Gemini (7 page)

“Just a moment,” called Kirk. “I'm not—”

“Captain,” came Spock's voice from behind him. “I believe you will be interested in seeing this particular protester.”

Kirk pivoted to see a familiar face looking at him, smiling through a layer of dirt and rock dust with a sheepish, scapegrace grin he had seen many times in his life, both on the face of his brother Sam, and, if he were honest with himself, in a mirror.

“Peter!”

“Hi, Uncle Jim,” said Peter, his voice slightly subdued. He obviously knew the predicament he was in, and the fact that a great deal of explaining was required.

There was a moment of uncertainty between them. It had been months since they had seen each other, and he seemed to have grown a foot. What was the proper greeting for a self-conscious young man caught with the wrong crowd from his properly official uncle?

The hell with it, Kirk decided. He reached out, wrapped Peter in the biggest, strongest hug he could muster, and was delighted to feel it returned.

“What the devil were you doing with these people?” asked Kirk, pushing Peter to arm's length. Now that he was sure the boy was safe, he could lay into him. “I'm going to assume you don't believe in the violent overthrow of an established monarchy, but did it ever occur to you that you could have been killed?”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of Spock clearing his throat. “Captain, with your permission I will report our status to the ship.”

Kirk nodded. “And check with McCoy, find out how the princes are.”

“Understood,” Spock said, and moved away. Beyond him, Kirk saw the
Enterprise
security officers picking the captured protesters out of the rubble, working side by side with the palace guard. Llora was having a discussion with Chief Giotto that seemed perhaps more animated than it needed to be. She was pointing in Kirk's direction. Kirk could guess why, and produced his communicator.

“Kirk to
Enterprise.
Two to beam up, immediately.”

“Aye, sir,”
replied Scotty. Kirk heard only the opening syllables of Securitrix Llora's enraged shout before the entire scene dissolved around him.

“N
OW,” SAID
K
IRK
, seating himself in a chair in the cabin that had been assigned to Peter aboard the
Enterprise,
“we'll continue the interrogation we began planetside.”

“‘Interrogation'?” asked Peter. He looked much better now, showered, with a change of clothes, his injuries—all of them minor, thank heaven—attended to by Nurse Chapel, whose disapproving looks at Peter's condition almost overshadowed her happiness at seeing him again.

Kirk had told Uhura and Scotty that he was incommunicado, to anyone south of the Federation president, “and particularly to a high-handed Nadorian security officer calling herself Llora. Refer her to Commissioner Roget. Blame sunspots, blame emissions from the central coil, blame the Great Bird of the Galaxy, just make it stick.”

Nodding at his nephew, Kirk repeated, “Interrogation. You're my prisoner, mister, and if I don't like the answers to your questions, you'll find yourself in the brig—”

“That's not such a threat,” said Peter, with a smile.

“—or back on Nador in the capable hands of Securitrix Llora. And I assure you, her methods of questioning will be a great deal more uncomfortable than mine. Is that understood?”

Peter gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Kirk suppressed a smile of his own. With the fear of God properly installed, they could proceed.

“To continue,” said Kirk, “what were you doing there?”

“I was spying,” said Peter. This frankness had the desired effect; Kirk was silent for a moment. “On the dissidents,” continued Peter, a moment before Kirk would have asked him to continue. He'd give his nephew that, he was good at brinkmanship.

“Why did you feel there was reason to spy on them?”

Peter shrugged uneasily. “I felt something was wrong. Too many of the Federation citizens with resident alien status on Nador were stirred up too easily, encouraged to violence too quickly. Uncle Jim, I think there's someone working them up behind the scenes.”

“An agitator?”

Peter nodded. “Not that the Federationists don't have valid complaints. Lots of the Nadorians resent our presence, treat us as second-class citizens. The rumor is that when the planetary government is handed back to Nador, we'll be subject to a whole bunch of unfair ‘alien' taxes and discriminatory laws, even if Nador becomes a member of the Federation. Not that rumors make violence acceptable,” he added, after a pause.

