Gemini (6 page)

…
Peter.

“Your planet is free to choose its own destiny,” replied Kirk, shouting now over the renewed roar of the crowd. He tried to keep track of Peter, but he was soon as lost as a stone thrown into a stormy sea. “Our presence here as guests, not as conquerors, should be proof of—”

“Captain, look out!” called Spock, suddenly. The Vulcan was at Kirk's side in a moment, pushing him roughly. Kirk heard something fly by his head, nearly missing him, something heavy enough to have done considerable damage, had it struck.

“Counselor Docos, Commissioner Roget,” said Kirk, urgently, “please withdraw to the palace immediately.”

“People of Nador,” said Docos, instead moving forward, “I ask you to end this chaos! Do not act like those outlanders who—” An instant later, Docos stopped speaking. A projectile of some sort had struck him in the head; he dropped to the ground, flailing awkwardly, blood spurting like a fountain from the side of his head.

“Bones!” called Kirk. But McCoy had already started forward and was at Docos's side almost in time to catch him. The whirring of McCoy's medical tricorder went unheard over the renewed cries of the mob, hundreds of different voices keening heavenward in one cry of chaos.

“Captain, I suggest withdrawal,” said Spock.

Kirk silently agreed. The mob was by now slamming itself against the palace gates, some of its members willingly assaulting the threshold, others pushed forward by others behind them. Those forced against their will, of course, turned and returned the gesture.

Not far ahead McCoy was half-carrying Docos back to the palace. Kirk joined them while Spock saw to Roget. “Counselor Docos,” said Kirk, into the ear of the Nadorian that wasn't bleeding, “you had better close the palace immediately, before—”

Too late. With a screech like a banshee's, the palace gates caved inward.

The mob boiled onto the palace grounds.

K
IRK HAD BY NO MEANS
forgotten his nephew, but he had a job to do. He glanced around to see Spock and McCoy spreading the word to palace officials and the partygoers. Just behind them, Commissioner Roget was bearing the bulk of Counselor Docos to safety. That was good of him; few would have blamed him had he simply run to his quarters and locked the door.

Kirk turned and saw that the mob was not far behind him. In fact, it seemed to be gaining, as if its collective rage gave it extra speed. Kirk whipped out his communicator with one hand, his phaser with the other. “Kirk to
Enterprise.
Emergency.”

“Scott here, Captain. Shall I beam you up?”

“Negative,” said Kirk. He turned a corner and stopped. “Beam down a contingent from security immediately, these coordinates—but tell them phasers on stun, only.”

“Aye, sir!”

“And Scotty—experienced hands only. No rookies. Understood?”

“Aye, Captain,”
he replied, his tone betraying his uncertainty.

“Jim, what are you doing?” asked McCoy, now at his side. “We need all the help we can get!”

“We'll be fine, Doctor,” said Kirk, in a tone McCoy appeared to find anything but convincing. “Where's Spock?”

“Here, Captain,” said the science officer, approaching them. Heard over everything was the low mutter of the mob, growing in intensity as it neared them.

“Commissioner Roget?”

“Inside the palace, with Counselor Docos.” Spock drew his phaser. “Phasers on stun, I presume?”

“Correct,” said Kirk, grimly. The roar of the mob grew louder. It was like hearing the approach of a tidal wave.

“Isn't there any palace security?” asked McCoy, as he drew his own weapon.

“My very question to the commissioner,” said Spock, adjusting his phaser as if McCoy has asked about the weather. “The palace indeed possesses a system to repel intruders, but such defenses are primarily concentrated on the perimeter. Once the protesters were let into the palace grounds, they would be unaffected by such measures.”

“Shows the downside of a tolerant monarchy,” said Kirk. He had to nearly shout to make himself heard as he whipped out his communicator. “Scotty, where are those—?”

Even over the keening drone of the mob the hum of the transporter made itself heard. Right then, it was the sweetest sound Kirk had ever heard. Security Chief Giotto materialized with phaser drawn, and five men. He looked around, immediately understanding the situation.

“We'll take our stand here, Chief,” said Kirk. “Stun only. Many of them are Federation citizens.”

