Gemini (22 page)

“I wish to register the strongest possible protest to this,” said Llora, in a low voice. “The princes cannot be properly protected in such a setting.”

“We have scattered
Enterprise
security personnel throughout the crowd as well,” interjected Kirk.

“Given your record of protecting Their Serene Highnesses, I do not find that fact reassuring,” said Llora.

“Nevertheless,” said Kirk offhandedly, “there it is.” He would not let this woman bait him.

“I think we should go over the agenda one more time—” said Lonal.

“And I think we should get this over with,” said Prince Delor, clumping his way onto the transporter pad. “Captain?”

“I wouldn't miss it,” said Kirk, sincerely. He offered a hand to Prince Abon, who refused it, but graciously, and took his place with them on the transporter pad.

There was a moment of shimmering air, and Kirk found himself in what indeed gave every appearance of being an educational facility of some sort. The landing party stood in a huge central room off of which branched smaller rooms with walls that could be moved to either expand the central room or isolate the smaller chambers.

A full-throated roar, already in process, was the first thing Kirk heard as soon as they materialized. His first thought was that some kind of attack or threat had been mounted, but its tenor was different, higher. He soon realized it was only the clamor of an appreciative crowd, eager to see their princes again, and in a state in which they had never before beheld them live. The crowd stood behind carefully watched cordons, under the constantly watchful eyes of Llora's troops. It had been rumored that Their Serene Highnesses would make an appearance to begin the process of voting, but it had not been announced at which voting location the princes would appear, so the crowd's greeting had the added benefit of genuine surprise as well as spontaneity. Kirk noticed, without seeming to, a few familiar faces in the crowd as well; there was Chief Giotto, wearing an elementary sort of disguise and giving every air of enjoying himself thoroughly, as well as Sinclair, her blond hair darkened to brunette for this occasion, and others under Giotto's command.

“Friends and fellow citizens of Nador,” said Abon, after the crowd quieted, “we do thank you for coming out to exercise this new right that has been granted you.” (Kirk tried to analyze the logic of a right that could be granted, but shrugged it off, reminding himself not to mention it to Spock.)

“We are privileged to lead you into this new era of peace and opportunity,” added Delor. “Now,” he said, looking around, “how do we begin?”

The crowd laughed, but it was clear that the princes had little if any idea how the actual process of voting worked, though they were clear on the principle. A middle-aged man, whom Kirk supposed to be the principal of the school, shouldered aside other functionaries to near the princes, made a detour around Llora, whose gaze seemed to shoot through him like a phaser beam, to escort the princes to a cylindrical machine, slightly taller than the waist height of the average person, with a viewscreen and a small groove embedded in its surface.

Instruction, which was broadcast on a larger viewscreen that descended from the ceiling, explained how the voters brought up the information on the relevant issue, cast their votes, then pressed their thumbs into the small groove to identify themselves and register their votes.

“It is simple,” said Prince Abon to the crowd, wobbling only slightly before the small cylinder.

“How did you vote, Your Highness?” shouted someone from the audience.

“That would normally be private,” said Delor, “but I think all of Nador knows of our opinion.”

“Then I shall vote that way, too!” cried another voice, which was immediately followed by a flood of assent.

“Fellow citizens, no!” said Abon with a laugh. “The point of voting is to fashion your own opinion!”

The crowd seemed to have a little trouble with this, noted Kirk, hiding a sympathetic grin. He had watched this scene play itself out again and again across many planets, as a culture took its first steps toward self-determination, sometimes with the blessing of its traditional rulers, sometimes without. It was always the same and always different, and he never tired of it.

“Now,” said the factotum, to the audience, “citizens, you may proceed.” He opened the roped-off area that led to voting cylinders placed at intervals in the schoolroom.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The crowd, apparently unsure of what they were to do, stood back, waiting for someone else to make the first move.

Then the crowd seemed suddenly to part like a snow-drift before a spray of lava. A shriek came from nowhere and everywhere and a person, swathed in robes and carrying a bundle, shot at the princes as though propelled by full impulse power.

