
CAN SHIPS, as well as men, be said to limp?
James Kirk looked around the bridge of the USS
Enterprise. A less-trained eye would have seen only
an experienced group of men and women going about
their various duties, competently overseeing the mul-titude of hardware and software systems that made
Enterprise more than a mere shell of metals and plas-tics. But Captain James T. Kirk saw much more.
He saw weariness in the slumped shoulders of his
communications officer. He noted the signs of short
temper in the abrupt movements and tight-lipped responses of the helmsman.
If a ship can be said to be limp, thought Kirk, then
this one's limping.
The mission just completed had been more than
even a vessel of Enterprise's caliber should be asked
to endure. Only the figure bent over the Science Officer's station in disciplined absorption showed no outward signs of fatigue. But then, Spock almost never
did. And yet he was called upon to give more than any
of the rest of us, at that outpost colony. Kirk shook
his head slightly in amazement and admiration.
Mistakes would not be made by this crew, Kirk
knew, in spite of their exhaustion, but he was not the
type of commander to drive his people unreasonably.
Thank God we're only hours away from Starbase
Seventeen, he thought. They can have all the rest and
recreation they need there.
I wonder what's waiting for me there. New orders,
of course. The ship would be repaired and resuppiied,
the crew given its chance to rest up, and then both
would be called upon yet again to do the Federation's
work. Sensitive work, Kirk supposed. Work requiring
the best, requiring men and women of competence and
subtlety, and a commander who had proven his ability
to cope with complex and dangerous situations often
enough.
It wore on him, this work. Every year, it wore on
him more, and yet he could not imagine doing anything
else with his life. For a time, of course, he had had to
do something else a desk job. But James Kirk was not
a man who belonged behind a desk. He was a ship's
commander whose place was on the bridge of his
beloved ship.
But there must be a limit somewhere, sometime.
That was his abiding fear. Would someone, somewhere in the Starfleet hierarchy, eventually decide that
Kirk was too old for active command, that a desk job
was all that he was really suited for now--an aging
officer who couldn't even read any more without wearing archaic glasses? Horatio Nelson or John Paul
Jones, those two great admirals which would his own
career be likened to? Would he die in glory, at the
height of his career, during his moment of greatest
triumph, like Nelson, or on land, forced into retirement by intrique and the changing winds of politics,
like Jones? A lifetime from now, when perhaps a very
different ship bore the gallant old name Enterprise,
how would history regard James T. Kirk?
Ridiculous, he told himself, suddenly impatient with
his own meanderings. Stop thinking like an old man
with one foot in the gravel "Mr. Sulu," he said aloud,
"estimated time to arrival?"
Sulu grinned. "Fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes
to Starbase Seventeen R and R, Captain." Kirk could
sense his crew perking up at that announcement--
which was of course why he'd asked Sulu to make it.
It was consideration in such small things, Kirk knew,
as much as competence in the big ones that gained a
commander his crew's loyalty.
"Captain," Uhura said from the Communications
console, "I'm picking up something." She frowned
and put her hand to her ear as if holding the communication earpiece would help her pick up the faint
signal. "Klingon emergency signal, sir. Heavy interference."
Ginny Crandall, at the Weapons and Defense station, spoke up from Kirk's right. "I have them, sir.
Only a couple of million kilometers away."
What're they doing in Federation space? "Let us all
hear what they have to say, Uhura. Translated."
"Yes, sir."
From the speakers above the bridge crew came a
howl of subspace interference and then a heavy crack-ling. A voice was speaking behind the noise, but it was
drowned out. And then suddenly the interference
ceased and the voice barked out at them, heavy and
menacing a Klingon voice, its words translated to
English by the Enterprise computer but the voice left
unchanged.
"... Klanth, commanding. Failure of vessel structure accelerating. Destruction of Mauler imminent.
Crew conduct exemplary. Request commendations be
sent to clans of all. I personally commend all of us to
the gods. Survive and succeed!"
The last words were washed ont as the interference
returned with a roar. Uhura reduced the volume to a
background growling. "I can't get it any clearer, sir."
Kirk nodded, "Spock?"
The Vulcan's face was hidden in the hood of the
Science station console. "It appears to be a magnetic-ionic storm of some sort, Captain, and the Klingon
ship is in the middle of it. It does bear some resemblance to the storm Enterprise encountered in this
region some time ago. I'm sure you remember that
one, sir."
Kirk grimaced. How could he forget? For hours, he
had been trapped in an alternate dimension, victim of
a bizarre breakdown in spacetime, the air in his space
suit running out, desperately trying to signal his crew
during those precious seconds when he found himself
halfway returned to his own dimension. In the end,
Spock had been able to predict the time and place of
the next intersection of the two planes of existence
and had retrieved Kirk with no time at all to spare.
Another Starfleet vessel, Defiant, had been destroyed
by the storm.
It had all happened in a region of space claimed by
the Tholians, a prickly and uncommunicative people
who rejected membership in the Federation even
though they were by now surrounded by it. Federation
ships had been careful to avoid Tholian space ever
since Enterprise's experience. 'Mr. Spock, could the
Tholians be responsible for what's happening to the
Klingon ship?"
"Perhaps, Captain. We know little of Tholian capabilities beyond their ability to generate the web in
space with which they trapped Enterprise. However,
since they can generate such a web, this storm would
seem to represent a prodigious expenditure of energy
to achieve an object they could encompass far more
cheaply."
"In other words, no?"
"Probably not, sir. And of course we do know that
strange natural phenomena occur in this region." After a pause, Spock added, "The Klingon ship does
indeed appear to be breaking up. The structure of the
vessel is disintegrating."
That answered the question no one had bothered to
voice Was the Kiingon message genuine or a ruse? As
if to add confirmation that it was genuine, Crandall
said, "Sir their shields are failing rapidly. I think..."
She fell silent and concentrated on the readings displayed before her. "Yes, their life-support as well."
"Helm, take us in. As close as is safe. Mr. Spock
will warn you when we've reached that limit. Shields
up. Yellow alert." Kirk could feel the adrenalin level
rising, the blood racing in his veins. He could sense
his crew responding throughout the shily--responding
to his voice, his judgment. As the klaxons rang, Kirk
thumbed a toggle switch on the arm of the command
seat. "Transporter room. Get the coordinates of that
Klingon ship and try to lock on as soon as you can."
"Do you plan a rescue, Captain?" Spock asked.
"Regulations do not require that we respond in a
situation such as this one."
"This isn't just humanitarianism, Spock. I want to
know what they're doing inside our territory. Visual
of Mauler on screen."
On the great viewscreen at the front of the bridge,
an image of the storm grew, with the Klingon ship
trapped within it, struggling ineffectually like a fly in a
spideffs web. The storm was a rough sphere of shifting
colors and brightnesses. Parts of it vanished momen-tarily and then flared out in painful brilliance. Mauler
was almost totally obscured, but now and then it
showed clearly for just an instant. The bridge crew on
Enterprise could see the Klingon ship wavering, its
predatory "wings" beginning to crumble.
The Kilngun ship was surrounded by sparkling lights
where the storm impinged on its deflector shields, but
that sparkling was diminishing even as they watched
it. Mauler's shields were failing under the storm's
assault.
"Less than ten minutes maximum survival time,
Captain," Spock said calmly. "Transporter room?"
The response came from the speaker in the arm of
his chair. "Sorry, sir. We can't punch through the
interference. We can't lock onto individual patterns in
that soup. We'd have to have feedback from their
transporter on the olher end, and even then it would
be chancy."
Kirk thought lbr a moment. "Uhura, open a hailing
channel." He paused and then spoke in what he hoped
was a calm and authoritative voice. "Mauler, this is
the USS Enterprise, Captain James Kirk commanding.
We are standing by and are prepared to beam you
aboard our vessel. Please lock in your transporter to
OURS. ' '
For a long moment, there was no reply. Then the
voice they had heard before said angrily, 'Mauter,
Klanth commanding. Leave us, Kirk! Leave us to die
bravely, like Kilnguns."
"Bravely or not, Captain," Kirk said soothingly,
"you will die without our help. Wouldn't it be better
to survive to serve your emperor again?"
"Not with human help!" The heavy Klingon voice
was replaced with the rushing sound of subspace
static.
"Uhura?"
She shook her head. "Sorry, sir. They're no longer
transmitting."
Kirk clenched his fist in frustration. He had to
retrieve at least one crewman from that ship! Whatever
the Kilnguns' mission, it was something Starfleet
would want to know about. "Spock, could one of the
shuttles make it?"
"Negative, Captain. The shuttles have far less defense against this storm than the Klingon ship has."
Kirk had known the answer in advance. He had
simply hoped that Spock could pull a rabbit out of his
hat, as he had done in the past. He found the image an
amusing one despite the present situation.
But Spock did not disappoint him. "However, you
will remember that we have on board some of Starfleet's new transponders, designed for maintaining
subspace radio contact through the severest phenomena Starfleet scientists could anticipate. Perhaps such
a transponder could be used to maintain contact
through the storm as well."
"Yes, but what good would that do us'?"
"The transporter cannot lock onto a Klingon pattern through the storm, Captain, but it could certainly
beam one of the transponders from Enterprise to the
Kilngun ship. Then a Klingon holding the transponders could be beamed back to Enterprise."
Kirk laughed. "If any of the Kilnguns would coop-erate to that extent. And if they were willing to coop-erate, we wouldn't need the transponder in the first
place." Something occurred to him. "Spock, what if
one man were holding the transponder and another
man were touching him. Could they both be beamed
back?"
Spock was silent for a moment, then said, "I would
say yes, with a probability of point nine nine three.
But that's just a preliminary esti--"
"Never mind, Spock. That's only seven chances of
failure out of a thousand. Not bad at all. Get one of
those transponders to the transporter room immediately. Security, send a squad to the transporter room.
I'll meet them there." Kirk jumped to his feet. "Mr.
Spock, you have the con." He strode toward the turbo
elevator, feeling younger with every step.
Kirk nodded to the transporter operator and braced
himself. The Enterprise transporter room and the Security squad standing on the transporter platform with
him all faded from Kirk's sight. The Security team
faded back in again, but the background was no longer
the transporter room aboard Enterprise.
In its place was the gloomy, cramped bridge of a
Klingon warship, underlit and hot by human standards, and filled with shotits and yells and the groaning
of tortured metal. Kirk and the Security team were
grouped immediately behind the command seat. The
seat held a broad-shouldered, powerful figure Klanth.
Crowded as the arrival of the Federation intruders
made the bridge, the Kiingons were too preoccupied
with trying to save their dying ship to realize immediately who the newcomers were. A Klingon, his eyes
on the display of a small computer in his hand, pushed
one of Kirk's men aside impatiently as he strode past.
The group from Enterprise split in two and moved
to either side of the Klingon captain's command seat.
But just then one of the Klingons in front of Klanth
happened to look up and right at Kirk. He frowned in
puzzlement, and then registered what he had seen. He
yelled a warning and pointed, and Klanth spun around.
He saw Kirk and leaped to his feet.
Moving smoothly and simultaneously, the Enterprise Security squad surrounded K!anth, gripping his
arms and immobilizing him. They also held onto each
other and Kirk, forming an unbroken chain, a circle
facing outward, impregnable, with Klanth in the middle. Kirk flipped open his communicator, which was
slaved to the transponder hanging from his belt, and
spoke to his ship. "Transporter room! Mass beam-in.
Now !"
On the bridge of Enterprise, where Spock sat in the
command seat, the message cut through the noise of
the storm and filled the air. The forward screen showed
the Klingon warship wavering in the grip of the storm.
Spock waited for the message from the transporter
room that Kirk, his Security team, and the Klingon
captain had all been successfully brought in.
What seemed like a vast stretch of time passed, even
though Spock knew that it was less than five seconds.
If anything had gone wrong, the technicians in the
transporter room would be working frantically to remedy it, and his proper course of action was to leave
them alone and not interfere and delay them. Yet part
of him longed to contact the transporter room and
urge haste, or to go there himself, even though it would
all be over--Kirk returned successfully or overpowered on Mauler and a prisoner of the Klingons--long
before he could get there. And so Spock sat in the
captain's seat, face and body outwardly relaxed, but
his two halves at war behind the calm facade. And then Mauler disappeared.
Behind Spock, someone screamed, a short sound,
choked off in the middle. Spock identified the voice as
Uhura's. He turned, saw her slumped across her console, and toggled a switch on his chair. "Sickbay to
the bridge---urgent," Spock said. "Science station?"
"N-nothing on sensors, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Hilg. A prompt response." Dis-passionately efficient as always, Spock registered the
young Ktorran's attention to duty. It was Hilg's first
posting--and an initiation by fire.
A signal light blinked on the arm of Spock's chair.
He flipped another switch. "Spock here."
The small, tinny voice cried out, "Mr. Spock, this
is the transporter room. We've lost the transponder
signal! We can't lock onto the Captain or the others
again."
"That is because they are no longer there," Spock
said quietly.
"The storm, Mr. Spock!" It was Ginny Crandall, at
the Defense station.
Spock came back to sudden alertness. In the primary screen, the storm was ballooning outward, filling
the view. Like a living thing, Spock thought. "Full
power to shields, Mr. Crandall."
"Sir," Hilg said, "it's heading right for us."
"Helm," Spock snapped. "Reverse, maximum
warp."
But he had been a moment too late. Even before de
Broek, the helmsman, could react, the storm engulfed
Enterprise.
The starfield on the forward viewscreen was gone,
replaced by a swirl of glaring colors. The bridge lights
dimmed. Everything was bathed in the shifting colors
of the storm on the viewscreen. Heavy vibrations
boomed through the fabric of the ship. Spock found
his entire body shaking, his teeth rattling together; he
clenched his jaws and gripped the arms of his chair.
Through gritted teeth, he said, "Communications--
alert Starbase Seventeen of our position and situation."
"Shields failing, sir? Crandall said. "Can't bring
them back !"
"Helm, reverse, maximum warp," Spock repeated.
"Nothing, sir," de Broek said. "She's not answering."
Suddenly, "down" began to change meaning. Artificial gravity was being disrupted. Crewmembers fell
sideways out of their seats. Spock gripped his chair
arms all the tighter. Then he freed one hand enough to
flip a toggle switch. "Engineering!"
"Engineering, sir!" It was a voice Spock didn't
recognize. 'Gaiaym here." "Where is Mr. Scott?"
"Injured, sir. We're all being thrown"--the sound
of a crash--"down here. All the systems are being
overloaded by something. We're losing--" The voice
disappeared.
"Mr. Galaym," Spock said. 'Mr. Galaym!" He
toggled the switch a few times, but he knew he'd get
no reply.
The lights were fading still further. Somcone said,
'Life-support failing, sir." Spock didn't bother trying
to place the voice, and he ignored the cries of pain
from all around him from the other people around
him. He was listcning with all of his senses, listening
to the ship, to the booming vibrations and the creaks
and groans coming from the vessel's fabric. He was
listening the way he knew James Kirk would have
done. Enterprise, James Kirk's ship, was dying.
Suddenly all was as it had been. The storm had
vanished; the forward viewscreen showed a calm and
empty starfield.
For a moment, Spock listened to the abrupt silence,
the absence of ominous sounds from the body of the
ship. And then there was a flood of voices coming
from the rest of the ship, telling of damage or calling
for help. Spock leaned forward and stared into the
forward screen. But it didn't matter how intently he
stared the storm had disappeared, and so had Mauler;
and with the Klingon ship, so had James Kirk.
AN EERIE GREEN-BLUE GLOW played around the ap-paratus.
"Nope," Elliot said. "Sorry. Same thing again.
Energy leakage. We're just wasting energy. If we can
see it, it's no good." He reached for the power switch.
"But, sir!" An agonized cry came from the young
woman standing on the other side of the experiment.
"I think I'm really close to it! Give me a few more
hours, sir. A few more minutes. Please!"
Elliot hesitated, his hand hovering over the switch.
Finally, however, he made his decision. "I'm sorry,
Brashoff. It was a good idea. Still is, in fact. But you'll
need to do a lot more theoretical work on it." He
flipped the switch and the glow of escaping energy
died away. A faint whine dropped into the audible
range--audible to Brashoff; Elliot had been able to
hear it all along--and continued to drop in pitch,
fading into silence as it did so.
"Great," Brashoff said. "If you don't authorize me
to continue modifying the equipment, I'll be trans-ferred, and then I won't have any opportunity even to
work on the theory."
Elliot's face stiffened. "I said I was sorry, Brashoff.
I'm not really required to do even that much. Be
thankful you've been able to spend even this much
time on your pet idea."
Brashoff flushed. "Sorry, sir. I'll go start taking
care of the paperwork to wrap this up." She saluted
and marched from the room. Elliot stared at her back
with a frown, unsure whether her manner indi cated
anger at his decision or embarrassment at her reaction
to it.
From across the room, old Admiral Kim said, "Tsk,
tsk. Kids these days. Want everything."
Elliot laughed. Kim always had the ability to make
him laugh, even with the most innocuous remark. "It
was a good idea, though," Elliot said.
"Indeed," Kim said. "Had it been successful, it
might have given us a very useful weapon against the
Kilnguns. Still, you sounded encouraging. Once the
young woman has developed the theory further...?"
Elliot shook his head. He looked around to make
sure Brashoff really was gone and then said quietly,
"I didn't want to discourage her too much. She has so
much promise. But I'm afraid the work was going
nowhere; it's a dead end. Getting her off it and onto
something else is the best thing I can do for her career.
Her idea was a fantasy, really, nothing more."
Admiral Kim sighed. "A pity," she said. "A real
pity. Such an appealing idea... ! But of course your
judgment is the one that counts. By now, you know,
the entire Science Division feels that way about you."
Elliot looked embarrassed. "Everyone places too
much confidence in me, I'm afraid."
"Nonsense!" Kim snorted. "Not too much at all!"
Obviously sensitive to his embarrassment, however,
she changed the subject. "Shouldn't you be leaving
abut now? Or have you changed your mind? I don't
want to have to order you to take time off!"
Elliot grinned at her. "Since you're twisting my
arm, I'll leave right away."
"Where are the two of you going?"
"Luisa wants to go to England." Elliot shrugged to
indicate his helplessness.
"England again? Your wife has an unhealthy fascination with the Hole."
"Don't I know it! I've hated that place ever since
the disaster. I wasn't there, of course, and now I don't
want to go back. It's... so changed."
Kim nodded understandingly. "I can imagine how it
makes you feel. But you can't talk Luisa out of it?"
"I've never been able to in the past. You know how
fascinated she is by England--especially Devon. Anyone would think she had been born there, although in
fact she grew up utterly ignorant of the country. I'm
the first Englishman she ever met." He paused
thoughtfully. "She says my past is buried in the Hole,
and she wants to absorb it by being there."
"Ghoulish."
Elliot smiled. "And it's not cheap, either."
"Don't forget your medication."
"No, Mother." A rare thing he elicited a laugh
from Admiral Kim.
He left the room, quite satisfied. Perhaps he did
deserve that vacation--for his success with Brashoff.
"But we are already on our way to Starbase Seventeen, Doctor, as I have repeatedly told you," Spock
said. "We will be there in less than twenty hours. To
be precise--"
"Don't be precise, Spock!" McCoy said. "I don't
need the third decimal place. What I do want to know
is why it's going to take so long when I distinctly
remember being told by someone that we were only
sixteen hours away from Starbase Seventeen, and that
was a couple of hours before the storm."
"Because I am holding us to Warp Factor Two,
Doctor. I am not willing to risk greater stress on the
ship's systems or structure."
"Spock... !" McCoy threw up his hands and turned
away from the Vulcan First Officer, breathing in and
out deeply. "Spock," he began again, speaking more
calmly this time, "I'm understaffed and undersupplied
because of what we went through a few days ago, on
that outpost. On top of that, one of my nurses and one
of my surgeons were injured so badly during the storm
that I've had to put them into induced comas while
they heal. And in addition to that, I have two dozen
other injured people down here, many of them seriously hurt. It's more than my remaining staff and
supplies can take care of. Safely, I mean--safely and
for an extended period. The ones with minor injuries,
we've already patched up and sent back to their quarters because we were so overloaded. Or sent back on
duty in a couple of cases, because you insisted," he
said bitterly. "But the two dozen in Sickbay now, I
have to get to better facilities. Some place without a
shortage of manpower or drugs. Like Starbase Seventeen."
"I understand the needs of your department, Doctor," the Vulcan said. He was aware, as always, of the
emotional demon Leonard McCoy constantly kept
reined in, and Spock wished he could control his voice
and choose his words when speaking to the doctor so
as to help him in his task. But that was an ability he
lacked, based as it was on empathy and understanding
of what the other man was experiencing. It was a skill
at which James Kirk excelled; indeed, Kirk's facility
at that was a large part of his competence as a starship
captain. Not for the first time, Spock wished he did
have that ability himself.
"However, I must balance the needs of each department against the well-being of the ship itself." Perhaps
he could win McCoy's support by spending valuable
time giving him a detailed explanation of the ship's
status, since he was unable to win that support by
playing on the doctor's feelings.
"Our life support and drive control systems were
also injured by the storm, Doctor, and if they fail,
hundreds of now healthy crewmen will die, not just
those you have in Sickbay. I cannot risk overstressing
the drive control system or the ship's structure, and
because of the storm I do not have enough functioning
repair personnel to keep the systems operating should
there be a major failure. I have calculated that Warp
Factor Two exerts a stress upon the ship's structure
and systems that is below the current advisable limits,
within a reasonable safety factor, and yet will allow us
to reach Starbase Seventeen with an acceptable
chance of survival for essential personnel--also within
a reasonable safety factor."
"My God," McCoy said slowly, "I've been wrong
about you all along. I've always joked about you being
green-blooded and thinking like a computer, but I
think this is the first time I've realized that you're
really and truly devoid of all feelings. It's not the color
of your blood that's the problem it's the temperature.
You cold-blooded, unfeeling--"
"As you know quite well, Doctor," Spock interrupted calmly, "my blood temperature is higher than
yours. I will expect reports from you every hour on
the status of your patients. Summary reports only--
totals, not indiviudals. Except for deaths, of course,
since I will need to compose individual letters to
families."
"Hah! I can just see those letters now! Never mind,
Spock. I'll write any letters of condolence myself. I
guess with Jim gone and Scotty unconscious, I'm the
highest-ranking creature with any feelings on the ship,
aren't I?"
Spock chose not to answer and turned to go. Before
he could leave Sickbay, McCoy called out, "This isn't
the way Jim would do it, you know!"
The Vulcan hesitated and then turned back to the
ship's doctor. "On the contrary, Doctor. This is precisely the course of action the captain would have
followed. I have arrived at it by logic, and he would no
doubt have arrived at it by intuition, but the result
would have been the same." He spun about and hur-ried away before McCoy had a chance to say anything
more. He had to remove himself far from the doctor's
presence; McCoy's emotionalism was dangerously
contagious.
McCoy was not aware, and Spock would never deign
to tell him, of the Vulcan's pleas to Starfleet Command
to allow him to keep Enterprise in the vicinity of
Mauler's disappearance so that he could continue to
search for James Kirk. To Spock's reminder of the
success of a similar search years earlier, when Kirk
had disappeared into another dimension in almost the
same spot, Starfleet Command had responded with the
same argument Spock had just used on McCoy. The
argument had ended with an order bring your ship in
and report to the commander of Starbase Seventeen.
Back on the bridge, Spock reassumed the con. "Mr.
Sulu, estimated time to arrival?"
Sulu jumped, struck by djd vu, and then answered,
"Nineteen hours and ten minutes, Mr. Spock."
Spock remembered that he had intended to ask
Mc12oy specifically about Uhura's Condition. She had
screamed before the storm had struck at Enterprise,
and it seemed reasonable to Spock that her injury,
whatever it was, had happened then, rather than during the storm's attack. But the tense confrontation
with the doctor had driven the question about Uhura
from Spock's mind. It annoyed Spock that McCoy had
had that effect on him it was annoying and demeaning.
And now he had not heard a question someone had
asked him. Truly, conversations with Leonard McCoy
had the evil effect of strengthening his human side and
weakening his Vulcan. "Please repeat yourself, Mr.
Crandall."
"Sir, some of my friends have been telling me about
the other time Captain Kirk disappeared near here."
Spock stared at her. Perhaps he lacked James Kirk's
empathy, his natural understanding, but he was none-theless not completely incapable of analyzing human
body language or perceiving feelings expressed sufficiently clearly by means of tone of voice. In this case,
he could detect CrandaU's hostility quite easily. As he
became aware of her hostility, he also saw similar
signs of disaffection in others on the bridge. Perhaps
he would never understand why humans, faced with
the same choices as his Vulcan ancestors had faced
long ago, still chose a path that allowed their emotions
to dominate their actions so completely. "I remember
that incident vividly, Mr. Crandall. Did you have a
question about it?"
"Yes, sir, I do." She spoke with nervous bravado.
"As I understand it, you didn't leave the area. You
hung around until Captain Kirk reappeared, and then
you rescued him!"
There was no need for her to ask the obvious
question. Unspoken, it hung heavily in the emotionally
charged air of the bridge Why are you leaving this
time?
"I did not 'hang around', Mr. Crandall," Spock said
mildly. "I was able to calculate precisely the moment
the two spaces would intersect, and it was that time
that I was waiting for. The situation is quite different
now. It is also the case that, ever since that time, the
Tholians have been extremely sensitive about what
they see as intrusions upon their sovereignty. For that
reason, Federation ships have been careful to spend
as little time as possible in the space the Tholians
claim as theirs. Starfleet Command is thus quite correct in ordering us to leave."
"But you could have persuaded them to let you
stay, Mr. Spock!"
Overemotional, and they had trouble understanding
their own language. "Even if I could have done so,
there would have been little point to it, Mr. Crandall.
The Tholians are no mean opponents. We still have no
idea how they spun their web around Enterprise. We
do know that we lost a ship, Defiant, in much the same
way Mauler was lost. What would we accomplish by
destroying our own ship, as well? Hundreds of us
would die, depriving the Federation of our services,
and Captain Kirk and the Security team with him
would still be lost."
There was no further argument or questioning, but
the atmosphere on the bridge did not improve at all
during that shift, or the remaining long, slow hours of
the trip to Starbase Seventeen.
FOR A WHILE, James Kirk dreamed he was still in the
thick of the fight.
He saw Klanth flinging himself furiously at the en-circling wall formed by the Enterprise Security squad
and almost breaking through. And then he and Klanth
and the Security team and the Klingons were all
thrown about violently inside the bridge of the booming, groaning ship. He managed to grab the railing
around the dais on which the command seat was
mounted and hold on, for a moment keeping himself
from injury. He had a confused impression of bodies
flying past him, of Klingon bellows and human
screams. For a moment he floated in zero gravity,
holding tightly to the railing, and then he fell heavily
to the floor again. The next instant, he was jerked
violently to one side, as if "down" were now somewhere off to the side.
Then a sudden feeling of nausea assailed him. But it
was something more than the effect of the changing
direction of "down" and the resulting abrupt falling
and floating, or the effect of the sounds the ship was
making as its structure was twisted and flexed in
bizarre ways. He felt the nausea throughout his body,
in every finger and toe, in his torso and head and arms
and legs. And it increased rapidly, almost like a physical force pressing on his entire body. It became heat,
a fierce heat filling him. It overwhelmed his mind; he
could think of nothing else. All their strength gone, his
fingers slipped from the railing, and he was thrown
across the bridge. He slammed with shattering force
into the twisted, jagged remains of one of the bridge
control stations, but by that time he had already lost
consciousness.
He awoke slowly.
The noises were gone. So was the nausea. He was
lying on his back. He opened his eyes slowly, slightly,
but the light was so bright that he squeezed them shut
again. Voices murmured around him.
Kirk tried to push himself up, but gentle hands
pressed him back down. He had little strength to
resist. Slowly, under the pressure of the hands, he
sank back down. The surface beneath him was soft
and inviting.
"That's better, James Kirk." It was a woman's
voice, soft and soothing. "You still need rest to recover."
But there was a faint accent to the voice, and after
a moment's hesitation, Kirk recognized it Klingonese !
Kirk forced his eyes open. They filled with tears,
and he could make out nothing more than blurred
figures surrounding him. He struggled weakly against
the restraining hands, hitting out feebly. They with-drew, and Kirk levered himself to a sitting position.
The movement brought terrible dizziness and nausea,
but Kirk gripped the sheets beneath him and held on,
willing himself not to fall.
"This is not wise, Captain Kirk." It was the same
Klingon voice that had spoken before.
Kirk's eyes were slowly growing accustomed to the
light. He squeezed them shut, forcing out the tears,
and opened them again more slowly. He had been
right he was surrounded by Klingons.
So Klanth had won. Kirk realized immediately what
must have happened. Some of the Enterprise Security
team had been knocked unconscious in the same way
he had been, and the Klingons had then been able to
overpower the rest and take them prisoner. Somehow,
after that, Mauler must have been able to escape both
Enterprise and the storm. Well, he might be weak, but
he would fight as well as he could.
His nausea and dizziness were ebbing. The Klingons
surrounding him were making no hostile moves but
were watching him carefully. In fact, Kirk detected an
air of nervousness about them. He was sitting on some
sort of bed and wearing a long, one-piece, white
covering. He slid his legs over the edge and rested his
feet on the floor. He could see winking lights on
nearby machines that reminded him of those in the
Enterprise Sickbay. He knew what that meant drug-mediated interrogation. "What--" His voice was
scratchy and scarcely audible. Kirk cleared his voice.
"What have you been doing to me? You can't hold me
prisoner. Where are my people?"
The Klingon woman who had spoken before said,
"You are not a prisoner, Captain. You are our guest."
Kirk snorted and carefully slid off the bed. He
swayed on his feet and would have fallen had one of
the Klingons not stepped forward quickly and grasped
his arm. Kirk tried to jerk away, but the grip was too
strong. Another Klingon, a woman, took his other arm
before he could hit out at the man. At the best of
times, Klingons were more powerful physically than
humans, and right now Kirk was so weak that he could
not free himself no matter how hard he tried.
"Kirk! Stop before you hurt yourself!" This was a
voice used to command, the voice of a newcomer, an
older man who had pushed through the group surrounding Kirk.
Exhausted, Kirk stopped struggling and waited,
staring at the newcomer--a Kiingon, tall, dark, and
saturnine, with a dark goatee and drooping mustache.
"My name is Morith," the Klingon said. "I'm in
charge of this base. I headed down here as soon as I
was told you were conscious. I apologize for taking so
long to get here. Now, get back on that bed. You're in
no shape for such exertions."
Shakily, Kirk sat down again. "I don't understand
what you're up to, Morith, but I demand that you
return all of my people to me and deliver us to Starfleet. I was attempting a rescue of Klanth from his ship
when we were captured. It was not an aggressive
action. ' '
"Sir," Morith said in a voice that was both sad and
gentle, "you are not a prisoner." "Yeah, I know. I'm a guest."
"A highly honored guest. Look around you, Captain. Does this look like a prison?"
Kirk had to admit that it did not. The room was
pleasant and large. Here and there were other beds,
all empty. Each bed was surrounded by a wide space,
except at the head, where monitoring equipment was
mounted. The arrangement confirmed Kirk's earlier
impression of a hospital ward, although an unusually
roomy and airy one.
This was not at all the cramped, dark interior of a
Klingon spaceship. The lights were still a bit too bright
for his taste; they should therefore have been intolerable to a Klingon.
The Klingons, though, looked familiar enough.
There were seven of them standing around his bed--
three men, three women and Morith, who stood directly in front of Kirk and somewhat apart from the
rest. Here were the familiar swarthy skins, the black
hair and eyes, the heavy, black brows, the strong jaws
and cheekbones, the erect, powerful bodies. But looking more carefully at them, Kirk could see that even
these Klingons weren't quite what he was used to.
The Klingons he had met previously all projected an
underlying sense of menace. But menace was clearly
absent from this group. Moreover, they were trying as
hard as they could to be friendly; from their behavior
thus far toward him, he could almost believe their
attempts were genuine. Their faces lacked the animosity he was used to seeing in Klingons.
Military man that he had been for decades, it was
their clothing that was the telling blow. It was unlike
anything he had seen before on Klingons, and it was
quite different from the uniforms Klingons normally
wore. The clothes varied in color and form from one
Klingon to another. Some wore wraps that looked like
togas, while others wore tunics. There was even one
wearing a collarless, sleeveless shirt and shorts. The
colors ranged from scarlet to plain white; one of the
togas was rainbow-striped, the bands of color running
diagonally. Kirk felt more shaken by this departure
from the norm than he had felt a few minutes earlier
because of his physical weakness.
"Well, Captain?" Morith himself wore a simple
tunic, Grecian in style, and colored a warm, earth
brown. His exposed shoulders, arms, and legs were
heavy and powerfully muscled.
"You speak English well."
Morith smiled--a strange sight in itself. Kirk had
seen Klingons with fierce grins of cruelty or marital
delight, but he had never seen one smile in genuine,
relaxed, human-style pleasure. The heavy, dour Kiingon face was transformed by warmth and amiability.
This did more to c onvince Kirk that he was not where
he had assumed himself to be than anything else he
had seen since waking.
"Good," Morith said. "I can see you are at least
willing to listen now. I have to tell you something both
remarkable and unsettling. More than unsettling, in
fact, but I hope to have some other news for you later,
when you are physically and mentally ready for it, that
will mitigate the shock."
"I'm all ears." Kirk was also not used to Klingons
who beat around the bush.
