guns, but nothing helped. Kirk watched with interest
as Maldari attempted again and again to fire his
shoulder-mounted assault pistol directly at
Kirk. It had no effect.
  "Frozen," Kirk said pleasantly. "The
ammunition inside is frozen solid. Sorry we
didn't send along the instruction manual. Won't
fire a shot in below freezing temperatures. Must
be pretty cold out here." Then Kirk
raised his phaser and blasted the frustrated
Maldari.
  In a few short moments, the Beta Promethean
pirates were either all knocked unconscious by the
phaser fire that rapidly enveloped them, or they were
in speedy retreat. Their ability to run forward at
a here's pace, Kirk noted, was matched by their
ability to run backward. In just a few minutes,
the area was cleared of standing Prometheans. In the
sudden stillness of the cold night, a round, aged but
robust-looking man walked over to Kirk.
  "Captain! How good to meet you!" he enthused,
pumping Kirk's hand.
  "Dr. Hans, I believe," Kirk said.
"Excelsior medical officer. I am James
Kirk, and that is Dr. Leonard McCoy,
medical officer for the Enterprise. Until last
year."
  "Dr. McCoy! Of course. Sulu has
spoken of you. Then you are his old crewmates, the
officers he served withfor over two decades until
he was given command of the Excelsior."
  "That's correct, Doctor."
  "This is most extraordinary. How did you get
here?"
  "We can tell you all about that in a short time,"
Kirk said. "Right now why don't we all step out
from under these structures into the open over there? There's
a number of us to be beamed up, and we have a rather
small transporter platform aboard our ship."
  The hostages followed Kirk to the top of the low
hill, while Spock, Chekov, and McCoy
flanked them, keeping a lookout for more
Prometheans. None appeared, and they all arrived
on the hill safely.
  Kirk touched his communicator. "Landing party
to Princess. We're all accounted for. Beam us
up, please."
  Nothing happened. Kirk looked at Dr.
Hans. "Got a new helmsperson. You'll like
her. She's a bit late. A woman's
prerogative I suppose."
  "Captain," Lieutenant Roose said. "I
overheard you point out that the Beta Prometheans'
weapons were energized by liquid that freezes at
thirty-two degrees. What would have happened to you
if the temperature hadn't dropped below freezing?"
  "Oh, not much. We would have gotten a bit wet."
  "Wet?" Chekov said. "But wouldn't liquid
neutron energy be fatal if fired?"
  "I have no idea. Far as I know, there's no such
thing as liquid neutron energy. Might be something
to look into, though. That isn't what those weapons
are loaded with."
  "What was the ammunition?" Lieutenant Roose
said curiously.
  "Water. Pure H-two-O. All of those
weapons were carefully synthesized from a catalogue
of water guns."
  "Water guns?"
  "Squirt guns featured in a toy catalogue
from the late twentieth century. We found it in the
historical research library. Amazing-looking
things. They make our own phasers look downright
harmless."
  Then Kirk called the Princess again. Still there was
no response.
  The noise of the shuttle grinding across the rocky
landscape attracted their attention. Several of the
Prometheans who'had escaped had come back when the
officers had moved off, and commandeered the shuttle the
messengers had come in. It shot off across the
splintered landscape and disappeared quickly into the sky.
  "We had better get going," Spock said
to Kirk.
  "Any minute now," Kirk said confidently.
They stood for agonizing minutes in the chilly air.
"Probably just getting a fix on us. Scotty,
we're ready to be brought aboard."
  Still nothing happened.
  "I'm getting a call," Uhura said suddenly
in the stillness of the Princess bridge. "We'd
better go in closer, don't you think?"
  Barbara turned to look at Uhura. "What
kind of call?"
  "From the captain, I think. It's hard to tell,
we're so far away, but I believe they're ready
for transport."
  Scotty stood still in the engine room. He was
listening to the conversation. He held his breath. A beat
of silence ticked by, then he heard Barbara's
voice.
  "Full ahead, Mr. Scott. We're going
in."
  .he touched the controls, then took a deep
breath. She's a fine girl, he thought to himself, and
couldn't wait to say so to Captain Kirk.
  Chekov pointed to the road they had come up to gain
the mine. "Something's coming," he said.
  They all looked. A fleet of war
tanks was rumbling along the road toward the mine.
They could just see a Klingon standing up in each one.
  "Apparently someone has managed to follow you
here," Spock hypothesized.
  "Maybe they're not after us," McCoy said
cheerfully. "Maybe they've come for Maldari. He
can't have made too many reliable friends during all
this."
  "They're going to see us pretty soon either
way," Chekov said. His prediction was confirmed when
an explosion rocked the ground five yards to their
right.
  Exposed and without the firepower to disable the land
vehicles, Kirk and company would have been in serious
difficulty, had not they begun dematerializing just
then.
  "... So when I thought about it, I was shocked at
how simple it all is. That's probably how it
came to be called the Only Way." Sulu
smiled earnestly. "The Federation's complex and varying
belief systems are so terribly inefficient."
  "He's been talking to me like this ever since he
arrived in my transport room," Scotty said.