Kirk wasn't closest, but he was the first to see it. He shot forward, felt something strike his side and fall back, then found himself standing before the princes, phaser drawn—

—protecting Their Serene Highnesses from a young woman, her eyes a little wild with delight at seeing her rulers, and carrying a baby for them to bless. Kirk stood back as security troops came forward to envelop the woman. Massaging his side, which had been struck, Kirk looked around and saw Llora picking herself up from the floor, looking at him with loathing.

Kirk knew better by now than to risk offering her a hand. Had he seen Llora coming, he would have let her have the spotlight. He thought about saying something mollifying to her, but rejected the notion. She wouldn't have believed him anyway.

Investigation proved mother and child to be exactly who they appeared to be and utterly innocent of weapons and, with much nervous laughter, the voting process continued as the citizens filed forward to make their will known, first haltingly, a few at a time, then more and more rapidly, until the room was aswirl in the process of nascent democracy.

But it did not escape Kirk's notice that, as a cadre of security personnel flurried about the princes, two people—gender and any identifying features swallowed by voluminous robes—detached themselves from the crowd, making haste without seeming to, and were gone before Kirk could order pursuit.

Kirk shook his head. There was only one way this would end.

* * *

“I must say, I found that invigorating,” said Prince Abon. He sat on a bed in sickbay, removed his trousers (one leg at a time, Kirk noted), then took off the exoskeleton brace he had worn under them.

“Spiritually, perhaps,” replied McCoy, hovering over the twins with a medical scanner, “but physically, it was exhausting. I shouldn't have let you boys overdo it like that.” (Despite the situation, Kirk grinned. Only McCoy would call the rulers of an entire planet “boys” and make them like it.) “I think you two should stay here tonight.”

“But, Doctor,” said Delor, as he and Abon swapped a forlorn look, “the results of the vote will be in in a few hours.”

“So?”

“It is our custom that when a new pronouncement is made to our people, the rulers do it from the palace,” said Abon.

“Specifically, from a special balcony of the Royal Palace,” said Delor. “Our subjects have been through trying times recently,” he continued, with what Kirk thought to be magnificent understatement. “Those customs that can be preserved, should be.”

“I don't know … ” said McCoy, dubiously.

“Actually, Doctor,” said Kirk, tapping McCoy on the arm and gesturing for him to follow, “let's talk.”

* * *

Some hours later, a throng of people gathered below an ancient balcony in the southeast wall of the Royal Palace of Nador. For longer than the memory of anyone who had ever lived on the planet, native Nadorians had assembled there to hear announcements both joyous and sorrowful, proclamations of births, notices of deaths, of the results of battles, of marriages and executions.

The knot of loyal citizens that had gathered there today was one of the largest in recent memory. Many of the attendants simply wished a look at Their Serene Highnesses, following their surgical separation, not believing the rumors that Starfleet had turned the princes into pawns of the Federation, yet seeking reassurance anyway. Most, having voted to join the Federation, simply wished another look at the monarchs who had ruled over them most of their lifetimes before their way of life changed forever. A few wished to give their children a glimpse of their beloved rulers. Some simply wished to partake of the fair air on a warm night. At least a small percentage of those present were security personnel, owing their allegiances either to the planet Nador or to the Federation.

Others were present for their own reasons.

When the Hour of Announcement came, the bellows of a wind clock in a church next to the palace sounded a long, tremulous note, filled at once with longing and anticipation. Curtains hung across the balcony parted, revealing a retinue consisting of Regent Lonal, Counselors Hanor and Docos, the Lady Pataal, and, representing the Federation, Commissioner Roget and his wife. They stood in a semicircle, as if enclosing something. The audience craned its necks trying to see, but there was nothing there, nothing to be enclosed by the semicircle of Nadorian and Federation dignitaries. Their bafflement was understandable.