"Later, Captain Kirk. For now, you need much
more rest." Morith signaled, one of the other Klingons
stepped forward, and quickly--before Kirk could protest or act--touched something to Kirk's arm.
Strength fled Kirk's body and he wilted down onto
the bed. He was faintly aware of someone carefully
lifting his legs up and placing them onto the bed so
that he lay fully on it, and then he dropped into deep
sleep.
When Kirk awoke the second time, he was alone in
the room. He felt wonderfully refreshed and energetic.
He got out of bed and experienced neither dizziness
nor nausea.
His uniform lay on a nearby stool, neatly folded
stripping his white hospital gown off quickly, he
dressed himself in it. No sooner had he finished than
Morith strolled into the room. This time, he wore a
tunic of pale blue.
"Welcome back to this world, Captain Kirk," the
Klingon said, smiling. Before Kirk could say anything,
Morith said quickly, "Yes, this time I'm here to tell
you just what is going on. Now you can handle what I
have to tell you, whereas before ! don't think you
could have.
"Come walk with me."
Side by side, the two men walked out of the room
and down the corridor beyond. "This constitutes your
release from our little hospital," Morith remarked.
"We do things very informally out here, not at all like
at home on Klinzhai."
Kirk stiflened at the mention of the Kiingon home
world and then forced himself to relax again. Until
that moment, he had been letting himself be lulled into
forgetting just who these people were they were so
different from what he had always thought of as Klingons that he had temporarily ceased to think of them
as Klingons at all. He had fallen asleep in that frame
of mind, and the thought had in a sense become fixed
during sleep. Now, try as he might, he couldn't stir up
any animosity within himself toward Morith. This man
walking beside him was not a Klingon, at least not in
the old sense of the implacable, dreaded enemy; this
was simply another man, and at that an unusually
intelligent and sympathetic one.
They walked in companionable silence for some
time. They passed other Klingons, also apparently
civilians; these smiled and greeted Kirk and Morith in
English of varying degrees of fluency. "Do many of
the Klingons on this base speak English?" Kirkasked.
"Most Klingons speak English nowadays," Morith
said.
Kirk stared at him in amazement but decided to hold
his peace. Morith was obviously having trouble gathering his nerve to say what he had to say, and Kirk
felt unwilling to press him.
Finally, Morith led the way into a room containing
small tables and, at one end, food-dispensing machines. It could have been a recreation lounge in any
Federation starship. Form follows function, Kirk told
himself. They sat down at a table, and Morith left
immediately to visit the dispensing machines. He came
back with two steaming cups, handing one to Kirk.
"Try it. I'm afraid it's the best imitation we can come
up with."
Kirk sipped carefully. It smelled and tasted sufficiently like coffee. "Good," he said. "And now that
you've delayed as much as you can... ?"
Morith sighed. "I suppose I can't put it off any
longer," he said. His voice, his face, the very stance
of his body proclaimed how nervous he was. "I've
told you that you aren't a prisoner, and that's true. As
I said, you're an honored guest. It's also true that you
must not count on ever going home again."
Kirk gripped his cup tightly and waited.
"You see, Captain--may I call you Jim?"
Kirk nodded impatiently.
"Jim. You see, Jim, that storm that Mauler encountered was apparently more than just some curious
magnetic-ionic disturbance. It was a temporal phenomenon as well. Mauler was almost destroyed by the
storm, but instead, the ship and all aboard her, including you and your Security team... well, you were all
flung forward one hundred years into the future.
That's where you are now."
KIRK STARED AT MOR1TH without speaking.
"Jim," Morith said, "I understand what a shock
this must be to you--to lose your entire universe,
everything you've ever known."
Understand.t Kirk thought. How could you possibly
understand? Nor could Morith see that this was not
the first time James Kirk had been marooned in time.
Before this, though, he had been lost in the past.
Irrationally, it seemed worse this way instead of imagining the time familiar to him waiting in the future, he
had to learn to see itmand all the people who lived in
it--as irretrievably dead and gone.
"What about my men? The Security team I brought
onto Mauler with me?"
Morith shook his head. "They were all too seriously
injured during the storm. You must remember how
violent that was?"
Kirk nodded. "I remember being thrown all over
the bridge of Mauler. I managed to hold on to something for a while, though."
"Yes. Presumably, your men didn't manage to do
that. Neither did the Klingon crew. Some of your men
and some of... our people were killed during that
turbulence. You'll remember too how physically severe that passage forward through time was?"
"Extreme nausea. I remember that, mostly."
"Exactly. But for a man who was injured more
severely than you were, what you experienced only as
extreme nausea could be deadly. As far as we can tell
from our autopsies, the time passage killed those of
your men who weren't killed by the shaking up Mauler
experienced during the storm."
"Did Mauler survive?" Kirk was asking more to
gain time, to regain equilibrium, than because he really
wanted to know.
Morith nodded. "The ship itself did, although its
structure was seriously weakened. Captain Klanth survived, as did a handful of his crew. As for them--"
"I'm in the future," Kirk said softly, more to
himself than to Morith. "I'm a hundred years in the
future..."
"You were severely injured as well," Morith continued hastily, "but thanks to the medical knowledge we
possess in our time, we were able to heal you. You
may still experience moments of weakness, but our
doctors tell me that that should not be a serious
matter. They have every confidence that--"
"I don't understand what you are, why you're so
different from Klingons I've encountered before."
Kirk's voice was filled with desperation, confusion. It
was as though he had heard--or absorbed--little that
Morith had been saying, as though his earlier intelligent attentiveness had been a facade that was now
deserting him.
Morith replied gently, speaking slowly. "A great
deal has happened in the last hundred years, Jim. I
would say it has been the most eventful period in the
entire histories of the Federation and the Klingon
Empire. But I have someone else who will explain all
of this to you." He rose, but Kirk grabbed his arm.
"Wait! What do you do with prisoners of war in this
century?"
Morith sighed. "No, Jim. We've told you you're a
guest, an honored guest. I see we haven't yet convinced you. Have you been treated the way prisoners
were treated in your own age?"
"My own age," Kirk muttered. "That's a tough one
to get used to. No, you haven't treated me that way.
More like a... friend."
"Exactly!" Morith said, smiling. "The perfect
choice of words. You are a friend, and FIt tell you
why. Haven't you noticed also how good my English
is?" he said with obvious pride.
Kirk grinned. "Better than mine. As good as Mr.
Spoek's." At the mention of the name, though, Kirk's
temporary good humor disappeared Spock was lost
in the past, too, as lost as any of the rest of his crew,
or his beloved ship, or the Federation he served. "Yes,
I've noticed that."
"There is a reason for that," Morith said. "We---
the Federation and the Klingon Empire, that ismare
at peace. Klingons serve aboard your starships---and
your scientists work in our laboratories. The friendship between our peoples which the Organians long
ago predicted has come to pass. I speak English so
well because it is the official language of my people's
closest and dearest ally."
Kirk shook his head, dazed.
Morith smiled. "Of course you have innumerable
questions. You would scarcely be human if you did
not. I will try to have all of them answered. First,
though, I must point something out to you.
"You, Jim Kirk, are a living artifact from the most
crucial period--incident, rather--in our history. Or in
the history of the United Federation of Planets. Therefore you are of inestimable importance to our historians. I understand that you are overwhelmed with grief
and loss, but our historians are panting, champing at
the bit, frantic to deluge you with questions, and I
hope you will be willing to answer at least a few of
them. You see, it's more than curiosity. There is a
much more vital matter involved, although I want to
wait until later to tell you about that."
"You're piquing my curiosity quite skillfully. Why
not tell me whatever it is now?" Nothing, Kirk
thought, nothing he had known none of that existed
anymore. The Federation still existed, from what Morith had said, but not his people or his ship, and without
the ship and the people, what was he? How much of
James T. Kirk was there apart from the ship and the
people he loved?
"Because," Morith explained, "despite what the
doctors may say, I'm not convinced that you are
sufficiently recovered to handle too many psychological shocks. I'd like to take it a step at a time, slowly
and easily. And I think you need to learn more about
this time, the time you now find yourself in, before we
overwhelm you with certain facts about the past."
Morith signaled to someone behind Kirk.
Kirk twisted around in his chair. One of the Klingon
women who had been standing by his bed when he
first woke up had entered the rec lounge and seated
herself at a nearby table. At Morith's signal, she arose
and came to join them.
"This is Kalrind," Morith said. "I've appointed her
to be your tutor. It should require no more than a few
days for her to educate you as necessary. In fact, it's
most important that it take no more than a few days. I
have much other work to do, Jim." He rose. "I think
you'll find Kalrind more than capable of taking over
for me. I'll be speaking to you again in a few days."
He walked away quickly.
"So," Kalrind said, seating herself as Morith left,
"this is the famous Captain James Kirk. You can't
imagine how many Klingon adolescents idolize you."
"That's an incredible concept," Kirk said. He
found himself for once embarrassed by open admiration in a young woman's face. This was, after all, a
young Klingon woman. He supposed Kalrind would
be considered attractive by a Klingon. In fact, Kirk
could even see her attractiveness, if he made the effort
to see her face as a Klingon would. But simultaneously, like a doubly exposed picture, he could see her
from a human perspective heavy-browed, heavy-boned face, strength with an atmosphere of danger.
"I'm not sure you realize just how different you are
from the Klingons of my time."
"Certainly I know, Captain. I know from three
sources. First, there are our own historical records of
the old time. Second, there are still many in the
Empire who are too much like the Klingons you knew.
And third, there are the Klingon survivors from
Mauler. Klanth and some of his crew."
"Ah, yes. Klanth." How curious that Klanth and
his few surviving subordinates were the only other
beings here from his own time--the only others, perhaps, who could be expected to really understand how
Kirk thought, how he saw such things as pohtics.
"You see, Captain--"
"Jim. Call me Jim, please."
Kalrind smiled happily, and Kirk had to admit that
her smile lit up her Klingon face and made it warm
and happy, the same effect that Morith's smile had
had upon his face. It was when they smiled, most of
all, that Kirk ceased to think of these people as Klingons. But in Kalrind's case, the wide, relaxed smile
did more than make her face look friendly it made her
pretty in a fully human sense.
"Jim. That's nice. I've always like your human
names more than our own. Well, as I was about to say,
it was most of all the change in ourselves that made
the Roj tin, the Great Peace, possible. Some of our
historians have always contended that the change in
our nature was not natural but was caused somehow
by the Organians, without our knowledge. The idea is
that the Organians became impatient with waiting for
their prophecy to come about, and so they decided to
force matters along. However, they have always refused to confirm that suspicion, so there's no proof for
it. At any rate, after the Tholian Incident, we became
much the way we are now, which is to say, very much
like you."
"Soft and contemptible, as your ancestors would
have said?"
Kalrind laughed. "Yes, exactly. Soft and contemptible. We call ourselves the New Klingons, the thlIngan
chu." ;?
"Well, I won't try to imitate your pronunciation, so
I'll just call you the New Klingons."
"I'd prefer it if you just called me Kalrind."
Kirk laughed uneasily and looked away. He was
disturbed to discover that he was finding Kalrind physically attractive--as if exposure was making him less
sensitive to the uniquely Klingon aspects of her face.
Resolutely, Kirk turned his attention away from Kalrind's physical presence and to her words. "New
Klingons. Tholian Incident," he said. "You use these
terms without a second thought because you've grown
up with them, but I still don't know a thing about
them, and I find it all very confusing."
Kalrind nodded. "Of course. I'll try to get to it in a
more organized way. I didn't mean to tantalize you
with these vague references."
"You're right. I'm already tantalized."
Kalrind grinned and laughed. "By the way, how are
you feeling? Physically, I mean?"
Kirk sat back and concentrated on his body, on the
way it felt--rather the way it didn't feel, on the absent
pain "Surprisingly good, as a matter of fact. That's
strange, though. I remember being thrown about violently on Mauler's bridge during the storm and banging
into various bridge fixtures. I should be in much worse
shape than I am--broken bones, torn muscles, or even
internal injuries. Instead, I feel pretty much normal.
Maybe even better than normal--more energetic than
I've felt for a few years."
Kalrind smiled at him again.
"It isn't strange at all, Jim. It's a by-product of the
Great Peace. Ever since then, you see, our researchers
and yours have exchanged scientific data freely. The
way I understand it, comparative biology has benefited
especially. So our joint medical technology has advanced, accelerated enormously during the last century. That's why our doctors were able to heal you so
quickly and so thoroughly."
Kalrind leaned forward and grasped Kirk's hand
and spoke with great earnestness. "Do you understand, Jim? That's just one aspect of what's so wonderful about the Great Peace. It changed my whole
civilization completely. It was the most important
single event in Klingon history. It must be safe-guarded."
Kirk was uncomfortably aware of her strong hand
gripping his. "Are you saying it's in danger?"
Kalrind released his hand and leaned back in her
seat again. "Later. We'll get to all of that later." She
seemed suddenly subdued, even a bit sad. "That's for
Morith to explain." Then her mood changed again.
She sprang to her feet. "We'll worry about that later.
Right now, I'm going to show you your new world.
Come on!" She leaned forward, grasped his hand
again, and pulled him from his chair.
"You're as impetuous as your ancestors."
She grinned. "The Universe destroys the sluggard.
Old Klingon proverb. They weren't entirely worthless,
those people."
"We say, 'Time and tide wait for no man,' but the
Old Klingons said 'destroy,' instead."
Kalrind nodded. "An unforgiving race, and so they
saw the universe as unforgiving, too. Now, let's get
moving! Kalrind doesn't wait for sluggards, either."
The base was big, and the two of them found much
to see and explore. Kirk found two differences between this Klingon base and a Starbase of his day; the
second of these was pleasing, but the first was depressing.
That was the strangeness he encountered in certain
areas---a technical unfamiliarity. As Kalrind showed
him places where technical work was being done, he
was bewildered by what he saw--and depressed by his
bewilderment.
After he and Kalrind had watched a group of Klingon technicians performing an unidentifiable task, he
said to her, "You know, I expected everything to be
advancedJa century ahead of what I know. So I can
accept being puzzled. But I'm having trouble accept-ing just how advanced everything must be. I have no
idea what those people were doing. It makes me
wonder if I ever will be able to learn what people know
now, ever be able to catch up. When I get back to my
own people, I won't be qualified to captain a starship,
or any kind of vehicle. I'll be a historical curiosity, a
resource for historians, and that's all."
"Some things don't change, Jim," Kalrind said.
"Administration, running thingsmthat's still the same.
People don't change, after all." She laughed. "Well,
your people don't. Mine have, as you know. I'll bet
you could still be useful to Starfleet that way."
Kirk grimaced. "Desk work. It took a hundred
years, but it finally caught up with me again."
The difference that pleased him was the freedom
they were being allowed except for the hospital area
and parts of the base where an ignorant and careless
tourist could cause major damage, such as the power
station, they roamed at will.
"It wasn't like this in my day," he marveled. "I
don't just mean that a Klingon wouldn't have given
freedom to wander on a Starbase. I mean that even I
wouldn't have been various places would still have
been off limits."
"Well, you can thank the Great Peace, you're seeing
all these 'wonders of the future,' "Kalrind said. "And
don't forget this is just an outpost! We're roughing it,
by the standards of Klinzhai. Why, back home, you'd
see much more expensive equipment. But out here
. . well, the fact is, out here we get the leftovers.
We're still not as rich as the Federation, so outposts
like this just have to make do with what they can get.
The best still has to be restricted to Klinzhai and the
other central worlds. Someday I'll show you the heart
of the Empire, and then you'll really be amazed."
"Klinzhai," Kirk muttered. Center of the enemy
nation, wellspring of evil, a word with which to
frighten children. How difficult it was, at times, to
abandon those old attitudes. "You still call it an empire?" he asked, changing the subject.
"In name only. The old authoritarianism is long
gone, but the legal forms haven't changed. We're
really a parliamentary democracy now, a constitu-tional monarchy. That's a respectable enough tradition
in huma n history, isn't it?" she asked with a trace of
anxiety.
Kirk smiled at her, thoroughly disarmed. "Oh, yes.
Very respectable. Some of my own ancestors, on one
side--well, never mind about all of that."
"But I want to know about it, Jim! I want to know
all about your family and your ancestors. It's all so
fascinating! Tell me about your family, Jim."
Kirk's smile faded slowly. "My family... I used to
have a brother. I was very close to him." He winced
in remembered pain.
Kalrind put her hand gently on his shoulder.
"Something has happened to him?"
Kirk stared off into space silently for a moment. At
last he said, "Years ago, yes." He looked off to the
side, avoiding Kalrind's gaze, but she moved her hand
to his cheek and pressed until he looked at her.
"My brother's name was Sam. Actually, George
Samuel, but we always called him Sam. A good man,
a very good man, and a fine scientist. He was married
to a wonderful woman named Aurelan. They were
both killed on one of our colony planets."
"How terrible! I'm sorry I forced you to talk about
it, Jim."
Kirk drew in and released a deep breath. "Thank
you for getting me to talk about it." He laughed.
"You're damned good at human psychology, for a
Klingon!"
"Did Sam and Aurelan have any children?" Kalrind
asked.
Kirk nodded. "Their son, Peter." He smiled fondly
at the thought of his nephew. "Pete's a good kid. He's
a research biologist now, just like his father. From
what I hear, he'll be even better at it than Sam was."
And then the depression returned. "What am I saying?
That was all a hundred years ago! Pete's probably long
dead, already. I've even lost him--my last surviving
family." And my ship and my crew, my substitute
famity, too.
"I won't allow this," Kalrind said firmly. "You said
something about your ancestors and parliamentary
democracy. I want to know all about them, Captain
Kirk, so start talking!"
Kirk forced a smile and began to tell her about
Abernathy Kirk, who sat in the Long Parliament under
John Pym and later fought for his faith and his repub-lican beliefs under the great Cromwell, only to be
forced to flee to the New World colonies when the
Stuart monarchy was restored to England in 1660.
And as Kirk talked, his old fascination with the
history of his family and his world took over, his
depression lifted, and soon he was lecturing a smiling
Kalrind with enthusiasm.
"WELL, SPOCK, they all made it," McCoy said testily,
reluctant to admit the truth to the Vulcan. Spock nodded and turned to go.
"Wait a minute!" McCoy said. "Aren't you going
to point out that you were right to do what you did?
Crow a little?"
Spock raised an eyebrow. "I can see no point in
doing so, Doctor. It would not give me the satisfaction
it would give a human, and it would not prevent you
from behaving in the future in the same dense and
obstructionist fashion." He left the cramped office
McCoy had been using since Enterprise had arrived at
Starbase Seventeen.
McCoy watched him go and then muttered, "Well,
it would give me satisfaction to crow over your mistakes, if I ever got the chance."
Spock had stopped at McCoy's office on his way to
an appointment with Commodore Hellenhase, the
commander of Starbase Seventeen. For many hours,
he had been reevaluating his choice to continue to the
Starbase at a low warp speed. His unemotional pose
when explaining himself to McCoy aboard Enterprise
had been only a pose; in fact, Spock had gone about
his duties constantly aware that some among the injured might die, and it would be his fault. Wouldn't
Jim Kirk, with his logic-defying intuitive leaps, have
come up with some better course of action, some
brilliant compromise, a middle path between excruci-ating alternatives?
Spock was relieved to hear that no one had died
after all. Not only was a moral weight lifted from his
shoulders, but also he could finally concentrate on
regaining his normal Vulcan equilibrium, on becoming
the controlled, logical being he pretended to be in
front of McCoy.
Hellenhase was in his office waiting for Spock. The
commodore was a man of medium height, slender,
with hair so blond it was almost white. He was a
serious, reserved man usually, but today even Spock
could detect signs of distress.
He waved Spock into his office. "Come in, come in.
Close the door. Now, listen, Spock, I've read the
transcript of your message yesterday over and over
again, and I just can't understand what happened. Oh,
I understand what you described," he said, holding up
his hand to prevent Spock from launching into a repe-tition of the report he had sent to Starfleet Command
and Hellenhase after Kirk and Mauler's disappearance, "but I don't see what it means. What's your
opinion?"
"Insufficient data, Commodore. We know only that
the Tholians disclaim all knowledge of the incident
and that our sensor readings are quite different from
those obtained when Defiant was destroyed in the
same place. I would say this was not the same phenomenon as at that time, but rather something quite
new."
"That means we're helpless to get Kirk back,
then?"
Spock hesitated and then said, "At the moment,
yes. However, it's our lack of data that cripples us,
and therefore I feel it is imperative that we expend
great efforts to gather more data in the area. I must
once again urge---"
"Yes, yes, Spock," Hellenhase interrupted. "As
you did yesterday. I won't say I disagree with you,
even though Starfleet Command does. Send ships in
to roam the area and uncover whatever they can.
Except that we don't even know what to look for. We
could just issue a warning to Federation ships to avoid
that area from now on. Solve the problem that
way."
"True, Commodore. But we have a Starfleet captain
and a top-rated Security team missing, perhaps because of natural causes and perhaps not, and we would
be shirking our duty to the Federation if we did less
than we're able to."
Hellenhase stared at him penetratingly for a moment. "Hmph. I get your point, of course. The Tholians. Hmm. They'll be their usual touchy selves, of
course. But we're making progress with them. Have
to put all of that to the test, and a lot sooner than the
Federation might have wished. And I suppose you
want to be assigned to one of those ships so that you
can be on the spot, eh?"
"I would, sir, but I would also like to stay with
Enterprise while she undergoes repairs. And also with
the crew while they are cared for here. Captain Kirk
relinquished command to me, sir."
"The Vulcan sense of duty. Not always entirely
logical, is it?" Spock chose not to answer.
Hellenhase waited a few seconds for a reply and
then gave up. "All right, all right, Spock. I'll get in
touch with Starfleet Command right away and see
what I can arrange." He waved a dismissal. As he
watched Spock go, Hellenhase thought again of the
Vulcan sense of duty. And yet, he told himself, where
would Starfleet be without it, eh?
He said to his desk, "Get me Chung. In San Francisco. ' '
A computer voice replied from his desk. "Power
usage curve projections show that such a call would
best be placed in five point two hours."
Hellenhase shook his head in exasperation. Vulcans
and computers! One couldn't out-argue them, so one
had to intimidate them. "Since I'm a commodore and
you're a computer, I would say that the call would
best be placed right now, when I asked for it !"
"Yes, Commodore," the computer replied meekly.
"Although," the supposedly emotionless voice replied
with unmistakable smugness, "it is just after two A.M.
in San Francisco..."
Hellenhase grimaced. The damned machine's right,
of course. He should have done the mental subtraction
himself and figured that out. Just shows how dealing
with Vulcans fouls up my sense of time and everything
else. "All right, all right. Wait for nine hours and then
place the call. And," he groaned, "when you get
Chung, call my quarters and wake me up."
Officially, it was the Devonshire Excavation. Locals
called it the Devon Ditch and the Devon Deeps, deliberately implying something dark and sinister down
there, a gateway to demonic nether regions. Tourists
from outside the area, even from off Earth, usually
called it the Hole. That was all one needed to say no
one ever confused it with two other similarly named
tourist attractions, the Great Hole of Kimberley or the
site of the Black Hole of Calcutta, even though all
three were manmade.
Unlike such natural excavations as the Grand Canyon or the Fish River Canyon or Mariner Valley, the
sides of the Hole were not vertical. Even though there
was a sturdy fence just past the observation platform
to keep tourists from descending into the Hole, in fact
the walls of it sloped down at a gentle angle and
walking down into it would have been easy and without
danger. But that would have robbed the place of its
mystery and sinister air, and that would not have been
good for tourism, and hence it was forbidden. Luisa
Tinrail longed to walk down into it.
"Nothing," she said. "It'd be nothing. We could
get down there in a couple of hours or so and be back
up before dark. We made much more strenuous hikes
in the Rockies during our vacation, and that was at a
much higher altitude."
"Aah, you passionate, impetuous Latins," Elliot
said.
Luisa vindicated his use of the first adjective by
stamping her foot angrily. "Seriously, Elliot! Why do
you have to joke about everything? Is that because
you're English?"
Elliot pondered the question. "I suppose the only
thing we English are consistently serious about is the
inferior races. Like Panamanians." He dodged the
punch she aimed at his arm.
"I said I'm being serious!"
"I k now you are, my little Spanish spitfire. Sorry
Panamanian pimienta."
Luisa burst out laughing. "Damn you, Elliot. You
always do that to me when I'm feeling serious."
"I don't like serious feelings," Elliot said--quite
seriously. "They make me nervous."
"I've noticed that." Luisa was a short woman, and
she had to crane her neck to look up at her husband.
She wore her thick black hair in a single long braid
down her back because Elliot loved it that way. She
had never imagined that she could feel about anyone
the way she felt about the enigmatic Englishman she
had married two years earlier so eager to know everything about him, to submerge herself in his life and
interests and career.
But enigmas can lose their exotic charm as the
years pass; they demand to be known, understood,
explored. "But just look down there," Luisa
said. "That's your past down there, your life.
Don't you want to go down there and look for things,
too?"
"No," Elliott said with unusual brusqueness.
"There's nothing down there, Luisa. It was all vapor-ized when the Golden Hind hit. Oh, you're right, we
could hike down there easily, if the authorities permit-ted it. But what do you think we'd find? Maybe you
think we'd be able to stroll through the village I grew
up in. Sorry." He shook his head. "That's all gone.
There's nothing down there, Luisa, nothing. Not the
school, or the church, or the manor house, or the
cottages--nothing. Just a great big hole in the ground.
The Devon Ditch that's all there is."
Luisa grudgingly admitted the truth of that--at least,
for the moment--and turned to look down into the
Hole, huddling close against her husband, who held
her tightly to him. Before her, the ground sloped
downward into the deeps.
After eight years, the fertile soil and rainfall of
England had already covered it with green. If you
didn't know, she reflected, you would think it was
natural. The walls of the famous Devon Hole looked
gentle and grass-covered and inviting. Trees were
growing on it--only saplings as yet, but in time they'd
be enormous, masking from future eyes the disastrous
origin of the Hole. Far below them was the bottom,
devoid of grass or trees. Down there, she felt, as she
had felt on every trip, down there was the truth, the
essential nature of Elliot. Down there where the naked
rock, the unvarnished foundation, of England was
exposed--down there the soul of Elliot would be exposed. She wanted so desperately to find that soul.
She looked away.
"Look over there," Luisa whispered delightedly to
Elliot. He saw an elderly couple, both wearing brightly
colored shorts, both aiming expensive cameras down
into the Hole. Luisa said, "Aren't they the quintessen-tial Americans? We're so different!"
Elliot smiled at her and said nothing.
"I thought you were Americans, too," a voice
said.
Luisa turned and found herself face to face with a
man of Elliot's age, dressed in a dull gray coverall,
smiling in a friendly fashion. The man was obviously
waiting for them to say something. "We're tourists,"
Elliot said.
"But not Americans?" He was a slender man, bald-ing already, with light brown hair and a thin, open,
friendly face.
"Yes, we are," Elliot said, Obviously hoping the
man would give up and go away.
"Ah, I see," the man said. "I'm a local. Used to
be, I should say." He pointed down into the Hole. By
now, the sun was setting, and the rocky bottom of the
Hole, far below them, was in deep shadow. "I lived
down there. There was a village, named Berton. I was
away from home when it happened. Not quite twenty.
My family was there when it happened, my whole
family. And everyone I knew--aU lost. Why, and the
crew of the ship, too, of course. I rushed back when I
heard the news, but..." He pointed again toward the
Hole. "That's all I found. Still smoking, surrounded
by ambulances which had nothing to do." He seemed
to have forgotten them, to have become absorbed in
the past hidden in the shadows filling the bottom of
the Hole.
Luisa, her quick sympathy aroused, reached out
toward the man's arm, but Elliot grabbed her hand and
pulled it back. "We have to get back to San Francisco,
dear. I'm past due." He began to walk swiftly away,
pulling Luisa with him, leaving the oblivious survivor
of the disaster still staring down into the Hole.
"I don't understand why you did that," Luisa said
helplessly. "You always said Berton was such a small
village. That man might have been someone you
knew as a child. You should be delighted to meet
him. You know we don't have to get back any time
soon."
Elliot sighed and slowed his pace. "I did know him,
and I hated his guts when we were both kids. Okay?
He was pushy even then, and he seems to have grown
worse. I thought all of them were dead. I hoped some
of them were. Besides, we're strangers now. My
friends aren't here anymore they're in San Francisco."
They walked in silence for a while. Finally Luisa
said, "Whatever you say, Elliot."
Elliot groaned. "Please, darling. I don't want to
argue with you." His words were conciliatory, but
Luisa could sense his growing anger. "Let's get back
to the boardinghouse," he said.
They spoke little to each other that evening.
Elliot went to bed early. When Luisa came into the
bedroom later, she found the lights on. Elliot was
sprawled on his back atop the covers, fully dressed
and sleeping soundly. His mouth was open and he was
snoring. The computer he had brought with him on the
trip despite Luisa's objections lay on his chest, still
turned on.
Luisa picked up the computer and glanced incuriously at the screen. Displayed on it was some sort of
heavily technical article Elliot had been reading,
something by a man named Spock. Luisa grimaced
and turned the computer off. Then she began the job
of getting Elliot undressed and under the covers. It
pleased the maternal side of her whenever she had to
do this--and it happened fairly often--but she was
also aware of a small, nagging resentment because he
was so heavy and difficult to maneuver.
She finished the task at last and sat down beside him
on the bed. "Whew! Elliot," she muttered, "what
would you do without me?" Gently, she brushed his
hair back from his forehead, feeling under her finger-tips the scars he still bore from a boyhood accident.
It had happened, she thought with a shiver at the
eeriness of it all, a few miles away, down in what was
now the Hole, where a whole village and its population
had vanished in an instant. Years before that vast
accident, her Elliot had smashed his forehead against
a rock in a much smaller accident, a very individual
and personal one. The great accident had scarred a
nation; the minor one had left only scars hidden by a
man's hair. But it was the smaller accident that
touched her heart and made her feel fear in retrospect
how close herbeloved husband had come to not living
to adulthood, and therefore to not meeting and mar-rying her! How could his recent moodiness matter
when set against that near-loss? She brushed her fingers across the scars again.
THE KLINGON BASE was much like a starbase in function and form. Kirk was startled to find that it even
had a recreation area designed to simulate an outdoor
forest. Not that such an area was in itself a complete
novelty to him. After all, Enterprise had the very same
thing onboard. It was rather that, in spite of all he had
seen and heard during the last few days of exploring,
this was still not what he had expected on a Klingon
base.
He and Kalrind were lying side by side on their
backs on thick grass, staring up through tree branches
at a blue sky across which small clouds moved slowly.
Kirk pointed up. "That's really well done. All that's
needed to complete the illusion is the drone of insects.
I could just let myself go and drift off to sleep here. I
wouldn't mind a nap."
Kalrind laughed. "From all I've read about your
battles with my ancestors, I always pictured you as a
much more energetic man." She sat up halfway, resting on one elbow, and looked down at him affection-ately. "An unapproachable, mythological figure. A
superhuman hero."
"I'm surprised your ancestors didn't leave you a
very different picture," Kirk said, smiling. "Someone
very evil."
"They did, by their lights. Their records are as
unflattering about you as they could be. They accused
you of not possessing the martial virtues they admired. But that just makes you more appealing in New
Klingon eyes. Also, we've learned to take their preju-dices and distorted values into account when we read
the old documents. We translate, in other words--not
the language, but the attitudes."
"You seem to know your ancestors so well. Better
than we humans know our own, I think."
"There are reasons for that. I'll explain them some
time. For now, though, I'm more interested in you
than in my ancestors." She leaned over him, staring
down at him for a long moment.
At her closeness, that strong, dark, heavy-boned
Klingon face, Kirk felt an instant of panic---a feeling
of being a prey animal at a predator's mercy. Then
that feeling faded, and Kalrind became Kalrind again,
just herself and not a representative of anything or a
type or a symbol.
She leaned down and kissed him softly.
"How gentle you are!" Kirk said. 'Do all Klingons
kiss that way?"
"You didn't like it?"
"Oh, yes, I did. Very much." He put his hand up
and stroked her thick black hair. Klingon hairstyles
hadn't changed much in the last one hundred years,
he reflected.
"We're still stronger than human beings, you know.
We just don't feel obligated to prove it all the time.
Anyway, I'm not sure how recovered you are, Jim."
Kirk grinned. "I.feel fine. Go od as new."
Kalrind leaned down and kissed him again, harder
than before. This time her strength showed, and a hint
of fierceness. He wasn't fully recovered, Kirk realized; at the moment she was stronger than he. Again,
for an instant, Kirk felt afraid.
Later, as they lay sleepily in the warm air, Kirk
realized that Kalrind's strength no longer frightened
him, but the strength and depth of his own feelings
did. He stroked her head, resting on his shoulder; it
was a comforting weight. Kalrind stretched and
sighed.
"I suppose," Kirk said, "New Klingons don't
worry about being interrupted when they're doing
something important."
Kalrind chuckled. "I gave orders. This place is ours
all day."
Suddenly she stood and began pacing. Her expression was serious and thoughtful. "I read about you in
history class when I was a girl. I used to daydream
about the brave and gallant and handsome James T.
Kirk . . . but I never daydreamed . . . anything like
this." She glanced down at Kirk and then looked away
again. "This all takes me by surprise."
"Me, too," Kirk said quietly, rising to his feet. He
stood beside her and lowered his head to rest on her
shoulder. How much of this powerful emotion he felt
for Kairind, he wondered, was actually a seeking after
consolation and warmth, comfort for the loss of his
universe? Or am I asking myself this just because I
feel guilty for loving a Klingon woman? His grasp on
reality was diminishing with the passing days, instead
of growing as he grew to know his new world. He was
disoriented, floating in a haze, a mist.