“Of course not. But didn't any of the Federation citizens suspect you?”

“No.” Peter shook his head, baffled. “Why should they?”

“Your name,” said Kirk, impatiently. “You're my nephew.”

“There are lots of Kirks in the Federation, Uncle Jim,” said Peter. “You understand that, right?”

“Of course,” said Kirk, quickly.

“And I hadn't told anyone we're related,” continued Peter. “I wanted to fit in on my own. Good thing, too. I hoped to have a lot more information on whoever's stirring up the protesters to give you by this time. But everybody's playing it pretty close to their vests.” He shook his head ruefully. “This undercover stuff is hard.”

That time, Kirk did grin, but smothered it before Peter could see. “At least you found some way to make use of your free time,” he said, dryly.

“Don't get me wrong,” Peter said quickly, “Commissioner Roget had no idea what I was doing. Anything I did, I'm totally responsible for, no one else.”

“Oh, I assumed that,” said Kirk, rising. Still, the boy's sentiments did him credit.

The entry tone at the door sounded. “Come,” said Kirk and Peter at the same time. They exchanged a glance, and smiled.

Spock and McCoy entered, Peter shaking hands with the physician happily, after McCoy gravely inspected Chapel's work.

“Status?” asked Kirk.

“Damage, some of it irreparable, to the ancient statuary of the palace,” began Spock. Kirk watched McCoy out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to take the bait.

“‘The statuary'? Spock, what about—?”

“And only minor injuries sustained by the palace guests and staff. None of the rioters were severely injured,” said Spock, as if McCoy had not spoken. “The rioters have been detained for questioning. Securitrix Llora is quite displeased with what she called your ‘high-handedness' at removing one of the rioters before her eyes.”

“Let the commissioner smooth things over,” said Kirk with a shrug. “Spock, Peter seems to think there's a party deliberately agitating these riots. Did you get any impression that any of the rioters knew who was behind it?”

Spock shook his head. “No, Captain, once their rampage had been halted, they seemed bereft of direction and purpose. This would tally with the supposition that they were being used.”

“If they had been able to injure the princes or any of the dignitaries present, it would have played hell with the negotiations,” said McCoy.

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Kirk. He rose and headed for the doorway, pivoting there to wag an index finger at Peter. “You're to consider yourself under house arrest, young man. You're not to leave the ship without my permission, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Peter, contritely.

“Can you beat that?” said Kirk, to Spock and McCoy, as they headed for the turbolift. “He was spying on the rioters.”

“Quite a chip off the old block,” said McCoy.

“He is that,” agreed Kirk. “His father would have been proud of him.”

“Gentlemen,” said Spock, in a tone of mild astonishment, “am I to understand that you tolerate this type of conduct? Had the boy been caught or injured, or worse, the negotiations with the Nadorians could have been severely set back.”

“Of course, Spock,” said Kirk. “But he showed initiative and creativity.”

“And gumption,” added McCoy, chin lifted in Spock's direction. “File it under ‘illogical comma very,' Mr. Spock.”

“That file is quite sizable, Doctor, but I believe I have room for yet another entry.”

“Spock,” asked Kirk, “why were we caught unaware by the princes' conjoined state? I gave our file a quick scan and there's no mention of it.”

“I was almost taken by surprise myself,” said Spock, ignoring, if he even saw, McCoy's dry glance at Kirk, “and discussed this matter with Regent Lonal. It seems that the princes, and the Nadorian people, are quite concerned with being perceived by the rest of the Federation as a ‘normal' people, and did not wish us to prejudge them on the basis of the princes' conjoined status.” Spock looked at McCoy, who had snorted loudly. “I quite agree, Doctor, that the term ‘normal' means little, given the physical variegations of sentient beings present in the galaxy's inhabited planets, but such logic often holds little sway where emotion is concerned—as you should well be aware from personal experience. Even among their own people, the princes restrict their public appearances; most of the Federation citizens were unaware of the princes' unique nature.”

“And tonight's banquet was deemed to be their ‘coming-out party'?” asked Kirk. “The place where we got a good look at them? I hoped they'd hold a better opinion of us than that.”

