CAPTAIN’S LOG—STARDATE 7825.9:
We’ve completed our relief mission at Vestra, and the disaster control team left behind has begun helping the Vestrans battle the effects of prolonged drought. Although the crisis is far from over, the aid provided by the Federation came in time to prevent wholesale death, and the prognosis is hopeful. The Enterprise is approaching Akkalla, where Science Officer Spock and Lieutenant Chekov have already begun the evaluation of Dr. McPhillips’s ecological survey. Upon arrival, we’ll finish that task, and I’ll pay a courtesy call on Publican Abben Ffaridor, leader of the Akkallan government. I anticipate no problems.
“WE NEVER HEARD from your people.” Cynthia McPhillips’s face filled the small viewer over Uhura’s communications console, reflecting the austerity of someone accustomed to stress.
So much for my optimistic log entry, Kirk thought. “You’ve been there at your lab the past two days?”
“According to our usual schedule, yes. Besides, your people know how to reach us at the residential compound.”
“Mr. Spock had that information. I know Starfleet and the Federation science people have had a hard time getting directly in touch with you. Do you think Spock could’ve had the same problem?”
McPhillips shrugged. “Admiral, anything’s possible here. We’ve got some real horror stories to tell you. As for your people, your guess is as good as mine.”
“I don’t plan to guess, doctor. I plan to find out,” Kirk said, more sharply. “Let us know if you hear anything. We’ll be in touch. Kirk out.”
“How in hell could they have disappeared without a trace, Jim?” McCoy paced the upper level of the starship’s bridge, behind the command seat.
Kirk turned first one way, then the other. “Bones, stay in one place.”
The surgeon halted, grasping the curved railing with both hands as he leaned forward. “Where I am isn’t the problem. Where are Spock and Chekov?”
“First, let’s find out where they aren’t. Uhura.”
“Still hailing on direct channel D-7, but there’s nothing—not even static.”
“Sulu, do a full sensor sweep of the planet. Look for anything that might fit the configuration of the survey shuttle.”
“Sir, there’s an awful lot of Akkalla that’s not land.”
“I’m aware of that. If they had to make a forced landing, let’s hope they were able to make it on terra firma. Search dry land first. Start with the main continent and move out in concentric circles from there.”
“And what else are you planning to do, Jim?” asked McCoy, hovering over Kirk’s shoulder.
“Make my courtesy call on the Publican.” Kirk swiveled out of his seat and moved to the turbolift. “Care to join me?”
“I better go. You may need me to help cut through the diplomatic double-talk.”
“No interplanetary incidents, please, doctor.”
Kirk and McCoy beamed down to the capital city of Tyvol, materializing at the top of broad, gray marble steps leading to a stunningly graceful structure.
“What’s this?” said McCoy.
“They call it the Cloistered Tower. It’s the Publican’s residence. It’s also where they have official functions.”
“Like the White House or Buckingham Palace.”
Kirk nodded. The building was a collection of bold and elegant curves, with delicate spires and a domed center. Somehow, the Tower’s architects had managed to construct an edifice that captured the sweep of waves and water that dominated their world, freezing the sea’s restless power into a timeless tableau. Down the steps from where they stood, Kirk and McCoy saw a circular reflecting pool with three fountains spouting streams from abstract sculptures of native sea life.
The Tower was set on a high bluff, overlooking the sea itself. The starship officers walked to a stone wall at the edge of the plaza, gazing down at waves crashing on the shore hundreds of feet below. From this promontory, one of two that jutted out into the ocean to protect the harbor of Havensbay, they could see the entire city, a place of curves, crescents, and spirals—all the sinuous contours of water in motion. The winding streets, the walls, the homes and larger buildings—all seemed an extension of the element that reigned supreme on Akkalla and shaped the world in its image.
Even Tyvol’s geography was determined by water. Although a major river cut the city almost exactly in half, each half was further subdivided by interlaced streams and channels cut by nature, and canals dug by human hands. The system of waterways sliced Tyvol into a hundred tiny islands, with small ferries and thousands of bridges connecting them.
Across the harbor entrance from the Publican’s Tower, on a matching neck of rocky land, stood a sturdy fortress with stout walls and parapets manifesting might more than beauty, unlike the rest of the city.
McCoy nodded toward it. “What’s that?”
“I guess that’s the Paladins’ Citadel, headquarters for the continent’s defense forces.”
They took a last panoramic look around at Tyvol’s dignified elegance. If anything, the city exceeded its reputation, but something bothered McCoy. After a moment, he knew what it was. The slate-toned buildings, the ashen sky, the gray sea with its clockwork waves—Akkalla seemed a monochrome world, a place of haunted, doleful spirit, and it gave him a chill in spite of the muggy air.
“What is it, Bones?” asked Kirk, trying to fathom his friend’s melancholy turn of mood.
McCoy didn’t reply immediately. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “There’s just something about this place. I hope we don’t have to stay here very long. It’d be nice if they had Spock and Chekov waiting in there for us.”
They walked to the glass front of the Cloistered Tower and found a pair of doors the height of four men. Silver-uniformed Grolian Guards opened them and stopped Kirk and McCoy in the vaulted foyer.
“State your business, please,” said a guard with ornate medals and braid on his chest. He held a palm-sized recording device up to Kirk’s lips.
“Admiral James Kirk and Dr. Leonard McCoy of the U.S.S. Enterprise, here to see the Publican. We’re expected.”
The small recording device emitted a pair of beeps; it was evidently a two-way communicator. Kirk wondered idly who’d given the signal of approval.
“Follow me,” said the ranking guard.
Boot heels on parquet floors sent sharp sounds echoing off the high stone ceilings as they made their way directly toward a reception chamber at the back of the palace. The rear wall was nearly all glass, offering an airy vista of the sea. Handwoven rugs with stylized seascapes lay scattered on the floor between velvet-covered chairs and couches, and tapestries hung on the other walls, depicting images Kirk guessed to be from Akkallan history and religion—battles at sea, both with other people and with monsters from the deep; ceremonies with heavenly rays of light piercing through a cloud cover that was evidently a fact of life here; great processionals winding through a city that looked much like the views of Tyvol Kirk had seen from the Tower plaza.
“Please wait here,” the guard said, then left them alone.
McCoy stood with hands clasped tensely behind his back. “So how do we greet this Publican? Is he royalty or something?”