He had sagged against Kalrind until she was supporting his weight almost entirely. His legs felt unable
to hold him.
"Jim ! Jim !"
"What? Oh..." Shakily, he pushed himself away
from her and leaned against a wall.
"You collapsed against me! You just went all !imp,"
He shook his head. "Sorry. You all right?"
"Of course I'm all right!" Kalrind snapped. "Are
you all right?"
Nothing that a trip back in time wouldn't cure. "I'm
feeling better now. Just a passing something-or-other."
Kalrind looked annoyed. "I want you examined."
"Really, Kalrind, I'm all right now."
"Nonsense! I'll talk to Morith about it."
"Your tone of command is very good."
"You won't joke me out of it, Jim. For now, though,
I'm taking you back to our room so you can take a
nap."
For a momnent, Kirk was inclined to argue. He had
felt briefly that he was on the track of something
important, some crucial, pivotal idea or self-percep-tion. But then he decided that Kalrind was right and
he needed a nap far more than introspection.
Kirk awoke enormously refreshed. He practically
jumped from the wide bed, throwing the covers back
so vigorously that they slid onto the floor. He show-ered and dressed in the simple blue tunic that he found
draped over a chair in the room, and then, feeling
suddenly tremendously hungry, he left the room and
walked rapidly in the direction of the dining hall.
Kalrind was there, seated at a small table with
Morith, deep in some serious discussion. Kirk approached their table from Kairind's rear, intending to
surprise her. But Morith saw him coming and said
something to her, and she stopped talking and turned
around. "Jim! You look recovered."
"Yep. I feel great. And starving." He went to a
dispensing machine against one wall and returned with
a loaded tray.
Morith smiled. "Don't overdo it, Jim. I doubt if we
have any spare human stomachs in stock on the base."
Kirk shook his head. "Plenty of room for this. And
then I want to do some more exploring. Or maybe go
to the gym for a workout. I have so much energy all of
a sudden, I don't know how to get rid of it all."
"I have a minor crisis to put down," Morith said,
rising. "I suspect a doctor would recommend exploring over working out for you at this stage, Jim."
Remembering his episode of weakness earlier in the
day, Kirk nodded. "You're probably right, Morith.
Exploration it will be. You'll come with me, won't
you, Kalrind?"
"Sorry." She stood up. "Morith's crisis is my problem, too. Besides, I'm feeling tired. I think I'll go to
bed early. You'll have to wander around on your
own. ' '
Kirk waved goodbye as she left; his mouth was too
full to talk. His hunger was overwhelming. He kept
swallowing and then stuffing his mouth again, and even
so it took some time before he began to feel satisfied.
Strange thing, this hunger, he thought. It's almost as
if my collapse earlier today and then the nap constituted some sort of adjustment crisis, and now my body
is ready to go in this new time, to rebuild and press
forward. That's why it needs so much energy. I wonder if that makes any sense? I ought to ask Bones...
He caught himself in time and sternly shook off the
wave of sadness and loss. McCoy and Spock and the
others, and Enterprise itself it was done, it was finished, it was a fact of life, a new fact of life, and he
would have to live with it, would have to adjust. And I
will, he promised himselL He had always prided himself on his ability to adjust, and there had even been
times when he had saved his own life and the lives of
others through that ability. Now that not only his life
but his sanity was at stake, how could he let himself
fail?
His age, his century, his civilization--they were all
gone. This was now his universe. The fact was irre-versible. So be it. I will adjust.
And right now, he would explore.
He finished his last plateful of food, returned dishes,
glass, and utensils to the recycler, and left the dining
hall.
About an hour later, Kirk's urge to explore was
rewarded.
He was in a long, featureless hallway with few
doors. As he strode along impatiently, eager to find
something more interesting, a door ahead of him
opened and a brilliant light flooded out of it. Well, Kirk
thought, this might be something different. Shielding
his eyes from the glare, he headed for the open door--
but slowly and cautiously.
A glowing sphere drifted through the doorway and
into the corridor. A great echoing voice filled the
corridor. "Greetings, James Kirk, and welcome to the
future."
"An OrganJan!" Kirk exclaimed.
"Correct, Captain Kirk, an OrganJan." The light
shimmered and moved closer to him. "We have met
before, Kirk."
"I've only met Organians once before, on Organia
itself."
"Indeed. You knew me there as Ayleborne, chair-man of the Council of Elders. I spoke to you and Kor,
the Old Klingon. Kor considered himself governor of
my world, which he termed a newly acquired outpost
of the Klingon Empire, and you and Mr. Spock considered yourselves freedom fighters, obligated to liberate
us from Klingon domination." The OrganJan's voice
had assumed an amused tone.
Kirk smiled. "I've always thought of Organians as
humorless beings, not given to sarcasm."
"We have had to change ourselves over the last
century, in order to deal more effectively with your
people and the Klingons. I'm here on a brief visit--
then I will travel to Earth to meet the leaders of your
Federation. Fortunately, because of the Great Peace,
we have served in a liaison capacity, rather than as
policemen. Do you remember, Kirk, how you reacted
when I predicted the Great Peace?"
"Yes. I remember that I didn't believe you."
"Indeed you didn't. I'm not sure who was more
skeptical, you or Kor. The two of you were quite sure
that violence and hatred between your two races must
continue forever."
"Perhaps not forever," Kirk said. "I always thought
peace was possible. I just didn't see any likelihood of
it anytime soon." "And now?"
"Apparently I was wrong. What you predicted has
happened."
"I'm gratified to hear you admit that, Kirk. Now I
must leave you. But I will be returning to this base.
Perhaps we will find time to speak again." The brilliant
sphere floated back through the doorway, and the door
began to close.
"Wait!" Kirk called out, as he ran to the door,
which slid shut just as he got there. He knocked and
called out repeatedly, but the door remained closed.
There were so many questions he had been saving
for years in case he met an Organian again! Now he
wondered how much longer they would remain unanswered. He had once said sarcastically, "There's
never an OrganJan around when you need one." This
new situation was even more frustrating. Dissatisfied,
he turned and began to make his way back toward his
room.
That night, Kirk was possessed by dreams of pursuit
and capture, imprisonment and torture. He was surrounded by Old Klingon faces, some of which he
knew, malevolent faces leering down at him as he lay
strapped to an operating table and Klingon knives dug
into him.
He awoke sweating and shaking. Kalrind was holding him tightly. "Jim! You were calling your ship for
help. What was it?"
"Nothing," he muttered, "Just an old nightmare."
Comforted by her presence, he sank back into an
uneasy sleep.
In the morning Kirk awoke, feeling drained. He
soon realized that his weakness was more than inadequate rest. It was something more fundamental than
that. He could barely drag himself about the base, just
as he had felt on first emerging from unconsciousness
among the new Klingons.
Though he tried to avoid Kalrind and pretended to
be as energetic as the day before, she was not that
easily fooled. That evening in the dining hall, Morith
joined them. "So, Jim," he said, "Kalrind tells me
that you're having some physical problems."
"Me? Why, no, how did she get that impression?"
"For one thing," Kalrind said, "right now you're
finding it a real effort to raise your fork to your mouth
and to keep your eyes open."
"I didn't sleep too well last night," Kirk admitted.
"Those nightmares of yours worry me. And your
weakness," Morith said.
Kirk turned to Kalrind. "Do you tell Morith everything?"
"Not quite everyting."
"Well, that's something to be thankful for."
"I want you to check back into the hospital," Morith persisted. "Our doctors should check into this."
Kirk lacked the energy to object.
That night, instead of returning to the room he
shared with Kalrind, he went to the hospital with
Morith. There he was shown into the same room in
which he had found himself days before and ordered
to undress and get into the bed. A Klingon he thought
he recognized from his first, brief awakening appeared,
nodded at him, and applied an instrument to his arm.
Hypospray, Kirk thought. Guess some things haven't
been improved in a hundred years. Bones wouM have
been amused .... The drug took effect and Kirk
entered a dreamless sleep.
"The doctors can't find anything wrong," Morith
assured him the next day. "Your body's healed. It
must be some sort of psychological phenomenon resulting from your injuries. Unfortunately, human psychology is not a field we have much expertise in, so
there's not much more we can say. You seem fine
now, though."
"Brimming with energy again," Kirk assured him.
"I'd prefer to forget about it until and unless it happens again."
Morith grinned. "That's the sort of optimistic attitude doctors like."
Kalrind was more upset than Kirk, even though she
tried to hide her feelings from him. Kirk was touched
by her concern, but he had other and more immediate
worries, one of which was the chance that his latest
burst of energy might be short-lived and that he must
use it while it lasted. The other appeared while he was
capitalizing upon his renewed energy and trying to see
and learn everything he could about this future time.
On the afternoon of his new recovery, Kirk and
Kalrind were at a window overlooking a gymnasium,
watching off-duty Klingons engaging in strenuous recreation. Kalrind tried to pull him away, to get him to
look at some other part of the base with her, but Kirk
had stopped in fascination to watch the scene below.
The floor of the gymnasium was covered with three
sets of parallel lines, so that the surface was tiled with
variously colored triangles. The Klingons, all stripped
to the waist and sweating heavily, seemed to be following complicated rules governing which triangle each
could be in and how they were allowed to move
between them. There was much wrestling and shoving
and even rather vicious-looking kicks and punches.
"Hard-hitting game," Kirk remarked, pointing to a
group in one corner, who were either resting or dis-qualified, he wasn't sure which. Bruises and red
streaks showed on their skins. "Looks a bit like klin
zha."
Kalrind looked distressed at the reference. "You
know about klin zha? I thought humans of your time
knew nothing of that."
"Most of us didn't," Kirk agreed. "I read a book
about Klingons that described the game, though. I'm
surprised to see New Kiingons still doing it."
"Yes." Kalrind nodded. "Yes you're right. Anyone
else on this base would drop the subject immediately
if you raised it, and I have to confess that it makes me
uneasy, too. You see, there are some things from our
past that we seem unable to drop. It's as if that part of
us still survives, on some level. Oh, we try to pretend
that we've purged ourselves of it, the way Vulcans
have purged themselves of their violent past, but I
think we're lying about it a little bit."
Kirk laughed. "Just like Vulcans, although even my
friend Mr. Spock would have come close to a fit if he
had heard me say that." He returned his attention to
the gym floor. "Seems to work, though. They're all in
good shape, and it's hard to keep your people that way
on space duty without some sort of motivation, something that'll make them get into the gym regularly and
work hard. If your version of kiln zha does that trick,
then there's no reason to complain."
From behind him, a harsh voice said, "Of course
there's reason to complain!"
Kirk turned around to face the dark, angry face of
Klanth. Instead of the Klingon officer's uniform of a
hundred years earlier, he wore a tunic, identical to
those worn by Kalrind and Morith and the other New
Klingons. And yet on Klanth, the tunic seemed out of
place, foreign. He radiated the hostility and barely
contained anger Kirk knew so well. He was unchanged; he was the Klanth of old. Kalrind pressed
against Kirk--whether to seek protection or offer it,
Kirk couldn't tell.
"You're not happy in this century, Klanth?" Kirk
said mildly, tensing himself for an attack.
Klanth moved forward, but his object was not Kirk
or Kalrind. Instead he stepped up to the window.
When he spoke, his voice was calmer and thoughtful.
"How could a true Klingon be happy here? Look at
them." He pointed through the window. "How can
70
you dignify that with the name kiln zha? A Klingon
child of my day could defeat any of them in hand-to-hand combat. Even you could, Kirk. Are these the
heirs of the Klingon Empire? Is this what I and my
fellow Klingons fought and sacrificed so much for--so
that these weaklings and cowards could inherit our
power?" He shook his head. "I have more in common
with you than I do with them."
"Is that past something to mourn for?" Kirk asked.
"We were warriors, Captain, and our day is over.
They don't need us any more. The Galaxy is a peaceful
place, now. Our kind of man--"
"Rubbish!" Klanth shouted, his face darkening still
further. His moment of thoughtfulness had passed,
and he was once again the fierce Old Klingon warrior.
"Do you think I'm going to let this continue? They
killed my crew, Kirk!"
Kalrind stepped in front of Kirk. "Your crew were
killed by the storm and the stress of the time jump.
The same thing happened to Captain Kirk's men. At
least some of yours survived, Captain Klanth. You
should strive to be happy at their survival, and not
give way to anger. We can help you--"
Klanth bellowed and lunged at her. Kirk grabbed
her tunic and pushed her aside. She stumbled out of
Klanth's way, and the Klingon collided with Kirk.
Both men fell heavily to the floor, Klanth on top.
The Klingon reached for Kirk's throat. Kirk tried to
bring his arms up, to sweep Klanth's hands out of the
way, but his strength suddenly drained away and he
could not move because of Klanth's weight.
Suddenly Klanth went limp.
The Klingon captain was dragged off Kirk and
thrown to the floor. "Jim!" It was Kalrind, fear in her
eyes as she bent over Kirk's unmoving body.
71
"I'm all right," he muttered. "Help me..."
She helped him sit up and then supported him as he
climbed to his feet. "Knocked the breath out of me,
that's all," he said, smiling to reassure her. It was a
lie, but it was true that his strength was returning
slowly.
Kirk became aware that the corridor was crowded
with Klingons, Morith among them, and that some of
the Klingons were holding weapons trained on Klanth
and three others. Looking at them more closely, Kirk
realized that the three men under guard bore the marks
of the Old Klingon that he had noticed in Klanth the
glaring eyes, the rage-darkened face. Those signs were
much clearer to him, now that he could see Old and
New Klingons together.
Morith said to the Klingons with him, "Keep careful
watch over these--animals." Then he stepped over to
Kirk and said, "Jim, you don't look too good. Perhaps
we ought to have you checked again."
Kirk waved his hand and repeated his earlier lie.
"Klanth knocked the wind out of me. I'll be all right
in a few minutes. What's the story with those men?"
Morith grimaced. "Klanth's surviving crewmem-bers. They're just like him. They saw a fight getting
started, and they rushed to join in. Animals." He
looked as if he had swallowed something foul. "We
thought we could bring them up to our standard, and
we've been trying, but..." He gestured helplessly.
"They're a danger to you, aren't they?"
Morith nodded soberly. "They'll never fit in. Not in
our part of the Empire, anyway. We don't know how
to deal with these people; we never have. Our history
hasn't prepared us for this." He smiled crookedty.
"You know, Jim, the irony is that my ancestors would
have had no problem dealing with these people. Well,
72
not these people, of course, but people whom they
considered a danger. For them, the solution would
have been simple and obvious. Our higher morality
condemns us to a more complicated solution."
Kirk was feeling far stronger by now. He was able
to stand without any help from Kalrind. "So what
solution have you chosen?"
"When the next transport passes by, we're going to
load Klanth and his men onto it and send them back
to Klinzhai. Possibly the medical experts there can do
something with them. We've been making great strides
in drug therapy lately. We can now help the sick, the
brain-damaged and that's what I consider Klanth
and his men to be. If they can't be helped in that
way..." his voice trailed off.
"Come on, Jim," Kalrind said, taking his hand.
"Let's go back to your quarters."
After that incident, Kirk saw no more of Klanth or
any of his men. He was relieved, yet a part of him
brooded Klanth had been right to say that he and
Kirk were of a kind, and that as warriors, they were
unique in this age.
Years earlier, Kirk had read one of the personal
testaments remaining from one of Earth's great wars
of the age before spaceflight. The writer had said that
he and his fellow soldiers had more in common with
the enemy soldiers than with his own country's civilians. The o nly men who could really understand him,
he had written, were those who marched with him and
those they fought against. Only they had shared the
grim life he had been living throughout the years of
combat, and no civilian on either side could ever
understand what those men had been through.
Struck by that, Kirk had sought out other such
73
books to learn if soldiers from many countries and
many times had felt the same. Kirk had realized,
reading those old books, that he felt that way as well.
And now Klanth had said it aloud.
The brotherhood of warriors, Kirk thought. Only
warriors understand it---are even aware of it. Perhaps
Klanth and his kind were indeed the beasts Kalrind
and Morith said they were. Perhaps they were unpre-dictable and dangerous, but Kirk would have given
anything to talk of these matters with the Old Klingon,
a product of his own century, that proud and solitary
warrior from his own time.
74
SPOCK HAD CERTAINLY NOT LIED to Commodore Hellenhase about his desire to stay at Starbase Seventeen
with Enterprise while she underwent repairs. Indeed,
Kirk had relinquished the con to him, and Spock
therefore felt that his place was with Kirk's ship until
all was well with it again. As the ranking officer he
also felt it was his duty to stay with the crew while
they recovered from the psychological wounds resulting from the loss of their captain. In cases such as that
of Uhura, there were physical wounds as well.
But while Spock had not lied about his motivations,
his subsequent actions converted his words to Hellenhase into a lie. The few times he had tried to associate
with the crew, he had found it no easier than it had
ever been--worse, in fact. Their general hostility to
him resulted from his decision to leave the area of
Kirk's disappearance and continue to Starbase Seventeen.
Spock, unable to ignore their feelings, had realized
that, under those conditions, his presence was of no
benefit to them. Combined with the lure of investigation, the intellectual zeal that was one of the few
emotions Vuicans admired, this was enough to make
75
him surrender, to give up the unrewarded effort to
socialize with the crew, and retire to the nearest
available computer workstation.
And it was here that Mr. Scott found him.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Spock," Enterprise's chief
engineer said happily. "I've been searching for you
high and low. There's major work to be done on my
engines, and I'd very much like your input."
"Your engines, Mr. Scott?" the Vulcan said, not
taking his eyes from his monitor screen.
"Call 'em what you will, Mr. Spock," the engineer
said in annoyance, "but to my mind they're my own
personal possessions."
Spock sighed in resignation and turned away from a
graph displayed in front of him. "Indeed. I am at your
disposal, Mr. Scott. What did you wish to ask
me?"
The engineer's annoyance vanished, and eagerness
took its place. "Well, you see, Mr. Spock, it's like
this. We have to do a major rebuilding of the matter-antimatter containment vessel. Now, while we were
away, some important new developments have taken
place. We could reconstruct the vessel just as it was
before, or we could modify it to deliver much more
power in short bursts. During warp acceleration, for
example. I think that would be a real benefit."
"I assume there's a drawback. Otherwise you would
not have needed my advice or concurrence."
"Aye," Scott said unhappily. "You see, the new
design draws greater power at all other times and
would therefore decrease shield power and normal life-support reserves. Apparently, some ships have even
reported lower impulse power; there shouldn't be any
relationship, but apparently there is."
76
"Then the decision seems clearcut to me. Obviously
we cannot afford such an improvement."
"Ah, but it's a marvelous improvement, Mr. Spock!
I could even call it a breakthrough. I'd be delighted to
put it in place."
"Nevertheless, Mr. Scott, it is clearly impractical.
In my experience, Enterprise needs shield power, life-support reserves, and impulse power far more often
than she needs greater warp acceleration."
"Aye," Scott said sadly. "I thought the same, but I
was hoping that you'd be able to see a reason to put
the new system in place."
One Vulcan eyebrow rose. "I have never understood why humans so often wish to be argued out of a
course of action that their own judgment reveals to be
the best one."
"No," the engineer said, "I don't suppose you
would understand that, Mr. Spock. However, there's
another reason I came looking for you. Access codes
and passwords, damn them."
"You are far too cryptic, Mr. Scott."
"I'm talking about the computers on our ship, Mr.
Spock."
"I understood that," the Vulcan said patiently.
"What I cannot understand is you need to damn
computer codes and passwords." He might have asked
in what sense such immaterial objects could be
damned, but over the years, he had learned about
humans' and use of idioms and their annoyance when
questioned too closely about them.
"I have to change them all !" Scott exploded. "Hour
upon hour of work. It's taking me forever and it's
time I need to be spending on the engines and the
structure of the ship instead. Since you're such a
77
computer expert, Mr. Spock, I hoped you might show
me how to speed the process up."
"Mr. Scott, the process you are now using was
designed by Starfleet for optimal speed. Aren't you
really asking me for permission to bypass the process
and leave some access codes and passwords unchanged?" He stared coolly at the engineer.
Scott shamefaced, refused to meet the First Offi\_
cer's eye. "A stupid waste of time," he muttered. "A
stupid rule."
"You know better than than, Mr. Scott," the Vulcan
said. A hint of sternness had crept into Spock's normally unemotional voice. "Starfleet regulations spec-ify that access codes and passwords and ship dispositions are to be changed throughout the fleet following
the disappearance of an officer of the rank and position
of Captain Kirk."
Scott sighed. "Aye, Mr. Spock, I know of that rule.
And I haven't argued with it when we knew that the
lost man was in the hands of the enemy. But that's
simply not the case here! We know what happened to
the captain he was caught in a space storm of some
kind and thrown into another space, and that's where
he still is."
"I tend to agree with you," Spock admitted, "but
we cannot prove that; we cannot be sure. Until we are,
we must assume the worst. We must operate under the
assumption that Captain Kirk is in the hands of an
enemy, either one we know or one we don't, and that
he has been drugged or tortured until he has told his
captors everything he knows about Starfleet."
Scott shook his head. "I'd never believe that about
the captain."
Spock resolutely changed the subject. "How are the
repairs progressing, Mr. Scott?"
78
"Oh, on schedule in spite of this computer non-sense. She'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks.
Even better, in some respects."
"Excellent. What about Commander Uhura's console?"
Scott threw up his hands in an expression of frustration and paced energetically about the small space
near Spock's chair. The Vulcan watched him with a
detached, analytical air. "I can't figure that one out at
all, Mr. Spock. Those consoles are very heavily insulated! No one gets shocked by them---not unless
there's been major physical damage, and in this case
there wasn't."
"Dr. Mceoy insists that Commander Uhura did
indeed suffer a severe electrical shock, however. She
was rendered unconscious by that and not by being
thrown around subsequently, as we all were."
Scott winced at the memory and touched his head
gingerly. "Och, aye. Some of us will bear the marks
of that shaking for months. It's so much easier to
repair a ship than a human being. But then, ships are
more logically designed."
"I'm surprised to hear a human admit that," Spock
said approvingly. "Commander Uhura was lucky to
survive the shock, even luckier that she has recovered
fully, with no aftereffects. The next crewman exposed
to such a shock might not be so fortunate."
"I know that, Mr. Spock! I canna perform miracles!
I dinna ken the reason !" The engineer breathed deeply
and calmed himself down. "All my tests and simula-tions reveal nothing, no cause for what happened.
Same applies to the data recordings from the internal
console sensors."
"I have examined the same recordings, Mr. Scott,
and I concur. However, I have also examined the
79
recordings of the incoming subspace signals Commander Uhura was monitoring during that time." He
gestured at the monitor in front of him.
Scott leaned over to look at the display. He noticed
the plain, white cover of a Starfleet technical report
next to the keyboard and picked it up. "Elliot Tindall," he muttered. "I've heard good things about the
man, but I've never been able to understand his stuff."
"Fortunately, however, I do," Spock said
smoothly, taking the thick report from the engineefts
hand and putting it down again, outside the human's
reach. "The monitor, Mr. Scott."
Scott returned his attention to the display. "I can't
see what good that will do, Mr. Spock. There's no
information contained in those signals that'll tell us
anything about malfunctions in the equipment."
"Quite true, Mr. Scott. I'm searching these recordings for something outside the equipment. And I believe I have found it."
There was a pause, which Scott was convinced was
calculated for dramatic effect. He quickly lost his
temper. "Well, spit it oct, mon!"
"I have found evidence," Spock continued calmly,
"that the electric shock was caused by a very short
but very powerful signal which overloaded the console's damping circuits and its monitoring subsystems.
That signal was carried on the frequency which Commander Uhura was using to monitor the transponder
Captain Kirk took with him when he transported to
Mauler."
The engineer stopped pacing and stared at the Vulcan. "Aye," he said thoughtfully, "that's possible.
But what could have caused such a signal, Mr. Spock?
It would have to be tremendously powerful."
"Indeed it would," Spock said thoughtfully. "But I
80
need more data about it before I can draw any conclusions. I will require some highly classified Starfleet
equipment, to which I do not normally have access."
"Ah! So that's why you've been down here on the
base instead of up on the ship during its repairs."
"Exactly," Spock said. "I needed the computer
power available on the Starbase. I filed my reports to
Starfleet Command by means of subspace radio."
"That must have made them happy." Scott added a
chuckle.
"Not at all, Mr. Scott. They were most unhappy.
However, they bowed to my logic when I pointed out
that here ! could both have access to sufficient computer power and be close to the ship in case I was
needed."
"And you were!" Scott said eagerly. "You've
helped me greatly, and you just did it again today."
"Quite true. I have reached the point, however,
where I must have access to the classified equipment
I mentioned, and I have been informed that it is
currently under guard at Starfleet Headquarters."
"Earth!" Scott said. "Well, I wouldn't mind a vacation in the old country myself, Mr. Spock, but I
don't like going to that world on business."
"I share your distaste," Spock said gravely. "However, I can see no choice. I will be leaving Starbase
Seventeen for Earth late this evening. I expect to
return well before Enterprise is once again spaceworthy."
"She's always spaceworthy, Mr. Spock," the engineer said reprovingly. "Just more so sometimes than
others."
"Let us say, then, that I should be back before
Enterprise once again meets your exacting engineering
standards, Mr. Scott."
81
The engineer beamed at him. "Aye, now that I can
accept!" He left the room whistling.
Spock watched him go with an impassive face. A
curious species, the human one. He suspected he
would study it for years without understanding it. He
turned his attention back to his computer terminal.
82
"THINK YOU'RE WELL ENOUGH for classes, Jim?"
Kirk looked at her questioningly. They were back
in the base's park; it had become their favorite place
to relax and talk. And relaxing was what Kirk was
doing. Kalrind was sitting crosslegged next to him,
and he was lying on his back, stretched out, chewing
lazily on a blade of grass.
"Haven't you ever wondered what I do, what my
career is?" Kalrind asked him.
"I suppose I just assumed your whole duty in life
was to keep me happy."
Kalrind grinned. "Am I succeeding?"
"Admirably. I'm going to recommend you for a
medal."
"Actually, I'm here for a serious purpose."
"You know," Kirk told her, "I've noticed one way
in which you New Kiingons are very much like your
ancestors."
Kalrind drew away from him. She frowned, her
heavy brows forming a V, her dark forehead wrinkling.
Suddenly, she looked dangerous, an unsettling echo
of her racial past. "Oh?"
83
Kirk forced a laugh. "Yes. Like them, you don't
have much of a sense of humor."
Kalrind relaxed again. "I think you're right," she
said very seriously, and went on to prove Kirk's point.
"It's a failing on our part. We should strive to develop
a sense of humor. I think it has value."
Kirk shook his head but decided to change the
subject. "So. You were about to tell me about the
serious reason you have for being here."
"Yes. Of course. My training is in the study of
history. As soon as we realized who you were, I was
brought to the base. You were still unconscious at the
time."
"I can understand your coming here," Kirk said.
"Klanth and his surviving crewmen are a boon. You
must have been eager to question them."
"Klanth!" Kalrind said scornfully. "Might as well
try to interrogate a Qatlh pub, or some other wild
animal. No, Jim, these Old Kiingons are worthless
creatures. I'm not sure they even think the way I do.
What I meant was that you personally brought me
here. You are our historical resource."
"You mean the Federation hasn't given you complete records from my era, so that you can learn about
it?"
Kalrind smiled at him fondly. "You're being obtuse,
Jim. It's not your era that we want to know about it's
yOU."
"Aah, of course. The gallant, legendary hero."
But Kalrind didn't respond with a smile or a laugh,
as Kirk had expected. "That's right, Jim."
Now Kirk sat up. "I'm ready," he said quietly.
"Tell me everything you know."
"Let's walk," Kalrind said. "Sitting still for so long
makes me edgy."
84
As they strolled between the thick-boled trees, Kalrind continued, "A few days ago, you said that you
kept hearing about the Tholian Incident, but you didn't
know what it was. Now I will tell you.
"One hundred years ago, there was a confrontation
between two great fleets, one Klingon, one Starfleet.
They were facing each other across the frontier between their two spheres of influence. It was very near
where you and Mauler were caught by the storm and
thrown forward to our own time, and only four weeks
after that happened."
"Near Tholia," Kirk said.
"Exactly. Hence the name, the Tholian Incident."
"And the Tholians didn't interfere?" Kirk asked.
"We found them to be rather touchy about their territory."
"Considering the combined size of the two fleets, I
suppose the Tholians decided they'd be better off not
getting involved."
"They had that strange technology, though," Kirk
recalled. "That web of theirs..."
"Yes," Kalrind said. "But consider the energies if
the two fleets had had a battle. I doubt if even the
Tholian web could have stood up to it. And it certainly
looked like a battle was about to break out."
"Then the Organians should have done something.
Lord knows, they were certainly busybodies back
then."
Kalrind stepped off the pathway and sat down in the
grass, leaning against a tree. She patted the ground
beside her. Kirk joined her. "Since the Organians
seemed to know what everyone was up to, they must
have known that the Klingons were on a diplomatic
mission and not an attack. They were New Klingons."
"But we never heard anything about New Klingons,
85
in my time," Kirk protested. "If they already existed
back then, we would have wanted to get in contact
with them."
"Imperial politics, Jim. The Old Klingons were still
firmly in control of the Empire, and whenever they
found any of my ancestors, they either imprisoned or
killed them. The first New Klingons had to operate
underground. Even so, there were apparently enough
of them hidden in command positions to scrape together that fleet and head for the Federation frontier
to make peace with your people. The records are
incomplete."
"And so that's how the Great Peace came about?"
Kirk said.
"That should have been how it came about, but
your people didn't trust the New Klingons. They refused to believe that there was such a thing as a New
Klingon, and they were sure the whole thing was just
a Klingon trick."
"A reasonable assumption."
Kalrind nodded. "Given what they knew about
Klingons, yes. So the confrontation continued while
the New Klingons tried to convince the Federation
fleet commanders about who and what they were, and
the Federation people's trigger fingers got itchier and
itchJer." She gripped his arm fiercely. "The Klingons
had come to initiate peace, and instead they were on
the verge of starting interstellar war!
"Even the New Klingons would defend themselves
if the Federation ships attacked them. Once the shooting started, you can imagine how impossible diplomacy would have been. It would have meant war. And
not only would that lead to death and destruction on
both sides, it would also have destroyed the New
Klingon position within the Empire."
86
"Doesn't sound like they had much of a position."
"I suppose not. Let's say that with peace, they
would have been strengthened and gained a position.
In fact, that's exactly what happened the New Klingons used the peace treaty as a wedge to get into
positions of power and start taking over the Empire.
But a war might have led to their total elimination.
The Organians might have intervened, but they didn't
show any signs of doing so."
"So there was a stalemate between the two fleets.
What broke it?"
"You did!" she said. "The records from both sides
show that Captain James Kirk, aboard a Klingon ship,
spoke to the commander of the Starfleet force and
confirmed everything the Klingons had been saying."
"But that's impossible!" Kirk whispered, staring at
her face with a mixture of fear and hope.
"I'11 show you. Come on." She got to her feet,
pulling him after her. "That was history class. Now
you get to see a movie."
Kirk didn't understand, didn't respond to her banter. "It's all right, Jim!" she said urgently. "You'll
see. It's the truth--and it all keeps getting better from
here."
The wall screen before them glowed pink, and then
a picture formed on it. Kirk caught his breath. He was
looking down on the bridge of a Federation starship.
Beneath him was the familiar layo ut, and familiar, too,
were the figures on the bridge Spock, Uhura, Sulu,
Chekov...
"Old records," Kalrind explained, oblivious to
Kirk's emotions. "The Federation passed copies on to
us, and we combined them with some of our own.
They've just heard your message of peace broadcast
from the Klingon fleet. Listen."
87
Spock occupied the command seat. He thumbed a
switch on the chair arm. "Analysis, Doctor?"
Leonard McCoy's voice sounded puzzled. "I don't
know, Spock. My gut feeling is suspicion."
"Conclusion, Doctor?" Spock sounded impatient--
a subtle hint in his voice that no one but Kirk could
have detected.
"Since I'm a doctor and not a computer," McCoy
said sarcastically, "unlike some people I could name
but won't, I don't have any conclusions. That's for
commander types, not for country doctors. My inclination, however, is not to believe it. Let's hold off for
a while and see what he says next. After all, the more
we hear, the more data we have to analyze."
Spock nodded. "Surprisingly logical, Doctor."
Kirk found himself grinning. I don't need voice
analysis to know that that exchange was for real, he
thought. Poor Spock--he looks so worried, so worn
out. Kirk wanted to speak to his friend, to communi-cate with him somehow, and reassure him. A sudden
awareness of the reality brought him up short. That all
happened a hundred years ago.t It brought it home all
over again everyone on that screen was dead, utterly
lost to him.
The view shifted to the bridge of another Starfleet
vessel, where a communication was received from
Enterprise conveying McCoy's conclusion and
Spock's concurrence in it. That was followed in turn
by scenes on the bridges of Klingon ships in the fleet,
where worried Klingon officers were shown discussing
the chances that the Starfleet commanders would believe Kirk on the one hand, or open fire on the other.
When the screen finally went blank again, Kirk was
surprised at how shaken and disoriented he felt.
"Okay," Kalrind said enthusiastically. "That was
88
the first day. Now I've got to try and find the next
day's recordings."
"I'd like to see my own speech to them. Can you
show me that?"
