Gemini (5 page)

“Most remarkable,” Kirk heard Spock say, in a low voice.

“I'll say,” came McCoy's awed reply, his tones equally hushed. “Did you see how gracefully they move? Like one person. I wonder if that's just practice or if their cerebral systems are connected, too. My God, I'd love to have a look at their medical chart.”

“An interesting speculation,” said Spock. “Perhaps observing which twin primarily utilizes which hand will prove informative. One could argue, in their condition, that their favored hands would be mirror images of each other, but there is a case to be made for—”

Kirk decided they were more fun when they were arguing.

Given the nature of the princes' handicap, Kirk wondered if the seating arrangements of the banquet would be awkward. He realized, once ushered into the high-ceilinged, spacious dining hall, that any and all possible socially embarrassing situations would have been foreseen and eliminated, given that Their Serene Highnesses had been living this way from the day of their births. The dining table was a massive four-sided structure fashioned from a faintly aromatic wood with a delicate bluish tinge which Kirk assumed was native to the planet. At the middle of the table's head was a kind of circular booth, able to swivel independently without disturbing the rest of the table, presumably so the princes could then converse with parties on either side of them. He was seated to the right of the princes' chair, with McCoy next to him and Spock seated to the princes' left. Kirk was grateful to see the two separated; not only was their newfound shared curiosity not fun, but the constant conversational undertones were beginning to drive him mad:

“On Earth they were called ‘Siamese twins' for decades, after the nationality of the first pair to attain any kind of fame. Chang and Eng, I think they were named.”

“When we return to the ship, we must scan all medical banks for any data as to the cause of the disability. There may be some genetic trait shared by humans and Nadorians that will shed light on Their Serene Highnesses' unique condition.”

Kirk didn't recall who it was who said another person's shop talk is always fascinating, but he wished he were here now.

Too, he was beginning to wonder about the appropriateness of the term “disability.” The princes seemed totally at home with their condition, able to navigate and engage in social situations with the best of them. It wasn't that you forgot their condition after seeing them for a while, Kirk realized, it was just that it ceased to make them seem that much different. As a child, Kirk had had a dog, Ranger, that had lost a leg in an accident. Young Jimmy had watched over the animal for days, bringing it food and carrying it around with him. It was Sam who finally convinced him that the dog had to learn to get around on its own. It soon did, causing them to call it “Tripod” from then on.

Sam.
Blast it, where was Peter, anyway?

Kirk had not been surprised to find himself asked to make a toast—persons all over the galaxy attached a certain gravitas to the gold braid on Kirk's sleeve. As he rose, he realized part of his mind had been working on it for several minutes. Not that it would go down with the Fundamental Declaration of the Martian Colonies …

“In the name of the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet Command, I thank you all for your friendship and hospitality. I pray this is the first of many such occasions where we will meet as trusted allies and as friends.”

But it wasn't bad. As he raised his glass, after tilting it toward the princes, Kirk noticed a genuine smile on the face of Abon, but a rather forced, dutiful version of that same expression worn by Delor. Kirk felt he had his work cut out for him.

The meal was excellent; some sort of native fish that seemed naturally boneless, served in a piquant sauce. They had even provided a vegetarian dish for Spock. Glancing around the table when he had a moment's respite from fielding questions from Their Serene Highnesses, who seemed nearly to fight over Kirk's attention, he noticed Yeoman Barrows sharing some small joke with the Lady Pataal. Seeing a quizzical expression on the face of Dr. McCoy, Kirk had a hunch who they were discussing.