  Dr. McCoy ran his medical tricorder over
Sulu while he spoke. Kirk saw him
studying it. "Sulu," McCoy said brightly. "This
is all most interesting. I've often thought there must be
a better way to run this damn society of ours.
Why don't we go into the aft space lounge here,
where I've got some comfortable chairs and a bit of my
equipment, and you can tell me all about it?"
  Sulu nodded in agreement and walked amicably
off the control deck in the direction the doctor
indicated.
  "Bones, what the hell is wrong with him?"
Kirk whispered.
  "Fairly simple, I think. He has been
fed some sort of drug which has made him
susceptible to brainwashing. I doubt if I will ever
discover the true properties of the thing. Probably
indigenous to Beta Prometheus. But I think I can
find an antidote, or at least flush it out of his
system. He'll probably cooperate."
  McCoy followed Sulu onto the rear deck.
  "You won't mind if I give you a physical
while we talk, will you?" McCoy smiled.
"You've been through a heck of an ordeal, and I
want to see that you're healthy. Go ahead, tell me
all about this Only Way stuff. We'll just start
with a Simple injection, in case that Beta
Promethean food didn't have an adequate
supply of vitamins and minerals."
  "It works like this," Sulu began. "Each member
of the Conclave works for the good of the community. None of this
individual gain for individual effort stuff.
Everybody contributes what they earn to their
Conclave, and the Shrewdest Ones decide how best
to allocate the resources. Of course, right now they
don't have complete control. The Ruling Family
creates the laws. But they're an aristocratic and
tradition-bound group that's on their way out. And many
of the traders go their own way, up to a point "Sulu
became drowsy. McCoy nodded his head, smiled.
He ran his medical tricorder over Sulu,
while appearing to listen to the explanation. When Sulu
was asleep, McCoy rose, covered him with a
blanket, and went back to the control deck, where he
checked the physical condition of the other officers.
When he returned, Sulu was just waking up.
  "I must have dozed off," he said to McCoy. "I
guess I was tired. Where was I?"
  "You were telling me about the Only Way."
McCoy said.
  "The Only Way? What would we want to talk
about that corrupt system for? Those damn
Shrewdest Ones almost killed me, for heaven's
sake! They're hypocritical, totalitarian,
and abusive! Even most of the Beta Prometheus
population hates them. They're completely
narrow-minded, there's no room on their planet for the
least dissension. Why, where would we be without dissension,
without debate? How colorless our lives would be
without a variety of cultural backgrounds. How
ridiculous to think that individuals should have any
loyalty to a system "in which they had no voice
.... "Sulu would have gone on, for his fury at being
incarcerated for a substantial period of time was in
need of release, but McCoy just smiled and wandered
off.
  Uhura was chatting with the young Lieutenant
Roose, McCoy was talking to Dr. Bernard
Hans, and Chekov was showing off the navigational
resources of the star yacht to the engineer Norquist
Svenson. Kirk walked over to the captain's
chair and sat down amid the noise and tumult of the
happy gathering. Barbara looked back at him.
  "Warp ahead, Cadet O'Marla. We'll
rendezvous with the Excelsior. Uhura, tell
Commander Sencus we're on our way. We'll have you
back on your Starship in no time," Kirk
said to Sulu, who had come onto the bridge.
  But Uhura shouted over the noise. "Captain
Kirk, I've got a warship rapidly
approaching from the starboard quadrant."
  "Identify."
  "It's hard to say. Not so large as a heavy
cruiser but much larger than we are."
  "Mr. Spock?"
  "Confirmed, Captain. My sensors say that she
is heavily armed."
  "A Bird-of-Prey?"
  "No, Captain." "Visuals."
  The main view monitor came alive with the dark
universe. In the far distance was a rapidly
approaching dot of light.
  "Close up," Kirk said quickly.
  The screen flashed and a rusty warship sped
into view.
  "tilde It looks like the Sundew," Sulu
said, coming to stand behind Kirk. "But it can't be.
Probably that pirate Maldari has got himself
another ship."
  "Evasive action, Captain?" Barbara asked
without looking.
  "We'll have to outrun them if we can,"
Kirk said. Scotty and Svenson hurried
downstairs to the engine room.
  "Commander, I've got another ship coming up
rapidly,"
  Uhura called. "This one from the port
quadrant."
  "Identify."
  "This one is a Bird-of-Prey. The Klingons
are on to us as well," Mr. Spock said.
  ""Full ahead warp speed," Kirk said.
  Barbara's hands flew over the controls and the ship
shot across the galaxy.
  "Scotty, do we still have two torpedoes?"
  "Aye, sir. They're small but I think
they'll launch. That is, if we" don't use the
engines at the same time."
  "What?" Kirk said.
  "I told you, Captain. This little yacht has enough
energy for one or the other, but not both."
  "All right. Tell you what. Barbara, on my
word, you shut her down. All engines. We'll
fire one at the Sundew and one at the Klingon
vessel, then we'll take off again. Everybody
ready?"
  "Aye, Captain."
  "Ready here."
  "Full stop," Kirk commanded.