Kalrind shook her head. "Sorry, Jim. The records
are incomplete, both ours and Starfleet's. A lot of our
shipboard recordings were lost during the upheavals in
the Empire that followed the Tholian Incident--when
the New Klingons were taking over. Starfleet doesn't
know why their recordings are incomplete, but they
haven't been able to find everything in their archives.
Inefficiency, maybe."
"Just barely possible," Kirk said with a smile.
"Anyway, it's a tragedy for historians, but your
actual speech itself is lost. We've been able to reconstruct the words you spoke from these recordings, but
we have no recording of you actually speaking them.
Okay, now." She turned back to the keyboard and
worked with it. "Here it is, I think."
On screen, Spock was in the Enterprise Sickbay
talking to Leonard McCoy. "Doctor," he said, "we
have ample data for analysis by now, and even though
I have learned through long association with Captain
Kirk to respect human intuition, I must lend greater
weight to instrument analysis. I have therefore decided
to accept the computer's conclusions and to recommend to the rest of the fleet that they do the same."
McCoy said angrily, "Damn it, Spock, what would
Jim say?"
"Precisely, Doctor. We already know the answer to
that question."
The next scene showed the Klingons smiling in relief
as they were told that the officers commanding the
vast array of Starfleet ships had voted to believe the
message from Captain James Kirk. And so the Klingon
89
fleet was escorted triumphantly all the way to Earth,
where amid worldwide (later to become Federation-wide) celebrations the Great Peace was initiated.
The wall screen went blank again. "There you are!"
Kalrind said triumphantly. "The Great Peace has
lasted ever since then, a whole century! Neither side
has breached it in all that time !"
Kirk realized that he had tears in his eyes--more
from seeing his friends on the wall screen than from
what Kalrind had just said. "Few of us hoped for
that," he said.
"I know," Kalrind said comfortingly. "You know,
Jim, the alliance between the Federation and the Empire has grown still closer during that century. There
hasn't even been what you could call a border incident
for something like seventy-five years. In fact, there's
scarcely a frontier anymore. Klingons and Federationists travel unimpeded in each other's territories. A
complete political union will probably come about in
my lifetime. AjljmoS, as we would say. And in time--
who knows?--perhaps the Romulans will agree to join
it, as well. No, not 'perhaps,' Jim I'm sure they will."
Kirk felt distracted. "That's good," he said absently. "But this Tholian Incident and my part in itm
why, it's impossible! I couldn't have been there, not
in anyone's fleet. I was thrown forward in time before
any of that happened!"
Kalrind smiled. "We know, Jim--and we think we
know what really happened. I'd like to have Morith
give you the next part of the explanation."
They found Morith in a laboratory workroom, sitting at a small table surrounded by unidentifiable
equipment. He was typing on a keyboard integrated
into the table, and he looked up with momentary
90
annoyance at being interrupted. His face cleared when
he saw who had interrupted him, and he smiled. "Jim!
This is a pleasure." Then he glanced at Kalrind and
back at Kirk again. "Aah. I see. Just a moment."
He typed some final instructions into the keyboard,
stood up, and stretched. "What point have you
reached?"
Kalrind said, "I've given him an outline of the
Tholian Incident, and how it ended."
"She told me what she knew about it," Kirk added.
"Which is apparently not all that much. She said the
next information comes from you. So what is next?"
Kirk was aware of feelings of animosity within himself
he was tired of all this mystery, tired of feeling under
the control of others, tired of feeling that he was being
shunted from one Klingon to another, with each one
giving him only a tantalizing piece of the story he
wanted to hear, before telling him that someone else
would provide the next chapter.
Ignoring the undertone of hostility in Kirk's voice,
Morith said, "What's next is the largest fleet of space-craft in history. Would you like to see it?"
Kirk stared at him, too surprised to speak. Morith
smiled. "Follow me."
They were in a room Kirk had never visited before.
Kalrind had not accompanied them, though she would
follow soon. "I shouldn't even be involved in this,"
Morith said. "I'm a physicist, a very theoretical scientist. I don't know who decided I should be given an
administrative job like this."
"Technical planning," Kirk said absently, stepping
forward toward the giant screen.
"Yes, that must be it." Morith nodded. "Someone
on Klinzhai had the silly idea that since I am a physi-91
cist, I should be able to handle technical planning.
Makes one wonder how our ancestors built such a
large empire in the first place, doesn't it?"
"I don't think the Old Klingons suffered from that
kind of confusion." And yet they would have been at
home with this fleet.
One wall of the room was a screen much like those
on the bridge of Enterprise. Morith had explained that
although this screen had been intended for scientific
use, it was the most convenient one to show Kirk what
he wanted to show him. And now the far wall of the
room had become an electronic window into space. It
was as if the wall were of glass and there was nothing,
no rock, no concrete, between Kirk and the vast
emptiness and the great fleet that hung out there,
orbiting the base.
Many of the ships were no more than lights winking
against the many-colored stars, or small dark shapes
that blocked those stars, silhouetted against them.
Others were closer and were transfixed by powerful
beams of light from the Klingon station. Those transfixed Kirk.
Klingon birds of prey. They bristled with armament,
obvious to Kirk's practiced eye. "Those are warships,
Morith," he said. "Klingon warships from my own
time."
The Klingon looked embarrassed. "That's all that
was available. It's a heritage from our past. A remnant
of it, I should say. We couldn't afford to strip our
trade, our mercantile fleet, for this mission, so they
recommissioned and reconditioned all the old ships
they could get their hands on. Those are warships left
over from your own time, Jim. That's the last time
Klingons built spaceships for war. We have them in
museums all over the Empire, well maintained. We
92
show them to our young to instill in them shame and
fear of our past. But on the positive side, it meant that
those old ships were available to make up the fleet for
this mission when other ships weren't."
"And what is that mission?" Kirk asked again. He
had asked the same question a few minutes earlier,
and Morith had refused to answer him. Now, as before, Morith refused, and he gave the same reason
"Wait until Kalrind gets here. I'll answer you then."
Only rarely had Morith struck Kirk as the sort of man
who needed such moral support.
And so they waited in silence, each occupied with
his own thoughts, alone in the small viewing room.
Morith's attention seemed directed inward; Kirk's,
inevitably, was drawn outward by the fleet--drawn
into the void, into his proper realm.
At last Kirk heard Kalrind's distinctive footsteps
hurrying down the hallway. As soon as she entered
the room, he said, "Now, Morith. Pl ease, no more
delays."
Morith nodded. He walked over to the screen, next
to Kirk, and stared into the blackness. "That fleet,"
he gestured, "will become the New Klingon fleet that
confronts the Federation fleet near Tholia. Those ships
and the three of us will travel in time one hundred
years to play our proper roles in the Tholian Incident."
They were back in the laboratory workroom where
Kirk and Kalrind had earlier found Morith. Morith had
been quite right to wait for Kalrind, Kirk realized
Morith hadn't needed her support, but Kirk had. He
was shaken by Morith's reference to time-travel plans,
disoriented by it. He had held his peace while they
walked back here, but now he was bursting with
questions.
93
For a moment, though, he stared wordlessly at the
two Klingons. After what had seemed an endless
period of adjustment to his terrible loss, he could
hardly believe that they were telling him that his world
was not lost after all.
Morith began. "We have a plan, devised by our own
Klingon scientists in cooperation with human experts
in the Federation. They discussed it for quite some
time, but now they agree about what we have to do.
We must travel back in time ourselves to make sure
you're there where and when you need to be. In other
words, we have to make sure history happens correctly."
Kirk shook his head in amazement, but Kalrind took
his gesture for disapproval. "It's really quite simple,
Jim," she said. "In essence, anyway. You see, back
then, the New Klingons were still struggling with the
Old Klingons for control of the Empire. Why should
we just let the outcome of that struggle be subject to
the whims of history? We know it worked out the way
we want, but what tipped the balance? What made it
come out the way we wanted, instead of the other
way?"
Kirk was confused. "Does it matter? It happened.
That's what counts, not how close things came to
going some other way."
"Yes, but it could change."
"The past could change? Nonsense. The past is
over with." But then Kirk remembered New York in
1930 and the death of Edith Keeler. "It can be
changed," he said softly. He shivered suddenly. "The
past can be a terrible thing to meddle with."
"But not if you're meddling to make sure the results
are good," Morith said urgently.
"Don't be so sure." Kirk had let Edith die on Earth
94
in 1930, precisely in order to make sure that the results
were good, and that decision had haunted him ever
since.
Kalrind went on, "We will send this armada back a
hundred years so that it can be the New Klingon fleet
and turn the Tholian Incident into the Great Peace.
You'll be on the flagship, and so will I. What historian
could miss such an opportunity?"
"You don't know how dangerous this is," Kirk told
her.
"Not dangerous at all," Morith said brusquely.
"We've worked out virtually every detail."
"Why the fleet?" Kirk asked him. "Why not just
one or two ships?"
"And how do you think the Old K!ingons of your
time would react if they detected one or two ships
headed for the frontier, Jim? The ships would be
stopped. But the way the Old Klingons tended to
think, they wouldn't dare to interfere with such a fleet.
They'll assume that it must have been authorized. And
by the time they find out the truth, it'll be too late.
The Great Peace will be underway.
"Besides," Morith went on after a pause, "these
ships were available immediately, and it would have
taken time to obtain any others. And we don't have
time. Time is pressing."
"Pressing!" Kirk exclaimed. "How can that be?
We're going back to a chosen point in a previous time.
That won't change. How can time be pressing for us
now, a hundred years later?"
Morith grimaced. "I was putting off going into all of
this, because I have trouble explaining it. I believe you
traveled into the past yourself, by using the gravitational field of a star?"
"Yes, that's true," Kirk said, amazed. "But how
95
did you know that? That's secret Starfleet information !"
Morith laughed. "Was secret, Jim, was secret! Everything in Federation records is available to us now,
and the reverse is also true. That mission was one of
the famous adventures of the great Captain Kirk. It's
one of the stories our schoolchildren are reared on!"
Kirk gestured, a motion of futility. "I'm not sure
I'll ever get used to this--this new perspective."
"You won't need to if this mission succeeds. As I
was about to say, we're going to use a very similar
technique to go back a hundred years. Our physicists
have only recently discovered a supermassive body
not far from our frontier with the Federation, in the
direction of Tholia. It's one member of a binary pair,
the other member being a white dwarf star. You used
the field of an ordinary star, but this body will give us
better control, and it will enable us to translate this
entire fleet back in time. Back a hundred years."
"I've never heard of such a body in that area."
"No. It was discovered quite recently. We call it
Hov tlnqu'."
"Which means?"
Morith laughed. "In English, roughly something
like, urn, 'very big star.' Now, you see, the reason
time is important is that where--when, I mean--we
end up in the past is a complicated function of the time
when we enter Hov tlnqu's gravitational field, as well
as the angle and speed of entry. Moreover, the function is quantized. By that I mean that only certain
times in the past are accessible, because only certain
combinations of time, angle, and speed will work. In
fact, it will be a very dangerous trip for the fleet,
because a minute error in time or angle or speed will
result in destruction by the powerful gravitational
96
field, instead of transfer in time. One way, you jump
in time; any other, and you're crushed."
Kirk nodded. He knew that much about this method
of time travel, at least.
"We've calculated it over and over in order to be
absolutely sure, and we keep coming up with the same
answer. Hov tlnqu' will allow us to jump back to just
the right time, the moment before the Tholian Incident
began. That's remarkable luck, Jim, but there's only
one combination of time, angle of entry, and speed of
entry that will get us there, and that time is coming up
very soon. It's only days away. We--the fleet, I
mean--will have to leave this base within twenty hours
at the very most."
97
FLEET ADMIRAL CHUNG prided himself on his irapas-sivity, which he considered the equal of any Vulcan's,
but today his face betrayed equal mixtures of annoyance and puzzlement as Spock entered his office.
Spock saluted and stood at attention before the
admiral's desk. "Well, Mr. Spock?" Chung said testily. "Now what? You requested that we allow you to
file your report by hyperspace radio rather than being
required to report directly back here which, after a
great deal of internal discussion, we agreed to do--
and yet now you show up in San Francisco! We have
long made special allowances for you and Captain
Kirk. You've both been granted quite a few privileges,
compared to other officers in the fleet."
As Chung lectured on, Spock stood at attention with
his face expressionless--unintentionally serving as a
model of that emotionless appearance to which the
admiral aspired. This only served to increase Chung's
anger. "You've both deserved special treatment,"
Chung continued, "because of your brilliant records.
But now, Spock, this time--" He paused for a breath.
The longer he ranted at Spock, the longer the Vulcan
stood there absolutely calm. Chung felt his temper
98
escaping his control. "This time, Spock, you've over-done it! A starship captain disappears, and yet despite
that, I give you permission to stay at Starbase Seventeen--and the next thing I know you show up here in
San Francisco! Well?"
"Well what, Admiral?" Spock asked.
Chung pounded a fist against his desk. "I ought
to---! Don't try to--! SPOCK!"
Spock said patiently, "I'm sorry, Admiral, but I
don't understand what it is you want to know. If you
would be so kind as to explain."
Retirement, Chung thought. Only a year to go. "I
want to know," Chung said tightly, "what you are
doing here."
"Ah," Spock said. "Now I understand. Thank you,
Admiral."
Chung took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes
shut for a moment. He opened them. "Continue, Mr.
Speck," he said resignedly.
"I would have sent you a message in advance,
Admiral, to explain my visit here, but I had reason to
fear interception of my message."
The admiral sat back in his chair. "What are you
telling me, Spock?"
"I needed your permission, sir, to perform some
experiments using a piece of top-secret equipment
kept here at Starfleet Headquarters. Since Starfleet
has tried to keep secret even the existence of that
piece of hardware, let alone its location, I thought it
wisest to make the request in person. Moreover, when
you grant the request, I will need to he here anyway
to perform the experiments I have in mind."
"'When,' Spock, not 'if I grant your request?"
Chung shook his head. "All right, Spock, just what is
99
it that you're requesting? What piece of top-secret
hardware do you need?" Spock told him.
Chung stared for a long time. Then he said, "Permission granted. Wait a minute. Are you sure? Never
mind. Stupid question. Vulcans are always sure."
"I believe that's a fair assessment, Admiral," Spock
said, taking the remark at face value.
Chung grimaced. "Anything else?"
"I could use some assistance, sir. It would speed
matters up."
'Of course," Chung added. "Let's see, I'll give
Admiral Kim a call--"
"I did have someo ne in mind." Spock interrupted.
"Elliot Tindal!."
Naturally, Chung thought to himself. But TindaWs
a good man, so--"What's the date?" He looked at his
desk calendar. "Oh, yes. I believe he returned from
his vacation this morning. Let me give him a call." He
reached for the communicator on his desk.
"Admiral," Spock said quickly, "I'd prefer it if you
didn't do that. No communications net can ever be
entirely secure. Could we visit him at home instead?"
"Hmph. Spock, do you really think Starfleet communications can be compromised?"
"Any communications net can be, Admiral," Spock
said.
"Oh, all right. I'll call for a driver. You will allow
that, I suppose?" Chung said with heavy sarcasm.
Spock considered the question for a moment. "Yes,
Admiral. Please feel free."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock." Chung emphasized
the rank, but of course sarcasm was always lost on
Spock--at least, so far as any human could tell.
lOO
Arguments had become increasingly common at the
Tindall home. Usually, though, they managed to keep
the arguments quiet--at least, quiet enough that the
neighbors didn't hear. Today, though, Elliot and Luisa
were being loud enough for the neighbors and the two
uniformed visitors coming up the front walk to hear.
The neighbors listened raptly from behind curtains.
The two visitors had no choice but to pretend to ignore
what they heard.
Luisa answered the door. Chung noticed the redness
of her eyes and nose. "Oh, Admiral," Luisa said.
"Hello. Come in. Elliot's in his study. I'll go get
him."
"I'm sorry to have to disturb you while he's still on
vacation, Luisa," Chung said awkwardly, "but this is
very important."
Luisa smiled tightly and said nothing. She led them
down a short hallway to a living room furnished in the
softly padded furniture that had become fashionable
on Earth lately. The prints on the wall and the pale
color scheme all fit in with the latest style among
Earth's upper middle classes.
"Please," Luisa said, pointing at the couch. She left
the room, audibly muffling a sob.
Spock and Chung sat down side by side on the
couch, the Vulcan showing no awkwardness at all,
while Chung felt both uncomfortable and unhappy.
They ignored each other, Chung choosing to examine
the prints on the wall rather than make eye contact
with his companion.
After a while heavy footsteps came down the hallway toward them, and Elliot Tindall strode into the
room and stopped. "Admiral Chung," he said, staring
with easily detected hostility, "I don't think I'm due
101
in the office until next Monday. Or did I miscalcu-late?"
"Oh, no, Elliot, not at all," Chung said with exaggerated heartiness. "You're quite right. Unfortunately, though, something quite urgent has come up. I
don't know if you've ever met Mr. Spock...?"
Elliot turned his attention to the Vulcan, who had
risen to his feet and stood waiting silently. "No, but
of course I know of you, sir. Probably the most famous
Vulcan in Starfleet." He smiled to make it clear he
was joking.
Spock took the remark seriously. "I have little
competition for that distinction, Mr. Tindall."
"And I've always thought that was a shame, sir,"
Elliot said quickly. "The Science Division could use
the Vulcan approach to technical problems. I have, for
example, long admired the writings of Meng."
Spock nodded. "One of our finest philosophers of
science. And I have heard of you, Mr. Tindall. I've
read your paper on the interaction of the T-jump effect
and the transporter phase field and found it closely
reasoned and admirably concise."
Chung watched the interplay between the two. Convinced that it was as amiable as it sounded, he relaxed.
"Elliot, Mr. Spock has come to Earth to do some very
important work. He has requested you as his assistant."
"Why, I'd be honored!" Elliot broke in. "It would
be a wonderful opportunity !"
"Yes, I realize that," Chung continued. "But it
would mean you'd have to temporarily abandon your
current project."
"Nothing," Elliot said immediately. "No problem
at all. If Mr. Spock needs my help, nothing else stands
in the way."
102
"Perhaps you'd like to know what my needs are,"
Spock said.
"Whatever they are, sir, I'd be honored to participate."
"Immediately?" Chung asked. "Today? Right
now7"
Elliot shrugged. "If it's that urgent, Admiral, of
course. ' '
"You can tell Luisa it's all my fault," Chung began
in a jovial tone and then kicked himself mentally as
soon as the words were out.
Elllot's posture grew stiff and cold in a subtle but
unmistakable fashion. "I'11 manage that problem, Admiral."
Chung sprang to his feet. "Well! Now that that's all
settled," he said, "we need to be on our way--all of
us. Mr. Spock and I will wait for you outside, Elliot,
while you... urn."
Elliot nodded. 'TII be with you in a few minutes."
Chung led the way quickly out of the house and into
their waiting vehicle. Once they were safely inside,
insulated from their driver's hearing, he said, "I don't
understand it, Mr. Spock, I just don't understand it.
They were always so happy. What's gone wrong?" He
sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with the young
these days. It was different in my day. Everything
they do seems so impermanent. They lack commit-ment. I'm beginning to worry seriously about the
future of the human race."
Spock said, "Admiral, you are echoing the com-plaint of many a philosopher of previous times. It
seems to be a peculiarly human failing to see one's
own age as a pale and inferior stepchild of all previous
ages. What humans lack, I think, is an objective and
unemotional view of their history."
103
Chung expected him to expound on this topic at
much greater length, but then Elliot Tindall walked
out of his house to join them.
Days of intensive work followed.
Spock and Elliot worked long hours and took only
short breaks. Elliot almost matched the Vulcan in his
ability to ignore the need for food and sleep. They
both outlasted the small team of assistants that had
been assigned to them; in the end the two of them did
the great bulk of the work.
The theory underlying the hardware Spock had req-uisitioned had to be extended and more deeply understood before the testing of Spock's hypothesis could
even begin, and major modifications to the hardware
had to be worked out as well. In both tasks, Elllot's
contribution was a significant factor in their final success.
When the tests finally got under way, the two of
them were alone in the workshop Starfleet had assigned to them. Their three assistants were all asleep,
trying to recover from the last unending bout during
which Spock and Elliot, in a long burst, had completed
the final stage of the work.
It was more than dedication to the work and fascination with it and the opportunity to work with Spock
that had kept Elliot in the workshop for such long
hours. It was also his spending the last two days of
their sustained push sleeping at the base instead of
home. The relationship with Luisa had reached a point
at which he no longer trusted himself alone with her.
The thought that he might, in uncontrolled anger, harm
her, perhaps even kill her, terrified him.
Elliot remembered first meeting Luisa and their first
year together. Happy as he knew she had been, he had
104
been even happier. It was the medication that had
made even that possible. But now that he had reached
what should have been the fulfillment of his assigned
duties and the completion of his personal happiness,
his medication was betraying him.
In fact, he was badly overdue for his dose. Unchar-acteristicaily hasty and distracted, he had left the
bottle of pills at home. How could he get it without
encountering Luisa (and all the tears and pleading and
inevitable fury that would result)? He was supposed to
take the pills daily and had been warned of awful
things if he failed to do so. He had already missed his
regular dose twice. He hoped that, after taking the
medication for so many years, he had built up enough
of it in his blood that he could manage to miss a few
days without dangerous results.
"Mr. Tindall," Spock said sharply, "I requested an
increase in power."
Elliot snapped back to an awareness of his surroundings and duties. "Oh, yes, Yes, of course. Sorry, Mr.
Spock. I was daydreaming." He turned the dial
quickly, boosting power by the amount Spock's experimental schedule required.
Spock turned back to his monitor, saying nothing
about the human propensity for daydreaming, as contrasted to the Vulcan ability to ignore all distractions
and discipline all thoughts, but he didn't need to. Elliot
ascribed such opinions to him even without any words.
Damned supercilious Vulcan.t Elliot thought. I'd like
to--Angrily, he squelched that thought. A bit of Vulcan mental discipline would be useful right now.
"How does it look, Mr. Spock?" he called out
cheerfully.
Spock twisted around and looked at him in surprise,
then returned to his study of the graph on the monitor.
105
"Following predictions so far, Mr. Tindall. Keep increasing the power according to the schedule."
I couM sabotage his test so easily, Elliot thought
suddenly. That might be the best thing. But no Spock
would notice immediately.
The process continued for more than two hours. By
the time they reached the end of the planned test run,
Elliot was feeling the strain--both the physical strain
of concentrating and following the schedule, and the
psychological strain of keeping his ever more unruly
temper under control.
At last Spock stood up and said thoughtfully, "You
may power down now, Mr. Tindall. I believe I have
determined what I set out to."
Elliot rose, too, his nerves tingling. His muscles
were stiff, but tensed for action. "So what's the next
step?" he asked in a calm tone.
Spock stared at the young scientist for a moment as
if measuring him in some way, weighing him. "My
results mandate an immediate return to Starbase Seventeen. I've thought of requesting that you be assigned
to accompany me. I've been very impressed with your
work, and ! believe you could contribute significantly
in the next step. There would be danger; it would be
very different from intellectual work here on Earth."
Elliot relaxed. This was far better than the action he
had been planning! "I would be honored and delighted, Mr. Spock."
Spock nodded as if he had expected no other response. "Good. I will speak to Fleet Admiral Chung
right away."
"How many days before we leave?"
"Not days, Mr. Tindall minutes, if immediate
transportation is available. Hours, otherwise. Starfleet
106
has accorded my mission the highest possible prior-ity."
Elliot gritted his teeth. He noticed Spock staring
curiously at his bunching jaw muscles and forced
himself to relax. "I'll be ready, Mr. Spock. I'll need
to make a quick trip home, but I'll be ready."
Maybe it was working already, Luisa thought, working in some magical way. Then she felt ashamed of
herself for thinking such a superstitious thought. Still,
her friend had assured her that the supplements had
worked wonders with her own husband, who had
become a tyrant but was now as gentle and loving
as in the early days of their marriage. How dearly
Luisa wanted to recapture that same mood with
Elliot!
And it was undeniable that during his few minutes
at home, rushed as he was, he had been more like his
old self. Of course she knew that the pills she had
substituted for those worthless vitamins of his could
hardly have worked on him while they were still in the
bottle, but she wanted so much for them to work. She
needed the old Elliot for her own survival.
It was remarkable good fortune that the supplements her friend had given her looked just like Elllot's
vitamins. It was also fortunate that he had called her
from the base before coming home, giving her just the
time she needed. And finally, it was fortunate that he
had been so rushed, or he might have noticed the pile
of small, red capsules in the trash can in the bathroom,
for Luisa had not had time to dispose of his vitamin
pills properly. If he had noticed the pills and discovered what she bad done, which Elliot would he have
been?
107
She had felt desperate enough to resort to this
subterfuge, this trickery, because the alternative--
leaving Elliot--was too awful to think about.
Don't start thinking gloomy thoughts again, she
ordered herself. Wherever it is he's gone, he'll come
back acting like the Elliot you fell in love with.
108
DURING THE TRIP from the base to the supermassive
body, Kirk continually interfered with Kalrind's work,
oblivious to her occasional annoyance; there were still
questions he wanted answered.
"How do we know that this scheme of yours is
really the way it happened?" he persisted in asking.
"There must be records. Your own records, or maybe
Federation records; they'd show us how I got there,
how I managed to be present at the Tholian Incident.
So we'd know if we're doing the right thing." God
knows, he told himself grimly, when you're traveling
in the past, you don't want to do the wrong one.
"Starfleet must have debriefed me after it was all
over."
"You would think so," Kalrind agreed. "However,
Federation personnel have searched their archives
without finding any records of such a debriefing. Actually, in retrospect, it doesn't seem that surprising.
Just imagine how everyone must have felt, on both
sides--the jubilation, the celebrations, the . . . the
delight! Who worried about debriefing and other formalities like that?"
She laughed suddenly. "And one thing I haven't
109
even told you! As soon as the Great Peace was announced, Admiral James T. Kirk resigned his commission and was appointed the Federation's first ambassador to the Klingon Empire. That, by the way, was at
the request of the commanders of both fleets, both the
Federation and Klingon fleets. Everyone who had
been involved in the Tholian Incident was impressed
by his diplomacy."
"Ambassdor to the Klingon Empire?" Kirk said
wonderingly. "What an amazing idea!"
Kalrind, unusually coy, said, "You know, when you
were assigned to the Empire, you probably romanced
my great-great-great-grandmother. From what I've
heard, it's not the sort of thing she would have told
anyone. I may be your descendant."
Kirk stared at her, more disturbed at the possibility
than he was willing to tell her. Kalrind laughed at his
expression. "But probably not. Don't worry about it.
You'll probably have your choice of Klingon women.
We all like the exotic, the different, and humans are
as exotic and different as they come. I bet women in
the Federation are like that just as much as those in
the Empire."
Kirk opened his mouth, but then shut it without
saying anything.
"Now," she continued, "on to more practical matters. I need some specific information from you, Jim.
Or 1 should say, we need it. We need it to make sure
history remains unchanged. As you said, we need to
make sure we're doing everything correctly."
There was, Kirk thought, one way in which the New
Klingons were certainly very different from the Old
the Old Klingons were blunt and direct, while the New
were circumlocutory. In this respect, Kirk found he
preferred the older version of the breed. At first, he
110
had been overwhelmed by the idea of regaining the
world--the time--he had thought lost. Now he began
to fear losing Kalrind even more. Changing the past,
he feared, would tear her from him just as it had torn
Edith Keeler from him. But when he tried to move
their conversations in that direction, in the direction
of possible dangers to their relationship from this
undertaking, Kalrind always retreated behind a barrier
of professional investigation she became the historian, and he became her source; their status as lovers
became a subject not to be discussed.
And when he complained openly about this, she
said, "Please, Jim. Be patient. All of this is very
bizarre, very amazingiboth what we're all trying to
do and what's happened between the two of us. I need
your famous tolerance."
"I'm famous for being tolerant?" Kirk shook his
head. "That gives me an entirely new perspective on
history. I'm going to have to change my opinion of a
whole lot of historical characters." He reached out
and stroked Kalrind's hair. "But I'll try."
"I just thought of something!" Kalrind said suddenly. "Now, what was it? Oh, yes, that's right. I
can't think when you touch me!" She moved away
from him. "See now my memory returns immediately. You humans . . . ! I just realized that I'H be
there, too, so you won't get the chance to romance
my ancestress, after all! I'll be with you instead, when
you become the Federation ambassador to the K!ingon
Empire."
He would return to his own time and live a long and
peaceful and productive life with Kalrind by his side!
Kirk was astonished at the strength of the longing that
consumed him, the longing she had painted so simply
111
and easily and with so few words. It overwhelmed his
fear.
"Right on schedule," Morith said happily.
Before them, on the screen that formed the forward
wall of the Alliance bridge, was the achingly familiar
starfield. Being on the bridge of a ship, watching the
stars crawling off to the side of the screen, Kirk felt
almost at home again, although he knew he wouldn't
feel fully secure until he was on the bridge of a
Federation starship and back in his own time. If Morith
and his fellow scientists were right, all of that would
happen very soon.
In the middle of the starfield, a dim, hazy blue
sphere glowed faintly. This was the supermassive body
of which Morith had told him their gateway into the
past.
"We're actually seeing certain levels of its gravitational field," Morith explained. "The light is given off
by the constant destruction of infalling stellar matter
from the body's companion star, which is invisible to
us. Of the particles falling into the supermassive body,
some transfer to other times, but most are destroyed,
instantaneously turned to energy." As we could be, Kirk thought.
"And us, Morith?" Kalrind asked, echoing his
thoughts. "Could we be destroyed too? Converted to
energy?"
In answer, Morith continued his explanation. "As I
told you before, time transition takes place only at
certain critical, quantized combinations of time, angle,
and speed of entry. Of course, most particles don't
happen to hit such a combination, and those are converted to energy. At what radius that happens also
depends on time and angle and speed of entry. That's
112
why I said we're seeing different levels of its gravitational field."
The different levels at which we could flash into heat
and light if we're off in any one of the critical para-meters, Kirk thought. And if they were off but managed to hit another critical combination, would they
end up at some other point in the past? He had
neglected to ask Morith that. Would they end up in
1930, perhaps?
Time travel, if it were controllable, offered so many
ways to change the past. Too many ways. That was
why it could not be used, why a wise society avoided
or even outlawed it. But this time, how could the goal
be nobler?
Kirk turned around slowly, looking not at the
crowded bridge of the Klingon ship, but at the screens,
which showed the space around the ship. To the sides
and behind them, above and below, blinking lights
showed the location of the other members of the
enormous fleet of which Alliance was the flagship.
The hours passed, the glowing body swelling in the
forward viewscreen, becoming both larger and solider,
its brightness increasing as it grew into something real
and immense and overwhelming.
Kirk and Kalrind spent those hours on the bridge
with Morith, crowded together on the small, fenced
dais upon which the control seat was placed, looking
down on the quiet, busy, efficient Klingons manning
the various posts controlling the ship. To Kirk's eye,
the posts had not been modified from their original
functions of a hundred years ago, but he knew from
what he had seen of the Klingons' technological advances that the circuitry behind the panels was entirely different. Examining the bridge crew and trying
to interpret their actions by analogy to those of the
113
crew on the bridge of the ship he knew so well, his
own ship, killed the time and took Kirk's mind from
their impending and dangerous passage.
The tension on the bridge grew steadily. Even
though these people were of another species and their
body language was subtly but essentially different,
Kirk could sense their growing nervousness. Kalrind
pressed closer against his side. Only Morith seemed
calm.
"Are you sure," Kirk asked him in a low voice so
that none of the crew would hear him, "that the
navigation is precise enough?"
Morith smiled at him. "Don't worry about it, Jim.
History says you were there, at the Tholian Incident.
Therefore, I know you will be."
Kalrind must not have been quite so convinced by
recorded history, despite her long study of it. She
gripped Kirk's arm painfully and leaned against him.
He could feel that she was trembling.
As Kirk watched her, filled with concern and love
for her, her face was bathed in a blue glow. No, it
wasn't just Kalrind it was everything. The light was
coming from the screen. Someone on the bridge
moaned, a low, long sound of fear.
On the forward screen, the supermassive body had
blotted out the stars. Even in the corners of the
rectangular screen, not covered by the body, the fierce
blue glare of dying stellar matter made the stars invisible. The glow was steady, unfiickering, not a candle
to light the darkness but a monstrous anomaly swallowing the light of its neighboring star.
Alliance trembled, shuddered throughout its entire
mass. Kirk felt a moment of sickness and disorienta-tion. Weakness overcame him, and he would have
fallen but for Kalrind's strong arm bearing him up.
114
And then the glow was gone, and only the beauty of
star-filled space lay ahead of them.
Morith said calmly, "Obviously we transited successfully." He said something in Klingon to one of the
figures hunched over a monitor on the bridge's lower
level. The man answered in Klingon, and Morith
sighed. He said sadly to Kirk, "And so did all but one
vessel of our fleet."
Kirk hardly heard him. He was home.
The mood onboard ship changed drastically. Where
before the Klingon crew had behaved as if they were
facing execution, now they acted like a crew on holi-day. They were on their way into history; they were
creating the Roj tin.
Kirk and Kalrind were able to spend time with each
other again, as they had not been able to during the
last few days. Kirk had found the constant presence
of others during the day annoying; on the base, he had
grown used to being alone with Kalrind and spending
hours simply talking to her--with him talking and her
listening, as she seemed to prefer. He had noticed
during the last day or so that even Kalrind, normally
so placid and amiable, had been growing short-tempered at their situation. She had occasionally snapped
at him, and even though she would apologize profusely
afterward, Kirk felt it would be best if they could be
alone together as soon as possible in order to reclaim
their past happiness--the combination of comradeship
and tenderness that had become so important to him
so quickly.
