Gemini (10 page)

The lounge looked as though a tornado had coursed through it, which, Kirk realized as he surveyed the room, was very close to the truth. The far wall of the officers' lounge bore a huge crack from floor to ceiling, mute evidence of a breached hull. It was only a few inches across at its widest spot, but that was more than enough for escaping atmosphere to wreak havoc and, potentially, death. Like most seasoned spacehands, Kirk regarded a hull breach as very nearly the worst damage a spaceship could suffer.

But behind the huge sundering of the lounge wall was an expanse of dull gray metal. The emergency hull had slid into place as soon as escaping atmosphere was detected, hopefully keeping destruction to a minimum.

But what damage had been done was bad enough. The components of the sedate, civilized banquet to honor the princes had been transformed, by the chaos of escaping air, into something very much resembling a battlefield. Tables had been overturned as if by whim, silverware and broken dishes had been scattered randomly. The remnants of dessert were spread over every surface of the room. This last would have been comical, were it not for the circumstances.

Other debris, some of it still smoldering, some of it still retaining its rounded contours, littered the floor. This looked alien to the environments of the
Enterprise.
Kirk pointed to it as they passed, and Spock nodded.

Of the princes' entourage, only Pataal had remained behind. She bore a few scratches but seemed otherwise uninjured, though her skin was nearly as pale as her disheveled gown. A civilian, she was of course unused to combat, let alone space combat. The major damage to her was probably mental, Kirk realized, not so much physical. Barrows, her own arm bleeding from a large gash, was trying to comfort Pataal, whose mouth worked soundlessly, as she pointed toward the overturned banquet table.

The princes lay crumpled on the floor, like twin dolls flung there by a petulant child. But dolls didn't bleed. The twins lay with their spines at almost right angles to each other; Kirk knew that couldn't be good.

McCoy was barking orders into the wall intercom, ignoring the output from what looked like an ugly wound to his forehead. Near his feet lay a broken plate bearing the
Enterprise
insignia, one sharp edge spattered with blood. “Send up medics with an antigrav stretcher, Chapel! Prep for emergency surgery!” Before he returned to his patients, he and Kirk exchanged a brief glance, and McCoy shrugged:
I don't know.

Seconds later a team of medics charged into the lounge, bearing the twin cylinders of an antigrav support stretcher, whose use would prevent further aggravation of the princes' spinal damage, if any. These cylinders were laid on either side of the still princes. Then, as they were activated, the princes' figures, twitching slightly, rose from the floor, and were guided out by the medical team. Kirk wasn't surprised to see Llora following.

Through all this, distant, harsh thuds were heard through the ship, as though they lived in the bottom of a kettledrum. The princes were in McCoy's hands now.

“Spock, you're with me,” said Kirk.

“Acknowledged.” The two of them headed for the turbolift.

Kirk's last view of the room was of the princes' entourage clustered around Commissioner Roget, besieging him with questions and demands—all except a lonely young girl who stood in the center of the room, head in her hands, ignored by everyone except for one concerned yeoman.

“Bridge, emergency override,” rasped Kirk, as he and Spock entered the lift. The car shot upward smoothly, save for a slight shaking as a peal of thunder rolled through the ship.

“The old bait and switch,” said Kirk, grimly, more just to have something to say. “They sent a fusillade to distract our attention from another attack, from aft.” He shook his head. “What a fool, to have fallen for that.”

“Lieutenant Sulu is a fine officer,” said Spock. “I do not believe the term ‘fool' a fair assessment of—”

The lift opened onto the bridge. “I wasn't talking about him.”

“Normal lighting,” said Kirk, as he strode toward his chair. Sulu's skin was tightly drawn, and he seemed pale. Kirk met Sulu's gaze briefly and he shook his head.
It wasn't your fault.
“Status.”

“We have not determined the location of our assailant, Captain,” said Uhura. “We have returned fire.”

“Shooting in the dark,” said Kirk. “Shields?”

“Down to seventy-five percent, sir,” said Chekov.

“Another missile approaching, Captain,” said Sulu.

“Trace launch coordinates and return fire.”

