Gemini (21 page)

“Work with Spock to determine exactly what that thing was. If it was a weapon, I want to know how it could target the cargo hold even through shields. And I want options, and anything you can give me on who's behind it. It may be our friends in the mysterious ship, but it may be another faction entirely. Understood?”

“Aye, sir.”

Kirk glanced at his first officer, who nodded imperturbably.

“Bones?” Kirk said, a moment later. “Everything all right?”

“Compared to some of the shakings you've given us, this was a walk in the park, Jim.”

“For us, perhaps. Have you seen the princes?”

“I'm down in the cargo hold now. They're fine. No damage done to their surgical incisions. I understand they even performed a bit of heroism down there.”
A chorus of low laughter, which sounded like that of the princes, was heard from the background; leave it to McCoy to elicit humor from a situation like this.

“I'll look forward to hearing about it. Kirk out.” He thought for a moment, then rose from his chair. “I'll be in the cargo hold,” he told the bridge at large, and left.

Kirk used the brief trip in the turbolift to mentally gird his loins, expecting the assembled Nadorian higher-ups to phaser him a new orifice—or to at least give it the old Academy try. He was therefore pleasantly surprised, on entering the cargo hold—though he took great pains not to show it—to see Counselors Docos and Hanor seemingly playing tag-team with a beleaguered Regent Lonal.

“This is the work of the Abonians,” said Counselor Hanor with a hiss, her outraged face nearly the color of her burnt-orange robes. Kirk wondered, idly, if anyone had ever told her she was never more magnificently ugly than when she was angry. “They wished Prince Delor slain, so Prince Abon can take the throne himself!”

“Woman, are you mad?” asked Counselor Docos. “Prince Abon was as much endangered as Prince Delor! Such a strategy is hardly worthy of the term!”

Kirk watched this for a few seconds, then turned to the rest of the brass and Their Serene Highnesses. They seemed to be chatting among themselves earnestly, perhaps on the verge of a disagreement. Nothing unusual there, though Kirk wondered if they were aware of the subject of the discussion Regent Lonal was having with the counselors, that each of the counselors was in essence trying to sell one of the princes down the river.

Kirk took a look around the hold. McCoy and his medical team were treating what few injuries had resulted from the attack. Giotto, Sinclair, and security teams were ushering attendees of the transmission to the transporter room for return to the planet. He approached Giotto and told him to fire up the cargo transporters; they weren't as elegant as the transporter rooms, but he didn't think the Nadorians would mind.

Turning back to the princes, Kirk prepared to pay his respects and tender more apologies. They were speaking quickly to Commissioner Roget, who looked little the worse for the experience. Mrs. Roget was seated nearby, speaking to the Lady Pataal, who seemed calm enough—Kirk gathered there was a story to be told from her disheveled manner—but who had a look in her eyes Kirk had seen before: the aspect of a person who realized she had a decision to make, but who had no idea what to decide.

“Captain!” came the voice of Abon—or was it Delor? Kirk turned and neared them, briefly acknowledging the look in Commissioner Roget's eyes without seeming to, an expression that was at once wary and a little tense. Kirk would normally have chalked this up to the evening's “entertainment,” but he knew Roget well enough even after only a short time to know that whatever disturbed him went deeper than just the recent physical rigors he had endured.

“Your Highnesses,” said Kirk, in his most mollifying tone, “please accept my apologies for this incident. Once this affair is over, I should appreciate the opportunity to show you that chaos doesn't erupt every time a planetary dignitary sets foot on the
Enterprise.”

“We are as aware as you of the forces which seek to dissolve the bonds between Nador and your Federation,” began Abon.

“And we wish to see their dissolution as eagerly as do you,” continued Delor, in that odd tag-team speech of theirs. “But now may not be the time to aggravate these forces anew.” The princes looked around the room without seeming to, then back to Kirk. “May we speak to you alone?”

* * *

“Palmer,” said Kirk, hours later, as he strode onto the bridge, “get me Admiral Fitzgerald at Starfleet Command, immediately.” Kirk slumped into his chair, looking far more fatigued than Commissioner Roget, who followed him.

“Captain, it's nearly three
A
.
M
. at Starfleet Command,” replied Palmer.