Kirk shook his head. “They’ve got an elective system here. The Publican is the head of the majority party of the Continental Synod—that’s what they call their parliament. The continent is divided into twelve provinces, and they elect three representatives from each province. I think they’re called overlords.”
“So the Publican is one of these overlords?”
“Mm-hmm. So we just treat him with the same respect we’d show to any head of state.”
“Good. I hate it when we have to bow and scrape.”
Kirk grinned. “Bowing and scraping were never your strong points, Bones.”
They turned at the sound of large wooden doors creaking open, and two Akkallans entered the reception chamber. One Kirk recognized as the Publican himself, Abben Ffaridor, an older man with a short, portly build, salt-and-pepper hair, and a jowly face. He wore civilian clothing, a simply cut black suit with a startling blue gemstone pendant on a silver chain. His companion was a woman, quite a bit younger but not youthful. She wore an embellished variation of the silver military tunic worn by the Tower guards, with fine black filigree around the collar, black braid across the shoulders, and red and blue medals on the right side of her chest. Her hair was lustrous and dark, swept low across one side of her forehead and pinned up at the back, framing a face that was aristocratic and striking, yet severe in the most martial sense.
McCoy came up behind Kirk as the Publican greeted them warmly, first clasping Kirk’s hands, then McCoy’s. “Welcome, welcome, Admiral Kirk, Dr. McCoy. I’m Abben Ffaridor. This is Jjenna Vvox, prime brigadier of all our defense forces. Come, come, please sit.” He guided them to a grouping of seats in a corner of the room, facing the seaview. Kirk and McCoy sat on a couch, while the Publican stepped up onto a thronelike chair on a slightly raised platform. His adjutant pulled up a regular seat next to him.
“On behalf of all Akkallans,” Ffaridor said cheerily, “I offer welcome to you and Starfleet. Now, as I understand it, your starship is visiting our world for, uh—”
“Servicing the Federation science outpost, Peer Ffaridor,” Vvox prompted.
He blinked quickly, as if hearing that information for the first time. “Ah, yes, yes, of course. I hope their work here proves stimulating and useful to both the Science Council and Akkalla. I studied science myself when I was a boy. I’ll never forget hours spent exploring the wonders—”
“Sir,” Vvox interrupted, “your guests might be thirsty?”
“Yes, yes, of course, of course. How forgetful I can be. Can we offer you gentlemen some refreshment? The Tower confectioners make the finest pastries”—he patted his ample midsection as proof—"and we brew sweet tea from seaweeds, hmm?”
Kirk found himself momentarily distracted, wondering who was really in charge here. The ostensible leader of the entire planet seemed directed by his distinctly nonsubservient subordinate. He made a mental note to get McCoy’s impressions later. “Thank you, sir, but I’m afraid our meeting has become more than just a simple courtesy call. We have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
The Publican leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Admiral. Why not get right to it then?”
“Well, my ship was delayed on our voyage to Akkalla. We had to divert to deliver humanitarian aid to a drought-stricken planet. Two of my officers were sent ahead in a science scout ship. They were supposed to begin evaluating the science outpost’s work, and we were to rendezvous with them as soon as we were able.”
“Was there some sort of problem?”
“I’m afraid so. It seems they never arrived.”
“Oh.” Ffaridor seemed befuddled by the news, and the brigadier spoke quickly.
“I can understand why you’re troubled. But isn’t it possible they met with difficulty out in space and never got anywhere near Akkalla?”
“Well, it’s possible,” Kirk said cautiously, “but not likely. We traveled to Akkalla by a similar course and encountered no evidence that they’d had any problems en route. If they had, we would’ve got some sort of distress call.”
“What if their radio wasn’t working?” she said, eyes flashing as if she considered it a challenge to come up with irrefutable possibilities.
“Their ship was also equipped with emergency message capsules.”
“What if the ship were destroyed before they had a chance to launch a message capsule?”
Kirk spotted McCoy’s growing annoyance with Vvox’s negative attitude. “Then, in a worst-case scenario, we would at least have found debris or radiation. No, it’s more likely that they reached Akkalla and then ran into trouble here, something that prevented them from landing in Tyvol and getting in touch with Dr. McPhillips at the science station.” The Publican had been silent during the exchange with Vvox, and Kirk was no longer sure whom to address.
By the look on his face, Ffaridor was no more certain who should reply.
Kirk saw the Akkallan leader glance at his military aide, and her eyes gave him a look of warning in reply. Ffaridor cleared his throat.
“This is distressing. I’m sure you’d like to find out the fate of your crew members as quickly as possible.”
“We’re glad to hear you say that, sir,” McCoy cut in, prompting a sharp glare from Kirk. But the doctor pushed on. “Because what we’d like to do is start a search for them right away, with your permission, of course. As a physician, I’m most concerned about the condition of these two missing men—possible injuries and so forth. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Oh, I do, I do, Dr. McCoy. As for your request, a search would be—”
“Impossible,” Vvox said firmly, never once looking to her leader for permission to speak. “Isn’t that right, Peer Ffaridor.” Her last words were a statement, not a question.
“Yes, yes, I’m afraid that’s true, gentlemen. Our laws are quite strict in regard to foreign access to the planet. Offworlders are permitted to set foot here only on a carefully restricted basis, like your science team.”
“If there’s to be a search,” said Brigadier Vvox, “we’ll take care of it.”
McCoy raised a finger in protest. “But, sir, we are already—”
“What the doctor means,” Kirk said, interrupting hurriedly, “is that we’re all ready to start the search. It may take you some time to mobilize the personnel to—”
“The Paladins are always mobilized, Admiral,” Vvox answered in a prickly tone.
“But with our starship technology—” McCoy began before Kirk could stop him.
“We’re quite able to search our own planet, doctor,” Ffaridor said, sitting up stiffly.
Kirk wanted to throttle McCoy on the spot, but it wouldn’t have been a dignified means of public discipline. And besides, it was too late to do any good. However unintentional, offense had already been given, and taken. The conference ended on a lingering note of tension, although Vvox and Ffaridor gave assurances that Akkalla’s Paladin force would do everything possible to find the Cousteau if it had indeed landed somewhere on the planet.
McCoy managed to keep his mouth shut until he and Kirk had been escorted out of the Cloistered Tower. Once outside, Kirk had the first word.