The ship shook again, but this time the bridge crew was braced for it.

“No sign of damage to the enemy craft, Captain,” said Sulu.

“Shields at seventy-one percent, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chekov,” said Kirk, patiently. “Report at five-percent increments.” Their foe seemed to be using the same powerful missiles as before. Not fancy, but they certainly got the job done, as the aft wall of the officers' lounge could attest. “Any sign of them, Mr. Spock?”

“None, Captain. They remain as elusive as before.”

“Yet they knew where to strike to attack the princes … . Uhura! Scan for a low-yield frequency signal coming from the
Enterprise,
something so faint you'd normally pass over it as static.”

“Scanning, sir,” said Uhura, her voice betraying only a slight thrill of anticipation as she tried to foresee Kirk's course of action.

“Another missile approaching, sir,” Sulu said.

“Evasive action.”

“Closing too rapidly, sir.”

“All power to forward shields, then. Yes, forward shields. They won't try the same trick—” The rest of his sentence was cut off by the explosion of the enemy projectile. “Uhura?”

“I've got something, sir … but it's very faint. I'm not sure it isn't some kind of static or feedback.”

“I'm sure,” said Kirk. “Uhura, transfer data to the weapons console. Sulu, lock photon torpedoes on that frequency and fire.”

“Torpedoes away, sir,” said Sulu, a moment later. Kirk imagined rather than felt the slight backwash as the torpedoes were ejected; a moment later, he saw them surge onto the field of the viewscreen, and vanish into space, like a coin dropped into a bottomless pond.

For endless seconds he held his breath. Then, at the lower periphery of the screen, came a burst of energy, followed by a stream of debris. “There! Lock phasers and fire!”

“The ship appears to be gone, Captain,” said Spock, peering into his scanner.

“Did we hit her again?”

“Our attack appears to have injured them, but not mortally. Pursuit would be fruitless.”

“Isn't there any kind of trail we can—?”

“None, sir. A study of the debris may yield facts.”

Kirk edged back in his chair and drew a breath for what seemed like the first time in hours. “Get a tractor beam on that debris, bring it in here for analysis. Secure from red alert. Damage report.”

“How did you know, Captain?” asked Chekov.

“I assumed this was an attack on the princes,” said Kirk. “But whoever was behind it—”

Uhura interrupted. “All sections reported, Captain. Some damage, nothing major.”

“Any report from sickbay?”

“None, sir.”

* * *

“Doctor,” said Nurse Christine Chapel, “it's a woman, asking about the princes.”

“Pataal?” Dr. McCoy shook his head irritably, but did not look up from the wreckage of two human beings that lay before him.

“No, it's—” Chapel looked up, then back at McCoy. “I think you should see for yourself, Doctor.”

“Chapel, I don't have time for—” Whatever McCoy was about to say was lost, forgotten as he stared into the barrel of a Nadorian energy weapon.

“Doctor,” said Securitrix Llora, her voice very low and very clear, “you will cease whatever manipulations you have begun upon Their Serene Highnesses and return them to the Royal Palace immediately.”

“Doctor … ?”

“I'll handle this, Chapel. Keep prepping the patient—patients.”

“Are you deaf?” asked Llora. “You will release them, now.” The finger on the weapon's activator switch tightened perceptibly.

“You're aiming at the wrong person,” said McCoy.

Her dark eyes widened. Of all the answers she had foreseen … “What?”

“You might as well eliminate the middleman and shoot them. If you delay me any longer, both of them will die.”

“Your transportation system is instantaneous—”

“Perhaps, but they'll never survive it. They're dying even now. Look.” He pointed to the medical scanner over the bed. Llora's eyes followed it, but the barrel of the energy weapon remained steady on McCoy.

“What of it?”

“Do you see those indicator lights sinking? Hear the pulse slowing? Do your duties to your princes include watching them die, when you could have prevented it?”

“No, of course—”

“Then pull that trigger,” said McCoy, his blue eyes now very cold, “or get the hell out of my sickbay.”