Partly it was the excitement and tension and bustle
connected with approaching and then passing through
the supermassive body that had interfered with them.
But they had also been hampered by the ship itself.
115
Alliance was large for a Klingon ship, but it was still
far smaller than the base had been. Relatively, it was
more densely populated. There seemed to be few
places for them to wander unobserved and uninterrupted.
"So we'll find someplace," Kirk said. "Let's go
roaming."
"I'm not sure we ought to," Kalrind said reluctantly.
"You enjoyed doing that with me on the base," Kirk
pointed out. "Look, we can't contribute anything,
anyway. You're an historian, and I'm an outdated
space sailor who grew up with ancient hardware.
We're just in the way now. Come on." He took her
arm.
"All right!" Kalrind jerked her arm away from him.
"Don't touch me. I don't... feel like being touched."
Kirk shrugged and led the way down the nearest
hallway, turning his face away so that she wouldn't
see how hurt he was.
At first, she stayed behind him, deliberately avoiding
catching up, but as they traveled through the ship,
Kalrind's better nature seemed to take control again.
She moved up beside Kirk and linked arms with him.
"Sorry," she said, smiling.
Finally, they found themselves in a short hallway in
which they could not see or hear anyone else.
They grinned at each other. "What's that word you
use?" Kalrind asked, her good humor quite restored
"Bingo?"
Kirk laughed. "That's the one. Learned it from my
grandmother."
Then they turned the corner at the end of the
corridor.
Facing them was a heavy metal door, flanked by two
116
enormous, grim-faced guards. Each of them held a
phaser rifle, unchanged from the Klingon weapons of
that type from Kirk's days. Kirk could see in their
faces none of the amiability he had learned to expect
from New Klingons. These two might have come from
his own era.
Kalrind squeezed his arm, a signal, Kirk presumed,
that he should hold back, but instead he stepped up to
the two glowering Klingons and said jovially, "Gentlemen! Good day to you! Please open that door for us."
One of the guards snarled and said in heavily accented English, "Get away, Earther! Not go in here!"
Kirk held both hands up, palms out, clearly empty,
and said in as friendly a tone as he could manage, "I
don't think your attitude is proper, young man. I'm
curious about what--"
At that moment, the guard who had spoken stepped
forward threateningly, raised his weapon, and pointed
it at Kirk.
"ylrnev.t" It was Kalrind's voice, but with a power
of command that Kirk had never heard from her before. Obediently, the guard stopped.
In English, Kalrind added, "Back to your post. We
will leave." She took Kirk's arm and pulled him force-fully after her.
After they had turned the corner and were again in
the isolated short corridor, Kirk said mildly, "Well,
that was all quite unexpected."
"Yes," Kalrind said curtly. They walked in silence
for a few minutes, and then she said, "Perhaps we
should restrict our exploring."
"Hmm. Let's go find Morith."
The scientist was still on the bridge.
When Kirk and Kalrind told him about their encoun-
117
ter, he looked embarrassed. "The Romulans, Jim,"
he said.
"Yes? What about them?"
"You see, we're at peace with the Federation, but
we're not at peace with the Roms, and neither are
your people. We both have to keep some of the old
ways alive to guard against them."
"Do you mean," Kirk asked in amazement, "that
you're afraid they'll infiltrate your ships?"
"They have in the past. Disguised as K!ingons,
moreover."
"Surgery?"
"And drugs, to make their behavior appropriate."
It provided Kirk with much food for thought, but all
of that fled his mind the next morning.
He awoke early. Sleepily, he turned toward Kalrind
and shook her. She did not move.
Alarmed, Kirk sat up in bed and with a voice command turned on the overhead lights. Kalrind lay upon
her back, eyes squeezed shut, face pale, trembling
visibly. Beads of sweat stood upon her dark forehead.
Why, she's having a nightmare, Kirk thought. He
put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, first
gently, and then with increasing violence. It had no
effect.
"Kalrind!" he said. There was desperation in his
voice. "Kalrind!"
He yelled and shook her, imploring her to wake up.
Finally, he leapt out of bed and hit the emergency
button set in the wall--the same one Kalrind had used
once before to summon help for him.
Morith was with the team that showed up in response to the alarm signal. He took one look at Kal-118
rind and uttered a Klingon curse. He signaled to the
emergency team and then turned to Kirk.
"Jim! She'll be all right. Don't worry!"
Kirk watched helplessly as the emergency team slid
Kalrind onto a stretcher and rushed her from the
room.
119
"I ASSURE YOU, JIM," Morith repeated patiently.
"She will be all right."
"But I just don't understand! What could have
happened?"
Morith hesitated and then said, "Have you ever
heard of the Qong-Hegh?"
Kirk repeated the word, fumbling with the Klingon
consonants. "No."
They were in Morith's cramped office just off the
bridge, and Kirk was sitting in a chair in front of t he
desk, Morith behind it.
"Not surprising. It's something we don't discuss
with non-Kiingons---or with each other, for that matter. I suppose the best translation would be 'sleep
death.' It's a hereditary disease that has been around
since before our recorded history began. It's rare, and
it used to be inevitably fatal." Kirk jumped to his feet.
Morith held up a hand to forestall him. "Used to
be, I said. We can control it with drugs, nowadays.
Haven't you noticed Kalrind taking pills every day?"
Kirk thought about it. "Why, yes, I have. I asked
her about it once, and she said it was some sort of
120
vitamin supplement because of a metabolic problem
she had inherited."
Morith laughed. "Not that far off the truth, except
that what she inherited was a fatal disease, not a
metabolic problem, and the pill isn't a vitamin supplement but rather the medication that keeps her alive."
"But why did she lie to me?"
"As I said, we don't discuss it. We're ashamed of
it," Morith amplified. "It was always associated with
the lowest classes in the old Empire, and even though
we New Kiingons profess not to care about any of that
old social structure, there's still a great deal of shame
attendant upon proof that one's ancestors were members of those classes. Inheriting Qong-Hegh is virtual
proof of such descent."
Kirk shook his head. "It's foolish of her to be
ashamed !"
With a rare flash of anger, Morith said harshly, "It's
easy for an Earther to think so! You are not a product
of our history, our warrior tradition. You can't understand how we feel!"
Kirk looked at him in mute surprise.
"Forgive me, Jim. The stress of running this fleet
... It's not at all the work I was trained for.
"Anyway, to continue. In the old days, a child who
displayed signs of the Qong-Hegh was simply allowed
to die of it. That usually happened during adolescence,
which is when the disease normally first manifests
itself. Not that much could have been done even if
anyone had wanted to save those children. It wasn't
until the New Klingon takeover of the Empire that the
situation changed, and that was only possible because
of our breakthroughs in chemistry and biology, which
together enabled us to design a drug therapy."
"But the breakthroughs came because the New
121
Klingons chose to direct their research in that direction," Kirk said thoughtfully.
Morith nodded. "A good point. Be that as it may,
however, our immediate problem is Kalrind. The doctors report that her response to the drug is still normal.
At first, they feared that it was losing its effect with
her. That would be the first such case. However, she's
returning to normal quickly with a course of treatment
with the drug, fed intravenously in high doses, and
they also determined before they began this treatment
that the level of it in her blood was low. In other
words, she had been neglecting to take her pill as
required." He smiled. "Thanks to you, she had other
things on her mind. Perhaps you noticed some slight
personality change?"
"Not so slight," Kirk said. "She was becoming
short-tempered, brusque."
"Yes. Typical symptoms, I'm told. From now on,
Jim, I'd like you to assume the responsibility for
Kalrind's health. We simply cannot do without her."
"Neither can I," Kirk said softly, and though he
had spoken unconsciously, it was one of the truest
things he had ever said.
"I understand," Morith said soothingly. "I'm asking you to see that she never again misses her daily
dose. Her life depends on it. You can go to Sickbay
now to see her, if you wish."
Kirk left, shaken, and made his way to Alliance's
Sickbay, so lost in thought that he did not notice the
Klingons who passed him along the way and greeted
him.
He found Kalrind sitting up in bed, her thick hair
stringy with dried sweat, her face frighteningly pale.
The only time he had ever seen a pale Klingon before
was after that Klingon died.
122
He sat carefully on the side of her bed, afraid to
shake it. "Have you been properly lectured?" he
asked her. His tone was bantering, but beneath it lay
a fear for her well-being which was so strong that it
rendered him almost paralyzed.
Kalrind nodded. She reached for his hand and
squeezed it, and Kirk was dismayed at the weakness
he felt where he was used to feeling such strength.
"Follow the rules," she said, her voice husky and
weak. "Take my medication. You--you know about
it?" There was fear in her voice.
Kirk nodded. "You don't have to pretend anymore.
Morith explained all about it--the hereditary disease,
the pills."
"Aah." Kalrind nodded. "Yes, I'm glad that he told
you." Her eyelids drooped until her eyes were only
half open. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm worn out..."
Kirk stood up hastily. "No, l'm sorry. I shouldn't
be bothering you while you're ill." He leaned over,
kissed her forehead, and left the room. He strode
rapidly, nervously down the main corridor on this level
of the ship. Exploration, he told himself. Absorb yourself in it. Brooding about Kalrind's condition, her
evident weakness, would be the most foolish thing he
could do.
Instead, he headed for the nearest turbolift and took
it up two floors, where he walked briskly toward the
interesting corridor he and Kalrind had found before--
the place where Old Klingon-style guards prevented
access to a doorway.
Kirk was walking down the corridor, senses all alert,
waiting for the first sign of the two massive guards,
when a blazingly bright light floated around the next
corner and confronted him. "Captain Kirk," the light
greeted him. "Good day."
123
Kirk stopped in amazement. "What! Another Organian? I thought you people didn't want to have
anything to do with us--either with the Federation or
the Klingons. I seem to remember that when you
imposed your treaty on us and the Klingons, you
wrote something into it stating that neither power
could even visit your world. If we can't visit Organia,
and neither can the Klingons, why would you wish to
visit us?"
The brilliant ball of light suspended in the air just
above Kirk's head level, said, "I would stay to answer
your questions, Captain, but 1 must hurry." He glided
by the human.
"Wait!" Kirk said quickly. "Which Organian are
you?"
"I am Ayleborne, whom you have met before."
"Yes, I have. You haven't answered my questions,
Ayleborne."
An impatient voice came from the glowing light. "I
have little time for this conversation, Kirk. I must be
there when humans and New Klingons meet each
other. Say what you want to, and then I must go."
"It seems to me," Kirk said, "that you would have
an easier time getting both Klingons and Federationists to deal with you if you assumed material form--
the way all of you did when we first encountered you.
At that time, we thought you were humanolds, just
like us. It does make communication easier."
The Organian did not deign to reply. I suppose
I'm too low an evolutionary level to understand the
workings of an Organian mind, Kirk thought with
some annoyance.
Ayleborne floated down the hallway and turned a
corner. As soon as he had done so, his light vanished,
blinked out. Kirk ran down the hallway and around
124
the corner, but it was deserted. It was as if the OrganJan had never been.
Kirk abandoned his exploration and returned to
Morith's office.
Morith looked up when he entered. The Klingon's
face betrayed a momentary annoyance, quickly
masked. He's busy and he'll probably consider this' a
trivial reason for an interruption, Kirk thought guiltily.
"I just ran into an OrganJan. Met him on the base, too.
Not a very communicative fellow."
"Ah, yes. Ayleborne. As I understand it, he's something along the lines of a historian--although I'm sure
that is an inadequate word for it. Perhaps beings such
as Klingons and humans will never be able to understand Organians well enough to comprehend their
social roles and divisions."
"What's he doing on Alliance?"
"Visting perhaps. Observing, more likely. He told
me he's preoccupied with preparing for the historic
meeting between Federationists and New Klingons.
This is history, Jim, very important history! He's
serving both as a scholar and as a representative of his
race, watching the beginning of the alliance the Organians predicted would come about. You remember that
prediction?"
Kirk nodded. "I'd be unlikely to forget it. But he's
much less of a conversationalist than he was when I
first met him."
"Hmm," Morith said thoughtfully. "I've always
found him most polite. But not very forthcoming with
information--you're right about that. All I know is
that we were contacted by the Organians and told to
take Ayleborne aboard. They seemed to know what
we were planning even when we were still at the stage
of discussing it only among ourselves."
125
"A breakdown in security. Heads have rolled for
less."
Morith smiled--but it was the smile of a Klingon of
old, not the transfiguring beautification of a New Klingon smile. "Whose head would you choose, Jim?"
Kirk turned aside. "Perhaps times have changed,"
he mumbled. In a louder voice, he said, "What have
you heard about Kairind?"
"Aah! The doctors say she is ready to be released.
They pumped her full of the drug, and now she's back
to normal. Do you mean you didn't visit her in Sickbay
during her recuperation? Is that why you have to ask
me about her condition?"
Kirk took in a deep breath and let it out. For a
theoretical physicist, he's one tough son-of-a-gun. "I
was there earlier. Briefly. I didn't want to go back
immediately unt il I heard something definite, so I've
been... waiting."
"You've been avoiding Sickbay because you feel
guilty about Kalrind's illness, correct?"
"You learned this insight into human nature in one
of your quantum mechanics classes, right?"
Morith laughed. "Observation, Jim. The basic training of every physicist---of every scientist. Go down to
Sickbay and see your... friend."
As he left the office, Kirk reflected that Morith
excelled him as an advanced master of the precisely
calculated elliptical pause.
But then he reached Sickbay and forgot all of that in
his delight at Kalrind's appearance.
To a Klingon, she would have appeared pale and
weak, but to Kirk she seemed strong and vibrant--
especially in contrast with a short time before. He
embraced her. "You're all right !"
Kalrind smiled up at him. "Not entirely, but I'll
126
survive. Let's get me out of here." She turned to the
communications unit beside her bed and said, "I want
my doctor!" Kirk was encouraged by the strength and
command in her voice.
A tinny voice responded. "This is Dr. Cherek, joh
Kalrind. How may I serve?"
"Release me from this vile imprisonment, churl!"
She winked at Kirk.
"Immediately. It is done. You may leave whenever
you wish."
She turned he attention to Kirk. "A bit of traditional
Klingon obedience has its place."
But it wasn't her use of Old K!ingon obedience
modes that made her recuperate so quickly over the
next day or two, Kirk realized. When she first got out
of bed, she was weak and shaky. What made her well
was the medication the K!ingon doctors had given her,
her strong K!ingon constitution, and Kirk's company.
I'm in love with a Klingon women, he thought, and it
was still a source of wonder, and she's in love with
me, and it's my very presence that enables her to
overcome her Hiness.
Even so, he thought that Bones McCoy would
delight in the study of all these new Klingon biochemical discoveries. What they can do with their own
biochemistry! he marveled. What Leonard wouldn't
give to know all about it!
"Welcome aboard Enterprise, Mr. Tindall," Spock
said, stepping off the transporter platform.
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Elliott said, picking up
his bags. To be aboard a Federation starship! This was
more than he could have hoped for. He must make
sure to take advantage of it to the fullest. He glanced
around quickly, taking in and memorizing every detail.
127
"Mr. Tindall, your attention please," Spock said. A
young woman stood crisply at attention by his side.
"This is Lt. Crandall. She will show you your quarters, and then help you install the testing equipment in
the engineering laboratories."
"A pleasure, Mr. Tindall," Ginny Crandall said,
extending her hand. She was a slightly built young
woman, in her late twenties, Elliot guessed, with
close-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
"Lieutenant," Elliott nodded, taking her hand.
"If you will excuse me," Spock said. "Mr. Tindail,
I will stop by to check on your progress shortly. In
the meantime, I will be on the bridge." He turned and
left the transporter room.
"Can I help you with one of those?" Ginny asked,
indicating his bags.
"Thanks," Elliott said, handing her his duffel. "I
really just need to make a quick stop at my quarters to
change," and take my medicine, he added silently,
"and then I'll want to get right to work."
Ginny smiled. "I can see why Mr. Spock went to
such lengths to get you as his assistant," she said,
leading him out of the transporter room and into a
turbo elevator. "Deck 6," she said. "You sound as
committed to your work as he is."
"Oh, I am," Elliot said. He smiled back at her.
"What about your work, Lieutenant? What are your
duties aboard this ship?"
"Weapons and Defense." The lift doors slid open.
"Senior technician," she added, stepping out into the
corridor.
Elliot started to follow, then groaned involuntarily
as a stabbing pain lanced through his skull.
"Mr. Tindall'?" Ginny turned back to face him. "Is
something the matter?"
128
"No, I'm fine--just a long trip, I guess. Must've
taken a little more out of me than I thought." He kept
his voice steady, but his heart was pounding. He had
taken twice his normal dosage just before he and
Spock had boarded the shuttle from Earth if his
medicine was losing its potency this rapidly, he would
be unable to function with any degree of effectiveness
before long.
"If you like, we could stop at Sickbay and pick up
something for the pain," Ginny offered.
"I said I was fine," Elliott insisted, a little more
harshly than he intended. Ginny started involuntarily.
"Forgive me," he said. "Please. I get these . . .
headaches occasionally, and I'm afraid I don't deal
with them too well."
"I understand," she said, smiling. "Let me know if
there's anything I can do."
He forced himself to return her smile. "You were
telling me about your work, Lieutenant," he
prompted.
"Please," she said. "Call me Ginny."
129
KIRK AND KALRIND resumed their explorations--and
found more out-of-bounds areas. Moreover, these areas were designated with signs reading
RESTRICTED
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
PAST THIS POINT
in both English and Klingonese. Intrigued, Kirk led
the way back to the guarded area they had found first.
The guards were gone now, and instead there was one
of those bilingual signs, mounted since the last time
the two had come this way.
"Now, that's interesting," Kirk said. "It's strange
enough that you have restricted areas, given the peacefulness of your century. It's even stranger that the
signs are written in English as well as your own
language. Why is that?"
Kalrind shrugged. "1 have no explanation. You'll
have to ask Morith."
But when they managed to track him down in the
ship's engineering section, Morith clearly resented
being questioned about the matter. "You should be
130
asking a military man, not a physicist," he rebuked
them. "Oh, all right, then. The reason for using both
languages is that we often have Federation people
traveling on our ships, so signs are generally written
in the official language of the Federation, as well as in
Klingonese."
Kirk looked around at the humming machines and
busy technicians. "And you don't want them going
where they're not supposed to?" he asked.
Morith grimaced. "The universe has not changed in
every detail in the last hundred years, Jim. Some
things remain as they were in your day--including
some of the things we all wish could change. We still
have government secrets that the ordinary citizen is
not allowed to know about, our citizens as well as
yours."
"But there aren't any members of the Federation in
this fleet. At least, I haven't seen or heard of any."
Morith nodded. "You're right, Jim. There aren't.
Not that we didn't have requests from all over the
Federation. Soldiers, scientists, diplomats, historians-they all wanted to join us. A plum assignment!
But there's danger, as you know. If things don't work
out, there could even be shooting between our ships
and those of the Federation. The Federation in this
time, I mean, your time. We simply couldn't risk their
lives. Besides' '--he drew himself up proudly--' 'this is
our fight. This is, above all, the cause of the New
Klingons against the Old."
As Kirk and Kalrind left the engineering section,
Kirk mulled over what Morith had said. Earlier, Kalrind had explained why he had encountered no one
but Klingons on the base where he had first found
himself. The base was an out-of-the-way place, normally used for routine work, not prestigious enough to
131
attract researchers from the Federation, Kalrind had
said. She had further explained that he had been taken
there to recover because of the budding plan to send
this fleet back in time, with him on it, and the base
had been so convenient a place from which to launch
the fleet.
Well and good, and he could accept all of that, but
if he was the only being on the fleet whose native
language was not Klingonese, then the English on a
newly emplaced bilingual warning sign was really
aimed at him, wasn't it? A simple verbal warning
would have been simpler and easier than putting up
that sign.
I'm probably overreacting. The explanation is no
doubt something simple enough. He could even think
of one such explanation himself that general-purpose,
bilingual warning signs were readily available, and so
one of those had been used.
No, Kirk assured himself, there really is something
just a bit facile about Morith's explanations. There's
something he's not telling me. That wasn't logic; it
was intuition. Spock would have frowned at his thinking. McCoy would have applauded it. They were both
wrong, of course. A commander could not function
only at the intellectual level, could not ignore the
processing of data constantly being performed by the
mysterious deeper levels of his mind, any more than
he could ignore logic and let himself be ruled by
emotion. Kirk had always relied on both, always
blended them, as in a parallel fashion he had relied for
advice on both Spock and McCoy. He was still a
commander--and he would therefore continue to be
guided by that old, highly reliable mixture of reason
and intuition.
Besides all that, more than Kirk's curiosity was
132
being piqued by those signs. If they truly were aimed
only at him, then Morith must think that Kirk was the
sort who placidly followed orders, whether or not he
agreed with them, that he would suppress his curiosity
because a sign told him to. Morith should have known
better. I'll have to find out just what it is he doesn't
want me to see.
Kalrind was deeply asleep, breathing shallowly and
evenly. Kirk watched her for a while and listened to
her, and then, satisfied, slipped out of bed, into his
clothes, and out the door.
Once in the hallway, he walked rapidly, making no
effort to be quiet. He had decided that his best chance
to reach his destination without being stopped was not
to act furtive but rather to march with head up, shoulders back, and face untroubled. Easier said than done,
he thought.
Ship's time decreed it to be night, and Kirk met few
Klingons on his way. Those he did pass seemed preoccupied and paid him little attention--he had hoped.
Eventually he reached the area he had targeted for
inspection. Kirk had chosen it because of the plethora
of warning signs, reasoning that the importance of
whatever was hidden in such a section of the ship must
be in direct proportion to the number of signs warning
people away from it. It was also the corridor where he
had encountered the OrganJan only a few days earlier,
a coincidence that only made the place seem more
important.
Kirk passed by the last of the signs and found
himself facing a door guarded by an enormous Klingon
wearing a uniform.
It was a uniform quite familiar to him. This aspect
of Klingon society had not changed in a hundred
133
years. Morith and the other New Klingons didn't wear
uniforms, and so the presence of one was all the more
startling.
Nor was that the only Old Klingon aspect to this
guard. As soon as he saw Kirk, he glowered at him
and said with a heavy Klingonese accent, "Human!
Go away!" The Klingon stepped forward threateningly, drawing his disruptor from his belt.
Kirk smiled placatinglY, holding up his hands to
demonstrate peaceful intent and absence of weapon.
As the guard hesitated, concentrating on Kirk's hands,
Kirk kicked him hard in the groin.
The Klingon doubled over with a burbling cry, and
Kirk knocked him to the floor with a two-handed
downward chop on the back of his head. As the guard
lay dazed on the floor, moaning, Kirk picked up the
disruptor, which had fallen from the man's hand, set
it to stun, and shot the guard with it.
Now I'll have some time to look around.
He dragged the unconscious Klingon through the
doorway he had been guarding and dumped him in the
center of the room beyond. He straightened up and
looked around, instantly recognizing what the room
was. Beyond a doubt, Kirk thought, this was a fire
control center.
On Klingon ships, as on Starfleet ships, the firing of
weapons was normally controlled from the bridge.
Klingon ships, however, traditionally had at least one
auxiliary room from which the main ship's weapons
could be controlled; this was intended for backup, in
case the bridge became inoperative during an attackm
or before a Klingon-initiated attack. The standard
layout of Klingon ships of various types, including
such details as fire control centers, was well known
from careful study of captured enemy ships, and Kirk
134
was thus as familiar with the details of their design and
construction and operation as any other Starfleet commander-perhaps almost as familiar as a Klingon commander. He was quite sure about this room.
Of course, he reminded himself, Morith had told
him that the fleet was made up of old ships, leftovers
from the violent past. The old fire control centers
would therefore also still be part of the ships. But if
this room was here only because it was a leftover, then
why bother guarding it? And why were all the consoles
so clean and dust-free, and why were the displays all
active; in other words, why was this room being maintained, being kept in a ready condition?
And there was more. There was a monitor set into
the console in front of him. Kirk stepped over to the
console and fiddled with the controls. He found the
one that changed the view on the monitor, and after
experimenting, he turned to a setting that gave him a
view of a launch bay filled with strike craft. These
were the Klingon landing vehicles, used for quick and
deadly assaults on enemy ground targets. What, he
asked himself, are these doing here? Since that was
an unanswerable question, he decided to press on.
At the far end of the room was another door. Now,
that's unusual, Kirk thought, intrigued. An inner room
was not standard in the normal fire control center of a
Klingon ship. Sparing time only for a brief examina-tion of the fire control consoles, he passed on to the
next room.
This was much smaller than the fire control room,
and it held only one machine--a curious contraption,
completely unknown to Kirk. The console was covered with buttons and dials, but everything was labeled
in Klingonese. While Kirk could understand spoken
Klingonese slightly, his reading knowledge of it was
135
rudimentary. Nonetheless, he did recognize on one
button the symbol HoS, for "power."
Kirk hesitated for only a moment and then pressed
the button. He was rewarded by a hum of energy and
a faint vibration in the machine. Lights of various
colors appeared on the console, blinking for a while,
then settling into a steady glow.
So what do I do next? Tentatively, he pressed another button.
Suddenly the room was bathed in brilliant light. Kirk
looked up in amazement to see an Organian hovering
in the air in the middle of the room, just beyond the
machine Kirk had been fiddling with.
Kirk felt an instant of dread and shame, akin to that
a small boy might feel when caught at mischief by an
adult. At the same time, he was grateful for the machine, providing a barricade, inadequate though it
would be if the OrganJan did indeed wish to punish
him. But time passed and the OrganJan did and said
nothing; it hung motionless before him.
At last Kirk decided that one of them had to open
the conversation. He leaned forward and said,
"You're--"
"You're--" the OrganJan interrupted, his voice
calm, cool, unemotional, echoing from the walls.
"--probably wondering--"
"--probably wondering--" the Organian said, repeating Kirk's words a fraction of a second after him.
"--what I'm doing here," Kirk finished, with the
OrganJan repeating his words almost as soon as he
said them. "Well, well," Kirk said. The Organian said,
"Well, well."
Kirk pressed the power button again on the console.
The hum of energy disappeared and the glowing lights
went out. And the Organian vanished.
136
"Kirk!"
For an instant, Kirk almost imagined the angry cry
had come from the OrganJan after all, but it was
Morith, standing in the doorway and shaking with
rage. Looming behind him were two more enormous,
uniformed Klingons. "You are not supposed to be
here!" Morith shouted at Kirk.
"And the OrganJan was supposed to be real," Kirk
replied, angry himself and not trying to hide it. "Not
a fake, a simulation. Just what are you up to, Morith?"
With a great effort at self-control, Morith said more
quietly, "We can't talk about it here." He gestured
with his head at the two uniformed men. They glared
at Kirk, then turned away and picked up the guard
Kirk had earlier stunned. Carrying him, they went out
into the hallway and left, taking time for one last surly,
warning look at Kirk. Good esprit de corps, anyway,
Kirk thought.
"Follow me," Morith said, and it seemed to Kirk
that Morith's attitude was scarcely less hostile and
dangerous than that of the two guards he had brought
with him. Wordlessly, Morith led the way through the
ship to his office next to the bridge.
The door slid shut behind them, and Morith seated
himself behind his desk, gesturing Kirk toward one of
the chairs in front of the desk. "I apologize for my
anger, Jim," Morith said abruptly. "The area you
were in is . , . sensitive. We keep it under constant
surveillance. That's how we knew someone was in
there--that and the sudden power drain."
Kirk nodded. "Must use a lot of power. Maintaining
a fake OrganJan, 1 mean." He said no more and sat
staring at Morith, waiting patiently for an explanation.
The Klingon had the grace to look embarrassed. "A
subterfuge," he said at last. "And perhaps an unwise
137
one." He looked away from Kirk and thought for a
few seconds before continuing. "We are worried that,
despite the evidence of history, your people may not
receive us peacefully. We also know from history that
the humans and the Klingons of your day were very
quick to open fire On an enemy who crossed their
frontier--especially so formidable a fleet as this one."
"I've told you that the Federation's ships don't
shoot first. They ask questions first."
Morith nodded. "Yes, you've told us that. But how
can we take the chance? What if they do shoot first,
this time? We'll have to defend ourselves, won't we?
Well, I'm trying to prevent such a situation, you see. I
thought that the presence of an OrganJan on our ships,
traveling with our fleet, combined with your voice,
would prevent a tragic mishap."
"Galactic peace through lies and deception, in other
words."
Morith spread his hands. "With so much at stake,
how can we take chances?" He waited for Kirk to
answer, but when Kirk said nothing, Morith continued. "I apologize again for my anger, Jim. You must
understand how upset I was when I saw you on the
monitor. Did I tell you that we have that area under
surveillance at all times--and all other restricted areas, as well?"
"I believe you mentioned it, yes."
"Jim, we simply can't continue on this basis. I mean
that we have to know that you will abide by our
security regulations and not keep making attempts to
get into restricted parts of the ship. I must have your
promise on that."
Kirk gave his word.
"Fine!" Morith said heartily, standing up and holding out his hand. "Trust, after all, has been normal
138
between humans and Klingons for the last hundred
years."
Kirk shook Morith's hand, smiled, and strode out.
But he was far from ready to give Morith his complete
trust again.
"It doesn't make any sense, damn it," Kirk told
Kalrind later. "None of it does. I'm certain Morith's
up to something."
"Oh, Jim, come now--"
"Don't try to humor me," he snapped at her.
"What about those uniformed guards? You've seen
what they're like, too. Is that how New Klingons are
supposed to behave?"
"No," she admitted. "They're a lot like recordings
I've seen of Old Kiingons. But there are some of them
around in the Empire still, you know. It's only been a
hundred years since my people got control. A lot of
the others are still skulking around. Probably even
dreaming of grabbing power again."
"Which implies that Morith is in contact with them
and has brought a bunch of them onto this ship, in
spite of what he said to me about Klanth and his
crew."
Kalrind looked startled at this suggestion. "Why
that--that would be terrible. Subversive!"
"Also, there's the 'OrganJan' and his planned use
of it. Not very consistent with New Klingon idealism,
is it?"
Kalrind shook her head and refused to meet Kirk's
eyes.
"And it's also inconsistent with Morith's insistence
that we adhere scrupulously to what's known from
history about the Tholian Incident. He's been planning
to use that Organian to change Federation minds,
139
instead of relying on what history says actually happened."
"When you put it that way," Kalrind said reluctantly, "it does all seem very suspicious. So what are
you going to do about it?"
Kirk grimaced. "I don't know. I don't know that
there is anything I can do. But I'm certainly going to
keep a close eye on that man, and I'm not going to
believe whatever he tells me."
Kalrind touched his arm hesitantly. "At least you're
not condemning all of us--all Klingons. Maybe Morith
is up to something, as you said. If so, you know it's
only him."
Kirk smiled at her. "Oh, I know that. I know I can
trust you. There is that, anyway." But Morith is the
one in charge of this fleet. He kept that thought to
himself, not wanting to upset Kalrind more than he
already had.
140
THE NORMAL FLOW of announcements and orders in
Klingonese aboard Alliance was suddenly interrupted
by one in English. "Captain Kirk, to the bridge!"
Kirk looked at the speaker in shock, suffering from
a sudden sense of dislocation. Then he shook his head,
laughed at himself, and headed for the bridge.
Morith was there already, sitting on the dais in the
command chair, running his fleet. Kalrind was also
there, standing beside Morith and leaning over to
confer with him. They both looked up when Kirk
entered "Ah, Jim," Morith said. "Look." He pointed
at the forward screen.
The starfield was motionless, indicating that Alliance was not moving. Scattered across the field were
blinking lights, and as Kirk watched, more such lights
appeared. He looked at Morith for an explanation. The
Klingon wore a worried frown, which he managed to
smooth out when he noticed Kirk looking at him.
"Federation ships," he said. "Each blinking light is a
Starfleet warship. Exactly as predicted by the past,
Starfleet has sent ships to stop us. But I must admit I
. . didn't realize from what I'd read that it would be
so large and powerful."
141
Kirk watched the Federation fleet building still further and was overcome by delight and a fierce desire
to be on his own bridge once again. "Where are we?"
he asked, keeping his voice as casual as he could. He
was trembling with excitement and having trouble
keeping it from showing.
"Near Tholia, just as history records. They approached with shields up, Jim!" He spoke angrily.
"Of course they did, Morith. A huge K!ingon fleet,
great numbers of warships, has just entered Federation
space. The fleet assembled to meet the enemy would
of course approach with shields raised."
Morith grumbled, "This is not a good start to the
Great Peace! Naturally, we have ours up as well, just
in case your friends start firing at us."
"They won't fire first," Kirk said angrily.
Morith turned to him. "This is obviously a violent
age. I can't afford to take any chances. I'm responsible
for this fleet, all of this equipment. All of these people,
too. It's a heavy responsibility. You understand all of
that, Jim, surely?"
Kirk forced a smile. "Of course."
One of the crewmen at a console below the dais said
something.
"Ah!" Morith said. "An attempt at communication!" He issued an order in sharp, guttural K!ingonese, and the image on the large forward screen
rippled and changed and gave way to an image of Fleet
Admiral De La Jolla sitting in a standard Starfleet
ship's command chair.
De La Jolla jumped to his feet. "Jim Kirk! So those
bastards did kidnap you!" He was an overweight,
aging man, and his jowls shook with rage.