Then, as the fat, melodic breath of the last bellows faded, the air at the center of the semicircle of dignitaries seemed to flicker, to shimmer as if alive with starlight. Few in the crowd had ever traveled by a transporter of any design, but all of them had heard of the device, and most of them had seen what it looked like.

A high-pitched note, as if to counterpoint the fading hum of the bellows, was heard.

The shimmers of light began to resolve themselves, to reveal themselves to be two figures … men, perhaps.

Then a kind of rhythmic noise was heard, like the pulse beat of a huge, invisible man.

The twin shimmers of light, which had begun to coalesce in an orderly fashion, were suddenly shot through with harsh streaks. A discordant wail—or was it two?—was heard. The Lady Pataal started forward, her scream melding with the wails.

Then the twin shimmers of light imploded, leaving only two small, identical piles of smoldering matter.

“N
ADORIAN
DNA,” said Dr. McCoy, some seconds later, standing over the small mounds of what for all the world looked like some sort of goo scraped off the bottom of a petri dish. “It's the princes'.” He sounded very old.

“Fan out,” said Captain Kirk, phaser at the ready. “But be careful with the crowd. Spock?”

“Scanning, Captain,” replied the first officer. The hum of the tricorder at least filled the air with something besides the shouts from the crowd below and the muted sobs of the Lady Pataal. After a few seconds Spock looked up from the device and faced Kirk. “I am reading residual energy emissions very much like those produced by deflector shields.”

“Deflector shields?” asked Kirk. “But if it was activated while the princes were transporting down—”

“A massive disruption in the transporting process would result,” Spock said, with a precise nod.

“Where did the energy emissions come from, Spock?” asked Kirk. “Can you trace them?”

“Yes, sir,” said Spock. “This way.”

They had beamed down a security force the instant the news had reached the
Enterprise;
the remnants of the transporter malfunction examined by McCoy were still steaming when they had materialized.

They made their way down one of the seemingly infinite number of stairways in the palace to a door leading to the ground. Outside, citizens were still in a state of shock; women were sobbing, men looked as though they wanted to sob. Few of the crowd paid any attention to the
Enterprise
crew, but the gazes of those who did held no love. If there were any Federation citizens in the knot of people, Kirk didn't notice them and they didn't call attention to themselves.

Spock led them into the church next to the palace; their entrance was blocked by a pair of massive wooden doors.

“Locked,” said Spock.

“Not for long,” said Kirk. He rapidly phasered the crack between the two doors, and a moment later, they swung open. At McCoy's disapproving glance, Kirk gave a fatalistic shrug.

The interior of the church was darker than the outside, probably owing to the lack of moonlight. A few candles tried to pierce the gloom, but seemed only to accentuate it. Motioning for silence, Kirk and his officers walked softly into the church, passing quickly through a kind of nave or anteroom into a larger, cathedral-like chamber. Pews were constructed concentrically, around a central fire pit that was not now lit. Some kind of religious symbolism, Kirk supposed.

He felt a light tap on his arm and turned to see McCoy pointing to one side. A mural showed what he took to be some kind of blessing of twin infants, conjoined at the spine. He nodded and returned to the job.

Spock pointed ahead and upward, and Kirk saw the flight of wooden stairs. The Vulcan led the way, his efficient, furtive progress reminding Kirk of nothing more than a huge cat. As they mounted the steps, Kirk noted in a thin coating of dust what might have been several overlapping sets of footsteps leading both up and down.

At the first landing Spock took a look at his tricorder, now on silent mode, shook his head, and led them past what seemed to be a floor of smaller rooms for individual instruction or meditation, then up another flight. Here the stairs gave onto a wide room that seemed to extend the entire breadth and width of the church—probably some a room used for social occasions or more informal meetings.

Spock pointed into the darkness, toward one of a number of small pools of moonlight leaking through windows spaced at regular intervals. There sat a small, rather absurd-looking machine that seemed to Kirk to be some kind of energy emitter jury-rigged to an emissions amplifier and a minute storage battery. A small light on the device's side flashed every few seconds; otherwise it seemed deactivated.