  The ship slowedand stopped in seconds. It hung
in space. "Fire," Kirk ordered.
  The ship bucked as the two torpedoes fired
simultaneously and headed for the warships.
  "Now, warp ahead full. Let's get going,"
Kirk said.
  Barbara touched the controls and the Princess shot
forward and raced across the galaxy.
  "That ought to give us a minute," Kirk said.
  On the screen, the crew watched tensely as the
torpedoes locked on to the larger ships. The ships
raised their shields, but the explosions rocked them and
they slowed visibly.
  "Direct hits!" Chekov exulted.
  "Yes," Mr. Spock said. "But both warships
are fully enabled. They are still following us. In
fact, they are gaining on U.s."
  Everyone looked at the main viewscreen.
Views of both warships were up, and they loomed
larger and larger. "Warp speed?" Kirk asked.
"Five," Barbara said.
  "She canna go any faster, Captain,"
Scotty's voice came up from the engine
room. "As it is I do nae have enough energy to get us
home at this speed."
  "How long until they close on us?" Kirk
asked. "Judging from our speed, their speed, and the
distance between us, I would say we have less than five
minutes' safety. After that they will have no
ditficulty scoring direct hits," Spock said
tersely.
  Just then Barbara jumped up from her seat and ran
past Kirk.
  "Barbara, don't leave your post," Kirk
shouted.
  Before he could stop her, however, she stood next
to Uhura. She reached past the communications officer
and ran her fingers over the console.
  "Calling Starbase 499. This is a
high-priority message for the C in C. Please
note code name: Princess. Repeat, patch me
through to the C in C at once. Code name:
Princess."
  "Barbara?" a voice came back quickly.
  "Admiral, it's me. We're being chased by two
warships, a Klingon vessel and a Promethean
pirate. We have the hostages safely on board.
But we are being attacked. We need a little
help up here."
  "I understand. Over and out."
  When Barbara stood up, everyone was staring at her.
She looked over at Kirk, who was looking at her
curiously.
  "An old family friend," she said lamely, then
she went back to her station.
  There wasn't time for anyone to question her. "Distance
is closing, Captain," Chekov said.
  "Captain, two incoming torpedoes, port and
starboard."
  "Scotty, put our shields up," Kirk said.
  "I canna put shields up and keep us at
warp speed," came the familiar voice. "We do
not have that much power on this luxury bucket."
  "Torpedoes at half-distance," Uhura said,
trying to keep her voice even. The bridge had
gone deathly silent.
  "Put the shields up, Scotty. Barbara,
cut all engines." Barbara looked back at
Kirk. "Do it now," he said strongly.
"Scotty, I've given you every bit of power this
yacht's got.
  Make those shields hold."
  "I'll try, Captain."
  For a moment no one spoke on the bridge. Then
the little yacht was hit, and it rocked halfway on its
side. The officers were thrown to the floor.
  "She's breached on the left, Captain,"
Spock's voice said as he read off his console
panel. He barely got the words out when a second
explosion pounded the ship on the other side. Lights
on the bridge flickered and sparked, then went out.
Emergency lights glowed in the corners, and the eerie
cabin was in half-shadow. Kirk stood by his
chair. Barbara crawled back into hers. Mr.
Chekov was trying to stand up by his navigation console.
Smoke began filling the bridge.
  "Another hit will blow us out of the skies," Kirk
said. "Return power to engines, Scotty.
Barbara, evasive action. Set us on a zigzag
course at warp speed."
  The ship bucked and rocked as it moved forward.
"Incoming," Uhura said. "Another torpedo?"
Kirk asked.
  "Yes, sir," came the answer. "She's
locked on to us." "Brace yourselves, everyone,"
Kirk said quietly.
  Just disthen the ship changed directions radically and the
torpedo shot by.
  "I can't do that very often," Barbara said as everyone
breathed a sigh of relief. "It takes too much
energy from the main propulsion system, and we don't
have much left."
  "Well, here comes another one," Uhura said.
"A Klingon torpedo is locked on to us.
Arrival in thirty seconds."
  "Warp ahead. ten," Kirk called. "Fifteen
seconds," Uhura announced. "Warp ahead
twelve," Kirk called.
  "She's going as fast as she can, Captain,"
Barbara said.
  Just then three Starfleet Starships shot
into view. "What the hell?" Kirk said.
  One of the Starships passed the little star yacht and
took up a position on its tail. The Klingon
torpedo exploded harmlessly against its giant
shields. The other two Starships surrounded the
Princess. The Klingon Bird-of-Prey and the
smaller Beta Promethean starship slowed, then
stopped. The Princess and her escorts left them
behind.
  "Thank you, Starfleet," Kirk said to nobody
in particular as the whole crew applauded.
"Uhura, open a channel to those ships.
I want to thank--"
  "I wouldn't do that, Captain," Barbara said.
  Kirk looked at her thoughtfully.
  "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "but we're not
supposed to be here, they're not supposed to be there,
and none of this ever happened."