Kirk held up his hands. "No, no, Fed. Calm down.
The situation's not what you're thinking." They
142
shouM have put someone calmer in command of that
fleet.
"We'll get you off there!" De La Jolla raged on. "If
we have to---!" He stopped and fell back into his chair,
his face purple. He had stopped talking only because
his anger made him unable to say more.
Kirk tried to think of something to defuse his vola-tile colleague, but before he could come up with
something, De La Jolla recovered enough to issue a
low command to someone off screen. He then turned
back to Kirk and shook his finger at him. "Now you
just listen to this, young man. I've got someone here
who will talk sense into you."
"Young man," Kirk thought. I suppose that's why I
like old Federico he can be insufferable at times, and
I've never been sure he's all that competent, but he's
always called me "young man."
The screen rippled and changed again, and this time
when the image re-formed it showed Spock sitting in
the command chair of the USS Enterprise, with Leonard McCoy standing beside him, hands behind his
back.
"Spock! Bones!" Kirk had stepped forward as if
about to try to jump through the screen to his ship.
McCoy stared at him with open mouth and said
nothing. Spock raised one eyebrow and said, "Captain. I'm pleased to see you looking so well, even
though 1 must admit to some surprise--"
"Spock, for God's sake!" McCoy burst out. "Jim!
This is amazing! How did you--?"
"Later," Kirk said, laughing with delight. "You
don't know how happy I am to see both of you. I've
got a lot to tell you."
"We all have a lot to say to each other." It was
Morith, looking at the two humans with analytical
143
interest. "May I suggest a conference in an hour, after
we've all had a chance to discuss matters among
ourselves?"
"If you wish," Spock said. "However, I do have
many questions to ask Captain Kirk. This is quite
apart from any discussion you and my fleet commander may have with each other."
"All of that can come later," Morith said firmly.
"We will stay just where we are, taking no action, and
in one hour we will contact you again for further
discussions. At that time, Captain Kirk will have a
great deal to say to you." He said something in Klingonese, and the forward screen returned to its starfield
display.
Kirk turned on Morith with uncontained anger.
"Why did you interfere? Do you know how long it's
been since I've seen my friends? How long I was
convinced that I'd never see them again? Why didn't
you let us talk to each other?"
"Please come to my office, Jim." Morith rose from
his seat and issued an order. Another Klingon stepped
up on the dais and took Morith's place in the command
chair. He and Morith exchanged a few words in low
tones, and then Morith led the way from the bridge.
His small office was crowded. Kalrind was there, as
were quite a few people Kirk didn't recognize. It was
Morith, though, who did the talking; the rest listened.
"Jim," he said in a soothing voice, a calm and even
voice--the voice of a man guided by reason--"Jim, I
understand how upset you must be. But I did have a
good reason for not letting you speak with your
friends. Please try to stay calm until I've finished
explaining to you."
144
Kirk bit back the angry remark he had been preparing and gestured for Morith to continue.
"Thank you, Jim. You see, what has been bedevil-ing me is the possibility that we may somehow alter
history, distort it. On the one hand, one can say that
whatever we do or say right now, during this confrontation with the Starfleet ships, will automatically follow the historical record, simply because that is the
record of what did happen. On the other hand, there
are so many details not even recorded at all, since
historical records are always selective and not all
inclusive, and if we do something different, in one of
those small details, might we not be creating a new,
parallel universe, one in which the future is not the
future we know, what we New Klingons think of as
the present?"
"That's an old discussion," Kirk said, still angry,
"an old dilemma. No one has yet come up with the
answer."
"True enough. But at the moment, the question is
of more than theoretical interest, isn't it?"
Kirk was beginning to find the Klingon's calmness
and his calculatedly soothing voice maddening. "Well,
then? What's your solution?"
Morith shook his head. "I don't really have one. I
do, however, have a strong determinat ion that I won't
allow anything to happen that could alter the past.
This incident that we're now involved in simply must
work, must resolve itself properly! We are working on
creating our present in the proper form, Jim. I was
afraid you might say the wrong thing if I let you talk
on, and that's why I interrupted you."
"But, damn it, how can I say the wrong thing?"
Kirk exploded. "If I say it, it's automatically right. If
not, we don't know, anyway. Anything else is a c[rcu-
145
lar argument. Or are you planning to provide me with
a script?"
He had meant that sarcastically, but Morith replied,
"We did consider that. After all, your exact words
aren't part of the historical record, but the general
sense of what you said is. Even some of the phrases
have been preserved. However, I decided that you
might sound artificial to your comrades. Anyway,
they'll find it hard enough to believe that a Klingon
fleet has come on a peaceful mission; there's no reason
to make it even harder for them to believe you by
making them suspect that you've been drugged or
coerced into saying what you will say."
"There you are, then. Problem's solved. Let's go
back to the bridge and reestablish communications."
"But I also feel," Morith plowed on, "that you
ought to know the outline of what you did say, so that
you won't step beyond the boundaries. In particular,
you said only that we had come to establish peace and
that we are a new breed of Klingons now struggling
for control of the Empire. You didn't tell them anything about time travel until you reached Earth. And I
can see why, now. The time travel aspect would have
destroyed any chance of the Starfleet commanders on
the scene believing you."
Kirk hesitated and then said reluctantly, "You have
a point. So maybe you were right to break communications when you did. All right, then. Anything
else?"
Morith shook his head. "For the rest, we'll just have
to rely on your saying the right thing because history
says you did."
Kirk snorted. "Let's not get into that again,
please." He hesitated a moment before adding, "His-146
tory must have told you that my ship would be with
the fleet. Why didn't you forewarn me?"
Morith spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"The same problem again, Jim. We wanted you to
react naturally, spontaneously. We want you to react
that way to everything that happens."
Kirk chose to let the matter drop, and the group
filed out of Morith's office and back toward the bridge.
What else does he know that he's not telling me? Kirk
wondered. Various things had already undermined his
trust in Morith. This conversation had served only to
undermine that trust still further.
The conundrum posed by time travel was a genuine
one, though, Kirk knew. He had chosen to let Edith
Keeler die because of it because, had she lived, she
would have destroyed his world.
He understood Morith's fear all too well.
A meeting was under way on the Starfleet ships at
the same time.
It was being held onboard USS Nonsuch, the hastily
designated flagship of the Federation fleet assembled
to halt the Klingon incursion, Fleet Admiral De La
Jolla commanding. Assembled on the flagship via
transporter were various high-ranking Starfleet officers from the ships of the fleet, and among them were
Spock and Scott of Enterprise. Both men were out-ranked by the majority of the others present, but De
La Jolla had included them as a courtesy, knowing
of their personal stake in any decisions made regarding
Captain Kirk. In fact, it was Spock who had suggested
that the meeting be held--and because of their personal involvement with Kirk, De La Jolla hoped
they could provide useful additional information or
147
impressions regarding the hyperspace contact with the
captain.
That Admiral De La Jolla could entertain such a
hope showed that, despite his long Starfleet career, he
had managed to avoid dealing with both Vulcans and
temperamental Scotsmen.
"Well, Mr. Spock," De La Jolla asked. "Is he under
duress, or not?"
"Inadequate information, Admiral," Spock said
with a calm that immediately enraged the temperamental admiral. Scott, who had been scowling from
the beginning of the meeting, exploded at De La Jolla's
question. "Duress?" he shouted. "O' course the puir
mon's under duress! He's held by th' cursed Klingons!
We need t' talk aboot rescue, not analysis.t"
De La Jolla stared at him, dumfounded. No one had
yelled at him in years--not since he had become
superior in rank to everyone he normally dealt with,
in fact. Finally he found his voice and said, "Mr.
Scott! You forget yourself!"
Scott drew in a deep breath in preparation for another outburst, and Spock, showing rare insight into
human interactions, stepped in quickly to prevent his
comrade from destroying his career. "Mr. Scott is
understandably overwrought, Admiral, at the threat
both to the Federation and to Captain Kirk. When he
disappeared while aboard a Klingon vessel, we all
naturally assumed that he had been kidnapped by the
Klingons. That fear seems to have been justified."
"Seems t' hae been?" It was Scott, exploding
again.
"Seems to have been," Spock repeated firmly.
"That voice over hyperspace radio may have been a
computer artifact, a simulacrum. We need to know
148
more before we draw any conclusions or plan any
actions."
De La Jolla said sarcastically, "That's all very well,
Mr. Spock, but we have to do something!"
"Aye," Scott added, clearly surprised at being able
to agree with De La Jolla.
"May I remind you that we have done something,"
Spock said. "We changed codes and dispositions
throughout Starfleet precisely in case the captain was
in enemy hands. And now we have something else to
do an hour has passed; it's time to resume contact
with the Klingon fleet. I have some suggestions as to
how you should proceed, Admiral, while speaking to
the Klingon commander."
De La Jolla paused, and struggled to regain control
of his temper. "Since you think you know what we
should do, Spock--and because you know Captain
Kirk better than any of us--I'm designating you the
spokesman for the fleet. I'll be watching you, Spock.
I want to see what you come up with."
On their way to the Nonsuch transporter room,
Scott murmured, "How did a man with so little self-control rise so high?"
Spock glanced at him in momentary surprise before
his face smoothed out again into its normal expressionlessness. "Theories abound, Mr. Scott, but I have
inadequate data and refuse to speculate."
Scott snorted. "Well, tell me this, then. Why did
you suggest that meeting? Nothing was accomplished."
"On the contrary, Mr. Scott, something very impor-tmt was accomplished. I had hoped only to be a
calming influence. To be appointed spokesman was
more than I had thought possible. If Admiral De La
Jolla were to speak for the fleet, I would have little
149
hope of the captain escaping with his life. This way, I
have at least a chance of bringing him back."
"Ah! So there is slyness and calculation behind that
calm surface, eh?"
Spock pondered that as they walked in silence,
approaching the door to the transporter room. They
entered, still in silence, and climbed onto the transporter platform. Just as the first tinglings of the field
were building up, Spock said, "Thank you for the
compliment, Mr. Scott."
As soon as they had materialized on the transporter
platform on Enterprise, Spock headed for the bridge
and Scott for the Engineering Section.
Spock strode down the hallway and into a turbo
elevator.
"Bridge."
His unemotional voice, as always, was a perfect
mask, beneath which lay fear for his friend and commander, a perfectly logical fear that left no room for
baseless optimism.
Elliot Tindall had no room for baseless optimism
either. He was fighting a sea of hormones. His medication was wearing off; he needed no medical scan to
tell him that. He had been under pressure from the
moment he stepped aboard Enterprise. With each day,
his mood worsened, and he swallowed his pills with a
growing feeling of desperation.
For it was clear that the pills had ceased to have any
effect.
Leonard McCoy was working grimly, even sullenly,
on a pile of paperwork, trying to grind through it and
get it off his desk, when Elliot burst in on him. "Dr. McCoy?" he said harshly.
McCoy looked up from the form displayed on his
150
monitor. "I told Commander Chapel I was not to be
disturbed," the doctor said politely.
"My name is Elliot Tindall," the newcomer hur-riedly replied. "We haven't met--"
"I've heard of you," McCoy drawled. He stood up
slowly and extended his hand. Had Elliot known it,
this affectation of lazy, stereotypically Southern man-nerisms on McCoy's part was a danger sign, a hint at
the anger the doctor was hiding.
"Oh, yes." Elliott shook the proffered hand briefly.
"I wonder if you could let me have some sort of
sedative."
McCoy looked at him sharply. "A sedative?" Surprise and professional interest combined to chase
away his anger at being interrupted. "Just what sort
of problems are you having, young man?"
Elliot hesitated. Beneath his seemingly calm surface
lay an overwhelming anger for a moment, Elliot
wanted to kill this man before him, this man with his
penetrating looks, and simply take what he wanted.
But the reasons for not doing so were sufficiently
obvious to him--not the least being his ignorance
about where drugs were kept down here--that he
mastered his almost out-of-control emotions, and said,
"Jumpiness. Short temper. With that fleet out there,
this being my first deep-space assignment--I just need
something to calm me down, to keep myself under
better control."
McCoy snorted and seemed to lose interest. "You
and everyone else. It's the long hours and the lack of
sleep that do it. And the lack of exercise and the
irregular, snatched meals. I'll call up Spock and order
that Vulcan taskmaster to give you more time off and
put you on a more regular schedule. That should do
151
the trick--and much more safely than some chemicals.
The body's ability to heal itself..."
Elliot smiled and nodded, sweated and clenched his
fists, hidden from view by McCoy's desk. He would
get nothing from this old idiot.
"Yes, I see, Doctor," he said when McCoy at last
ran out of steam. "I'm sure you're right. I'll follow
your suggestions. Thank you for your advice. Please
don't disturb Mr. Spock, though. He's very busy and
under considerable pressure himself. I'll speak to him
when the time seems right."
"Hmph," McCoy said. "The time's never right for
that overgrown leprechaun to take normal human frailties into account. But I'll honor your wishes, nonethe-less, Mr. Tindall. Now get out of here and let me get
back to work."
Normal human frailties/ Elliott thought bitterly,
hopelessly as he left the office. Oh, Doctor, you can't
imagine how deep they go/
And now, how was he to manage? How could he
hold on?
After Elliot had left, McCoy struggled with his conscience, lost, and called Spock on the bridge.
"Spock here."
The calm voice, as always, both grated on McCoy
and made him feel indefinably inferior. He almost
changed his mind and broke the connection, but then
he thought better of it. "Listen, Spock, I'm of two
minds about this. My respect for a patient's confiden-tiality is at war with my duty to his health."
"Hello, Doctor."
"Oh, yeah. Hello. Don't change the subject." He
told Spock briefly about Elliot's visit and request. "He
asked me not to bother you, but I've decided to,
152
anyway. Stop driving the man so hard, Spock. He's
not a Vulcan, you know. He's only human."
"No, Doctor, he's certainly not a Vulcan," Spock
agreed. "How would you characterize his mental
state?"
"Based on my extensive observation of him, you
mean?" McCoy asked with heavy sarcasm. "Yes, based on that."
"On the edge," McCoy said reluctantly. "Just
barely holding it in check."
"Holding what in check, Doctor?"
"I don't know, Spock! My extensive observations
only lasted for a few minutes, during which I did most
of the talking. He's falling apart, though. I could tell
that."
"Was that not sufficient grounds for you to order
him relieved from duty, Doctor? Grounds enough, at
least, for you to contact me?"
"Well, I am contacting you, damn it! Anyway, I
can't be bothered with that until after this crisis is
over. It's not as if the man is dangerous, you know.
He's very English. If he goes over the edge, the worst
outward sign will probably be that his grammar will
deteriorate."
"Thank you for that very professional advice, Doctor," Spock said, frowning. He broke the connection.
"Mr. Spock?"
He swiveled his chair around to find himself facing
a worried-looking Ginny Crandall, who had turned
away from her console, seeking his attention. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Is there something the matter with Ell--Mr. Tindall?" Ginny asked.
153
"It is, quite possibly, nothing, Lieutenant," Spock
said.
"I hope so," Ginny said.
"As do I," Spock said, meeting her eyes. He swiveled back to face the forward viewscreen. "Please
maintain a close watch on your monitor, Lieutenant.
We are in the midst of a very delicate situation."
154
"GREETINGS TO the entire United Federation of Planets, and in particular to the commanders and crews of
the valiant Starfleet ships sent to meet us. I am Joh
Morith, commander of this fleet."
Listening to Morith's opening message, Kirk tried
to imagine De La Jolla's reaction. He hoped the admiral wouldn't lose his temper to such a degree that
he ordered his fleet to open fire on the Klingons. He
had heard some astonishing stories in the past about
the older man's actions while he was still commanding
a starship.
But to his surprise and relief, it was Spock's face,
and not that of the fleet admiral, that filled the screen
at the front of Alliance's bridge.
Morith finally finished and gestured for Kirk to come
forward and speak.
"Hello, Spock," Kirk said.
A slight bow from the neck. "Captain."
"Spock, what I'm about to tell you will be hard to
believe, but it's vital that you take my word. I've seen
it at first hand. These people I'm with are not the
Klingons you know. They call themselves the New
Klingons..."
155
Throughout Kirk's narrative, Spock's face gave
nothing away. When Kirk had finished, Spock said,
"One moment, please, Captain." The screen went
blank.
"Kirk!" Morith said. "What's going on? Are they
going to attack us?"
"No! Just stay calm, Morith." He felt less sure of
himself than he tried to appear. What was Spock up
to?
The image on the screen re-formed. This time, the
field of view was larger, and Leonard McCoy could be
seen standing next to Spock's command chair and
looking angry. Spock said, "As I'm sure you'll understand, Captain, before we can consider your remarkable story, we must be assured that you are truly
speaking your own mind. Voice analysis indicates that
you are not being coerced to say what you have just
said; however, such analysis cannot prove that you
have not been drugged. Dr. McCoy insists that he
must have medical data on your current physical condition before he can make a decision in that regard.
The simplest solution would be for us to beam you
back onboard Enterprise."
Kirk's heart leapt at the thought to be back on his
ship, in his command chair. Then he looked at Morith,
and the Klingon was scowling and shaking his head.
"Mr. Spock, what assurances do we have that your
fleet will not then fire upon us? We cannot begin our
peaceful relations on a basis of mistrust," Morith said.
"Believe what Captain Kirk is telling you."
"Sir," Spock replied, "it is more important to find
out if Captain Kirk truly believes what he is saying to
us. Without that, we cannot proceed."
"Then here!" Morith snapped out an order in Klingonese. "I have ordered all our shields lowered. What
more can I do to prove our intentions are peaceful?"
156
Kirk saw surprise on the faces of all his bridge crew.
All save Spock, who merley raised an eyebrow.
"Most impressive--we will certainly take this into
account in our discussions," the Vulcan said. He
leaned sideways to listen to McCoy for a moment, then
straightened and said to the screen, "Dr. McCoy
wishes me to say, however, that he still insists on
running a medical scan on the Captain."
"That wasn't all I said, Spock!" McCoy cut in.
Spock raised his hand to silence the doctor. "We
are prepared to beam the Captain aboard at any time."
Morith said, "I'll be in contact shortly." He hit a
button on the arm of his command chair and the screen
went blank. "What do they want, Kirk? I've laid
myself open to attack, and even that doesn't satisfy
them!"
"They told you what they want," Kirk reminded
him. "I think they want to believe me, but they need
something definite to allay their suspicions. And don't
forget that they must give very good reasons for their
actions to Starfleet Command--especially if those actions include inviting a Kilngun fleet to Earth." Kirk
smiled. "You have to give them something they can
use with both Starfleet Command and the Federation
Council."
"I see, I see..." Morith stared thoughtfully at the
blank screen. "Yes, Jim, you're right those are rami-fications I hadn't been aware of. The Empire is very
different--even now." He pondered the problem for a
while, then said, "Frankly, though, I still don't know
how far I can trust them. I still want you onboard to
discourage an attack. I have a compromise suggestion
for them."
He thumbed a button his chair arm and the screen
lit up again, showing Spock and McCoy still in discus-
157
sion on the bridge of the Enterprise. Spock looked up
in polite interest at a signal from Uhura. "Yes, Lord
Morith?"
Morith spoke without any of the formalities or ex-cessive politeness he had adopted at the beginning. "I
am prepared to transmit a complete medical scan of
Captain Kirk to your ship's computer. Our doctors are
surely as competent at performing such a scan as
yours are. I can offer no more."
This time it was Spock who said he would be in
touch again soon, and contact was broken from his
end. As the Enterprise bridge faded away, Kirk could
see McCoy gesticulating angrily and speaking rapidly.
However, he could hear nothing.
Long, tense minutes followed on the Klingon ship.
No one spoke. Finally Spock made contact again.
McCoy was no longer in view. "Dr. McCoy will agree
to your suggestion only if he can perform the scan
personally. He has gone to the transporter room and
has ordered his portable scanner sent there He is
prepared to beam over as soon as you give your
permission."
Morith looked at Kirk with an exasperated expression. Kirk shrugged and raised both hands, palms up.
"All right, then," Morith said. "Whenever you're
ready, you may transport your doctor over. But tell
him to leave his equipment behind. We'll provide the
medical scanner. We want him to use equipment we
know we can trust."
McCoy stepped off the transporter platform and
looked around with a skeptical air. "So this is what a
new Klingon warship looks like from the inside. I'm
not impressed."
Kirk shook his head, smiling. "What would it take
to impress you, Bones?"
158
"You showing up healthy and normal on my own
scanning equipment," McCoy said bluntly. "How are
you, Jim?"
"All things considered, remarkably well, Doctor."
"All things?" McCoy came up close to Kirk, staring
intently into his face. "Been wearing your glasses?"
Kirk gestured impatiently. "No, damn you. Of
course not. They're still back on Enterprise. And
before you ask, yes, it has been giving me headaches."
McCoy grinned. "Good. Now I know it's you and
not some sort of Klingon impersonator."
Kirk shook his head in exasperation but couldn't
help grinning. "Bones, you can't imagine how good it
is to see you."
"Oh, yes, I can, Jim," McCoy said soberly.
Kirk turned away, hiding the rush of emotion McCoy's words had engendered. "We'll have to use the
ship's Sickbay. It's a lot smaller than the one you're
used to on Enterprise. Come on. I'll lead the way."
McCoy passed the scanner over Kirk, grumbling to
himself. "Awful equipment. Primitive. How do they
take care of their own? At least it's labeled in English
as well as Klingonese. Electrolytes're low. That's
funny." He tapped the scanner a couple of times with
his forefinger. "Unreliable junk. Says here you're re-verting to adolescence, Jim boy. What've you been up
to?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Bones,"
Kirk said uncomfortably. "Try me."
"Maybe when all of this is over. Well? Are you
satisfied that I'm really James Kirk and in my right
mind?"
"Oh, you're James Kirk, all right," McCoy
159
drawled. "As for being in your right mind, I've never
been too sure of that. But you're your own man right
now, I'd testify to that."
"Wonderful?" Kirk hopped down from the examining table and began pulling on his shirt again without
waiting for McCoy's permission. "That's exactly what
I want you to do."
"Whoa, there. Hold on a minute. I just happen to
have brought something of my own with me, in spite
of what your heavy-browed friend said." McCoy
reached under his uniform shirt and brought out a
hypospray.
"Now what?"
"It's those pesky electrolytes. Been having some
trouble with your thinking processes?" He looked
intently at Jim. "Loss of concentration, maybe even
some dizzy spells?"
"Now that you mention it, how did you know
that--?"
"Shut up and hold still." So saying, McCoy applied
the hypospray to Kirk's upper arm. "That should
help."
"It does already," Kirk admitted. "Hurt, though.
You're losing your touch, Bones."
"Hmph." McCoy rubbed the spot where he had
applied the hypospray. "Feel anything?" "Smarts like the devil!"
"Uh-huh." McCoy nodded. "As the old country
doctor I was apprenticed to used to say--"
Kirk interrupted triumphantly. "Who never existed.
You went to a medical school, like everyone else.
Really, Bones, how long has it been since there were
any old country doctors on Earth, or since anyone
apprenticed for his medical training?"
"Too long," McCoy snapped back. "Okay, okay.
160
You're fine. Healthy as the proverbial horse--although
that's a strange proverb, considering some of the
horses I've known."
"Careful, Bones. I'm still your commanding officer."
"Nope. You're a POW. So, what now?"
"Now you go back to Enterprise and tell everyone
that I'm in my right mind and should be believed."
McCoy nodded slowly. "Is that you want me to
do?"
Kirk nodded.
"Okay. Now, about my fee..."
Kirk gripped McCoy's elbow and began steering him
toward the door. "As Shakespeare said, 'He is well
paid that is well satisfied.'"
"You're assuming I'm well satisfied."
Kalrind chose that moment to enter Sickbay. She
looked at McCoy anxiously. "You're the human doctor. Is Jim all right?"
McCoy looked back and forth between the two of
them, his eyes narrowed analytically. "Hmm. And
you are?"
"Kalrind, Doctor. A friend of Jim's," she added
quickly.
"Y-e-e-s," McCoy said slowly. "He has a talent for
making friends. I think he's all right. I have to take the
data back with me and analyze it before I can say for
sure." He turned to Kirk. "How about this one, Jim
'A man at sixteen may be a boy at sixty.'"
Kirk groaned in theatrical despair and steered McCoy toward the door again. "I'il be back as soon as I
get rid of this burr under my saddle," he called to
Kalrind, who looked puzzled, and exited with McCoy
still firmly under control.
When they reached the transporter room, Kirk said,
"Prejudices left over from your ancestors, Bones?"
161
But McCoy refused to be provoked. "Just don't
worry about the mote in my eye, Jim. If you need
help, just use my name."
He stepped onto the platform, carrying the wafer
recordings of his scan of Kirk, and signaled to the
technician running the transporter.
"Mote in my eye, Jim boy," he repeated, and disp-peared in a column of twinkling light.
Kirk shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement and left
the transporter room.
"Well, Doctor?"
McCoy turned at the familiar voice, calm and deliberate as always. For all his goading of the Vulcan over
the years, McCoy still has no idea whether Spock
really felt no emotion or simply did a superb job of
disguising any he did feel. "Here it is." He gestured
at the pile of computer printout on the desk before
him.
"Paper, Doctor?"
"Now, don't start, Spock! You know I like something I can pick up and hold. And fold and rub between
my fingers and scribble on."
"As you have on this, I see. What do you wish me
to do with this stack of paper?"
"Look at it. Read it. Examine it. Draw conclusions
from it."
One Vulcan eyebrow rose. "I was under the impression that such analysis was one of your duties, Doctor.
The commander of a starship does have other duties."
"Right now, Spock," McCoy said angrily, "your
main duty seems to be to stare at the Klingon fleet
commander and hope that he blinks first. Well, then,
I'll tell you what you'll find if you examine these
papers nothing."
162
"Thank you, Doctor." Spock turned to go.
"Wait! All right, all right. I was being deliberately
obscure, I admit it. Are you happy now?"
"Doctor, is there a point to all of this? Despite the
impression you may have received, I do have duties
other than trying to stare the Klingon commander
down."
"Oh, Spock, hold on! I'm trying to be open with
you. What I was getting at is that on the face of it, the
scanner recordings look okay. They seem to indicate
that Jim is just fine, perfectly healthy, what and who
he seems to be, speaking and acting his own mind."
"By 'seem to indicate,' I assume you mean that
they don't really indicate that?"
"Not that I can prove objectively," McCoy said
grudgingly. "I've analyzed the data pretty thoroughly.
It wasn't exactly that I saw anomalies in it. In fact,
everything was perfectly consistent. I'd say it was too
perfect, except I know how you'd react to that sort of
statement. Anyway, I didn't like it. It rang alarm bells
in my intuition. The more I looked at it, the deeper I
went into it, the more I felt that way. That's when I
got alarmed and called you."
To Spock, of course, instrument data were virtually
sacred. If the instruments were working properly and
properly calibrated, then their results should logically
be accepted before the inexact and questionable mea-surements taken by human senses--and certainly before the suspicions of a human who had always been
suspicious of all instruments. "Doctor," he said carefully, "can you point out to me actually conflicting
readings? Your intuition is not reason enough for me
to take action."
McCoy jumped to his feet, trembling with anger.
"You listen to me, Spock. I know Jim Kirk! I've
163
known him both as a friend and as his doctor for many
years, and my intuitions about these readings are
reliable. Something bad is happening to that man.
You're his friend, too. That means you have a special
responsibility to him, in addition to your duty as
commander of this ship. You've got to listen to me and
forget about logic. You've got to do something. Jim's
life may be in danger over there."
"I hardly think so, Doctor. The Klingons have had
ample time already to injure the captain, if that is what
they wish to do." But inwardly, Spock was reconsidering what McCoy had said. He had learned long ago,
from ample observation of James Kirk, not to dismiss
human intuition as valueless. Moreover, despite their
constant sniping at each other, he had a high opinion
of McCoy's competence.
And there was more. In the light of what Spock had
spent his time in San Francisco proving, McCoy's
suspicions carried considerable weight with him.
There was also the matter of his own impressions
during his conversations with Kirk and Morith. He
disliked having to trust intuition, but in this case he
had no other data to depend on. He had not been
satisfied with those conversations. He felt that communication with Kirk had not been completely free
and open. He also felt that he could not trust Morith.
Even without what he had discovered during his
investigations on Starbase Seventeen and Earth, he
would have felt these misgivings.
McCoy fidgeted nervously. "Spock, I can practically hear the relays clicking in that computer you call
a brain," he said.
"Relays, Doctor?" Spock replied. "You've been
reading historical novels again." He stood. "I must
follow logic, doctor--or reason, if you prefer. Logic,
]64
reason, common sense all dictate that I should accept
Captain Kirk's apparent health and clarity of mind as
being precisely that. I shall proceed on t hat basis. All
that is required is that you enter your certification of
the captain's mental health in the records."
McCoy grinned and shook his head slowly without
saying a word.
Spock stared at him for a moment, then said, "I
shall humor you, Dr. McCoy. What do you require in
order to give me that certification?"
"Just what I asked for in the first place; no more
than that. I want to examine Jim here, with my own
equipment, in my own Sickbay. No Klingon machines,
and no Klingons hanging around."
"I doubt if Morith would agree to that."
"Then you don't agree to letting his ships pass. Not
without a fight, anyway."
Spock considered, not for the first time, how ready
humans were to engage in bloodshed in contradiction
to their frequent professions of a love of peace. Nonetheless, no matter how offended he might be by McCoy's attitude, he had little choice but to bow before
the man's demands. "I shall relay your request to
Morith, but I consider it unlikely that he will accede."
McCoy smiled again.
"Was there anything else, Doctor?" Spock asked.
"No---yes, wait a minute." McCoy snapped his
fingers. "Tindall. He called again and asked for a
sedative. Spock, I thought you were going to take it
easier on that young man."
"Indeed." Spock was silent for a moment. Finally
he spoke. "If my suspicions are correct, no amount of
sedatives will help Mr. Tindall." He turned and left
Sickbay.
165
McCoy watched him go.
"Now what in hell is that supposed to mean?"
Elliot tossed and turned fitfully on his bunk. The
doctor's drugs wouldn't have done him any good anyway, he realized. The real problem was that his own
medication seemed to have lost its strength during the
years, and the only way he could remedy that was to
replace his pills with new versions of the same thing--
stronger ones. Surely there had been advances since
he had been given his supply; surely there were now
more powerful and effective drugs available for those
in his position.
That meant there was only one place he could go for
help.
He drew a deep breath, held it, trying to force some
sort of calm into his nerves, to still the waves of
unreason and violence that had been coursing through
him at random intervals for hours now. At last, he felt
calm enough to head for his goal. He left his cabin,
and headed for the nearest turbo elevator.
It shouldn't take him long to get where he was going,
fortunately, since his destination was also in the starship's primary hull. He could make it that far, he was
sure.
Then the turbo elevator opened, and he found himself face-to-face with Ginny Crandall.
"Elliot?" she said. "I thought I'd stop by and see
how you were--"
He shrank from her, his nerves suddenly a-jangle.
There was a shrill, piercing noise, like a high-speed
drill. His vision blurred, till he could scarcely make
out her face, let alone recognize it.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked anxiously. "Should
I call Medical?"
166
"That noise." Elliot groaned. "What is it?"
"Noise--oh, my communicator. It's been malfunc
tioning for days. I can't even hear it--too high-pitched
My roommate keeps complaining about it, but she's
Sezanian. You're the only human I know who can hea
it."
As Elliot staggered, she instinctively reached fo
him. He pushed her hands away frantically. "Don'
touch me !" he yelled. Ginny gasped and stepped back
This was all wrong, Elliot thought. He was iosinl
control again he could see the concern in Ginny',.
eyes.
Ginny stepped toward him. "Elliot," she begal
hesitantly. "You need help. Listen..."
"No!" he howled, shoving Ginny aside. She
slammed hard into the bulkhead, and sank to the floor
Elliot ran as fast as he could down one corridor
then another, trying to escape the noise that grated ir
his ears. At last he stopped to catch his breath.
Slowly, he recovered his senses and resumed th
journey toward his earlier goal.
167
KIRK WAS IN Alliance's gymnasium with Kalrind, still
working on rebuilding his strength. They were gripping
each other's exercise suit, laughing as each tried to
throw the other.
"Stop playing those stupid games !"
Kirk looked up to see Morith, visibly furious, standing in the doorway. "Kirk, your people are increasing
their demands !"
Morith calmed down enough to tell them of Spock's
latest demand that Kirk beam to Enterprise for another
medical scan.
"What harm could it do?" Kirk said in what he
hoped was a reasonable tone. "And it could do a lot
of good. Obviously, since nothing has happened for so
long, we're not making any real progress. One side
has to make a move. Starfleet is actually considering
escorting this enormous fleet to Earth, to the heart of
the Federation, but you've got to offer something in
return. All they're really asking for is assurance about
me and what I've told them."
"And then they'll make another new demand!"
Morith said. "When will it end, Kirk?" He raised his
168
hands unconsciously, his fingers opened and tense.
"When will it end?"
Kirk stepped back from him, suddenly on the alert
for an attack, amazed at the same time that he could
get such a feeling about Morith, of all people. "We're
not like that, Morith. You're going to have to trust my
judgment on that, just as you're asking us to trust
you." Inspiration struck him. "You know, if I could
go over and take Kalrind with me, that would really
make an impression. Their first meeting with a genuine
New Klingon! We could show them in a very concrete
way just who and what the New Kiingons really are.
That might be enough to seal the decision right then
and there."
"That's a wonderful idea!" Kalrind broke in. "I'd
love to visit a human ship!"