Giotto replied, “Yes, sir.” Giotto's handsome looks belied his skills as a security officer, but Kirk had seen him handle two men half again his own size without breaking a sweat. Kirk wouldn't have blamed him if he sweated this time, though. His men took their places around him, phasers drawn.

“Peter's with them,” said Kirk urgently to Spock and McCoy. “If you see him, let me—”

“Here they come!” shouted Giotto.

“Fire!” said Kirk.

Around the corner of the palace hall they flooded, a human tide. As individuals they were loving husbands, sons, mothers, daughters, unique in their own right, each with something to contribute to society, given the chance. But they had forsaken their individuality when they joined the mob, and though Kirk hoped none of them would be severely hurt, he could make no promises.

Over the thunder of footfalls and shouts, phasers shrilled. A number of the mob went down, but not enough. Some of them in the forefront were nearly trampled by those behind them.

Kirk and his people continued to fire. They slowed the pack down somewhat, but didn't stop them. Rather than assaulting them directly, the crowd flowed around the
Enterprise
personnel, like a flood circumnavigating a crumbling breakwater.

But it did slow, and though many of the mob made it past them, many of them crumpled to the floor like empty suits of armor.

Kirk scanned the crowd as best he could, but he saw no sign of Peter. He did, however, catch a glimpse of the mysterious woman he had spied before, at the edge of the crowd. At this range he could tell that her eyes were nearly as dark as her garb. They flitted across him once, as if taking his measure, seeing there was nothing there to concern her, then moving on.

“Take over, Spock,” shouted Kirk as he charged off, ignoring McCoy's shout of “Jim!?” behind him. Though unable to explain it—Spock and McCoy could hash it out later, and more power to them—he felt he had to head this woman off before something disastrous happened.

Kirk virtually dove sideways into the mob. One or two of them charged him, and were phasered. After that the others seemed to think better of interfering with him. Kirk headed for the far wall, which had a tapestry depicting some ancient event in Nadorian history. It seemed to be the coronation of one of Their Serene Highnesses' ancestors. He thought he had seen it move as the mob rushed by, pulling it to one side. He quickly realized why: there was an archway behind it.

A couple of the crowd tried to follow Kirk. He caught a glimpse of their eyes: there was nothing there, no curiosity, not even hatred, just sheer animal instinct and the will to smash. Kirk gave one of them a martial-arts chop and shoved his fist wrist-deep into the other's ample stomach.
Not as elegant as Spock's Vulcan nerve pinch,
he though wryly,
but it gets the job done.
Taking a few steps past the archway, he turned and played his phaser, now set far higher than stun, on the archway. The resulting shower of wreckage would make sure no one followed him; he could make a formal apology to the Nadorian government later. He made his way up the stairs, two at a time, through a cloud of rock dust.

As he thought, the stairway emptied onto a balcony he had noted earlier, overlooking the main banquet hall. The main floor's passage to the banquet hall had been very leisurely designed, with the intent of showing off the various palace treasures and artifacts placed there. But the stairway Kirk had just taken was, as he had hoped, a good deal more direct. Below he could see the diners vacating the hall at the bidding of palace security guards, in a none too orderly fashion. He noticed Yeoman Barrows standing over the princes, who had lost their balance in the furor; Their Serene Highnesses lay on the floor, limbs flailing like a scuttled crab.

Earlier in the evening, Kirk had admired their grace and poise and the resolve with which they had coped with their situation. Now, watching them jerk spasmodically as they tried to right themselves, he felt only pity, the last emotion the princes would wish bestowed upon them.

Through the archway leading to the banquet hall Kirk heard the rumble of footsteps closing the gap. He ran to the thick draperies on one side of the balcony, leaped, and began to climb down.

While clambering down, Kirk noted a figure entering the hall: the unknown woman he had noticed earlier. She dashed so swiftly that she seemed to be gliding over the floor, her feet unseen beneath her gown. Barrows, still grappling with the princes, gave no sign of seeing her.

“Barrows!” shouted Kirk, still a few feet from the floor. “Behind you!”