  Kirk looked at the solemn face of the
beautiful girl, who was looking directly into his
eyes from her seat at the helm. Those on the bridge
waited as the two looked at each other, Kirk with a
curious expression, Barbara with a quiet one.
  Finally Kirk spoke, though not to Barbara.
  "Uhura," Kirk said.
  "Yes, Captain," she answered.
  "Never mind."
  For a few minutes the Starships kept their
positions around the Princess. When it was evident that
she was no longer being followed, the Starships stopped,
presumably to return to Starbase 499. The star
yacht was once again alone in the galaxy.
  Ten minutes later Barbara dropped out of warp
speed and they found themselves gliding along behind the
Excelsior. Those of her crew who had been in
prison for the last eight days whistled at the sight.
  "There you are, Sulu," Kirk said.
"I'd like to invite you to be our helmsperson, but as
you witnessed yourself, we have an excellent one already."
Barbara smiled. "And one with pretty good
connections, it seems." Kirk looked at her
suspiciously.
  The two ships sat side by side in space for
several hours, as Montgomery Scott and
Norquist Svenson led a large team of
Excelsior engineers in repairing the little
Princess.
  "That ought to get you back to Earth, Mr.
Scott," Svenson said, when at last they laid
down their equipment and all systems blinked green.
  "I'm much obliged for your help," Scotty
said. He looked around at the hastily patched
engines, the blackened walls, and the barely functioning
electronic systems. "I hope her owner is
patriotic," he said, shaking his head, when finally
they were finished. Scotty called up that the ship was
ready, and the engineers walked into the transport
room.
  Kirk and his crew entered the transporter room
with Sulu and his officers. Scotty went to the
transporter controls and aligned them with the
Excelsior.
  Sulu turned to Kirk. "Where will you all go
now?" he said.
  Kirk looked around at his crew. "Us? Back
to San Francisco, I suppose."
  Sulu held out his hand to Uhura and she took it.
"Kwaheri, "he said in Swahili. "Kwaheri,"
she replied, smiling. He turned to Scotty.
  "Sldn agat," he said in Gaelic. "Stdn
agat," Scotty answered. Sulu turned
to Chekov. "Dos Vidaniya, was he said.
"Oudachy," Chekov answered. He turned
to McCoy.
  "Bon voyage, Doctor," Sulu said with a
smile. "And you keep warm, old friend," Bones said
softly.
  Sulu turned to Mr. Spock. He raised his
hand in the Vulcan salute.
  "Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock."
  "Peace and long life," Spock answered.
Finally Sulu turned to Kirk.
  "Commander, I don't know what to say," Sulu
said quietly.
  "Nothing, Commander. After all, nothing happened
here, remember? That's the way Starfleet wants
it. So that's the way it will be. I always do
things by the book. You know that."
  "Your book," Sulu answered quietly. "One
that is filled with courage and loyalty. You came a
long way to help. You all risked your lives,"
Sulu said, shaking his head. Then he took
KJ-RK'S hand in both of his. "May the wind
always be at your back, Captain," he said. They
embraced; then Sulu stepped up onto the platform
to join the last of his officers being beamed over to the
Excelsior. He turned to Kirk and company and
saluted.
  "Until we meet again, old comrades," he
said. "Until that day." Then he disappeared.
  Aboard the U.s.s. Excelsior Sulu and the
other hostages were welcomed back by their crew. As
Sulu settled into the commandefts chair,
Lieutenant Roose stood behind him, waiting for
instructions. But Sulu was silent, staring at the main
viewscreen, where the little star yacht floated. Finally
Lieutenant Roose cleared his throat and spoke
up.
  "Where are we headed for now, Captain?" he
asked. Sulu came out of his own thoughts and looked
up at the young lieutenant. "Where? There will be a
debriefing at Starfleet. And then
onward, of course. As always. There is so much
to explore."
  "Yes, sir. Uh, might I suggest, however,
that we return to the Mirage? You remember, that
newly discovered planet we had catalogued just before
we were taken hostage. The one with the ideal
environment."
  "I thought we had learned all we could from that
planet, Lieutenant."
  "Unless we were to explore the surface in
person, sir."
  "I see. Still hoping for a little R and R."
  "For the crew, sir. They've all been under a
great deal of strain lately, and, well, I just
thought..."
  "It's a good thought, Lieutenant. What do you
think, Seneus?"
  The science officer looked over from his console,
where, as it turned out, he had been reworking the old
problem of who had read the ship's memory banks
without permission, and how.
  "Captain, I now believe the inhabitants of
that planet are, in fact, aware of our existence,"
he said. "The dolpheels, with their extraordinary
telepathic powers, were probably observing
us just as we were observing them. It would therefore not be a
violation of our Prime Directire if we were
to say hello in some way. However..." Whatever
Sencus was thinking. the rest was lost to his concentration
on his computer.
  "Yes, Sencus?" Sulu said. "What is it?"
  "I cannot seem to locate them again."
  "That's funny. Navigator?"
  Violet Bays looked up from her own panels.
"I'm afraid I can't either, Captain," she said.
"It's curious but, well, they're simply not
there."