Morith glared at her. "Out of the question. I can't
expose you to that risk."
Kalrind drew herself up. Suddenly she was a martial
figure and not an academic one. "You have no right
to----"
"I am your commander!" Morith's voice cracked
across the gymnasium. "To you, here and now, I am
your Emperor!"
Kalrind shrank back and turned her face aside, not
meeting Morith's eyes. Kirk watched the interplay
with great interest. "You know that she wouldn't be
in any danger on a Starfleet ship," he said.
Morith stared at him silently, eyes narrowed, face
tight with anger. "No such trip by you is mentioned in
the historical accounts of the Tholian Incident."
"Interesting--but irrelevant. The fact that the historical accounts do not mention that I beamed over to
Enterprise is not at all the same as their stating that I
did not beam over, is it? Do they say specifically that
I did not beam over?"
169
Morith stared at him silently again, his face expressionless. Finally he said, "This discussion is at an
end," and turned and stalked from the gymnasium.
Elliot burst into the transporter room, startling the
technician at the controls. "Sir?" the man said uncertainly, looking Elliot's civilian clothes up and down.
"Can I help you?"
"Beam me over," he snarled, feeling an unreasoning hostility toward the young technician. "Over where, sir?"
"The Klingon flagship!" Elliot bellowed. "Right
now!" He lurched toward the transporter platform.
"I'm afraid I can't do that without authorization
from the bridge, sir." The technician said hesitantly.
"You're Mr. Spock's new assistant, aren't you?"
Elliot nodded wordlessly.
"Would you like me to call the bridge and verify the
authorization, sir?" the technician asked. He reached
below the console and pressed a button.
Elliot stood still in the center of the room, directly
in front of the transporter platform, staring at the
technician and swaying from side to side. He hunched
his shoulders and moved toward the technician, growling deep in his throat, a low-pitched, rumbling sound.
"Fool!" he said. "Obey me!"
For a moment, the technician held his station behind
the transporter controls as Elliot advanced on him.
Finally, though, he broke and made for the door.
Elliot was there before him. He swung clumsily at
the technician, his hand open, the fingers curved like
claws, rather than closed into a fist. The technician
dodged.
Elliot was moving slowly and clumsily, his eyes
roaming the room. He tried to focus in on the techni-17O
clan--all he could feel was an overpowering need for
his medication.
"Don't make me hurt you, sir," the technician said.
"Let me call the bridge, or Dr. McCoy--"
Elliot lunged again, this time much quicker. The
technician stepped expertly aside, and threw a quick
punch, connecting solidly with Elliot's cheekbone.
Elliot barely felt it, advancing with a snarl.
The young man dodged, stepping behind Elliot as
he moved past, then threw his left arm around Eiliot's
neck, locking the hold tight by grasping his left wrist
with his right hand. Elliot twisted and slipped out of
the hold. Now he could see the beginnings of fear in
the technician's eyes. His opponent jumped back frantically, but Elliot pursued him, closed his hands
around the fellow's throat, and squeezed viciously.
The door to the transporter room swished open.
Men in the uniform of the Security Department
crowded into the room, phasers drawn. "Let him go, Tindall!" one said.
Elliot looked uncomprehendingly at him, still gripping the neck of the transporter technician.
'III shoot!" the Security man shouted at him.
Elliot slowly loosened his grasp and let the unconscious transporter technician slide to the floor.
"Aah," he said in a low, stretched-out whisper. He
turned from the unmoving technician and advanced on
the Security team.
"Stay there! Freeze, damn it!"
Elliot ignored their words and kept moving toward
them. Without a warning, without the merest hint, he
leaped forward.
Before they could shoot, he was among them, chop-ping with rigid hands to right and left. They couldn't
shoot at him without hitting their comrades. They tried
171
to dodge, to use hand-to-hand combat against him, but
even when blows landed, Elliot was oblivious to them.
The door swished open again, and Spook stepped
through. Two of the Security men were on the floor,
unmoving, and the other two were clearly outmanned
by their single, crazed opponent. "Mr. Tindall!"
Spock said sharply.
Elliot turned to him, uncomprehending.
"Mr. Tindal!!" Spock said again. "Control yourself!"
Elliot threw a punch directly at his face. Spock
moved his head fractionally aside and the blow
whsshed past harmlessly. He grabbed Elllot's wrist,
bent the arm down and then up behind Elllot's back.
During the instant when Elliot was immobilized with
his back to him, Spock dropped his free hand lightly
upon a point where Elllot's neck and shoulder met and
squeezed.
Elliot dropped heavily to the floor, unconscious.
Spock stepped back and away from him. He looked at
the two Security men still on their feet. "Take this
man to a holding cell. I'll call Sickbay."
After Spock had placed the call, he turned his attention to the transporter technician. The man was stir-ring and groaning on the floor, fingering his bruised
throat cautiously.
Spock kneeled beside him. "Can you understand
me?" Spock asked calmly.
"Yes, sir." The voice was a whisper.
"Talk as little as possible," Spock instructed him.
"Help has been summoned. I must know where did
Mr. Tindall wish to be transported?"
The technician coughed a couple of times, cleared
his throat, and at last managed to say, "Klingon
flagship."
172
Spock regained his feet. Only one who knew him
well, such as James Kirk, could have detected the
sadness in his face.
At first McCoy objected loudly to Tindall's imprisonment. He felt Elliot should be under his care in
Sickbay. He came to Spock's quarters, hoping to
convince the Vulcan of that. So Spock, who had hoped
to keep the matter quiet, had to explain his motivations to the doctor.
First he described the scene in the transporter room.
"Well," McCoy said grudgingly, "it does seem
pretty suspicious. But there's obviously something
wrong with the man, Spock."
"Indeed," Spock said, with a hint of sarcasm. "Let
me show you what that something is, Doctor." He
turned his chair toward the computer terminal. "Computer."
"Working."
"Display file DISASTER."
McCoy tried to raise one eyebrow in Vulcan manner
to indicate that he thought Spock's choice of file name
overly melodramatic, but then the display that had
appeared caught his eye. He frowned as he leaned
forward and read it over Spock's shoulder. "You've
got TindaWs name on here. And others I don't recognize."
"Down the left-hand side of the screen," Spock
agreed. "And in the column to the right?"
"I don't recognize--aah! They're place names." He
straightened up again. "But I don't see what you're
getting at, Spock."
"Surely those place names jog your memory, Doctor."
McCoy grumbled something even Spock's Vulcan
173
hearing couldn't pick up and read the screen again.
"Devon, Archangel, New Athens, .. ." He turned
toward Spock, looking startled. "Great disasters, all
of them. The Devon Disaster, the nuclear power station at Archangel, the matter-antimatter explosion on
Centaurus. Towns and cities wiped out, lives lost. That
last one, especially, I'm not likely to forget. All right,
Spock. Enough. Explain."
Spock nodded. "Gladly, Doctor. As you said, the
places named on the right were all the sites of terrible
disasters, some natural and some manmade, throughout the Federation. What they have in common is the
great loss of life. The names on the left are those of
people who have attained high positions in Starfleet or
the Federation government. The place names show
where those men and women were born."
McCoy said in bewilderment, "So what? I admit it's
a very strange coincidence. Or maybe the destruction
of their home towns gave those people a kind of drive
that led them to their current high-level jobs. But
beyond that--say," he said, interrupting himself, "just
how did you get that information? I thought personal
was connoenua .
dalai was able to obtain an extract from Starfleet and
Federation personnel records while I was in San Francisco."
McCoy grinned at him. "'Obtained,' eh? Do you
maybe mean 'stole'? Easy enough for a computer
expert like you, huh?"
"Can we return to the results I show on the screen,
Doctor? The significance of what I have found may be
enormous."
"How do you mean?" McCoy asked.
Spock told him.
As the Vulcan spoke, McCoy progressed from incre-174
dulity to fear. Finally he interrupted Spock's explanation by jumping to his feet and saying angrily, "Why're
you sitting here calmly and telling me all of this?
Contact Starfleet Command right away and let them
know !"
"We need one more piece of evidence before we
can offer a solid enough case, Doctor."
"And you expect Tindall to provide that missing
piece?"
"Exactly," Spock nodded.
McCoy frowned. "Spock--did you know about Tindall all along, or..." He let the sentence trail off.
"Mr. Tindall's erratic behavior prompted my suspicions," Spock said, "but all this"--he nodded toward
the computer screenm"was speculation until the incident in the transporter room."
"I see," McCoy said. "Well. I'll get right on it."
He headed for the door.
"One moment, Doctor. You'll need a Security
team."
"What? Rubbish, Spock!" McCoy waved him off.
Instead of answering, Spock issued a command to
the computer, and the listing of names and places
disappeared, to be replaced by a view of Tindall's
holding cell.
"Good God!" McCoy stared for a long moment,
then nodded and said soberly, "Right again, Spock. A
Security team."
175
HOURS HAD PASSED, endless, dragging hours. The
triumphant peace flight of the Klingon fleet to Earth
showed no sign of starting. The Klingons on the bridge
of the Alliance were growing visibly tenser, snapping
at each other and at Kirk. "This isn't the way it was
supposed to happen, is it?" Kirk said to Morith.
"According to your history books, I mean?"
Morith scowled. "Obviously the history books don't
tell us everything about the Tholian Incident."
"Especially that there was a standoff, with more
Federation ships arriving steadily and no resolution in
sight." He crossed to Morith's side. "Perhaps I could
break the deadlock if I were over there, on the Enterprise..."
Morith glared at him and stalked off the command
platform. Kalrind said, "Don't be too hard on him,
Jim. He has something else to worry about, too--
something he hasn't told you about."
"There seems to be a lot of that," Kirk said. "What,
specifically?"
"There are some old documents that seem to imply
that in your time the Old Klingons who controlled the
Empire were trying to infiltrate your Federation."
176
"I encountered one of them once," Kirk said
thoughtfully. "His name was... Darvin. That's right.
We assumed he had been surgically altered to look
human, but we never did figure out how he managed
to act human. Klingons always have so much trouble
behaving themselves around humans. It's their training, I suppose they're trained to war and aggression
from childhood, and they're taught to think of us as an
enemy, a threat to their survival. When they do happen to encounter a human, they end by becoming
hostile and violent, almost as if it were an instinct."
"I wish you'd put all that in the past tense," Kalrind
said uncomfortably.
"It's in the present now, isn't it? Well, go on."
"We don't know much about the infiltration. The
Old Klingons were so overly secretive that they apparently destroyed their own records, probably when we
took control of the Empire away from them. Anyway,
Morith told me that he has no way of knowing who's
really in control of that Federation fleet."
"You mean he thinks it may really be Klingons?"
Kirk laughed. "That's ridiculous!"
Kalrind shook her head. "No, it isn't, Jim. We think
they infiltrated to very high levels. Don't you see? It
would be in their own interest to abort our mission.
They don't have our historical perspective on the
Great Peace, of course, since it's all still in their future,
but they can certainly predict from what you told your
people about New Klingons that, if we succeed,
everything they know will vanish. The Empire, as it
became after we took control, was not a very hospita-ble place for them."
"I still say it's ridiculous. I spoke to Spock by
subspace and to McCoy in person, and I know they're
the men I remember."
177
"Of course they are," Kalrind said quickly. "I
didn't mean to suggest that someone had been substituted for them. But you don't know for sure about
their superiors."
Kirk chucked. "De La Jolla hasn't changed either,
unfortunately."
"All I'm asking is that you put a bit more pressure
on those men you do trust, Jim. Try to break through
the stalemate."
Kirk looked at her for a long time and then finally
said, 'TII try. Let's talk to Morith."
It was becoming a familiar scenario Morith in the
command chair, Kirk standing to one side, Kalrind on
the other.
"Hello, Spock."
The enlarged figure on the screen at the front of the
bridge nodde d formally. "Captain."
"There seems to be a problem of trust, doesn't
there?" Kirk clasped his hands behind him and slowly
paced away from Morith, until he was standing alone
on the dais. Spock's eyes followed him. "Indeed," said the Vulcan.
"So how do we resolve this problem?" Kirk asked
rhetorically. "Is McCoy there?"
"He is, Captain." The field of view widened to
show McCoy standing beside the command chair.
"Bones," Kirk said, looking at the doctor, "perhaps this will help. Remember our last conversation."
As Kirk was speaking, the Klingons surrounding
him were listening with interest, Kalrind most intently
of all. She stepped around Morith's chair and came to
Kirk's side, looking up into his face with a frown.
Kirk smiled at her and put his arm around her
shoulder. He turned back to the screen and continued
178
his conversation. "McCoy, I have two motes in my
eye."
While the Klingons exchanged puzzled glances, McCoy took on a look of disapproval. "I can see that,
Jim."
Spock, meanwhile, had bent forward and spoken in
low tones into the microphone in the arm of his chair.
His words were inaudible to the Klingon audience.
A sound began to form on the bridge of Alliance.
Morith looked around, trying to locate the source of
it. "What is that?"
One of the crewmen seated at a terminal below the
dais yelled, "Federation transporter!" He jumped to
his feet and pointed at Kirk and Kalrind. They were
wrapped in a sparkling column of lights.
Morith yelled and launched himself at them... and
stumbled through empty space and fetched up against
the railing at the far end of the dais.
Kalrind looked around wildly. "Jim! Where are
we?" She stiffened. "We were transported, weren't
we?"
Kirk took his arm from her shoulders and stepped
off the transporter platform. "Welcome aboard my
favorite ship in the known universe." He nodded to
the transporter technician, who grinned back at him.
"Welcome home, sir," the technician said in a
scratchy voice.
"Something happen to your throat, Lieutenant?"
"It's a long story, sir."
Kirk nodded. "I'd like you to tell me about it, when
all of this is over and we have the time." Kirk smiled
and turned back toward the platform. Kalrind was still
standing there, where they had arrived, looking confused and lost. "Jim ...."she said, her voice trailing
off.
179
The door slid open. Spock and McCoy entered,
Security men behind them.
"Captain," Spock said in his calm, restrained way.
"I'm pleased to see you."
McCoy harrumphed and pushed the Vulcan aside.
"Jim!" he yelled, a deliberate contrast. He grabbed
Kirk's hand and squeezed it vigorously.
Kirk grinned at the two of them. "Plus ca change.
Bones, the mote in the eye and the beam in the eye--
that's all a bit obscure, you know. I might not have
caught it."
"I knew you too well for that," McCoy said triumphantly. "You're as quotation-happy as any Shake-spearean actor."
"Captain," Spock cut in, "if I may recall your
attention to more serious matters."
"Yes, Mr. Spock?" Kirk strove to wipe away his
silly grin and look serious.
"I am happy to return command of USS Enterprise
to you, sir."
Now the grin did go away. Kirk sighed and relaxed,
a tension departing from him that he had been unaware
of. He looked around the transporter room, seeing
more than the walls enclosing the small space. "Yes,"
he said. "Yes." He shook himself and came back to
the present. "I need information, Mr. Spock. Meet me
in the briefing room. This way, Kalrind." Shoulders
visibly stiffening, Captain James T. Kirk strode from
the transporter room.
Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Kalrind sat at a table in
the briefing room, the three Federation officers at the
head, Kalrind at the foot, separate from the others.
Spock told Kirk what had happened after his disap-130
pearance along with the Kiingon ship Mauler of the
storm's attack on Enterprise, the damage the ship had
sustained, and in particular about how, when all the
excitement was over, they had discovered that Uhura
was unconscious.
"It was the discovery that Commander Uhura had
been knocked out by a powerful electric shock, which
was in turn generated by an extremely powerful signal
transmitted through the transponder you had taken
with you to Mauler, that aroused my suspicions, Captain. At first I suspected a transporter beam, although
I discounted that possibility for various reasons. I then
suspected that the transponder had been subjected to
the Klingon cloaking device, operating at a much
higher level than we have heretofore seen."
"Very strange," Kirk said. "What did you do?"
Spock glanced at Kalrind, who remained silent. He
continued. "I used our copy of the Romulan cloaking
device, increased its power greatly, and subjected the
transponder to it. As I expected, the transponder
emitted a signal of astonishing power for a fraction of
a second before burning out."
Now Kirk turned and silently examined Kalrind.
After a moment, he returned his attention to Spock.
"Interesting, Mr. Spock. Fascinating, I might even
say."
"And useful, Captain. As a result of my investigations, we now have a way to detect the use of a
cloaking device from a considerable distance. Not
when the cloaking device is used in a normal way, I
should point out, but when its power has been increased far beyond the normal level."
"In other words," Kirk said, "when it's being used
by one ship to cast a cloaking field on another."
181
"Precisely, Captain. Or when many ships switch on
their cloaking devices simultaneously." "Aah. Yes. Please continue."
"A few days ago, seemingly from nowhere, a large
Klingon fleet suddenly appeared within the Empire,
but heading toward our territory. The fleet was detected from Starbase Seventeen, which, as you know,
Captain, constantly monitors Imperial space within its
area of responsibility. Every Federation ship in this
sector was immediately ordered to head for the point
where the Klingon ships were predicted to cross the
frontier. Enterprise was still at Starbase Seventeen for
refitting, and therefore we were ordered to the frontier
as well. What is significant, Captain, is that we also
detected evidence of massive use of the cloaking device at the same time as the Klingon fleet appeared."
Kirk shut his eyes and sighed heavily. He looked
sadly at Kalrind. "I suspected, you know, but I hoped
so much that I was wrong, that you and Morith were
telling me the truth."
"We were, Jim!" she insisted. "I don't understand
any of this elaborate story the Vulcan has been telling
you. We never lied to you !"
Kirk shook his head and stood. "Mr. Spock, get a
Security detail down here. For now, I want Kalrind
confined."
"Jim, no!" Kalrind rose and grasped his arm, spin-ning him around to face her. "You can't believe
this..."
"I'm sorry," Kirk said, prying her fingers loose. "I
really am."
The two stood silent for a moment, facing each
other. Then the door to the briefing room ssshhed
open, and two security guards entered.
182
"Gentlemen," Kirk said, turning his back on Kalrind. "You have your orders."
He waited till they were gone, then sank into his
chair, slumping down. "She sounds as if she's telling
the truth," he said plaintively.
Over his head, Spock and McCoy exchanged startled glances.
183
THE KNOCKING DRAGGED HIM from deep, tortured,
unwanted sleep. With the two great fleets facing each
other, shields up, and Kirk in command of the Starfleet
ships, he could not afford to waste a minute. He had
intended, when he lay down on his bed, only to rest,
to ease the growing ache in his muscles and bones and
heart. His body had betrayed him. "Come in."
Kirk forced himself to his feet and made his way
groggily to his desk. Meanwhile, the door had opened
and McCoy had entered. The doctor leaned against
the wall and watched Kirk stumble about his room.
"You look like a prime candidate for Sickbay, Jim."
"Did you come here to make my life more miserable
than it already is, Bones?"
McCoy straightened and held his hand out, palm up.
"Security confiscated this from your friend." A small
bottle rested in his palm. Kirk could see small red pills
inside it.
"They're a medicine. I know all about them. She
suffers from some kind of hereditary disease, and she
has to take those once a day. Give them back to her."
"Once a day, huh?" He held the bottle up and
134
stared into it. "Yep. That sounds about right. Spock's
told you all about Elliot Tindall, hasn't he?"
Kirk put his elbows on the desk and his face in his
hands. "Bones . . ." he said. "What're you talking
about?"
"Come on, Jim," McCoy said softly. "Come take a
little trip with me."
"Bones, I don't have time for this."
McCoy shook his head. "This is not a joke, Jim."
Kirk looked up at him, startled by the change in
tone. After a moment, he said, "Okay. Just let me
soak my eyes in cold water for a few hours first."
McCoy grinned. "Don't bother. What I want to
show you will open your eyes fast enough."
As they traveled toward Security, McCoy explained
to Kirk who Elliot Tindall was. His story stopped at
the point where Tindall attacked Spock and the Security men who had caught up with him in the transporter room.
"But where was he trying to go? And why?" Kirk
asked.
"Where? The flagship of the Klingon fleet out there.
Why? Because he's a Klingon."
Kirk stopped in midstride, and then started walking
again. "There's more, isn't there? Go on."
"Spock was able to find a whole bunch of disguised
Kli ngons just like Tindall, scattered throughout Starfleet and the Federation. They were all born in places
that have been wiped out by one kind of disaster or
another, so that there was no one who had known
them in childhood. Real names, of course, so there are
records of birth duplicated in central archives, but
normally no actual surviving friends or relatives."
"She told me about this, you know."
"Who?"
185
"Kalrind."
This time it was McCoy who stopped walking for a
moment. "She did?"
Kirk nodded. "Yes, she told me she knew of a
Klingon plot to infiltrate Starfleet, but she didn't know
the details. I told you these Klingons are different
from the ones we're used to."
"Fascinating," McCoy said. "Well, here we are--
Tindall's ceil."
From McCoy's description, Kirk had expected Tindall to be an urbane, sophisticated man, a reserved
European. What he saw was wild-eyed and blank-faced--and far from human.
Tindall sat on the floor at the far end of the cell,
leaning back against the wall. His clothes were torn
and dirty. Kirk and McCoy stood in the hallway outside the door looking in at him. Tindall's eyes roamed
around the room; there was no sign of intelligence in
his face. "I can't find any volunteers in Medical section to go in and take care of him," McCoy said, "and
I'm not going to order anyone to do it. Security has
the same problem."
While McCoy was speaking, Tindall had slowly become aware of his voice. Now his eyes focused on the
two men watching him and he slowly got to his feet.
He stood swaying, one hand against the wall for support, shoulders hunched. Suddenly he screamed wordlessly and leaped across the tiny cell and at the doorway.
The force field glowed with the impact, flinging
Tindall back into the cell. Falling to the floor, he curled
into a ball and lay shivering and moaning.
"My God, Bones, what's wrong with the man?"
"Vitamins."
"What?"
186
"Patience, Jim. Haven't you wondered how we
knew he was a Klingon?"
Kirk raised his hands. "Blood tests, genotype. I
don't know."
"Basically you're right, but the differences between
us and them are more subtle than most people realize.
Even normally, the differences are biochemical, not
mechanical. I mean that there's nothing like the Vulcan double heart. There are the exterior differences--
mainly the heavier facial bones--but that can be taken
care of with surgery, and they seem to have improved
their surgical abilities greatly. The biochemical differences are trickier, but the Klingons have apparently
made some very major advances in biochemistry, and
they now have drugs which can mask even those
differences. And by the way, they also have drugs that
control their moods and make it easier for them to act
like gentlemen and ladies around humans."
"But you said he attacked Spock and the Security
men." Kirk looked at the pitiful body huddled on the
floor of the cell. Tindall was weeping quietly, steadily,
hopelessly.
"And Lieutenant Crandall as well. He failed to keep
taking his drug on schedule."
"A strange kind of mistake for such a successful
secret agent to make!"
McCoy's forced good humor deserted him. "He was
married, the poor fellow. To an Earthwoman. I should
say, 'the poor woman,' shouldn't I? They seem to
have been genuinely in love. Anyway, he told her
some story about the drug being a supplement he had
to take for his health, and she substituted something
else for it before he left Earth, some pills she had that
looked just like his. Vitamins."
Kirk felt sick but he had to ask the question. "What
did those pills of his look like, Bones?"
187
Wordlessly, McCoy held up the bottle that had been
taken from Kalrind.
Kirk forced himself to speak calmly. "So he didn't
take them for a while, and he turned into this?"
McCoy nbodded. "After a violent stage, and then a
coma. He came out of it like this. But it seems to vary.
He's been an agent for a long time, which means he's
been on the drug for a long time. That seems to be a
factor. Klingons... those who've only been taking it
for a short time should be okay." "Analyze those pills."
"I don't really have to, do I?" McCoy said gently.
"I can guess what they are."
Kirk snapped, "I asked for an analysis, Bones, not
a guess !"
McCoy nodded and said nothing.
'TII be on the bridge. Let me know as soon as you
finish." Kirk turned to go.
"Jim. Wait a minute. Kalrind is just down the hall.
She's probably confused and frightened. Just a word
would help."
Kirk shook his head slowly. "No."
"Tindall isn't the only one. Thanks to Mr. Spock,
we've been finding these guys all over Starfleet and
the Federation government Klingon agents, planted
varying numbers of years ago, sustained by drugs so
that they can act human. You have no idea what an
uproar things are in back on Earth and the other major
worlds. We've been hunting them down. Cloak and
dagger. Exciting stuff."
"Good. Anything else?"
"Yes. I want you in Sickbay for a complete
checkup. Immediately." He recognized the old look
of stubbornness growing on Kirk's face, and he said,
"Don't make me pull rank, Jim. As Chief Medical
188
Officer of the Starship USS Enterprise, I am formally--"
"All right!" Kirk got his temper under control with
difficulty. He knew McCoy was justified; in fact, he
thought he could detect another bout of weakness
approaching, like those he had suffered while with
Kalrind. "Later, I'll--No, we'll go there right now."
"You have no doubt?"
"I have no doubt."
"You're sure you're not detecting old injuries that
have healed or been taken care of by advanced surgical
techniques?"
"Jim, boy, your insides are a mess. It doesn't take
a doctor of my years of experience to see that. The
scanning instruments practically started screaming in
revolt when I put them on you. To put it scientifically,
your guts are all mangled and jangled, and it's not
from the food on this ship. 1 won't even offer you a
drink to soften the shock, because I'm afraid it would
come squirting out all over your torso. Okay." He
held up his hand. "I'm exaggerating slightly. The fact
is, your condition is consistent with your having been
knocked around when Mauler was so shaken up.
Looks to me like you had some first-aid, meatball
surgery done on you by a cutter who was holding his
instruments with his toes. And then they pumped you
full of drugs to kill the pain and keep you pepped up."
"Bones, I just don't understand. I felt good. I felt
healed."
"Told you about their advances in biochemistry,
didn't I? They probably have the best painkillers and
pepper-uppers in the known universe. Doesn't constitute a cure, though."
He flipped through the papers on his desk, sheet
189
after sheet of instrument readings. "In fact, I'll go
even further. Looks to me like you had a few sessions
in surgery, all equally incompetent, just to keep you
going and to repair the damage from the previous time.
You must have been losing blood to internal bleeding.
Some healing, but not enough. And by covering up the
pain and giving you drug-induced energy, they encouraged you to be your normal vigorous self, which just
made things worse, exacerbated the damage. It would
have killed you eventually, but maybe you would have
lasted long enough for their purposes.
"Someone was pumping a lot of very powerful stuff
into you--so much that there's still a lot of it in your
bloodstream. It won't last, though, and your condition
will just keep deteriorating. So now I'm gonna put you
to bed and do the job right, and you're going to have
to allow a long time for recovery."
Kirk pushed himself off the examining table and
onto his feet. "Sorry, Bones. I'm needed for a few
hours yet. Those Klingon drugs that're still in my
system will get me through, keep me alert. No arguments." McCoy started to object, but a look at Kirk's
grim face silenced him.
"I'll be on the bridge," Kirk said. "I want those
pills analyzed quickly. I need to know what they are."
190
KIRK IGNORED the happy smiles of greeting from the
bridge crew. De Broek, the helmsman, returned to his
post. Kirk resumed the command chair and sat for a
long moment staring wordlessly at the static starfield
displayed on the forward screen. An air of tense
silence settled over the bridge as the crew perceived
his mood.
Uhura broke the silence. "Captain? Morith has been
requesting communication since you beamed back
over."
"Well . . . "Kirk said. "He's obviously guessed
where we disappeared to." He managed a weak smile
at Uhura. "It's good to see you've recovered, Commander."
Uhura smiled delightedly. "And it's good to see you
back where you belong, Captain. Shall I contact Morith now?"
"No, let's keep him in suspense just a little bit
longer. I need to hear from Dr. McCoy before I--" As
if on cue, the speaker in Kirk's chair arm buzzed, and
McCoy's voice said, "Jim, I've got that analysis."
"Good work, Bones, What are you waiting for?"
McCoy muttered something to himself and then
191
said, "Seems my guess was a good one. Your friend
had the same stuff on her that Tindall used. Mood-altering, possibly memory-suppressing."
"Memory?"
"Yes. They may not know their own backgrounds,
as long as the drug is in effect. Some of those people
on Earth had whole false personalities implanted in
them. You have to get them off the drug for a while
before the real Klingon comes back, as it did with
Elliot."
"They never give up, do they?" Kirk said, thinking
aloud. "As soon as we close one chink in our armor,
they start probing for a nother." He shook himself and
became aware of his surroundings, of the bridge crew
staring at him with worried expressions. He forced a
smile. "I don't need a mother, ladies and gentlemen.
Please continue with your work." They all turned
away quickly. Kirk reached for the toggle switch on
the arm of his chair, missed it, frowned, tried again,
missed again.
Deliberately, he put his hand down on the arm of
the chair and squeezed, trying to reassert control. His
entire arm was trembling and almost uncontrollable.
He sat still for a few seconds, waiting for the trembling
to pass. At last he was able to thumb the toggle.
"Bones."
"Wondered what had happened to you, Jim. You
okay?"
"Close enough," Kirk said. "I've decided what to
do about Kalrind. I'm going to find out the truth. You
know what I said about the New K!ingons when I was
still on Alliance. The question is this is there such an
animal, or is Kalrind able to act the way she does
because of drugs?"
"Jim." McCoy's voice sounded uncertain. "Do you
really need that answered anymore?"
192
Kirk could sense the bridge crew's gaze on him as
he pondered McCoy's question. Finally, he spoke.
"As long as there's a chance, Doctor--yes, I want
that question answered."
"Okay," McCoy said, sounding somewhat irritated.
"Okay. Morith said she had to take the drug every
day to counteract her 'hereditary disease.' She's been
without it for quite a while, now. How much leeway
did the spies we caught have, before they had to take
more?"
"That seems to depend on how long they've been
on it. Elliott Tindall--Guess I might as well keep on
calling him that! Anyway, Elliot went for a few days
without another dose. Or I should say, taking what
were really vitamin supplements, thinking they were
his own pills. But he'd been on the drug for many
years, so he'd built up an overdose in his tissues.
"How they come out of it seems correlated with
how long they've been taking it, too. Elliot ended up
mindless, easily angered, but also quick to drop into
weeping and inactivity. When they're short-timers on
the drug, they wake up fairly normal Klingons, but
much angrier than usual, and therefore more dangerous. Super-Klingons, you might say. Maybe that goes
away in time. We haven't been observing any of them
for long enough to say.
"By the way, the real drug was losing its effect on
Elliot even before he left Earth. His wife has told us
that he was losing his normal, even-tempered disposition. He'd even moved out of the house, and he was
talking about divorce. Broke her heart, poor girl. She
doesn't know the rest of the story yet, either."
"We'll watch Kalrind and see what happens."
There was silence on the other end. "Could be
dangerous, Jim. Elliot went through a rough few hours
193
before he came out of it, and you saw what he came
out of it as."
"That's my decision. We'll keep her supplied with
food and anything else she needs, but not those pills.
Kirk out."
He took a deep breath. "Now, Commander
Uhura," he said. "Get me Morith."
"Jim," Morith said, his voice at its most friendly
and beguiling, "I'm hurt that you felt the need for
subterfuge." And indeed he did look and sound hurt.
"My ship needed me, and I needed it. I thought I
had explained that to you, Morith. I suppose you
would understand my feelings better if you were a
military commander, rather than a civilian scientist."
The irony sounded heavier than he had intended.
"We could have arranged something. In time."
Kirk smiled thinly. "In time. Yes. One hundred
years, perhaps? You should have anticipated my actions. But then, none of this was in the history books,
was it?"
Morith's face darkened. "Jim, I'm very worried
about the future. We discussed this, of course. This
situation is endangering the Great Peace. We must ask
ourselves what the consequences of our actions might
be. The triumphal voyage, Jim . . . Just think of it
isn't it a beautiful picture?"
Kirk nodded. "It is, indeed. Everything in its own
time, Morith. First I have to conduct an experiment
and wait for its outcome."
Morith looked puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Surely we can't wait for such things. This is so
important! Perhaps you could beam Kalrind back
here. If I could impress the importance of the situation
on her, then she could come back and talk to you."
194
"Sorry. She'll be participating in the experiment.
Twenty-four hours should do it. I'll contact you again
then."
"Surely you'll lower your shields, Kirk!" Morith
said, his voice rising. "As a gesture of goodwill!"
Kirk gestured to Uhura, who cut contact with Alliance, leaving a momentary afterimage of Morith's
surprised face on the blank screen.
Kirk stood up. He held the chair arms tightly for a
moment to steady himself against a wave of dizziness.
"Mr. de Broek, you have the con."
At the turbo elevator, Kirk turned and gazed at the
bridge crew for a moment. 'Tm proud of all of you."
He entered the turbo elevator and the doors whooshed
shut behind him. "Sickbay," he said. He could almost
hear McCoy's voice replying, "It's about time!"
Six hours passed, a strange combination of tension
and boredom, worry and weariness. On the monitor
screens, Kalrind lay unchanged, sprawled on the floor
in the middle of her cell, breathing shallowly. It might
have been normal sleep, except that the sensors
mounted in the cell told McCoy otherwise.
After four hours, watching the graphs of vital signs
on his monitor, he said urgently, "We're losing her,
Jim! I've got to go in there!" "No, Bones."
McCoy looked at him, clenched his teeth, and returned to his worried vigil.
After that, the vital signs began to improve, and
slowly the coma passed into natural sleep. Six hours
after she had dropped to the floor unconscious, Kalrind awoke.