“Time is of the essence, Lieutenant,” said Kirk, in a soft tone that said more than a frantic shout would have.

“Right away, sir,” said Palmer.

“You seem as though you knew this was coming,” said Kirk, to Roget.

“I have the advantage of knowing Their Royal Highnesses far better than you do, Captain,” Roget said with a sigh, “though sometimes I wonder just how much of an advantage it really is. They had not told me in so many words what they wanted, but, yes, I believe I saw this coming. I only wish I'd had a chance to warn you.”

“It's done,” said Kirk with a shrug, the fatalism in his voice betraying how tired he was. “All we can do now is work with them.”

“I have Admiral Fitzgerald, sir,” came Palmer's voice.

“On screen.” The viewscreen flashed to life, first showing the seal of Starfleet Command, then fading to Admiral Fitzgerald, behind a desk in a room Kirk did not recognize. The walls seemed to be filled with books and models of ships; probably his home. The admiral's usually crisp good looks seemed somewhat frayed, worn at the edges; his appearance gave every impression of a man who had been woken from a sound sleep.
Good,
thought Kirk, pettily.

“Captain Kirk,”
nodded Fitzgerald, evenly.
“It's quite late here, you know.”

“I am aware of that, sir,” said Kirk, trying to give every impression that he cared, “but a situation has arisen that I knew you would want to be immediately notified of.” He told the admiral of the most recent developments in the Nadorian situation, including the attack on them by the strange storm they had been unable to classify.

“But you said the princes do wish to join the Federation, did you not?”
asked Fitzgerald. Some of the sleep had left his eyes; he leaned forward in his chair, his head cocked to one side, like a hound who had caught a scent.

“They do, sir,” agreed Kirk, “but after tonight's disturbance, they have said that they wish the resulting vote and the handover ceremony to be delayed until the ringleaders behind the disruptive elements can be identified and captured.” Fitzgerald's demeanor did not change for a few seconds after hearing this. It was as though Kirk's words had been delayed by subspace transmission.

“I see,”
said Fitzgerald, at length.
“Captain, here are Starfleet's orders … ”

* * *

“Gentlemen,” Kirk said to Spock, McCoy and Giotto, “I am sorry to have awakened you at this hour—”

“You don't sound very damn sorry,” said McCoy.

“But,” continued Kirk, ignoring the doctor, “we have something of a situation on our hands. Following the latest incident, Their Serene Highnesses have told me they wish to delay the vote and the following ceremony in which Nador will join the Federation.”

“Sounds like the fix is in on the vote,” commented Giotto, from behind a cup of coffee.

“If I understand your colloquialism correctly, Chief Giotto,” said Spock, “I do not believe any manipulation of the balloting process would be necessary. This is the first time the native Nadorians have been given any say in a matter concerning their governance, so it stands to reason that they would follow the endorsement of their princes, since they are by and large a contented people.”

“Yes, sir.” Giotto nodded, with a quick glance at Kirk. Giotto, Kirk thought, never quite knew how to take Spock.

“Did the princes give any reason for wishing such a delay?” asked Spock.

“Probably waiting for whoever's behind this to get nabbed. I'd feel better knowing that someone who had targeted me was out of the picture,” said McCoy.

“Of course,” said Giotto, “they may just be fearful for their lives, and think this will placate whoever wants them dead. I'd like to think they were made of sterner stuff than that, but they've had their lives turned upside down several times now.”

“It's also the fact that Nadorian citizens have constantly been placed at risk in these attacks,” said Kirk. “The princes told me that was their main concern, and from what I've seen of them, I believe them.”

“Yes, they're not worried about their own skins,” said McCoy.

“At any rate,” said Kirk, “Starfleet has categorically rejected any such delay. The voting will take place tomorrow, with the handover ceremony scheduled for two days after.”

“It seems odd that Starfleet wouldn't give the Nadorians their head in this,” said McCoy.

“Actually, it's not that they so much rejected any such delay, they placated the Nadorians by assuring them there would be no need for a delay—that all the rough spots would be ironed out by the time the handover ceremony comes around.”

“In other words,” said McCoy, “you've been ordered to sink or swim.”

“After a fashion,” said Kirk. “Gentlemen, I need ideas. We have to determine who is behind the movement trying to assassinate the princes, and pull their claws once and for all.”