“Trying for the Nobel and Z-Magnees peace prizes all at once, Bones?”
“Dammit, Jim, I just didn’t like their attitudes.”
“Well, the score’s even then. I don’t think they liked ours either.” They started down the wide marble steps to the avenue snaking past the Tower compound fence. “You weren’t really going to say ‘We’re already using ship’s sensors to scan your entire planet,’ were you, McCoy?”
McCoy’s eyes crinkled, and he half-grinned. “Guess that would’ve been pretty stupid, now wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I certainly wasn’t about to say that, Jim. I’m highly insulted that you could even think it.”
“Forgive me,” Kirk said dryly.
They reached the street, then looked back up at the Tower. A pair of Grolian Guards halfway up the staircase looked back. “I guess they really are paranoid about offworlders,” McCoy said.
“Well, how can you blame them when people come along and insult their technical capabilities?” Kirk said. He flipped open his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Two to beam up. Energize.”
Kirk heard McCoy’s voice just as the familiar humming began. “For once, I don’t mind—”
“—having my molecules scrambled,” McCoy finished as they sparkled back into existence on the starship’s transporter platform. “I hope this first trip down there is our last.”
“Me too—but I wouldn’t bet on it.” Kirk nodded an acknowledgment to the transporter technician as he and McCoy exited. “Y’know, I wanted you with me for reasons other than your renowned diplomatic expertise.”
“Flattery….”
“As you’re so fond of claiming, you are a doctor, Doctor.”
“Nobody was sick.”
“Psychological evaluation—what did you think of the Publican and the brigadier?”
McCoy’s brows jiggled. “Well, it was tough to tell who was in charge.”
“You got that impression too.”
“Didn’t take a genius to notice.”
“Can you give me thumbnail profiles on both of them?”
“I s’pose. Ffaridor seemed like he was being pushed against his nature. He seemed like a fairly open, friendly sort—but the kind who might not think twice about breaking his own rules if it’ll please someone important.”
“What about that little throne he sat on?”
“I wondered about that myself. It’s a pretty standard symbol of power to have a ruler sit up where everybody else’s gotta look up at him. But it seemed out of place on a planet you described as governed by elected representatives. ‘Course, we don’t know the history of the place … it might be perfectly normal for them.”
“But he went right for it, looked comfortable sitting up there.”
McCoy nodded. “Yeah. If a throne is an idea somebody forced on him, the fact that he seems to have adjusted might prove meaningful.”
“In what way?”
“Just that he’s willing to accept the trappings of power, probably even like ’em, if they enhance his own position—and even if they run counter to tradition.”
“Okay. What about Vvox?”
McCoy snorted pensively. “Dangerous.”
Kirk nodded, then started to turn away. “Thanks, Bones.”
McCoy held Kirk’s shoulder. “Jim, what about Spock and Chekov? We don’t find them, they may not survive. If they are still alive, we don’t know what kind of conditions they’re in.”
“Even if the Akkallans don’t give a damn, we’re already looking—as you were so ready to announce.” They traded small, rueful smiles. Then Kirk shrugged. “There’s not much we could do on the surface that sensors can’t do from orbit.”
“What if we find something and have to go down for a closer look?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Let’s hope we won’t have to first start building the bridge.”
Between the cave’s natural dampness and the wood-slat cots they slept on, Chekov awoke stiff and chilled when he felt a hand poke his shoulder. He sat up and saw Ttrina standing over him and Spock, who was already awake. Her blond hair was matted and dirty, and Chekov felt in serious need of a shower or bath himself. However, the gun muzzle she had pointed at his nose convinced him there were things that took precedence over cleanliness.
“You, Chekov. Zzev wants to see you.”
As Chekov got to his feet, Spock stood to go with him. Ttrina’s weapon swung in his direction. “Not you. You’ll get your turn.”
Chekov winced as he took a step. Their hands remained bound behind their backs, and his shoulders ached. He meekly allowed the young woman to push him ahead as they crossed the main chamber to a branch passage. Then he stopped short, feeling acutely claustrophobic. He’d actually grown accustomed to the large cavern, but the prospect of entering a space that looked distinctly cramped made him dig his heels in.
“Keep going,” Ttrina ordered, pressing her weapon into the small of his back.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay out here.”
“It’s not all the same to me. Zzev wants you in there—so in you go.”
She planted a muddy boot on his rump and shoved him through the portal.
He stumbled and pitched onto his knees, sucking in a sharp breath of pain as a jagged outcropping of rock stabbed his leg. By reflex, he rebounded in the opposite direction but seized his panic and lowered himself gingerly to the floor. Ttrina placed a lantern by the opening, then pulled a blanket across like a heavy curtain, sealing Chekov inside.
“If you try to come out before I come get you, you’ll be shot on the spot,” she called through the blanket.
He settled back and sat cross-legged in a tiny cell that would have seemed crowded for two. “Damn,” he muttered. “As long as there’re no bats …”
Zzev looked up from his cot in a private corner of the grotto and motioned for Spock to sit on a supply container.
“Drink?”
“Unnecessary,” Spock replied evenly.
The Akkallan twisted off the cap of a plastic bottle and poured some amber liquid into a battered metal cup. He took a swig and smacked his lips. “Good stuff. You sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“You haven’t had anything to drink all day. I don’t want to be accused of torturing you.”
“Vulcans are capable of going without food and drink for extended periods. And sensory deprivation could be construed as torture.”
“Hmm?”
“How long do you intend to keep Lieutenant Chekov in your isolation cell?”
“Oh, that. You misunderstand, Mr. Spock. That’s not for sensory deprivation or any such diabolical purpose. He’s been questioned several times today. And I must tell you, he’s confessed to a series of crimes against the people of Akkalla.”
Spock betrayed not even a glimmer of concern. “I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, I have the signed confession to prove it.” He reached under his cot and held out a piece of paper printed out by a small hand-held computer. At the bottom were words penned in a shaky scrawl: Pavel Illyich Chekov.
Spock knew Chekov’s middle name was Andreivich. The handwriting appeared to be Chekov’s, but the science officer assumed the incorrect middle name to be a signal. He decided to keep the code private, rather than risk reprisals against Chekov. “The fact remains, I do not believe this to be an authentic confession—especially since we have committed no crimes against your people or planet.”
“Very well. We’ll have Chekov tell you himself later.”