And she awoke and came to her feet as fast as she
had fallen six hours earlier. This was not the shaken,
195
weakened Kalrind Kirk remembered from the after-math of her previous coma on Alliance. She was not
the same woman in any sense. She opened her eyes
and leapt to her feet simultaneously, falling into a
defensive pose, but just as ready to attack as to defend. Her face wore the expression of fury just barely
under control that so often characterized Klingons.
Kirk stood up. "I'm going down there." He glared
at McCoy, cutting off the doctor's protest unvoiced.
As soon as Kirk was out of the room, McCoy hit the
communicator. "Bridge! Mr. Spock !" "He's in Engineering, Doctor."
McCoy cursed and tried again. "Engineering. Is Mr.
Spock there."
"Here, Dr. McCoy." Maddeningly calm.
McCoy explained the situation. "He wouldn't listen
to me, but he can't accuse you of letting emotion
overrule reason. And he might need your physical
strength. He's almost literally dying on his feet."
"Logically thought out, Doctor. I'm on my way.
Spock out."
McCoy bit back his response; he didn't want to
delay Spock at all. He watched the monitor anxiously,
fearing that he would see Kirk entering Kalrind's
room. The Klingon woman was now pacing around the
small cell, fingers curling and opening repeatedly as if
she were imagining that she was closing them around
a human neck.
Kirk would have beaten Spock to the cell, rushing
down a deserted hallway, but his strength gave out.
He fell heavily against the wall and slid down to the
floor. He struggled to rise to his feet, desperate that
no crewman should come by and see him, but he
couldn't do it.
196
He stayed where he was for a minute, trying to
regain his strength. Eventually he pushed himself to
his hands and knees and then, after another long rest,
to his feet. He was breathing rapidly, seeing sparkling
lights and dark spots in front of him. Force of will, he
told himself desperately, and started off down the
hallway again.
Spock was waiting for him outside Kalrind's cell.
"Are you planning to interrogate the prisoner, Captain? A good idea."
"No, Spock, I'm planning to talk to her. Please step
aside."
"Captain, you can talk to the prisoner from the
hallway. The force field barrier across the doorway
transmits sound quite well."
"Spock, I suppose McCoy put you up to this. Don't
you know by now that that man has a mother hen
somewhere in his ancestry?"
Spock's eyebrow rose. "Highly unlikely. Be that as
it may, I do think his concern justified in this case.
You would be in danger if you entered that cell."
"Spock!" Kirk looked up and down the hallway to
make sure they were alone, and then he said, "Spock,
this Klingon woman and I became very close. She's a
scholar. What danger would I be in?"
Without answering, Spock stepped back and stood
looking into Kalrind's cell. Kirk joined him.
The woman before them paced about her cell, walking lightly on the balls of her feet. She looked strong,
alert, dangerous.
"Perhaps," Spock remarked, "the Klingons train
their scholars somewhat differently from us."
This was not the woman Kirk had known. After his
most recent bout of weakness, how could he argue
with Spock? He stared at Kalrind, amazed at the
transformation. "She doesn't seem aware of us."
197
"Correct, Admiral. The force field is opaque to light
and sound from her side." "Change it."
Spock hesitated, then pressed a button set into the
wall beside the door. Kalrind was facing away from
them and did not notice the change. Kirk called her.
She spun around, dropping into a defensive crouch.
She snarled at the two figures and advanced slowly on
them, hands reaching out. She touched the force field
and began exploring it singlemindedly, looking for a
way through it.
"Kalrind! You can't get out. Please stop before you
hurt yourself."
"I'll find a way!" she growled, her voice almost a
parody of the normal harsh Klingon tones. "Then I'll
kill you."
Kirk glanced at Spock. The Vulcan said, "I'll be at
the end of the hallway."
Kirk smiled. "Thank you, Spock." After the Science Officer had left, Kirk said to Kalrind, "You've
changed."
She laughed bitterly. "You fool. Now I'm normal,
not a soft 'New Klingon.' I hated being that way."
"You didn't seem to hate it. You seemed very
happy."
"That drug!" she snarled. "To order a warrior to
subject herself to such humiliation! When I get back
to Alliance I'll kill Morith, too."
"That's a lot of killing for one person," Kirk said
mildly. "Especially a mere scholar, an historian."
"I'm a warrior!" she shouted. "They gave me false
memories, too, false feelings. I volunteered--they'll
remind me of that. But they didn't warn me how much
I was giving up and what kind of woman I'd become.
A soft fool, just like you humans."
198
"Kalrind, you must have been aware of how you
were acting, and yet you didn't stop yourself."
"I couldn't control it! I was trapped inside my own
mind! They invented a personality and a background,
and I couldn't break through the block. Only at some
moments. But now that's all gone. I'm my own woman
again, and I'll kill everyone responsible."
"Including me? I wasn't responsible for deceiving
you. In fact, you were in love with me. That wasn't
just your temporary persona, Kalrind that was your
true self, truly in love."
She shrieked, "With a human? The idea is disgust-ing, an abomination! You and all your kind are beasts;
only Klingons are true people. All the other species
are soft. They're inferior beings, fit only for domination, exploitation, extermination." Her voice was rising into hysteria. "We are the natural rulers of the
Galaxy! When we conquer you, all of you will die.
We'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
Kirk backed away, hiding from her voice, from her
words.
Jekyll and Hyde, he thought. Except that in this
case, the good persona had to fight for release and
dominance, and the evil one felt trapped when that
happened.
He gasped and fell full-length on the floor. As his
consciousness faded, he could hear footsteps running
toward him. This can't really be happening to me, he
thought. Right it's all psychosomatic. He started
laughing at the idea and then faded away.
199
McCoy CHECKED the vital-signs monitors one last
time. "Amazing what it takes to get some people in to
see the doctor," he said to his assistant, Joes Blankhuis. "Ready, Dr. Blankhuis?"
Joes nodded. "Any time, Doctor."
Whistling, McCoy loaded a hypospray and aimed it
toward the patient's upper arm. A hand whipped up
and caught McCoy's wrist.
"Bones, what're you up to?" Kirk pushed McCoy's
hand away, then shoved the equipment tray aside and
sat up on the operating table.
McCoy groaned. "I shoulda known it was too good
to be true. Jim, you collapsed down in Security, and
Spock brought you in here. You're dying, my friend.
Of course, you have that choice, but I'd appreciate the
chance to save you, speaking both as your doctor and
your friend."
Kirk passed a hand across his forehead. "Unfortunately, I'm not up to arguing. How long do I have,
then?"
"You must think I'm a Vulcan. How many decimal
places do you want? No one can answer that kind of
question, Jim! All I know is, you're in rotten shape
200
and getting worse, and I'd only give you a few days.
Maybe even hours."
"Good enough. The Klingon drugs are leaving me,
Bones. Give me something to substitute."
"What?" McCoy yelled. "Are you crazy? I would
never--' '
"Bones, you know it all depends on me right now."
McCoy sneered. "The indispensable man!" But,
damn it, he really is! "Dr. Blankhuis, you're my
witness that I'm acting against my better judgment."
Joes nodded. "Agreed, Doctor. Mine, too."
McCoy glared at his assistant, then reloaded the
hypospray. Kirk waited until McCoy had shot the new
drug into him and he could feel its invigorating effect
before remarking, "You know how much good Joes's
testimony will do you if I die and you're court martialed, don't you?"
"Yeah. Combine it with a sharp stick, and it'll get
me a poke in the eye."
Kirk sprang to his feet, laughing. "Good job as
always, Bones. I feel great."
"Sure. And you will, too, right up until the instant
you drop dead."
"And no one will even know I'm gone. When I'm
on the bridge, the crew try hard not to look at me.
Unwritten law of space."
"Jim, this is not a joking matter. You are literally
killing yourself."
"Salutamus, then," Kirk said, leaving McCoy to
shake his head in despair.
The strange, lightheaded mood evaporated as Kirk
made his way toward the bridge, but the alertness and
feeling of physical well-being remained. McCoy was
right, of course; Kirk realized that. But the task circumstances had thrust upon him was more important
201
than personal survival. That such a grim choice might
become necessary was always a possibility in his
profession; he had known and accepted that when he
had graduated from Starfleet Academy.
Right now, he had almost sixteen hours left before
Morith would be expecting him to get in contact.
Morith would be getting suspicious as the hours passed
and he realized what was probably happening to Kalrind.
As soon as he reached the bridge, Kirk asked for an
update on the status of the deflector shields. "Still at
full strength, sir," Crandall said in a sad voice.
Kirk looked at her more carefully. Aah, yes she
had tried to befriend Tindall. Well, he could sympa-thize with her mood. "Thank you, Mr. Crandall," he
said gently. "How about the other ships in the fleet?"
Sulu answered him. "Mary Rose has lowered her
shields, sir."
"Tell her to raise them again!" Kirk snapped. "Hold
that. Uhura, pass on my urgent request to the captain
of the Mary Rose that he put full power in his shields."
"Yes, Captain."
"Mr. Spock." Kirk didn't have to turn around to
know that Spock was at his station, any more than he
had checked for Uhura before giving her an order. He
had registered the presence of both without conscious
effort as he came onto the bridge. It was a habit of
long standing, something he never thought about, but
now what he had done struck him. He realized anew
how much the bridge was a part of him and he of it.
Once he had lost it, had been forced into a desk job.
Unusual circumstances had brought him back here, to
this place he loved and where he belonged. He would
never give this up again. He would prefer to die here,
as McCoy had warned him might happen, to drift into
202
death in his command chair on the Enterprise bridge,
rather than be retired and die at a desk in San Francisco. Or develop an ulcer and die of a surfeit of milk,
he thought.
He realized Spock was speaking to him. "What, Mr.
Spock?"
"You requested my attention, Captain."
"Oh, yes. Yes. Sorry. Considering what we saw in
Security, Mr. Spock, it occurs to me that our prisoner
may have less control over her tongue than normal."
"An interesting speculation, Captain. And a logical
inference. Dr. McCoy tells me that the Klingon drug
acts in part by depressing certain regulatory systems
that govern physical and mental processes. As we have
seen, when the drug wears off, those regulatory systems are actually even more depressed for a short
time."
"I think an interrogation session might be productive."
"Indeed. Shall I ask Security to arrange one?"
Kirk shook his head. "No, Spock. I want you to
conduct it. I have the feeling that your Vulcan facade
will reduce her control still further."
"Perhaps so, Captain. I must point out, though, that
'facade' is not the appropriate word."
Kirk smiled. "My apologies, Spock. Give me the
results in the briefing room in a couple of hours or
SO."
"Two hours, sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Spock," Kirk sighed. "Two hours, precisely." Sometimes he understood McCoy's short
temper with the Vulcan. I might end up in this command chair dying of an ulcer.
As if to reinforce that fear, Uhura said, "Sir, the
captain of Mary Rose wants to know, quote, by what
203
authority he is interfering in the operation of my ship,
end quote."
Kirk groaned. "Refer her to General Order 30,
dealing with states of alert during situations where
hostilities are deemed likely ....If she doesn't know
about that, she shouldn't be in command of a starship.
Don't add that part to the message!"
He could feel the ulcer beginning already.
"Your suspicions about the value of an interrogation
were well founded, Captain," Spock said.
"Good. Gentlemen, let me explain." Kirk looked
around the briefing room. Around the table sat Spock,
McCoy, Sulu, and Scott--the inner council of officers
on whose advice and support he relied so often and so
heavily. Given how much he had relied on them in the
past, he felt they had a right now to know more than
he had yet told anyone.
First, Kirk told them about the interrogation Spock
had just conducted and the reasoning that had suggested it. And then, difficult as it was for him, he told
them of his experiences during the past weeks and of
his travels forward and then backward in time.
"Sir," Sulu said in alarm, "we've traveled in time
ourselves, but we've never had any evidence of the
Klingons doing so. If they know how to do that in a
controlled fashion, we're in r eal trouble!"
"Quite true, Mr. SuM. But just wait. There's more
to the story. I ran into inconsistencies, such as weapons on ships that were supposed to be unarmed, and
New Klingons who acted just like Old Klingons under
the right circumstances. So I added two and two
together and got, oh, three and a half. I had been told
that Old Klingons still existed in the Empire in the
future and were trying to get back into power. I
204
concluded that Morith was in league with the Old
Klingons and had smuggled a bunch of them onboard
his flagship, that they were planning to use the Tholian
Incident somehow to regain control of the Empire. To
foil that plan, I managed to beam back to Enterprise,
along with"--he smiled slightly--"the one New Klingon I still trusted. Mr. Spock will explain to you what
I should have concluded. Mr. Spock."
"Thank you, sir. I interrogated the Klingon woman,
Kalrind, who is currently detained in Security Section.
As the Captain hypothesized, the aftereffects of the
mood-altering drug she had been taking include a
lowering of normal psychological barriers. By simply
questioning her and remaining unmoved by her anger,
I was able to extract a good deal of interesting information from her."
McCoy snickered. "You have that effect on me,
Spock, without any drugs." He looked at Kirk's face.
"Sorry, Jim. Okay, Spock, go on."
"I have combined what Kalrind said to me, and
earlier to the captain, with what I deduced from my
own investigations of the nature of the disappearance
of Mauler to arrive at the following," Spock said.
"There was in fact no time travel at all. Captain
Kirk remained in our own time but was duped into
believing he had jumped forward one hundred years.
He was given a plethora of Klingon drugs to mask the
symptoms of the internal injuries he sustained while
aboard Mauler, and he has suggested himself that
other drugs were included in that regimen that increased his credulousness, so that he would be more
likely to believe what the Kiingons told him. As we all
know, Captain Kirk is not normally a particularly
credulous man."
What Spock intended as a simple observation elic-2O5
ited grins around the table, quickly covered by hands
or coughs. Kirk frowned and gestured at Spock to
continue.
"My own suspicions were first aroused by what
happened to Commander Uhura at the time Mauler
disappeared. The electric shock she suffered was of
mysterious origin. By experimenting with the Romulan
cloaking device stored at Starfleet headquarters in San
Francisco, I was able to confirm my suspicion that the
shock was the result of the transponder, transmitting
through Uhura's console, undergoing a cloaking field
of high intensity. Nothing else was required to show
me that Captain Kirk's disappearance was due to very
ordinary, if daring, circumstances.
"What happened to Mauler was no accident. Nor
was the storm that attacked the ship a natural phenomenon. It was produced by the Klingons and is indicative of their callousness toward their own people that
they would so willingly risk a ship and crew."
Sulu said, "That's another dangerous capability,
Mr. Spock. If the Klingons can create such a storm at
will and aim it at a shily--why, that could be quite a
weapon."
"Possibly, Mr. Sulu, but I doubt it. The energy
expenditure must have been prodigious. Kalrind mentioned a specially built ship that was little more than a
shell built around an enormous matter-antimatter re-actor, the sole purpose of which was to provide the
energy for the storm. While I would be interested in
knowing the theory behind the storm generator, I
believe it's unlikely that the Klingons would benefit
from building many such ships. Still, your concern is
valid; we must put the question aside for later consideration by Starfleet experts.
"Note, in fact, that the Kiingons did not use the
206
storm as a weapon during the incident with Mauler.
The attack by the storm on Enterprise was intended as
a diversion and to further convince us that the storm
was a natural phenomenon. But the true purpose of
the entire incident was the abduction of a high-ranking
Starfleet officer under such circumstances that, both
to the abducted officer and to Starfleet, it would later
seem plausible that he had experienced a jump in time.
Our special transponder, enabling us to transport
through the storm, was surely a surprise to them. I
assume that the original plan was to cripple Mauler to
the point of inoperability and 'turn off' the storm.
After a rescue team had beamed aboard from whatever
Federation ship had come to investigate the distress
call, the storm would be 'turned on' again, along with
the cloaking device, to make it seem that Mauler had
disappeared."
He went on in a mild tone, "That they would capture someone of such a high rank and such eminence
in Starfleet as Captain Kirk lay outside their plans. It
is, after all, rare for a commanding officer to personally participate in dangerous missions."
"Reprimand noted, Mr. Spock," Kirk said with a
hint of anger. "Please continue with the relevant
facts."
"The captain has told you about the trip through the
gravitational field of the supposed 'supermassive
body.' However, the captain never saw any sensor
readings on the body, nor did he see it directly all he
knows of it is what he saw on the Alliance viewscreens. I have no doubt that the image was created
by means of computer graphics. That would be a
trivial matter for even a Klingon ship's computers to
generate. A five-year-old Vulcan child could create the
necessary program in less than half an hour."
207
McCoy snorted and said something to Scott, who
chuckled. Spock ignored them.
"That the captain experienced strange physical sensations at that moment, much like those he felt when
Mauler disappeared, and that the Klingon fleet seemed
to our sensors to spring suddenly into existence, are
all explained by massive use of the cloaking device at
extraordinarily high power levels."
Kirk was surprised at how disappointed he felt at
Spock's mundane explanation of what had seemed at
the time a magical experience. "Spock, how do you
explain this they showed me a recording of events on
the Enterprise bridge. I saw you talking to McCoy.
And a scene from Sickbay, as well. You were discussing the message I had broadcast to the fleet from
Alliance; specifically, you were discussing my proba-ble mental state. They claimed to be showing me
recordings given them by the Federation, incomplete
copies."
McCoy gave part of the answer. "We did discuss
your mental state, Jim, but I don't recall ever doing
that in Sickbay."
"Dr. McCoy is correct, Captain. That alone indicates that what you saw, whatever it was, was not a
true recording of events in the supposed past. Was
there anything specific in what you saw that would
make the context unarguable?"
Kirk frowned in thought. "I'm not sure," he admitted.
"Careful suggestion in advance can cause the mind
to supply missing data along the lines desired by the
administrator of the experiment. The technique is
common among prestidigitators."
"In other words," McCoy said, "stage magicians
use misdirection, and your mind fills in the gaps in
208
what you see the way they want you to. It was because
Spock suspected all of this, Jim, that I shot a miniaturized transponder into you on the Klingon flagship."
"Yes, and it hurt, too. You could have just handed
it to me, you know, and let me hold onto it."
McCoy shook his head. "Uh-uh. Scotty came up
with the superminiaturized version because Spock
pointed out that the Klingons probably had the one
you took over to Mauler and would therefore recognize it. We couldn't take any chances of arousing their
suspicions."
Spock added, "For that matter, that's why we decided to use the transponder, Captain. We could have
found you eventually by scanning the Klingon flagship,
since we knew that's where you were, but the Klingons would have detected the scan instantly and would
have guessed the reason for it. They might even have
chosen to kill you, rather than risk letting us get you
back with whatever you might have discovered about
them. We might have suspected they had done so, but
we could not have proven it; we would have known
only that we could not find you with our sensors."
McCoy grinned maliciously. "Also, I knew that
injecting something of that size would sting like the
devil. That's why I argued for its use."
Kirk shook his head. "Bones, it's a good thing you
have friends in high places. But, Spock, where did
they get recordings from our own ship?"
"From Elliot Tindali, or some other agent like
him--someone who had attained a high enough level
in Starfleet to have access to the copies of ship's
recordings that are stored in San Francisco."
"Do you realize what this implies? They must have
built up an enormous library, because they couldn't
know who they would manage to capture, and therefore what ships he would have served on."
209
"Yes," Spock said. "That fact argues for extensive
preparations covering every detail of the masquerade
and absorbing a great deal of manpower throughout
the Klingon Empire. Furthermore, their agents must
have told them that we would change codes and dispositions throughout Starfleet upon the disappearance
of any high-ranking officer. Thus the Mauler incident
represented a great sacrifice of what they had managed
to learn about Starfleet's current status---data that
must have represented a large and long information-gathering effort. Overall, this entire episode constitutes a huge investment for the Empire--a wasted
investment."
"Quite a charade," Scott said. "Elaborate. Expensive. What could the Klingons have hoped to gain
from it?"
Kirk said, "Remember, Scotty, the idea was that
their fleet would be escorted all the way to Earth. That
was the way their invented history told the story. Once
they got there, I suspect they would have launched an
attack on Earth, trying to destroy the seat of Federation government and Starfleet headquarters. They
even had strike craft on their ships. Maybe they
planned to make a landing and capture our top people."
Scott shook his head. "Makes no sense, Captain.
Our own ships would've turned on them immediately.
Some of them might've escaped, but not many.
There'd've been tremendous destruction on Earth, but
how would that've helped them?"
"Probably more destruction to Earth than you realize, Scott," Kirk said thoughtfully. "If a few of their
ships had been assigned a suicide mission and were
properly equipped, and if those were the ones that
started the attack, they could have destroyed much of
210
the surface area of Earth before our defenses could
have reacted. We're not equipped to handle a huge
fleet that manages to get that close to one of our major
worlds, you know. Starfleet plans to be able to stop
them long before they get that close to our nerve
centers."
"The captain is correct," Spock said. "Earth is, in
effect, the capital of both the Federation and Starfleet.
To the Klingon mind, its destruction would lead to the
downfall of the Federation."
"Then they don't understand how our minds work,
in the Federation," McCoy said. "It might work in the
Empire. I mean, if someone destroyed Klinzhai, then
the Empire might fall. So they just assumed that
applied to us as well."
"They'll probably never understand how the minds
of free men work, Bones," Kirk said. "It's curious
that their spies could live among us for so long,
drugged to behave like human beings, and yet still not
come to understand the human mind. But even though
they were wrong in their estimate," he pointed out,
"the death and destruction on Earth would have been
terrible, and certainly the Federation would have been
temporarily crippled by it. In that sense, they would
have achieved a large part of their planned goals.
"Well, gentlemen, I don't think we have anything
more to cover. All that's left now is a final talk with
Morith."
"Followed by some surgery," McCoy reminded
him.
211
"You'RE EARLY, JIM!" Morith said, his beaming face
filling the front wall of the bridge. "I assume this
means you've managed to smooth over all your difficulties at last and the flight to Earth can begin."
Kirk didn't bother with false joviality. "You and
your fleet will retreat back across fiqe frontier immediately, or we will open fire."
"Jim! I'm shocked! You're acting as if nothing
had changed. This is a new age, Jim! We New
Klingons--"
"Morith !" Kirk interrupted harshly. "We know how
you generated the storm, we know about your agents
in the Federation and the drugs you gave them, and
we know there was no time travel and no such thing as
New Klingons."
Morith's face worked for a few seconds, varying
between smiling geniality and something darker and
menacing. Finally he relaxed, giving up some internal
struggle. "You know, Jim, the funny thing is that there
really are New Klingons. But there never were very
many of them, and we're hunting down the last of
them right now. Soon the only New Klingons will be
those of us with enough of the drug still in our system
212
to act like humans!" He laughed and shook his head.
"That's an irony I can still appreciate, but in a day or
so my attitudes will have changed."
Kirk leaned forward. "Morithl Keep taking the
drug! You can hold onto that persona !"
"It never was my persona, Jim. I wasn't altered to
that extent. Not like Kalrind. I was given elements of
a New Klingon, just enough so that 1 could do this job
convincingly."
"It was convincing. Doesn't that mean something?
Doesn't that mean that part of you is capable of
friendship with humans? Someday we could still have
the Great Peace!"
Morith smiled. "On your terms, not ours. Besides,
didn't you hear what I just said? The few real New
Klingons are being hunted down and killed. Now why
would I want to put myself on that side, hmm?" He
laughed again and said, "You've cost us a great deal,
James Kirk. Some careers--my own included, no
doubt. I won't forget what you owe us." "My ultimatum still stands."
Morith held tip his hand. "Of course. I'll give the
necessary orders. Your fleet now outnumbers ours.
However, I won't leave Federation space until you
return Captain Kalrind."
"Immediately. Prepare your transporter room.
Uhura, cut transmission." He thumbed a toggle switch
on the arm of his chair. "Transporter room. Lock into
the Alliance transporter room. One person will be
beaming over in a few minutes." He thumbed the
switch again. "Security. This is Captain Kirk. Deliver
the Klingon woman to the transporter room. Hold her
there until I arrive."
'Captain' Kalrind, eh? So much for the mild-mannered scholar. Few Klingons were so ruthless and
213
competent that they could climb to command rank. In
the Klingon Empire, that was an accomplishment possible for only a rare and frightening type of individual.
"Yes, sir. Sir, what about Mr. Tindall? He's a
Klingon, too, isn't he?"
"Mr. Tindall will be returning to Earth with us.
Kirk out." Going home, he thought. It was Spock's
idea. In the Empire, Tindail would be surplus, useless,
waste material to be eliminated. Perhaps human psychologists could do something with him; perhaps
someday his wife would get her husband back, after
all.
Kirk rose from his seat. "Mr. Spock, you have the
con."
Kirk and Kalrind stared at each other. Kirk turned
to the transporter technician and said, "I'll operate
the machine. You can leave."
After the tech had left the room, Kirk said to the
giant in charge of the Security team, "Thank you,
Corporal. You and your team may return now."
"But, Captain," the giant protested, "the prisoner
disabled two of my best men! I can't leave you alone
with her."
Kirk smiled. "Noted, Corporal. The prisoner is a
Klingon captain. You will salute her and leave."
The Security corporal's jaw muscles bunched, but
he gave Kalrind a smart salute, then one to Kirk, and
he and his two subsidiary giants left the room.
"Kalrind," Kirk said quietly, "for a while, you were
a New Klingon. What happened between us proved
that friendship between our peoples is possible.
Friendship and much more. It's up to people like us,
214
in high positions, to make the old Organian prediction
come true."
Kalrind grunted. "No real Klingon would willingly
take on permanently the personality I had. You just
don't understand us, Kirk. Softness repels us. We are
warriors, first and foremost. We are trained to destroy
the soft. You're soft, Kirk. You repel and sicken
me."
She no longer spoke hysterically as she had in her
cell. The violent period of overreaction to the drug
had ended. But that made her words even more
wounding to Kirk now he was hearing her true feelings.
Nonetheless, he tried again. "We could build a
happier galaxy, Kalrind. Peace, prosperity, cooperation-you seemed to welcome all of that before."
"That wasn't me, Kirk. That was a false personality." She stepped upon the transporter platform.
"Send me back to my people immediately."
Kirk took the operator's position behind the transporter controls and fumbled with the levers. The settings were blurred. Kirk shook his head, frowned, and
squeezed his eyes shut. "My feelings for you
haven't changed. To me, you're the same woman you
were. ' '
Kalrind stood impassively on the transporter platform, her face wooden, as if she had not heard anything he'd said.
"Well." Kirk reached for the two levers that activated the transporter.
The settings blurred again. The levers wavered. The
controls of the transporter dissolved into dancing
black dots. Kirk fell against the control box and slid
to the floor.
"Jim!" Kalrind gasped and leaped from the plat-215
form. She ran to the communicator panel on the wall
and pressed the button. "Sickbay! Emergency in
transporter room !"
She turned back to Kirk, who lay unmoving,
scarcely breathing, his face white. She stood staring
down at him helplessly, then dropped to her knees
beside him and slid her arms under his shoulders,
pulling him against her, cradling his head gently.
Her sharp hearing picked up the sound of running
men. She tenderly eased Kirk back on the deck. Then
she stood, pulled the two levers forward, and jumped
back to the transporter platform.
Just before dematerialization began, Kalrind moved
as if to go back to Kirk, but then stepped back into
position and waited stoically, her gaze fixed on Kirk.
When the door opened and McCoy burst into the room
with Joes Blankhuis right behind him, her figure was
vanishing in a sparkling column.
"You really cut it close this time, Jim. If not for my
remarkable surgical skill, Starfleet would have been
out one captain, and the ship's routine would have had
to be disrupted for a funeral."
"I am as impressed as always by your bedside
manner, Doctor."
Kirk smiled faintly at the interchange between McCoy and Spock, standing to either side of his bed in
Sickbay. "If you two are trying to cheer me up," he
whispered, "it's almost working."
"Maybe this'il h elp," McCoy said. "Near as I can
figure it out, it was Kalrind who gave the alarm and
summoned help when you fainted in the transporter
room. Also, when you talked to her in her cell and she
shrieked all of that stuff at you, my sensors showed
that she was lying. Not that she wasn't really murder-216
ously angry, but the real source of her anger was
horror at her own feelings. She recognized strong
feelings for you in herself, and that frightened and
repelled her."
Kirk managed to say, "Thanks for trying, Bones."
It was genuine, while we were both onboard Alliance
and the Klingon base, l'm sure of that. Drug-induced
in a way, but it must have become real.
Those nightmares I had--real memories of emergency surgery and injections of drugs. But she asked
me about "historical data," which really meant sensitive information, even though they could have got a
lot of that out of me while I was under the drugs. So
she must not have known what they were doing to me,
all the dangerous things. She was a dupe, too.
Consoling himself with that thought, he drifted into
sleep again.
On the diagnostic table beside Kirk, Elliot Tindall
lay in a coma-like state again. This time his state was
self-induced, not drug-induced this time it was a flight
from reality.
What had been Elliot Tindall was a mere spark, a
tiny light at the center of a maelstrom of hatred and
rage. Spock stood beside the tightly curled figure. His
long fingers rested gently on the special contact points
on Tindall's face. Their minds merged. Spock's skit-tered carefully about Tindall's like a starship in orbit
about an incipient nova, ready to flee at the slightest
hint that the explosion had begun.
Speaking to the other, mind to mind, Spock said,
"Tindall. Elliot Tindall." He projected his thoughts
cautiously at first. When there was no response from
the roiling, red core, he tried again, louder this time
"Elliot Tindall!"
217
The reply was a mental shriek. "I AM KOL! I AM
NOT ELLIOT TINDALL!"
Spock winced but held his hand in place, maintaining the channel of communication, even as the Klingon's protest echoed in his brain. "There is little
future in being Kol, I think."
This time the reply was calmer and tinged with
despair. "There is little future in being Elliot Tindall,
either, Vulcan. There is no future for me in either
place."
"Kol is disgraced," Spock suggested, "but human
society does not have such rigid rules of honor and
dishonor."
"I am Kol, and Kol is disgraced," the Klingon
insisted. "The dishonorable rules of human society no
longer matter to me."
"Tindall's work, Tindal!'s wife..." Spock thought,
presenting images of Tindall's laboratory in San Francisco and of Luisa.
Tindall groaned and moved. He pushed Spock's
hand away and spoke out loud, his voice rough and
whispery. "I am infected by him. Tindall has made
me filthy inside, but I'm still Kol, and so I will still
pursue honor." He sat up and leaned back wearily
against the wall.
"The honor of the warrior's code," Spock said with
well-concealed irony. Humans, Kiingons, Romulans--
how much agony they brought upon themselves by
their refusal to follow the path Vulcans chose so long
ago. "The honor that demands you destroy Elliot
Tindall's life and Luisa Tindall's life, even though
your foolish Empire will gain nothing by the sacrifice."
"My honor will be satisfied by my self-destruction,"
2115
Tindall insisted. "My family's honor will be saved that
way."
Spock looked away, embarrassed. He found that he
resented this reminder of a weakness to which even
Vulcans were liable. But Tindall was lying. When
Tindall had pushed Spock's hand away from his face,
he had broken the mental contact, but not before
Spock had seen what he had hoped to see. "You know
that you are not really Koi," he said gently, "any
more than you are really Tindali. You were Kol, but
you lost that part of yourself for so many years, and
you were Tindall for so many years, that you can no
longer claim to be solely Klingon or human. You do
not truly hate your human side. Both halves pull at
you."
Tindall sighed. "True. And that's why I can't return
home again."
"But which is home?" Spock persisted. Both are
home, my friend, but the choice of having both is not
available to us.
Tindall said nothing.
"Tindall was not an invader, an outsider who forced
his way into your mind and possessed it for all of those
years. It was a persona created by your psychologists
and maintained with the help of drugs, but it was
created out of elements of yourself. You are Tindall,
just as you are Kol. Elliot, we can choose which part
of ourselves to become, which will dominate. Klingons would reject you, but humans would not consider
you tainted. To humans, it is who you are that counts,
not what you are. You are an individual. You can make
the life you choose for yourself."
Tindall shook his head. "Without the Klingon
drugs, I would always be violent when in the company
of humans."
219
By Vulcan standards, Spock was almost smiling.
"You are doing remarkably well without drugs right
now."
Tindall looked at him, startled. After a long,
thoughtful pause, he said, "I was always taught that
Vulcans were weaklings--a once-great warrior race
that had chosen to submit itself humbly to rule by
humans. There's more to it than that, isn't there?"
Spock nodded. "Much more. There always is."
When Kirk awoke again, he was alone. Was Kalrind
truly lost to him forever? And if he did somehow
manage to meet her again, would he be able to call up
from within her the Kalrind he had grown to love? She
had as much as admitted that that other woman was
not a mere artifact of the drugs, that she was instead a
part of Kalrind that the drugs had liberated. "Jekyll
and Hyde," he muttered. "Or in this case, Hyde and
Jekyll."
The picture of a future that the artificially manufac-tured New Klingons had painted for him was a beautiful and seductive one, one that Kirk wanted to see
come about.
Jekyll and Hyde. Hyde and Jekyll. Which one was
the true Klingon personality? Were both? If so, could
some outside force other than drugs determine which
personality dominated? In other words, he wondered,
could the Federation--could James Kirk--do anything
to make the New Klingon type really come about and
really take over?
There was no way to know, but the possibility was
a tonic.
Perhaps that future might yet exist. Perhaps there
would be a Great Peace, and then even a union be-220
tween the United Federation of Planets and Klingon
Empire. Perhaps the peace would come about in his
lifetime and it was really possible that he, James T.
Kirk, would be the first Federation ambassador to the
Empire.
Just possibly, Kalrind would be waiting for him.
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