“That would be the most logical way to assure success,” said Spock with a nod.

“We're all behind you, Captain, but we don't have much to work with,” said Giotto.

“You're an old law-enforcement man, Chief,” said Kirk. “You know that when you don't have anything to go on, you find something. If there's anything about this affair that you haven't told me, now's the time. For instance, Spock.” Kirk thrust a finger at his first officer. “During our battle with that—storm or whatever it was, you said other sites on Nador were also under assault.”

“Correct,” said Spock. “These locales include the Nadorian Art Students' League, the Nadorian Heritage Museum, and the Royal Palace of Nador. While this does not categorically rule out the possibility of the storm being a weapon, it certainly makes it a very inefficient one.”

“You see?” Kirk said to McCoy and Giotto. “That's what we want. Spock, you and DeSalle were also working on the transmitter.”

“That avenue of investigation is still under way,” said Spock. “I shall tell Lieutenant DeSalle to redouble his efforts.”

“You've always given me your best efforts in the past,” said Kirk, standing as he surveyed them. “I need nothing less now. I'm tired of waiting for our faceless opponents to move, I intend to make them move, for a change.”

Dismissed, they filtered out of the conference room into the crew taking their places on the first shift. Kirk drained his cup, then lowered it, to see McCoy waiting. “Yes, Bones?”

“I'm sure we'll find him, Jim.”

“Peter? I didn't even mention him.”

“You didn't have to.” McCoy approached Kirk and squeezed his shoulder briefly. “We'll find him, that's all I'm saying.”

“I hope I can trust that diagnosis,” said Kirk.

* * *

“Dr. McCoy tells me he'll be sorry to lose you, Your Highnesses,” said Kirk, heartily. “He says you were two of the best patients he's ever had.”

“The doctor has his own unique ways of enforcing order in his sickbay,” replied Prince Abon, dryly.

“Yes,” said Delor, in the same tone, “I wonder if he is aware that your Starfleet is a signatory to the Galactic Treaty forbidding torture.”

Despite the many pressures on his time, Kirk forced himself to keep pace with the princes as they slowly proceeded—let's face it, he thought, hobbled—down the corridors of the
Enterprise,
supported by exoskeletal braces that gauged how much support the wearer needed and adjusted servomotors accordingly. For a physician who had always staunchly advocated that a little bit of suffering never hurt anyone, McCoy was being awfully protective of Abon and Delor. Kirk liked it; it was a side of McCoy he didn't see too often. But even McCoy realized when it was time to leave well enough alone. He had opted not to accompany his patients on this trip, citing neglected business in sickbay.

“Don't lean against the wall, Abon,” said Delor, peevishly, as the turbolift took them to the nearest transporter room. “Let your muscles strengthen themselves.”

“Yes, Mother,” replied Abon, acidly, pushing himself out from the railing around the lift and standing erect. And Kirk wondered, again, what their parents must have been like as well as what the twins' delivery must have been like for their poor mother.

“Now, are Your Serene Highnesses aware of the agenda?” asked Regent Lonal, for only the fourteenth or fifteenth time. A small contingent of palace personnel, including Llora, had beamed up to the ship in order to provide security and support—both physical as well as spiritual, Kirk supposed—when the princes made their return to their native world.

“‘Your Serene Highnesses' are, Lonal,” said Abon with a sigh. “We will transport down to the place of voting nearest the palace, which has been set up in one of the schools.”

“Will not the children be inconvenienced by this?” asked Delor, practically.

“The day has been declared a holiday, Prince Delor. You will cast your votes first, and then the people will begin to vote,” said Lonal, swiveling from Abon to Delor, as if on a pivot. The princes seemed to take a subtle but real pleasure in standing far apart in order to confound those who had before always been able to take both of them in with one glance. Kirk at first thought this rather petty; then he realized that if he had been forced to live with the same handicap as the princes had, all those years, he'd enjoy his newfound sense of singleness, too. With the experiences he had had, and the things he had seen, there were very few conditions he could categorize as “unimaginable,” but being in the forced company of a person glued to your spine every day of your life, never to be alone or to enjoy a solitary moment, was something he could not imagine, and found himself not wishing to try.