Three

“Kirk, I must once again object in the strongest possible terms to this increasingly unconscionable delay.” The Troyian ambassador confronted Kirk upon the bridge of the Enterprise, invading the command well to take her objections directly to the captain. Anger flushed her face a deeper shade of turquoise. She wore her coiffed white hair like a crown. “The Musgrave conference has been months in the planning, and many vital issues await our attention. You had no right to divert us from our course to pursue some wild-fowl chase.”

“So you and the other delegates have made abundantly clear,” Kirk replied, doing his best to maintain a diplomatic tone. He was definitely starting to wish that he had left on Galileo after all. Being a starship captain had its perks, but dealing with self-important politicians and diplomats wasn’t one of them. “And you are free to file a formal protest with Starfleet if you’re so inclined. But my decision stands. I have people down on that planet, including my first officer and ship’s surgeon, and the Enterprise is not going anywhere until they’re back aboard.”

His answer did little to mollify the ambassador. “And if your people do discover something of value, which requires further investigation . . .”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Kirk said firmly. He was not about to commit himself to anything before he heard from the landing party. Depending on what Spock and the others found, the Enterprise might well be able to continue on to Musgrave IV, postponing further efforts on Varba II to later; or, alternatively, other arrangements might have to be made if any discoveries on the planet required a longer stay. It was impossible to say at this point. “In the meantime, Ambassador, I suggest that you and your distinguished colleagues avail yourselves of the ship’s hospitality. Have you visited the botanical gardens on the lower decks yet? I hear the Arcturian lunar tulips are blooming.”

The ambassador knew when she was being dismissed. She raised her chin haughtily and adopted an even more withering tone. “This is no joke, Captain. You may expect to hear from me again.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Ambassador.” Kirk remained in his chair. “Rest assured that I will keep you and your fellow delegates informed as the situation develops.”

“I should hope so, Captain!”

Silken garments rustled as, with a great show of righteous indignation, she stormed off the bridge. Kirk waited until her turbolift had departed before emitting a sigh of relief. He considered banning visitors from the bridge for the duration.

“Finally!” Uhura said, voicing her own exasperation. “I was starting to think she’d never leave.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Just who does she think she is?”

“A high-ranking official of a friendly government.” Kirk wondered if he still had any friends at the Troyian court. He had been very close to their empress . . . once. I might need to call in some old favors when this is over.

Damage control could wait. “Any word from the landing party?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Uhura replied. “As we feared, the planet’s atmosphere is blocking transmissions, both to and from the Enterprise.”

“Understood.” Kirk rested his chin on his knuckles as he considered the cloudy yellow globe spinning slowly upon the viewscreen, its shifting veil of vapors guarding its secrets as effectively as a Romulan cloaking device. More than five hours had passed since Galileo had left for Varba II, but it felt like it had been much longer. They had anticipated communications problems, but how long could it take to locate the source of the signal, make a preliminary assessment of the situation, and return to the Enterprise to report on their findings? Unless the landing party had run into some kind of unforeseen complications or difficulties . . .

I knew there was a risk of danger.

Once again, Kirk found himself wishing that he could have led the mission personally instead of staying behind to babysit a pack of demanding dignitaries. Maybe some captains preferred to delegate from the bridge, but that had never been his command style. Given a choice, he’d always wanted to lead from the front, not from his chair, which was probably why he was no longer an admiral. He leaned forward, willing Galileo to rise up from the misty depths of Varba II.

Come on, Spock. Let me know what’s happening.

Chekov’s concerns that the enigmatic signal could be a trap or warning remained fresh in Kirk’s mind. Certainly he’d run into both scenarios over the course of his career, sometimes with dire results. That the content of the signal remained a mystery did not make waiting any easier.

“Uhura, any progress translating that transmission?”

“Some, Captain,” she reported. “The interference from the planet’s atmosphere hasn’t left me a lot to work with, but I’m running some advanced linguistic algorithms that may be able to fill in some of the blanks once all the static is cleared away.” She checked a display panel on her console, keying in some adjustments to the program. “I’m hoping to have at least partial results for you shortly. I apologize for the delay.”

“No apologies necessary, Commander,” Kirk said. “I’m sure you’re doing all you can.” He squinted at the viewscreen. “I just wish I had some clue what was going on down there.”

“As do I,” Saavik said.

The helmsman was also gazing at the screen intently, while keeping the Enterprise in a tight orbit around the planet. Kirk suspected that, despite her Vulcan reserve, she was just as worried about the landing party as he was. She and Spock were close, he knew, and not just because they both hailed from the same planet. They had all been through a lot together, including Spock’s short-lived death five years before. Saavik had even shed a tear at Spock’s funeral, Vulcan dignity be damned, and she had been there when David died as well, on another scientific expedition.

Kirk couldn’t blame her for being worried about the continuing silence from the landing party.

He certainly was.