“You will fare no better questioning me.”
“Oh, I know that. Never met a Vulcan, but I know enough about them. We’re not even going to bother questioning you. But maybe you’d like to ask me some questions.”
“As a matter of fact, I would. What does the Cape Alliance stand for?”
“A broad question, Spock. Let’s see … where to begin. One of our great statesmen once said, ‘What good is order without freedom, freedom without truth?’ That’s what we stand for—truth, above all else, then freedom, and finally order, in that order.”
“A worthy credo, Zzev, but do worthy ends justify all means to reach them?”
“Since you’re asking me that question, I take it you don’t believe they do.”
“No, I do not. Vulcan society is based on beliefs which are logical and therefore beneficial to the greatest number of a collective group. Standards of order must be upheld, since standards give a society the structural framework it needs to function.”
“Oh, I agree,” said Zzev, waving his hands in earnest arcs. “But what do you do when the structure is rotten to its core? Do you observe standards just to be polite”—he affected upper-crust airs—“Oh, do excuse me. So sorry we had to cancel civil liberties. Do join us for lunch, though.” He puckered his lips and made a rude noise. “Or do you shatter those standards when they threaten to crush truth and freedom?”
Spock raised an eyebrow in thought. “Destruction may be beneficial if its purpose is to clear the path for a new and better social order. But history offers exhaustive evidence that revolutionaries often fail because they have no effective strategies for constructing a viable replacement for that which they have destroyed. Should you succeed, Zzev, how will history judge you?”
Their intellectual duel was interrupted by shouts echoing down from the cave’s main entry. Ttrina ran in from outside, sweat pouring off her face, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The other guerrillas gathered around her.
“Paladins,” Ttrina gasped.
“Where?”
“Went up … to the observation ledge …” She threw her head back and panted for a few seconds. “Saw them land on the north beach.”
“That’s it,” Zzev called. “Let’s break. Travel light.”
“What would they do if they caught you?” Spock asked.
“Best case,” Zzev said, “throw us in prison without a trial.”
“Worst case?”
“Kill us on the spot.”
The Enterprise had been in orbit around Akkalla for twelve hours, with no word yet forthcoming from the planetary government on the fate of the Cousteau and its missing crew. But Kirk withheld any judgments on how cooperative the Akkallans were being, since the starship’s own scans hadn’t turned up anything either. Prickly and xenophobic though they might be, the Akkallans had promised a thorough search, and it wasn’t unreasonable that a half-day’s efforts might fail to yield results worth reporting. Besides, protocol required that he give the Publican a chance to display his good will.
But, as far as James Kirk was concerned, protocol would only stretch so far. Twelve hours, frankly, wasn’t that long for his men to be missing. If they’d been able to survive a crash landing, then they were probably all right. That being the case, Kirk was confident they’d find their way out or be found long before their situation became critical. After all, Akkalla wasn’t an inhospitable planet.
But the moment he surmised the local government wasn’t doing its damnedest to find his men—or if the time they were missing stretched much past a day—he’d find a way to kiss protocol good-bye.
“Readily Red” is what Sulu had playfully called Seena Maybri in the days since Admiral Kirk had been forced to alter the Akkallan assignment. The young Erithian lieutenant had spent all her subsequent waking hours in self-imposed scholarly seclusion, and when Sulu had gently suggested she was overdoing it, she’d parried his concern with defensive mutterings about the need to know everything ever written on marine ecology. And her heat-sensitive skin had darkened to its most stressed hue.
Still later, when the ache in her eyeballs cried out for a break, she found herself wishing Sulu would appear at her door. He didn’t. And when her message on his computer channel also went unanswered, she was certain she must have offended him. So she painted her natural shyness with a heavy coat of sociable resolve and went looking for him.
She found him diving off the three-meter board into the ship’s swimming pool, and she laughed at his ungainly form. She tried to stifle herself, but by the time he surfaced and saw her, she was still in the final stage of a resigned snicker.
“What’s so funny?” he called above the splashing of a small gang of crew members horsing around at the shallow end. He paddled over to the side where Maybri stood.
“Just that I never pictured you being clumsy, Sulu. It’s so refreshing.”
“So’s this.” And he sent a handful of water in her direction. She dodged, unsuccessfully. “I never said I swam for anything other than fun.”
“Good thing!” She braced for another splash. He faked—she flinched—they both laughed.
“Even if it is at my expense, it’s good to see you smiling about something, Seena.” He hauled himself up on the deck and wrapped a towel around his shoulders.
“I thought you were mad at me,” she said, shading just a bit. “When you didn’t call me back—”
“Sorry about that, but I decided you needed to snap yourself out of it. And I knew I’d hear from you when you ran out of chocolate.”
With a flare of mock anger, she poked him in the ribs. “Well, you were right. About both. Were you going to be swimming for a while?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Let me change, and I’ll join you.”
Sulu’s wide grin was the only reply he could muster before the intercom whistled and Uhura’s voice called Maybri’s name. She hurried to the comm panel on the wall. “Maybri here.”
“Report to the transporter room in twenty minutes, lieutenant. You’re joining the party beaming down to the science outpost.”
“It’s done,” Cynthia McPhillips announced. In her mitted hands, she held up a baking tray full of brownies, fresh from the oven in the science lab kitchen.
Enzo Piretti probed the crust with a tentative finger. “Too hot. This is weird, Cindy. Kirk and his people are coming down here any minute, and you’re cooking.”
She set the pan down and started slicing rows of perfect squares. “I get nervous, I cook. You get nervous, Enzo, you sleep. To each his own.”
“And Naw never gets nervous,” Piretti said as the placid blue-green Rannican sat on a stool, batting his amber eyes innocently.
“But Naw pleasures when companions grow nervous. Enzo sleeps, Naw pleasures in quiet. Cindy cooks, Naw pleasures in food. Superior to compu-cooking.”
“Thanks,” McPhillips said. “I think.” She extracted three cake cubes and offered them to her co-workers.
Naw-Rocki popped one in his mouth. “Fortuitous that Rannicans do not metabolize cake. Pleasurable taste does not therefore lead to pot belly.” He slid a downy hand across his slender midriff.
“To whose pot are you referring?” Piretti huffed.