  "Not there? That's an impossibility," Sulu
said. He stood up and walked over to the
navigator's station. "Do we still have their
coordinates?"
  "Of course, sir. I know precisely where they
are supposed to be. We have graphed their orbit very
carefully. But... they're just not there anymore."
  "Perhaps their orbit has variations. Did you check
--"
  "I have scanned their entire solar system,
Captain. As far as all our instruments show, there
is simply no such planet."
  Sulu sighed. "Well then, I'm
afraid we won't be going there again. Nor will
anyone else, for we'll look pretty foolish
if we announce our discovery and can't prove it.
Too bad. And I was thinking of asking the Federation
to officially name it Sulu's Planet. Just another
one of the eccentricities of deep space, I
suppose. Any analysis, Sencus?"
  "The planet seemed to function in a most
subtle and tranquil fashion, Captain.
Absolutely in harmony with itself. And their
telepathic powers were extraordinary. Whether they
are there or not, I might suggest that perhaps they have the
power to be seen or not. And now that they are aware of the
greater universe, and a number of its
inhabitants..."
  "Yes?"
  "Perhaps they do not wish to participate in
interplanetary intercourse just yet."
  "You mean, we've been studied and found wanting?"
  "Just that, Captain. They seem to have found a
perfect peace for themselves and their environment. While
the rest of us..." He let the officers on the
bridge, all of whom were listening intently now,
finish the sentence for themselves. "Can you blame them?" he
added.
  "I see what you mean. An interesting
proposition, Serious. I'll tell you what."
Sulu brightened and raised his voice. "We'll find
another plant for some R and R. I understand there's
a sulfurous mud moon on the edge of the Beta
Quadrant. Perhaps we could receive permission torn"
  But the officers on the bridge all groaned and
went back to their stations before Sulu could finish his
sentence. They left only Sulu and Sencus on the
floor.
  "They do not like the idea, Captain," Sencus
said, and, not for the first time, Sulu had to remind himself that
irony was never a part of the Vulcan science
officer's conversation.
  "I guess not," he said, shrugging. Then he
turned back to the main viewscreen. "We'll just have
to keep looking. Anyway"--he looked at the great
dark field in front of him ablaze with stars--"we
won't run out of possibilities."
  With the exit of the hostages, the little star yacht the
Plush Princess seemed suddenly empty. The
officers returned to their stations. Barbara waited for
Kirk to give a command. When he didn't, she
turned around. He was looking at the viewscreen,
though nothing was on it but the gleaming Starship
Excelsior in the infinity of the surrounding universe.
  "Home, Captain?" she prompted.
  "Hmmm? Oh. No. Not home. I don't
think so."
  She looked puzzled.
  "To San Francisco, I think," Kirk said.
"We started there. Ought to return this little yacht to its
owner. You think he'll notice the giant holes in
her side?" Everyone on the bridge chuckled.
Barbara's fingers skidded over the console and the ship
slid across the universe toward the planet Earth.
  Then Barbara turned around again. "Isn't San
Francisco your home, Captain Kirk?" she
said, puzzled.
  "No," he said quietly to her, though everyone on
board heard him. "And Vulcan isn't Mr.
Spock's, nor Africa Uhura's. Chekov
isn't from Leningrad any longer, and Dr.
McCoy has left the Earth's metropolises
far behind. Scotty will go back to the Highlands, but they
aren't his home. Space is our home, Barbara.
Space. And when we're anywhere else, we're out
of town."
  Barbara looked around at the crew, and they were all
smiling at her.
  262 263 One Week Later In the
Neutral Zone SA-GSICan, flanked by his
aides, sat down at the table in his customary
place. They waited the usual quarter-hour beyond the
appointed time, and then the door opened and Kannish and
his team walked in.
  Sarek watched as Kannish squatted on the
stool on the other side of the table. He bade him a
pleasant good morning. Kannish grunted his usual
salutation. Then, as was his custom, he slapped the
table with his open hand and began forcefully.
  "We have decided to release the prisoners,"
Kannish said disarmingly. "In fact, they have already
been transferred back to a Starfleet vessel.
I hope this shows our good faith in the pursuance of a
treaty with the Federation."
  Sarek's aides all smiled, but Sarek
replied without hesitation.
  "The Federation sincerely appreciates your
actions. That this misunderstanding has not been allowed to stand
in the way of the momentum of our current negotiations
is most gratifying. For our part I can assure you
that the Federation seeks only peace and prosperity
throughout the universe, and renounces any attempt
to enter your star system uninvited. You have our
sincerest apologies for any inconvenience the
incursion of our Starfleet officers into your star
space has mused-was
  The two able negotiators went on to exchange
mutual pledges of goodwill, then cautiously
moved into areas of concern. Some four hours later, their
positions had altered by a degree so imperceptible
as to be understood only by the participants.
Nevertheless, both left the table somewhat encouraged.
  When Sarek and his aides were seated in their shuttle
after the long session, the young woman asked if, now that
the hostages had been returned, their negotiations
would come to an end.
  "Oh, no," Sarek said. "There is still a real
treaty to hammer out. We need clearly defined
boundaries, trading conditions, armament agreements.