“Well, the first date's over,” said McCoy. “If they're going to join the Federation, it's going to have to be ‘warts and all.'”

“Bucolically stated, but at its essence, correct,” said Spock.

* * *

“Jim, a word?” asked McCoy as the turbolift doors opened.

Kirk glanced at Spock. “I'll be right up.” Spock nodded as he gripped the lift handle, and was gone.

“What's the trouble, Bones? I've got a lot of diplomacy to practice.”

“What was that business about using only experienced security hands for riot control—‘no rookies'?”

“Do I have to explain my command decisions to you?” asked Kirk.

“Don't answer a question with a question!” said McCoy, biting off the words angrily. “If more security troops had beamed down, the riot might have been contained with no injuries whatsoever.”

“Except on the part of the security staff, had that ever occurred to you?”

“Of course it did, Jim. But it's part of their job.”

“Perhaps they should have a chance to live a little first,” replied Kirk. There was an odd tone to his voice, one McCoy couldn't identify. “Anything else, Doctor?” asked Kirk, as the turbolift returned for him, clearly not caring if there was anything else or not.

And before McCoy could reply, Kirk was gone.

McCoy returned to sickbay, feeling every bit as baffled by Kirk's actions as Spock could have been.

* * *

“I trust you weren't injured by any of the rioters' activities, Mrs. Roget?” asked Kirk solicitously. “I'm sorry I had to leave so abruptly, but—”

“Captain, please, I'm married to a diplomat,” Janine Roget said with a laugh. “There's no need to apologize for doing your duty! Remind me to tell you about the time we escaped Rigel VI with nothing on our backs but our bedclothes.”

Kirk smiled. “I look forward to hearing it.”

“In the meantime, Captain,” said Sylvan Roget, smiling fondly at his wife as he took her place on the viewscreen, “the decision of the Nadorians on whether or not to join the Federation is only four days away, and the handover ceremony only six. We have some rather major repairs to make in Federation-Nadorian relations.”

“I know. Are Their Royal Highnesses quite perturbed?”

“To my surprise, they are not,” said Roget. “While they realize the gravity of the situation, they also seem to have enjoyed it, in an anarchic kind of way.”

“I don't suppose they've had much in the way of action in their lives,” said Kirk.

“Nonetheless, the rest of their court is still quite angry over the participation of Federation citizens in the disturbance. Some sort of conciliatory gesture is in order, Captain. No one holds the Federation responsible for the riots, but—”

“I should hope not,” said Kirk. “There were plenty of Nadorians citizens involved, too.”

“Yes, but it does behoove us to take some action to show them that we do regret the damage it has done to the cause of diplomacy.”

“Can't an apology be issued through normal diplomatic channels?”

“I've instituted just such an apology,” said Roget, “but whether it will even reach the princes by the time the handover is to be determined is anyone's guess. They're quite insulated from day-to-day life, Captain.”

“I'm sure.” Kirk thought for a moment. Then, as he became aware of the faint but pervasive sounds always present on the bridge—the hum and beep of consoles, the click of switches, the drone of commands given and acknowledged, the multitude of sounds that he had learned to screen out, yet that had become so familiar—it suddenly became clear to him.

“Commissioner,” he said, calmly, “at the banquet, Princes Abon and Delor seemed quite interested in the day-to-day operations of the
Enterprise.”

“I'm sure they are, Captain. After all, their lives have been quite cloistered, not only due to their social status but to their physical condition. They've been denied many of the normal emotional outlets most young men have. In many ways they're still boys.”

“Just as I thought,” nodded Kirk. “I have an idea … ”

* * *

“You're going to invite the entire royal entourage aboard the
Enterprise,
Jim?”

“Why not, Bones?” Kirk poured himself a second finger of brandy, inclined the bottle toward McCoy and Spock, both of whom declined the refill, then set it down on the desk next to his bed. “Their Royal Highnesses seem very interested in the workings of the ship, isn't that right, Spock?”