Barrows pivoted with admirable speed, phaser at the ready. Her quarry, however, had spun, drawing a hand weapon of a design Kirk didn't recognize, pointed directly at Kirk.

She fired, a second after making a minute adjustment in her aim. A controlled force beam, violet in hue, severed the drape Kirk was climbing down, bringing him to the floor much more quickly than he had expected. However, the remainder of the drapery he had yet to climb bunched under him, breaking his fall.

Caught briefly in the drapes, Kirk could do nothing to prevent the woman pushing Barrows away, roughly, and running for the princes herself. Kirk drew his own phaser, took aim—

—and halted. The mysterious woman had deftly, yet somehow respectfully, yanked Their Serene Highnesses into a standing position and began guiding them toward the far exit. Once on their feet again, their normal sense of balance reasserted itself. Delor took the lead, while Abon faced the rear, their short strides keeping their feet from becoming entangled, yet making good time.

“Who are you?” asked Kirk, as he neared the woman and Barrows.

“No time,” she said, in a low, throaty tone. She brought out her weapon again, this time swinging it past Kirk and aiming it at the apex of the archway leading to the banquet hall. She fired, releasing another burst of violet energy. “Help me!” she commanded.

Kirk caught on soon enough. He nodded at Barrows's inquisitive gaze, and she and Kirk brought their phasers up, blending their force with that of their new ally.

The stone of the archway first quivered a bit, releasing trailing wisps of stone dust, then collapsed, just as the approaching mob surged around the corner. They halted as tons of stone crashed before them then, after a moment of panic, like that of a trapped animal, began to retrace their steps.

Too late. Over the top of the mound of rock, Kirk saw that the security contingent from the
Enterprise
had caught up with them, firing phasers at will, spraying them with stunning force. With nowhere to go, the crowd tried to turn upon its attackers, but it had no real chance of success.

Spock climbed over the pile of wreckage and bodies, dispelling trails of stone dust with his free hand. “Are the princes well, Captain?”

“Safe and sound.”

“And you?”

“Somewhat the worse for wear,” said Kirk, gingerly touching the spot where he had made contact with the floor of the banquet hall, “but under the circumstances, fine.” Spock nodded and turned to help the security officers drag the unconscious rioters away, lest they smother one another.

“Give them a hand, Barrows,” said Kirk.

Barrows's eyes jerked briefly toward the strange woman, then back to Kirk's. “Aye, sir,” she said, holstering her phaser.

“McCoy,” called Kirk, “check the princes, make sure they're all right.” McCoy detached himself from the rest of the
Enterprise
personnel, climbed over the barrier of rubble, and made his way past Kirk.

Kirk turned to the woman, who had not yet put away her weapon. He still held his, not wishing to give her the upper hand. “Who are you? What was the idea of shooting me down like that?”

“Had I not,” she replied, dryly, “you would not yet have attained the floor. I needed you down here. You climb like a girl.” If that remark referred to this girl, Kirk realized, it would have been a compliment; from the agility he had seen her display, he was certain she could climb like a monkey.

“And my first question?” Kirk demanded.

She finally stowed her force-beam weapon in the depths of her garb and lifted her hands to her head, pulling back her hood and unwrapping the cloth that covered the bottom two-thirds of her face. “I am Llora,” she said, “Chief Securitrix for Their Royal Highnesses.”

“You have an odd way of attending to their security,” said Kirk, tucking his phaser away.

“We have a saying on Nador,” replied Llora. Freed of the scarf that had swathed her face, her voice was low and musical, with an accent Kirk had heard, in differing strengths and modulations, in other voices that evening. “‘Better to crush approaching parasites with your feet than to pick them off your person with your hands.' I was infiltrating the mob, to try to learn their intent.”

“Oh? Did you get any idea who's behind this unrest?”

Llora shrugged, her muscles rippling beautifully under her gown. “I'm not yet convinced there is any one person or will behind it. Nadorians are historically a dissatisfied people, and it takes little to exploit this.”

“That must make your job rough,” said Kirk, smiling slightly.

“It is of little consequence how difficult my task is,” replied Llora, stiffly. “It is my job.” She turned and stalked away.