Pledges of mutual security. Eventually we'd
like to see the Beta Prometheans send an observer
to the Federation Council. Someday--if we can achieve
assurances that the Beta Prometheans will respect
all humanoid rights--they might even become full
members."
  "How long do you think all that could take?" the young
woman said.
  'That is hard to predict. Unlike
the peoples of your Earth, many alien civilizations
find it difficult to get along with one another. I
have been working on a treaty with the Legarans for
twenty-one years now, thought I hope my work will
bear fruit soon."
  The two young aides looked at each other.
  Sarek smiled. "We must have patience," he said.
  San Francisco It was dark when Kirk
walked alone through the heavy fog that blanketed his
port city. He could feel the pull of authentic
gravity. Or perhaps it was just the weight of his age.
He saw the Flag and Grog in the distance, its
yellow lantern burning off the fog in a tiny
semicircle around the entrance. He had received an
invitation to a private gathering via the press aide
Marasco. Maybe a bit of Saurian brandy will
cheer me up, he thought. But what he had really been
thinking for most of the walk was, Will she be there?
  He hadn't seen her in a week. Not since the
Plush Princess was returned to its owner and the crew
stepped onto terra firma.
  Just as he was about to step up to the bar's door, she
appeared out of the shadows.
  Her coat was turned up against the damp. Her
hands were deep in its pockets. She was
looking at him with a bemused expression. He
stopped, and looked at her. He could feel his heart
race at her beauty.
  "Hello, Jim," she said. "Can I buy you a
drink?"
  "Barbara. It's good to see you." Silence hung
between them like a black hole in the sky. Then Kirk
broke it with the first thing that came to his mind. "I
never got a chance to thank you for all your help. Or
even to say goodbye."
  "I was embarrassed, I guess. I just went
back to my quarters. You never called."
  "No. No, I didn't. I suppose because I
didn't want to know."
  "What?"
  "Barbara. You didn't happen to have any old
family friends in high places. You were working for
Starfleet all along. You were a spy among us.
Weren't you?"
  He waited for her to answer. She took her time.
  "Yes. It was an assignment. The Federation
couldn't be involved, Starfleet couldn't mount a
mission like that. But they knew you would try something. They
asked me to go along with you."
  "I see. Well, you did your duty.
Beautifully. And you're an excellent
helmswoman. We couldn't have done it without you."
  "Then you're not mad?"
  "Mad? Of course not." Kirk stood in the fog
and searched his own heart. "To tell the truth, I
don't know what I am. It came as a bit of a
shock that it was all a Starfleet assignment for you,
that's all."
  "It was a great assignment."
  "Gee, thanks."
  "Jim. Would you believe me if I told you that
what happened between us wasn't part of the assignment?"
  "No."
  "It wasn't."
  "Well, let's call it a bonus, then. For
me, I mean."
  "Don't hate me."
  "Never. Hey, wait a minute. I'm the
experienced old hand here, you're the cadet. You
underestimate me. A girl in every solar system.
Nobody breaks the commander's heart."
  "Not seeing you again is going to break mine."
  "Starfleet worried about what I'll do next?"
"That's cruel." "Sorry."
  "Do you think," Barbara began, "we could
start over?"
  Kirk hesitated for a long time. When I was
younger, he thought, I wouMore have said no out of sheer
bravado.
  "Maybe," he finally said. Then he turned and
led the way into the Flag and Grog.
  They climbed the stairs to the bar. It was noisy and
crowded, as it had been the last time he had
patronized the place. Cadets, officers, and
aliens jammed the central room. This time Kirk
walked past the long bar and turned into a narrow
corridor in the corner. They passed under an
archway with a sign overhead that read TaBut
WIDOW'S WALI less-than . BANQUET
FACILITIES. A neon sign was turned on just
underneath it that flashed the notice CLOSED FOR
VRIVATE VARTY.
  They climbed a steep flight of stairs and entered
the private room. Kirk spotted the tall Mr.
Spock first, talking with Admiral Caius
Fesidas. There were other admirals and high-ranking
officers there as well. Eventually he spotted
Scotty, Bones, Uhura, and Chekov. He
waved at each of them. Barbara disappeared toward some
young officers. The press liaison
Eugene Marasco came over to him.
  "Captain Kirk," he said. "Welcome.
Welcome to a very unofficial function."
  "Marasco," Kirk said as he took a drink from
a uniformed waiter. "I want to talk to you."
  "Of course.":
  Kirk walked the man into a quiet corner of the
party room, and lowered his voice.
  "Off the record, just how much did Starfleet know
about andmiddot;.. my little mission?"
  Marasco sipped from his drink.
  "Everything," he said simply.
  "Everything?" Kirk said, his eyebrows rising.
  "Everything. You were monitored from the moment you began
gathering your old crew together."
  "But they didn't stop me?."