After the banquet came a formal dance. Kirk shared Scotty's reluctance for these functions. Though there were generally many attractive women present he wouldn't have minded dancing with, the gold braid also attracted many women of—he thought delicately—a more mature vintage, whom he dutifully accepted being dragged around the floor by. He noticed Spock in a graceful, if somewhat overly precise, pirouette with the Lady Pataal, but it was, as seemed to be the case tonight, the Princes Abon and Delor who drew the most attention. Not only did they dance, they danced with a skilled lightness that Kirk found remarkable. When only one had a partner, the other clasped his hands across his chest and closed his eyes, letting the other “lead” in a faultless exhibition of rhythm. This would have been remarkable enough, but then Abon extended a hand to Mrs. Roget, and Delor to the Lady Pataal. The four of them then joined in a simple yet skilled variation of what Roget told Kirk was a native dance in which Abon and Delor often exchanged the role of lead dancer with a frequency that sent Kirk's head spinning almost faster than theirs. He stole a glance at Spock, who was watching the proceedings in the mirrored ceiling, no doubt admiring their geometrical precision. At the end of the dance, the audience broke into spontaneous applause, which Kirk appreciatively joined.

Things were going well. Diplomatic matters had not yet been broached, but Kirk knew these things take their own time and had developed the patience, and the necessary carapace, to let such things move at their own pace. Kirk had just finished a dance with Yeoman Barrows—under the watchful eye of Dr. McCoy, who was trying and failing to affect an aura of utter nonchalance—when he was approached by Commissioner Roget and Regent Lonal. With them were two persons who appeared to be in late middle age. One, a burly man with incongruously delicate features, to whom the matters of diplomacy did not seem to come easy, was introduced to Kirk as Counselor Docos, a member of the Nadorian Planetary Council. The other, a woman who was not beautiful, but acted as though she were, was Counselor Hanor. Each had been introduced to Kirk as the head of one of the tribes from which the princes had descended, Hanor the Delorites and Docos the Abonians. Kirk had thought their roles largely ceremonial, though they played their allegiances to the hilt. Hanor's robe was the color of burnt oranges, while Docos wore royal blue, both colors that had been incorporated into the garb of Their Serene Highnesses for reasons, Kirk now knew, that held greater relevance than fashion. Kirk had thought himself expected to dance with Counselor Hanor, dutifully offered her his arm, but was rebuffed—not an experience he was used to.

“Perhaps later, Captain Kirk,” said Counselor Hanor, in a tone that said she'd be doing Kirk a favor. “Right now, there is a matter of much importance to be discussed.” She was not only not beautiful, noted Kirk, with an almost technical interest, but quite frankly ugly, her hatchet face giving the impression of having been hewn by that same instrument.

“Counselor Hanor is correct,” said Docos, his tone seeming to grudgingly admit this fact. Seeing them, Kirk noticed that each possessed certain features that seemed hereditary, and were blended pleasantly in the features of the royal twins. “Concerning certain citizens of your Federation residing on Nador.”
From his tone, you would think he was discussing internal parasites,
thought Kirk.

“It's the matter we touched on earlier, Captain,” said Roget. “I know we were scheduled to meet with the local Federation citizens tomorrow, concerning their fears that their rights are endangered, but a sizable contingent of them seemed to have gathered on the palace grounds—”

“‘A sizable contingent'?” said Counselor Hanor with a contemptuous snort. “They are a mob! They threaten the princes and the entire royal court.”

“I'm sure threatening anyone is the farthest thing from their minds,” said Kirk, gently. “Why were they permitted to gather on the palace grounds?”

“It is the custom of Their Royal Highnesses to tolerate dissent,” said Docos, in a tone that said he doubted Their Royal Highnesses' wisdom. “Such groups are often permitted on the outer perimeter of the grounds, though no farther, of course, should such a contingent get out of hand—”

“You seem preoccupied with the threat of violence, Counselor,” said Kirk, blandly.

“I'm sure it won't come to violence,” interjected Roget, his eyes darting from one counselor to the other, “but there is that possibility, Captain. I've often spoken to them, so often that any influence I might have had seems to no longer carry—”

“You'd like me to speak to them,” said Kirk with a nod.

“Something must be done,” said Docos, “if not by you, then by the palace guard. They will not take an incursion into the palace grounds lightly. On the other hand,” and he shrugged mildly, “it has been some time since they had any practice, so perhaps this would be a good time to—”

“I assure the counselor, such an incident would be looked upon with extreme distaste by the Federation Council,” said Roget quickly, his tone conveying the proper combination of thoroughgoing distaste and warning, yet somehow without seeming threatening. “Captain, would you—?”