McPhillips took the last square. “Hey, if the physique fits—”
Her jibe was cut short by the beckoning tone of the communications screen, and McPhillips answered with a mouthful of crumbs. “Dr. McPhillips here.”
“This is Enterprise. We’re ready to beam down and start the evaluation. Are you all set?”
“Come on down, Admiral.”
“On our way. Kirk out.”
She turned to find, once again, that her colleagues had targeted her with imploring looks. Well, Naw-Rocki’s was imploring; Enzo’s was frankly challenging.
“What is with you two?”
“Oh, you know damn well,” Piretti said.
“Damn well,” Naw-Rocki echoed, eliciting double-takes from both his friends.
McPhillips made a disgusted face. “He didn’t talk like that till he met you, Piretti.”
“Answer the question.”
“You didn’t ask one.”
Piretti glared. “Are you or are you not going to tell Kirk about the new life form?”
“Come on, Enzo,” she protested. “We’re not absolutely sure—”
“We would be if the damn Akkallan government let us do our jobs. Are you gonna tell Kirk that?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll tell ’em everything,” McPhillips yelled, giving in just as they heard the sound of a transporter beam in the main lab area.
Kirk’s first sight as he re-formed in the Akkallan lab was Dr. Cynthia McPhillips, wearing a tattered apron and oven mitts and holding a baking pan. The scientist sensed his surprise and blushed slightly.
“We knew you were coming, so I baked a cake?” she offered. She held the pan out. Kirk, Maybri, and McCoy all helped themselves while murmuring thanks.
“You bake great bribery,” McCoy said as he chewed.
Cindy McPhillips laughed, put the pan down, and took off her apron. “Not my intention.”
“Leonard McCoy, ma’am. Chief surgeon.”
McPhillips shook his outstretched hand. “Dr. McCoy.”
“This is Lieutenant Seena Maybri, our ecology specialist,” said Kirk. “She’s here to help me ask the right questions.”
Maybri shook hands with McPhillips. “I’ve read your journal reports, Dr. McPhillips. You do impressive work.”
“Well, I don’t do it alone. My co-researchers, Doctors Enzo Piretti and Naw-Rocki.” With greetings out of the way, McPhillips ushered the group to a conference table near the bay window with its ocean view. The cake came with them, along with pots of coffee and tea.
“Dr. McPhillips is too modest to say it outright,” Piretti said, “but we’ve done some pretty important work here.”
“That’s what we came to judge,” Kirk said.
“Well,” Piretti countered, “what we’ve got for you isn’t exactly what we came here to study.”
McPhillips snapped him a look of disapproval, but the white-haired man responded with a blithe smile.
“I think we’ve piqued the admiral’s curiosity, boss.”
“Would anybody care to elaborate?” McCoy pitched in.
“I guess that would be me,” McPhillips said. Her tone made it clear she would have chosen another method of introducing the subject. “Well, as you know, we came here to study the interrelationships of life and the environment. Akkalla’s an unusual world in its ratio of land to water. And it’s no easy task to study the deepest regions of major oceans. Even on Earth, we explored space regularly before we explored our own seas from top to bottom.”
“I get the feeling,” said Kirk, “that you’re beating around the bush.”
“You’re right. The point is, it’s not unusual for marine environments to be relatively unexplored, even on worlds with advanced technology. So oceans sometimes contain secrets and surprises long after the rest of a planet’s become as boring as your backyard.”
“What secret have you stumbled on?”
Piretti picked his teeth with a fingernail. “New life.”
“Enzo.” McPhillips banged her fist on the table.
“New life?” Maybri asked. “You found a new life form? Totally new?”
McPhillips nodded solemnly. “We’re pretty sure, yeah.”
Kirk opened his hands, appealing for clarification. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“Okay,” McPhillips said. “We’ve got good evidence of a creature now living in Akkallan seas—a creature that was unknown before, according to local scientific records.”
“Evidence?” McCoy echoed. “Like a specimen?”
McPhillips shook her head. “Not that good. Some sightings in murky water—”
“And bones also do we have,” Naw-Rocki added helpfully.
Kirk glanced back to the science team leader. “Fossils?”
“They’re not old enough to be fossils,” she said.
“How old are they?” said McCoy.
“From an animal dead within the last ten years.”
“Not to denigrate your work,” Kirk said carefully, “but part of our mission—and yours, I’d imagine—is to seek out new life forms.”
“I’m aware of that,” McPhillips said.
“Then why is this particular life form such a big deal?” asked McCoy.
“What might’ve been merely interesting became a lot more than that when we took our findings to the Akkallans.”
“What happened?” asked Kirk.
“Well, the Akkallan government reacted to our revelation by—get this—rescinding our permit to search the area where we found the bones.”
The starship officers reacted with genuine surprise and concern. Maybri spoke up first. “What about the native scientists? They must’ve been interested—”
McPhillips shrugged. “Never got a chance to find out. As you already know, the Akkallans don’t run the most open society in the galaxy. We were aware of that before we came. But we didn’t know they could turn positively paranoid about offworlders—even Federation reps.”
“When we first got here,” Piretti said, “we were allowed to meet with local scientists, but only if we gave the Science Magister’s office a detailed discussion agenda first. And there was a government guy at every meeting.”
“Every meeting,” McPhillips said in disgust. “All three of ’em. But even with those restrictions, I really felt like we were building a professional rapport with Llissa Kkayn. She’s the head of the Akkallan Collegium.”
“What’s that?” asked McCoy.
“The planet’s major university and science and research center, here in Tyvol.”
Kirk tapped a finger on the tabletop. “When was the last meeting?”
“Eight months ago,” McPhillips said.
“Eight months? What happened?”
“Right after we found the bones, we made that the A number one topic on our next agenda—and all of a sudden we couldn’t get another meeting okayed.”
Kirk rolled his chair back and paced to the window. “I don’t get it. How come you never told the Federation science office?”
“Not permission,” Naw-Rocki said softly.
Piretti expanded on that for the benefit of their visitors who might not be familiar with Rannican syntax. “All our messages had to be submitted in writing to the government, and they transmitted what they felt like approving. They didn’t like it”—he made a slashing motion with his hand—"out it went. It got to be pretty obvious we’d have to wait for our evaluation visit to let anybody know what’s been going on.”