  "Of course not. Kirk, don't be naive. I
know you've spent your entire life in deep space,
but you can't be entirely innocent of down-to-earth
politics. The Federation couldn't do anything
officially without upsetting the delicate balance 'of
power in that part of the universe. They couldn't give in
to the pirates and they didn't want to risk an
official invasion by Starfleet that could touch off an
intergalactic war. And then there's the
dilithium. Our Starships couldn't explore the
universe without it, and the Beta Prometheans keep the
market in good supply. As soon as you began nosing
aroundwhere and at headquartersma secret, top-level
team of admirals and science officers convened and
studied your long record, and your psychological
profile, and realizedmas one of the committee
members who knew you said--that you were not going to be the
problem this time. You were going to be the solution."
  "I don't know whether I'm flattered or not."
  "I'm rather proud of the fact that I tipped off
Starfleet to you, as a matter of fact."
  "You?"
  "When you sat down with the admiral and me. It
occurred to me that your interest in the Excelsior had
to be something more than idle. The next day I checked
the records, and saw your length of service with the
commander who was taken hostage. So I contacted--"
  "Wait a minute. You said 'the next day"?"
  "That's fight. The day after the night we met here
I reported your interest to--"
  "The next day. Then this committee didn't meet
until then?"
  "That's right."
  "Then what happened later that night, it
couldn't have been a setup?"
  "Later that night? What do you mean?"
  "Oh, uh, nothing. Tell me, how did
Barbara O'Marla come to be a part of our
mission$9"
  "That was something of a coincidence. A couple of days
later she came to Starfleet Security with the same
suspicions. She said she knew you, and she was
worried that if you went up there really on your own, it
might be dangerous. She said she thought she could get
you to take her along. The committee decided that
planting someone among your crew would be ideal, a much
easier way to keep track of you. So we gave her
the assignment. y
  "I see. But she came to you?"
  "Yes."
  "After the night you and I met downstairs."
  "That's right. Why7"
  "Oh, I just wanted to get the chronology
straight in my mind."
  Marasco looked past Kirk and over at
Barbara, who was chatting with several high-ranking
officers. "This is going to be a pretty strong start
for a young cadet's career," he said. Kirk followed
his look and saw Barbara chatting with the..
other officers. He thought he saw a poise and
assurance she hadn't evidenced when they first met.
She was flushed with the confidence of someone who had a
significant accomplishment behind her. He stepped
on the urge to go over to her. Just as she looked up and
saw him staring at her, the president of the Federation
walked in, and a number of Starfleet admirals
hurried to greet him.
  "Say, how did you know Barbara, by the way?"
Marasco was saying to him
  "Barbara? Oh, you know, just from... around," Kirk
said. "I heard she was at the top of her class as
a helmsperson. And with Sulu on his own Starship
now, I figured we might need one,?"
  Elsewhere in the room, Mr. Spock was talking
with a middle-aged senior officer from some department or
other in the bowels of the Starfleet bureaucratic
machinery.
  "The hull took a number of hits. The outer
shell structure ought to be replaced entirely.
At least two of the support pylons are
collapsed. The shields need to be strengthened. One
of the warp propulsion units is burnt beyond
regeneration. The navigational systems were compromised
when the electrical sensors were blasted,
they probably need a good going-over by--"
  "Mr. Spock," the officer interrupted. "The
Plush Princess isn't a Starfleet vessel.
I can't procure the materials or the engineers
to renovate a luxury yacht owned by a private and
extremely wealthy businessman."
  Spock frowned. "I gave Thaylor my word the
ship would be returned in excellent condition. I cannot
go back on my word."
  "Thaylor loaned us the ship because he knew he
could trust the reliability of @yulcans,"
Scotty said, joining them. "You'd be putting Mr.
Spock in an awful light, and dinna forget his father
is a member of the Council."
  "It's a strict regulation that private
businessmen may not be approached to contribute
to Starfleet operations," the officer protested.
"There's too much room for special interests with
private causes to affect policy."
  "And of course, if he had to be told the real
reason for the mission, it would certainly get around.
Thaylor is a man with friends in high places,"
Scotty finished.
  "All right, all right. I suppose I can have our
engineering section do the work, and then hide the
paperwork somehow."
  "That's right. You can call it Community
Relations."
  "Yes, yes, I'll take care of it."
  "Thank you," Scotty said, then turned to Mr.
Spock and winked. "Because I would nae want the good
name of Montgomery Scott and Mr. Spock,
holodocumentarians, to suffer!"
  Everyone took seats at a large table, and the
dinner got under way. The president was seated at
one end, the C in C at the other, and the admirals
and two dozen officers and the crew of the Princess
spread out in between. Kirk found himself sitting
diagonally across from Barbara.
  There were speeches thanking the crew of the
Enterprise for the "non-event." Kirk thanked
Starfleet for its loyalty, but he was looking right
at his old crewmates when he did it, and everyone
knew what he meant. The Federation president got
a good many laughs conferring an invisible "Citation for
Bravery" on the six retired officers and one
cadet, whose record of service during the ten days
in question would read "on leave, whereabouts unknown."
  "There's one thing I'd like to know," Admiral
Fesidas said to Kirk. "About those
weapons you traded to the Beta Promethean
pirates. Have you been in the habit of ignoring
General Orders throughout your career?"