“Of course,” said Kirk.

“I understand your starship carries many security troops,” said Docos, blandly. “Perhaps it would be wise to utilize a few.”

“We're trained as diplomats, too, Counselor Docos,” replied Kirk, as they strolled through the crowd, toward the palace gates. “I'll try the option of the carrot before we bring out the stick.”

The night air had grown cooler, yet it was not so cold as to be uncomfortable. The city lights had been ignited, bathing the graceful architecture in a lambent glow. From this distance, Kirk thought, as Counselor Docos and Commissioner Roget accompanied him, the gathered crowd seemed like normal citizens out for a fine night's walk. It was only when he drew closer that the sounds of angry muttering came to him, a low murmur that became louder as the mob recognized Roget.

“There are Nadorian separatists here, too,” Roget whispered to Kirk, urgently.

Kirk nodded, knowing from experience that the Nadorians were probably waiting—or hoping—for the Federation citizens to try something.

“Citizens of Nador and of the Federation,” said Commissioner Roget, from behind the gates, “I empathize with your cause and, as a man who in many ways is a citizen of both bodies, I assure you all that your cries will be heard.”

This noble speech resulted in only an increase in the mob's rowdiness. Kirk saw some elements in the crowd shove others, who, in keeping with mob psychology, shoved back.

“Very well,” said Roget, spreading an arm toward Kirk, “if you will no longer listen to me, perhaps you will heed the words of Captain James T. Kirk, of the Starship
Enterprise.”

This introduction brought at least a temporary respite in the roiling crowd. Kirk saw hundreds of pairs of eyes turned toward him, faces filled with pain, bewilderment, and need. He had seen such faces turned to him many times during his command, whether on the bridge during combat when it looked as though all was lost, or while under siege by Klingon warriors, outnumbered ten to one. Though his Starfleet psychological profile showed him to be emotionally quite stable—he could not otherwise have been promoted to the captaincy of a
Constitution
-class starship—he wondered, in situations like this, if he was stable enough to guide his people through one more crisis. And then he realized that that doubt was itself another indicator of his emotional stability; only a fool thinks himself incapable of failure.

“People of the Federation and of Nador,” Kirk said, as an overture. He used the old orator's trick, learned from Professor Gill at the Academy, of slightly lowering his voice to make the crowd strain to hear his words. “I am here to assure you that the Federation will ensure full protection for its citizens, while respecting the rights of the native Nadorians.” During the crowd's hush, he heard footsteps next to him; Spock and McCoy. He should have expected them to notice his departure.

“You say that now,” cried a husky voice from the crowd, “but you and the commissioner will soon leave, and
then
where will we be?”

“I promise you, we will not leave Federation citizens in danger,” said Kirk, emphatically. He paused; many of the crowd whom he judged to be Federation citizens had stopped and spoke intently to each other, occasionally gesturing at Kirk.

“Of course you can make that promise with assurance,” called another voice, in which Kirk detected a Nadorian timbre, “for you intend to make Nador another of the growing line of puppet monarchies that dangle from the Federation's strings!”

Kirk scanned the crowd to try to determine who had spoken. Instead, he noted, on the edge of the crowd, a woman whose movements were so graceful as to belie their furtiveness. She was swathed from head to toe in some kind of dark, flowing garment whose purpose, Kirk assumed, was to conceal her identity. In one sense, it failed, and miserably: once he'd seen it, he would have noticed that supple figure anywhere. He told himself it was the purposefulness of her movements, so rare in an assemblage whose opinions could sway like a reed in a windstorm, rather than the allure of her person that drew his attention, and he believed it, owing to what happened next.

For as Kirk's gaze followed the woman, it was caught by another figure that she passed in front of. A figure with an achingly familiar hairline, and a set to the jaw that Kirk had, over the course of his life, wanted to disjoint several times, or at least as often as any younger brother had wanted to thrash his elder.

Sam's features, but younger, softened a little. So like Sam, yet …