Suddenly, the bay window shattered as a small object crashed through it. Kirk reflexively spun away, his hands coming up to protect his face. As he fell, the object hit the floor and burst into flame, spewing a burning stream of liquid across the lab. Everyone scattered. The three scientists attacked the flames with chemical extinguishers and an area rug to smother the main fire. McCoy and Maybri got out of the way and went to help Kirk. Within a minute, the chemical spray had doused the flames, leaving an eyeburning mist in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of smoke. Piretti turned the ventilation fans to their emergency setting, and the fumes were visibly vacuumed from the room.
McCoy helped Kirk to a chair. “You all right, Jim?”
Kirk brushed shards of window out of his hair and clothing. The safety glass material had splintered into harmless, round-edged pieces. “Yeah, Bones. Fine. You and Maybri?”
“We’re okay.”
“Anyone hurt?” asked McPhillips.
“No,” said Kirk. “What the hell was that all about?”
“That’s the next part of the story,” McPhillips said. “We’re not very popular around here. For some reason, the Akkallan scientists and students at the Collegium all think we’re part of some government conspiracy working against them.”
“That’s ridiculous,” McCoy snapped. “You just got through telling us the government’s been harassing you almost since the day you got here. Don’t the scientists at the Collegium know that?”
McPhillips’s fingers balled into fists of frustration, and she shook them in the air. “They don’t trust their own government, but it’s their only source of information. They only know what the Cloistered Tower wants them to know. The scientists and students didn’t like their government to begin with.”
“Which should’ve made you and the Collegium natural allies,” Kirk said as they returned to the table.
“Right. But the government couldn’t allow that, so they planted the seeds that sprouted into this.” McPhillips gestured at the broken window and fire damage.
“The scientists did this?” said Maybri.
McPhillips nodded, her anger draining to sadness. “The government’s done a great job convincing Akkalla’s scientists and students that we’re real bad guys.”
Maybri shook her head. “Why would they believe anything coming from the government?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” McPhillips continued. “They control every avenue of information. They’ve got all sorts of subtle ways of manipulating what goes on here. And what’re we going to do about it, three little scientists?”
“But what about direct contacts with the people at the Collegium?” asked Maybri. “Skirting the censorship and the government-controlled media.”
“We tried that,” Piretti said. “Once. We arranged a secret meeting with a couple of professors from the Collegium. Somehow, the Grolian Guards found out and arrested the Akkallans. Naturally, the scientists were told we tipped off the Guard, and they blamed us for the whole fiasco. They never trusted us again, and we’ve been under surveillance ever since.”
McPhillips managed a short ironic laugh. “Yeah, Hhayd tells us it’s for our own protection. Obviously, as you’ve seen for yourself, protection can be a selective thing.”
“Who’s Hhayd?” Kirk asked.
Piretti made a rude noise. “Vice Brigadier Rrelin Hhayd, commandant of the Grolian Guard.”
“What’s the Grolian Guard?” said McCoy.
“The elite batallion of the Akkallan defense forces. They police the capital city, they guard the Cloistered Tower and the Publican, and they handle special missions anywhere on the planet. The Paladins are the guys who do the dirty work. What was the old term? The G.I. Joe’s.”
“We didn’t meet this Commandant Hhayd,” Kirk said. “We thought Brigadier Vvox was in charge of the defense forces.”
“She is,” McPhillips said. “She’s the highest-ranking military officer, and Hhayd is next in line. She’s his superior, but they’re pretty close from what we were able to figure out.”
Piretti shook his head. “For my money, Hhayd’s the real viper. Vvox has to mix with the politicians. She strikes me as a bit of a politician herself.”
“And Hhayd?” Kirk asked.
“Military all the way,” said Piretti. “We’ve seen them both at receptions at the Tower. He scares me, Admiral Kirk. I hope you don’t have to do any business with him while you’re here.”
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Maybri said softly, “I’m very curious about something.”
“What part of this convoluted mess?”
“The original part, sir. The new life form. May I ask a question?”
“You’re the ecology expert. Go ahead.”
She turned to the scientists. “Do you have any idea why the government reacted so negatively when you presented your findings?”
McPhillips let out a frustrated breath. “Y’know, that’s a tough question to answer. They clamped down so completely, once we brought it up, we could hardly make inquiries, much less get information. Something about this mysterious life form scared them.”
Maybri wrinkled her nose quizzically. “Scared? I don’t understand. Were they stunned or surprised?”
“As a matter of fact, no. I can’t pin this down for sure, but I’d say what we were telling them wasn’t news. Not to them, anyway. But it sure as hell made them nervous. And that’s when we found ourselves locked in a box.”
Kirk stroked his chin. “I wonder why?”
“So do we,” said McPhillips. “We want to find out, but we need your help, Admiral.”
“I’m not sure what I can do.”
“We’re just three inconsequential civilian scientists. You’re a military representative of Starfleet. You’ve got the Enterprise to back you up—”
Kirk waved a cautionary hand. “Hold on, Dr. McPhillips. The Enterprise isn’t a big stick to persuade authoritarian governments to see things our way. Maybe you didn’t have the free hand you would’ve liked here, but this is their planet. And they can run it any way they choose. Sounds to me like they could’ve done away with you if they’d really wanted to. But you’re all still in one piece—”
“Admiral, please,” McPhillips said. “You have to help us. We’ve got to know what they don’t want us to know. They’re keeping a secret—and the way they’re keeping it, I’m convinced it’s a dirty one.”
“Doctor, I’m as curious as you are, but I’ve got two missing officers to worry about. Until I know what happened to them, I have to rely on the good will of the Akkallan government. I’m not about to offend them.”
“Admiral Kirk—” McPhillips’s tone skidded toward desperation, Kirk’s toward impatience.
“I’m sorry, doctor. Once my officers are accounted for, I’ll consider your request—”
“Consider it?”
“—but I don’t want to mislead you. My inclination is to pack you up and get the hell off Akkalla. My orders preclude meddling in the governmental affairs of Federation planets.” He stood, making it clear he considered the argument near its end.
But McPhillips wasn’t ready to surrender. She stalked around the table and planted herself toe-to-toe with Kirk. “Even if one of those planets is hiding some deep dark secret and interfering with an accredited scientific mission?”
Kirk couldn’t avoid looking into her flashing eyes. He almost yelled but caught himself. Instead, his voice was deliberately soft. “If we had more proof, maybe I could do something. But we don’t, and the Akkallan government isn’t likely to let us get it. For now, would you please give Lieutenant Maybri your records so she can start the evaluation?”