  There was a delicate silence at the table. Kirk
smiled. "Absolutely not, Admiral.
Didn't you hear? They were all water guns. I
never actually intended to give them weapons, and the
G.o. doesn't say anything about toys. Why, you
know me. Everything by the book." The admiral
smiled.
  The evening was well under way when Marasco asked
Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, who was
sitting across from him, if this "non-event" had been
their most difficult and dangerous mission.
  "Difficult?" Scotty thundered. "Dangerous?
Why, laddie, let me tell you about the time we
came across a huge, green hand in space. It
grabbed the Enterprise and wouldn't let us go. Why,
I thought we would have to stay on Pollux IV forever.
Dangerous? You haven't heard anything yet..
2"
  The dinner lasted long into the night. By the time
Phylosian cognac and Cobanian cigars were
passed around, a great many years had gone by in
Scotty's stories, and old friends had
laughed and cried over old times, amusing, and
amazing, the younger officers present.
  Kirk had been quiet. Finally he stood up.
  "I'd like to propose a toast," he said finally,
raising his glass. "To absent friends. To Captain
Sulu, somewhere on the frontier."
  "To Captain Sulu," his crewmates shouted.
  "And to young Spiros Focus, of the Excelsior,
who gave his life for Starfleet," Kirk said.
"To fallen comrades."
  "To fallen comrades," the officers all echoed.
They drank in silence.
  Finally the C in C stood up. He had been
listening quietly most of the evening.
  "To all the men and women of Starfleet, past,
present, and still to come, who have demonstrated a
loyalty unmatched in the history of human
endeavor. A loyalty to the science of exploration,
to the cause of peace, and to the Federation. And
to Starfleet itself."
  "To Starfleet," the officers shouted, and everyone
drank. "But most of all," he went on, "to the men
and women of the Starship Enterprise--excuse me,
of the Plush Princess" --everyone laughed--"who have
demonstrated the greatest loyalty of all.
Semper Fidelis." He raised his gIass.
  Everyone raised their glasses, and Kirk,
Scotty, Bones, Chekov, Uhura, and Spock
toasted their neighbors with due humility, and
secret pride:
  Most of the officers were still enjoying each other's
camaraderie when the spaceport beyond their window began
to twinkle with the early-morning dawn. Kirk looked
out and saw the gleaming white skins of the
shuttlecrafts. He looked[ up at the lightening
sky, and imagined the great Starships that waited in
spacedock for their crews to take them to still uncharted
quadrants of the universe. He wondered if he
would be privileged to captain one again.
  With the dawn the party began to break up. The old
friends found themselves the last to leave. Finally McCoy
walked over to Kirk.
  "Bones? Back to ordinary patients?" Kirk
said.
  "Not me. Not exciting enough. As long as the
treaty is holding, I thought I would open a
practice devoted to Klingons. I'll get
to explore those ridiculous physiognomies.
I'll wear my disguise to make them feel
comfortable." Everyone laughed.
  "Well, I'm going to earn some real money with
what Starfleet taught me," Uhura said.
"I've got a senior management position with
Inter-Galactic Systems to return to." She
hugged Scotty, Chekov, McCoy, and Kirk in
turn. Then she raised her hand in the Vulcan
greeting to Mr. Spock,. "Mr. Spook, back
to acting?" Kirk asked.
  "No, no. Far too emotional for me. I am
going back to Vulcan, however. There is much
to study. Much to learn."
  "The greatest quest of all," Kirk said to him.
  They all drifted out the door. And back to their
own lives, thought Kirk. He took a last look
out the window, then went out of the room himself. He
walked through the now deserted bar, went down the
turbolift to the street, and turned toward his
apartment.
  Barbara was on the street, waiting for him.
  "And what about you, Jim? Will you still live here in
San Francisco?" she asked.
  "Yes. Our voyage cured me of restlessness,
I think. For the time being, anyway. How about you?
Starfleet will surely offer you an important
assignment after all you've done."
  "I've been offered a helm position on a
newly christened cruiser. It's leaving in a
week."
  "I didn't mean to be quite so cold before the party,"
Kirk said. "I was talking to Marasco and I
realized..."
  "Yes?"
  "Oh, nothing. Just that I would like to see you again."
  "How about right now?" Barbara said.
  A smile came over her face that Kirk was
sure he remembered from several weeks earlier.
  "Of course, now that I know all about your
history," she went on, "I have to be careful.
I'd need some kind of commitment. I wouldn't want
to be just another one of your women of the universe."
She looked at him.
  "I'm not the marrying kind," he said. "Too
young."
  They walked along in silence a little farther. Then
he spoke again.
  "How about a five-year mission?" he offered.
  "I'll'settle for that," she said, and wrapped her
arm inside his.
  They walked side by side along the fog-shrouded
streets as the sidewalk began to glisten
with the rising sun, the black sky that had been filled
with stars disappeared, and an orange daylight broke
over the city.
  "Maybe we could even take a little trip together
somewhere," she suggested, looking directly up at the
last remaining stars just before the sun washed them all out
of the sky.


















 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