Slowly the energy weapon sank, like a rock through a pool of quicksand. Llora withdrew, almost as slowly. “Save them, Doctor.” The words were a command, but they were voiced as a plea.

“Get out of here! If you want to help, contact your palace and get me their medical records!
Now!”

The operating room door hummed shut behind her. “Well, Nurse,” said McCoy, “prepare for surgery.”

* * *

“Notify me at once if McCoy calls,” said Kirk, pulling himself back from thoughts of crumpled dolls. “At any rate, it seemed reasonable that someone targeting the princes that accurately was doing it by means of a signal—a low-frequency signal, almost too faint to register. And what can be transmitted can be traced.” He shrugged, irritably. “I should have thought of it far sooner than I did. Uhura, any word from sickbay?”

“No, sir, should I—?”

“No, don't bother them.”

“Yes, sir. And Captain, most of the Nadorian group are asking to return to their planet.”

“And one in particular, I'll bet. Tell Giotto to herd them into the lounge and wait for me.” He rose from his chair and turned to his right. “Spock, let's find some answers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Captain,” said Uhura, as the lift doors opened, “sickbay.”

“Bones?” said Kirk, into the chair intercom. “How are—?”

“Critical. They're being prepped now, I'm about to go into surgery.”

“Can you save them?”

“If I don't try, we'll lose them both.”

“Then try.”

“I wasn't asking your permission.”
There was silence for a long moment, punctuated only by the familiar noises of the bridge. Then:
“Jim, I—”

Such indecision was unusual in the physician's voice. “Yes, Bones?”

“Jim, I'm going to have to separate them.”

“S
EPARATE THEM
?” Kirk whispered, but it seemed that his words echoed throughout the bridge. “Bones, are you sure you can?”

The response was prefaced by a harsh laugh.
“I guess we'll find out.”
Then, more softly:
“Jim, I know what's riding on this. I'll do my best.”

“I'm sure,” replied Kirk. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I—”
Kirk heard Chapel's voice in the background, and the channel suddenly went dead.

Kirk stood there for a moment, brooding over matters he never discussed with anyone, not even his two best friends. Then he looked up, and headed for the lift doors. “Let's see if we can make ourselves useful, Spock. Bring your tricorder.”

“Yes, sir,” said Spock, at his heels. “According to damage reports, that area of the ship is secure. Mr. Scott says that repairs will begin immediately.”

“After the damage has been done,” mused Kirk. “You were with most of the party?”

“Yes, sir. I have formed no conjecture as to which of them might have been responsible for signaling an attack on the princes—if any of them.”

“Oh, it was one of them,” said Kirk. “I feel it.” For once, Spock let the obvious go unsaid. “When I met you in the hallway after the attack, you were returning with most of the princes' party.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Whoever signaled the attack would obviously have wanted to put some distance between themselves and the princes. Did anyone suggest you leave the lounge?”

“Yeoman Barrows,” replied Spock.

“Sometimes they get lucky,” said Kirk. “The guilty party was looking for a way to leave the room unobtrusively, and Barrows did his work for him. Well, here's where his luck ends.”

The lift door opened, and they proceeded toward the lounge. Chief Giotto's men had already sealed it off, preventing anyone from entry or exit. The two guards nodded at Kirk and Spock, who passed into the room. The doorway had been restored to functionality, though its appearance still left something to be desired.

Gathered there was the entire party that had come aboard with Princes Abon and Delor—no, not quite all. Kirk noted Commissioner and Mrs. Roget, Regent Lonal, Counselors Docos and Hanor—seated as far away from each other as possible. The Lady Pataal was sobbing, her gown crumpled and creased like a wilted flower. Next to her, Barrows did her best to comfort her.

But one of them was missing.

Kirk nodded to Spock; the Vulcan activated his tricorder and began methodically crossing the room, watching its screen unblinkingly.

The lounge doors opened and Chief Giotto entered, with Securitrix Llora in tow. Actually, the woman walked slightly in front of Giotto, with the security head following warily, with the respect one expert in a field gives to another, even an adversary. Kirk didn't know if she was armed or not—wherever she had kept that energy weapon of hers, it was certainly well hidden.