McPhillips swallowed her anger. “Of course,” she said curtly.
“You know the procedure, doctor,” Kirk said. “First she’ll review your data, then follow up with interviews of staff.”
The scientist nodded. “Enzo, do you have the records?”
Piretti handed a box of computer cassettes to Maybri. Kirk took out his communicator and flipped it open as McCoy and Maybri took their places next to him. McPhillips and her people backed out of beaming range.
“Kirk to Enterprise. Transporter room, stand by. Dr. McPhillips, please try to stay out of trouble just a little longer.”
“We’ll do our best,” she replied in an icy monotone.
As soon as they solidified in the transporter chamber, McCoy started in. “Jim, don’t you think you were a little rough on McPhillips? Since when do you quote orders from on high?”
Kirk whirled on his chief surgeon. “Since Spock and Chekov are missing on a planet run by a government that gets more distasteful by the minute—that’s since when. We’ve got enough to worry about without provoking the Akkallans into being even less cooperative than they already are.” Then he gave Maybri a sharp glance. “And don’t you start, lieutenant. I have my orders, and you’ve got yours. Get to work on that evaluation. I don’t want to stay here a minute longer than is absolutely necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a tiny voice, then scuttled out of the transporter room. McCoy and Kirk followed. The doctor’s mouth opened to continue their verbal jousting—and the whoop of the red-alert klaxon cut him off. Sulu’s voice echoed from speakers all over the ship as alarm beacons flashed.
“Red alert—this is not a drill. Admiral to the bridge—all hands to battle stations. Repeat—this is not a drill!”
Kirk raced for the nearest turbolift. Fortunately for McCoy, it wasn’t far. He was already two paces behind and managed to leap through the doors just as they hissed shut. “Bridge,” Kirk said.
As he tried to catch his breath, McCoy noticed Kirk’s heel bouncing with nervous energy, like a catapult winding up, and it propelled the admiral onto the bridge the instant the lift snapped open. But not a stride later, Kirk stopped short and McCoy plowed into him. Their eyes were drawn right to the main viewscreen, where the cause of the red alert was obvious: a massive space vessel surrounded by a swarm of tiny fighters, bearing directly at the Enterprise.
Sulu vacated the center seat and moved back to the helm console as Kirk stepped onto the bridge. “Mr. Sulu, report.”
“The ships are from Chorym—”
“That’s the second planet in the system.”
“Aye, sir. As soon as we spotted them making orbital approach, we identified ourselves and requested their I.D. and purpose. They ignored our hails. I decided to go to red alert, just in case.”
“You made the right decision, Sulu.”
“Deflectors up, phasers armed and ready, sir.”
Kirk sat back and crossed his legs. “Have they made any threatening moves?”
“No, sir, except that they’re on a collision course.”
“All right. Stand by for evasive maneuvers. Anything, Uhura?”
“Negative. Still hailing.”
Sulu peered at his computer screen as the seconds ticked by. “Impact in thirty seconds … twenty-five … twenty …” His voice tightened.
“Stand by,” Kirk said.
The helmsman’s shoulders abruptly relaxed. “They’ve altered course, sir.”
The giant Chorymi craft grew larger until it filled the entire viewscreen, crossing the starship’s path and passing just below the Enterprise’s belly. “I believe they used to call it playing chicken,” Kirk said evenly. “Bring us around, Mr. Sulu. Follow them.” Kirk turned to Spock’s science station, where a fresh-faced, willowy ensign sat on this shift. “Science Officer Greenbriar, sensor readout on those ships.”
“That’s Greenberger, sir.” The young ensign brushed a blond strand of hair out of her eyes and punched up the data Kirk wanted. “The big ship is almost our size—two hundred seventy meters long—but a lot lighter, only thirty thousand tons. Impulse power only, capable of sublight speeds. Most of the inside was empty.”
“Empty?”
“Yes, sir—cargo hold of some kind, I’d say.”
“Weapons?”
“None that our sensors could detect. But the escort ships appear to be fighters, armed with photon cannons. By their size, I don’t think they could do any damage to us, Admiral.”
Kirk thumbed the intraship communications button on his armrest. “Cancel red alert—secure from general quarters.” He closed the channel, then leaned toward Sulu. “Keep our deflectors up, Mr. Sulu. And keep phasers ready just in case.”
Apparently oblivious to the starship trailing behind, the Chorymi convoy continued descending. “They’re entering the atmosphere, sir,” Greenberger said as she tracked the mysterious ships on her viewer.
“Level off our orbit, Sulu. Greenberger, send a survey probe out. Let’s see what they’re doing here.”
“Aye, sir.” She punched in the proper firing code, and a dart launched from a hatch on the support pylon connecting the starship’s engineering hull and primary saucer section. As it penetrated the fringes of Akkalla’s stratosphere, the probe’s protective casing heated from pink to fiery red, tracing a contrail across the sky. Tiny retro-thrusters fired to slow it down, and the heat shielding split lengthwise, separating and falling away. Like a butterfly out of its cocoon, the probe blossomed into operational configuration—a small dish antenna unfurled from the rear, and a sensing grid poked out of the front.
On the science station viewscreen, a scrambled image took shape. Ensign Greenberger prodded her computer; the wavy interference lines cleared, and the probe presented a crisp view of the Chorymi ships as they spiraled ever lower, seemingly intent on diving into the Akkallan sea.
“Maximum magnification, ensign—on main screen.”
The whole bridge crew could see what was happening now. At very nearly the last minute, the giant Chorymi vessel flattened its flight path and skimmed barely above the waves.
“Sir.” Greenberger turned to draw Kirk’s attention. “I’ve been trying to find some more data on that Chorymi ship, what it might be doing here. It’s classified as a harvest ship.”
“What does it harvest?”
“Akkalla’s oceans. There’s a treaty on record between Chorym and Akkalla. It’s a hundred years old. Chorym had the technology; Akkalla had the food just swimming around in the water. So they signed a deal that let Chorymi ships do the harvest, and then they split the take with Akkalla.”
“Good work, ensign. But if there’s a treaty, why the fighter escort?”
Before Greenberger could attempt an answer, Uhura pointed at the viewscreen. “Would you look at that!”
The little tracking probe relayed perfect pictures of the harvest ship hovering over an ocean beginning to churn with stormy violence. Greenberger’s eyes were locked onto her sensor scope, and her fingers skipped across her computer panel in a frenzy of data measurement and recall.
“This is amazing,” she said. “That harvest ship is creating a hurricane—right underneath it!”
The viewscreen displayed the results—a swirling wall of seawater surged up from the ocean as the harvest ship rocked above it, then tipped forward, opening its gaping jaws and swallowing great gulps of frothing white water.
Kirk and his crew watched with grim fascination until Greenberger’s voice pierced the silence. “Admiral … I’m reading surface vessels coming into the area.”
On the viewscreen, the broadened image revealed a motley fleet of four vessels charging toward danger beneath the voracious intruder. The boats were of different shapes and sizes, but none were large, and none were Akkallan military. The only identification was a banner flying from the stern of each. Greenberger manipulated the probe’s camera to zoom in on one boat and keep it in sight long enough to get a good look at the flapping banner. The science officer snapped a still frame, then swiftly projected an enhanced and enlarged version on her console screen. Kirk twisted in his chair and peered at the picture. It featured a symbol and some Akkallan writing.
“Can you get a translation of that, Greenberger?”
She entered the inquiry, and a second later the information rolled across the bottom of her readout screen. “Cape Alliance, sir. But there’s no information on what Cape Alliance is.”
Back on the main viewer, a pair of the diamond-shaped Chorymi escort fighters broke formation and banked steeply, as if to strafe the small boats. There was no longer any doubt that those boats were trying to disrupt the giant spacecraft’s harvest run, darting perilously close to the cyclonic waterspout being sucked up into the ship’s mouth. But the diving fighters made only a mock attack, roaring directly over the struggling surface vessels without firing a shot. As for the boats, they appeared to be unarmed.
“What the hell is going on down there?” McCoy muttered. “Group suicide?”
Kirk shook his head but kept watching the dance of death being played out far below the starship’s orbit. “I don’t think so, Bones.”
After more chaotic zigzags, one of the boats reeled to port and made straight for the vortex.
“If that’s not suicide, Jim, what do you call it?”
Kirk held his breath—and the harvest ship’s maw suddenly closed. The lumbering vessel lurched from its course and gained altitude as quickly as its bulk would allow. As soon as it began climbing, the surging storm abated, and the wall of water collapsed as if an internal support had been yanked away. The escort fighters joined their mother ship as it departed, and the four Akkallan boats circled like cautious beasts until they were certain they’d chased the interlopers away. Finally, the boat crews could be seen waving their arms and hugging each other in apparent victory celebration.
Though the starship’s bridge crew had no rooting interest in the blood sport they’d just witnessed, the aversion of what had seemed certain horrible destruction of the surface boats brought sighs of relief around the command deck.
“I don’t get it,” Ensign Greenberger said, sitting limply in her seat. “Why didn’t those Chorymi fighters shoot when they had the chance?”
“And if there’s a treaty,” said McCoy, “what was all the ruckus about to begin with?”
“Uhura,” Kirk said, “any communications at all between the spacecraft and the surface boats?”
She shook her head. “Negative, sir.”
“Mr. Sulu, what’s the status of our search for the Cousteau?”
“Sorry, sir—negative.”
Kirk stood and headed for the turbolift. “You have the conn, Sulu. Keep scanning for Spock and Chekov. If you spot anything, I’ll be in my cabin.”
For the next hour, Kirk pored over sensor data on their brush with the Chorymi fleet, reviewing technical specifics with Engineer Scott. He kept hoping for an interruption from the bridge with some bit of good news. But nothing came. When he and Scotty were done, he went back up to the command deck.
“Sir.” Uhura turned as Kirk stepped out of the turbolift. Her voice was businesslike, as usual, but with an urgent undertone. “I’m picking up an Akkallan government broadcast, on one of their planetwide channels.”
“Let’s see it, commander—main screen.”
Uhura locked onto the transmission: Publican Abben Ffaridor seated at a desk with the planet’s stylized wave symbol mounted on the wall behind him. Ffaridor was already in midsentence, speaking angrily: “—continuing incidents of Chorymi treachery in total and arrogant violation of sworn treaties. No, there’s no salt-washing the ugly face of deceit displayed so vividly by our neighboring planet. We accuse them, and they will be held accountable. But today, I’m forced to reveal the face of another enemy, one even uglier because it comes from our midst. Until now, we have been unable to unmask this sinister force, the true instigators of the state of near war between your world and Chorym. But today, we will unmask this secret foe. They claim to be learned people, people of science and goodwill—yet they disrupt accords that have enriched your world, made your lives better, and helped us acquire knowledge that can make us even more advanced than we are now. They would rob you of your future, if you give them the chance. They’ve already injected their poison into the Akkallan sea of life. With your help, we can stop it before it reaches the heart. What do these demons call themselves? The Cape Alliance—”
The Publican paused for just a moment, long enough for the name to draw looks of recognition from Kirk and his bridge crew. Then the Akkallan leader continued.
“—they steal the sacred name of the Cape of Judgment, where our legends tell us our ancestors purged themselves of life’s hardships and their own sins and returned to the soul of Mother Sea, to live in eternal peace. But this Cape Alliance promises to bring you only eternal war. Your Publican and your Continental Synod will be working around the clock to solve this crisis that threatens our very existence. We ask for your trust—your vigilance—and your prayers. May the waves of Mother Sea be with you. Thank you, my fellow Akkallans.”
The Publican’s face, fiercely sincere, faded out, replaced by the government wave logo. Uhura cut the signal, and the deceptively placid blue-gray globe appeared onscreen again.
“Well,” McCoy said, “we know more about the Cape Alliance than we did two minutes ago. Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.”
“But we still don’t know exactly who they are,” Kirk pointed out. “And something tells me there’s another side to this story—maybe a lot more sides. Greenberger, where’s the Chorymi convoy now?”
“Continuing on a departure course, sir—bound for home, I’d say.”
Kirk stood. “Uhura, contact the Publican. Ask for permission—no, tell them to expect me within the hour.” He stepped up to the bridge’s outer ring, and McCoy sidled over to join him at the turbolift. “Going somewhere, Bones?”
“Can’t let you get in the middle of an interplanetary war all by yourself.”
They entered the lift, and the doors snapped shut behind them.